Factories of national pride: Bulgaria and Romania between history and myth

Yuliana Metodieva, Marginalia, 22 June 2026

Abstract

Main Theme and Context of the Discussion

The discussion, moderated by Yuliana Metodieva, analyzes the processes of myth-making, demythologization, and nationalism in Bulgaria and Romania. The main focus is on how post-communist societies use historical myths to construct national exclusivity, on the institutional dependencies of academic historiography, and on how social inequalities fuel chauvinistic attitudes.

Academic Staff and the Continuity of Regimes

Associate Professor Rumen Petrov opens the discussion by drawing a parallel between intellectual approaches in Romania and Bulgaria. He cites the Romanian historians Lucian Boia and Eugen Weber (Eugene Weber) as examples of emancipated and anti-nationalist thought.

In the Bulgarian context, Associate Professor Rumen Petrov emphasizes the lack of a radical transition in academic circles after 10 November 1989. As an example, he cites his own research on the Institute of Contemporary Social Theories within the Central Committee of the Bulgarian Communist Party, whose members, following the changes, continued to publish academic works without hindrance. He also cites the report by Prof. Mito Isusov from early 1990, which rapidly redefined the mission of Bulgarian historiography—shifting from Marxism and class struggle to the development and defense of Bulgarian national identity. According to Petrov, official Bulgarian scholarship remains faithful to myths such as the “1,300-year-old state,” “the greatness of the Thracians,” and “Turkish bondage,” in which the Russian monarchy and the USSR invested heavily from a historical perspective.

The Intellectual Debate on Identity: Bulgaria vs. Romania

Vladimir Mitev expands on the topic of Lucian Boia, whose books have also been translated into Bulgarian, and emphasizes that in Romania there is a lively and dynamic debate on national identity. Unlike in Romania, where books on this topic circulate throughout the country and spark widespread discussion among intellectuals, in Bulgaria national identity is perceived more as something static and imposed from above.

Mitev points out that the connection between the elites and the people in Bulgaria is weaker, and discussions are often limited to Facebook posts. He also notes that critical historians such as Lucian Boia and Neagu Djuvara acknowledge the cultural and historical contribution of Bulgarians to the formation of the Romanian nation, which points to the potential for building a shared, cross-border history without aspirations for cultural hegemony.

The Phenomena of “Dacomania” and “Protocronism”

Regarding the persistent search for evidence of the antiquity of their own people, Vladimir Mitev explains the concept of protochronism in Romania, which was consolidated during the Nicolae Ceaușescu era. This narrative, expressed through the idea that the Romanians (the Dacians) are first in everything, emerges as a reaction to the theory of synchronism (Romania’s connection to Western Europe).

Associate Professor Rumen Petrov draws a parallel with the Bulgarian context, defining Bulgarian Thracian studies (developed by researchers such as Alexander Fol and Ivan Marazov under the auspices of Ludmila Zhivkova) as the “twin sister” of Romanian Dacian studies. Both phenomena are considered politically motivated attempts to construct national greatness.

Social Inequalities as a Driver of Nationalism

Both speakers agree with the thesis that economic and social factors play a key role in the resurgence of nationalism:

• In Romania: Over 50% of the economy is owned by foreign corporations. This causes a portion of the population to feel marginalized in their own country, which generates a strong nostalgia for the Ceaușescu regime (including among young people) and fuels sovereignist platforms such as the AUR party.
• In Bulgaria: Lecturer Rumen Petrov points out that Bulgarian historiography has been chauvinistic since its inception in the late 19th century and has always obscured serious social inequalities. With the weakening of communist internationalism, the authoritarianism of former leaders easily finds a new form in nationalism. He links the rise of the oligarchy to the rise of national chauvinism and attacks on human rights culture.

Opportunities for Alternative Spaces and Progressive Movements

Vladimir Mitev draws attention to the existence of a strong and intellectually influential left, as well as a progressive subculture in Romania, both of which are equally absent in Bulgaria. Thanks to state funding from Romania’s National Fund for Culture, “political theater” projects are being developed , and communities in cities such as Sibiu, Cluj-Napoca, and Bucharest are succeeding in building a sustainable critical mass. As an example of political renewal among the younger generation (Gen Z), he mentions the new progressive party “Sens” or the election of Nicu Ștefănuță as an independent member of the European Parliament (he later joined the Greens).

The Lack of a Critical Discussion on Bulgarian Fascism

At the end of the discussion, Associate Professor Rumen Petrov analyzes why Bulgaria lacks figures such as the Romanian director Radu Jude, who explores themes of racism against the Roma and Romanian fascism.

Rumen Petrov reviews the academic biographies of several prominent contemporary Bulgarian historians from the Bulgarian Academy of Sciences (BAN), Sofia University (SU), and New Bulgarian University (NBU) (Prof. Iliyana Marcheva, Prof. Daniel Vachkov, Prof. Momchil Metodiev, Prof. Veselin Metodiev, and others) and concludes that their research lacks a systematic tendency to analyze the Bulgarian Legions, fascism, or communism as expressions of a profound social crisis. According to him, institutional historiography in Bulgaria continues to produce knowledge in which universal humanism is not a fundamental value.

Interview

Introduction

In the June issue of the Marginalia Club, we speak with psychiatrist and university lecturer Rumen Petrov and Romanian-speaking journalist Vladimir Mitev, founder of the website Cross-Border Talks. Why, after the end of communism, did nationalism inherit some of the symbolic resources of the old regimes? Are the processes of “Dacomania” in Romania and Thracian mythologies in Bulgaria similar, and what do they tell us about the need for national exclusivity in post-communist societies?

Demystifying History in Romania and Bulgaria

Iuliyana Metodieva: Good afternoon, gentlemen. I’ve invited you here to discuss the theme of the past and how it is present—for better or worse—in our contemporary societies. Bulgaria and Romania are not only centuries-old neighbors, but they also share common spaces, histories, and similar, complex political destinies. Please, Mr. Rumen Petrov.

Rumen Petrov: This topic can be approached from many perspectives. Personally, I will approach it from the Romanian perspective. I am referring to two remarkable historians whose way of thinking, to a certain extent, I find lacking in the humanities in Bulgaria. I am referring to Lucian Boia and to a cosmopolitan historian—though born and raised as a Romanian (and British-French-American)—Eugen Weber (Eugene Weber). Perhaps his name is pronounced differently depending on his nationalities. But I associate both of them with Romania.

There are, of course, other historians of this kind who come from Romania—they were likely educated there and advocate (as I like to call it) an emancipatory perspective on history and, above all, on nationalism and the mythology associated with it, which is an inherent part of this style of mobilizing people into group identities with a very high destructive potential. This is the first approach—from Romania’s perspective.

The second thing I’ll mention—and after which I’ll turn the floor over to my colleague—is that Weber, unfortunately, is no longer with us. As for Lucian Boia, whose “History and Myth in the Romanian Consciousness” is a true joy for my anti-nationalist soul, I do not know if he addresses the transition from Romanian totalitarianism (under Gheorghiu-Dej and Ceaușescu) to the post-totalitarian period. My personal interest in this topic—the transition—dates back several years, when, as part of my research related to the “brain” of the Central Committee of the Bulgarian Communist Party (BCP) from 1984 to 1990, I came across a “think tank” of the People’s Republic of Bulgaria—more precisely, of the Central Committee of the BCP—called the Institute for Contemporary Social Theories. And I discovered just how many of the academic staff at this very large institution —scientific, ideological, and of every other kind—continued to write and produce academic work, to engage in scholarship after 10 November 1989 without any interruption, a continuity that both linked and distinguished their work as employees of the Central Committee from their academic output as leading scholars in the 1990s, as well as in the new century, now in the new millennium. These are my two thoughts to begin our conversation.

Vladimir Mitev: That’s a good way to get into the topic, since these names are important. Now, Eugen Weber, as far as I know, writes mostly about French or Western topics, not so much about Romanian ones. I have no idea what exactly he has written, but I have had the honor of reading Lucian Boia, whom I should mention has also been translated into Bulgarian. I know of two of his books in Bulgarian—both translated by Stiliyan Deyanov—“History and Myth in the Romanian Consciousness” (2010) and “Balchik: The Little Paradise of Greater Romania” (2014).

Furthermore, I can say that, 15 years ago and even longer, he was very much in vogue. When I took my first significant steps in Romania and walked through bookstores, I saw that they were filled with the most diverse books by Lucian Boia. He described Mihai Eminescu as an absolute symbol of Romanian culture and consciousness. He wrote about how Romania became “Romanianized.” His book on Romanian exceptionalism, “Why Is Romania Different?”—or perhaps it would be better to translate it as Why Is Romania a Different Kind of Country?—is also very well known.

In addition to Boia’s books—and other intellectual works—I was struck by Romanian society’s keen interest and great curiosity regarding Romanian identity. It seems to me that I haven’t sensed such curiosity and engagement in Bulgaria to the same extent: to be interesting to ourselves. I think that, as part of our education and socialization as Bulgarians, we learn things that we all know to a greater or lesser extent—how the Bulgarian nation was formed, what countries it had, what territories it ruled (especially that’s what we learn). But I don’t think there’s a dynamic debate about what it means to be Bulgarian. Bulgarian identity is something imposed from above and static. It is endlessly reproduced. But it seems to have a hard time existing in the plural and within an internal, non-hegemonic dialogue.

This is what I find interesting about Romanians—it seems that in Romania there is an intellectual debate and a dialogue both about Romanian identity and, more generally, about Romania itself, about any Romanian social issue—which is much more vibrant than in Bulgaria.

I can cite as an example an acquaintance of mine, university professor Gelu Sabău, who published a book on Romanian modernity and how it evolved throughout the 20th century, from nationalism and legionaryism to national-communism. His book was first presented during a debate with other intellectuals in Bucharest, then toured the cities of Iași, Cluj, and Timișoara. In each location, local intellectuals engaged in discussion with him.

In my opinion, something like this rarely happens in Bulgaria—for someone to publish a book that tours the country and sparks a lively dialogue.

I would even go so far as to say—and I apologize if this sounds nihilistic—but there simply isn’t anyone to discuss things with, in my view. Or perhaps, with a few exceptions, there isn’t anyone writing such books that would spark broader interest. The connection between the elites and the people in Bulgaria is weaker than it is in Romania. We tend to post on Facebook instead, and that’s how we reach a certain audience.

And one more thing about Lucian Boia: his grand idea—with which he is associated and for which he is criticized (you can imagine there are critics of his as well)—is the demythologization of Romanian history. What struck me there was that he is one of those few historians—I’d also add Neagu Djuvara, an Aromanian, who was also quite elderly and lived a long life, over 100 years. When I read their books, which are part of this dialogue and this Romanian debate about what it means to be Romanian, it struck me that they seem to have a positive attitude toward the Bulgarian cultural contribution to the formation of the Romanian nation.

I have encountered the view in Bulgaria that Romania does not acknowledge the role of the medieval Bulgarian state or even the contemporary migrations from Bulgaria to Romania in the 18th and 19th centuries, which played a part in the formation of the Romanian state. Reading Boia and Djuvara’s books, I was left with the impression that these facts are known and acknowledged in Romania.

I’m also struck by the fact that, when I speak with Romanians—when they see that I’m not obsessed with the desire to “revive” them as Bulgarians—the Romanians themselves suddenly begin to talk about how they have a Bulgarian grandfather or how there’s an intertwining of Bulgarians and Romanians. And so it seems to me that we might eventually arrive at another debate and discussion. I’m not even sure if this is a topic for our discussion, but just as there is now discussion about Macedonia—even today and yesterday, in the context of the debates in the European Parliament—that there is a shared history, and in the case of Romania there are historical figures, both from the Middle Ages and from more recent eras, regarding whom the official Bulgarian position is that they are Bulgarians, while the official Romanian position maintains that they are Romanian patriots. It is interesting to consider whether, when we speak without hegemony—simply when we speak normally—it might turn out that we can even find common elements in our identities that both sides can recognize. Not as a cause for dispute and conflict, but to be regarded as a shared element of our identity. In general, if we want to promote the demythologization of history, we could take a step forward—so that history is not nation-centered but shared, so that identity is dynamic, and so that there is non-hegemonic communication and mutual enrichment among its Bulgarian, Romanian, and other elements…

Rumen Petrov: I believe that, speaking in general terms—so that exceptions remain visible—Bulgarian historiography is not Russophile, but it is loyal to the mythology characteristic of constructs such as “the 1,300-year-old Bulgarian state,” “The Greatness of the Thracians,” “The Greatness of the Bulgarian Renaissance ,” “Turkish Yoke,” “the Russo-Turkish War of Liberation,” and “the National Ideal”—in many of which the Russian monarchy’s contribution was indisputable and immense. Not to mention the state-building efforts undertaken by Russia and the USSR in Bulgaria during the 19th and 20th centuries. The same goes for anti-Westernism, so dear to the hearts of many of our historians.

Lucian Boia writes his book, if I am not mistaken, within the French context, which already suggests a possible source of alternative thinking, free from the nationalism of academic institutions. Our historians who appreciate Lucian Boia either stand completely outside the local regimes of —nationalism, such as Chavdar Marinov, or on the fringes of them, such as Dimitar Atanasov, who currently works at the Institute of Ethnography—a very fresh voice in this regard, an anti-nationalist, a very humane historian—as well as Zlatko Enev with his latest book. Enev has published and prepared many works over the years in the pages of his online journal, which is also certainly on the margins of academic historiography. Thus, Bulgarian denationalism—the liberation of Bulgarians from nationalism—does not take place within the mainstream of the academic community. Among Bulgarian historians at the Bulgarian Academy of Sciences, as well as among many Bulgarian university professors of history, we will not find any outspoken supporters of Lucian Boia, with the exception, once again, of those working at the intersection of history and literature, such as Nikolay Aretov (a professor of literature and literary history), and perhaps Associate Professor Stefan Dechev… I hope there are others as well; I believe there are others. But I don’t know them yet.

Rumen Petrov: From an anthropological-institutional perspective, Bulgarian historians at the Bulgarian Academy of Sciences (BAN) and Bulgarian history professors do not write—and I’m not sure if they think—in the spirit of Lucian Boia.

I would say—and in the spirit of Eugen Weber as well—that they would not have become academics and professors if they had allowed themselves to think in this way. Even, in theory—professional historians who enjoy freedom, such as Diana Mishkova and Rumen Daskalov—are, in their prolific work, extremely cautious, not to say cold, toward the anti-nationalist stance of the Balkan scholars Boia and Weber.

I do not know whether Lucian Boia would have held a professorship at the University of Bucharest or at any other university (there are many universities in Romania outside of Bucharest, some of which are very renowned—my colleague will elaborate), but marginality remains a prerequisite for a humanistic approach to these issues in both Bulgaria and Romania. And yet, our academics who have made a name for themselves abroad avoid this topic.

We recall the scandal involving Martina Beleva regarding Batak, and we are also quite aware of the work of our most famous historian who made her name “abroad”—Professor Maria Todorova, whose writing is very far removed from this type of critical humanities, as practiced by Boia and Weber. And she is considered a benchmark, at least by the cultural studies scholars who have been prominent in the media over the past 30 years, such as Ivan Krastev and Alexander Chiosev.

As for the incredible (but only in Bulgaria) work of contemporary historical thought, “The History of Southeastern Europe from the Early Middle Ages to the Present”, edited by Konrad Clewing and Oliver Jens Schmidt, translated by Prof. Rumiana Preshlenova, nothing has yet been said. Machiel Kiel must constantly emphasize that he is a “friend of Bulgaria,” and yet the academic establishment views him with a critical eye, while Justin McCarthy is openly despised.

The Search for Antiquity in Southeast Europe

Yuliana Metodieva: Vladimir Mitev, why do you think both Bulgarian and Romanian societies feel a constant need to seek evidence that their people are the oldest, the first, and the most important? What psychological complex lies behind this insistence on seeking evidence that their people are the oldest? You often speak of “Dacomania.”

Vladimir Mitev: I don’t agree that Romanian society as a whole has such a need. Perhaps a part of it finds this mythology surrounding the Dacians interesting. Where should we look for the roots of this phenomenon? It seems that its origins are marked by Nicolae Ceaușescu’s rise to power.

Initially, he came to power as a reformer, but over time, it became clear that he was developing a vision of Romania as a kind of autarky. It was meant to be a fortress—neither with the West nor with the East—something akin to Iran after the 1979 revolution. I suppose this vision of the state is directly linked to the assertion of Dacian identity, because, as far as I know, there are two major currents in Romanian culture regarding Romania’s place in the world.

I probably won’t surprise any of you if I say that one of them is synchronism—that is, the idea that Romania is in some way connected to Western Europe. This is where the idea of an island in a sea of Slavs comes in. There is, however, a certain sense of exceptionalism—Romania is a sort of younger brother to France, Italy, and so on. But synchronism is linked to Romania’s lag behind the West and the way in which it must adopt norms, standards, technologies, and behaviors from the West.

There is, however, another theory, which Ceaușescu, as I said, supports—prochronism. This is, perhaps, a reaction to the first theory. And this is the idea that Romanians are first in everything, that they invented some of the world’s most important medicines, that the very first airplane was theirs. A person who is still alive—and a highly respected figure in the theater world—told me a few years ago that the gods of Greek mythology are, in fact, Dacian gods whom the Greeks stole.

So, this is an important line of thought which, in my opinion, is linked to the fact that Romania wants to have self-confidence, to define itself through its own identity and through its past and roots, even if these are very difficult to establish—because we don’t know exactly what the Dacians were like. They didn’t have a writing system.

And today, since this aspect certainly matters in one way or another, this cultural and identity-based trend from the Ceaușescu era has not been erased. And today it seems to me that it is becoming a cultural refuge—not the only one, of course, but there is simply a body of narratives, heroes, and myths that offers a segment of the Romanian population, of Romanian society, the opportunity to feel that they are participating in the social game and in social relations by embracing these ideas, heroes, and concepts.

Perhaps in the 1990s it was easy to say that there were winners and losers of the transition. Some very quickly transformed their influential positions from the socialist era into influential positions under capitalism. There are people who, for various reasons, lost out as a result of this transition, and they are usually considered to fall under the influence of ultra-nationalist ideas. But 35 years have already passed since the beginning of this transition, and it is clearly in different stages now.

It is important to note that, in the Romanian economy, over 50% of ownership belongs to foreign corporations, unlike in other economies, such as Bulgaria’s. Here we complain about the mafia, not about corporations. And in Romania there are people who, obviously, feel marginalized in their own country. At the very least, their social criticism is based on economic arguments—that foreign capital controls the resources, perhaps owns the properties, controls the banks, and is present wherever there are flows of money.

There is a certain segment of the Romanian population that is likely linked to this foreign capital and is profiting and strengthening its financial position, but there is also a segment that is not so directly linked to it or has no connection to it at all. This group relies instead on what remains of Romania’s domestic capital. It is precisely within this group that I believe we are more likely to find people — people who are Orthodox or Protestant, who likely live in smaller towns and are also admirers of the Legionnaires from the pre-socialist era and the Ceaușescu era, these two tendencies being united by the AUR party, which you have heard of.

Dr. Rumen Petrov, why is Bulgaria facing difficulties in creating a space for critical historical memory?

Rumen Petrov: History is never just history. What is usually overlooked is that history is a product of the functioning of specific institutions, which, in turn, operate within the context of specific societies, states, and cultures and are part of them… I am impressed by Heidegger’s Crisis: Philosophy and Politics in Nazi Germany, written by an American professor, likely of German-Slavic origin—Hans Sluga. What is striking about this extremely erudite and highly readable text is the extent to which German academic philosophy participated on a large scale in the National Socialist process, in the fascistization of society and academic institutions, particularly in Germany during the 1930s. And the fact that, under no circumstances, in any way, can Heidegger’s shame and guilt—with which he is associated—be considered an exception.

In fact, on a massive scale—with very few exceptions—academic philosophy departments were “National Socialistized.” On a massive scale, philosophers began to construct the German spirit, the German nation, and the like, in full accordance with the spirit of Johann Fichte—the father of nationalist philosophy in Germany in the early 19th century.

Many of our history departments have “thrown themselves headlong” into that sordid process, which has escalated (very conveniently for the EU’s opponents) to the point of blocking the Republic of North Macedonia’s accession to the Union. The dispute over the Macedonian language would have been entirely different within the EU, compared to the one unfolding “at the threshold” or, rather, “over the fence.”

We do not have a book like Hans Sluga’s on the role of the Serbian Academy of Sciences in the 1990s in shaping the fascist policy of the Serbian state at that time, with the consequences that followed. The Croatian Academy of Sciences probably wasn’t far behind either, but I know nothing about that, though it wouldn’t surprise me. History always means different things, much more than just a story—it means the agenda; it means institutional tasks, and these institutional tasks are linked to concrete problems, almost always of a group-mobilizing and political nature, faced by the society that creates, cultivates, and sustains the institution of history. And these tasks are rarely universally human. On the contrary, they are selective from a human perspective. That is to say—inhuman.

But what do you think about academia situated between knowledge and national mobilization?

Rumen Petrov: In the same way, in Bulgaria, someday (not soon), national policy regarding folklore and the Bulgarian language will be called into question. It will happen slowly. A sign of this slowness is, for example, the revival of so-called Thracian studies, which has its origins in the archaeology and imperialist ideology of Bogdan Filov, passing through “Fol-Zhivkova” (Alexander Fol—ed.) to “Fol-Marazov” (Ivan Marazov—ed.). It is precisely this revived Thracian studies that is a very good—how shall I put it?—adversary from across the Danube, but also a sort of twin sister to Dacian studies in this myth-creating—admittedly ridiculous and inhumane in itself—way of formulating national identity, with all the political consequences that this entails in our day and age! Something Ceaușescu did, but which our own regime had also begun to do, in the person of Liudmila Zhivkova, mentored by Prof. Alexander Fol and Prof. Bogomil Raynov. And not only that, and not only that. If Ludmila Zhivkova had continued her brilliant “Greater Bulgarian” career, she would not have been very far from Ceaușescu’s rhetoric.

The Role of State and Public Institutions in the Mythologization and Heroization of History in Southeast Europe

Why is this heightened interest in myths and heroization encouraged by the media, politicians, and academic circles? Is there a connection to the disappointment with the post-1989 transition?

Vladimir Mitev: I’ve already given an example of the economic landscape in Romania and how there are those who have lost out and who likely find hope in the pre-1989 situation, in order to secure a position and remain united in the present. Let’s remember that Romania is a country with immense nostalgia for Ceaușescu. I can’t give you exact figures at this moment, but this nostalgia is immense. When we go to Romania, we meet people in the big cities—educated, middle class—but Romania has a large population that doesn’t fit this profile. And I’ve encountered this sentiment—that Ceaușescu did, after all, bring important things, such as the subway, the canal in Northern Dobrogea—in other words, various things he left to his country.

I’m not saying this is the only opinion, but there are various attitudes. I suppose that people who, for economic reasons, feel somehow excluded from the game or marginalized, turn to such cultural trends or ideologies that appear to be ideologies of resistance. And this leads to a situation where there are legislative proposals in the Romanian Parliament from the Save Romania Union party to ban communist symbols entirely, and to ban the party called the Romanian Socialist Party—the party of the communists in Romania—simply because there are certain fears that this nostalgia is, in fact, extremely popular among young Romanians. This is interesting and perhaps warrants discussion.

I don’t know if this process is observed exactly in this way here, but in Romania many young people are on the left—and this can mean both pro-European in the European sense and pro-LGBT in the progressive sense, but it can also mean “on the left” in the sense that they feel nostalgia for Ceaușescu, without having lived during his time. This is viewed with concern by Romania’s liberal elites. And one of the reasons, in my opinion, is economic in nature, while the other reason (as Rumen Petrov mentioned) lies in state institutions—whether cultural institutions or law enforcement agencies, trends within society itself, which carry the influence and spirit of bygone eras. These are in competition with institutions that are more deeply integrated into the Western European business environment.

This is a competition that, perhaps, is somewhat less intense in our society, but in Romania it is very acute. Even at this very moment, there is a political crisis stemming precisely from the fact that one faction, so to speak, is acting through Mayor Nicușor Dan and attempting to seize power, while the other faction opposes it, and the two sides are finding it extremely difficult to reach an understanding. It seems that everything must collapse before people can understand. Tension has been rising steadily for several weeks now. And this is precisely because these forces exist—I would say they are forces operating within the state—and as long as these forces exist, people in society will take a stance toward them, and some will side with them.

​Rumen Petrov: There is a renowned historian named Mito Isusov, a professor and corresponding member of the Bulgarian Academy of Sciences (BAN). Mito Isusov was director of the BAN Institute of History until November 10, 1989. I came across a paper of his from the early days of 1990. He was still director, and I was surprised by how prepared he was for the change, nearly a month after the fall of the regime, which had turned everything upside down. Mito Isusov, who had certainly been writing for at least 40 years in the spirit of communist historiography—of class struggle and the importance of the proletariat’s victory over capitalism and imperialism— is ready—he is not alone, of course—for the (new) mission of Bulgarian historiography. Quite simply, the man cannot figure out whether there is a transition. Whether there is any problem at all. In fact, Isusov is clear—the problem is Zhivkov and his personal power. And Isusov is ready and asserts that Bulgarian historiography, setting aside the arbitrariness of Zhivkov’s dictatorship, must focus on Bulgarian national identity and must continue to develop Bulgarian national identity. And that this is a finished project, a finished product, a mission, and—if I may say so—a discourse.

At the same time, I believe (and here I hope other historians will likely agree—in fact, I am a completely amateur historian) that nationalist thinking bordering on chauvinism, which we like to recognize in others—in late Yugoslav communism or late Romanian communism—is certainly present in late Bulgarian communism, but it is weaker in the early communist periods. Back then, in fact, “internationalism” and non-nationalist ideologies were surprisingly popular — or perhaps as one might expect —, even dominant.

As communism weakened and social inequalities intensified (this is the key word) — as social inequalities grew, chauvinistic interpretations and this kind of mythology became important mobilizing factors for the organization of society. The authoritarianism of the former communists turns them into very convenient nationalists. In the authoritarianism of nationalism, the authoritarianism of communism finds a perfect fit. And a modern one at that. This is called “conservative” or “right-wing” values.

Such a phenomenon is unfolding before our eyes, in real time, in the United States; it is unfolding in real time in Eastern European countries, such as the former GDR (today—reunified Germany), but it is also happening in other parts of Eastern Europe. A similar phenomenon is occurring in Russia as well, with the rehabilitation of Stalin through Great Russian chauvinism (a popular apologist for this being, for example, Prime Minister Radev) and the tendency of the Russian Orthodox Church, for instance, to deny the crimes of the totalitarian regime. The nationalist slogan (“America, Russia, etc. … First”) is experiencing a sort of resurrection from the grave and goes hand in hand with xenophobia and an increased concentration of economic and political power (the oligarchy).

The rise of the oligarchy in our country, beginning with the Saxe-Coburg-Gotha dynasty, must not be viewed in isolation from the rise of national chauvinism and the attacks on the culture of human rights by political parties, their academic mentors, and their clients. I repeat once more: it is believed that the exacerbation of social inequalities has a positive correlation with this type of mythology and chauvinistic attitudes.

I am quick, as usual, to provoke the audience and say that Bulgarian historiography has been chauvinistic since its inception in the mid-to-late 19th century, and that what is rarely mentioned about this chauvinism is that it is linked to a high degree of social inequality, which shook and tore apart Bulgarian society from the founding of the new Bulgarian state until 1944. This aspect is somehow constantly and easily overlooked.

Vladimir Mitev: Yes, I think I alluded to this in a way, since I spoke about the fact that, after 35 years of democracy and capitalism in Romania, there are people who—from what I’ve read in their media, whom I’ve met and with whom I’ve communicated, including their analysts and so on— — they claim that Romanians are turning into people without property, into salaried employees and nothing more in their own homeland. And this immediately triggers a reflex: how is it possible that foreign forces and foreign companies dominate my country? And, in a way, of course, this discussion also arises immediately—that there are traitors to the state who serve foreign interests and so on.

But, in my opinion, the reason is not solely economic. Rumen Petrov points out that we notice nationalism in our neighbors, but we don’t see it as much in ourselves. There is something that I consider very important and characteristic of relations between Bulgarians and Romanians—perhaps even throughout the entire Balkan region: we project onto our neighbors what we ourselves are and what we carry within us.

I may not be an expert in psychology—I hope I’m not stepping on Rumen’s turf here, where I’m a true amateur—but Jung has this idea about the shadow. It seems that some people in Bulgaria were very afraid that George Simion or Călin Georgescu might have “liberated” Southern Dobruja (the Quadrilateral)—I’m not sure exactly what they meant. I’d like to emphasize this point—that no such claims exist, and, in my opinion, it’s clear why they won’t exist in the future either. We’re part of the European Union, and this has significance for those states and for the systems that govern them. We note that when Kostadin Kostadinov made territorial claims, they were directed at North Macedonia and Southern Bessarabia—Romania was not mentioned at all. And in Romania, too, there are such fears that Kostadinov might have “liberated” Northern Dobruja.

The accusations leveled at sovereignist politicians highlight the extent of a fear that is, in my opinion, unjustified. We project onto our neighbors what lies within us. And if we want to escape the trap of thinking that our neighbors are nationalists, perhaps we should work on our own shadow, which we project outward onto them.

What are the driving forces behind historical revisionism, this Marxist trend that is beginning to masquerade as liberal but remains rather vague and amorphous?

​Rumen Petrov: Well, it all begins with how the academic environment emerged in Bulgaria. The first lecturers, professors, and future professors—most often, though not exclusively, from universities in Russia, Germany/Prussia, and Austria-Hungary (Vienna) (and to a lesser extent from France, Italy, and other countries)—brought this trend with them after 1878. They came to create a nation, to teach the peasants to submit to a unitary state, with a single language and a single history, forged out of nothing—but precisely for that reason needing to transform its shortcomings into motivating national projects of an irredentist, mythical-nostalgic, and deeply hypocritical nature.

The lack of urban culture is replaced by the fetishization of traditional, tribal, enchanting folklore—subject to colonization and transformation into a museum piece… And, in fact, there is absolutely no such thing in Bulgarian academia as what we might call economic, social, or cultural history, rather than a critique of the justice or injustice of social relations.

Justice has been de-academicized, left to the realm of politics; in universities, speaking about the unequal distribution of social product is extremely unpopular, if it is ever done at all. In any case, certainly not during the “Zveno” junta, so beloved by the Bulgarian Communist Party (BKP)? Memories of the Bulgarian academic milieu prior to 1944 do not in any way include an economic critique of the way of life at that time. At least economic historians—almost all of whom are affiliated with the University of National and World Economy (formerly the “Karl Marx” Economic Institute)—make no mention of this. They are busy building capitalism, and they do so immediately after leaving the well-paid ideological front lines within AONSU and ISST.

To a large extent, we live with the idea (we are indoctrinated) that after 1878 there was an economic rise and progress, a general enrichment, which began with emancipation and the establishment of the new state—a rise and enthusiasm that, in turn, were destroyed by the “Russian boot” and the Soviet army, which came because we were foolish enough to ally ourselves with Hitler, and so on.

At the same time, the brutal impoverishment of some and the incomprehensible enrichment of many others within the nation-state—this capitalism that tears apart the social fabric and invades it—is considered a byproduct, something that doesn’t matter. Yet it is upon this that the influence of the Bulgarian Communist Party is based; it is upon this that the latent civil war waged for decades is based; and it is upon this, to a large extent, that the Balkan wars are based—wars which, however, are not viewed from this perspective either, but are instead regarded as manipulative tactics of Western Europe, which was pulling the strings, while we, here, were like headless flies.

The internal weakness of societies—generated by severe social inequalities that are incomprehensible and unorganized in political representation, in texts, and in culture—is an absolutely dark, absolutely dominant, and powerful aspect of our society. Literally like dark matter, which we know sustains the Universe, even though we cannot see it in any way, but we know it exists because visible matter cannot explain the cosmos or society.

The available historical knowledge about the period up to 1944—the popular, mass, public accounts—has a huge gap. It cannot explain the permanent militarization and social division, in the sense of the draconian (and, at the same time, ineffective) laws regarding the fight against banditry, the defense of the state, the defense of the nation, etc., which are so brutal and inhumane. We know everything about Kimon Georgiev (but nothing about his wonderful relations with the USSR), but we do not like to address economic history as the root cause of social weakness. I draw attention to this point, because all of this is right before our eyes when we fear the periodic waves of chauvinism that rise from Argentina to the Canadian border, passing through East Germany, France, Slovakia, and back. If we do not do so, we will continue to celebrate Botev and Levski in a foolish way, rather than in a historical and humane way.

Vladimir Mitev: I, too, will speak more about a social trend than about specific individuals.

I have a privilege that I believe few Bulgarians have—I have communicated and still communicate with left-wing Romanian intellectuals, and I respect and deeply value this experience I have with them, precisely because this is a different Romania. Here, it’s commonly believed that Romanians are a kind of “model”—they fight corruption, buy Western weapons, oppose Russia, are pro-American, pro-Polish—in a way, they are everything we are not, and it’s said that we should follow their example.

These are clichés, and at best, the characteristics described represent only one of the many trends in Romania. What I find interesting is that, when analyzing or organizing public events, there is, in my opinion, a somewhat more influential “left” in Romanian society—and I’m not referring to the political left, not in the sense of a party like the BSP. I’m referring to people who are intellectually committed to certain progressive values. And currently, in my view, they are much more influential than their counterparts in Bulgaria, to the extent that they hold power at the University of Sibiu, and at the University of Cluj-Napoca I believe they hold the chair of sociology, and they are making their mark in other places as well. Some of them can also be found at the University of Bucharest.

Radu Jude, a winner of several international film awards, is also part of this trend, and Romania’s National Fund for Culture has a long-standing practice of funding projects within this trend. Many of these funded projects are linked to an entire cultural movement known as political theater. Something that, in our country, seems to me to be limited to just a few people, if I’m not mistaken (some call it verbatim theater), but in Romania it’s something that entire generations—my generation, people around 40 and older—have grown up with over the past 15–20 years alongside the political theater community in Bucharest, Cluj-Napoca, and so on. And I find this interesting: the fact that, from what I observe in them, they simply live differently.

It seems to me that here, every person who considers themselves part of the elite is waging an intellectual battle against someone or something—whether against the far right, against Russia, or against any reactionary tendencies—whether in quotes or not—and in Romania, it seems to me that, to a greater extent, instead of just waging a negative battle and denying something, it’s as if they’re also doing something “positive.”

Studies are being conducted directly—including among young people, college students, and so on—regarding attitudes toward LGBT issues or other progressive matters. These are funded by the “Culture” Fund. Conferences are organized every year by this community. There is a wide variety of events taking place constantly in one form or another, and a person can live peacefully within this community, being culturally integrated into it. There is an annual calendar of events.

There are communities with a critical mass, where people can thrive intellectually and emotionally and even generate some income. It seems to me that the very existence of this community counteracts the influence of other ideologies and mentalities and allows us to see a smiling, inclusive Romania, content not because it makes a lot of money, but because it does something meaningful. In other words, there is no hegemony to the extent that I feel it in Bulgaria. I fear that in Bulgaria we dominate one another too much—some are with Radev, some with Peevski, some with Borissov, some with the liberal oligarchs, and some with the Russophiles. Even so, everyone certainly has their own valid reasons for dominating others, for wanting to limit them or nullify them, but we invest too little energy in building something new, independent, and our own.

And in this regard, it seems to me once again that I see things in Romania that are more developed. For example, even on the political front—there’s the progressive “Sens” party, which is pro-European, environmentalist, left-wing, and progressive. Critics say it’s pro-NATO and pro-Ukraine. Be that as it may, it achieved a decent result in the Bucharest mayoral election. This party is supported by young people from Generation Z (Gen Z), which in Romania often means being pro-Palestine. These young people elected an independent Member of the European Parliament—Nicu Ștefănuță, who joined the Greens. In other words, the 5% electoral threshold was surpassed solely by the votes of young people. In other words, there is a certain renewal taking place in Romanian society, which seems to me to be less noticeable here. We are very divided; we dominate one another; all our energy goes into standing in each other’s way, and nothing new can emerge.

Vladimir Mitev mentioned Radu Jude —the director who has made films about 19th-century racism against the Roma, as well as about General Antonescu’s Romanian fascism. Why don’t we see intellectuals, historians, writers, or filmmakers in Bulgaria who would examine our own authoritarian and extremely nationalist traditions with the same consistency? Why is there a lack of such critical discussion about Bulgarian fascism, the Legionary Movement, and the legacy they left behind?

Rumen Petrov: I’m reading the biography—the scholarly one—of Professor Iliyana Marcheva, who is still relatively young. She is the chair of the Scientific Council of the Institute of Historical Research at the Bulgarian Academy of Sciences.

I’m reading the biography of Professor Daniel Vachkov—who holds a leadership position at the same institute. Nowhere in it do I find research areas or works that could serve as a basis for someone to analyze the Bulgarian National Legions, Bulgarian fascism, and Bulgarian communism as expressions of a local, serious (and global, as well, but very serious) social crisis and a slowly unfolding social catastrophe, as illustrated by the history of Bulgaria in the 20th century.

I am reading the scholarly biographies of institutional leaders such as Prof. Momchil Metodiev and Prof. Vesselin Metodiev from the National Business University of Bulgaria (NBU) and Prof. Mira Markova and Prof. Ivaila Popova from the University of Sofia. “No, no, and absolutely not,” as Chudomir writes. When no one has shown you this kind of thinking, why should I believe I can do it on my own, generate this kind of—humanistic—critique of certain issues by myself? We do not have a sufficiently established tradition either in the study of the Holocaust, or in the study of fascism, or of any other phenomenon. Our institutional historians are creating a history in which humanism is not a fundamental value or, at best, is extremely selective.

Photo: Rumen Petrov (right) and Vladimir Mitev (source: The Bridge of Friendship, BTA, NBU, via Gemini)

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