Ethnic Struggle, Coexistence, and Democratization in Eastern Europe

Ethnic Struggle, Coexistence, and Democratization in Eastern Europe In societies divided on ethnic and religious lines...

Author: Sherrill Stroschein

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Ethnic Struggle, Coexistence, and Democratization in Eastern Europe

In societies divided on ethnic and religious lines, problems of democracy are magnified – particularly where groups are mobilized into parties. With the principle of majority rule, minorities should be less willing to endorse democratic institutions when their parties persistently lose elections. Although such problems should also hamper transitions to democracy, several diverse Eastern European states have formed democracies even under these conditions. In this book, Sherrill Stroschein argues that sustained protest and contention by ethnic Hungarians in Romania and Slovakia brought concessions on policies that they could not achieve through the ballot box, in contrast to more quiescent Transcarpathia, Ukraine. In Romania and Slovakia, contention during the 1990s made each group accustomed to each other’s claims and aware of the degree to which each could push its own claims. Ethnic contention became a de facto deliberative process that fostered a moderation of group stances, allowing democratic consolidation to take root slowly and organically. Dr. Sherrill Stroschein is a lecturer (assistant professor) in politics in the Department of Political Science and Program Coordinator of the MSc in Democracy and Comparative Politics at University College London. She was previously an academy scholar at the Harvard Academy for International and Area Studies and an assistant professor at Ohio University. She completed her Ph.D. at Columbia University under the supervision of the late Dr. Charles Tilly. Her publications examine the politics of ethnicity in democracies with mixed ethnic or religious populations, and her work has appeared in Perspectives on Politics, Ethnopolitics, Nations and Nationalism, and Party Politics, among other journals. She is also the editor of Governance in Ethnically Mixed Cities (2007).

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Hungary and Its Neighbors: Region and Cities of Research


Cambridge Studies in Contentious Politics Editors Princeton University George Mason University M I C H A E L H A N A G A N Vassar College D O U G M C A D A M Stanford University and Center for Advanced Study in the Behavioral Sciences S A R A H A . S O U L E Stanford University S U Z A N N E S T A G G E N B O R G University of Pittsburgh S I D N E Y T A R R O W Cornell University C H A R L E S T I L L Y ( D . 2008) Columbia University E L I S A B E T H J . W O O D Yale University D E B O R A H Y A S H A R Princeton University MARK BEISSINGER

JACK A. GOLDSTONE

Ronald Aminzade et al., Silence and Voice in the Study of Contentious Politics Javier Auyero, Routine Politics and Violence in Argentina: The Gray Zone of State Power Clifford Bob, The Marketing of Rebellion: Insurgents, Media, and International Activism Charles Brockett, Political Movements and Violence in Central America Valerie Bunce and Sharon Wolchik, Defeating Authoritarian Leaders in Postcommunist Countries Christian Davenport, Media Bias, Perspective, and State Repression Gerald F. Davis, Doug McAdam, W. Richard Scott, and Mayer N. Zald, Social Movements and Organization Theory Jack A. Goldstone, editor, States, Parties, and Social Movements Tamara Kay, NAFTA and the Politics of Labor Transnationalism Joseph Luders, The Civil Rights Movement and the Logic of Social Change Doug McAdam, Sidney Tarrow, and Charles Tilly, Dynamics of Contention Sharon Nepstad, War Resistance and the Plowshares Movement Kevin J. O’Brien and Lianjiang Li, Rightful Resistance in Rural China Silvia Pedraza, Political Disaffection in Cuba’s Revolution and Exodus Eduardo Silva, Challenging Neoliberalism in Latin America Sarah Soule, Contention and Corporate Social Responsibility Yang Su, Collective Killings in Rural China during the Cultural Revolution Sidney Tarrow, The New Transnational Activism Ralph Thaxton, Jr., Catastrophe and Contention in Rural China: Mao’s Great Leap Forward Famine and the Origins of Righteous Resistance in Da Fo Village Charles Tilly, Contention and Democracy in Europe, 1650–2000 Charles Tilly, Contentious Performances Charles Tilly, The Politics of Collective Violence Stuart A. Wright, Patriots, Politics, and the Oklahoma City Bombing Deborah Yashar, Contesting Citizenship in Latin America: The Rise of Indigenous Movements and the Postliberal Challenge Andrew Yeo, Activists, Alliances, and Anti–U.S. Base Protests



Ethnic Struggle, Coexistence, and Democratization in Eastern Europe

SHERRILL STROSCHEIN University College London


cambridge university press Cambridge, New York, Melbourne, Madrid, Cape Town, Singapore, São Paulo, Delhi, Mexico City Cambridge University Press 32 Avenue of the Americas, New York, ny 10013-2473, usa www.cambridge.org Information on this title: www.cambridge.org/9781107005242 © Sherrill Stroschein 2012 This publication is in copyright. Subject to statutory exception and to the provisions of relevant collective licensing agreements, no reproduction of any part may take place without the written permission of Cambridge University Press. First published 2012 Printed in the United States of America A catalog record for this publication is available from the British Library. Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data Stroschein, Sherrill. Ethnic struggle, coexistence, and democratization in Eastern Europe/Sherrill Stroschein. p. cm. – (Cambridge studies in contentious politics) Includes bibliographical references and index. isbn 978-1-107-00524-2 (hardback) 1. Democratization – Europe, Eastern. 2. Europe, Eastern – Ethnic relations. 3. Ethnic groups – Political activity – Europe, Eastern. 4. Minorities – Political activity – Europe, Eastern. I. Title. II. Series. jn96.a91S77 2012 320.947–dc23 2011036710 isbn 978-1-107-00524-2 Hardback Cambridge University Press has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of urls for external or third-party Internet Web sites referred to in this publication and does not guarantee that any content on such Web sites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.


In memory of Karen Lea Corrigan, my mother and encourager, and Charles Tilly, thinker, writer, and teacher



Contents

List of Figures and Tables Preface Acronyms, Abbreviations, and Terms

page xi xiii xxi

1

Ethnic Protest, Moderation, and Democratization I. Approaches to Evidence II. Protest and Democratization III. De Facto Deliberation, Moderation, and Democratization IV. Understanding Relational Dynamics V. Counterarguments VI. Next Steps

1 4 7 11 15 25 30

2

Time, Process, and Events in Democratization I. A Focus on Time: Incrementalism and Processes II. Premises of Historical Institutionalism III. Data for Event Analysis IV. A Search for Causal Mechanisms V. Examining Trajectories over Time VI. Ethnic Group Mobilization Trajectories and State Policy VII. Conclusions Ethnic Contention in Context I. A Brief History of Ethnic Interactions II. Political Institutions and Contentious Processes of Post-Socialism III. Conclusions

32 33 35 41 50 53 60 70 71 72 84 93

3

4

Local Violence and Uncertainty in Târgu Mures¸, 1990 I. Post-Revolutionary Uncertainty in a Split City II. A Riot Unfolds III. Seeing through Hungarian or Romanian Glasses IV. Vandalism of the Police Office in Miercurea Ciuc, June 1990 V. Dynamics of Mobilization

94 95 101 114 116 118

ix


Contents

x VI. VII.

5

6

7

8

Mobilization Dynamics and Number of Participants Conclusions

The Power of Symbols: Romanians, Hungarians, and King Mathias in Cluj I. Cluj: A Tale of Two Squares II. Dynamics of Mobilization III. Conclusions Forging Language Laws: Schools and Sign Wars I. Language Policies and Why They Matter II. Language Disputes in Slovakia III. Language Disputes in Romania IV. Minority Languages in Ukraine V. Interactions in Language Contention VI. Institutionalizing Language Policy: Contention and Transition VII. Conclusions Debating Local Governance: Autonomy, Local Control, and Minority Enclaves I. Autonomy and Self-Governance II. Autonomy Referendums in Transcarpathia, Ukraine, 1991 III. The Autonomy Issue in Romania IV. Slovakia: From the Komárno Autonomy Declaration to the District Debate V. Interactions in Contention over Autonomy VI. Institutionalizing Minority Autonomy: Contention and Transition VII. Assessing Trajectories VIII. Conclusions Implications of Group Interaction I. Arguments II. Implications for Democracy and Democratization in Divided States III. Implications for Examining Processes in Social Science IV. Conclusions

122 123 124 125 137 142 143 144 146 161 175 180 183 189 190 191 194 203 213 223 227 233 234 235 236 237 243 248

Appendix: Event Analysis Bibliography

251 261

Index

281


Figures and Tables

figures Map. Hungary and Its Neighbors: Region and Cities of Research page ii 1.1. Relational Map of Political Fields in a Divided Polity 19 1.2. Required Relationships for Moderation of Conflict in a Divided Polity 22 2.1. Târgu Mureş Riot, March 1990, Action Codes Using Modified Goldstein Scale 54 2.2. Elite-First Mobilization (Hypothetical) 56 2.3. Mass-First Mechanism among Hungarians in Târgu Mureş, Mid-February to March 10, 1990 57 2.4. Cross-Group Emulation in the Cluj Statue Protests, December 4–9, 1992 58 2.5. Cross-Group Emulation with Mobilization and Demobilization 59 2.6. Language Activity in Romania – HURS 61 2.7. Language Law Content and Minorities 62 2.8. Language Contention and Policy – Romania 64 2.9. Windows of Opportunity and Claim-Making in Romania, Early 1990s 66 2.10. Government Change in Status Quo and Protest: The Komárno Meeting in Slovakia 66 2.11. Government Change in Status Quo and Protest: Language of School Report Cards in Slovakia 67 2.12. Protest as Response: County Prefects in Romania 68 2.13. Romanians Protest Open Policies on Minority Language, Late 1990s 68 4.1. Târgu Mureş Activity before Riot, Action Codes Using Modified Goldstein Scale 119 4.2. Târgu Mureş Riot, March 1990, Action Codes Using Modified Goldstein Scale 119

xi


List of Figures and Tables

xii

4.3. Târgu Mureş Activity before Riot, Action Codes with Participation Weights 4.4. Târgu Mureş Riot, Action Codes with Participation Weights 5.1. Cluj Statue Controversy, 1992: Action Codes Using Modified Goldstein Scale 5.2. Cluj Statue Controversy, 1994: Action Codes Using Modified Goldstein Scale 5.3. Cluj Statue Controversy, 1992: Action Codes with Participation Weights 5.4. Cluj Statue Controversy, 1994: Action Codes with Participation Weights 6.1. Language Activity in Slovakia – HURS 6.2. Language Activity in Romania – HURS 6.3. Language Law Content and Minorities 6.4. Language Contention and Policy – Romania 6.5. Language Contention and Policy – Slovakia 7.1. Autonomy Activity in Romania – HURS 7.2. Autonomy Activity in Slovakia – HURS 7.3. Policy on Local Government/Autonomy and Minorities 7.4. Autonomy Contention and Policy – Romania 7.5. Autonomy Contention and Policy – Slovakia

122 122 139 139 141 141 160 175 184 186 187 213 223 230 232 233

tables 2.1. 2.2. 2.3. 2.4. 2.5. 3.1. 3.2. 6.1. 6.2. 6.3. 7.1. 7.2. A.1. A.2. A.3. A.4.

Newspapers Used for the Event Database Sample Cities, by Official and Hungarian Names Cities in Romania Cities in Slovakia Cities in Transcarpathia, Ukraine Significant Elections in Each State in the 1990s Ethnicity and Political Parties in the Study, 1990s Weights for Group Actions across Sample Cities Language Policy through the 1990s, in Romania, Slovakia, and Ukraine Language Policy Codes Autonomy and Decentralization Policies through the 1990s, in Romania, Slovakia, and Ukraine Autonomy and Decentralization Policy Codes and Hungarian Proposals HURS Categories for Event Data Weights for Group Actions across Sample Cities, for Chapters 6 and 7 Coding for Scales of Local Action, for Chapters 4 and 5 Mass Weights for Scaling per Number of Persons, for Chapters 4 and 5


42 43 44 45 47 87 91 160 183 184 228 229 256 256 258 259

Preface

I started this project with a basic question. While teaching English in Slovakia in the early 1990s, it became clear to me that ethnicity was of fraught political significance. Coming from the United States, where ethnicity is also often a fraught issue, I was intrigued. What was going on with ethnicity in Eastern Europe?

fieldwork and ethnography In trying to answer this question, I found that some of the most interesting insights on ethnic politics were revealed around kitchen tables or in truly unplanned and unexpected encounters. This sort of approach to information is known in my field as ethnography,1 but I tend to also think of it as simply a sensible part of answering a complex question. As political science has become more polarized over the matter of how one goes about answering questions, a few words on what I did to answer this question should establish my own boundaries around the research for this book. As part of the ethnographic portion of this research, I lived with families of different ethnic groups during my months in Eastern Europe – many, although not all, of them women who were widows. In total, I lived in eight different households representing a mixture of different groups in Romania, Slovakia, and Transcarpathian Ukraine. Through this domestic experience, I not only improved my use of these languages, but I also developed a keen respect for the concerns, claims, and understandings of locals of each group. This in-depth exposure to their ideas on a regular basis made me begin to realize just how deeply their political claims could relate to identity at certain points – but I also saw group boundaries dissolve to help a neighbor or in the conduct of business. I also learned some of the routines of discussion: controversial topics are rarely

1

Edward Schatz mentions ethnography as a sensibility that one brings to research. Schatz, “Introduction,” in Schatz, ed., Political Ethnography: What Immersion Contributes to the Study of Power (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2009), p. 5.

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breached in cross-group conversations, and it is usually polite to know a few words of the other’s language as a greeting or to smooth over everyday interactions. As I got to know some individuals over a sustained period of time, I came to trust their sincerity on these matters in a way that would not have been possible in one-off interviews. I conducted a mixture of participant observation and interviews as part of this project. Some interactions were a mixture of both. I attempted to understand the views of both groups and to absorb the more extreme and more moderate views within each group to get a sense of the range of viewpoints. When conducting interviews, I usually had a basic set of questions in mind that related to what I wanted to know about that person’s perspective, given his or her role that had first identified the person to me as a potential source of information. These questions were often introduced at the beginning of an interaction. But I found it best to allow some flexibility as the interview proceeded, as individuals often had their own stories to tell me about these subjects and often provided unexpected information.2 Trying to control these interviews fully, a practice sometimes advised as a step toward science, would have hampered my ability to obtain a full understanding of what was going on. Most of the people I met were remarkably talkative about these controversial topics, thus I have not used their actual names, save in cases of public sources or when they were speaking in an official role. I did not use tape recorders in interviews. The socialist governments had conducted extensive recording of conversations before 1989, and there was a general sense that recordings were unwelcome. Instead, I took extensive handwritten notes during the interviews and transcribed them onto a computer within a few days. I conducted the interviews in the four languages (or sometimes English with officials) without a translator. The 1990s in Eastern Europe constituted a complex period in which everything was changing, and some of the events perceived by locals to be extremely important were simply not well covered in the Western press – particularly in the early 1990s. For this reason, my first month of fieldwork in each of the three countries was fraught with misunderstanding and full of “unidentified political objects,”3 terms and events that were rapidly thrown around by my interlocutors as important but that did not yet have meaning for me. I dutifully recorded them in my field notes, and over time with fieldwork exposure discovered what most of them were – and that they were often more important than my training and initial research design might have led me to expect. When I entered the field, I wore glasses that directed me to look for “ethnic conflict.” But through exposure, I began to learn the political significance of seemingly minor items, such as statues and bilingual report cards. One imperative of inductive research is to be open to unexpected information rather than to expect the field to

2 3

Schatz, ed., Political Ethnography, p. 12, emphasizes this point. Cédric Jourde, “The Ethnographic Sensibility: Overlooked Authoritarian Dynamics and Islamic Ambivalences in West Africa,” in Schatz, ed., Political Ethnography, pp. 202–4.


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conform to one’s research design. Shutting out information in the name of project control and scientism may result in missing what is going on.4 Conducting research under conditions of tensions between groups mandates an effort to understand both perspectives on disputes. I learned each group’s language and tried to immerse myself in each perspective for this purpose. But I also wanted those I was interviewing to understand my effort to serve as a neutral observer. It seemed important to most of my interlocutors that I spoke their language, and most found it intriguing that I also spoke that of the other group. To try to remain as neutral as possible, and to project neutrality as much as possible, this linguistic absorption was crucial. I also tried to obtain exposure to both extreme and moderate opinions. Each group, as a contested field, contains a spectrum of opinion.5 Through this exposure, I tried to get a view of the social facts that operate on the ground rather than holding fast to my predisposed notions and theories. What I was told in the field reflected not only the opinions of those I met, but also my position as a young female American in their countries at a time of serious political change.6 Being female, I likely obtained more informal information from women than from men, as I was more likely to inhabit domestic kitchens than bars or pubs. A male researcher could likely have the opposite sort of exposure. On a few occasions, I had an impression that a man I was interviewing was being extremely open with his opinions because it did not occur to him that I might produce a serious project in which the material would be used. My unavoidable attributes are thus worth mention, as they had some influence on potential interactions. In addition, I likely came to these topics with my own predispositions, having grown up in a small town that was extremely divided on religious grounds. The degree to which these traits might bias the project is open to reader evaluation. I used four languages for this project: Hungarian, Romanian, Slovak, and Ukrainian. That alphabetical order also represents my descending familiarity with each, as Hungarian and Romanian remain my strongest languages years after my fieldwork. I maintain reading and verbal comprehension in Slovak and Ukrainian, in that order, although I would currently have trouble speaking them.

newspapers and fieldwork The newspapers used in this project represented all of the language groups and thus constitute written narratives of each group’s perspective on events. I turned

4 5

6

Schatz, ed., Political Ethnography, p. 315. Rogers Brubaker, Nationalism Reframed: Nationhood and the National Question in the New Europe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), Chapter 3. This point is well made by Jessica Allina-Pisano, The Post-Soviet Potemkin Village: Politics and Property Rights in the Black Earth (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2008); and Paula Pickering, Peacebuilding in the Balkans: The View from the Ground Floor (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2002).


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to the newspapers when it became clear that I simply could not obtain enough information on what was going on through discussion alone. The use of local newspapers representing each group maximized the likelihood of obtaining records of the majority of significant events for the database. Some may criticize this turn to newspapers as a deviation from ground-level discussions. But newspapers preserve the local narratives of events in great detail and remain extremely useful sources to document what is going on. They need not hinder an ability to absorb non-elite perspectives any more than might our reading of our own daily news.7 Many (but not all) of these local newspapers were initially owned by the state or by local governing bodies. Given this fact, it could at first glance seem odd that there was so much reporting on contention. But in the aftermath of socialism during the 1990s, there was a quite high standard of trying to deliver information to the public – likely a reaction to the lack of information under the socialist regimes. The public also seemed quite hungry for this information. I often saw individuals in libraries reading newspapers that they perhaps otherwise could not afford, obtaining the information as a public resource. That said, in the post1990s era there has been a substantial decline in newspaper quality, frequency, and quantity, due largely to the emergence of the Internet. These 1990s newspapers were an excellent source of local information and narratives on events. Some have continued to maintain quite high standards, but others have declined in quality or have now even ended operations – as is the case for some of their counterparts in the West. I have used event analysis in this book because it was the best way I could find to respect the empirical detail of events as they unfolded in a manner that could reveal some systematic patterns. As a social scientist, I am interested in revealing general patterns of interaction, and I do think they exist in many instances. As a relational social scientist, I have an inkling that these patterns emerge because our options as individuals are constrained within interactions. Not all might agree with these philosophical points. But I hope that social researchers might begin to have more conversations across the identity boundaries of quantitative versus qualitative and deductive versus inductive approaches. Surely the topics we study are important enough for us to use all of the research options that might be at our disposal.

a note on language and terms Individuals in Romania, Slovakia, and Ukraine tend to refer to themselves by simply using one word to denote a group, such as “Hungarian” or “Romanian,” rather than “ethnic Hungarian.” These terms are used as neutral words by locals of both ethnicities; for example, Romanians and Hungarians both use the term “Hungarian” to denote Hungarians living in Romania. The phrase 7

This may affect perceptions, but as we accept such constraints in our daily lived experience, it should not unduly hinder an effort to undertake research within the same constraints.


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“Hungarians from Hungary” is commonly used to designate those living in the Hungarian state. To reflect this local common usage, I maintain the use of the terms “Hungarian” and “Romanian” to refer to local groups in the stories. Where Hungarians in Hungary are indicated, additional words will make this clear. There is a degree of simplification inherent in the use of these categories of “Romanian” and “Hungarian,” including their related perspectives or group stances. In using these categories in the book, I am reifying them, but only to the degree that they are reified in lived experience in these contexts. In the events discussed in this book, individuals tended to adhere closely to these categories, engaging in practices that corresponded to and reified ethnic group boundaries in a remarkably consistent fashion. Where more moderate or more extreme positions of group members affect these narratives, these stances are mentioned. It is worth mention that ethnic group boundaries were somewhat weaker in Transcarpathian Ukraine than in Romania or Slovakia. The high level of ethnic mixing and the complex history of Transcarpathia perhaps foster a less bifurcated sense of “us” and “them” than do the cleavages that are clear in the Romanian and Slovak contexts. However, even in Transcarpathia the use of the term “Hungarian” retains a clear meaning. Finally, the use of the city and location names is a politically fraught issue in these states, as discussed in Chapter 6. For the sake of simplicity, I made an editorial decision for this book to use the official town names as reflected in the titular language of the state in question – although a table with both language names appears in Chapter 2. Similarly, after much consideration, I decided to use the titular abbreviations for political parties and organizations to remain consistent with this usage. However, the Hungarian abbreviations for these political parties and organizations also appear in the abbreviations list and in a table in Chapter 3. This was a difficult decision, as I am also more familiar with the Hungarian organization names in Hungarian, given my focus on local sources. It is hoped that those reading this book will understand that these decisions are editorial and not political ones.

acknowledgments A vast number of people and organizations contributed to the emergence of this book. Each was crucial for different steps of the project. I was enticed to pursue graduate study by the works of the late Joseph Rothschild. In the course of my studies, I received Foreign Language and Area Studies (FLAS) fellowships, which were administered through the Institute on East Central Europe (now part of the European Institute) at Columbia University. These fellowships, part of U.S. government Title VI funding, facilitated language study and area studies. I can see recent reductions in funding of these areas only as a tragic blow for regional understanding and good policy making. Fieldwork research was covered by a National Security Education Program (NSEP) David L. Boren Fellowship, which allowed for several months in the field, and additional support was provided by


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the Institute of War and Peace Studies and the Harriman Institute at Columbia, in conjunction with the Carnegie Corporation for a concurrent project researching the activities of nongovernmental organizations (NGOs) in the region. Support for my graduate training was provided by the Harriman Institute at Columbia University, and dissertation write-up support was provided by an American Council of Learned Societies East European Dissertation Fellowship and by an Institute for the Study of World Politics Dissertation Fellowship. I remain grateful to John Micgiel of the European Institute at Columbia, who provided me with a job that allowed me to absorb a wealth of information on Eastern Europe during my graduate training at Columbia. Joseph Rothschild inspired me to conduct graduate study, and Marguerite Freund also provided a much-needed source of encouragement through tough financial times. I am also indebted in particular to the late Charles Tilly, who was the source of inspirational ideas and an ocean of good advice, and who expressed rare faith in this project even in its early stages. He should be remembered not just for his genius but also for his serious mentoring of graduate students as well as his consistent efforts to make academia a nicer place. Peter Juviler, Ira Katznelson, and Jack Snyder also provided some extremely helpful advice on the project. Some thinking time following receipt of my Ph.D. was provided by the Institute on Race and Social Division at Boston University, and some travel support was provided by an Ohio University Research Committee Grant during my time at Ohio University. I am particularly indebted to the Harvard Academy for International and Area Studies, which provided two years of research leave from teaching at a crucial time when I was starting to fully develop the theoretical and methodological aspects of the project. It was during my time at Harvard that I embarked on a crash course in event analysis and a full empirical and methodological reworking of the manuscript, guided in particular by the wise advice of Bear Braumoeller and Takeshi Wada. Additional inspiration came from events at the Davis Center for Russian and Eurasian Studies at Harvard University, where I was an associate during this time. Once I moved to University College London (UCL), the British Academy provided a small grant for fieldwork to fill in the gaps in the newspaper data, which also inspired me to continue to develop a newspaper archive from digital photos that broadens the empirical foundation for this project and enriches the event database. The length of time required to work this project into shape means that there were a great number of people who assisted in its production, more than I will be able to possibly list here. In particular, I have made a decision not to mention here by name those who cooperated with me or gave me assistance during my time in Eastern Europe. This is simply because the content of this book could be considered controversial given the divided context, and I would not wish for any particular interpretations to disadvantage them in the future. I remain immensely grateful for the wisdom, advice, hospitality, and humor that they provided me during my time there, and I hope that my future holds many more trips to Eastern Europe to experience that way of being.


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There were no fewer than five drafts of this project, critiqued and molded at different points by a variety of smart, thoughtful readers. Those who engaged with the project at various points and in various capacities included Dan Aldrich, Jessica Allina-Pisano, Michael Barzelay, Mark Beissinger, Dana Burde, Kanchan Chandra, James Clem, Zsuzsa Csergo, Lara Deeb, Stephen Deets, Jorge Dominguez, Grzegorz Ekiert, Allyson Ford, Venelin Ganev, Elise Giuliano, Stacie E. Goddard, Kelly Greenhill, Mary Alice Haddad, Yoshiko Herrera, Patrick Thaddeus Jackson, Erin Jenne, Peter Juviler, Ira Katznelson, Charles King, John Micgiel, Daniel Nexon, Conor O’Dwyer, Roger Petersen, Jack Snyder, Charles Tilly, Takeshi Wada, Stefan Wolff, Deborah Yashar, and two reviewers from Cambridge University Press, who provided remarkably detailed and insightful comments. Andy Saff copyedited the manuscript with a careful eye, expertly removing several blemishes. Extremely useful conversations and e-mail exchanges took place with Fiona Adamson, Robert Bates, Janet Box-Steffensmeier, Bear Braumoeller, Rogers Brubaker, Lisa Conant, Farimah Daftary, Jon Fox, Ron Francisco, Deborah Gerner, John Gilliom, Ann Gordon, Anna Gryzmala-Busse, Gretchen Helmke, Nahomi Ichino, Roy Licklider, Quinn Mecham, James Mosher, Paula Pickering, Manjeet Ramgotra, Jeffrey Roberts, Stephen Saideman, Gwendolyn Sasse, Philip Schrodt, Todd Sechser, Wayne te Brake, and Lucan Way. A conference entitled “Civil Resistance and Power Politics” at Oxford University in 2007, which produced a volume of the same name edited by Adam Roberts and Timothy Garton Ash (Oxford University Press, 2009),8 was extremely helpful in clarifying some ideas on protest and contention. Some linguistic and process advice and assistance were gratefully received in the final stages of the project from Dimitry Gorenburg, Alexandra Hrycak, Laleh Khalili, Matthew Nelson, Lara Nettelfield, Oxana Shevel, Raluca Soreanu, and Andreea Udrea. Miles Irving of the Drawing Office of the Geography Department at UCL produced the map for the book, and the photographer Tibor Somogyi managed to find a negative of his 1998 photo for newspaper Új Szó (Slovakia) for the cover. A portion of the information presented in Chapters 4 and 5 appeared previously in my article “Microdynamics of Bilateral Ethnic Mobilization,” in Ethnopolitics.9 Finally, grateful thanks are due to all of those who helped to provide a friendly context in which I could produce this book. My family – and in particular my father, Tom Stroschein, and stepmother, Ruby Miles Stroschein – have been extremely supportive. Before she passed away in 2005, my mother, Karen Corrigan, was an early cheerleader for the book, even in its poorer versions, and Michael Corrigan, who preserves her memory, provided constant encouragement. 8

9

Adam Roberts and Timothy Garton Ash, eds., Civil Resistance and Power Politics: The Experience of Non-Violent Action from Ghandi to the Present (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009). Sherrill Stroschein, “Microdynamics of Bilateral Ethnic Mobilization,” Ethnopolitics 10, no. 1 (March 2011), pp. 1–34.


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My brother, the pragmatic Steven Stroschein, has been on hand to provide ample advice. Anna Balogh, ReBecca Ames Sala, and Peter Tsoulos provided continual encouragement through the home stretch. Just as the project espouses a relational approach, it emerged relationally – with insightful and nurturing influences from a diverse array of people.


Acronyms, Abbreviations, and Terms

1201

AdC AH BH CD CE CL Coexistence Csemadok Ctl EU FBIS

FSN GH

Recommendation on ethnic minority autonomy, considered by the Council of Europe and incorporated in the treaties between Hungary and Romania and between Hungary and Slovakia Adeva˘ rul de Cluj, Romanian-language local newspaper in Cluj, Romania Adeva˘ rul Harghitei, Romanian-language local newspaper in Miercurea Ciuc and Harghita County, Romania Beregi Hírlap, Hungarian-language local newspaper in Berehove, Ukraine Democratic Convention, party in Romania (also known as CDR) Council of Europe Cuvîntul Liber, Romanian-language local newspaper in Târgu Mures¸, Romania One of the Hungarian parties in Slovakia (Spolužitie in Slovak, Együttélés in Hungarian) Hungarian cultural organization in Slovakia Currentul, a statewide Romanian-language newspaper in Romania European Union Foreign Broadcast Information Service, reports produced by the U.S. Central Intelligence Agency during the time period discussed in this book National Salvation Front, a broad post-revolutionary organization in Romania that later became a political party Gömöri Hírlap, Hungarian-language local newspaper in Rimavská Sobota, Slovakia

xxi



xxii

GLR GZ Har-Cov HN HURS HZDS IDEA KDH KEDS KISz KLa KLi Lúcˇ Matica Slovenská MdC

MKDH NS NÚ NZ oblast OF

OSCE PD PDSR

General Linear Reality, model frequently used for theorizing Gemerské Zvesti, Slovak-language local newspaper in Rimavská Sobota, Slovakia Harghita and Covasna counties, two Hungarianmajority counties in central Romania Hargita Népe, Hungarian-language local newspaper in Miercurea Ciuc and Harghita County, Romania Hungarians in Ukraine, Romania, and Slovakia (book project database) Movement for a Democratic Slovakia, party led by Vladimír Mecˇ iar in Slovakia Integrated Data for Events Analysis Christian Democratic Movement, party in Slovakia Kansas Events Data System Kárpáti Igaz Szó, Hungarian-language local newspaper based in Uzhhorod, Ukraine, but also with some coverage of other towns in Transcarpathia Komáromi Lapok, Hungarian-language local newspaper in Komárno, Slovakia Komárnˇ anské Listy, Slovak-language local newspaper in Komárno, Slovakia Slovak-language local newspaper in Košice, Slovakia Slovak cultural organization Monitorul de Cluj, Romanian-language local newspaper that emerged in Cluj, Romania, in the late 1990s Hungarian Christian Democratic Party, Slovakia Népszabadság, Hungarian left-leaning newspaper in Hungary Népújság, Hungarian-language local newspaper in Târgu Mures¸, Romania Novyny Zakarpattia, Ukrainian (sometimes Ruthenian) local newspaper in Transcarpathia, Romania, based in Uzhhorod Administrative region of Ukraine, larger than raions, or counties Citizens’ Forum, anticommunist political movement in 1989 and broad political movement afterward, based in the Czech lands of Czechoslovakia Organization for Security and Cooperation in Europe Democratic Party, Romania Party for Social Democracy of Romania


Acronyms, Abbreviations, and Terms PNL PNT¸CD PR prefect PRM PSD PSDR PSM Pünkösd PUNR raion RFE/RL RL RMS Ruthenians SDK SDL’ Secuime Slovak Spectator Sme Smena SMK SNS SOP Spolužitie SR SÚ SV

xxiii

National Liberal Party in Romania Christian Democratic National Peasant’s Party, Romania Proportional Representation Head of county structures in Romania, appointed by the central government Greater Romania Party Social Democratic Party, Romania, created in 2001 from the merging of the PDSR and the PSDR Social Democratic Party of Romania Socialist Party of Labor in Romania Yearly Pentecost gathering of Hungarians in Miercurea Ciuc, Romania Romanian National Unity Party Administrative counties in Ukraine, smaller than oblasts/regions Radio Free Europe/Radio Liberty (reports and briefings) România Libera˘ , a state-level Romanian-language newspaper, Romania Romániai Magyar Szó, a Hungarian-language newspaper in Romania Local Slavic group in Transcarpathia, Ukraine Slovak Democratic Coalition Party of the Democratic Left in Slovakia Hungarian enclave region in central Romania (in Hungarian, Székelyföld) English-language newspaper in Slovakia Primary statewide Slovak-language newspaper in Slovakia after 1995 Primary statewide Slovak-language newspaper in Slovakia before 1995 Hungarian Coalition, coalition of Hungarian parties in Slovakia (MK or MKP in Hungarian) Slovak National Party Party of Civic Understanding, founded in Slovakia by Rudolf Schuster in the late 1990s Coexistence party in Slovakia Slovenská Republika, newspaper of the HZDS and government in Slovakia while the HZDS was in power Szabad Újság, a statewide Hungarian-language newspaper in Slovakia Slovenský Východ, Slovak-language local newspaper in Košice, Slovakia



xxiv

Sz Székely titular Transcarpathia TUKB TUKZ UDMR ÚS Vatra Româneasca˘ VB VPN VZ

WEIS Žitný Ostrov

Szabadság, Hungarian-language local newspaper in Cluj, Romania Hungarian subgroup, concentrated in central Romania (in English, Szekler) Group that shares the name of the state, such as Romanians in Romania Region in southwestern Ukraine (also known as Carpatho-Ukraine, Subcarpathia, and Kárpátalja) Hungarian Cultural Association of Berehove, Ukraine (in Hungarian, BMKSz) Hungarian Cultural Association of Transcarpathia, Ukraine (in Hungarian, KMKSz) Democratic Alliance of Hungarians of Romania (in Hungarian, RMDSz) Új Szó, primary statewide Hungarian-language newspaper in Slovakia Romanian cultural organization Visnyk Berehivshyny, local Ukrainian-language newspaper in Berehove, Ukraine Public against Violence, an anticommunist political movement in Slovakia in 1989 and a broad political movement in the post-revolutionary period Vörös Zászló, Hungarian-language local newspaper in Berehove, Ukraine, before the end of socialism; it preceded Beregi Hírlap World Event/Interaction Survey Area of Hungarian concentration in southeast Slovakia (in Hungarian, Csallóköz)


1 Ethnic Protest, Moderation, and Democratization

This book is about democratization under difficult circumstances. Decisions in democracies tend to be made on the principle of majority rule. But ethnic or religious minorities often hold strong views that differ from those of majorities. No matter how intense their political desires, minorities will remain outnumbered. And where such divisions are codified into ethnic or religious parties,1 these minority ethnic or religious parties will consistently lose majoritarian elections, creating “permanent” minorities and majorities. For these reasons, ethnic or religious divisions in society can hinder governance and decision making in even long-standing democracies, as minorities are expected to support institutions that rarely advance their interests.2 These potentially unstable conditions for democracy in divided polities are magnified in democratizing states, where the institutions and rules of democracy are under construction. The process of creating new democratic institutions is 1

2

Ethnic or religious parties are those in which the platforms are defined in terms of an ethnic or religious principle. See Kanchan Chandra, Why Ethnic Parties Succeed: Patronage and Ethnic Head Counts in India (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2004); and Donald Horowitz, Ethnic Groups in Conflict (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1985). Robert A. Dahl, Polyarchy: Participation and Opposition (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1971), p. 116; Kathleen Dowley and Brian Silver, “Social Capital, Ethnicity, and Support for Democracy,” Europe-Asia Studies 54 (2002), pp. 505–27, who note that minorities tend to register less polling support for democracy than do majorities; Horowitz, Ethnic Groups in Conflict; Juan Linz and Alfred Stepan, Problems of Democratic Transition and Consolidation (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1996), Chapter 2; Eric Nordlinger, Conflict Regulation in Divided Societies (Cambridge, MA: Harvard Studies in International Affairs, 1972); Alvin Rabushka and Kenneth Shepsle, Politics in Plural Societies: A Theory of Democratic Instability (Columbus, OH: Merrill, 1972); Benjamin Reilly, Democracy in Divided Societies: Electoral Engineering for Conflict Management (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2001); Philip Roeder and Donald Rothchild, eds., Sustainable Peace: Power and Democracy after Civil Wars (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2005); Joseph Rothschild, Ethnopolitics: A Conceptual Framework (New York: Columbia University Press, 1981); Dankwart Rustow, “Transitions to Democracy: Toward a Dynamic Model,” Comparative Politics 2, no. 3 (April 1970), pp. 337–63; and Timothy Sisk, Power Sharing and International Mediation in Ethnic Conflicts (Washington, DC: U.S. Institute of Peace, 1996).

1


2

Ethnic Protest, Moderation, and Democratization

like “rebuilding a ship at sea”3 – before institutions exist to channel disputes between groups, there are strident debates between them regarding the sort of institutions that should be constructed in the first place.4 Politically mobilized ethnic or religious groups often support institutions that can maximize their own powers, bringing them into disagreement with other such groups. During democratic transitions, debates over institutions often take place simultaneously with the “regular” disputes that are common to divided societies5 regarding separate visions of how the state should interact with groups. Controversies often emerge regarding the extent of state control over minorities, the languages or religions that should be endorsed in the public sphere, and the national symbols that should be on public display. Heated disagreements on these matters played a strong role in ethnic mobilization and policy formation during the 1990s in Romania, Slovakia, and Ukraine. In these states, ethnic Hungarian minorities and titular6 majorities engaged in turbulent contention over these issues throughout the decade. There was even an instance of violence between groups – in 1990, a riot between Romanians and Hungarians took place in the city of Târgu Mures¸. But even after this instance of violence, and in spite of strong disagreements between minority Hungarians and Romanians, Romania was able to establish common institutions and policies to regulate minority affairs during the 1990s. Similar successes took place in Slovakia and Ukraine. How did this process take place, given the potential troubles for divided democracies and democratizing states? I make two primary arguments in this book. First, in spite of their small numbers, ethnic Hungarian minorities in these states managed to gain political concessions through protest and contention during the 1990s. Hungarians maintain ethnic parties in these states,7 but demographic realities produce only a small number of seats for them in parliaments. Through mass protests, Hungarians were able to push for policy 3

4

5

6

7

Jon Elster, Claus Offe, and Ulrich Preuss, Institutional Design in Post-communist Societies: Rebuilding the Ship at Sea (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998). Elster, Offe, and Preuss, Institutional Design; and Samuel P. Huntington, Political Order in Changing Societies (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1968). On the dangers of democratization, see Michael Mann, The Dark Side of Democracy: Explaining Ethnic Cleansing (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2005); Edward Mansfield and Jack Snyder, Electing to Fight: Why Emerging Democracies Go to War (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2005); Jack Snyder, From Voting to Violence: Democratization and Nationalist Conflict (New York: W. W. Norton, 2000); and Jack Snyder and Karen Ballentine, “Nationalism and the Marketplace of Ideas,” International Security 21 (1996), pp. 5–40. Claus Offe, “Capitalism by Democratic Design? Democratic Theory Facing the Triple Transition in Eastern Europe,” Social Research 58 (1991), pp. 865–92. Romanian, Slovak, or Ukrainian. Terminology from David Laitin, Identity in Formation: The Russian-Speaking Populations in the Near Abroad (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1998). A justification of the use of these collective terms appears in the preface. Politically organized Hungarians also reside in Croatia, Serbia, Slovenia, and to some extent in Austria. These communities are not examined in this book.



3

concessions that they could not achieve through the formal channel of the ballot box. Protest and contention thus produced policy results that legitimized democracy for Hungarians, in spite of their small political representation.8 Ethnic Hungarians and titular majorities did not engage in protests only as expressions of identity, nationalism, or irredentism, contrary to much of the literature on nationalism. Rather, protest was a specific driver of and response to policy change and formation during the democratization process. Romania and Slovakia both experienced high levels of Hungarian protest and mobilization throughout the first transition decade of the 1990s. Because ethnic Hungarians in Romania and Slovakia are 7 and 10 percent of their respective state populations, they could not easily achieve political goals through their voting numbers. Instead, it was through protest that Hungarians in these states were able to influence institutional design and policy. And as this informal strategy of protest achieved policy concessions from majorities, Hungarians willingly acceded to formal democratic institutions in spite of the fact that they became codified as permanent minorities. A contrasting example is Ukraine, where initial strong state concessions to minorities early in the 1990s made protest a less necessary strategy for Hungarian minorities in the region of Transcarpathia. Hungarians there were certainly capable of mobilization, as shown in 1991 with the disintegration of the Soviet state and with a later push for local autonomy. But they mobilized only as a means to obtain policy change, and thus less often in Ukraine than in Romania and Slovakia during the 1990s. Second, ethnic contention helped to moderate group demands on each side during the democratization process. As Hungarians engaged in debate and political contention with titular majorities, each group became accustomed to the stances of the other group – and the degree to which they could push their own claims. In this way, ethnic contention produced a public de facto deliberative process through which democratic transition incrementally took root. Contention and protest made each group familiar with the claims of the other over time, routinizing disputes with each iteration and moderating policy outcomes. The evidence in this book demonstrates that even when ethnic politics is particularly contentious, these debates can provide the foundations for regular patterns of inter-ethnic interaction and organically establish common institutions. Ethnic claims are not intractable, as argued by much of the literature on nationalism. Instead, like other political claims, they can be moderated through debate. This process of moderation, in which repeated interaction routinized group exchanges and changed the parameters of group goals, incrementally changed the nature of ethnic politics. With time and interaction, the uncertain conditions of early 1990, in which the Târgu Mures¸ riot emerged in Romania, were never 8

A useful empirical study of these issues appears in Sonia Alonso and Rubén Ruiz-Rufino, “Political Representation and Ethnic Conflict in New Democracies,” European Journal of Political Research 42, no. 2 (2007), pp. 237–67.


4


reproduced. The riot, examined in detail in Chapter 4, took place just a few months into the transition phase and in a context of strident initial demands by each group – as well as high uncertainty about the other group’s demands. Local power relations between groups were also uncertain, given the city’s 50–50 ethnic demographic and the fact that neither local nor national elections had yet been held in Romania. But with iterated ethnic contention, groups moved further away from these uncertain conditions and initially inflexible policy positions. Through interaction, uncertainty between groups was slowly erased. Although there is an engaging literature on the increasing importance of national identity and ample literature on transitions to democracy, few studies link the two.9 This book examines how ethnic mobilization, policy formation, and democratization processes unfolded simultaneously during the first democratic decade of the 1990s in these states. Policy formation on policies relating to ethnic minorities was driven by domestic mobilization along ethnic lines. Democratization, or the institutionalization of rules to regulate disputes between groups, emerged through the course of these interactions, as groups hammered out their differences in a public process of de facto deliberation via contention.

i. approaches to evidence In a study of ethnic politics, an understanding of the dynamic interactions among groups is crucial. Moreover, explaining how processes unfold requires attention to time, sequence, and incrementalism. This study is grounded in two theoretical perspectives that can incorporate both of these aspects into analysis and explanation. First, the relational approach to the study of social life, outlined in this chapter, focuses on ties and interactions as primary units of analysis rather than emphasizing individual entities or actors. Prioritizing the dynamics of interaction among the elites and masses of each group reveals the general causal mechanisms that drive these processes. Second, the historical institutionalist approach to time, sequence, and processes provides a framework for an understanding of how events at one stage strongly affected those that followed. The evidence in his book shows how group learning and changes in group demands were endogenous to mobilization, policy formation, and democratization processes. These simultaneous and inherent feedback aspects of these processes must be incorporated directly into any viable explanation of what happened in these states during the 1990s. To put these theoretical insights to practical use, I use the technique of event analysis to approach the evidence. A discussion of the historical institutionalist approach and event analysis appears in Chapter 2, but a few points are worth noting here.

9

One exception to this point is Elise Giuliano, “Secessionism from the Bottom Up: Democratization, Nationalism, and Local Accountability in the Russian Transition,” World Politics 58, no. 2 (2006), pp. 276–310.


Approaches to Evidence

5

The book’s arguments are based on evidence from a large event database on ethnic actions and interactions in Romania, Slovakia, and Ukraine between 1990 and 1999. The event data were collected in sequence from local newspapers in these states and supplemented with interviews and other materials. In addition, the divergent views of each group on policy matters required some ethnographic research. During approximately two years of fieldwork between 1997 and 1999, I lived with both Hungarian and titular families and conducted more than 160 in-depth interviews to discern the parameters of group perspectives on policy matters. I used the four local languages for this research and did not require a translator. I have also made frequent trips to the region since the initial fieldwork and have continued to discuss ethnic politics informally with locals. Romania, Slovakia, and Ukraine were examined in this study because they contain significant numbers of politically active Hungarians with ethnic parties.10 In Ukraine, Hungarian activities are concentrated in the Transcarpathian region, where they are 12 percent of the local population. Hungarians were chosen as the group of focus because they have strong ethnic parties and are thus politically distinct from other groups. In addition, the selection of one ethnic group allows for the actions of the kin-state, Hungary, to be standardized. The cities of study for this project all lie on territories that were annexed by Hungary during World War II; such cities were chosen to control for local memories of occupation. Austria, Croatia, Slovenia, and Serbia were not included in the study, in spite of the fact that they also have Hungarian ethnic parties. This omission standardizes exposure to the European Union, as Austria became a member in 1995, and removes the disruptive effects of the war in the former Yugoslavia on political processes there. Romania, Slovakia, and Ukraine are all examples of moderating processes at work, and this study is one of most similar systems analysis. In this approach, a few cases, chosen for maximum comparability, are examined for the purposes of revealing similar causal mechanisms that can then be tested in other settings11 – often by other researchers and as part of other projects. This study does not compare explicit trajectories of violence and nonviolence, as would be the case with a comparison to the former Yugoslavia. However, with 1990 as the starting point for analysis, the detailed examination of Romania produces an explanation of how even violent events might later transform into moderating processes.

10

11

The Hungarian TUKZ and TUKB in Ukraine, while officially just cultural organizations due to Ukrainian party laws, typically run candidates for office and thus function as ethnic parties. This approach, in the form of paired comparisons, is used in Doug McAdam, Sidney Tarrow, and Charles Tilly, Dynamics of Contention (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2001); and also produces the causal mechanisms and processes in Charles Tilly, Democracy (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2007); and Charles Tilly, Contention and Democracy in Europe, 1650–2000 (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2004).


6


In this study, cases are not treated as block entities as countries but rather as trajectories that unfold over time.12 Slovakia exhibited an oscillating minority policy trajectory similar to that in Romania in the 1990s, in which policies alternated between minority-friendly and titular-friendly policies and slowly converged toward solutions that could be acceptable for both groups. Ukraine provides a contrasting case, as initial minority-friendly policies there rendered Hungarians relatively quiescent. The Ukrainian trajectory illustrates how Hungarian ethnic protest was not a product of general nationalism but rather was targeted toward specific policy goals and thus unlikely to emerge when goals were not being pursued. The evidence and arguments on these policy trajectories are summarized in Chapter 2. An examination of the causal mechanisms that produced moderating processes produces general causal statements that other researchers may test in other settings or on other case trajectories – including in nonmoderating ones. Moderation can occur only under conditions in which the causal mechanisms outlined in this chapter are not hindered by military or external intervention. Aside from this scope condition, the mechanisms should be plausible across a number of different settings. As illustrated by the Romanian case, groups need not be friendly toward each other and can even recover from an instance of violence. This example has positive implications for other democratizing places that have experienced local group violence. The remainder of this chapter outlines the primary elements of my argument on ethnic protest, moderation, and democratization. I first discuss protest and democratization and then outline how it is that this contention took a form of de facto public deliberation in these states, producing moderation via incremental interaction. There were two primary components of this deliberation: the transformation of group stances and goals over time, resulting in moderation; and an active role for ordinary people in extra-institutional politics. I then outline the mechanisms behind this moderating process in terms of a relational model of interaction between elites and masses of majority and minority groups in a bi-ethnic context. The general mechanisms and dynamics outlined in this model can be explored across a variety of settings with politically mobilizing ethnic or religious groups, and I discuss some of the social structure influences on mobilization. I then consider five alternative arguments to those I propose here: (1) the probability of group conflict, rather than moderation; (2) ethnofederalism and mobilization; (3) economic factors; (4) international influences; and (5) a potential role for elites, rather than masses, in mobilization. The chapter concludes with a summary of the book chapters that follow this one.

12

Charles Tilly, Big Structures, Large Processes, and Huge Comparisons (New York: Russell Sage Foundation, 1984); and Charles Tilly, Explaining Social Processes (Boulder, CO: Paradigm, 2008), pp. 83–92.


Protest and Democratization

7

ii. protest and democratization Democratization, or the construction of institutions and mass acceptance of these new rules in a democratic transition, is a process that can take several years.13 It is an especially complex process, as governance must continue even while a state is undergoing serious renovations.14 Many studies of democratization have tended to emphasize the role of elites over those of the masses, partly due to the fact that elite actions can be easier to observe. Several works on transitions in Latin America and Southern Europe during the 1970s and 1980s have emphasized the role of elites in brokering pacts, “agreements to disagree,” to bring about democratization.15 This emphasis on elites dovetails with a view that institutions such as constitutions can be “crafted” externally, and that if they are precise and well designed, such institutions should be able to operate smoothly in any setting.16 Although such optimism is a welcome deviation from notions that culture or history condemns some states to a nondemocratic status, it overlooks the fact that ordinary people must also accept these pacts or new 13

14 15

16

Grzegorz Ekiert and Jan Kubik, Rebellious Civil Society: Popular Protest and Democratic Consolidation in Poland, 1989–1993 (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1999); and Anna Seleny, “Old Political Rationalities and New Democracies,” World Politics 51 (1999), pp. 484–519. Another view of consolidation is that it has taken place by the second successful election; Karen Dawisha, “Democratization and Political Participation,” in Karen Dawisha and Bruce Parrott, eds., The Consolidation of Democracy in East-Central Europe (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1997), pp. 40–65, especially p. 43. Elster, Offe, and Preuss, Institutional Design. Guillermo O’Donnell and Philippe Schmitter, Transitions from Authoritarian Rule (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1986), pp. 37–40; and Adam Przeworski, Democracy and the Market (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1991), p. 39. See also Samuel Huntington, The Third Wave (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1991), pp. 165, 205. Some observers even argued that states with elite-dominated transitions would be more successful at consolidating rules than states in which transitions were led by the masses – a premise that has not passed the test of time. Terry Lynn Karl, “Dilemmas of Democratization in Latin America,” Comparative Politics 23, no. 1 (October 1990), pp. 1–21; and Terry Lynn Karl and Philippe Schmitter, “Modes of Transition in Latin America, Southern, and Eastern Europe,” International Social Science Journal 43, no. 2 (May 1991), pp. 269–84. This bias is noted by other transitologists who offer a corrective, with an emphasis on ordinary people: Mark Beissinger, Nationalist Mobilization and the Collapse of the Soviet State (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2002); Nancy Bermeo, Ordinary People in Extraordinary Times (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2003); Ekiert and Kubik, Rebellious Civil Society; Jan Kubik, “Institutionalization of Protest during Democratic Consolidation in Central Europe,” in David Meyer and Sidney Tarrow, eds., The Social Movement Society: Contentious Politics for a New Century (New York: Rowman and Littlefield, 1998); and Wayne Te Brake, Shaping History: Ordinary People in European Politics, 1500–1700 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1998). An examination of the interactive nature of mass–elite relations appears in Elise Giuliano, Constructing Grievance: Ethnic Nationalism in Russia’s Republics (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2011). Giuseppe Di Palma, To Craft Democracies: An Essay on Democratic Transitions (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1990); and Giuseppe Di Palma, “Why Democracy Can Work in Eastern Europe,” in Larry Diamond and Marc Plattner, eds., The Global Resurgence of Democracy (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1993), pp. 257–67.


8


institutions as legitimate. Mass protests in Eastern Europe drove the democratization processes far more than predicted by the elite pacts literature, a fact that has forced several analysts to reevaluate the centrality of elites in transition processes.17 Observers of social movements, however, have long recognized the power of ordinary people to push for increased rights, equality, and democracy.18 In Eastern Europe, mass mobilizations were intrinsic to the downfall of Communist Party rule in 1989 in Romania and Czechoslovakia and in 1991 in Ukraine.19 Images of demonstrations, strikes, and human chains are some of the most potent of this period, both in media coverage of these events and in the minds of their participants. It is not surprising that these were the same forms of contention that were later adopted by ethnic Hungarian minorities in their resistance to (or advocacy of) particular policies. These strategies were used by Hungarians to influence policy and institutional design on particularly contentious issues such as language use in the public sphere and education, 17

18

19

Bermeo, Ordinary People in Extraordinary Times, especially pp. 253–4; Michael Bernhard, “Institutional Choice after Communism: A Critique of Theory-building in an Empirical Wasteland,” East European Politics and Societies 14 (2000), pp. 316–47; Valerie Bunce, “Comparative Democratization: Big and Bounded Generalizations,” Comparative Political Studies 33, no. 6/7 (September 2000), pp. 703–34; Valerie Bunce, “Rethinking Recent Democratization,” World Politics 55 (January 2003), pp. 167–92; Jorge Cadena-Roa, “State Pacts, Elites, and Social Movements in Mexico’s Transition to Democracy,” in Jack Goldstone, ed., States, Parties, and Social Movements (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2003), pp. 107–43; Ekiert and Kubik, Rebellious Civil Society; M. Steven Fish, “Postcommunist Subversion: Social Science and Democratization in East Europe and Eurasia,” Slavic Review 58, no. 4 (1999), pp. 794–823; John K. Glenn, Framing Democracy: Civil Society and Civic Movements in Eastern Europe (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2001); Michael McFaul, “The Fourth Wave of Democracy and Dictatorship,” World Politics 54 (January 2002), pp. 212–44; Elisabeth Jean Wood, Forging Democracy from Below: Insurgent Transitions in South Africa and El Salvador (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2000); and Deborah Yashar, Demanding Democracy: Reform and Reaction in Costa Rica and Guatemala, 1870s–1950s (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1997). The sincerity of the grievances of ordinary people is examined in Roger Petersen, Understanding Ethnic Violence: Fear, Hatred, and Resentment in Twentieth-Century Eastern Europe (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2002). Beissinger, Nationalist Mobilization; Bermeo, Ordinary People in Extraordinary Times; Ekiert and Kubik, Rebellious Civil Society; Doug McAdam, Freedom Summer (New York: Oxford University Press, 1990); Doug McAdam, Political Process and the Development of Black Insurgency, 1930–1970 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1982); McAdam, Tarrow, and Tilly, Dynamics of Contention; George Rudé, The Face of the Crowd: Studies in Revolution, Ideology and Popular Protest, Harvey J. Kaye, ed. (New York: Harvester, 1988); Gene Sharp, The Politics of Nonviolent Action (Boston: Porter Sargent, 1973); Sidney Tarrow, Power in Movement (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1998); Tilly, Contention and Democracy in Europe; and Charles Tilly, The Contentious French: Four Centuries of Popular Struggle (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1986). Ekiert and Kubik, Rebellious Civil Society; Timothy Garton Ash, The Magic Lantern: The Revolution of ’89 Witnessed in Warsaw, Budapest, Berlin and Prague (New York: Random House, 1990); Glenn, Framing Democracy; and Gale Stokes, The Walls Came Tumbling Down: The Collapse of Communism in Eastern Europe (New York: Oxford University Press, 1993).


Protest and Democratization

9

decentralization of state government, and the display of national symbols. The notion of “people power” as an instrument against tyranny continued as part of the dominant rhetoric later used by Hungarians in their claims for more open minority policies during the democratization and institutional consolidation phase of the 1990s. During this period, the institutional conditions for successful Hungarian contention, known as political opportunity structures,20 were quite favorable. Much of the literature on protest and contentious politics emphasizes the reaction of the state as an important feature of potential movement success.21 State crackdowns on protests can remove them from the menu of viable political options for minorities. State repression of the Hungarians would surely have harmed their ability to pursue goals successfully through protest – but such repression did not appear. Given the history of communist repression and the rhetoric of people power from 1989 and 1991, these newly democratic states could not actively repress Hungarian protests without serious damage to their legitimacy. However, the state does not provide the only source of response to protest, particularly in ethnically mixed settings. Hungarian protests sometimes produced subsequent or simultaneous protests by ethnic majority Romanians, Slovaks, or Ukrainians. Majority counterprotests were an especially a strong feature of contention in Romania, and the riot in Târgu Mures¸ erupted from a set of concurrent ethnic protests by Hungarians and Romanians in the town’s central square. Because bilateral protests are fraught with the potential for violence between groups, local and international media in the early 1990s tended to regard Hungarian protests in these states as a harbinger of potential ethnic conflict, similar to the neighboring example of the former Yugoslavia. It can indeed be the case that ethnic mobilization in mixed states might foster group conflict, but as examined in this book, it will do so only under specific conditions, such as the uncertainty that fostered the Târgu Mures¸ riot. Protests and even bilateral mobilizations are far more common than is violence. However, much of the literature on democratization tends to view ethnic mobilization in diverse states in negative terms, in spite of the obvious diversity of many of the world’s democracies and democratizing states. Even Dankwart Rustow, who took the optimistic view that democratic transitions could occur in nearly any context, drew the line at divided societies – his single prerequisite for potential democracies was “national unity.”22 Others have noted that divided societies might be

20 21

22

McAdam, Political Process, pp. 40–3; and Tarrow, Power in Movement, pp. 19–20. McAdam, Political Process; Sharp, Politics of Nonviolent Action; Tarrow, Power in Movement; and Charles Tilly, “Does Modernization Breed Revolution?” Comparative Politics 5 (1973), pp. 425–47. Rustow, “Transitions to Democracy,” p. 350. The possible link between democracy and nationalist violence is discussed in depth in Mann, Dark Side of Democracy, and Snyder, From Voting to Violence.


10


predisposed to nondemocracy.23 When democratic transitions do take place, many theorists have argued that elites should take a strong role in ethnically mixed states, with the masses preferably remaining more quiescent to reduce the potential for conflict.24 In contrast, the evidence in this book demonstrates how ethnic protest served to incorporate Hungarians into polities in which they are permanent minorities, by providing an extra-institutional means for them to influence policies successfully on matters on which they hold strong sentiments, such as language use in the public sphere. I argue that the propensity for intergroup violence decreased over time, as ethnic Hungarian contention slowly became understood by each group in these states as a routine means to conduct politics. As Hungarians continually engaged in protest to push for goals they could not attain through elections, ethnic majorities became accustomed to these protests, rather than afraid of them, as had been the case early in the transition. Although Hungarians and titular majorities hold vastly different sentiments on policy issues and normative visions regarding what decisions the state should pursue, repeated contention made each group acutely aware of the desires of the other group, as well as the parameters to which they could possibly push their own. It was through this contentious process that each group learned what could be achieved in the constrained context of mixed states and pragmatically modified their stances accordingly. These successful stories of democratization in conditions of mobilized ethnic diversity can tell us much about the potential for democratization in other divided places. There are several lessons from this evidence. Even the most heated group debates can provide the foundations for regular patterns of interethnic interaction – and thus the establishment of common institutions. Democratic routines, as institutionalized conflict,25 can become strengthened with each iteration. These stories show that rules to regulate controversial issues are best developed organically and are less likely to be durable when imposed from outside. Even established democracies experience contention and protest, as an extra-institutional means for groups to express desires that are not being advanced through formal democratic channels. Ethnic contention in these states provided Hungarian minorities with an extra-institutional means to achieve policy goals and encouraged (1) their support for formal democratic institutions, in spite of their permanent minority status in them; and (2) a moderation process, in the form of de facto public deliberation.

23

24

25

Horowitz, Ethnic Groups in Conflict; and Ian Lustick, “Stability in Deeply Divided Societies: Consociationalism versus Control,” World Politics 31, no. 3 (April 1979), pp. 325–44. Nordlinger, Conflict Regulation in Divided Societies, pp. 40, 79. It should be noted that consociational structures also require a rather quiet role for the masses. Arend Lijphart, The Politics of Accommodation: Pluralism and Democracy in the Netherlands (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1975). Przeworski, Democracy and the Market.


De Facto Deliberation, Moderation, and Democratization

11

iii. de facto deliberation, moderation, and democratization Ethnic contention in these states took place regarding both local matters and statewide policy issues. At the local level, ethnic contention frequently regarded symbolic disputes, such as the creation and maintenance of statues of each group’s heroes. At the state level, ethnic contention in these states tended to focus on debates over language use in the public sphere and local government structures. All three areas are examined in the chapters of this book. Local debates over symbolic issues regard how the identity of states and local areas should be represented in the public sphere. Must citizens recognize only the state flag or may the flags of other nationalities also be displayed in public? What version of history should be taught in public schools when Hungarian and titular historical perspectives diverge? How many monuments and city street names should depict Hungarian heroes and how many should depict heroes for the titular group? Such questions sparked strong debate and protest throughout many cities in the region in the 1990s and continue to do so. A detailed example of one such dispute is discussed in Chapter 5, in which groups protested over the fate of a statue of the Hungarian hero Mathias Corvinus on the main town square of Cluj, Romania.26 At the state level, Hungarians and titulars regularly disagree on the matter of language use in the public sphere.27 Should the titular group’s language be the state’s only official language or should Hungarian also be an official language? Can minorities use their language in exchanges with public officials, and if so, under what conditions? To what degree should Hungarian-language education be supported, and should it extend to the establishment of state universities in Hungarian? Should cities depict their historically Hungarian names along with their titular names on the placards that denote the city limits? Such disputes, and the forging of laws to regulate language use, examined in Chapter 6, strongly reflect the influence of Hungarian contention. Finally, groups hold quite different views on the degree to which governmental powers should be decentralized. Hungarians do not live equally 26

27

An excellent examination of symbolic disputes in Cluj appears in Rogers Brubaker, Margit Feischmidt, Jon Fox, and Lilliana Grancea, Nationalist Politics and Everyday Ethnicity in a Transylvanian Town (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2006); and Jon Fox, “Consuming the Nation: Holidays, Sports and the Production of Collective Belonging,” Ethnic and Racial Studies 29, no. 2 (2006), pp. 217–36. Other examples of such local disputes appear in Sherrill Stroschein, ed., “Governance in Ethnically Mixed Cities,” a special issue of Ethnopolitics 6, no. 2 (2007). Further examination of symbols appears in Stuart J. Kaufman, Modern Hatreds: The Symbolic Politics of Ethnic War (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2001); and Katherine Verdery, The Political Lives of Dead Bodies: Reburial and Postsocialist Change (New York: Columbia University Press, 1999). Excellent coverage of this area is given by Zsuzsa Csergo, Talk of the Nation: Language and Conflict in Romania and Slovakia (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2007).


12


dispersed throughout these territories – in some local areas, they constitute majority enclaves of 80 or 90 percent of the local population. Early in the 1990s, Hungarians in these states put forth proposals for autonomous governing units in such enclave areas – a suggestion strongly opposed by most in the titular majority groups. Throughout the 1990s, Hungarians began to scale back these demands to increased powers for local governments, as they began to realize the practical limits to which they could push demands, as examined in Chapter 7. Extensive interviews with ordinary people in each group revealed that they held strong beliefs on such matters, remaining quite confident in the “just” nature of their particular claims. However, even some of the most strident members of each group expressed a pragmatic understanding of the limits to which they could push their particular demands. Members of both Hungarian and titular groups described the early years of democracy as a period of idealism, in which they looked forward to establishing a state in which their national group could achieve full expression in these areas. However, they often referenced the riot in Târgu Mures¸ and ethnic wars in the former Yugoslavia as the reason for a scaling back of their demands, explaining that these were examples of what could happen with an unchecked pursuit of group claims in an ethnically mixed context. As the 1990s progressed, groups slowly learned of the content of the other group’s claims and the limits to which they could pursue their own. They then moderated their public expressions of identity through protest, as well as their official claims, to fit the limits of what they could achieve within these parameters. The contentious process slowly transformed each group’s stances,28 moderating them over time. Group stances and goals were constructed by and endogenous to the unfolding of politics throughout the 1990s.29 This change in stances took place as each group was socialized by repeated contentious interactions in the public sphere, a transformative process similar to that outlined by theorists of deliberative democracy. Ethnic contention in these states is thus best understood as a deliberative process that incorporated ordinary people into decision making and, in the course of that process, transformed group stances and goals. These contentious processes and the moderation that they produced became a de facto example of deliberative democracy as outlined by normative theorists,30 as group goals were transformed through interaction. 28

29

30

The word “stance” is used to illustrate the fact that these positions were not simply strategic, as might be implied by “claims” and “goals.” See Rogers Brubaker, “National Minorities, Nationalizing States, and External National Homelands in the New Europe,” in Nationalism Reframed: Nationhood and the National Question in the New Europe (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1996), p. 60. On the implications of endogeneity in the study of trajectories, see Beissinger, Nationalist Mobilization. The justice- and rights-based arguments are not addressed here, as this book does not conduct a normative study, but rather examines how these processes unfolded empirically.


De Facto Deliberation, Moderation, and Democratization

13

III. A. Transformation of Group Stances and Goals This modification of group stances through contentious processes demonstrates an alternative means of decision making in these states, one that developed simultaneously with the formal institutions of electoral democracy. Theorists of deliberative democracy have long argued that voting need not be the sole means of producing decisions and that deliberative argumentation might overcome some of the exclusionary or organizational problems of voting institutions. Deliberative democracy is a model of decision making that is founded on the transformation of stances, preferences, or goals rather than their aggregation through a voting system. In the deliberative model of decision making, actors are socialized through a process of deliberation that transforms individual positions and thus facilitates the move to a decision. One example of deliberation is the decision process for juries in the United States judicial system.31 Deliberative democracy is founded on a philosophical premise that public opinions and desires can be changed through discourse and exchange in the public sphere. It is through public discussion that learning and socialization can transform the stances of those engaged in the political process.32 This position differs markedly from an understanding of political actors who hold stable preferences – external to a political process and therefore unchanged by it – which is the foundation of many rational-choice or strategic-choice theories. Instead, the deliberative process itself allows individuals to reconceive their stances, preferences, or goals in relation to the common interests that they might share with others,33 such as the intentional avoidance of violence in the cases here. This focus on a learning process through interaction in deliberation is thus founded on an ontology of relations rather than one of individuals.34 It is interaction itself that is the causal source of this transformation rather than the initial stances or stable preferences of the participants. The examples in this book show how a transformation of group stances can happen, even under seemingly unfavorable circumstances, through contentious 31

32

33 34

Benjamin Barber, Strong Democracy: Participatory Politics for a New Age (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1984); John Dryzek, Deliberative Democracy and Beyond: Liberals, Critics, Contestations (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), p. 51; Jon Elster, “Deliberation and Constitution Making,” in Elster, ed., Deliberative Democracy (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1998), pp. 97–122; Elster, “Introduction,” in Elster, ed., Deliberative Democracy, pp. 1–18; Jürgen Habermas, Between Facts and Norms: Contributions to a Discourse Theory of Law and Democracy (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1998). This view on change differs strongly from many views on motivations for ethnic expression, which posit stable or inflexible preferences; see Petersen, Understanding Ethnic Violence, p. 3. Dryzek, Deliberative Democracy, citing Habermas, p. 51; Patrick Thaddeus Jackson, Civilizing the Enemy: German Reconstruction and the Invention of the West (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2006); Charles Tilly, “Contentious Conversation,” Social Research 65, no. 3 (1998), pp. 491–510. Dryzek, Deliberative Democracy, pp. 31, 170. An overview of these different philosophical stances appears in Charles Tilly, Durable Inequality (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1998), pp. 16–25.


14


interaction. Observers have pointed to a similar deliberative dynamic in Northern Ireland, where separate groups have moderated their positions in the pursuit of the common goal of avoiding violence.35 In Romania and Slovakia, group stances at the beginning of the transition process were far more strident in the early 1990s than in the late 1990s, a transformation due to repeated interaction. Interestingly, this trajectory was quite different in Ukraine. There, open laws for minorities meant that Hungarian minority protest and contentious interaction did not initially occur and ethnic Ukrainians thus became more emboldened to pursue a nationalizing state project36 by the late 1990s. III. B. Ordinary People and Extra-Institutional Politics The contentious processes that took place in Romania and Slovakia during the democratization period show that political concessions might be achieved by minority groups even without strong political structures to advance their goals. Ethnic separation in politics takes place informally, through a strong Hungarian tendency to vote for Hungarian ethnic parties,37 creating polities effectively divided along ethnic lines. There are no consociational structures in states with Hungarian minorities, such as formal rule by grand coalition or minority veto capability,38 as in Northern Ireland or Belgium. In the context of this informal ethnic political separation, especially in Romania and Slovakia, protest became an extra-institutional means for ethnic Hungarians to advance political goals when they could not advance them easily through formal institutions. This crucial role for protest is related to a crucial role for ordinary people in this political story – as encouraged by proponents of deliberative democracy. Elite officeholders and party leaders played a less crucial role than did students, workers, and others who mobilized to support these goals. Although consociationalism relies on the political elites of each group to produce joint political

35

36 37

38

Dryzek, Deliberative Democracy, p. 41; Ian O’Flynn, Deliberative Democracy in Divided Societies (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2006); and Ian O’Flynn, “Deliberative Democracy, the Public Interest and the Consociational Model,” Political Studies 58 (2010), pp. 573–9. These processes are related to shifts in public discourse regarding the potency of a dispute; see Stacie E. Goddard, “Uncommon Ground: Indivisible Territory and the Politics of Legitimacy,” International Organization 60 (2006), pp. 35–68; Jackson, Civilizing the Enemy; and Ian Lustick, Unsettled States, Disputed Lands (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1993. Brubaker, “National Minorities”; and Csergo, Talk of the Nation. For a systematic discussion of informal institutions, see Gretchen Helmke and Steven Levitsky, “Informal Institutions and Comparative Politics: A Research Agenda,” Perspectives on Politics 2, no. 4 (2004), pp. 725–40. Unlike the example of identity in India, where voting for ethnic parties can be motivated by patronage, Hungarian identity in politics and in voting remains quite consistent. This pattern shifts only in enclave regions, where Hungarians can “afford” to vote for other Hungarian alternatives without losing elections to the other group. Chandra, Why Ethnic Parties Succeed; and Sherrill Stroschein, “Demography in Ethnic Party Fragmentation: Hungarian Local Voting in Romania,” Party Politics 17, no. 2 (March 2011), pp. 194–5. See Lijphart, Politics of Accommodation.


Understanding Relational Dynamics

15

decisions in divided states, the importance of ethnic protest by Hungarians, and titular responses to these protests, prioritized instead the opinions and actions of ordinary people.39 Large Hungarian mobilizations to push for increased concessions on language issues demonstrated that ordinary Hungarians were “worthy, united, numerous, and committed”40 to this cause and that their demands thus had to be taken seriously. Some theorists of deliberative democracy envision a process of decision making in the form of formal deliberative institutions, but others have argued that social movements and civil society can serve as informal means of societal problem solving.41 In this view, deliberative democracy need not be limited to rational argument as a means of communication, but other modes of discourse might allow for more plurality in discussion.42 Protest can thus be a means of deliberation in the absence of formal institutions to channel deliberative conversations between groups. It is of note that in these mobilizations, elites did not manipulate ordinary people into action.43 Examinations of the microdynamics of local mobilizations in the Târgu Mures¸ riot and the Cluj statue protests in Chapters 4 and 5 demonstrate the strong commitment by ordinary people to advance their claims. Interviews with participants consistently revealed their sincere beliefs in the justice of their claims, as well as their acceptance over time that such claims had to be moderated in practice. Indeed, some elites, as well as midrange elite individuals, such as journalists and church leaders, were also often involved in these events. But the evidence in this book shows that the largescale mobilizations in these events were the work of average individuals who cared strongly about minority policies, such as the language that their children would use in schools. Strongly committed to these matters, they mobilized behind them.

iv. understanding relational dynamics The fact that group stances and goals can change through the process of political contestation has strong implications for the assumptions that theorists bring to analysis. This book is grounded in the relational approach to social analysis, a perspective that understands ties and bonds among actors as the source of causal factors in social life. Taking a cue from sociology, relationalism examines bonds,

39

40 41 42 43

On the disadvantages of prioritizing elites, see O’Flynn, Deliberative Democracy, p. 82; and Rupert Taylor, “The Belfast Agreement and the Politics of Consociationalism: A Critique,” Political Quarterly 77, no. 2 (April–June 2006), pp. 217–26. Tilly, “Contentious Conversation.” Dryzek, Deliberative Democracy, pp. 99–103, 175. Dryzek, Deliberative Democracy, p. 168. On emotions and grievances in mobilization, see Petersen, Understanding Ethnic Violence, pp. 34–6.


16


relationships, and interactions as its ontology, or focus of study.44 With its origins in the sociological study of networks and in sociological institutionalism in political science, relationalism stands in stark contrast to perspectives that posit the sources of social causes to be individual decision-making processes, structures, or individually held ideas.45 The relational approach to the evidence in this book was chosen largely for inductive reasons – after years of fieldwork and processing of the empirical evidence. In spite of years of effort by this author to attempt to force the data into some of the more widely used frameworks for analysis in political science, the evidence stubbornly continued to indicate a primary role for relational ties, categories, and interactions in these processes. A few words on the alternatives that were not chosen are thus merited here, with a mention of how each differs from relationalism. Methodological individualism prioritizes individuals and their cognitive processes as the causal stuff of social life. This focus on individuals differs greatly from relationalism’s ontological focus on ties and bonds.46 In the rational choice variant of methodological individualism, even collective social actors such as groups or states are assumed to behave like individuals – making rational decisions and strategic calculations based on a predetermined set of preferences or goals.47 Following these premises, interactions between individual social actors often take the form of strategic games, in which a decision by one actor affects the potential strategy decision of the other actor. The actors themselves remain static in game theory, as neither their preferences nor their identity attributes are expected to change as a product of interaction.48 In contrast to this focus on individuals, relationalism understands transactions as being prior to essences.49 For relationalists, game theory is a less direct and inefficient route to assess interactions, because it focuses on the individual preferences and decisions of each actor rather than assessing transactions directly as the initial focal point of analysis.50 With a more direct focus on 44

45

46 47 48

49

50

McAdam, Tarrow, and Tilly, Dynamics of Contention; and Tilly, Durable Inequality, pp. 16–25, 35–40. See also Mustafa Emirbayer, “Manifesto for a Relational Sociology,” American Journal of Sociology 103 (1997), pp. 281–317. Mark Granovetter notes that atomized individuals or political actors exist only as abstract phenomena, as in Thomas Hobbes’ state of nature or John Rawls’ original position. Granvotter, “Economic Action and Social Structure: The Problem of Embeddedness,” American Journal of Sociology 91, no. 3 (1985), pp. 481–510. Tilly, Durable Inequality, pp. 17–22. Jon Elster, ed., Rational Choice (New York: New York University Press, 1986). Although some social learning models attempt to incorporate these aspects, the individualist premises remain. Emirbayer, “Manifesto for a Relational Strategy”; and Patrick Thaddeus Jackson and Daniel Nexon, “Relations before States: Substance, Process, and the Study of World Politics,” European Journal of International Relations 5, no. 3 (1999), pp. 291–332. For example, the reciprocal strategy that emerges from Robert Axelrod’s game of “tit for tat” could be described by relationalists as a process of socialization to behave in a reciprocal fashion; see Robert Axelrod, The Evolution of Cooperation (New York: HarperCollins, 1985).



17

transactions, relationalism can more easily address the potential for changes in the preferences or attributes of actors, which can often be observed in the course of interaction.51 Relationalism can thus more effectively examine the changing goals and strategies of groups that emerged in the course of the de facto deliberative process outlined previously in this chapter. Certainly, learning models in individualist accounts might address some matters of change, but do so less directly than relationalism, which is able to incorporate endogenous change via transactions directly into an analysis. Relationalism also differs from strong structural accounts such as Marxism in that it allows a role for agency in transactions because relations are an analytical concept between agents and structures.52 Relationalism’s focus on the character of different types of relationships promotes an understanding of opposing categories in sustaining power relations, such as ethnic majority/minority.53 These categories are often linked to broader societal structures. But at the same time, relationalism allows for transactions to take place across such categorical boundaries via agency.54 The relational stance on constructivism is also worth noting. Due to its focus on relations, rather than on individual cognition or individually held ideas, relationalism diverges from an individualist view of constructivism – that individual ideas are a source of cause in social life.55 However, ideas may also be understood relationally as social facts, with culture viewed as an ongoing process that is renegotiated via interaction.56 In this view, a combination of constructivism with relationalism can allow for an understanding of the content 51

52

53

54

55 56

James March and Johan Olsen, “The Institutional Dynamics of International Political Orders,” International Organization 52, no. 4 (1998), pp. 943–69, at p. 959. Strategic gaming is an attempt to do this that begins from individualist premises. As such, it can discuss some of the same phenomena, but only after several more steps. In addition, it cannot easily allow for a change in actors’ goals throughout the course of an interaction, including the potentially important effects of differing relationships. Emirbayer, “Manifesto for a Relational Sociology”; Mustafa Emirbayer and Jeff Goodwin, “Network Analysis, Culture, and the Problem of Agency,” American Journal of Sociology 99 (1994), pp. 1411–54; Daniel Nexon and Thomas Wright, “What’s at Stake in the American Empire Debate,” American Political Science Review 101, no. 2 (2007), pp. 253–71; and Charles Tilly, “Micro, Macro, or Megrim?” in Jürgen Schlumbohm, ed., Mikrogeschichte Makrogeschichte: komplementär oder inkommensurabel? (Göttingen: Max-Planck-Institute für Geschichte/Wallstein Verlag, 1998), pp. 35–51. Granovetter describes this middle ground as “embeddedness”: Granovetter, “Economic Action and Social Structure,” pp. 481–2. Such categories are sustained by a boundary maintenance mechanism. Andrew Abbott, “Things of Boundaries,” in Time Matters: On Theory and Method (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2001), pp. 261–79; Rogers Brubaker, Ethnicity without Groups (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2004); Tilly, Durable Inequality; and Charles Tilly, The Politics of Collective Violence (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2003). A breakdown of relational forms appears in Charles Tilly, Identities, Boundaries and Social Ties (Boulder, CO: Paradigm, 2005), pp. 75–6. Tilly, Durable Inequality, p. 18. Mark Granovetter, “Economic Action and Social Structure”; Jackson, Civilizing the Enemy; and John Shotter, Cultural Politics of Everyday Life (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1993).


18


or meaning that adheres to transactions in specific settings and their effect on politics. But a focus on constructivism alone, without the constraints of relations, establishes few parameters for the potential universe for change. In a purely constructivist world, anyone can become anything: a Hungarian can become a Romanian, or a leader might invent completely new categories and theoretically convince a public of their importance.57 If anything can be constructed at any time by anyone, it becomes impossible to make general statements regarding patterns in politics – quite simply, anything can theoretically happen. The evidence on ethnic mobilization, policy formation, and democratization in these states reveals that this is not in fact the case. A very strong set of relationships greatly constrains or enables the potential range of discourse and practice for those living under these conditions.58 These constraints are presented in the model described in the following section. IV. A. A Model of Relations between Actors The processes of politics in ethnically mixed democracies and democratizing states are constrained by a particular set of relationships between actors. In places where the political system is split among different ethnic groups due to the presence of ethnic parties, a Hungarian will not suddenly begin acting as a Romanian or vice versa – rather, strong constraining relationships place parameters around possible actions for those within the system. Here I present a model for these relational constraints, and the logic of the model serves as the basis for the causal dynamics outlined in the book. As one component of the model, Hungarian parties in these states tend to obtain support from nearly all of their potential electorate, in a pattern of “census voting.”59 This voting pattern effectively creates an ethnically divided polity, as ethnic Romanians, Slovaks, and Ukrainians do not vote for Hungarian parties or groups.60 In this setting, it is highly unlikely that individuals who actively maintain “mixed” identities will be significant players in the party politics of either group. Hungarian and titular groups thus maintain separate fields of contestation to select their elite representatives.61 Figure 1.1 graphs these constraining relationships, which this section will describe in more detail. 57

58

59 60

61

Alexander Motyl, “Inventing Invention: The Limits of National Identity Formation,” in Ronald Grigor Suny and Michael D. Kennedy, eds., Intellectuals and the Articulation of the Nation (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1999), pp. 57–75. Brubaker et al., Nationalist Politics; Margaret Somers, “The Narrative Constitution of Identity: A Relational and Network Approach,” Theory and Society 23 (1994), pp. 605–49; Charles Tilly, Roads from Past to Future (Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield, 1997); Charles Tilly, Why? (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2006); and Jennifer Todd, “Social Transformations, Collective Categories, and Identity Change, Theory and Society 34, no. 4 (2005), pp. 429–63. Horowitz, Ethnic Groups in Conflict. In Ukraine, the Hungarian groups are known as a cultural organization for legal reasons, but effectively operate as a party, putting forth candidates for office. Brubaker, “National Minorities,” p. 5, outlines in-group contention as a Bourdieuian field within which different actors attempt to present themselves as the “real” representatives of the minority.


Understanding Relational Dynamics Elite

19 Hungarian Minority

Titular Majority Elite

Mass Mass

Mixed

figure 1.1. Relational Map of Political Fields in a Divided Polity

In this diagram, the taller of the two cones represents the majority group in the state. For Slovakia, for example, the taller cone represents the field for titular Slovaks, whereas the shorter cone represents the Hungarian political field in Slovakia. Under democratic conditions with strong ethnic Hungarian party mobilization, Hungarians are a permanent minority at the state level.62 However, this diagram could also be used for a different level of analysis to represent relationships in local power relations in a city. If the model is used to outline power relations in a Hungarian-majority city, the size of these cones would be reversed.63 This possibility illustrates the general applicability of the model at different levels of analysis. However, the discussions in this book focus on a model in which the Hungarians are consistently the minority group, or the smaller cone in the figure. The primary powerholders or elites of each group, the party leaders and officeholders, are represented by the cone peaks. The bases of the pyramids represent non-elites, or ordinary people of the majority and the minority. Between these bases is a “mixed” area to represent those individuals who, whether children of intermarriage or for other reasons, do not identify exclusively with either group. Given the salience of these political cleavages under the constraints of ethnic parties, these people are far less likely to rise to elite positions. 62 63

Rothschild, Ethnopolitics, p. 109, discusses how this translates into status. Given the varied demographics of the cities chosen for this project, we would represent the social structure of each by adjusting the relative size of the cones according to the local majority and minority configurations. A city with a 50–50 demographic distribution between groups would be depicted with two pyramids of equal size.


20


The elites who are represented by the tops of these pyramids are defined as public officeholders or party leaders. They might be members of parliament, county prefects or council members, mayors, or city council members. For the most part, elites are elected to their positions, although some might be appointed by other elected officials, as is the case for county prefects in Romania.64 Those elite actors who are the most important will vary depending upon the level of analysis. In a story of local politics, the primary elite actors are the mayor and the local city council. But in a story of state politics, these elites become less important than state officials or members of parliament. In a democratic system, there are no firm boundaries between elites and masses – theoretically, any ordinary individual should have the capacity to be elected to an elite office. The pyramid shape of the diagrams represents this possibility. As individuals of mixed identities can be found where the pyramids cross, the more extreme or nationalist members among the masses of each group can be visualized as located toward the outside edges of the cones, representing their distance from the other ethnic group. Moderates might be visualized as closer to the center. In addition to elites and masses, these fields also contain a number of midrange elites – such as intellectuals, journalists, and religious leaders – who would lie in the middle of the pyramids. These “opinion-making persons”65 are not formally elites, but neither are they merely ordinary people. It is important to note that the evidence indicates that these individuals are rarely active in initiating events. Rather, such people primarily discuss and frame the events after they have happened, in terms that may then enter the general discourse and affect future events – journalists and academics in particular. Of all types of “opinion-making persons,” religious leaders were the most visible in events at the time they unfolded. However, even their presence was rarely mentioned in the accounts and cannot account for the large number of people involved in mobilizations. With regard to ethnic group categories, this model admittedly reifies, or depicts as being stable, the ethnic boundaries between Hungarians and titulars in politics.66 It is certainly conceivable that the boundaries between these groups might become more porous over long periods of time. However, those engaged in post-socialist politics in these states tend to understand these ethnic identities as hard political categories and consistently talk and act accordingly. For this reason, these groups are depicted separately here because they quite consistently act as separate groups in practice in these settings.

64

65

66

Because some good standing in political bodies is often required for such appointments, they remain subject to the generally democratic logic of these cleavages. This term is used by Péter Huncˇ ík of the Sándor Márai Foundation (interview in Bratislava, March 25, 1998). These people may also be understood as “multiplicators,” or individuals who can easily pass information on to others (Smaranda Enache of the Liga Pro Europa, interview in Târgu Mures¸, November 17, 1997). On this problem, see Brubaker, Ethnicity without Groups.



21

There are, of course, disputes within groups as well, and debates rage within groups regarding whether elites should take a moderate or an extreme stance in negotiating particular policies. Each ethnic group thus represents a contentious field of its own, a place of struggle in the Bourdieuian sense.67 Within the Hungarian field in Slovakia, the question of whether to take a moderate stance on language will be affected by the outcome of similar internal debates on the issue among Slovaks (or in neighboring states). If extremist Slovaks win out over Slovak moderates in their own internal debate, and thus push for more restrictions on the Hungarian language, this outcome in turn increases the legitimacy and resonance of more extreme voices among the Hungarians. The factions that come to power within each field thus depend in part on what is going on in the other. As described by Rogers Brubaker, a “consistently and radically relational” situation exists in these states, in which each field continuously monitors the declarations and actions of the other.68 Extremism in one camp tends to encourage extremism in the other, while moderation can encourage moderation. Because of the dynamic and changing nature of these relations, it is useful to proceed from this static model of relations to one that depicts dynamic interaction and causal mechanisms. IV. B. Mechanisms of Mobilization and Moderation Detailed evidence from mobilizations in Târgu Mures¸ and Cluj, outlined in Chapters 4 and 5, shows a strong role for ordinary people in driving mobilization processes. First, the evidence shows that elites were not very active in these mobilization processes, contrary to a prevalent view that elites successfully manipulate publics to nationalist mobilization.69 Instead, elites in these stories played a far stronger role in moderating ethnic politics and demobilizing masses, via negotiation to resolve disputes. Large groups of ordinary people simply cannot effectively negotiate with each other to resolve differences. If a divided polity is to avoid spirals of mobilization, elites must maintain communication with the elites of the other group. The fact that elites must maintain effective dialogue in order to resolve disputes among groups is represented by the dotted line between the peaks of the pyramids in Figure 1.2. If elites break off this communication, as happened before the Târgu Mures¸ riot, masses will perceive that the only means to push for their claims is through mobilization or protest – and will mobilize accordingly. And simultaneous bilateral mobilizations of both groups increase the probability of violence.

67

68 69

Pierre Bordieu and Loïc Wacquant, An Invitation to Reflexive Sociology (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992), pp. 16–19; and Brubaker “National Minorities.” Brubaker “National Minorities,” pp. 60–3, 66–9. An excellent discussion of the problems of overemphasizing elites appears in Petersen, Understanding Ethnic Violence, especially pp. 34–6. Some elite-based arguments include Mansfield and Snyder, Electing to Fight; and Snyder and Ballentine, “Nationalism and the Marketplace of Ideas.”



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1. Negotiation between elites

Elite Minority Majority

Elite 2. Resonance between masses and elites

Mass

Mass

Mixed

figure 1.2. Required Relationships for Moderation of Conflict in a Divided Polity

In addition to negotiation between elites, a second relationship is also crucial. Those elites engaged in negotiation must be perceived as legitimate, meaning that their aims must resonate among their mass publics. Attempts at negotiation by self-declared elites who do not have the recognition of their populations will be meaningless, as masses will ignore such discussions and continue to advance their claims through mobilization. Such self-appointed leaders in democracies are rare, as they are likely to be removed from office if they do not maintain the support of their constituents – unless elites are using weapons to maintain their hold on power, as was the case in the former Yugoslavia. Military dynamics can disrupt the model outlined here, as discussed further later in this chapter. Contrary to a model of ethnic politics that prioritizes elite bargaining and advocates elite sanctioning and demobilization of masses,70 this model shows that mass involvement in ethnic politics is not only inevitable in a democracy, but is also an intrinsic part of the dynamics of moderation. The maintenance of a smoothly running system for resolving conflicts in divided states thus requires the presence of two relationships: (1) negotiation between elites of different groups; and (2) resonance,71 or a bond of legitimacy in

70

71

James Fearon and David Laitin, “Explaining Interethnic Cooperation,” American Political Science Review 90 (1996), pp. 715–35. William Gamson defines resonance as the “relationship between the discourse on a particular issue and the broader political culture of which it is a part.” William Gamson, Talking Politics (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1992), p. 135 (emphasis mine). For other examinations of resonance, see Brubaker, “National Minorities”; and Daniel Chirot, “Communal Mythologies, Fears, and Authoritarianism in Former Yugoslavia,” in Thomas Cushman and Stjepan Mestrovic,



23

which elites are recognized by their masses. Together, these two relationships ensure the maintenance of the relational mechanism of brokerage, in which elites can represent their publics and negotiate over mass claims. This dynamic relationship is represented by the dashed line between elites and masses in Figure 1.2. What fosters a resonance relationship between masses and elites? We know that elite appeals do not always succeed. Rather, the ability of elites to maintain a legitimate relationship with their populations will depend on the experiences and perspectives that masses bring to that particular interaction.72 The elite–mass relationship is thus a two-way street. When elites address publics successfully, they use content that is relatively consistent with mass experiences,73 an act called framing.74 Framing is the presentation of issues according to the intersection between mass understandings and the goals of the elite.75 In colloquial terms, this kind of communication is called “spin.” The potential success of elite framing will depend upon lived experiences of masses. Mass experience of prior violence between groups will tend to legitimize appeals of fear by elites, given a fruitful context for elite appeals of fear. In contrast, such elite appeals will fall on more deaf ears in the context of a long history of peaceful interactions between groups. The cities for this study were chosen with this influence of memory in mind, as all belonged to Hungary before World War I, were reannexed to Hungary in the late 1930s and during World War II, and then removed from Hungary again after this war. This shared history means that a generation remained in these cities that remembered some local violence among different ethnicities during World War II. IV. C. Social Structure and Local Mobilization Even in a context of memories of prior violence, masses do not automatically respond to elite appeals. Their potential for mass mobilization also depends upon the form of ties in a local social context. Because network ties serve as channels for information,76 ties among individuals of different groups will often decrease the probability of ethnic mobilization. A rumor or elite claim that

72

73 74

75

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eds., This Time We Knew: Western Responses to Genocide in Bosnia (New York: New York University Press, 1996). Motyl, “Inventing Invention.” Studies of media influences on working-class individuals have shown that they do not merely accept automatically the information presented to them. Instead, they tend to use media information as tools to support views they already hold on particular issues: Gamson, Talking Politics, pp. 4, 7, 180. Jackson, Civilizing the Enemy. Erving Goffman, Frame Analysis: An Essay on the Organization of Experience (New York: Harper and Row, 1974). Brubaker, “National Minorities”; and Tarrow, Power in Movement. This act may also be understood as the attempt to activate group boundaries; Tilly, The Politics of Collective Violence. Mark Granovetter, “The Strength of Weak Ties,” American Journal of Sociology 78 (1973), pp. 1360–80; and Mark Granovetter, “The Strength of Weak Ties: A Network Theory Revisited,” in Randall Collins, ed., Sociological Theory 1983 (San Francisco: Jossey-Bass, 1983).


24


Hungarians are “dangerous” will only resonate77 among those for whom that claim fits their own lived experience and other available information. For a Romanian on good terms with her Hungarian neighbor, the active framing of Hungarians as dangerous is less likely to resonate. These social ties and bonds provide individuals with experience and knowledge that are prior to the frames presented by to them by elites. In mixed communities with a strong web of ties among groups, masses will be slower to respond to rumors of violence than they would be in communities without such cross-cutting ties.78 Cross-cutting ties provide strong anchors for stability in mixed communities. Because bridging ties are more likely to form in demographically heterogeneous communities, these communities are often less prone to ethnic mobilizations than homogeneous communities.79 As Roger Petersen observes in his study of the community-level dynamics of rebellions, groups tend to mobilize more slowly in heterogeneous settings, as individuals are likely to respond to the actions or lack of actions of others around them. In contrast, within a homogeneous setting, a few extremists may have a higher degree of credibility. Individuals in more homogeneous communities are more likely to be confined to in-group information due to fewer cross-group ties and thus should be more prone to ethnic mobilization. Homogeneity makes it less likely that extreme actions will be “watered down” by more cosmopolitan perspectives, as would be more likely in a more heterogeneous setting.80 The city of Tuzla in Bosnia is one such example, where a multi-ethnic mix of locals, including Serbs, defended the city against a siege by Serbian troops.81 It is not simply demographics but rather the actual presence or absence of ties that matters – towns with similar demographics have been shown to have different propensities to violence, depending on variations in the actual presence of crossethnic ties.82 Very severe pressures can break ties in even the most networked communities. Such was the case in the former Yugoslavia, where direct military incursions and violence inevitably ruptured community ties. In contrast, because the violence in Târgu Mures¸ originated in a local dispute with no guns involved, locals 77

78

79

80 81

82

Brubaker, “National Minorities”; Chirot, “Communal Mythologies”; and Gamson, Talking Politics. Roger Petersen, Resistance and Rebellion: Lessons from Eastern Europe (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2001); and Ashutosh Varshney, Ethnic Conflict and Civic Life: Hindus and Muslims in India (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2002). On information, see Karl Deutsch, Nationalism and Social Communication: An Inquiry into the Foundations of Nationality (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1966). A contrasting view appears in Fearon and Laitin, “Explaining Interethnic Cooperation.” Peter Blau, Inequality and Heterogeneity: A Primitive Theory of Social Structure (New York: Free Press, 1977); and Petersen, Resistance and Rebellion. Petersen, Resistance and Rebellion, pp. 39–79. W. Finnegan, “Salt City,” New Yorker, February 12, 1996, pp. 46–57; and Julia Glynn-Picket, “A Last Bastion of Ethnic Tolerance,” Transition 6 (June 9, 1995), pp. 18–19, 56. Varshney, Ethnic Conflict and Civic Life; and Steven Wilkinson, Votes and Violence: Electoral Competition and Ethnic Riots in India (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2004).


Counterarguments

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understood that it could also be stopped by their own actions. The healthy elite– mass dynamic outlined earlier thus requires a caveat: state-led repression or army intervention will directly change the course of these posited interactions. Force levied from outside or from above will disrupt the local moderating effects of iterated interactions, often leading in a direction of further violence. In Târgu Mures¸, the soldiers deployed late in the riot merely attempted to separate the groups; they did not intervene on one side or strengthen one group at the expense of the other. This neutrality meant that these soldiers did not disrupt the course of this local dynamic. Such was not the case in the former Yugoslavia, where army intervention clearly advanced the cause of one side. This discussion leads into a consideration of alternative arguments to those in this book.

v. counterarguments The arguments I outline here might raise some questions. Some may wonder about places that do experience violence, rather than moderation, during transition. Others may favor the notion that international actors, rather than domestic political processes and mass mobilizations, in fact fostered moderation. These views merit a response, so that even those who are skeptical might more clearly see the mechanisms at work that I have discussed. V. A. Group Conflict Rather than Moderation First, under what conditions will contention foster moderation, and when might groups dissolve into conflict? In 1990, it was not clear that Romania would become an example of moderation. The March riot in Târgu Mures¸, which began as a dispute over language in schools, produced around six dead and three hundred wounded.83 During the riot, members of both groups engaged in battle with each other on the city’s manicured central square, using domestic implements such as kitchen knives, pitchforks, and even pieces of park benches. Romania is a particularly crucial case for the potential for moderation, as it demonstrates how moderation could occur even after this type of local violence between groups. What made Romania follow a moderating trajectory, while Yugoslavia, its neighbor to the west, disintegrated into violence? The most obvious difference between Romania and Yugoslavia is that of military involvement. The domestic implements used in Târgu Mures¸, in spite of the large number of riot participants and the emotion with which they wielded their weapons, could not inflict the same level of casualties as the tanks and guns used by the army and militia groups in Yugoslavia. The difference in armaments is a symptom of a broader contrast between these cases. In Romania, local interactive processes of contention were not hindered or aggravated by military involvement. The only visible presence of the military, quite late in the story of

83

These figures are disputed; these are the best garnered from the sources available.


26


the Târgu Mures¸ riot, was an eleventh-hour attempt to separate groups. But external involvement did not otherwise change the nature of their interactions by weighing in with military force on one side. This difference is a crucial one. Over time, the mechanisms of interaction and moderation in the preceding model will produce moderation – provided that there are no external military shocks to disrupt these processes.84 The model outlines two causal mechanisms that must be present in order for moderation to take place: brokerage between elites and “their” group’s masses, and ongoing bargaining exchange between elites of different groups. These local interactions could not emerge in the former Yugoslavia, due to the actions of the army and militia forces. Moreover, publics in the former Yugoslavia did not actively contend over minority issues, but were instead demobilized, silenced by the machinations of elites and a fear of military force.85 In contrast, these interactions were preserved in Romania, unfolding into moderation with each iteration. Romania demonstrates how ethnic groups can embark on a moderation process even after a local episode of violence between them. Groups need not like each other for moderating mechanisms to occur; simple pragmatism regarding the constraints of their environment is sufficient for moderation to unfold. V. B. Ethnofederalism and Mobilization Second, a broad range of literature argues that groups are empowered to mobilize by institutional resources, such as ethnofederalism.86 However, the Hungarians in these stories engaged in contention on policy issues without ethnofederal institutions to support their efforts. Rather, mobilization was strongly timed to particular policy debates on matters such as language and for the potential establishment of ethnofederal institutions, as discussed in Chapters 6 and 7. These mobilizations took place without formal institutional support behind them, although memories of past Hungarian rule over these territories, and the ghost of an autonomous region in a portion of Transylvania in 1952–68, may have been on the minds of those who engaged in mobilizations. These potential influences are discussed further in Chapter 7. The dynamics of interaction outlined by the evidence are far more local and nuanced than the block features of ethnofederal or autonomy institutions; indeed, the form that such institutions should take became a dynamic object of contention in these states. Institutional features may be filtered into local interactions, but it is local dynamics that drive these events. 84 85

86

This condition could also be applied to invasions, as in the case of military intervention in Iraq. V. P. Gagnon, Jr., The Myth of Ethnic War: Serbia and Croatia in the 1990s (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2004). Valerie Bunce, Subversive Institutions: The Design and the Destruction of Socialism and the State (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1999); Dimitry Gorenburg, Minority Ethnic Mobilization in the Russian Federation (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2003); and Philip Roeder, Where Nation-States Come From: Institutional Change in an Age of Nationalism (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2007).


Counterarguments

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V. C. Economic and Material Factors While the Roma minorities in Eastern Europe occasionally mobilized to protest poor material conditions, for Hungarians, economic cleavages did not correlate with ethnic contention during the 1990s. At that time, the Hungarian state maintained higher economic growth than its neighboring states. Due to some access to this wealth by Hungarian minorities, in the form of work remittances and temporary work in Hungary, as well as cultural/educational subsidies and business investment from the Hungarian state, they sometimes even tended to be slightly better off than titular majorities.87 In spite of this economic tendency, Hungarian minorities were far more contentious than were titulars. Protests focused on matters of language policy, governmental powers, or symbolic claims rather than on material issues.88 In addition, Hungarian protest in Slovakia, the wealthiest of these three states, was more common than in Ukraine, arguably the least wealthy of the three. These examples illustrate that material considerations cannot account for general Hungarian mobilizations; rather, protests took place in response to particular policy matters. V. D. International Influences A counterargument to the domestic view of democratization and policy formation that I put forth here regards the role of international actors in these processes. A broad literature credits international actors such as the European Union (EU)89 for minority policies, ethnic moderation, and democratization. Similarly, other authors have noted a potential active role for Hungary as a kin-state pushing for policies more favorable to Hungarian minorities in neighboring states.90 In contrast, the evidence in this book demonstrates how policy 87

88 89

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Disputes over the formalization of some of these benefits through the Hungarian state’s 2001 Status Law later led to some expansion of such benefits to other Romanian citizens. Stephen Deets and Sherrill Stroschein, “Dilemmas of Autonomy and Liberal Pluralism: Examples Involving Hungarians in Central Europe,” Nations and Nationalism 11 (2005), pp. 285–305; and Myra Waterbury, “Internal Exclusion, External Inclusion: Diaspora Politics and Party-Building Strategies in Post-Communist Hungary,” East European Politics and Societies 20, no. 3 (2006), pp. 385–515. Debates on privatization of farms and church property are one exception. Some examples of this literature include Judith G. Kelly, Ethnic Politics in Europe: The Power of Norms and Incentives (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2004); Frank Schimmelfennig and Ulrich Sedelmeier, eds., The Politics of European Union Enlargement: Theoretical Approaches (New York: Routledge, 2005); and Milada Anna Vachudova, Europe Undivided: Democracy, Leverage and Integration after Communism (New York: Oxford University Press, 2005). Discussions of other international factors appear in Erin Jenne, Ethnic Bargaining: The Paradox of Minority Empowerment (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2006); and Stephen Saideman, Ties that Divide: Ethnic Politics, Foreign Policy, and International Conflict (New York: Columbia University Press, 2001). Jenne, Ethnic Bargaining; Saideman, The Ties that Divide; Stephen Saideman and William Ayres, For Kin or Country: Xenophobia, Nationalism, and War (New York: Columbia University Press, 2008); Sidney Tarrow, The New Transnational Activism (New York: Cambridge University


28


changes emerged organically from within, through domestic politics and contention.91 The chapters that follow show that international influences did not have direct causal influence, but rather were filtered into domestic debates and then used by local actors in domestic contentious processes over specific policies. As convincingly argued by Zsuzsa Csergo, external actors such as the European Union influenced language policy in Romania and Slovakia only when the preferences of domestic elites aligned with EU standards.92 This view is echoed by Conor O’Dwyer in his extensive study of administrative reform in the 1990s in Poland, the Czech Republic, and Slovakia.93 In terms of Rogers Brubaker’s triadic nexus,94 EU standards became part of the discourse within the domestic political fields of majorities and minorities and were invoked or rejected as tools in this contentious process. But the policy formation, moderation, and democratization processes themselves were domestic ones. The evidence for the domestic-led nature of these processes is outlined in Chapters 6 and 7. It is worth noting here that the timing of policy formation in these states varied internally. Had either the European Union or Hungary been the primary forces behind such policies, their timing would have been more similar to each other than the evidence demonstrates. In particular, Hungary’s level of involvement in the situation of “Hungarians abroad”95 tended to vary with different governments during the first post-socialist decade. From 1990 to 1994, József Antall’s government initiated a high level of involvement in these affairs. The socialist party Gyula Horn government that followed displayed relatively less interest in the affairs beyond Hungary’s borders. In contrast, the more rightward-leaning Viktor Orbán government, in place from 1998 to 2002, sharply increased its level of involvement and support for the claims of Hungarians in Hungary’s neighboring states, including financial and other support for ethnic parties.96 One product of this government was the 2001 Hungarian Status Law, which granted specific benefits to ethnic Hungarians who are citizens of other states. The Status Law constitutes a move by the Hungarian state to formulate a legal relationship with its ethnic kin who are citizens of other states and who may never have set foot in Hungary. The law should not be confused with dual citizenship, especially as it was not intended that these individuals should

91

92 93 94 95 96

Press, 2006); and Myra Waterbury, Between State and Nation: Diaspora Politics and Kin-State Nationalism in Hungary (Basingstoke, UK: Palgrave, 2011). Other studies emphasizing domestic debates include Csergo, Talk of the Nation; James Hughes, Gwendolyn Sasse, and Claire Gordon, Europeanization and Regionalization in the EU’s Enlargement to Central and Eastern Europe: The Myth of Conditionality (New York: Palgrave, 2004); and Conor O’Dwyer, Runaway State-Building: Patronage Politics and Democratic Development (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2006). Csergo, Talk of the Nation, p. 75. O’Dwyer, Runaway State-Building, pp. 100–7. Brubaker “National Minorities.” The commonly used phrase to refer to these Hungarians, or “határon túli magyarok.” Jenne, Ethnic Bargaining; Saideman, Ties that Divide; and Saideman and Ayres, For Kin or Country.


Counterarguments

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move to Hungary in order to access these benefits. Although a fascinating step in the direction of kin legislation for minorities,97 in practice the Status Law had quite minimal effect on Hungarians in other states and on the development of the policies that were disputed among groups in these states.98 In the years following the time frame examined in this book, Victor Orbán’s party again regained power, and in 2010 passed a law establishing full dual citizenship for Hungarians living outside of Hungary. This dual citizenship law, which became effective in January 2011, remains a matter of some international confusion and domestic contention in these states. But overall, policy formation in these states was not directly linked to the timing of Hungary’s policies toward them. Although Hungary certainly attempted to influence minority policy of its neighbors, policy formation was led by domestic contentious processes. V. E. Elites Finally, some readers may wonder whether mass mobilizations indeed drove these processes, or whether politics in these states was simply the product of elite actions. Much of the literature on ethnic politics and democratic transitions tends to prioritize the actions of elites,99 defined here as officeholders or party leaders. The evidence shows that elites certainly played a defined role in these processes, as outlined in the relational model of interactions earlier in this chapter. The model illustrates that the specifics of policies must be hammered out in elite negotiations – masses cannot effectively negotiate with each other over details of policy. But mass mobilizations take place when ordinary people think that matters of sincere importance to them are not being addressed by political elites. It was for this reason that ethnic contention was so common during the 1990s in these states. Contrary to arguments that ethnic mobilization took place as ordinary people were led by nationalist elites,100 this evidence shows that the dynamics of mobilization were initiated by ordinary Hungarians who wished to see policy change. Given their minority status, they could not achieve such change through formal institutional channels, thus mobilization and contention became a pragmatic means for Hungarian masses to express

97

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Zsuzsa Csergo and James Goldgeier, “Nationalist Strategies and European Integration,” Perspectives on Politics 2, no. 1 (2004), pp. 21–37; Stephen Deets, “The Hungarian Status Law and the Specter of Neomedievalism in Europe,” Ethnopolitics 7, no. 3 (2008), pp. 195– 215; and Stephen Deets and Sherrill Stroschein, “Reimagining the Boundaries of the Nation: Politics and the Development of Ideas on Minority Rights,” East European Politics and Societies 20, no. 3 (2006), pp. 419–46. László Szarká, “Slovak Reactions to the Hungarian Status Law,” presentation at a conference on “The Status Law Syndrome: Post-Communist Nation-Building or Post-Modern Citizenship?” Hungarian Academy of Sciences, Budapest, October 2004. See O’Donnell and Schmitter, Transitions from Authoritarian Rule, on transitions; Snyder, Voting to Violence; and Snyder and Ballantine, “Nationalism and the Marketplace of Ideas.” Snyder, From Voting to Violence; and Snyder and Ballantine, “Nationalism and the Marketplace of Ideas.”



30

their policy sentiments in the public sphere. Such mobilizations were timed with policy decisions and played a strong role in advancing or halting them. Mass mobilizations on certain policies were disruptive enough to force elites to the bargaining table to resolve them, as with sustained Hungarian protests and strikes on school policy in Slovakia in 1997 and 1998. Elites thus play an important role in moderation processes, as it is through cross-group elite bargaining that the details of policy matters may get resolved. But without the backing of Hungarian mass protests, Hungarian elites would have been hardpressed to negotiate policy concessions with titular elites on their own. The model illustrates how both the relational mechanisms of elite bargaining and brokerage with mass populations were required for moderation processes to take place. Without mass support or resonance for these negotiations, bargaining simply reflects abstract elite discussions, and masses continue to mobilize to achieve their policy aims until they are met. Just as masses learn moderation through continued interactions, elites do as well,101 but the local mechanisms of the relational model must be allowed to operate without the interference of external shocks such as military involvement. This observation illustrates why the trajectory in the former Yugoslavia differed from the moderating paths in the states of study. There, backed by weapons and the military, elites had little reason to embrace moderate goals. Their ability to use strong weaponry to advance extreme positions, and the related disruption to the model of local exchange that I outline, rendered moderating mechanisms impossible. A note on sources is worthwhile here. Arguments favoring a strong role for the European Union or for elites are often founded on sources that tend to prioritize the activities of these actors in politics. For this reason, many works have tended to overlook the influence of ordinary people in transition processes.102 Documentation of the actions of ordinary people requires devoting attention to local sources, such as the local newspapers and interviews used in this book. Event analysis, outlined in more detail in the next chapter, is a technique that allows an examination of what it is that ordinary people do.

vi. next steps The evidence in this book demonstrates how de facto deliberative processes unfolded through protest in these mixed states, bringing about a transformation of group stances during the democratization process of the 1990s. It was in this way that minority and majority claims slowly became more moderate and routinized into democratic institutions. This account of ethnic minority incorporation into the democratic process differs greatly from alternative arguments 101

102

Mark Beissinger, “Structure and Example in Modular Political Phenomena: The Diffusion of Bulldozer/Rose/Orange/Tulip Revolutions,” Perspectives on Politics 5, no. 2 (June 2007), pp. 259–76, at p. 273; and Csergo, Talk of the Nation. A similar point is made by Bermeo, Ordinary People in Extraordinary Times.


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that prioritize external actors, such as the European Union103 or the Hungarian state104 in directing this process. Policy outcomes were influenced by external entities only when their actions were filtered into the local discourse, through domestic contentious processes.105 An examination of trajectories and processes in sequence, using insights from historical institutionalism, provides useful insight on how these transformations took place over time.106 This theoretical framework, the technique of event analysis to assess the evidence, and some of the findings of the study are summarized Chapter 2. Chapter 3 covers a brief history of the interactions among ethnic groups in this region and discusses the political institutions that framed the formal context within which contention took place. Chapters 4 and 5 examine mobilization dynamics at the local level – one that produced violence and one that did not. Chapter 4 presents the microdynamics of mobilization between Romanians and Hungarians in Târgu Mures¸ in 1990, which remains the one instance of a violent riot between these groups during the contentious transition period. Chapter 5 outlines very similar dynamics behind mobilizations over a symbolic issue – a statue in Cluj in 1992 and 1994 – which did not end in violence. I then turn to the influence of protest on statewide government policy trajectories in Chapter 6, which examines language debates, and in Chapter 7, which examines disputes over the structure of autonomous units for minorities and local governance. Finally, Chapter 8 summarizes the arguments presented in these chapters, highlighting how ethnic protest facilitated group deliberation during the transition process and outlining how these insights might be applied in other research. It includes a recipe for conducting the type of processual analysis used in the book, to be outlined in the next chapter.

103

104 105

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Kelly, Ethnic Politics in Europe; Ronald Linden, ed., Norms and Nannies: The Impact of International Organizations on the Central and East European States (Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield, 2002); John McGarry and Michael Keating, eds., European Integration and the Nationalities Question (New York: Routledge, 2006); and Vachudova, Europe Undivided. For an alternative view, see Hughes, Sasse, and Gordon, Europeanization and Regionalization in the EU’s Enlargement to Central and Eastern Europe. Jenne, Ethnic Bargaining; and Saideman, Ties that Divide. Brubaker outlines a form of this relational filtering process, in which the discourse and stances of domestic actors may incorporate shifts from the external context. Brubaker, “National Minorities.” On this issue, see also Csergo, Talk of the Nation. Some examples include Beissinger, Nationalist Mobilization; McAdam, Tarrow, and Tilly, Dynamics of Contention; Barrington Moore, Jr., Social Origins of Dictatorship and Democracy: Lord and Peasant in the Making of the Modern World (Boston: Beacon Press, 1966); and Kathleen Thelen, How Institutions Evolve: The Political Economy of Skills in Germany, Britain, the United States, and Japan (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2004).


2 Time, Process, and Events in Democratization

In Romania and Slovakia in the 1990s, laws to regulate minority issues tended to fluctuate between more open and more restrictive stances toward ethnic Hungarians, converging on positions that could be accepted by both groups. Group stances and goals were transformed during a process of contention, a de facto type of deliberation that took place outside of the confines of electoral and parliamentary politics.1 Contentious processes were far from efficient, but slowly brought about the legitimation of new rules among both groups, encouraging moderation from their initial stances. It was through this process that policies were forged via domestic debate and scrutiny, rather than being imposed by external actors.2 The back-and-forth process of establishing minority policies in Romania and Slovakia stands in contrast to that which took place in Ukraine. Hungarians in Ukraine were certainly capable of mobilization on particular matters, such as a 1991 dispute over government autonomy, discussed further in Chapter 7. But the initially favorable policy stances of the Ukrainian state toward minorities made them less likely to mobilize than Hungarians were elsewhere – until Ukraine began to embark on less minority-friendly policies in the late 1990s. In the transition period of the 1990s, each policy and each protest event had an effect on the actions that would follow. In addition, group stances were changed over the course of interaction. These processes were thus endogenous, displaying feedback effects – meaning that the occurrence of an event at a prior stage in time affects the probability of an event of a later stage.3 To examine regularities in endogenous processes, one must use an analytical approach that

1

2

3

Contention may be considered a form of dialogue. Tilly, “Contentious Conversation”; and Tilly, “Political Identities in Changing Polities,” Social Research 70 (2003), pp. 605–20. See also Hughes, Sasse, and Gordon, Europeanization and Regionalization in the EU’s Enlargement to Central and Eastern Europe. These processes may also be defined as recursive. This definition is adapted from Beissinger, Nationalist Mobilization. He also includes an extensive discussion of the inherent endogeneity of contentious action.

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A Focus on Time: Incrementalism and Processes

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can incorporate, rather than ignore, endogeneity and other regular features of processes.4 This chapter outlines steps for an analysis of processes. I first outline why the role of time should be incorporated directly into analysis. Within political science, the approach of historical institutionalism comes closest to addressing the progression of time in processes.5 The techniques that I outline here stand in contrast to approaches that import the rules of statistical analysis to research,6 which tend to focus more on variables as snapshots in time rather than on processes in their entirety. I then outline event analysis as means to incorporate the insights of historical institutionalism into practical analysis, followed by a step-by-step approach to uncover causal mechanisms from event evidence. I conclude with a summary of the evidence and causal mechanisms that emerge in detail in the later chapters of the book.

i. a focus on time: incrementalism and processes A recent prevalent project in political science has been the importation of the rules of large-N statistical analysis to research, even to small-N, qualitative research projects. In this theoretical paradigm, called General Linear Reality (GLR),7 researchers are expected to posit a hypothesis on the relationship between distinct social phenomena and then to test the hypothesis through an “operationalization” of attributes of those phenomena. These attributes are

4

5

6

7

Beissinger, Nationalist Mobilization, p. 41, notes endogeneity as a central part of research questions involving certain processes. On the alignment of ontology and methodology, see Peter Hall, “Aligning Ontology and Methodology in Comparative Politics,” in James Mahoney and Dietrich Rueschemeyer, eds., Comparative Historical Analysis in the Social Sciences (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2003), pp. 373–404. Andrew Abbott notes that there has been an incongruence between theoretical and empirical sociology due to the prevalence of the linear model in analysis, which embodies quite restrictive assumptions and blinding observers to phenomena that counteract those assumptions: Abbott, “Transcending General Linear Reality,” in Abbott, Time Matters, pp. 37–63. Good overviews are available in Peter Hall and Rosemary Taylor, “Political Science and the Three New Institutionalisms,” Political Studies 44 (1996), pp. 936–57; Thomas Koelble, “The New Institutionalism in Political Science and Sociology,” Comparative Politics 27, no. 2 (1994), pp. 231–43; James March and Johan Olsen, “The New Institutionalism: Organizational Factors in Political Life,” American Political Science Review 78 (1984), pp. 734–49, and Paul Pierson, Politics in Time (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2004). Applications appear in Michael Barzelay, “Introduction: The Process Dynamics of Public Management Policymaking,” International Public Management Journal 6 (2003), pp. 251–82; Ira Katznelson, “Periodization and Preferences: Reflections on Purposive Action in Comparative Historical Social Science,” in Mahoney and Rueschemeyer, eds., Comparative Historical Analysis, pp. 270–301; McAdam, Tarrow, and Tilly, Dynamics of Contention; Paul Pierson, “When Effect Becomes Cause: Policy Feedback and Political Change,” World Politics 45, no. 4 (1993), pp. 595–628; and Thelen, How Institutions Evolve. Gary King, Robert Keohane, and Sidney Verba, Designing Social Inquiry: Scientific Inference in Qualitative Research (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1994). Abbott, “Transcending General Linear Reality.”


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Time, Process, and Events in Democratization

assessed as “variables” and should be distinct and measurable.8 Based on an analysis of the variable attribute measurements, correlations between variable attributes are intended to reveal the nature of the relationship between the social phenomena under examination. The logic of this type of analysis has become increasingly popular across a wide variety of work in the social sciences. But the philosophical assumptions required for this application of statistical logic tend to prioritize some empirical information at the expense of other information. They also tend to render certain questions less “ask-able.” Two of these assumptions in particular merit critical examination, given their implications for restricting potential inquiry in social and political science.9 The first important assumption of the GLR paradigm regards the notion of variables as stable phenomena over time with measurable attributes.10 An important first step in statistical research is the identification of variable attributes for the phenomena of interest. However, an attribute to describe a minority policy (as extreme or moderate, for example) can change in each state over time. This likelihood of change can render such analysis difficult – as with the oscillating status of these policies in Romania and Slovakia during the 1990s. In these states, whether a policy was minority-friendly or harsh to minorities would depend more on the particular date selected for the snapshot of this data, and would not successfully indicate the undulating nature of the policy trajectory itself. Moreover, preferences for each group would be hard to classify as well, as the goals of each group moderated over time, in the course of de facto deliberation. An assumption of the stability of goals over time is thus inappropriate to the empirical material. Second, GLR assumes that the elements of analysis must be independent, meaning that their sequence in time should be of little consequence. This is a logic counter to that of narratives and processes.11 With regard to processes such as mobilization or policy formation, the transactions at one point in time inevitably alter the conditions of possibility at later points in time. This inherent path dependence means that the conditions at Time 1 and Time 2 are different – and quite different from conditions at Time 10. They thus become problematic as data points to be compared in a statistical manner. Moreover, due to path dependence, these points are inherently endogenous, as what happens at Time 2 contains feedback effects from Time 1.12 This discussion illustrates why an attempt to separate out “independent” and “dependent” variables in an incremental process such as mobilization or policy 8 9 10 11 12

King, Keohane, Verba, Designing Social Inquiry. Abbott, “Transcending General Linear Reality.” Abbott, “Transcending General Linear Reality,” pp. 40–3. Abbott, “Transcending General Linear Reality,” pp. 51–6. Abbott, “Transcending General Linear Reality”; Beissinger, Nationalist Mobilization; Paul Pierson, “Increasing Returns, Path Dependence, and the Study of Politics,” American Political Science Review 94, no. 2 (2000), pp. 251–67; Pierson, “When Effect Becomes Cause,” pp. 595–628; and Thelen, How Institutions Evolve.


Premises of Historical Institutionalism

35

formation is a recipe for frustration. If pressed to do so, one could attempt to force process data into variable form. Imagine such an attempt with regard to the relationship between government minority policies and minority ethnic mobilization. One might hypothesize that antiminority state policies (as an independent causal variable, or IV) would mobilize ethnic minorities into mobilization (as the dependent variable and result to be explained, or DV). In this study, the independent variable, antiminority state policies, could be coded and assessed for its correlation with ethnic mobilization in terms of the number of protests or votes for ethnic parties. Several countries or case studies could be examined in this way to assess the degree to which the correlations might or might not hold in different contexts – or how generalizable the hypothesis on policies as mobilizing minorities might be. A problem, however, would arise with an examination of data over time, which would reveal that minority ethnic mobilization at one stage might lead to further changes in government policy at a later stage, resulting in further changes to mobilization. In this broader picture, the variable pattern would look something like the following:

IV4DV4IV4DV4IV4DV . . . etc: This is because these are processes with feedback effects.13 Rather than being independent entities, the variables would slip out of the straightjacket of assumptions required for variable analysis. Mathematics might be applied in an attempt to “control” for this endogeneity, but the logical problem remains. This book takes a different perspective: that minority ethnic mobilization and policy formation regarding minorities are inherently intertwined processes in which sequence matters. Just as minorities might mobilize in protest against policy, so too might minority mobilization change the nature of those policies.14 Indeed, as noted by Mark Beissinger, for process-related social science questions, it is precisely this endogeneity that should become the main focus of study.15 The two move together in a trajectory – but the shape of the trajectory will differ depending on the content of each and the degree to which they are intertwined. Some useful steps to address these problems appear in the historical institutionalist approach to the study of politics.

ii. premises of historical institutionalism Institutions are rules, norms, and procedures that regulate social action.16 Political scientists have long labored to explain how they are produced. In one 13 14 15

16

Pierson, “When Effect Becomes Cause.” Pierson, “When Effect Becomes Cause”; and Hall, “Aligning Ontology and Methodology.” Beissinger, Nationalist Mobilization. Abbott, in “Transcending General Linear Reality,” describes this phenomenon as that of sequence effects. Definition adapted from Hall and Taylor, “Political Science”; Helmke and Levitsky, “Informal Institutions”; and Stephen Krasner, International Regimes (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1983).



36

view, institutions emerge because they are functional and efficient means to resolve social dilemmas, a position argued by theorists of rational choice and strategic action.17 Historical institutionalism takes an opposing view: that institutions do not emerge from efficiency, but rather from inefficient political struggles. In this historical view, emergent institutions are influenced by the social routines that preceded them. They thus preserve some degree of continuity across time, even if they are not particularly efficient or functional.18 With this attention to continuity and change over time, work in the historical institutionalist vein has emphasized the nature of social processes that are similar to the mobilization and policy formation processes examined here. Some key traits of this approach include a respect for sequence, incrementalism, and path dependence and feedback effects, outlined in turn in the following subsections. I then discuss event analysis, a practical technique to incorporate these aspects into research. II. A. Timing and Sequence The importance of timing in social processes has long been observed by analysts of politics and social life.19 Systematic means to evaluate the importance of time and sequence have gained theoretical ground in the last few decades, particularly

17

18

19

See especially Robert Bates, Avner Greif, Margaret Levi, Jean-Laurent Rosenthal, and Barry Weingast, Analytic Narratives (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1998); Margaret Levi, Of Rule and Revenue (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1989); Douglass North, “Institutions and a Transaction-Cost Theory of Exchange,” in James Alt and Kenneth Shepsle, eds., Perspectives on Positive Political Economy (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1990), pp. 182–94; Douglass North, Structure and Change in Economic History (New York: W. W. Norton, 1981); Mancur Olsen, The Logic of Collective Action: Public Goods and the Theory of Groups (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1971); and Elinor Ostrom, Governing the Commons: The Evolution of Institutions for Collective Action (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1990). Giovanni Capoccia and Daniel Ziblatt, “The Historical Turn in Democratization Studies: A New Research Agenda for Europe and Beyond,” Comparative Political Studies 43, no. 8/9 (2010), pp. 931–68; Hall and Taylor, “Political Science”; Mahoney and Rueschemeyer, eds., Comparative Historical Analysis; March and Olsen, “New Institutionalism”; Pierson, Politics in Time; Walter Powell and Paul DiMaggio, eds., The New Institutionalism in Organizational Analysis (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1991); Sven Steinmo, Kathleen Thelen, and Frank Longstreth, Structuring Politics: Historical Institutionalism in Comparative Analysis (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1992); and Thelen, How Institutions Evolve. Abbott, Time Matters; and Pierson, Politics in Time; Ronald Aminzade, “Historical Sociology and Time,” Sociological Methods and Research 20 (1992), pp. 456–80; Barrington Moore, Jr., Social Origins of Dictatorship and Democracy: Lord and Peasant in the Making of the Modern World (Boston: Beacon Press, 1966); William H. Sewell, Jr., “Three Temporalities: Toward an Eventful Sociology,” in The Historic Turn in the Human Sciences, Terrence J. McDonald, ed. (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1996), pp. 245–80; Charles Tilly, Big Structures, Large Processes, Huge Comparisons (New York: Russell Sage Foundation, 1984); and Charles Tilly, “To Explain Political Processes,” American Journal of Sociology 100, no. 6 (May 1995), pp. 1594–1610.



37

in the field of historical sociology.20 In this type of analysis, comparative “cases,” or entities for analysis, are not fixed variables, but rather trajectories or processes – cumulative sequences of linked events.21 A revolution, for example, is understood as a broad social process that is comprised of smaller process streams, such as mobilization and polarization.22 In this approach, the effort is not to discover general covering laws for phenomena, which often take the form that X causes Y.23 Rather, the task is identifying general causal mechanisms that operate in different processes across different contexts. Works of this kind are often strongly inductive, outlining detailed trajectories in order to identify particular mechanisms.24 As previously mentioned, GLR methods from statistics tend to assume (1) the stability of variable attributes across time and (2) independent units of analysis that are not affected by time.25

20

21 22 23 24

25

This is also termed narrative analysis in sociology and event analysis in political science. Abbott, Time Matters; Peter Abell, “Narrative Explanation: An Alternative to Variable-Centered Explanation?” Annual Review of Sociology 30 (2004), pp. 287–310; Peter Abell, “Causality and Low-Frequency Complex Events: The Role of Comparative Narratives,” Sociological Methods and Research 30, no. 1 (August 2001), pp. 57–80; Peter Abell, The Syntax of Social Life: The Theory and Method of Comparative Narratives (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1987); William Corsaro and David Heise, “Event Structure Models from Ethnographic Data,” Sociological Methodology 20 (1990), pp. 1–57; Ekiert and Kubik, Rebellious Civil Society; Roberto Franzosi, “From Words to Numbers: A Generalized and Linguistics-Based Coding Procedure for Collecting Textual Data.” Sociological Methodology 19 (1989), pp. 263–98; Roberto Franzosi, “Narrative Analysis – or Why (and How) Sociologists Should Be Interested in Narrative,” Annual Review of Sociology 24 (1998), pp. 517–54; Larry Griffin, “Narrative, Event-Structure Analysis, and Causal Interpretation in Historical Sociology,” American Journal of Sociology 98, no. 5 (1993), pp. 1094–1133; McAdam, Tarrow, and Tilly, Dynamics of Contention; Beissinger, Nationalist Mobilization; Sewell, “Toward an Eventful Sociology”; and Charles Tilly, “Event Catalogs as Theories,” Sociological Theory 20, no. 2 (July 2002), pp. 248– 54. The use of time series methods can be applied to get around this problem in variable analysis. See also Andrew Abbott and Angela Tsay, “Sequence Analysis and Optimal Matching Methods in Sociology,” Sociological Methods and Research 29 (2000), pp. 3–33. Some of these methods involve coding and statistical analyses that can be quite complex or can also consist of methods to trace sequences that are similar to DNA analysis in biology. Andrew Abbott, “A Comment on ‘Measuring the Agreement between Sequences,’” Sociological Methods and Research 24, no. 2 (November 1995), pp. 232–43. Like the approach of process tracing in history and social science put forth by Alexander George in “Case Studies and Theory Development: The Method of Structured, Focused Comparison,” in P. G. Lauren, ed., Diplomacy: New Approaches in History, Theory, and Policy (New York: Free Press, 1989), pp. 43–68. This approach shares an emphasis on chronology. However, event analysis is more systematic in its categorization of the data. See Abbott, “What Do Cases Do?” in Time Matters, pp. 129–60. Aminzade, “Historical Sociology.” McAdam, Tarrow, and Tilly, Dynamics of Contention. Or, that X is correlated with Y, which is usually the result obtained from statistical analysis. Aminzade, “Historical Sociology”; Beissinger, Nationalist Mobilization; Hall and Taylor, “Political Science”; McAdam, Tarrow, and Tilly, Dynamics of Contention; Mahoney and Rueschemeyer, eds., Comparative Historical Analysis; Pierson, Politics in Time; March and Olsen, “New Institutionalism”; Steinmo, Thelen, and Longstreth, Structuring Politics; and Thelen, How Institutions Evolve. Abbott, “Transcending General Linear Reality.”


38


In historical institutionalism, time and sequence are taken more seriously, via the examination of processes and trajectories rather than of variables. One insight from this approach is the fact that a particular event in a sequence may alter trajectories and thus outcomes.26 For example, the actions of “early risers” in mobilizations that brought about the collapse of the Soviet Union increased the probability of later mobilization by others – an observation that also demonstrates how actions of different groups in analysis are not wholly independent, but rather interconnected.27 Another observation is that institutions are often quite unique to particular contexts. This type of analysis can examine how institutions emerge organically, which is a primary reason that there are limits to external institutional designs.28 More is said on this approach in Section II. B. Both of these insights relate to the policy trajectories examined in this book. Throughout the 1990s, Romania, Slovakia, and Ukraine generated quite different laws to regulate minority affairs, due to different events in each local context. These important differences would be missed with a focus only on the particular content of policies in 1999, as by that point policies had converged in Romania and Slovakia. Ukraine demonstrates a contrast in trajectory, as there Hungarians remained relatively quiet in the face of quite minority-friendly policies – but with somewhat similar policy outcomes by 1999. This similarity in policy by the late 1990s has led others to describe these policies as brought about by external actors such as the European Union. However, the very different shapes of these oscillating policy trajectories throughout the 1990s tell a story of strong domestic contention and repeated changes in rules – a process that was driven by domestic political struggle and policy formation rather than by international actors. II. B. Incrementalism and Cumulative Effects An examination of processes and trajectories over time, rather than the attempt to isolate “snapshot” variables at particular moments, also reveals the importance of incremental, cumulative effects in social processes that might otherwise remain hidden. Some descriptions of institutional change emphasize exogenous shocks as primary causal factors in bringing about change – a punctuated equilibrium model. The view that the European Union was an exogenous shock to Romania and Slovakia that brought about moderation in minority policy is an example of such an explanation. However, institutional change is 26

27 28

Abbott, “Transcending General Linear Reality”; March and Olsen, “New Institutionalism”; McAdam, Tarrow, and Tilly, Dynamics of Contention; Pierson, Politics in Time; James Mahoney, “Comparative-Historical Methodology,” Annual Review of Sociology 30 (2004), p. 88; Mahoney and Rueschemeyer, eds., Comparative Historical Analysis; and Alexander George and Andrew Bennett, Case Studies and Theory Development in the Social Sciences (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2004). The duration of particular processes is also important; see Aminzade, “Historical Sociology”; and Pierson, Politics in Time. Beissinger, Nationalist Mobilization; and Beissinger, “Structure and Example,” p. 263. Pierson, Politics in Time, Chapters 4 and 5.



39

often instead incremental, a “pattern of change by small steps”29 – subtle and cumulative rather than immediate. As noted by Kathleen Thelen, institutions are in a constant process of adaptation and renegotiation by the actors who have a stake in them.30 In Romania and Slovakia, the incremental, pendulum-like pattern of shifts on minority policies demonstrates such change in practice. Throughout the 1990s, changes in these policies were due to cumulative effects throughout the decade – they were not the result of one strong, exogenous shock from the European Union. Instead, these institutions were forged through a domestic process of ongoing local debate and contestation. Actions by the European Union were sometimes filtered into these disputes, but the primary drivers of change were the interactions in local processes of domestic contention.31 Minority quiescence in Ukraine demonstrated that incremental contention is not a standard feature of minority–majority relations, but rather emerges only where minorities perceive a need for specific policy change. II. C. Path Dependence, Feedback Effects, and Endogeneity Path dependence is the notion that in any given trajectory, past events will affect the probability of the events that follow.32 In this view, the development of institutions is organic and endogenous. As the stances, goals, preferences, and power positions of actors may be changed by institutions at one point in time, these changes in turn may affect their actions and the potential development of institutions at a later point.33 There are strong theoretical implications from this insight – institutions are unlikely to form according to functional principles of efficiency,34 but rather will be specific to the particularities of local contexts. Some interesting work in the historical institutionalist vein has focused on specifying the process according to which path dependence and endogeneity influence the shape of trajectories. This study of policy feedback has produced particularly useful insights.35 As outlined by Paul Pierson, the concept of increasing returns provides a more precise understanding of the mechanisms of path 29

30 31

32

33 34

35

Charles Lindblom, “Still Muddling, Not Yet Through,” Public Administration Review 39, no. 6 (1979), p. 517, and Lindblom, “The Science of ‘Muddling Through,’” Public Administration Review 19, no. 2 (1959), pp. 79–88. Abbott, Time Matters; Thelen, How Institutions Evolve. Because of changes in these dynamics, outside factors may vary in importance over time. Abbott, “Transcending General Linear Reality.” Compiled from Aminzade, “Historical Sociology,” p. 462; and Beissinger, Nationalist Mobilization. March and Olsen, “New Institutionalism,” p. 744; and Thelen, How Institutions Evolve. Efficiency may be represented in the rational choice or game theory literature as a unique equilibrium point. In literature on processes, multiple equilibria are understood to be common. These can also be described as “interaction effects.” Abbott, Time Matters; Michael Cohen, James March, and Johan Olsen, “A Garbage Can Model of Organizational Choice,” Administrative Science Quarterly 17, no. 1 (1972), pp. 1–25; Hall, “Aligning Ontology and Methodology”; March and Olsen, “New Institutionalism”; Pierson, “Increasing Returns”; Kathleen Thelen,


40


dependence.36 A process with increasing returns is one in which each step along a particular path increases the probability of further steps down the same path. Prior institutions will affect the likelihood of similar institutions at later points, increasing the probability of some opportunities and foreclosing others. As argued by Pierson, institutions thus have a status quo bias.37 For example, the fact that Hungarian minorities have had quite continuous access to Hungarianlanguage schools in these states made it nearly impossible for titular groups to argue for their elimination altogether – an idea that was considered extreme even by more strident titulars. Indeed, the long-standing presence of minoritylanguage schools has surprised some of the Western organizations that arrived to promote minority rights in these states, because these minority schools often surpassed the quantity and quality of schools for minorities in their own states. In the context of path dependence, critical junctures, or points that can establish or change institutions, can be extremely important, as they tend to set down tracks for future possibilities.38 When these territories were under Hungarian state rule, the establishment of a strong Hungarian educational system was a critical moment that has carried into the present, in the form of strong Hungarian schools in Romania, Slovakia, and Ukraine. Similarly, the first elections and the creation of constitutions in these states were critical junctures that constrained the paths of future political options available to actors. The constraining effects of the founding of institutions do not imply that institutions cut off all future political contestation. Policies are endogenous to public mobilization – they are both produced by political actors and they can later induce publics to mobilize in support for or in opposition to them. It is in this way that policy feedback effects can involve mass publics in protest and contention. Pierson notes that these feedback effects may be particularly strong in new democracies, which do not have other institutional means (such as interest group lobbies) to change policy.39 Through political contention, participants learn the limits to which they can oppose such policies. Just as elites might learn through a negotiation process, it is also the case that mass publics can engage in learning processes through interaction.40 The next section outlines how incremental evidence might be examined in order to produce general statements about how these processes work.

36 37

38 39

40

“Historical Institutionalism in Comparative Politics,” Annual Review of Political Science 2 (1999), pp. 357–404; and Thelen, How Institutions Evolve. These mechanisms are also known as positive feedback processes and self-reinforcing processes. James March and Johan Olsen, “The Institutional Dynamics of International Political Orders,” International Organization 52, no. 4 (1998), p. 965; and Pierson, “Increasing Returns,” especially pp. 252, 254, 257, 262. Pierson, Politics in Time; and Thelen, How Institutions Evolve. Pierson, “When Effect Becomes Cause,” pp. 600–5, especially p. 602. He notes that these effects on mass publics are less likely to be noticed by political scientists, as they are more likely to examine the actions of elites; see p. 605. This concept can be understood as “learning by doing”: Pierson, “Increasing Returns,” p. 254; and Pierson, “When Effect Becomes Cause,” pp. 598, 618. See also March and Olsen, “International Political Orders,” p. 964.


Data for Event Analysis

41

iii. data for event analysis These insights from historical institutionalism on the importance of time and sequence, incrementalism, and path dependence and feedback effects demonstrate that a study of trajectories should focus directly on the unfolding of events, or processes, in its analytical approach to information. The technique of event analysis offers a useful way to approach such information, as it can incorporate the inherently endogenous aspects of cause and effect within trajectories directly into analysis.41 A sequenced collection of event data on protest and policy change can demonstrate feedback effects of prior events on subsequent events.42 More detailed information about the technique of event analysis is outlined in this book’s appendix. The arguments in this book are based upon a collection of data on events relating to ethnic politics from local newspapers in Romania, Slovakia, and Ukraine, in these languages and in Hungarian. These newspapers, most daily but a few weekly, were examined across a ten-year period from late 1989 to late 1999 in selected mixed cities. As it would not have been possible to conduct such in-depth work for all of the mixed cities in these states, nine sample cities were selected according to specific criteria. A record of events over time using sample cities allows for preservation of detail while at the same time enabling a track record of extensive information. This section outlines how the evidence was collected for the book, and Sections V and VI that follow outline how the evidence is used in analysis. The event database holds approximately 900 event entries for Romania and approximately 600 entries for Slovakia. Some information was gathered on Transcarpathia, Ukraine, producing a record of 150 events. As the information from Ukraine was partial due to source limitations, it is not used in the systematic illustration of interactions in graphs. The event database depicts interactions on matters of ethnic politics between Hungarians and titulars in Romania, Slovakia, and Ukraine (and is thus named HURS). The time period examined is between 1990 and 1999 for each of the three states. The local newspapers for the three cities in Romania provided quite comprehensive information. But due to some problems with local newspapers in Slovakia during the Vladimír Mecˇ iar administration, later research compiled data from two state-level newspapers in Slovak and Hungarian, Sme and Új Szó, to ensure complete coverage of events for the cities there. A summary of the newspapers used appears in Table 2.1. Field research for the book was conducted over a sixteen-month period in 1997–8, and for shorter periods between 1999 and 2009, without the assistance of a translator. I lived with local families of each ethnic group for months at a time in eight of the nine cities during 1997–8, giving me a strong grounding in 41

42

For an extensive outline of the philosophy and methodology of this approach, see Beissinger, Nationalist Mobilization. Beissinger, Nationalist Mobilization. Events may be examined in a continuous chronological sequence without the application of complex mathematics.



42

table 2.1. Newspapers Used for the Event Database Newspaper Name

City and Country

Language

Adeva˘rul de Cluj Szabadság Adeva˘rul Harghitei Hargita Népe Cuvîntul Liber Népújság Slovenský Východ, then Lúcˇ Komárnˇ anské Listy Komáromi Lapok Gemerské Zvesti Gömöri Hírlap Smena, then Sme (supplemental) Új Szó (supplemental) Novyny Zakarpattia Kárpáti Igaz Szó Vysnik Berehivshyny Beregi Hírlap

Cluj, Romania Cluj, Romania Miercurea Ciuc, Romania Miercurea Ciuc, Romania Târgu Mures¸, Romania Târgu Mures¸, Romania Košice, Slovakia Komárno, Slovakia Komárno, Slovakia Rimavská Sobota, Slovakia Rimavská Sobota, Slovakia Statewide, Slovakia Statewide, Slovakia Uzhhorod, Ukraine Uzhhorod, Ukraine Berehove, Ukraine Berehove, Ukraine

Romanian Hungarian Romanian Hungarian Romanian Hungarian Slovak Slovak Hungarian Slovak Hungarian Slovak Hungarian Ukrainian Hungarian Ukrainian Hungarian

local perspectives on the events of the 1990s. The newspaper data for all three countries were combined with months of participant observation and more than 160 formal interviews regarding the events of the 1990s. In contrast to my data collection in the Romanian and Slovak cities, the best efforts to collect complete data for the Ukrainian cities were hampered by a lack of availability of complete newspaper sets, a need to copy some material by hand, and an absence of local newspapers in the small city of Chop. Interviews and ethnographic participant observation, as well as journal articles and other materials, were thus crucial to compiling the Ukrainian material – although it provided a strong foundation for research in all countries. Additional library research to complete the newspaper collection was completed between 2007 and 2009. III. A. Sample Cities The cities of study are summarized in Table 2.2, by both their titular and Hungarian names, as Hungarians continue to employ the Hungarian names for these cities. A map of the city locations appears at the beginning of this book. These sample cities were selected according to strict criteria. First, three mixed cities were selected in each state. These three cities vary according to demographics: One is a titular-majority city, one a Hungarian-majority city, and one a “split” city with relatively balanced proportions of titulars and



43

table 2.2. Sample Cities, by Official and Hungarian Names

Titular majoritya Hungarian majority Relatively balanced between groups

Romania

Slovakia

Cluj-Napoca/ Kolozsvár Miercurea Ciuc/ Csíkszereda Târgu Mures¸/ Marosvásárhely

Košice/Kassa

Ukraine (Transcarpathia)

Uzhhorod/ Ungvár Komárno/Komárom Berehove/ Beregszász Rimavská Sobota/ Chop/Csap Rimaszombat

a

For Uzhhorod, the majority is comprised of both Ukrainians and Ruthenians, the regional Slavic group.

Hungarians – such that the mayoral seat or local governance powers are truly contested between groups in elections.43 Second, all nine cities lie on territories that belonged to Hungary before 1920 and were temporarily reannexed by Hungary during World War II. Because Hungary did not acquire all of its old territories during the war, this aspect provides some control for variations in local memory of Hungarian rule during the 1940s. Because all of the cities lie on territories that were regained by Hungary during World War II, in each there is a generation that remembers Hungarian rule. Even by the 1990s, members of both groups who had been alive during the war vividly remembered the annexation and the postwar assignment of these territories to Romania, Czechoslovakia, and the Soviet Union. Attention to this feature was an effort to standardize these historical experiences across cities as much as possible. Third, after meeting these two criteria, an attempt was made to include cities with both titular and Hungarian local newspapers. Of the nine cities, seven met this standard. The two cities that did not were Košice in Slovakia, which maintained a titular paper but not a Hungarian paper, and Chop in Ukraine, which is a small city without local newspapers. For this reason, a complete set of data was gathered through two state-level Slovak newspapers, and extensive interviews on local politics were conducted with individuals in both of these cities. Given the complex history of this region as outlined, Hungarians and titulars tend to refer to many geographical points on these territories by different names. The cities selected for this study are no exception. Both the titular and Hungarian names are thus listed in the tables that follow, although the titular names are used throughout the remainder of the book.

43

Of these cities, only Târgu Mures¸ comes truly close to being a 50–50 split city. However, in Rimavská Sobota and Chop, mayoral elections and city control alternated between groups as well, such that they constitute split cities for the purpose of this analysis.



44 table 2.3. Cities in Romania City Names Cluj-Napoca/ Kolozsvár Miercurea Ciuc/ Csíkszereda Târgu Mures¸/ Marosvásárhely a

Demographic Status, 1992 Census

Percent Romanian

Percent Hungarian or Székelya

Romanian majority

76

23

Hungarian majority

16

83

Split

46

51

The Székely are a Hungarian subgroup.

Cluj-Napoca/Kolozsvár (Romanian Majority) The largest and westernmost of the Romanian sample cities, Cluj had a population of 330,000 according to the 1992 census, which listed Romanians as 76 percent of its inhabitants and Hungarians as 23 percent (see Table 2.3).44 The ethnic composition of the town changed substantially under socialism, as the establishment of several large factories was accompanied by a statesanctioned influx of Romanians from other parts of the country. Cluj is the home of the Babes¸-Bolyai “multicultural” university, which features courses in Romanian, Hungarian, and German. The city’s infamous and strident Romanian mayor, Gheorghe Funar, held power from 1992 until 2004. The local newspapers examined were the Romanian Adeva˘ rul de Cluj and the Hungarian Szabadság, although since 1998 the Romanian-language newspaper market has become far more diverse, with several local dailies now available.45 Miercurea Ciuc/Csíkszereda (Hungarian Majority) Miercurea Ciuc is located in the mountainous Hungarian enclave region of Secuime/Székelyföld in central Romania. Many Hungarians, regardless of their citizenship, regard this region as a center of Hungarian culture. According to the 1992 census, this city had a population of 46,000, with 16 percent Romanian and 83 percent Hungarian and Székely (a Hungarian-speaking ethnic group). Every spring, large numbers of Hungarian pilgrims arrive from throughout the Carpathian Basin, some of them on foot, for the large festival of Pünkösd, or Pentecost. The local newspapers are the Romanian Adeva˘ rul Harghitei and the Hungarian Hargita Népe. 44

45

The source for all local census statistics for Romania is data from the 1992 Romanian census, compiled by the Comisia Naț ionala˘ pentru Statistica˘. Information on localities is available at the Bureau of Statistics in each district seat (județ capital). Each of the cities mentioned serves in this role. Some excellent studies of local politics in Cluj can be found in Brubaker et al., Nationalist Politics; Jon Fox, “Consuming the Nation”; and Jon Fox, “Missing the Mark: Nationalist Politics and Student Apathy,” East European Politics and Societies 18 (2004), pp. 363–94.



45

Târgu Mures¸/Marosvásárhely (Split) This city is known in political circles for the violence that erupted between Hungarians and Romanians in the spring of 1990 on its town square. The 1992 population was 160,000 and, according to the 1992 census, 46 percent Romanian and 51 percent Hungarian. The city contains a medical school and an impressive amount of varied architecture, including a medieval bastion and a secessionist concert hall. It also hosts a well-attended festival every summer, the Târgu Mures¸ Days. As in the case of Cluj, the city’s Romanian population increased substantially with the industrialization that developed under socialism. Here the local newspapers examined were the Romanian Cuvîntul Liber and the Hungarian Népújság. Most residents of both ethnicities can communicate in simple phrases of the other language, for polite business or daily exchanges. Košice/Kassa (Slovak Majority) Košice is the largest of the Slovak towns surveyed (see Table 2.4), with a population of 340,000, including suburbs, according to the 1991 census. Of this number, the city itself was 91 percent Slovak and 5 percent Hungarian, while the suburbs were 77 percent Slovak and 16 percent Hungarian in 1991.46 table 2.4. Cities in Slovakia City Names Košice/Kassaa Komárno/Komáromb Rimavská Sobota/ Rimaszombatc

Demographic Status

Percent Slovak

Percent Hungarian

Slovak majority Hungarian majority Split

91 34

5 64

58

40

a

Statistics are from the statistical office of the Košice District, Oblastná správa Štatistického úradu Slovenskej Republiky v Košiciah, Východoslovenské okresy v cˇ islach, 1991–1995 (Košice, September 1996), pp. 26–7, figures for 1995, in percent. Numbers for Košice were obtained from Pavol Korec et al., Kraje a okresy Slovenska: Nové administravtívne cˇ lenenie (Bratislava: Vydavatel’stve Q111, 1997), pp. 332–47. b Statistics were obtained from the statistical office of the Komárno District, published by the Statistical Office of the Slovak Republic, Pocˇ et a štruktúra obyvatel’stva podl’a národnosti v SR (Bratislava, 1995). c Nationality numbers were obtained from the statistical office of the Rimavská Sobota District, Scˇ ítanie l’udu, domov, a bytov (R. Sobota, March 1991), 1991 census figures. Total population for Rimavská Sobota was obtained from a Coexistence Party publication, Városok és falvak jegyzéke, 1991 census figures.

46

Statistics from the statistical office of the Košice District, Oblastná správa Štatistického úradu Slovenskej Republiky v Košiciah, Východoslovenské okresy v cˇ islach, 1991–1995 (Košice, September 1996), pp. 26–7, figures for 1995, in percent. Numbers for Košice were obtained


46


The city is the second largest in Slovakia and has an illustrious history as well as stunning architecture, making it the most tourist-filled city in this study. As with the Romanian cities, its demography changed significantly under socialism, as one of Europe’s largest steel processing plants was established near the city limits. Local residents frequently cite a tradition of inter-ethnic cooperation as part of the reason behind their weak support for Slovak parties with nationalist leanings. The city featured one of the country’s most vocal opposition newspapers during the Mecˇ iar days, Slovenský Východ, until Mecˇ iar quieted it permanently by facilitating its buyout in 1995. It was replaced with the daily Lúcˇ , a local version of his government’s newspaper. Košice does not feature a Hungarian-language local newspaper, but it does host several Hungarian cultural institutions, including one of two Hungarian-language theaters, and is the seat of Csemadok, the Hungarian cultural organization. Komárno/Komárom (Hungarian Majority) This city had a population of 38,000, 34 percent Slovak and 64 percent Hungarian, in the 1991 census.47 Komárno lies in the Hungarian enclave region of Žitný Ostrov/Csallóköz, a flat, agricultural area covering southwest Slovakia. It is located across the Danube River from Hungary, and a well-trafficked bridge affords citizens of both Hungary and Slovakia the opportunity to make frequent shopping trips to the other side. In fact, in the Hungarian view, the two towns are actually part of the same historical whole, simply split by the border. The Hungarian “Komárom” appellation may denote either, with the adjectives “upper” or “lower” added as necessary. The two towns hold a joint festival every spring. Komárno is famous as a historically well-fortified city, and the walls of its fort continue to embrace the old downtown. The local newspapers are the Slovak Komárnˇ anské Listy and the Hungarian Komáromi Lapok, both produced with influence from the local council during the period under study. Rimavská Sobota/Rimaszombat (Split) This small city of 25,000 is in a rich agricultural area in the rolling hills of central Slovakia. According to the 1991 census, it was 58 percent Slovak and 40 percent Hungarian.48 Located in a region of high unemployment, in the late 1990s the town embarked on a renovation of its central square and several of its historic

47

48

from Pavol Korec et al., Kraje a okresy Slovenska: Nové administravtívne cˇ lenenie (Bratislava: Vydavatel’stve Q111, 1997), pp. 332–47. Statistics obtained from the statistical office of the Komárno District, published by the Statistical Office of the Slovak Republic, Pocˇ et a štruktúra obyvatel’stva podl’a národnosti v SR (Bratislava, 1995). Nationality numbers obtained from the Statistical Office of the Rimavská Sobota District, Scˇ ítanie l’udu, domov, a bytov (R. Sobota, March 1991), 1991 census figures. Total population for R. Sobota obtained from a Coexistence Party publication, “Városok és falvak jegyzéke,” in Komáromi Lapok, Az önkormányzat az önrendelkezés alapja (Komárom: Szinnyei Kiadó, 1995), pp. 248–64, figures from 1991 census.



47

table 2.5. Cities in Transcarpathia, Ukraine City Names, in Ukrainian, Russian, and Hungarian

Demographic Status a

Percent Ukrainian (or Ruthenian)

Percent Hungarian

Uzhhorod (Uzhgorod)/Ungvár Berehove (Beregovo)/Beregszász

Slav majority Hungarian majority Split

67 56

10 34

36

43

Chop/Csap a

Although these figures are informed by the 1989 Soviet census, they involved additional research by Kocsis and Kocsis-Hodosi. I have used these figures because the Soviet census is generally believed to have been influenced by strong biases. Károly Kocsis and Eszter Kocsis-Hodosi, Ethnic Geography of the Hungarian Minorities in the Carpathian Basin (Budapest: Geographical Research Institute, Hungarian Academy of Sciences, 1998), p. 88.

buildings in an effort to attract some outside investment. Of all the cities surveyed, this is the one city where Roma appeared to be somewhat integrated into local society. The local newspapers, the Slovak Gemerské Zvesti and the Hungarian Gömöri Hírlap, were also published with some influence by the local council during the 1990s. As in the other split cities, a number of residents are bilingual, at least to levels sufficient for conducting daily business. Uzhhorod (Uzhgorod)/Ungvár (Slav Majority) The largest town in Transcarpathia (see Table 2.5) and the seat of the Transcarpathian oblast (regional) government, Uzhhorod had a population of 120,000 residents during this period: 67 percent Ukrainian,49 10 percent Hungarian, and 23 percent “other.” The checkpoint for the Slovak border lies at the edge of the city limits, and the Hungarian border is less than an hour’s drive. The city is home to Uzhhorod State University, which includes a Hungarian department, and displays a variety of architectures, including a medieval castle and structures built under Austro-Hungarian, Czechoslovak, and Soviet rule. The most striking building is the former synagogue in the center of town, now the philharmonic auditorium, which is one reminder of what was once a substantial Jewish community. Given the centrality of Uzhhorod in this small region, the two newspapers examined are the regional papers, the Ukrainian Novyny Zakarpattia and the Hungarian Kárpáti Igaz Szó. Berehove (Beregovo)/Beregszász (Hungarian Majority) This city is located in a Hungarian enclave region not far from the Hungarian border. In the 1989 census, it had a population of 29,000: 34 percent Ukrainian, 56 percent Hungarian, and 11 percent “other.” Many Hungarians tend to dispute these figures, stating that the Soviet census was designed to register a 49

Ruthenians were not awarded a separate category in this census and are counted as Ukrainians.


48


small number of Hungarians; however, under the severe economic crisis in Ukraine during the 1990s, large numbers of Hungarians left the region for Hungary. The city was a center of commerce under medieval Hungarian rule, and also played a prominent role in the anti-Hapsburg rebellion of the early 1700s.50 As in Uzhhorod, a synagogue used to grace a central position on the town square.51 Berehove’s newspapers are the Ukrainian Vysnik Berehivshyny and the Hungarian Beregi Hírlap. In 1991, Berehove County, of which Berehove is the county seat, held a referendum that endorsed making the county a Hungarian Autonomous District, with 81 percent approval; this referendum is discussed further in Chapter 7. Chop/Csap (Split) Located in the “corner” of Transcarpathia at the Hungarian and Slovak borders, Chop is the region’s primary border crossing point. Its most striking feature is the large railroad station, a transit hub to points west. The railroad and customs serve as the primary employer for the town’s 9,000 residents. Of these, 36 percent are Ukrainian, 43 percent Hungarian, and 21 percent are “other.” Nearly all of these “others” are Russians who were stationed on the border in various capacities by the Soviet Union before 1991. For this reason, those residents interviewed all cite their town’s proportions as “half Hungarian, half Slav.” Of all of the cities in this survey, ethnicity appears to matter the least in Chop. The town was hit heavily by World War II, as the front crossed it several times. As a very large proportion of its prewar residents were Jews, the town was also decimated by the deportation and emigration of much of its population. After the war, it was transformed from a small Hungarian town into a railroad hub, and large numbers of non-Hungarians moved in to fill posts in this capacity. It is also the only city in this study without its own local newspaper. Why examine these particular places? The following section outlines the logic of focusing on these states, regions, and cities. III. B. Cases, Claims, and Comparing The claim that ethnic protest led to policy change and moderation during the 1990s refers to Romania and Slovakia as cases for, or independent observations of and evidence for,52 such a claim. Transcarpathia, Ukraine, is a “contrasting case” with regard to this claim, because it demonstrates that Hungarians did not protest where they were not interested in policy change. With states or large regions as the level of analysis for these claims, some other states and regions 50

51 52

Interview with Anna Horváth, former director of the Berehove Museum, Berehove, June 22, 1998. Because the synagogue’s façade has been covered with concrete, it can be difficult to spot. Definition paraphrased from John Gerring, Social Science Methodology: A Criterial Framework (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2001), p. 160.



49

were excluded. Only states with Hungarian minorities were chosen for this study. Given a potentially strong role for “kin-states,” or the external national homeland of a minority group,53 the selection of Hungarians as the minority was an effort to hold this potential effect constant. After that step, some states with Hungarian minorities were also excluded: the criteria of European Union membership in the 1990s, and the existence of relatively routine politics excluded Austria and the states of what slowly became the former Yugoslavia during their wars of that decade. Most notably, the Province of Vojvodina in the north of Serbia, with a substantial Hungarian minority, was excluded from this study. For cases to be useful in analysis, they must sometimes be broken down into smaller component parts. The sample cities – three each in Romania, Slovakia, and Ukraine – are more local cases that do two things for the study. First, they serve as sample cities for an aggregation of event data, given the impossibility of collecting these extensive data for all cities in each state. They were selected along the geographic and demographic criteria outlined previously in this chapter to ensure relative comparability across the states of study. But they also serve a second role, one of comparison. Fieldwork and participant observation revealed that the cities with relatively similar demographic structures, such as the 50–50 cities in each state, had quite similar local political dynamics. Such similarities also emerged among the Hungarian-majority and the titularmajority cities in each state. Although this observation is not part of the systematic event analysis here, it emerges in some of the discussion and sheds useful light on the general patterns of how groups encounter each other in local politics.54 However, in a study of processes, cases are more than mere collections of data points. In a study that takes time seriously, founded on the insights of historical institutionalism outlined previously, a case is not approached as a static entity but rather as a trajectory or process. “Romania” as a case is thus not just Romania as a static space, but rather a trajectory of protest, policy formation, or democratization.55 Understood as a process, a case would involve a series of observations across time in sequence,56 as from the events from an event database. An examination of cases as trajectories is crucial in order to be able to identify causal mechanisms. A comparison of static countries or regions is simply not equipped to uncover many of the dynamics of mechanisms. The next section outlines the logic behind approaching cases as trajectories, followed by examples from the evidence of this book.

53 54

55

56

Brubaker, Nationalism Reframed. See Brubaker et al., Nationalist Politics; and Sherrill Stroschein, Introduction, “Politics Is Local: Ethnoreligious Dynamics under the Microscope,” in Stroschein, ed., Governance in Ethnically Mixed Cities (New York: Routledge, 2007), pp. 1–13. Aminzade, “Historical Sociology”; McAdam, Tarrow, and Tilly, Dynamics of Contention; and Thelen, How Institutions Evolve. Gerring, Social Science Methodology, p. 160.


50


iv. a search for causal mechanisms This book outlines how repeated interactions between groups produce moderation over time. The model of interactions between elites and masses of different groups in Chapter 1 outlines the logic of this claim. For moderation to occur, two causal mechanisms must be present in the absence of external intervention: brokerage between elites and “their” group’s masses, and an ongoing bargaining exchange between elites of different groups. Moderation is caused by the presence of both of these mechanisms, meaning that it cannot emerge if one or both are absent. This model, like all good social science models, can be tested against empirical evidence from a variety of places or cases. Given the model’s focus on causal mechanisms, a test of the model requires an assessment of incremental evidence over time, from the event database. The evidence must be detailed, but also presented in a manner that allows us to observe regular patterns and to make general causal accounts on these social processes. The following steps are involved in this type of process and mechanism analysis, and look quite different from those used for statistical approaches and variable analysis. These steps serve as a kind of recipe for conducting an analysis of mechanisms and processes.57 1. One would start from the premise that mobilization and policy formation are processes, or trajectories – not independent or dependent variables with strict boundaries in time. Rather than being data points, they are better understood as lines with arrows that take particular shape, as represented by Charles Tilly in a number of works on democratization.58 In this view, a polity is not a data point, but rather a line that snakes through different attributes over time. The policy may move toward attributes of democracy and then slide toward other traits over time. Thus it is not just the outcome of the process at a particular time (such as democracy) that is the primary focus, but rather the fact that the shape of the trajectory itself involves causes and consequences. Some examples of trajectory graphs appear in Section V. 2. Processes consist of sequences of events. Given the premises outlined earlier in this chapter, a researcher’s task is to discern the sequence of events in a process and identify recurrent patterns that can be seen across different trajectories for different places. This step identifies correlations between events in sequence, the first step to identifying causal patterns. 3. With these recurrent patterns as a starting point, the next task is to identify causal mechanisms that produce changes along the course of the trajectory. For example, emulation among the masses of each group plays a

57

58

Discussions of this approach to analysis appear in Tilly, “Contentious Conversation”; Tilly, Durable Inequality; McAdam, Tarrow, and Tilly, Dynamics of Contention; and Tilly, Explaining Social Processes, pp. 200–11. Tilly, Contention and Democracy in Europe, especially pp. 52–3, 101 142, 174.


A Search for Causal Mechanisms

51

substantial causal role in local mobilizations.59 This task of identifying cause through mechanisms is a quite different approach to analysis from that of identifying “covering laws” or solid general statements, as one might attempt in physics. As outlined by Jon Elster, an emphasis on causal mechanisms, small causal units, allows more room for contingency in social life.60 Casual mechanisms can be identified in a quite specific setting, with the aim to present each as a causal claim that can then be tested across other settings. Research in biology takes a similar form. For example, intense study of how an e coli bacterium might produce a particular substance is required to identify this mechanism before its frequency in other settings might be observed.61 This list of steps involves first digesting detailed sequential information62 and then applying a systematic analysis to diagnose patterns and causal mechanisms that might apply in a variety of settings.63 In essence, it is a summary of tasks for applying the insights of historical institutionalism outlined earlier in this chapter to the practice of analysis. The importance of timing and sequence and the representation of incrementalism can both be taken into account by using event data and the preceding steps. In addition, an analysis of this sort allows for an observation of how the trajectories of different actors can interweave over time in the process of mobilization – as in the micro-level view of mobilization presented in Chapters 4 and 5. In a more macro-level view, it can reveal how the processes of mobilization and policy formation interacted with each other during the 1990s in these states, as presented in Chapters 6 and 7. The interactive nature of different processes illustrates how endogeneity or feedback effects were an inherent aspect of these phenomena. As outlined by Mark Beissinger in his seminal study of the collapse of the Soviet Union, the means by which effects became causes is an essential part of the story of the collapse, as tides of mobilization reconfigured the political space for the mobilizations that followed.64 An effort to separate causal variables from their effects,

59

60

61 62

63

64

Brubaker, Ethnicity without Groups; Beissinger, Nationalist Mobilization; Petersen, Resistance and Rebellion, Chapters 1 and 2; Tilly, “Contentious Conversation”; Tilly, Identities, Boundaries and Social Ties (Boulder, CO: Paradigm, 2005); and Tilly, Stories, Identities and Political Change (Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield, 2002). Jon Elster, “A Plea for Mechanisms,” in Peter Hedström and Richard Swedberg, eds., Social Mechanisms: An Analytical Approach to Social Theory (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1998), pp. 45–73. I am grateful to Chuck Tilly for this analogy. We might consider this to be process tracing (see George, “Case Studies and Theory Development”), but it is much more systematic. Examples of studies that use this approach of identifying general causal mechanisms from quite specific and sequenced empirical information include McAdam, Tarrow, and Tilly, Dynamics of Contention; and Roger Petersen, Resistance and Rebellion: Lessons from Eastern Europe (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2001). Beissinger, Nationalist Mobilization, p. 448.


52


as with statistically based approaches, would make an analyst overlook the centrality of endogeneity in the unfolding of events.65 Some mathematical techniques such as time series analysis or lagged dependent variables might allow a hunt for causal variables in spite of endogeneity. But an attempt to “control for” such phenomena would take an analyst far from the fact that it is the endogenous nature of these processes that is a crucial part of the causal story, as is well outlined by Beissinger. In this book, it is precisely these feedback effects that produced the transformation of group stances during the contentious process, thus changing the shape of policy trajectories in these states.66 Feedback effects in a trajectory imply that an attempt to separate cause and effect is to pursue an answer to the wrong question. As Pierson notes in his examination of mass public response to policy change, policies and responses become both independent and dependent variables in a trajectory.67 It thus makes more sense to examine the inherently endogenous dynamics of these interactions directly. Analytical approaches based on the logic of statistics tend to identify variables, examine correlations between them, and then posit causal structures logically based on these results. The approach I outline here takes a different form. I first identify patterns in sequences, with an emphasis on how different trajectories come together in regular patterns across time. The claims regarding causal mechanisms are strongly reliant on timing, and thus timing should be directly observed. Some critics of my approach might argue that a simultaneity of phenomena in time may simply be a type of correlation in time that does not necessarily represent cause. The logic of this critique is sound, but it has an empirical answer. If inductive analysis reveals such patterns, and if they occur with regularity with similar subsequent events, there is a strong likelihood that they are indeed robust as causal mechanisms. The sections that follow summarize the detailed evidence presented in later chapters that support this proposition.

65

66

67

It is in fact in the recursive nature of events that cause and effect may be found: Beissinger, Nationalist Mobilization, especially pp. 41–2, 452–3. Even in statistical approaches to event analysis, authors are often interested in questions of how events and/or trajectories might correlate with each other. We might be interested in strategic response patterns and reciprocity questions that are inherently relational and interactive. As described by Schrodt and Gerner, the tracing of “cross-correlations” in the unfolding of larger processes can help us examine the potential success of mediation efforts in a conflict. Philip Schrodt and Deborah Gerner, “An Event Data Analysis of Third-Party Mediation in the Middle East and Balkans,” Journal of Conflict Resolution 48 (2004), pp. 310–30. See also Joshua Goldstein and Jon Pevehouse, “Reciprocity, Bullying, and International Cooperation: Time-series Analysis of the Bosnia Conflict,” American Political Science Review 91, no. 3 (1997), pp. 515–29. As March and Olsen note, it is processes internal to politics that direct the flow of history, and goals are changed in the course of these processes. March and Olsen, “The New Institutionalism.” See also Tilly, Contention and Democracy. Pierson, “When Effect Becomes Cause.”


Examining Trajectories over Time

53

v. examining trajectories over time This section summarizes the evidence and analysis that are outlined in more detail in the chapters that follow. The steps of the analysis can be applied at both the micro level and the macro level. At the micro level, they reveal the causal mechanisms in the dynamics of ethnic mobilization, using event data from two cities, in an analysis of weeks or days. At the macro level, they reveal the mechanisms of how protest mobilizations intertwined with the policy formation process to produce ethnic moderation over the decade of the 1990s. The microlevel analysis of mobilization is presented in this section. The macro-level analysis of mobilization and policy formation trajectories follows in Section VI. V. A. Actions of Elites and Masses of Each Group, in Interaction The first portion of this analysis focuses on the process of mobilization at the micro level – the mechanisms and dynamics of ethnic mobilization – outlined in detail in Chapters 4 and 5. An understanding of the causes of bilateral ethnic mobilizations is crucial to understanding the potential conditions in which mass violence between groups may occur. This is due to the fact that such violence can take place only when both groups are mobilized in local streets at the same time. Chapter 4 examines the dynamics of the 1990 Târgu Mures¸ riot through the detailed event data and a sequenced analysis of the mobilization process. Chapter 5 examines two mobilizations over a statue in Cluj – bilateral in 1992 and unilateral in 1994. Given the relational model outlined in Chapter 1, there are four political actors that can be identified in these events: (1) Romanian elites, or officeholders and party leaders; (2) Hungarian elites, or officeholders and party leaders; (3) ordinary Romanians; and (4) ordinary Hungarians. The analysis provides a window on how these actors interact during a process of mobilization and illustrates the sequence of events by which contention over policy might take a turn to violence or increase the probability of violence. Using an event analysis technique called scaling, which assigns relative weights to the intensity of actions and events,68 it is possible to graph how each of these four actors conducted themselves over time across the weeks or days of these events. Further details on the specifics of this approach, as well as the codes applied to each action, are available in this book’s appendix. In depicting the relative intensity of actions over time, this scaling technique presents a picture of group mobilizations in relation to each other over time, as well as the dynamics of mass–elite interactions. As an example, the application of these codes to the actions of elites and ordinary people of both groups across 68

Joshua Goldstein, “A Conflict-Cooperation Scale for WEIS Events Data,” Journal of Conflict Resolution 36 (1992), pp. 369–85. Although controversial, scaling is especially useful in assessing relative change over time within the same setting, such as tracking polarization between ethnic groups in a particular city.



54 15

5

0

*M i *L d F at eb e *E Fe . ar b. ly M M ar. ar . M 8 a M r. 9 ar . M 10 ar . M 11 ar . M 12 ar . M 13 ar . M 14 a *M r. 1 ar 5 *M . 16 ar a *M . 16 ar b *M . 17 ar a .1 M 7b a *M r. 1 ar 8 *M . 19 ar a *M . 19 ar b *M . 19 ar c *M . 19 ar d *M . 20 ar a *M . 20 ar b *M . 20 ar c *M . 20 ar d *M . 21 ar a .2 M 1b ar . M 22 ar .2 M 3 ar . M 24 *L ar. 2 at 5 e M ar .

Intensity of Action

10

–5

–10

–15

Days H Masses Intervention

R Masses H Elite Mods

H Elite

R Elite

R Elite Mods

figure 2.1. Târgu Mures¸ Riot, March 1990, Action Codes Using Modified Goldstein Scale

the event sequence of the Târgu Mures¸ riot produces the four action trajectories in Figure 2.1. These lines represent how the intensity of actions of each actor related to the actions of others in these events.69 Figure 2.1 portrays action trajectories by intensity over six weeks for the four actors of interest: elites of each ethnic group and ordinary people of each ethnic group. The actions of each ethnic group are separated by a central neutral axis. Actions of Hungarian elites and ordinary people are graphed with positive numbers, above the axis, and the actions of Romanians are graphed with negative numbers, below the axis. This difference allows for a clearer depiction of the actions of each ethnic group in relation to the other, and represents the polarizing nature of intense actions during the riot. When Hungarians and Romanians engaged in violent actions against each other on March 20, at that point the two groups were at their most polarized, with the two lines located farthest from each other on the graph.70 Among the Hungarians, the actions of ordinary people are graphed with the thick line using the diamond points, and the actions of elites are graphed with the thin line using the triangle points. These lines represent the action trajectories of each over time. For the Romanians, the actions of ordinary people are graphed with the thick line using the square points, and the actions of elites are graphed with the thin line using the X points. Elite and mass actions are graphed using 69

70

This technique was previously published in Sherrill Stroschein, “Microdynamics of Bilateral Ethnic Mobilization,” Ethnopolitics 10, no. 1 (2011), pp. 1–34. March 20 and other days with several events are broken into portions and depicted in components such as Mar. 20a and Mar. 20b. Asterisks indicate periods of time of intense action.



55

similar codes, with some allowances for the “boss” status of elites. Thus, if an elite encourages a violent act, this event is coded the same as a violent act by an ordinary person. As an example of how actions are coded against each other, here is a description of events on a particular date from the graph: March 8 Students from the Hungarian section of the local medical and pharmaceutical university begin a strike in support of increased Hungarian instruction at the institution.

Figure 2.1 depicts these actions with a rise in activity among Hungarian ordinary people on March 8. The strike action is taken by students, or non-elite Hungarians, as they are neither officeholders nor party leaders. There is no change in the action scale on this date for the elite Hungarians or among Romanian elites and ordinary people. In addition, some central government actions in attempting to calm the riot are represented along the neutral central axis, using the circle points. There is also a depiction of the actions of some Romanian elites, in joining Hungarian elites to call for an end to violence. The non-ethnic character of these actions is represented by a thin line that temporarily joins with the neutral axis. Figure 2.1 demonstrates how the different lines of action for the four actors interweave with each other over time. It represents the data in terms of trajectories, the first step of the analysis of causal mechanisms as outlined in Section IV. Actions do not take place in isolation. Rather, it is the position of the actors at a particular point in time that produces an event. For example, if a person picks up a knife and jabs it, there is a great deal of difference in the act depending on whether there is another person on the receiving end of the jab or whether the person is simply jabbing the knife in the air. It is for this reason that a relational approach is especially useful in addressing a complex process such as a riot. The events that are the components of a riot often align in particular sequences that recur across settings – making possible some general statements about patterns of mobilization. Like the flow of vocal lines in music, the interweaving of action trajectories over time produces recurring event sequences, such as the mass-first mechanism and cross-group emulation patterns discussed more fully later in this chapter.71 V. B. Local Mechanisms of Mobilization The use of scaling and the ability to graph actions in relation to each other reveal a wealth of useful information, as they allow for a breakdown of these interactions into smaller units for analysis. Using this approach, three common mobilization patterns can be identified: (1) the mobilization of ordinary people before their elites; (2) an emulation pattern in mobilization and demobilization; and (3) a pattern of tandem operation or coordination between elites and masses 71

Scaling could also be used to represent how many people were involved in the mass actions. I am grateful to Takeshi Wada for advice on separating these components.



56 8

Intensity of Action

7 6 5 4 3 2 1 0 *Mar. 19a

*Mar. 19b

*Mar. 19c

*Mar. 19d Days

H Masses

*Mar. 20a

*Mar. 20b

*Mar. 20c

H Elite

figure 2.2. Elite-First Mobilization (Hypothetical)

of the minority group. The dynamics of these patterns, outlined in terms of the relational model from Chapter 1, illustrate their causal role. This identification of patterns and causal mechanisms are steps 2 and 3 of the approach outlined in Section IV. These mechanisms are outlined in turn. The Mass-First Mechanism An episode of contention is often led initially by ordinary people, or the “masses” of a particular group, rather than by elites. In both Cluj and Târgu Mures¸, Hungarian students, as idealistic members of the minority group, led the first in a series of demonstrations. In addition, ordinary Romanians often mobilized before their elites. If it were indeed the case that elites in fact manipulated masses, consistent with the instrumentalist view,72 there would be a hypothetical interaction pattern such as that depicted in Figure 2.2, in which masses respond to the actions of elites.73 In this scenario, an increase in elite action intensity should be followed by an increase in mass action intensity. A decrease in elite action intensity should be similarly followed by a decrease in mass action intensity. Instead, however, we more commonly see the pattern in Figure 2.3, in which the actions of ordinary people intensify first, followed only afterward by elites. In fact, the pattern of elite-first mobilization rarely appears in the dynamics of mobilization that rallied more than ten thousand in both Târgu Mures¸ and Cluj. Instead, in most instances masses began to gather first, only to be joined later by elites. In both episodes of mobilization, more strident or idealistic members of 72 73

Snyder, From Voting to Violence. I am grateful to Conor O’Dwyer for suggesting the use of a hypothetical example.



57

8

Intensity of Action

7 6 5 4 3 2 1 0 *Mid Feb.

*Late Feb.

*Early Mar. Mar. 8 Days H Masses

Mar. 9

Mar. 10

H Elite

figure 2.3. Mass-First Mechanism among Hungarians in Târgu Mures¸, Mid-February to March 10, 1990

the majority group were also often likely to mobilize before elites.74 Those most likely to mobilize first were Hungarian students – idealistic members of the minority group. This pattern fits with the causal logic of the relational model from Chapter 1, which posits that a mass-first mechanism is likely to occur when masses perceive that their interests are not being addressed via elite–elite negotiation. Such conditions were indeed present at the beginning of these mobilizations. Cross-Group Emulation Not only is it the case that masses often mobilize first, but elite efforts to mobilize “their” masses may also find no response. Such a dynamic appears in the Cluj statue protests discussed in Chapter 5. In this story, continuous attempts by the mayor of Cluj, Gheorghe Funar, to provoke Romanian mobilization achieved very few results. Instead, Romanian masses primarily mobilized in response to Hungarian mass mobilizations. Masses may not always respond to the actions of elites, but they may respond to the mobilization of masses of the other group, an interactive mechanism of cross-group emulation.75 This mechanism was a prominent feature of the events in both cities, appearing four times in the Târgu Mures¸ riots and three times in the Cluj protests.76 74

75

76

In Petersen’s terms, these individuals are “fanatics and first actors.” Petersen, Resistance and Rebellion, p. 272. On this mechanism, see also Beissinger, Nationalist Mobilization; Beissinger, “Structure and Example”; and Petersen, Resistance and Rebellion. These dynamics will depend to some degree on the size of each group, as groups that are clearly outnumbered may decide instead to retreat in fear.



58 10 8 Intensity of Action

6 4 2 0 –2

Dec. 4

Dec. 5

Dec. 6a*

Dec. 6b*

Dec. 7

Dec. 8

Dec. 9

–4 –6 –8

–10 Days H Masses

R Masses

H Elites

R Elites

figure 2.4. Cross-Group Emulation in the Cluj Statue Protests, December 4–9, 1992

The logic of this mechanism is tied to the relational dynamics model in Chapter 1. Masses of each group do not merely interact with their elites, but in local settings they also respond to the masses of another group. The literature’s focus on the role of elites in mobilization has tended to overlook the power of this emulative mechanism. Indeed, many mass mobilizations of one group do not activate this mechanism – the majority of contention mentioned in this book takes the form of unilateral, Hungarian-only protests. The particular conditions for emulation versus non-emulation remain underdetermined from the evidence here, but serve as a foundation for further research. This discussion serves primarily as a corrective to a prevalent focus on a role for elites in mobilizing mass publics rather than on the relations and interactions between masses of different groups. Figure 2.4 depicts the mechanism of cross-group emulation in the Cluj statue protests. Here Hungarian actions are represented at the top of the graph, and Romanian actions are represented at the bottom of the graph. This figure depicts a gathering of Hungarians that drew a responsive mobilization of Romanians. It is notable that on this day, several thousand members of both groups were mobilized on the central square of Cluj, but this simultaneous gathering did not end in violence. Simultaneous mobilizations often do carry the danger of potential violence. However, cross-group emulation may also take place with a day of lag, reducing the probability of violence. Figure 2.5 shows cross-group emulation over the days of the Târgu Mures¸ riot as the violent events unfolded. A comparison of these scenarios shows that while bilateral, simultaneous mobilization is a necessary condition for violence, it is not a sufficient one. More is said on this issue later. The demobilization of groups follows a similar emulation mechanism. When interactions are tense and groups wish to “hold their own” in protests,



59

15

Intensity of Action

10 5 0

*Mar. 19a

*Mar. 19b

*Mar. 19c

*Mar. 19d

*Mar. 20a

*Mar. 20b

*Mar. 20c

*Mar. 20d

*Mar. 21a

*Mar. 21b

Mar. 22

–5 –10 –15 Days H Masses

R Masses

H Elites

R Elites

figure 2.5. Cross-Group Emulation with Mobilization and Demobilization

demobilization also takes the form of cross-group emulation, as each side closely monitors the other in this process. This interaction is also shown in Figure 2.5. Demobilization begins to take on the look of a tipping game, proceeding as each group feels that the other is also dispersing. However, if contention is not very intense, groups may also demobilize for mundane reasons – such as going home at night. Mass–Elite Tandem for Minorities Although masses on both sides drove many of the first deployments in these mobilizations, Hungarian masses tended to mobilize far more often than did Romanian masses. In a democracy, majorities can rely on demographics to push for particular policies, while minorities will be disadvantaged at the ballot box. The act of resolving decisions via formal elections and institutions serves a function similar to that of elite negotiation in the relational model described in Chapter 1. If minorities do not perceive that their goals can be achieved by negotiation or by formal institutions, mass mobilization will be a likely outcome. Moreover, Hungarian masses and elites in these episodes of contention operated more in tandem, as a team, than did Romanian masses and elites. The minority’s lack of formal access to political power relative to majorities can explain this difference. Majority masses and elites can afford to ignore each other to some degree without significant threats to their goals and desires. However, minorities must present a more unified front in order to advance their claims. Throughout these local mobilizations, Hungarian elites and masses tended to move in tandem more often than did majority elites and masses. Majorities in a democracy can rely on political institutions to advance their goals and thus have the luxury of refraining from protest. For minorities, the



60

stakes are high in using protest to advance their claims, and some “teamwork” between elites and masses can increase their potential power. These dynamics are especially visible in Figure 2.5. V. C. A Caveat on Violence Bilateral mass ethnic mobilizations are necessary for potential mass violence between groups to emerge. However, as shown by the Cluj statue protests discussed in Chapter 5, bilateral mobilizations need not always lead to violence and are not a sufficient condition for violence to take place. Although the event data do not illustrate clear differences between the violent riot in Târgu Mures¸ and the lack of violence in Cluj, they do show how a smooth-running dynamic of interaction between different groups, in terms of the relational model in Chapter 1, can prevent bilateral mobilizations and thus reduce the potential risk of violence. Elites in Târgu Mures¸ broke off negotiations before the bilateral mobilization, illustrating that two mechanisms are crucial to promoting moderation processes: both elite bargaining and brokerage between elites and their masses must be present. Where these mechanisms are disrupted by external shocks such as military intervention, moderation cannot emerge.

vi. ethnic group mobilization trajectories and state policy The dynamics of mobilization outlined in the previous section identify some of the crucial causal mechanisms in mobilization processes. The mass-first mechanism and mass–elite tandem for minorities were some of the most prevalent mechanisms observed in the evidence for the book. These two mechanisms drove many unilateral mobilizations, in which Hungarians mobilized on policy issues but were not emulated by titular groups. Bilateral mobilizations such as those in Chapters 4 and 5 tended to be rarer. Chapters 6 and 7 illustrate the macro-level dynamics of these mobilizations in relation to policy formation at the state level over a ten-year period. In contrast to the local, city event data discussed previously, this section outlines broadbased mobilization across different cities and its interaction with the policy formation process at the state level on language use and local government structures. Just as incremental interactions are crucial to understanding the mobilization process, they are also crucial to understanding the larger policy formation process at the state (or macro) level and the process’s interaction with mobilization. Indeed, it was the incremental nature of aggregate mobilizations by Hungarians throughout the 1990s that was crucial in influencing state policies.77 77

Discussions of the relationship between protest and policy appear in Edwin Amenta, When Movements Matter: The Townsend Plan and the Rise of Social Security (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2006); and Pierson, “When Effect Becomes Cause.”


Ethnic Group Mobilization Trajectories and State Policy

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Protests, petitions, hunger strikes, and sit-ins across a number of cities were frequent ways in which Hungarians expressed opinions on laws to regulate language use and on local governance structures. As a result, the legislation put forth in the early years of transition on these matters in Romania and Slovakia was revised to reflect the Hungarian desires that were expressed through contention. During this process, Hungarians and titulars adjusted their views on acceptable policies, slowly moving toward compromise in a deliberative fashion. VI. A. Ethnic Mobilization from a Macro View To examine how protest and contention were related to policy, it is first important to discuss aggregate mobilizations in these states on policy issues, using the event data on contention from the sample cities throughout the 1990s. Instead of employing the more short-term and local-level perspective outlined in Section V, this analysis of broad ethnic mobilization and policy formation examines several years and all of the sample cities in each state. The discussion that follows covers a longer time period than does Section V and also removes the distinction between the actions of elites and masses – rather, it simply represents the actions of each ethnic group. Figure 2.6 depicts contentious mobilization trajectories, using the example of language disputes in Romania. Hungarian actions are represented above the central axis and Romanian actions below the central axis, in order to illustrate how contentious actions can affect the polarization or distance between groups.

20 15 10

Events N ov M -89 ar Ju -90 N l-90 ov M -90 ar Ju -91 N l-91 ov M -91 ar Ju -92 N l-92 ov M -92 ar Ju -93 N l-93 ov M -93 ar Ju -94 N l-94 ov M -94 ar Ju -95 N l-95 ov M -95 ar Ju -96 N l-96 ov M -96 ar Ju -97 N l-97 ov M -97 ar Ju -98 N l-98 ov M -98 ar Ju -99 N l-99 ov -9 9

5 0

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figure 2.6. Language Activity in Romania – HURS



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figure 2.7. Language Law Content and Minorities

The graph represents different protest trajectories for each group, with the Hungarian actions coded with positive numbers and the Romanian actions with negative numbers, using a simplified intensity scale as outlined in Chapter 6 and in the book’s appendix.78 When both groups engage in intense contentious activity, their lines thus move farther from each other. When the groups are more latent, the lines move closer to their shared x-axis. VI. B. State Policy With these outlines of group protest trajectories on language policy established, the next step is to assess the content of policy in these states over time. Figure 2.7 summarizes the trajectories of these language laws in the different states, coded along a spectrum of more open and more restrictive stances toward minorities. Further detail on these laws and codes appears in Chapter 6. In Romania, the first liberal stance taken by the Romanian government toward minority education was followed by ethnic Hungarian attempts to remove Romanians from certain schools. In a context of intense political uncertainty, these changes provoked tension in a number of mixed cities as well as the riot in Târgu Mures¸. More restrictive language legislation followed in 1994, only to be rescinded by a new government in 1997 and readjusted by 1998 and 1999 in light of Romanian protests.

78

A similar technique is developed in Michelle Benson and Gregory Saxton, “The Dynamics of Ethnonationalist Contention,” British Journal of Political Science 40 (March 2010), pp. 305–31.



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A similar back-and-forth process took place in Slovakia, where the government of the new state initially took a rather restrictive stance toward minority language use, codified by a strict language law in 1995. Although Hungarian attempts to prevent the passage of this law were unsuccessful, they continued to demonstrate against language policy until a new government revised it in new legislation passed in the late 1990s. Hungarians did not achieve all they wanted with this new law – they in fact proposed a minority-friendly version that surpassed European standards – but they were able to accept it as a compromise. Ukraine presents a contrasting case. There the government initially conducted liberal minority policies due to the sizable presence of ethnic Russians, a stance that also benefited Hungarians. However, over time the Ukrainian state, responding in part to pressure from Ukrainians, passed its own, more restrictive, language law. Figure 2.7 shows how the openness of language policy to minorities exhibited a “pendulum” quality in Romania and Slovakia, switching back and forth between more open and more restrictive policies in relation to minorities. In contrast, language policy in Ukraine, influenced partly by the large Russianspeaking presence there, remained relatively open throughout the 1990s, with some more restrictive changes in educational policy in 1998. One prevalent argument in the literature on minority legislation in these states is that the European Union dictated policies on these matters to Romania and Slovakia.79 But the trajectories of Romanian and Slovak language legislation are particularly indicative in refuting such claims. Had the European Union in fact been the primary influence on language legislation, we would expect instead a consistent increase in policy openness to minorities throughout the 1990s, or a critical jump at a certain point, rather than the pendulum pattern shown in Figure 2.7. VI. C. Protest and Policy The pendulum pattern of these policies begins to make more sense when viewed in relation to contentious domestic politics. If we transpose the movements of the policy graph over a graph of language contention in Romania, we obtain the result in Figure 2.8.80 This graph traces the intensity of contentious action in Romania over language between early 1990 and late 1999. Figure 2.8 illustrates how ethnic contention and the content of language policy were intertwined throughout the 1990s. An initially vague government policy on language in early 1990 encouraged contention by each group in 79

80

Kelly, Ethnic Politics in Europe; Ronald Linden, ed., Norms and Nannies: The Impact of International Organizations on the Central and East European States (Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield, 2002); John McGarry and Michael Keating, eds., European Integration and the Nationalities Question (New York: Routledge, 2006); and Vachudova, Europe Undivided. A contrasting view appears in Hughes, Sasse, and Gordon, Europeanization and Regionalization. I am grateful to Bear Braumoeller for this suggestion.



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Open

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N

ov M -89 ar Ju 90 lN 90 ov M -90 ar Ju 91 lN 91 ov M -91 ar Ju 92 lN 92 ov M -92 ar Ju 93 lN 93 ov M -93 ar Ju 94 lN 94 ov M -94 ar Ju 95 lN 95 ov M -95 ar Ju 96 lN 96 ov M -96 ar Ju 97 lN 97 ov M -97 ar Ju 98 lN 98 ov M -98 ar Ju 99 lN 99 ov -9 9

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figure 2.8. Language Contention and Policy – Romania

pushing for specific demands, and it was in this environment that the Târgu Mures¸ riot took place. After the riot, language policy became less open to minorities throughout the early 1990s, until the restrictive laws of 1994 and 1995 prompted strong Hungarian contention. More open policies put forth by the government in 1997 then prompted some contention by Romanians, resulting in the government’s abandonment of the idea of a Hungarian-language university in late 1998. As outlined in Chapter 6, a similar relationship drove the pendulum-like policy trajectory in Slovakia as well, while open language policies toward minorities in Ukraine produced little contention by Hungarians there. The graph in Figure 2.8 also shows that ethnic mobilization does not simply occur due to the mixing of different groups, or due to different viewpoints between groups, as those factors remained constant in these states during the 1990s. Rather, contention occurs in tandem with the creation of specific institutions to regulate policies on which minorities and sometimes majorities hold strong opinions. The evidence here shows that policy change and protest interact over time. Policy sometimes fosters a protest response, and a protest sometimes fosters a policy response. The causal implications of protest to policy are quite complex, as they rely on the character of governments as well as on the character of protest. But what can be established is that the two move together incrementally.81 These dynamics are discussed in more detail in Chapters 6 and 7 on language policy and laws on local governance. 81

Lorenzo Bosi and Katrin Uba, “Introduction: On the Outcomes of Social Movements,” Mobilization 14, no. 4 (2009), pp. 409–15, at pp. 409–10.



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VI. D. Dynamics of Democratic Consolidation and Policy Formation in Divided States Outlining events as they unfolded in sequence allows an identification of which category of event, policy or protest, takes the primary causal role at different points in time.82 However, it is important to keep in mind that protest and policy were largely endogenous in these processes, as historical institutionalism would expect. Thus, although patterns can be discerned from “slicing” off particular points of the process, protest and policy influences alternated throughout the 1990s. Mobilization and policy formation trajectories, when examined from perspective of the ten-year span of the 1990s, in fact caused each other and were co-determined. But slicing the processes into their sequence components allows for an identification of general patterns. Some examples are summarized in the following subsections. Windows of Opportunity In the first few years after the end of socialism, the collapse of long-standing institutions presented minorities with a window of opportunity that they feared might quickly close. In the initial moments of institutional change, minorities and their elites, operating in tandem as outlined in the previous section, may often take advantage of this political opportunity structure to push for advantageous policies.83 High levels of uncertainty among groups during these initial moments make them particularly ripe for violence. Figure 2.9 illustrates this dynamic in relation to the early transition in Romania. In the time period represented here, the Hungarian protest effort to advance more advantageous policy, and Romanian emulations, led to the Târgu Mures¸ riot. This figure illustrates how the riot, examined in the previous section from a micro view, looks from the technique of the macro-level analysis presented in this section. Government Change in Status Quo Sparks Hungarian Protest Minorities may recognize that they have little capacity to gain policy ground in divided states. However, they remain quite reluctant to give up ground that they have already begun to take for granted. It is for this reason that minorities are very likely to resist changes in the status quo that they perceive as harmful to their interests, but are likely to push for new changes only in the context of favorable political opportunity structures. Two examples are clear from Slovakia. When the Slovak government released a proposal on administrative districts that Hungarians felt would minimize their representation, Hungarians responded at the Komárno meeting in January 1994 with a counterproposal for 82

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To separate the components of this feedback loop over time, we can examine the two as co-determined in a lagged sequence process. Some authors have instead argued that external state involvement is behind these claims. See Jenne, Ethnic Bargaining; Saideman, Ties That Divide; and Saideman and Ayres, For Kin or Country.



66 20 15

5 0 –5

Nov-89 Dec-89 Jan-90 Feb-90 Mar-90 Apr-90 May-90 Jun-90 Jul-90 Aug-90 Sep-90 Oct-90 Nov-90 Dec-90 Jan-91 Feb-91 Mar-91 Apr-91 May-91 Jun-91 Jul-91 Aug-91 Sep-91 Oct-91 Nov-91 Dec-91 Jan-92 Feb-92 Mar-92 Apr-92 May-92 Jun-92 Jul-92 Aug-92 Sep-92 Oct-92 Nov-92 Dec-92

Events

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Romanian

figure 2.9. Windows of Opportunity and Claim-Making in Romania, Early 1990s

10 8

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6 4 2 0 –2

May- Jun- Jul- Aug- Sep- Oct- Nov- Dec- Jan- Feb- Mar- Apr- May- Jun- Jul- Aug- Sep- Oct- Nov- Dec- Jan- Feb- Mar- Apr- May93 93 93 93 93 93 93 93 94 94 94 94 94 94 94 94 94 94 94 94 95 95 95 95 95

–4 –6 Dates Hungarian

Slovak

figure 2.10. Government Change in Status Quo and Protest: The Komárno Meeting in Slovakia

Hungarian autonomy. This exchange appears in Figure 2.10. In addition, the Slovak government decided that in early 1997 it would end the practice of issuing bilingual school report cards in Slovakia, issuing them only in Slovak. These moves sparked a wave of Hungarian protests, as shown in Figure 2.11. Protest Forces Government to Accept Compromise Protest rarely evokes sympathy by one ethnic group for another. Rather, it fosters policy change because it is disruptive. In 1992, when the Romanian



67

14 12

Events

10 8 6 4 2 0 –2

Sep- Oct- Nov- Dec- Jan- Feb- Mar- Apr- May- Jun- Jul- Aug- Sep- Oct- Nov- Dec- Jan- Feb- Mar- Apr- May- Jun- Jul- Aug96 96 96 96 97 97 97 97 97 97 97 97 97 97 97 97 98 98 98 98 98 98 98 98

Dates Hungarian

Slovak

figure 2.11. Government Change in Status Quo and Protest: Language of School Report Cards in Slovakia

government removed ethnic Hungarian prefects for the two Hungarianmajority counties and replaced them with Romanians, Hungarian protests were quite effective in bringing about a change in policy. After a series of continuous demonstrations in cities throughout these counties, the government agreed to a compromise solution in which two prefects would guide each county, one Hungarian and one Romanian. The government’s attempt to renege on this agreement the following year prompted a second round of demonstrations, and the issue was resolved after only it was referred to a standing committee to broker compromises on such issues. This exchange appears in Figure 2.12. More Lenient Government Stance toward Minorities Sparks Titular Protest It is not only minorities who engage in protest. Titulars may also react against laws that they perceive to give too much ground to minorities. When a liberal Romanian government began to take a more open stance toward the possibility of a Hungarian-language university in Romania, contention emerged among Romanians, including some response by Romanian students to these claims. This dynamic appears in Figure 2.13. Emulation and Titular Protest In addition to protesting lenient government policies, titular majorities may also mobilize in response to mobilization by Hungarians through the mechanism of emulation. This response, similar to the mechanism described in the micro-level mobilization discussion previously in this chapter, can be seen in a number of the preceding figures.



68 10 8

Events

6 4 2 0 –2

Nov- Dec- Jan- Feb- Mar- Apr- May- Jun- Jul- Aug- Sep- Oct- Nov- Dec- Jan- Feb- Mar- Apr- May- Jun- Jul- Aug- Sep- Oct- Nov91 91 92 92 92 92 92 92 92 92 92 92 92 92 93 93 93 93 93 93 93 93 93 93 93

–4 –6 Dates Hungarian

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figure 2.12. Protest as Response: County Prefects in Romania

6 4

Sep-99

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figure 2.13. Romanians Protest Open Policies on Minority Language, Late 1990s

VI. E. Causal Claims on Ethnic Contention and Policy Formation The evidence in this book shows that ethnic mobilization and policy formation were co-determined processes. One cannot be reduced to causing the other; rather, they were intertwined during the span of transition in the 1990s. The recurring patterns in these intertwined trajectories are sites where a particular conjunction of the two caused certain outcomes in mechanistic, regular fashion. These observations produce some general causal propositions that might be tested in other settings.



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First is the general relationship between ethnic mobilization and the policy formation process, particularly during democratization. The patterns of windows of opportunity and Hungarian protest in response to government changes in the status quo, outlined in this chapter, demonstrate this tendency. Ethnic Hungarians mobilized far more often than did titular majorities to push for certain policies on controversial issues. As was also clear in the micro-level observations on mobilization, protest is an attractive alternative to the ballot box for minorities due to the likelihood that they will be continually outvoted. Protest is an informal avenue through which minorities may push for particular policies, while majorities have the luxury of relying on formal democratic institutions. Protest thus becomes a useful vehicle through which minority desires might be addressed in democracies. As such, it can preserve the legitimacy of democracy for minorities, who would otherwise find themselves permanent losers in such a system. Second, the evidence shows frequent government responses to minority protest. Thus, protest is not simply a means of expressing ethnic identity, but is rather a strategic, pragmatic activity. It is possible that such protests took a more expressive character in the early 1990s and a more strategic character by the late 1990s, as minorities in particular realized that they could use protest to advance policy change. Interviews revealed a sense of Hungarian learning regarding protest routines over the course of the 1990s as part of the process of “learning democracy,” as some called it. Third, these insights demonstrate the different motivations of groups in mobilization, shedding more light on the actual dynamics of “ethnic politics” and “nationalism” as related to particular policy debates. Minority masses tend to mobilize under two primary conditions: (1) windows of opportunity and institutional change, in which they see a chance to push for friendlier policies, and (2) the government making a change in the status quo that scales back benefits or policies that the government previously held. In contrast, majority masses tend to mobilize under two primary conditions: (1) government changes in the status quo that grant extensive privileges to minorities, and (2) emulation, or mobilization in response to minority mobilization. Finally, the evidence from these cases illustrates the trial-and-error nature of the contentious process for policy making. A phase of initial brinkmanship by both groups in the early 1990s was followed by more pragmatic contentious responses as the decade continued – another example of how democracy was “learned” through these processes. It is through these means that the moderation process took place, as uncertainty regarding what was politically possible in the context of the other group’s presence and desires was reduced over time. This dynamic is particularly visible with regard to the language policy formation process in Romania and Slovakia. It was through contention that groups became used to the limits to which they could push their own desires on this issue, and after several policy swings during the 1990s, policies slowly moved toward a middle ground that was more reflective of these parameter constraints. Policy formation on language was thus a messy back-and-forth process that was



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closely intertwined with contention. With regard to the process of policy formation on autonomy and local government administration, in contrast, there was more retraction in minority demands. Hungarians initially pushing for ethnic autonomy in the early 1990s through protest slowly began to scale back their demands, in response to the intractable position they encountered from governments and from titular groups. This retraction also took place through the trial-and-error nature of the contention process. It was in this way that protest on this controversial issue thus counterintuitively moderated minority stances on autonomy over time. This pulling back by Hungarians led to a slow defusing of a potentially explosive issue throughout the 1990s.

vii. conclusions This chapter presents a summary of the methods and evidence used in this book. Using insights from the historical institutionalist approach as a foundation, I outline a set of steps by which this sort of analysis can be practically applied to evidence from event data. The steps uncover the causal mechanisms in these political processes, producing causal claims on the dynamics of mobilization and on the interaction between mobilization and policy formation processes. The claims emerging inductively from this evidence are general causal statements that can be tested across other settings. The evidence here demonstrates how the act of creating policy relating to minorities is inherently contentious. Thus, the process of rule formation in these states throughout the democratic transition of the 1990s cannot be separated from ethnic politics. The interwoven nature of ethnic contention and policy formation in the transition process renders it impossible for us to posit either protest or policy as causing the other, as they are co-determined or endogenous. Thus, the general causal claims made here are based on a study of causal mechanisms rather than on the “X causes Y” approach often used in analysis. The evidence for these claims is presented in full detail in Chapters 4 through 7. But before moving to the details of the disputes of the 1990s, Chapter 3 outlines the historical and political context within which they arose.


3 Ethnic Contention in Context

A ninety-five-year-old man died and went up to heaven. When he arrived for his interview with Saint Peter, the Saint asked him to describe his life. “Well, Saint Peter,” said the man, “I was born in the Austro-Hungarian Empire and was a child during the First World War. I was married in Czechoslovakia and there began my tailoring trade, and then, during the Second World War, I had to work in the Hungarian army. After the war I gave up my business and became a worker in a Soviet factory, working to build communism, a task for which I later became less enthusiastic. After I retired I settled down, tending to my garden in Ukraine and spending time with my grandchildren and great-grandchildren.” “My goodness,” said St. Peter. “You certainly have had a long and fascinating life of travel and experiences.” “But my dear Saint,” said the man, “in all that time I never once left my home in Uzhhorod.” – common joke in Transcarpathia, Ukraine

Objects of ethnic contention tend to be grounded in a long history of inter-ethnic interactions. Each ethnic group ascribes weighted meaning to particular policy matters, such as the language used by children in school or the shape of institutional power structures. An understanding of this ascribed meaning requires some background context. The incremental exchanges between groups that preceded 1989 have, in true historical institutionalist fashion, left their mark on contemporary politics. The inherent connection between the past and the contemporary, reflected in disputed policies relating to minorities, illustrates how path dependence and endogeneity inhere in contentious political processes. This chapter is divided into two sections. The first section sketches some of the history of ethnic interactions and highlights key points of historical debate between groups – most of which remain alive and well in current political discourse, particularly in the teaching of history and in the celebration of holidays or heroes. The second section outlines the political institutions of post-socialism, with an overview of both the institutional and social context for democratization during the 1990s. These empirical foundations are crucial to an understanding of the policy disputes outlined in Chapters 4, 5, 6, and 7. 71


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Ethnic Contention in Context

i. a brief history of ethnic interactions Each of the numerous times that the map of Central Europe has been rearranged, states have put down roots in newly acquired territories. State strategies to establish control include the creation of new institutions as well as policies attempting to homogenize peoples within new borders. The regions discussed in this book were controlled by the Hungarian portion of the Austro-Hungarian Empire before 1918 and again during the late 1930s and World War II. During this time, state authorities enforced policies of “Magyarization,” or Hungarization, on these territories. But during the interwar period and after World War II, the states of Romania, Czechoslovakia, and the Soviet Union embarked on a reversal of these policies, attempting instead to assimilate Hungarians to their own majority populations. As part of this effort, a large number of Hungarians were deported from Czechoslovakia soon after World War II as part of a policy known as the Beneš Decrees, a fact that continues to create controversy among groups in contemporary debates. Due to the back-and-forth nature of these homogenizing policies during the past century, each group retains some traits (and often resentments) of the assimilationist efforts that targeted them in particular. An old man in Transcarpathia, Ukraine, might still speak Czech and talk fondly of the days of Czechoslovakia. An older Slovak woman might speak fluent Hungarian because she attended a Hungarian school while her city was ruled by Hungary during World War II. A Romanian family might still speak of a relative killed in clashes between Romanians and Hungarians in wartime territorial battles over northern Transylvania. An observer who spends any time in this region will frequently hear similar stories. Their telling and retelling over time preserve a strong “us versus them” boundary1 between Hungarians and others, a boundary that pervades contemporary politics. This reinforced group difference is further augmented by the importance of the Hungarian language as a component of Hungarian identity.2 Some older Hungarians, particularly those in communities where Hungarians form the local majority, have never learned more than a few words of their states’ titular languages. In my interviews and conversations in the region, older Hungarians sometimes expressed exasperation with the notion that they are expected to learn a new language with every border change. Their children and grandchildren are usually more integrated with the titular population, but also emphasize the importance of a Hungarian identity. It is this process of boundary maintenance that preserves a remarkably strong group identity for Hungarians in these states even after decades of living under the rule of other groups. Moreover, frequent shifts in ownership of the state, 1

2

Abbott, “Things of Boundaries”; Charles Tilly, “Social Boundary Mechanisms,” Philosophy of the Social Sciences 34, no. 2 (2004), pp. 211–336. Paul Lendvai, The Hungarians: 1000 Years of Victory in Defeat (London: Hurst, 2003); Csergo, Talk of the Nation.


A Brief History of Ethnic Interactions

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with each new official endorsement of different languages and regional histories,3 have provoked repeated resistance and enforced the salience of ethnic, linguistic, and cultural matters in daily life. Romanian and Hungarian identities emerged in opposition and have been preserved through continued opposition. A primary component of being Hungarian is not to be Romanian or Slav, and vice versa.4 Each policy shift reifies these group identities. For example, a change in official language policy will produce some winners and losers, provoking a subtle resistance among losers. Being on the losing or winning side injects a notion of being wronged or vindicated into the memory of each group, further preserving boundaries between them.5 It is in this way that open contention over policy during democratization further reified group identities and ensured their continued influence upon political debates for years to come. The sections that follow sketch the main debates in these divergent histories between Hungarians and majority groups living in Romania, Slovakia, and Ukraine. Such debates include disputes over group origins, life under the Austro-Hungarian Empire, views of the two world wars, and the minority policies of socialism. These themes recur in several contemporary disputes regarding who rightfully “owns” these territories, as well as what children should be taught about the past and what language should fill the public sphere. Groups also disagree about whose heroic figures should grace town squares with their statues, what heroic names should designate streets and towns, and which historical holidays should be recognized by the state. The brief historical outline that follows thus sketches the background for the contentious policy debates of the 1990s. I. A. A “True” History? Members of all of the groups interviewed injected a plea that I write their group’s “true” history into this book. They entreated me to describe how their group had been persecuted when border changes left them on the losing side and wanted me to emphasize the richness of their language and culture over those of other groups. Group boundaries are preserved by ethnic, linguistic, and religious differences, but also through the very different stories of regional history endorsed by each group. These divergent collective memories,6 reified through 3 4

5

6

See James Scott, Seeing Like a State (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1998). Abbott, “Things of Boundaries”; Tilly, “Political Identities in Changing Polities”; and Tilly, “Social Boundary Mechanisms.” John R. Gillis, “Memory and Identity: The History of a Relationship,” introduction to Gillis, ed., Commemorations: The Politics of National Identity (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1994); James Scott, Domination and Arts of Resistance: Hidden Transcripts (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1990); Tilly, “Contentious Conversation,” especially pp. 497–8; Charles Tilly, “How Do Relations Store Histories?” Annual Review of Sociology 26 (2000), pp. 721–3; and Tilly, “Political Identities in Changing Polities.” Paul Connerton, How Societies Remember (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1989). An overview of history that is sensitive to these issues is Brubaker et al., Nationalist Politics.


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historical conversations within but rarely across groups, provide the foundations for group stances on how the state should treat minorities. Which side is “right” on history is not the question of this book – nor would this be an easy question to answer. Neither is it possible to create a sanitized version of history that would be unrecognizable to those living in the region with the intent of making it acceptable to all, as advocated by some Western scholars.7 It is highly unlikely that all grievances would simply disappear with the creation of a “true” history, as decades of identity formation and group boundary creation have produced these divergent beliefs. They are also reinforced by individual experience. Many individuals living in Romania, Slovakia, and Ukraine still remember World War II, when some family members and friends were killed by the other side. One particularly inflammatory Romanian book about World War II was shown to me by an acquaintance attempting to convince me of her own version of history. The family had lost a son when Hungarian troops had invaded northern Romania during the war, and the inside front cover displayed this handwritten inscription: “. . . to clear up some history, with love, Mama.” History books published in regional languages tend to contain a wealth of colorful and scathing jargon.8 Hungarian sources often describe Hungary as “mutilated” by the Treaty of Trianon, and a Romanian source in my accumulated library describes Hungary’s World War II incursions as a “dagger stabbed into the heart of northern Transylvania.” These histories also frequently deride the interpretations of other groups as “fantastic theories” or “exacerbated by the passion and penchant to revisionism.”9 The primordialist view that nations are inherited genetically by groups is widely discredited among Western scholars,10 who prefer to think of nations as constructed by modern social processes such as industrialization, state consolidation,11 or ideational shifts.12 However, primordialism remains alive and well in a number of these regional histories, as well as in everyday discussions. More strident group members will often weave tales linking their particular group to ancient, often heroic, origins. These histories resonate not because individuals 7

8 9

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11

12

Barry Posen, “The Security Dilemma and Ethnic Conflict,” Survival 35, no. 1 (1993), pp. 27–47; and Barbara Walter and Jack Snyder, eds., Civil Wars, Insecurity, and Intervention (New York: Columbia University Press, 1999). Also noted by Lendvai, in his rather balanced history The Hungarians. Map of Old Hungary, in French, English, German, and Hungarian, prominently displayed in Budapest bookstores in 1995 (Budapest: Hogyf Edito); and David Prodan, Transylvania and Again Transylvania (Cluj-Napoca: Fundaț ia Culturala˘ Româna˘ , 1996), pp. 7, 11, in which he refutes Hungarian historical versions. Other examples abound. Anthony Smith, The Ethnic Origins of Nations (Cambridge: Blackwell, 1986), is a moderated version of the primordial view. Ernest Gellner, Nations and Nationalism (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1983). Benedict Anderson’s Imagined Communities (New York: Verso, 1991) might fit in both this category and the ideational camp. Liah Greenfeld, Nationalism: Five Roads to Modernity (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1992); and Katherine Verdery, National Ideology under Socialism: Identity and Cultural Politics in Ceaus¸escu’s Romania (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1991).



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are manipulated, but because they make sense to them within their own lived experiences, forming an inherent part of each group paradigm. Rather than embarking on the dubious task of erasing such histories, we should pose this question: Given that groups disagree, how might democratic institutions emerge within which they can coexist? Some of the primary points of historical disagreement are sketched in this chapter – via diverse sources, including those in local languages. The importance of these divergent historiographic accounts for contemporary politics cannot be underestimated. They were always a prominent theme volunteered by locals in interviews, in spite of my attempts to focus the conversation on contemporary debates. History is understood as a justification for particular policy stances, and is commonly invoked in contemporary policy debates. I. B. Justification for Territorial Control: Who Was Here First? When the Hungarians arrived in the Carpathian Basin from what is now northeast Russia around 896,13 the territory was inhabited by other peoples whom they conquered in order to gain control. The Hungarians officially adopted Christianity in the year 1000, when their King István, or Stephen, was crowned by the Pope.14 The identity of the peoples of Transylvania at the time of the Hungarian arrival is considerably controversial. According to Romanian sources, a people named the Dacians originally inhabited the area and were conquered around 100 a.d. by the Romans under the warrior Trajan. It was through this conquest that the Dacians absorbed a language close to Latin (the antecedent to contemporary Romanian) and early Christianity. This link between the Dacians and the Romans is known as the “continuity” thesis,15 which gained ground in Romanian historiography under Nicolae Ceaus¸escu.16 In contrast to the Romanian continuity thesis, Hungarian accounts describe the Roman ruling structure as having disintegrated around the year 270, before the arrival of the Hungarians. They thus call this continuity into question, as well as the process of Romanization – arguing instead that the region had been “irrevocably lost to Roman civilization” well before the Hungarians arrived. In such accounts, the Hungarians instead conquered various tribes such as Goths, Avars, Slavs, and Bulgars to settle in Transylvania. Moreover, in this view Romanians appeared only after the Hungarian conquest, showing up in 13 14

15

16

This date was settled upon as a convenience in the late 1800s; Lendvai, The Hungarians, p. 310. Lendvai, The Hungarians, p. 32; László Makkai, “The Hungarians’ Prehistory, Their Conquest of Hungary and Their Raids to the West to 955,” in Peter Sugar, Péter Hanák, and Tibor Frank, eds., A History of Hungary (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1994), pp. 8–14, especially pp. 11–12, 17. Mihai Manea, Adrian Pascu, and Bogdan Teodorescu, Istoria Românilor din cele mai vechi timpuri pâna˘ la revoluț ia din 1821 (Bucharest: Ministry of Education, 1997), especially pp. 113, 128–9, 147. This was a standard school history manual for class 11. Verdery, National Ideology, pp. 31–5, 39, 217, 221.


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records from 1166 as “Vlachs” from a region south of the Danube River.17 Romanians strongly dispute this presentation as condescending, questioning Hungarian historians’ reliance on an anonymous notary of the time as their source. From the perspective of the Romanians, a gap in the historical record does not conclusively refute their argument for a continuous Romanian presence in Transylvania from Roman times.18 In Slovakia, this settlement debate centers on the Great Moravian Empire, which originated in the eighth century and fell to the Hungarians around 907. Slovaks argue that the Empire covered large portions of what is now Slovakia, dismissing Hungarian disagreement on this matter as pure politics.19 The historian Stanislav Kirschbaum goes as far as to argue that the Empire constituted the ˇ urica’s controversial pro-Slovak history makes first Slovak state, and Milan D similar allusions. The monks Cyril and Methodius, who arrived in Great Moravia in 863, are credited with bringing both Christianity and the written word to the Slavs.20 Although Hungarians do not dispute these claims, they tend to view events before the Hungarian arrival as generally irrelevant, emphasizing instead the domination of present-day Slovakia by Hungary from the Hungarian settlement until 1918. In Transcarpathia, Ukraine, debates about this period tend to circumvent the Hungarian question. Instead, various Slavic groups tend to disagree about whether these Slavs were Ruthenians, Russians, or Ukrainians. It is worth noting that the Carpathian mountain pass by which the Hungarians entered into Europe lies on this territory and remains a potent symbol for many Hungarians.21 Hungarian attempts to develop a monument on that spot since 1991 have been resisted by Slavs as a politically fraught matter. I. C. Disputed Legacies of the Austro-Hungarian Empire A number of modernizing institutions were built in the region during the AustroHungarian Empire. For a Hungarian, this fact might justify an argument that a four hundred–year-old school “belongs” to the Hungarians, given the 17

18

19

20

21

Gábor Barta et al., History of Transylvania (Budapest: Akadémiai Kiadó, 1994), pp. 59–106, 183–4 (this book is an English translation of the common Hungarian version, Erdély rövid története [Budapest: Akadémiai Kiadó, 1989]); and István Lázár, Transylvania: A Short History, translation by Thomas J. DeKornfeld (Budapest: Corvina, 1997). Prodan, Transylvania and Again Transylvania, especially pp. 11–26. One purpose of his book is to refute Barta et al., History of Transylvania. Vincent Sedlák, “The Ancient Slovak Settlement Area and Its Management until the End of the Middle Ages,” in Vladimír Minácˇ , ed., Slovaks and Magyars (Bratislava: Ministry of Culture of the Slovak Republic, 1995), pp. 21–2. ˇ urica, Dejiny Slovenska a Slovákov (Bratislava: Ministry of Education of the Slovak Milan S. D Republic, 1995), pp. 822, 863 (pages represent years); Stanislav Kirschbaum, “The First State,” Chapter 2 in A History of Slovakia: The Struggle for Survival (New York: St. Martin’s Griffin, 1995), pp. 23–38. Makkai, “The Hungarians’ Prehistory, Their Conquest of Hungary and Their Raids to the West to 955,” p. 11.



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Hungarian role in the Empire. For other groups, Austro-Hungarian rule involved an unfair suppression of non-Hungarian groups, implying that institutions built during this time should now be equally shared. As national awakenings of each group are understood to have emerged around the mid-1800s, this time period is also fraught with symbolic meaning for each group. Heroes of that time are still commemorated with yearly ceremonies at their statues, and these practices continue to draw boundaries between groups.22 This period thus merits some attention, given its role in contemporary debates. In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, the region became a battleground between the Hapsburg and Ottoman empires. Nearly all of the Hungarian territories had been lost to the Ottomans by 1683 and were recovered by the Hapsburgs by the early 1700s. A Hungarian-speaking group called the Székely, who live in eastern Transylvania,23 were entrusted by the Empire with guarding the eastern border against the Ottomans and given some autonomy by the state in exchange. This degree of autonomy persisted until the reorganization of the Empire in 1867. Today, although the Székely identify themselves as Hungarians for political purposes, they maintain a somewhat separate ethnic identity from other Hungarians in Romania. This separateness is facilitated by the fact that the Székely live in a concentrated enclave in mountainous central Romania known as Secuime, in settlements where they comprise more than 75 percent, and in places 80 to 90 percent, of the local population. They tend to lean toward the more nationalist wing of the Hungarian political spectrum.24 An undercurrent of Hungarian resistance to Hapsburg rule surfaced in vibrant but unsuccessful uprisings led by Ferenc Rákóczi II from 1704 to 1711 and by Lajos Kossuth in 1848 and 1849.25 Hungarians still commemorate these uprisings. However, the revolutionary heroes of Romanians and Slovaks at that time are those who fought on the side of the Hapsburgs, against the Hungarians.26 For Romanians, the hero of 1848 is Avram Iancu, who led Romanian peasants into battle.27 According to Slovak historians, Slovak leaders such as L’udovít Štúr, Michal M. Hodža, and Jozef Hurban used the instability of 1848 as an opportunity to request some autonomy from the Empire for their own people.28 22 23

24

25

26 27

28

See especially Brubaker et al., Nationalist Politics. Lendvai notes that the Székely were originally a separate group with their own language who formed an early alliance with the Hungarians; Lendvai, The Hungarians, p. 24. Interview with József Gagyi, scholar with the Workshop for Anthropology and Communication, Miercurea Ciuc, October 21, 1997; “Kik vagytok, székelyek?” Népújság (Târgu Mures¸/ Marosvásárhely), May 14, 1990; László Vofkori, Erdély közigazgatási és etnikai földrjza (Budapest: SOTE Nyomda, 1996), pp. 27–8. Lendvai, The Hungarians, Chapters 14, 20; Paul Robert Magocsi, Historical Atlas of East Central Europe (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1995), pp. 63–6, 78. Interview with Zoltán Krajynák, Uzhhorod, June 6, 1998. Mihai Manea and Bogdan Teodorescu, Istoria Românilor de la 1821 pâna˘ în 1989 (Bucharest: Ministry of Education, 1997), pp. 68–70. This book was the standard history manual for class 12. ˇ urica, Dejiny Slovenska a However, they did not receive as much as they would have wished. D Slovákov, pp. 1847–8; Kirschbaum, A History of Slovakia, pp. 116–18; and E. Garrison Walters,


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For groups in this region, consistent with much of the rest of Europe, the mid1800s served as a point of national awakening. Ongoing pressure from the Hungarians for more autonomy from Austria within the Empire led to the Compromise, or Ausgleich, of 1867. Under this arrangement, the Empire became a dual monarchy, with an Austrian portion and a Hungarian portion, each with equal powers.29 The Czechs, Slovenes, Poles, some southern Croats, and Ukrainians fell under Austrian administration, while the Slovaks, Serbs, Romanians, Ruthenians, and the remaining Croats fell under Hungarian administration. Although the Hungarian portion of this arrangement originally implemented liberal language policies toward non-Hungarians, a change of leadership in 1875 resulted in a homogenization/assimilation policy known as “Magyarization,” or Hungarization. Under this policy, all schools, churches, and cultural organizations were required to use the Hungarian language, and public signs began to appear only in Hungarian. Children could also be expelled from school for speaking their native non-Hungarian languages. During this period, a large number of Romanians, Slovaks, and Ruthenians worked as laborers for Hungarian lords, which added a class component to the dominance of “Hungarian-ness.”30 In Transylvania, the construction of Orthodox churches for Romanians was also curbed by the Hungarian state.31 These Magyarization policies provoked resistance to the Hungarian authorities from other national groups. In Transylvania, a group of Romanian intellectuals petitioned the state for increased rights for Romanians. The government rejected their 1892 memorandum, and those who had signed it were accused of treason and given jail sentences. The conviction of these “Memorandists” sparked protests among Romanians and paved the way for further resistance by other Romanian intellectuals in Transylvania.32 For Slovaks, the 1875 closure of their cultural organization Matica Slovenská forced the organization of Slovak cultural activities underground, infusing them with a grassroots character; churches also began to publish materials in Slovak.33 In post-1989 Slovakia, Matica Slovenská has reemerged as a cultural organization with political clout.

29

30

31

32 33

The Other Europe: Eastern Europe to 1945 (Syracuse, NY: Syracuse University Press, 1988), pp. 45–6, 59. Tibor Frank, “Hungary and the Dual Monarchy, 1867–1890,” in Sugar, Hanák, and Frank, eds., A History of Hungary, especially pp. 252–4; Lendvai, The Hungarians, pp. 284–5; and Walters, The Other Europe, pp. 60–3. See also Magocsi, Historical Atlas, map 36. Frank, “Hungary and the Dual Monarchy,” p. 255; Lendvai, The Hungarians, pp. 293–8; Manea and Teodorescu, Istoria Românilor de la 1821 pâna˘ în 1989, pp. 165–7; Katherine Verdery, Transylvanian Villagers: Three Centuries of Political, Economic, and Ethnic Change (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1983), pp. 261–6; Scotus Viator, Národnostná otázka v Uhorsku (Bratislava: Slovakia Plus, 1995), pp. 214–35; and Walters, The Other Europe, pp. 65–6. Interviews with Romanians in Transylvania, fall 1997, and with James Patterson, American Fulbright Scholar and lecturer, Department of European Studies, Babes¸-Bolyai University, Cluj, December 10, 1997. Manea and Teodorescu, Istoria Românilor de la 1821 pâna˘ în 1989, pp. 167–70. Kirschbaum, A History of Slovakia, pp. 136–45.



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I. D. Disputing Hungary’s “Mutilation”: World War I and the Treaty of Trianon World War I wreaked havoc on the Hungarian portion of the Empire. As Austro-Hungary began to unravel in late 1918, instability in Hungary led to the brief rule of the socialist Béla Kun from 1918 to 1919.34 Romanian troops moved into Transylvania, and Romania declared ownership of the territory at an assembly in Alba Iulia on December 1, 1918. Further north, a group of Slovaks had signed an agreement with Czech leaders on the establishment of a common state, and the state’s independence was proclaimed in October of 1918. This Czechoslovak state was to include the territory of what is now Transcarpathian Ukraine, the result of a turbulent story that merits a separate section in the following section. The Treaty of Trianon of June 1920, one of several treaties formalizing the end of the war, carved off approximately two-thirds of Hungary’s territory into Czechoslovakia, Romania, Yugoslavia, and Austria.35 The Hungarian government strenuously resisted the treaty, but Hungary had fought on the side of the Central Powers during the war – a fact that influenced its postwar fate. Moreover, U.S. president Woodrow Wilson’s intent to apply the principle of national self-determination favored the cases of the Romanians and the Czechoslovaks. To this day, Hungarians describe Trianon as an injustice done to the Hungarian nation. But for Romanians, it codified the unification of three territories into a larger Romanian state. For Czechs, Slovaks, and Slavs in Transcarpathia, Trianon heralded their first incorporation into a Slavic state. I. E. Transcarpathian Confusion Before the clarity brought by the Trianon Treaty, 1918–20 was a period of stark unrest and upheaval as the Empire unraveled. Transcarpathia’s fate remained particularly uncertain during this period. The local population there primarily included local Slavs, known as Ruthenians, and Hungarians. Other groups in the territory included Germans, Jews, Romanians, and Roma. In late 1918, various “Councils” were established in cities of Transcarpathia to allow local inhabitants to choose by plebiscite the state in which they wished their city to reside. The cities of Uzhhorod, Mukacheve, and Berehove, among others, voted to join the new Hungarian republic. The easternmost locations of Svaliava, Maramoroshchyna, and later Khust voted to join Ukraine in the Soviet Union. To add to the fray, a Slav “Hutsul Republic” was declared in Yasinia on January 8, 1919, for Transcarpathia’s eastern areas.36 34

35

36

Tibor Hajdú and Zsuzsa L. Nagy, “Revolution, Counterrevolution, Consolidation,” in Sugar, Hanák, and Frank, eds., A History of Hungary, especially pp. 295–309. Joseph Rothschild, East Central Europe between the Two World Wars (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1992), pp. 154–5; Walters, The Other Europe, pp. 136–41, 143, 146–7. I. Hranchak, E. Balahuri, I. Hrytsak, V. Ilko, and I. Pop, Narysy istoriı¯ Zakarpattia, Tom II (1918–1945) (Uzhhorod: Zakarpattia, 1995) pp. 50–3, 65–8.



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More ambiguity ensued in the spring of 1919 as a Diet government for Transcarpathia formed – with strong ties to Hungary’s Kun regime. But throughout the summer of 1919, Czech troops began to take control over most of Transcarpathia, with Romanian troops gaining control of the southernmost Maramoroshchyna regions.37 The Czechoslovaks secured formal control of much of Transcarpathia with the Treaty of Saint-Germain of September 10, 1919, which annexed it as an autonomous unit of the Slovak portion of the Czechoslovak state.38 This decision was partly due to the influence of the National Council of American Ruthenians.39 Trianon finalized these borders the following year, and Transcarpathia settled down for a twenty-year existence within Czechoslovakia. Although the Czechs significantly improved the infrastructure of the region during their rule, the Prague administration is remembered in contemporary discussion as behaving in a paternalistic fashion toward local inhabitants.40 I. F. World War II One of Hitler’s strategies in Eastern Europe was to use the varied national group goals there to “divide and conquer” the region. Led by the right-wing Miklós Horthy, Hungary allied itself with Hitler’s Germany in the hope of reobtaining some of the territories it had lost under Trianon. This arrangement allowed Hungary to recover a swath of South Slovakia, significant cities in Transcarpathia, and a large portion of northern Transylvania in the course of the war. To preserve historical comparability, this book examines cities and regions that all lay on territories that Hungary regained during the war. Soon after the September 1938 Munich agreement that crippled Czechoslovakia, Hungary obtained some territory from South Slovakia and Transcarpathia through the November Vienna Protocol. The largest cities incorporated from South Slovakia included Komárno, Rimavská Sobota, Košice, Nové Zámky, Dunajská Streda, Lucˇ enec, and Rožnˇ ava41 – the first three of which are sample cities for this book. Hungary’s takeover of these territories was not a peaceful process, and remains a vivid memory to older Slovaks who

37 38

39

40 41

Hranchak et al., Narysy istoriı¯ Zakarpattia, pp. 74–93. V. I. Khudanych, “Mizhvoiennyı˘ period v istoriı¯ Zakarpattia,” in Ukraı¯ nski Karpaty (Uzhhorod: Karpaty, 1993), pp. 538–45, especially p. 539. This autonomy existed primarily on paper, not in practice. František Neˇ mec and V. Moudry, The Soviet Seizure of Subcarpathian Ruthenia (Toronto: William Anderson, 1955), pp. 18–20; Vasyl Pachovskyı˘, Sribna Zemlia (Uzhhorod: Zakarpattia, 1993), p. 74. Neˇ mec and Moudry, The Soviet Seizure of Subcarpathian Ruthenia, pp. 30–46. ˇ urica, Dejiny Slovenska a Slovákov, p. 1938; Magocsi, Historical Atlas, pp. 134–5; and Loránd D Tilkovszky, “The Late Interwar Years and World War II,” in Sugar, Hanák, and Frank, eds., A History of Hungary, pp. 339–55, especially p. 340.



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witnessed these events.42 The remaining northern Slovak territory became officially autonomous, with its own governmental institutions led by Monsignor Jozef Tiso. It became formally independent from Czechoslovakia in March 1939 after an ultimatum by Hitler prompted an independence vote in the Slovak parliament. This “independence,” however, simply meant that the new Slovakia became Hitler’s puppet state.43 In contemporary discussions, more strident Slovaks tend to discount Hitler’s role, describing the wartime Slovak state as a legitimate political entity and lauding the fascist Tiso as a hero. The small portion of Transcarpathia that the Vienna Protocol allocated to Hungary included the region’s largest cities – Uzhhorod, Berehove, and Mukacheve – and the small town of Chop. The first two of these cities, along with Chop, were researched for this book. Khust, in the east, remained part of Transcarpathia and became the seat of the region’s government.44 The new Khust government actively complained about the Hungarized fate of the western territories45 and increasingly advocated the option of attachment to an independent Ukraine. With the Slovak vote for independence from Czechoslovakia in March of 1939, the Ruthenian Diet, led by Premier Avgustyn Voloshyn, declared independence for Transcarpathia, or “Carpatho-Ukraine.” However, within twenty-four hours Hungarian troops, with Hitler’s assent, had invaded Khust. They then liquidated the government and annexed the remainder of Transcarpathia to Hungary.46 Requests for Transcarpathian autonomy within Hungary were never fulfilled, but local Ruthenians in particular remember these confusing events as testament to Transcarpathia’s uniqueness.47 In Romania, the second Vienna decision in August 1940 allocated a large portion of northern Transylvania to Hungary. Romanians remember the entry of Hungarian troops as a violent invasion, and there was indeed bloodshed between groups. Hungarians, however, remember the annexation as a celebratory 42

43

44

45

46

47

Ladislav Deák, Viedenská arbitráž – “Mníchov pre Slovensko” (Bratislava: Nadácia Korene, 1998), especially Chapter V; J. Višnˇovan and Jozef M. Kirschbaum, eds., Dokumenty o utrpení Slovákov v Mad’arsku (Prievidza, Slovakia: Matica Slovenská, 1994); and interviews in Komárno, February and March 1998. Ivan Kamenec, Slovenský stát (Prague: Anormal, 1992); Joseph Kirschbaum, Slovakia: Nation at the Crossroads of Central Europe (New York: Robert Speller & Sons, 1960); Jozef Lettrich, History of Modern Slovakia (New York: Frederick A. Praeger, 1955); and Jan Meˇ chýrˇ , Slovensko v Cˇ eskoslovensku (Prague: Prace, 1991). V. Iu. Hanchyn, “Avtonomistychni tendentsyı˘ na Zakarpatti v XIX sh XX st,” in Ukraı¯ nski Karpaty, pp. 145–52, especially p. 150; and Rothschild, East Central Europe between the Two World Wars, p. 132. M. Boldyzhar, Zakarpattia mizh dvoma svitovymy viı˘ namyi (Uzhhorod: Uzhhorod, 1996), pp. 26–35. Iuliian Khymynets, “Zakarpattia – zhertva fashystskoı¯ Nymechchyny,” in Ukraı¯ nski Karpaty, pp. 514–21, especially p. 520; and Neˇ mec and Moudry, The Soviet Seizure of Subcarpathian Ruthenia, pp. 52–3. Hranchak et al., Narysy istoriı¯ Zakarpattia, pp. 467–73.


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moment, often downplaying any violence.48 The three cities in Romania researched for this book, Cluj, Târgu Mures¸, and Miercurea Ciuc, were included in this annexation. The remainder of Romania was ruled by General Ion Antonescu, a right-wing extremist. As with Slovakia’s Tiso, there are contemporary efforts among more strident Romanians to “rehabilitate” Antonescu and to honor him with statues49 The war produced vast demographic changes. Large, vibrant Jewish communities throughout the region were decimated by deportations and violence – both on the territories acquired by Hungary and in the other states. Each side continues to downplay the actions of their group in the removal of the Jews, preferring instead to blame the “other” group as responsible for the Jews’ fate.50 Hungary’s prewar borders were reinstated after 1944, shrinking it to its postTrianon size. Transcarpathia was annexed to the Soviet Union as part of the westward border shift in Central Europe that followed the war. Soon after the Soviets acquired Transcarpathia, a large number of Hungarian men from the region were removed by Stalin to the Gulag, likely in an effort to minimize populations that might resist Soviet rule. The deportation was large enough to affect nearly all Hungarian families in Transcarpathia, and a memorial for these men is held every year.51 In Slovakia, as part of the postwar Beneš Decrees, large numbers of Hungarians were deprived of their property and resettled in either Hungary or in the Czech Sudetenland, replacing Germans who had been expelled from these areas after the war. Although Hungarians describe this transfer as a deportation, Slovaks refer to it as a “population exchange,” reflecting their different opinions on the justice or injustice of this move. One unsuccessful goal of the Hungarian party in Slovakia throughout the 1990s was the formal revocation of these Beneš Decrees, and this topic continues to surface in current politics.52

48

49

50 51

52

Manea and Teodorescu, Istoria Românilor de la 1821 pâna˘ în 1989, pp. 328–31, 341–2; “Mi történt 1940-ben Észak-Erdélyben?” Európai Ido˝ 24, November 29–December 12, 1997; Tilkovszky, “The Late Interwar Years and World War II,” p. 343; and interviews in Transylvania during the summer and fall of 1997. Manea and Teodorescu, Istoria Românilor de la 1821 pâna˘ în 1989, pp. 333–8; and Mark Temple, “The Politicization of History: Marshal Antonescu and Romania,” East European Politics and Societies 10, no. 3 (Fall 1996), pp. 457–503. Interviews in Romania, Slovakia, and Ukraine throughout 1997–8. György Dupka, ed., Emlékkönyv a Sztálinizmus Kárpátaljai áldozatairól (1944–1946) (Ungvár/ Uzhhorod and Budapest: Patent – Intermix, 1993); Paul Robert Magocsi, “The Hungarians in Transcarpathia (Subcarpathian Rus’),” Nationalities Papers 24, no. 3 (1996), pp. 525–34, especially p. 528; and interviews in Transcarpathia, summer 1998. Ján Bobák, Výmena obyvatel’stva medzi Cˇ esko-Slovenskom a Mad’arsokom (1947–1948) (Bratislava: Kubko Goral, 1994); Emeric Gondai, publisher, and Richard Tirai, printer, The Deportation of the Hungarians of Slovakia (Budapest: Hungarian Society for Foreign Affairs, 1947); “SDL’ si požiadavku revízie Benešových dekrétov vymyslela, tvrdí B. Bugár,” Sme, October 6, 1998; Szabad Újság, “Születésnap és a beneši dekrétumok,” June 2, 1999; and interviews in Rimavská Sobota, April 1998.



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I. G. Socialism and Soon After During the socialist period, Hungarians could attend Hungarian-language schools in Romania, Czechoslovakia, and the Soviet Union. However, the scope of this education depended on the goals of the party leadership. As examined further in Chapter 6, education in the post-socialist era has been a highly contested issue, with Hungarians tirelessly working to expand Hungarian-language education, and with titulars trying to limit it. In the area of media, under socialism Hungarians could generally access local newspapers and other publications in Hungarian. However, the content of these newspapers tended to mirror titular versions, given that the primary source of news was the party.53 Under socialism, Hungarians in all states had some access to publications smuggled from Hungary, as Hungary was a less oppressive regime than Romania, Czechoslovakia, and the Soviet Union – particularly after 1968. The influx of these writings spread some liberal ideas throughout the Hungarian population earlier than among the titular population, but with some information “spillover” across groups.54 With the liberalization of media after 1989 in Romania and Slovakia and in 1991 in Ukraine, Hungarian and titular papers began to present quite different versions of events to their audiences, even where they both remained under the ownership of local government institutions. All cultural activities under socialism, including those of ethnic groups, were organized by the state. In this context, the degree to which Hungarians could participate in Hungarian song and dance activities or poetry and speaking contests was determined by the state. In the post-socialist era, states continued to fund cultural activities for all groups and could increase or decrease funding at will. However, they generally relinquished exclusive control over the planning of such activities, allowing Hungarian cultural organizations significant program autonomy.55 The Hungarian state also provided, and continues to provide, various forms of crossborder funding for these Hungarian organizations. Socialist policies officially attempted to ensure equal representation of minorities such as Hungarians across most institutions. But they were expected to uphold the party rather than their ethnic group as their primary affiliation. Activities that were understood to prioritize ethnicity over socialism were often punished by the state, sometimes with jail sentences. Religious activity was generally discouraged in most socialist states, and individuals who participated in religious gatherings were often closely watched.

53 54

55

Magocsi, “Hungarians in Transcarpathia,” pp. 528–9; and observation of newspapers. Interview with Zsolt Mato, Research Center for Interethnic Relations in Transylvania (CCRIT), Babes¸-Bolyai University, Cluj, September 17, 1997. Interview with Péter Kolár, president of Csemadok (Hungarian cultural organization in Slovakia), Košice, April 7, 1998; and interview with László Polgári, Béla Demeter, and Béla Herényi, Csemadok, Rimavská Sobota, April 16, 1998.



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Romania is particularly notable for the way in which its minority policies changed several times during the socialist period. An initial period of support for minorities prompted the establishment of a Hungarian Autonomous Region for the sizable Hungarian enclave in central Romania, from 1952 to 1968. However, Nicolae Ceaus¸escu’s nationalist version of socialism led to homogenizing policies and an attempt to erase ethnic differences. These efforts included the resettlement of ethnic Romanians in historically Hungarian communities, as well as the transfer of Hungarians to jobs in areas outside of Transylvania.56 Hungarians became more and more resentful of such policies over time, and it was protest against the state’s attempt to depose Hungarian Reform Church pastor László To˝kés in Timis¸oara that sparked the December 1989 revolution to oust Ceaus¸escu.

ii. political institutions and contentious processes of post-socialism Democratization, or the construction of democratic institutions and mass acceptance of these new rules, is a particularly complex process, as governance must continue even while a state is undergoing serious renovations.57 A sketch of the institutional context within which contentious debates took place among groups is crucial to understanding the constraints within which contentious processes unfolded. This section briefly outlines the new constitutions of these states and how electoral systems, representative structures, and decentralization enabled and constrained formal Hungarian political participation in the 1990s. I then give an overview of the Hungarian ethnic parties that channeled their interests in these states during the 1990s and of the social context in which the transition took place. II. A. New Constitutions The mere presence of a constitution constrains the power of majorities. It serves as a binding mechanism that prevents rule according to majority whims and often gives courts the power to strike down legislation adopted by the majority.58 Constitutions can thus institutionalize protections for ethnic minorities that would be hard to obtain through electoral mechanisms, given their majoritarian premises. However, minority protections in constitutions did not come 56

57 58

Andrew Bell, “The Hungarians in Romania since 1989,” Nationalities Papers 24, no. 3 (1996), pp. 491–507, especially pp. 494–5; Verdery, National Ideology, p. 227. Elster, Offe, and Preuss, Institutional Design in Post-communist Societies. Stephen Holmes, “Precommitment and the Paradox of Democracy,” in Jon Elster and Rune Slagstad, eds., Constitutionalism and Democracy (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1988), pp. 195–240; and Robert Elgie and Jan Zielonka, “Constitutions and Constitution-Building: A Comparative Perspective,” in Jan Zielonka, ed., Democratic Consolidation in Eastern Europe, Vol. 1: Institutional Engineering (New York: Oxford University Press, 2001), pp. 25–47, especially p. 26.


Contentious Process of Post-Socialism

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easily for Hungarian minorities in Romania, Czechoslovakia/Slovakia, and Ukraine. The construction of shared rules in the form of new constitutions was itself a contentious project in these states. In Romania and Slovakia, new constitutions were established rather early on in the democratization process, in 1991 and 1992,59 but with significant objections by Hungarian minorities. Ukraine, which did not codify a constitution until 1996, simply operated under a general set of rules called the Law on Power after 1994. Moreover, even once the post-socialist constitutions were in place in these states, they tended toward vague and open-ended wording on issues relating to ethnic minorities. Instead of codifying clear rules, they often left many issues to be settled through further laws – a means to “pass the buck” on controversial rules to future parliaments.60 It is for this reason that so many laws and policies regarding minorities had to be forged via ethnic debates in these states in the 1990s. Two state-level issues were particularly contentious: (1) minority language use in the public sphere, including in education; and (2) the level to which government might be devolved to the local level. As examined in Chapters 4, 6, and 7, Hungarians were particularly active in broad protests related to laws and policies on these issues in Romania and Slovakia.61 However, they also engaged in protest on symbolic issues, particularly at the local level, as discussed in Chapter 5. II. B. Electoral Systems and Representative Structures The majoritarian electoral systems of the United States and Great Britain strongly favor majorities. The “single-member-district” or “first-past-the-post” majoritarian electoral system, which entails the election of a named representative by district along a simple majority, means that votes are “wasted” by those voting for the losing side. Where minority populations may be scattered diffusely throughout a territory, minority votes will often be wasted in elections when group cleavages are salient in politics. In a majoritarian system, the only means to adjust representation for minorities is through the gerrymandering of districts – changing the boundaries of districts in light of census data in order either to maximize or minimize minority representation. Minority voice is 59

60

61

Some amendments to all of the constitutions followed: in 1998, 1999, and 2001 for Slovakia; in 2003 for Romania; and 2004 for Ukraine. See Stephen Deets, “Constitutionalism and Identity in Eastern Europe,” Nationalities Papers 33, no. 4 (2005), pp. 489–516. See essays by Renate Weber on Romania, Darina Malová on Slovakia, and Kataryna Wolczuk on Ukraine, and Leonardo Morlino on problems of constitutional implementation, in Zielonka, ed., Democratic Consolidation. Zsuzsa Csergo, “Beyond Ethnic Division: Majority-Minority Debate about the Postcommunist State in Romania and Slovakia,” East European Politics and Societies 16, no. 1 (2002), pp. 1–29; Csergo, Talk of the Nation; and Stephen Deets, “Reconsidering East European Minority Policy: Liberal Theory and European Norms,” East European Politics and Societies 16, no. 1 (2002), pp. 30–53.


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usually minimized in district representation, as evidenced by the dismal representation of ethnic minorities in the U.S. Congress in relation to their overall population demographics.62 Moreover, majoritarian electoral systems tend to generate large parties and discourage smaller parties, making minority ethnic or religious parties less likely to emerge. In contrast, in the 1990s most of the Eastern European countries chose an alternative form of electoral system – proportional representation, or PR – which reduces the number of votes wasted for the “losing” sides.63 In PR systems, votes are collected by parties across a broad swath of territory, meaning that Hungarian voters located in a region of Slovakia with few other Hungarians have their votes added to a broader pool of votes from throughout the state rather than having them wasted.64 The aim of PR is to produce parliaments that reflect the political proportions of the society at large. Ethnic minorities will still be a minority in the parliament under PR, but they can at least attain some voice that reflects their composition in the population, an improvement over their fate in majoritarian systems.65 Strong constituent support for Hungarian parties, combined with PR and polarized politics, has provided some notable representation for the Hungarians – particularly in Romania and Slovakia, where their swing party status made them partners in coalition governments by the late 1990s. Ukraine had more trouble settling on basic electoral rules early in the transition. Its first elections in 1994 were held according to a majoritarian system. A mixed system was then adopted for the second elections in 1998 – in which half of the parliamentary representatives were chosen by majoritarian elections, and the other half by PR. The Ukrainian system demonstrates the importance of district line drawing for minorities. Ukraine had one Hungarian representative elected to parliament under the 1994 system, but a redrawing of districts for the 1998 mixed system meant that Hungarians could then obtain a representative only through an informal quota. It is important to note that neither protest nor policy formation was strongly affected by electoral cycles in these states, contrary to what one might expect. Table 3.1 lists the parliamentary and presidential elections for each of these states. A strong influence of elections on these processes would imply that one would see spikes in contention or protest activity during the years of elections, 62

63 64

65

Arend Lijphart, Patterns of Democracy: Government Forms and Performance in Thirty-Six Countries (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1999); Reilly, Democracy in Divided Societies; Giovanni Sartori, Comparative Constitutional Engineering (New York: New York University Press, 1994); and Sisk, Power Sharing and International Mediation. Romania has since changed its system, with a new structure used for the elections of 2008. In Slovakia, the entire state is treated as the PR electoral unit. Other states, such as Iraq, may be broken down into districts for PR elections. On the debate over the merits and weaknesses of such structures, see Arend Lijphart, “Constitutional Choices for New Democracies,” in Diamond and Plattner, The Global Resurgence of Democracy, pp. 146–58; and Guy Lardeyret, “The Problem with PR,” in Diamond and Plattner, The Global Resurgence of Democracy, pp. 159–64; as well as Sartori, Comparative Constitutional Engineering. PR systems may encourage ethnic parties.



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table 3.1. Significant Elections in Each State in the 1990s Country

Election Year

Romania 1990 1992 1996 Slovakia 1990 (within Czechoslovakia) 1992 (within Czechoslovakia) 1994 1998 1999 Ukraine 1991 1991

1994 1998 1999

Election Type Parliamentary and presidential Parliamentary and presidential Parliamentary and presidential Parliamentary Parliamentary Parliamentary Parliamentary Presidential (first direct mandate) Presidential Three referendums: Ukraine independence, Transcarpathian autonomy, Berehove Hungarian Autonomous District Parliamentary and presidential Parliamentary Presidential

particularly soon before or after elections. However, as the evidence in Chapters 6 and 7 shows, the protest and policy trajectories depict fluctuations independent of election years. Along with electoral systems, another means to maximize representation lies in the design of general representative structures. Consociational government, for example, institutes formal structures that require groups to share power in a democratic state.66 The complex governing structures of Belgium and Northern Ireland are examples of consociational government, which institutes strong checks by minorities over majorities.67 Consociationalism

66

67

Rudy Andeweg, “Consociational Democracy,” Annual Review of Political Science 3 (2000), pp. 509–36; Lijphart, The Politics of Accommodation; Arend Lijphart, “The Wave of PowerSharing Democracy,” in Andrew Reynolds, ed., The Architecture of Democracy: Constitutional Design, Conflict Management, and Democracy (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), pp. 37– 54; and George Schöpflin, “The Problem of Nationalism in the Postcommunist Order,” in Peter Volten, ed., Bound to Change: Consolidating Democracy in East Central Europe (New York: Institute for EastWest Studies, 1992), pp. 27–41. Donald Horowitz, “Explaining the Northern Ireland Agreement: The Sources of an Unlikely Constitutional Consensus,” British Journal of Political Science 32 (2002), pp. 193–220; Dirk Jacobs and Marc Swyngedouw, “Territorial and Non-territorial Federalism in Belgium: Reform of the Brussels Capital Region, 2001,” Regional and Federal Studies 13, no. 2 (2003), pp. 127–39; Brendan O’Leary, “The Belfast Agreement and the British-Irish Agreement: Consociation, Confederal Institutions, a Federacy, and a Peace Process,” in Reynolds, ed., Architecture of Democracy, pp. 293–356; Sherrill Stroschein, “Making or Breaking Kosovo: Applications of Dispersed State Control,” Perspectives on Politics 6, no. 4 (2008), pp. 655–74; and Philippe Van Parijs, “Power Sharing versus Border-Crossing in Ethnically Divided Societies,” in Ian Shapiro



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can produce governmental deadlock or instability, one reason it is not more popular. A lighter-touch approach to minority representation is that of formal or informal minority quotas for parliaments – a formal example of which is used in Romania. The strength of the Hungarian parties means that they often surpass their allotted minority quota, but the quota provides a voice for smaller minorities there who would otherwise be excluded by an electoral threshold.68 II. C. Unitary versus Federal State Institutions Federal structures allow minorities to exercise significant powers at the substate level. The extent to which government should be decentralized became a primary issue of contention in the 1990s, as Hungarians in particular pressed for more powers of government to be devolved to the local level. Indeed, the legacy of socialism had left government powers quite centralized at the onset of transition. But the breakup of federations throughout the region in the early 1990s set a precedent that made ethnic majorities in both new and old states rather reluctant to endorse federal structures.69 Debates on decentralization thus often emerged along ethnic lines, with Hungarians in support of more devolved government and titulars opposing it. Hungarians understood that further autonomy or strong state devolution would increase their power in enclave areas, where Hungarians constitute local majorities. In fact, many Hungarians would have preferred more than just decentralization – instead, they would have opted for explicit autonomous units for Hungarians. As their proposals for autonomy were rejected, Hungarians began to focus more on symmetric decentralization of state powers to the local level. But even these debates were quite fraught, as outlined in Chapter 7. Many titulars worried in particular about the implications of devolution for their fellow titulars living as local minorities in Hungarian enclaves and thus favored more centralized state structures instead. During the 1990s, Slovakia was a strongly unitary state.70 Although Romania maintained some regional governance structures, the county prefects, or governors, held considerable powers and were appointed by the center. Ukraine maintained a similar state structure with some decentralization, but also with powerful governors appointed by the center.

68

69

70

and Stephen Macedo, eds., Designing Democratic Institutions (New York: New York University Press, 2000), pp. 296–320. Deets, “Reimagining the Boundaries of the Nation”; Deets and Stroschein, “Dilemmas of Autonomy.” The state of Czechoslovakia was a confederation, divided into the Czech and Slovak republics. On the dissolution potential of federations, see Bunce, Subversive Institutions; Gorenburg, Minority Ethnic Mobilization in the Russian Federation; and Philip Roeder, “Soviet Federalism and Ethnic Mobilization,” World Politics 43 (1991), pp. 194–232. O’Dwyer, Runaway State-Building.



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II. D. Ethnic Parties Ethnic parties, or parties founded on an ethnic principle,71 are sometimes blamed for causing a breakdown of democracy in ethnically divided societies. The logic of this argument is that in a democracy, competition for power within an ethnic group may produce outbidding, a mechanism that moves parties more toward ethnic extremes through internal fragmentation and competition for votes within a group.72 For this reason, analysts such as Donald Horowitz have proposed that ethnic parties should be banned, or perhaps a single-party system preferred, due to their posited destabilizing tendencies for ethnically diverse states.73 A counterargument holds that ethnic parties provide a means to incorporate minority ethnic groups into political decision making. In this view, ethnic parties aggregate and represent interests that are better expressed than ignored. Where real political powers are available to such parties, they can in fact moderate ethnic politics due to real incentives to play by political rules.74 As Jóhanna Birnir has found, ethnic parties can play a stabilizing role by decreasing electoral volatility.75 This integrative role for ethnic parties is supported by the evidence on Hungarian parties in these states. Upon the demise of socialism, the immediate salience of the Hungarian parties for Hungarians was rather surprising to the ethnic majorities in these states. Although the socialist governments had previously recognized different minority groups, providing them with minority language schools and cultural organizations, they had not been allowed to mobilize politically. Ethnic minorities had been particularly subdued in Romania, where the Ceaus¸escu regime instituted strong nationalist-socialist rhetoric.76 The notion that a polity could be politically split along ethno-national lines was therefore a new idea for many Romanians. Slovaks and Ukrainians were less surprised by this notion, as they were also working to free themselves from larger federations. However, in the 71

72

73 74

75 76

In other settings, similar parties may also be linguistic, religious, or national in character. For the sake of simplicity, I will refer to them here as ethnic parties. Elster, Offe, and Preuss, Institutional Design; Horowitz, Ethnic Groups in Conflict; Juan Linz and Alfred Stepan, Breakdown of Democratic Regimes: Crisis, Breakdown, and Reequilibration (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1978); Rabushka and Shepsle, Politics in Plural Societies; and Philip Roeder, “Peoples and States after 1989,” Slavic Review 58 (1999), pp. 854–81. Kanchan Chandra has shown how patronage networks influence this outbidding process in India: Chandra, Why Ethnic Parties Succeed. Horowitz, Ethnic Groups in Conflict. Jóhanna Kristin Birnir, Ethnicity and Electoral Politics (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2007); Venelin Ganev, “History, Politics, and the Constitution: Ethnic Conflict and Constitutional Adjudication in Bulgaria,” Slavic Review 63, no. 1 (Spring 2004), pp. 66–89; John Ishiyama, “Ethnopolitical Parties and Democratic Consolidation,” Nationalism and Ethnic Politics 7 (2001), pp. 25–45; and Sherrill Stroschein, “Measuring Ethnic Party Success in Romania, Slovakia, and Ukraine,” Problems of Post-Communism 48 (2001), pp. 59–69. Birnir, Ethnicity and Electoral Politics, especially pp. 69–71. Verdery, National Ideology.


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context of their new state projects, Hungarian parties tended to be described by titulars in the early 1990s as having dangerously fragmentary potential. But with time, they became more accepted as a routine part of politics. As Hungarian parties became more visible, some titular ethnic parties also emerged, often opposing the Hungarians in their rhetoric. It is of note that titular ethnic parties tend to draw only a minority of titular voters, as most of the titular electorate vote for parties that are not based on ethnicity.77 Even without strong titular ethnic parties, the successful Hungarian parties alone produced electorates divided along ethnic lines.78 For example, a survey in Romania on the 1996 elections showed that 83 percent of Hungarian respondents voted for the Hungarian party. Of the remaining 17 percent, 12 percent did not vote, 1 percent did not answer, and only 4 percent said that they had voted for other parties.79 These dynamics appear in the other states as well. Ethnic Hungarians advance in politics by rising through the ranks of Hungarian parties, and members of other ethnic groups do not participate in Hungarian party politics – although Hungarian-speaking Roma are an occasional exception. Indeed, ethnic parties may serve as channels for more extreme individuals to move into positions of power. Hungarian parties have been able to play a role as a swing party in Romania and Slovakia, joining coalition governments in 1996 in Romania and 1998 in Slovakia. At the state level, they have been most effective in these two states. But in all three states, Hungarian parties play a particularly strong role in regional and local politics, especially in enclave areas. In Ukraine, the Hungarian organization had only one representative in the state parliament, and this thanks to a Hungarian-majority district that was later eliminated. However, it remains a strong force in the politics of the Transcarpathian region itself.80 Local and national voting patterns for Hungarian parties tend to reflect census data for Hungarians, outlined in Table 3.2. Hungarians comprised roughly 7 and 10 percent of the population of Romania and Slovakia, respectively, during the 1990s. The proportional representation electoral systems in Romania and Slovakia allowed for party support to be collected statewide, producing seats for Hungarians in parliament that reflect Hungarian census figures. They form a very small fragment of the Ukrainian state, but approximately 12.5 percent of the Transcarpathian region, or oblast. Although an outbidding mechanism within groups did not take place, it would be going too far to say that Hungarian parties strongly moderated their stances over time. Rather, their official platforms remained remarkably consistent throughout the 1990s and even up through today. However, their strategies 77

78 79 80

The outbidding mechanism can be seen more clearly among titular ethnic parties, as the electorate is already fragmented. An overview of votes for ethnic parties appears in Stroschein, “Measuring Ethnic Party Success.” CCRIT, “Közvéleménykutaás a Romániai magyarok körében” (Cluj, 1999). After the 1990s, however, the Hungarian TUKZ/KMKSz began to lose ground to a competing faction, the TUKB/BMKSz, based in Berehove.


table 3.2. Ethnicity and Political Parties in the Study, 1990s

Location

Hungarians as Percent of Populationa

Titulars as Percent of Population

Romania

7.12

89.47

Slovakia

10.69

85.66

Transcarpathian Region of Ukraine

12.5

78.41 (Ukrainians and Ruthenians)

Name of Hungarian Partyb in English Democratic Alliance of Hungarians in Romania (DAHR) Hungarian Coalition Party (HCP) Cultural Organization of Hungarians of Transcarpathiac (COHS); Cultural Organization of Hungarians of Berehove (COHB)

Titular Acronym for Party

Hungarian Acronym for Party

Titular Parties Based on Ethnic Principle

UDMR

RMDSz

Greater Romania Party (PRM), PUNR SNS

MK, or MKP SMK, Spolužitie MKDH TUKZ, TUKB KMKSz, BMKSz

a

Rukh

Sources: 1992 Romanian census: Comisia Naț ionala˘ pentru Statistica˘ , Recensa˘ mântul populaț iei s¸i locuinț elor din 7 ianuarie 1992, Vol. I (Bucharest, 1994), p. 708; Slovak census: Statistical Office of the Slovak Republic, Štatistická rocˇ enka Slovenskej republiky, 1993 (Bratislava, 1994), p. 125; for Transcarpathia: figures from 1989 Soviet census: Sklad naselennia po okremu natsionalnostiackh i ridnyı˘ movi, obtained from Károly Koscis, Hungarian Academy of Sciences, Budapest, and Naselennia Zakarpatskoı¯ oblasty, statystychny zbirnyk (Uzhhorod: Statystychny Zbirnyk), 1990. b In Ukraine, this group is registered as a cultural organization. In Slovakia, three Hungarian parties merged in 1998. c The literal translation would be “Subcarpathia,” as the Carpathian mountains are northward from a Hungarian perspective. From the Ukrainian or Russian perspective, the region lies southward, across the Carpathians, producing the English translation “Transcarpathia” from these languages.


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and the goals pursued moderated considerably, driven by a pragmatic recognition by mass publics on each side on the limits to which they could push party platforms. Hungarian parties (and titular nationalist parties), have recognized that their electorates hold fast in opinion to the same goals, thus many persist in party rhetoric and discourse even today. But at the same time, both party elites and mass publics learned to compromise and accept concessions on certain goals as inevitable, as outlined in Chapters 6 and 7. Ethnic parties for both Hungarians and titular groups81 were some of the first parties to emerge after the demise of socialism in East Central Europe. Ethnic Hungarian parties have been more successful than both titular parties and ethnic Roma parties in mobilizing their potential electorate, displaying remarkable unity even where there is more than one Hungarian party.82 The institutional context enabling83 these Hungarian parties is worth note. Potential outbidding has been constrained in part by electoral thresholds – a stipulation that requires Hungarian parties to obtain a certain percentage of seats to enter parliament. These thresholds reduced the viability of splinter factions within Hungarian parties at the state level. In Slovakia, three Hungarian parties cooperated closely and then merged for elections throughout the 1990s. It is notable that these parties stayed separate entities for much of the 1990s, as Slovakia was largely controlled by Vladimír Mecˇ iar’s Movement for a Democratic Slovakia (HZDS) party through 1998. These three parties and their constituents tended to show remarkable unity on goals relating to Hungarian identity, while their differences tended to be on economic matters. In Romania, the umbrella Hungarian party, the UDMR, engaged in complex internal politics to reduce potential fragmentation, including on matters of economy – a strategy that was largely successful in the 1990s.84 The ethnic Hungarian political field has been more complicated in Ukraine, where a changing set of rules helped facilitate some fragmentation of Hungarian groups by the late 1990s. Because Hungarian settlements in Ukraine are concentrated in Transcarpathia, the Hungarian organizations are not officially registered as parties, but rather as cultural organizations, due to a statewide requirement for party registration. Nevertheless, they serve the functions of parties, running candidates for office and representing political interests. In addition, the importance of clan politics in Ukraine contributed to a localization 81

82

83

84

In common usage, the label “nationalist party” has been applied almost exclusively to titular parties that are formed on an ethnic principle, but not to minority parties. To separate such definitions from minority/minority status, here any party formed on an ethnic principle is considered an ethnic party. Strong ethnic parties are not unique to Hungarians in the region. Albanians in Macedonia and Turks in Bulgaria maintain minority ethnic parties, and ethnically based parties remain quite visible throughout the former Yugoslavia. Donna Lee Van Cott, From Movements to Parties in Latin America (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2005). As both of these parties made some concessions to participate in coalition governments in the late 1990s, this caused some disagreement in the Hungarian enclave. Stroschein, “Demography in Ethnic Party Fragmentation.”


Conclusions

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of party politics, with the TUKZ/KMKSz stronger in Uzhhorod and the TUKB/ BMKSz stronger in Berehove. II. E. The Social Context for Politics While Hungarian parties tend to divide the electorate in all of these states, other cleavages differ across locations. Ethnic and religious cleavages align in Romania, as Romanians tend to be either Orthodox or Uniate,85 while Hungarians tend to be Protestant, Unitarian, or Catholic. The situation is the opposite in Slovakia, where both groups share religious affiliations – the majority of Slovaks and Hungarians are Catholics, and there are also a number of Protestants among both groups. Churches in mixed cities in Slovakia thus often hold services in both languages. Cleavages in the Transcarpathian region are more complex, due partly to the presence of more groups. The region’s population not only includes Hungarians and Ukrainians, but also Russians, Ruthenians, Romanians, and Slovaks, as well as some Roma. With regard to Hungarians and Ukrainians, religious and ethnic cleavages align because Ruthenians and Ukrainians tend to be Uniate or Orthodox, whereas Slovaks and Hungarians tend to be Catholic or Protestant. Russians tend to be exclusively Orthodox. Transcarpathia includes one additional line of cleavage. Ethnic Hungarians living there operate on “Hungarian time,” meaning that their clocks run one hour behind “Ukrainian time.” The business of Hungarian institutions is usually conducted according to Hungarian time, meaning that an uninformed observer with her watch set to Ukrainian time will tend to arrive at Hungarian meetings an hour before they actually begin. This dual time zone, divided by ethnicity, is simply an accepted part of life in Transcarpathia and is hardly remarked upon by any of the groups there.

iii. conclusions This chapter has outlined the empirical background for the detailed discussion of contentious debates that follows. In this chapter, I first sketched a brief outline of the history of contentious interactions between Hungarians and titulars in these states, emphasizing matters that continue to arise in contemporary discourse. I then outlined the political institutions that framed the context within which formal contestation over policy took place in the 1990s, highlighting electoral systems, structures of government control, and ethnic parties. These formal foundations of politics provided constraints on the informal politics of contention that are discussed in the following chapters. In spite of these structural constraints, policy formation and its incremental moderation were strongly driven by the character of mass protests. It is to these that the next chapters turn.

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The rituals of the Uniate Church are Orthodox, but they fall under the leadership of Rome.


4 Local Violence and Uncertainty in Târgu Mures¸, 1990

The main cause of the inter-ethnic political crisis in Târgu Mures¸ [. . . lies] in the radical new character that has appeared in the evolution of all social processes after the December Revolution. – Report of the Romanian parliamentary commission to investigate the riots1

In March of 1990, just a few months after the revolution that removed Nicolae Ceaus¸escu from his dictatorial post, ethnic violence erupted in Romania. Using iron bars, axes, and Molotov cocktails, Romanians and Hungarians attacked each other on the manicured central square of Târgu Mures¸,2 resulting in at least six dead (the figures are disputed) and around three hundred wounded. In the months following the riot, it was feared that similar widespread violence could erupt again in the city, in other towns with Hungarian minorities throughout Romania, or in other states containing Hungarian minorities. It did not. However, the persistence of ethnic protest and contention throughout the 1990s in all of these states shows that intergroup disagreements did not simply disappear. But widescale violence was confined to this incident, and Romanians and Hungarians proceeded to construct the institutions of democracy – together. In the story of the riot that follows, it is clear that the uncertain circumstances of the first few months of transition contributed to the potential for violence. Târgu Mures¸ is a split city of approximately 50 percent Romanians and 50 percent Hungarians. When the riot erupted in March 1990, governance structures at all levels were being directed by leaders who had been quickly chosen in an ad hoc manner during the chaotic aftermath of the December Revolution. The first elections were not to be held until May of that year. Ethnic concerns were 1

2

Parlamentul României, “Raportul Comisiei de ancheta˘ instituta˘ în vederea cerceta˘ rii evenimentelor petrecute în municipiul Tîrgu-Mures¸ în zilele de 19 s¸i 20 matrie 1990 (VIII)” (hereafter “Raportul”). Printed in installments in Cuvîntul Liber (hereafter CL), with this installment on February 5, 1991. This city is also sometimes spelled Tîrgu Mures¸. The use of â became embraced in recent years as a pro-Latin stance toward the Romanian language, whereas the use of î is often described as a proSlavic stance. The use of one letter or the other can sometimes have political connotations, although it may also simply represent the user’s habituation to one or the other.

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Post-Revolutionary Uncertainty in a Split City

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being openly voiced in the public sphere for the first time in decades, and the emergence of parties along ethnic lines was new to all. Among both groups, the extent to which they could pursue their claims was unclear, especially in this split city, where it was unknown which ethnic group would win the mayoral post and a majority of city council seats in the upcoming elections. This context of uncertainty was specific to the newness of democratic politics in 1990 and magnified in the divided demographics of Târgu Mures¸. However, as repeated contention over the course of the decade familiarized groups with the limits of their claims and those of other group, this uncertainty and the probability of violence steadily decreased. The story of the riot in this chapter is compiled from both Romanian and Hungarian sources: the local newspapers of both groups, a book on the incident, an official parliamentary report, and interviews. Given the highly controversial nature of the events even several years later, every effort has been made to note when and how these accounts differ. One aspect common to all sources is the sincerity of opinions within each group regarding their desire for their children to be educated in their own language. It was these beliefs that motivated ordinary individuals to participate in the gatherings up to and during the riot – not the machinations of elites. Although these elites, as party leaders and officeholders, sometimes articulated claims on language, culture, and education, they did not invent them. Such sentiments already resonated strongly within each group, at the grassroots.3 This chapter first outlines the events that unfolded in Târgu Mures¸ in the spring of 1990 and their aftermath. I then briefly discuss an incident of mob vandalism that took place a few months later in the Hungarian-majority city of Miercurea Ciuc, to show some similar dynamics in each event. There, an angry group vandalized a police office in a collective act with ethnic undertones. The mechanisms of mobilization that can be observed in these events are outlined at the end of the chapter.

i. post-revolutionary uncertainty in a split city The Romanian revolution that brought down the Ceaus¸escu regime in December 1989 is remembered as strongly inter-ethnic in character. But in the central and northwestern regions of Romania, Transylvania, containing high concentrations of Hungarians, it took on added meaning. For many ethnic Hungarians, the removal of Ceaus¸escu and his repressive policies implied a reversal to the erosion of Hungarian cultural and educational institutions that had been taking place for decades. In the Hungarian view, the revolution could bring about the restoration of Hungarian institutions. However, ethnic Hungarians and Romanians held quite different views on the degree to which such a restoration

3

See also Petersen, Understanding Ethnic Violence; and Beth Roy, Some Trouble with Cows: Making Sense of Social Conflict (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1994).


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Local Violence and Uncertainty in Târgu Mures¸

would take place, a difference that was not immediately self-evident to members of either group in the warm fellow-feeling of December 1989. By early 1990, however, disagreement over the type and scale of educational and cultural institutions for Hungarians became particularly heated in Târgu Mures¸, a city of 160,000 with an approximate 50–50 distribution of Hungarians and Romanians. Târgu Mures¸ had been the capital of a short-lived Hungarian Autonomous Region, which existed in central Romania from 1952 to 1968. In the Hungarian perspective, the demise of this region, as well as the ethnolinguistic mixing of universities and schools under socialism, constituted blows against Hungarian culture. In the Romanian perspective, the fact that Hungarians could obtain education in Hungarian at all educational levels4 during socialism and afterward was proof of extensive rights for Hungarians. It was here that the trouble began. After the revolution, provisional councils were established to govern the region at both the central and local levels. The first formal state elections were to take place in late May of 1990. Although these councils were viewed as temporary bodies, local elections did not codify structures until 1992 (and in Târgu Mures¸ this election was disputed and went on for a few months). Thus these initial local councils were quite powerful, given the vast number of immediate decisions that had to be made in the wake of the complete turnover of political and economic institutions.5 The Târgu Mures¸ city administration was chosen on December 27, 1989, and featured two Romanians in leadership positions: Ioan Judea as president and another Romanian as secretary. The Mures¸ county National Salvation Front (FSN) council was chosen during an intense meeting on January 2, and the new council then selected its leadership. An ethnic Hungarian, Károly Király, headed this county body. However, due to duties with the state government and health issues, Király was periodically away from the county and appointed fellow Hungarian Elo˝d Kincses in his stead during his absences.6 Due to the fact that both of these men were ethnic Hungarians, some Romanians began to take the perspective that Romanians were underrepresented in leadership at the county level. More extreme Romanian elements made references to potential dangers of Hungarian irredentism under this power configuration. Naturally, in-group personal networks played some role in these selections. But in the uncertain climate, each group was also strongly aware of the importance of advancing its own members to positions of power.

4 5

6

The ability to study in Hungarian through the Ph.D. level depended somewhat on area of study. I am grateful to György Virág for clarifying this context in a phone conversation on June 28, 2011, with reference to CL, “Noua conducere a prima˘ riei Tîrgu Mures¸,” August 15, 1990. Elo˝d Kincses, Martie negru la Tîrgu Mures¸ (Sfântu Ghorghe: Háromszék, Romania, 1991), pp. 20–3. The strategy for choosing the council had been outlined during the revolutionary events on December 25 and involved individuals obtaining sufficient votes of approval from their places of employment.



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A few months into the transition, each group was quick to see conspiracy on the part of the other in the composition of these councils. I. A. Emerging Lines of Cleavage: Education in Hungarian or Romanian? Soon after the December Revolution, in early January of 1990, the central Education Ministry put forth a decision that minority rights would be respected and promoted by future laws. It was on this premise that a small, mixed group of new leaders made a decision on January 18 to establish the local Bolyai High School in Târgu Mures¸ as an exclusively Hungarian institution.7 Soon afterward, a number of Hungarians proposed that this measure could be accomplished by exchanging Romanian-language class groups from the Bolyai High School with some Hungarian-language class groups at the Papiu High School in town. This student exchange was envisioned to establish separate Hungarian and Romanian institutions. Because a “class” is a group of students who study together in the same language, these groups were understood to be movable units by those making the proposal. According to Romanian sources, on January 18, Hungarian students from the Papiu School went to the Bolyai School to ask the Romanian students to exchange places with them; the Romanian students refused.8 The Bolyai School, one of the most historic institutions in town, became an emotional focal point for both groups as Hungarians continued to press for the removal of its Romanian classes. The Bolyai High School held a symbolic status for Hungarians, as it had been established under Hungarian rule and had played a central role in local education for approximately four hundred years. The school is also a striking example of Art Nouveau/Jugendstil architecture at the center of the city, and holds a more prominent spatial presence than other schools. At the same time as the Bolyai dispute, disagreement also began brewing over the status of the Hungarian language at the University of Medicine and Pharmacy (UMF) in Târgu Mures¸. This attempt to separate students on linguistic grounds prompted an immediate negative reaction among Romanian teachers and students at the Bolyai School as well as other town residents. An extraordinary meeting of the County Council was called to discuss the issue on January 19. Although some Hungarians wanted the immediate separation of the institution, more moderate elements noted the disruption inherent in taking such action in the middle of the school year and conceded that the separation could be decided now but could be

7

8

It also stated that minority institutions regarding fundamental rights, language use, and the promotion of culture and identity would be covered by a minister of national minorities. Kincses, Martie negru la Tîrgu Mures¸, p. 28. The Bolyai and Papiu schools are “gymnasia,” designated for students who pass rigorous exams. Other students attend technical schools at this age. CL, “Oras¸ul aspira˘ spre linis¸te,” March 30, 1990.


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delayed until the beginning of the next school year. In the end, this was the decision taken at the meeting, in a split vote.9 From the point of view of the Hungarians, the proposal to delay was a compromise. They understood the Bolyai issue to be one of restoring minority language rights, which had eroded under the Ceaus¸escu regime, and would have preferred a more immediate change.10 From the Romanian perspective, the act of separating the schools constituted an act of segregation, one that could only harm relations between the two groups. For Romanians, the urgency with which Hungarians pursued this issue seemed to contain a message that Hungarians felt culturally superior to them – a sense that harkened back to the prevailing status differential during Hungarian rule over Transylvania.11 Parents and students of “Romanian and other nationalities” at the Bolyai School protested the decision to move the classes as a rash separatist act that contradicted the brotherhood and principles of the revolution. In their view, the mixture of classes at both schools was more reflective of the inter-ethnic character of the city, and they asked the County Council to revisit its decision. Articles in the Romanian paper invoked similar themes, describing the school separation as a kind of “apartheid” and “racial segregation.”12 In light of this controversy, the City Council called a second meeting to discuss the issue on January 24, in a setting far more fraught with tension than the first. The stated intent of the meeting was to soothe over tensions that had been building since the first decision, disrupting the school environment. In presenting the rationale behind the previous decision, the vice president of the County Council, Elo˝d Kincses, was heckled and the Romanian students and teachers of the Bolyai School left the room in protest. At this point, the meeting disintegrated into angry exchanges, and Kincses and other Hungarians later left the room in protest as well. As a result of the breakdown of the meeting, no clear decision was made to contravene the county proposal. The descriptions of the meeting make it clear that Hungarians were overall quite surprised by the reactions of Romanians to the school separation. One Hungarian there later described the Romanians at the meeting as beginning with good intentions, but that they simply did not understand the heavy importance of that particular historical school to Hungarians or that the Hungarians wanted one of the four high schools in town to be their own. He also found a Romanian comment that “we are all mixed together anyway” to be a hurtful reminder of potential Hungarian assimilation.13

9 10 11 12

13

Kincses, Martie negru la Tîrgu Mures¸, p. 29. Kincses, Martie negru la Tîrgu Mures¸, p. 29. This perspective regularly appears in interviews with both groups. CL, “Scrisoare deschisa˘,” January 23, 1990; and CL, “Cui ar folosi destabilizarea tinerelor structuri democratice?” January 24, 1990. Kincses, Martie negru la Tîrgu Mures¸, pp. 32–3; and Népújság (hereafter NÚ), “Lehetetlen a párbeszéd?” January 26, 1990.



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The early meetings on the school issue reveal a fascinating process. In the warm camaraderie that followed the revolution, members of both groups genuinely believed that they could pursue common goals with one mind. However, as debate unfolded on the school issue, individuals of each group, not just those making policy in the councils, began to express sincere disagreements with the views of the other group. Both sides were surprised to see such strong differences emerge, as they initially viewed ethnic others as fellow sufferers of the Ceaus¸escu regime who should understand their perspective. The fragmentation of unitary revolutionary movements into separate blocs is a common process after authoritarian rule, and individuals are often surprised to hear their neighbors express new political views for the first time. However, this process of expression takes on added weight when ideological views are tied to ethnicity, as such differences begin to seem intractable. The rapid and sincere emergence of such paradigm differences on policy is one reason that minority Hungarian parties formed early on in the transition process, and explains why they maintained remarkable and consistent support throughout the first democratic decade. Over the next several weeks, the city’s Hungarians continued to make public statements regarding the importance of education in a group’s mother tongue for national identity preservation and lamenting the decline of Hungarian education over the past several years. Romanians, however, continued to criticize attempts to separate schools as discriminatory and separatist.14 These different views have now become permanent fixtures of debates between Hungarians and titulars throughout the region. Hungarians tend to view separate institutions as important vehicles to preserve their language and culture, while titulars tend to believe that joint institutions are sufficient if they make some linguistic accommodations.15 In addition, Hungarians tend to regard educational institutions in terms of some historical continuity with the Hungarian state, a stance that does not evoke sympathy from other groups. These separate ethnic positions set the stage for the events that followed. On January 30, a week after the second meeting, Hungarian students from the Bolyai School held a sit-down strike, calling for the immediate establishment of the Bolyai as a Hungarian-language school and protesting the county’s decision to delay the process until September. When Kincses, the county vice prefect, attempted to convince them to accept the decision, he was accused by some of the Hungarian students’ parents of betraying his fellow Hungarians. Around the same time, Hungarians began to take issue with what they regarded as a Romanian-dominated composition of the City Council. In this dispute, a Hungarian writer and head of the Hungarian party (UDMR), András Süto˝, 14

15

CL, “Scrisoare deschisa˘ ,” January 23, 1990; CL, “Cui ar folosi destabilizarea tinerelor structuri democratice?” January 24, 1990; CL,“Sîntem fraț i, nu ne separaț i!” February 8, 1990; NÚ, “Néhány szó az oktatásügyro˝l,” January 12, 1990; and NÚ, “Anyanyelvünkön tanulhatunk újra,” February 3, 1990; and Zoltán Bodó, Marius Cosmeanu, Mátéffy Csaba, and Paul Ma˘rginean, “Alter/Ego tîgumures¸ean,” Altera, anul 1 (1995). Some, however, would prefer no accommodations.


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levied strong critiques against the city leadership. His efforts led to a second attempt at electing a city council and produced a more balanced ethnic composition.16 Beginning on February 6, UDMR leaders began planning for a large Hungarian demonstration on the school issue, to be held on February 10. In the meantime, on February 7, Romanian students of the Bolyai School held their own protest against school separation. Chanting slogans such as, “We are brothers, don’t separate us,” and, “Bolyai is for everyone, including Romanians,” the students expressed disapproval with what they viewed as the Hungarian students’ previous “unilateral” demonstration for separation. Two events took place on February 8: A few hundred Hungarian students held a counterdemonstration to the previous day’s Romanian student demonstration, and the Romanian organization Vatra Româneasca˘ held one of its first local gatherings, which brought around fifteen thousand participants to the local sports stadium. Vatra began as a Romanian cultural organization with political overtones and rapidly developed into a rather strident pro-Romanian group that contained some extremist elements.17 Given the increasingly public nature of this language disagreement, an official representative from the central education ministry arrived for a meeting on February 9. At the meeting, the official confirmed that the Bolyai School would become a Hungarian-language school the following September, but not immediately, as some of the Hungarians would have wished. The announcement nullified the central ministry’s first decision, which had not specified a timetable for separation.18 As had been organized in advance, on February 10, Hungarians held a demonstration with at least ten thousand participants.19 The demonstration partly protested the designated slower pace of change at the Bolyai School, but also communicated more general Hungarian views on the promotion of Hungarian-language institutions in Romania.20 The Bolyai School had quickly become a symbol of Hungarian identity or “dignity,” a focal point for Hungarian resentment of what they viewed as years of erosion of their linguistic and cultural institutions under the previous regime. The fact that this demonstration was one of the first moments that Hungarians could publicly express their identity, a nearly impossible act under Ceaus¸escu, made it especially salient to many who participated. The demonstrators silently marched through the 16 17

18

19

20

Kincses, Martie negru la Tîrgu Mures¸, pp. 33–4. CL, “Sîntem fraț i, nu ne separaț i,” February 8, 1990; and NÚ, “Szerdán, Csütörtökön,” February 9, 1990. CL, “Comunicat de la Ministerul Înva˘ț a˘mîntului,” February 10, 1990; NÚ, front page articles from February 9, 1990; and Kincses, Martie negru la Tîrgu Mures¸, p. 38. Hungarian sources list the number of participants at 100,000, while the parliamentary report on these events lists 10,000. According to the 1992 census, the total population of the city was 160,000; given the 50–50 ethnic configuration, a number of 100,000 participants would have required the participation of every Hungarian of all ages living in the city and 20,000 from outside of Târgu Mures¸. Accounts mention that some participants had traveled from other cities.


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center of town, passing the Bolyai School, and toward the sports stadium, where speeches were made by members of the Hungarian elite. They carried candles and books in Hungarian, as well as signs with messages such as “Hungarian Bolyai,” “Equality,” and, “We demonstrate for our dear mother tongue.” The demonstration was peaceful, but Hungarian accounts argue that seventeen Hungarians were beaten by Romanian counterdemonstrators. At the same time, some Hungarians in towns around the county held supportive demonstrations.21 This sizable protest was followed by a temporary respite in the series of demonstrations and counterdemonstrations. However, suspicion between the two groups remained at a high level, with the local press and radio in each language reflecting each group’s own perspective.22 Both sides slowly became aware that they disagreed on issues beyond the choice of language for schools. The UDMR also began to mention the notion of cultural autonomy for Hungarians, or the establishment of “independent Hungarian cultural institutions” with a particular emphasis on educational institutions, cultural groups, theaters, and media. In addition, a number of Hungarians began to argue that they needed a counter to the official Romanian versions of history and geography that had been taught in schools. Hungarian books on these subjects were arriving in Romania from Hungary, an inevitable result of newly opened borders. However, within this tense context, Romanians became increasingly sensitive to such reports. More strident Romanians began to accuse local Hungarian leaders of vague plots or irredentism against the Romanian state.23

ii. a riot unfolds In early March of 1990, two incidents involving Romanian statues took place. Graffiti was found on the statue of Avram Iancu, a Romanian hero, and a statue of another Romanian hero in a neighboring town was stolen. The Romanian paper made allusions to a similar act that had taken place in 1940, soon before a local civil war between Hungarians and Romanians in the context of World War II.24 Although written in Hungarian, the simple graffiti on the Iancu statue was not grammatically correct, leading Hungarians to say they had been “framed” for the act by Romanian extremists.25 Also, beginning on March 8, students from the Hungarian section of the University of Medicine and 21

22

23

24 25

NÚ, articles and photos from February 13, 1990; and Kincses, Martie negru la Tîrgu Mures¸, pp. 40–1. Bodó, Cosmeanu, Csaba, and Ma˘ rginean, “Alter/Ego tîgumures¸ean”; and Péter Cseke, “A felszabadult rádiózás forró napjai,” both in Korunk (Kolozsvár/Cluj)3 folyam I/8 (August 1990). CL: “Responsabilitatea naț iuni faț a˘ de naț ionalitatea . . . copii,” February 15, 1990; “Istoria României este istoria poporului Român!” March 9, 1990; NÚ, Egyszemélyes pluralizmus?” March 6, 1990; NÚ, “Nem szeparatizmus – autonómia,” in three parts, March 6, 7, 9, 1990. CL, “Un gest barbar!” March 16, 1990. Kincses, Martie negru la Tîrgu Mures¸, pp. 41–2; NÚ, “Közlemény,” March 16, 1990; and CL, “Un gest barbar!” March 16, 1990.


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Pharmacy (UMF) began a strike to express their desire for increased Hungarian instruction at the institution. By March 12, a meeting took place between Hungarian and Romanian students at the medical school, in the presence of the head of the City Council and the university rector. The meeting did not produce a compromise, but instead seemed to solidify differences between the two groups. After some heated discussions, the Hungarian students left the room in protest.26 Similar to the debate over the Bolyai School, the controversy over the language of instruction at the University of Medicine and Pharmacy was fraught with emotion, especially given the high status of medical education. Hungarians tended to invoke arguments of historical continuity, citing the history of the institution and its place in Hungarian culture and identity.27 Romanians took a position of pragmatism, questioning whether students completing medical studies in Hungarian would be effective in serving non-Hungarian populations in Romania. Several events coincided in the days that followed. On March 14, the local Romanian newspaper published selections of materials in English that described “genocide” of Romanians against Hungarians in Transylvania. The materials had been distributed in 1988 by a group of ethnic Hungarians living in the United States, in response to actions that Ceaus¸escu had taken to collectivize Transylvanian settlements during the 1980s. However, local media described the materials as more recent. Whether the mistake was by design or by accident, the implication that Hungarians were intentionally harming the reputation of Romanians abroad found some resonance among Romanians.28 The following day, March 15, a number of festivities were organized by the Hungarian leadership for a holiday to commemorate Hungarian uprisings against the Austro-Hungarian Empire in 1848. March 15 is a common holiday for Hungarians, but in the first post-Ceaus¸escu year in Romania, the day took on added significance – it was the first open expression of the holiday in decades. Some visitors from Hungary came to join in the events, many connected to friends or family in the area. The day’s activities consisted of a series of commemorations at various monuments and speeches by members of the Hungarian elite. For some Romanians, however, this Hungarian holiday recalled the anniversary of a local World War II battle in which several Romanians were killed by Hungarians. In addition, many Romanians viewed the arrival of Hungarian tourists with surpise and some anxiety, partly because they were so novel in a country that had long maintained quite closed borders.29 26

27 28 29

CL, “Dialog constructiv s¸i pas¸nic = înț elegere,” March 14, 1990; NÚ, “Igazi Párbeszédre várva,” March 15, 1990; and NÚ, “A Nemzeti Egység Ideiglenes Tanácsának,” March 20, 1990. Around the same time, Hungarian students at the university in Cluj were also holding a strike: Sz, “Tüntessetek fiúk!” March 15, 1990. NÚ, “Magyar nyelvu˝ egyetemet Marosvásárhelyen!” I, II, March 15–16, 1990. CL, “O grava˘ jignire . . .,” March 14, 1990. Romanian government reports of the March incidents emphasized the novelty of the Hungarian holiday and the symbols employed in celebration, as well as the presence of these visitors in events that followed; however, such mention was minimal among the local press. CL, “Imperioasa˘ nevoie de unitate,” March 20, 1990; CL, “Declaraț ie a guvernului României,” March 22,


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II. A. Vandalism and Chaos at Pharmacy 28 Although the March 15 holiday events went on without incident, the tenor changed on March 16. As a pharmacy in a largely Romanian neighborhood began the process of inscribing the Hungarian word for “pharmacy” alongside the Romanian word, an unruly crowd gathered outside. The painter had initially been stopped in his work by a man who was angry about the modifications. As a police officer became involved in this dispute, increasing numbers of local residents began to gather outside of the pharmacy. A similar change had already taken place at many of the city’s pharmacies. At that time, pharmacies were owned by local authorities, as post-socialist privatization had not yet taken place. This fact is one reason that this pharmacy did not then have a name, but rather was referred to by a number: Pharmacy 28. The decision to add Hungarian to the inscription had thus been made with regard to all of the pharmacies in town. But the decision was also caught in a jurisdiction dispute between the county and city councils: the County Council had approved the bilingual signage for pharmacies, whereas the City Council had disputed it. Many Hungarians believe that the resulting demonstration was organized, although Romanians and a later parliamentary report on the events describe it as spontaneous.30 Over the course of the day, the Romanian crowd grew larger and some demonstrators began to press into the pharmacy. A few moved into the director’s office, where they demanded that the director remove the Hungarian inscription. Some members of the crowd painted over the Hungarian word and there was vandalism to the inside of the pharmacy, as well as some threats to its employees. The pharmacy director, an ethnic Hungarian, made an urgent call to his regional supervisor, an ethnic Romanian, for assistance. Upon her arrival around noon, she attempted to disperse the crowd of about two hundred persons without success. The crowd continued to grow in number and agitation, forcing the pharmacy to close, and by late afternoon numbered close to one thousand. There were some scuffles, and some of those injured were reporters from the local Hungarian newspaper. The crowd then began to march down the street, and some of its members detoured to damage an apartment where slogans for Hungarian and minority rights had been hung from the balcony. To add to the confusion, a car driven by an ethnic Hungarian careened into the crowd, harming some. Others promptly set the car on fire. Among the Romanians, two rumors spread: that the pharmacy was refusing to serve Romanians, and that the car had killed a Romanian boy. Both stories were later refuted.31

30 31

1990; NÚ, “Március 15 megünneplése,” March 16, 1990; and government declaration in Szabadság (hereafter Sz), March 22, 1990. CL, “Raportul” (IV), January 30, 1991; Kincses, Martie negru la Tîrgu Mures¸, pp. 49–50. CL, “Oras¸ul aspira˘ spre linis¸te,” March 30, 1990; CL, “‘Scînteia’ de la Farmacia 28,” April 24, 1990; CL, “Raportul” (IV), January 30, 1991; Kincses, Martie negru la Tîrgu Mures¸, pp. 50–3; and NÚ, “Tiltakozás!” and “Tüntestések Marosvásárhelyen . . . a Testvériség utcában,” March


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II. B. Romanian Protests, March 17–18 Mobilizations continued among Romanians over the next few days. On March 17, some students in the Romanian section of the University of Medicine and Pharmacy held a protest march against school separation, a counterprotest to the ongoing strike being held by the Hungarian students. One common fear invoked by the demonstrators was that doctors trained in Hungarian might refuse to treat Romanian patients for linguistic reasons or according to “national criteria.” The protest began near the student residences and moved toward the center of town, where they were joined by a larger group of strident members of Vatra Româneasca˘. In their march across town, there were some scuffles between Romanians and Hungarians, some signs in Hungarian were removed, and some damage was done to the Hungarian Protestant church office. The group briefly stopped at the Avram Iancu statue and held an informal patriotic rally, then headed on to the sports stadium, chanting slogans and singing songs. There some speeches were made, and by this time the crowd had grown to two hundred to three hundred, including some professors from the university, some soldiers, some workers, and some nostalgic for the former regime.32 Following these increasingly destructive actions, a number of Hungarians announced that they would strike to protest the events. However, in light of increasing tension, on March 18 the UDMR made a local radio appeal to Hungarians to stay home and avoid street mobilizations. The Hungarian students at the university called off their ongoing strike on March 19, citing the appeal and the arrival of a small delegation from the central government to discuss the language matter there.33 II. C. The Hungarian Party Office under Siege Around 9 a.m. on March 19, a group of approximately three thousand Romanians gathered near the local administration building where the meeting on language use at the university was to be held. According to Romanian sources, the group wanted to protest the “separatist” actions of the Hungarians, and they took the position that “extremist” elements had “coopted” the moderate Hungarians and members of other minority groups. They demanded the

32

33

20, 1990. Later investigations revealed that the driver of the car was apparently married to a Romanian and was also transporting a Romanian colleague in the passenger seat. The pharmacy stayed closed on March 17, with the employees threatening to strike in protest over their lack of protection. CL, “Protestul studenț ilor români,” March 17, 1990; CL. “Nu renunț a˘m la unitate (I),” March 20, 1990; CL, “Raportul” (IV) January 30, 1991; Kincses, Martie negru la Tîrgu Mures¸, pp. 52–3; NÚ, “A Nemzeti Egység Ideiglenes Tanácsának,” March 20, 1990; and NÚ, “Tüntestések Marosvásárhelyen . . . a Liga nevében,” March 20, 1990. According to the Romanian paper, simultaneous demonstrations were also held by students in cities around Romania in support of the Romanian students’ position. Kincses, Martie negru la Tîrgu Mures¸, p. 53; and strike announcements from NÚ, March 20, 1990.


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resignation of a number of Hungarians from county leadership positions, including Károly Király and Elo˝d Kincses from their posts as head of the County Council and vice president of the county administration. Between noon and 3 p.m., an irregular meeting of the council took place, and more than one thousand people from the crowd outside came into the meeting. Calling Kincses, one of the few Hungarians present, a traitor, they pressured him to resign from his post.34 Soon after 3 p.m., some buses containing ethnic Romanians from villages and towns surrounding Târgu Mures¸ arrived, joining the Romanians already assembled at the county administration building.35 The new arrivals were armed with rural implements, and according to several reports, many were intoxicated. This new group of Romanians from inside and outside of the city was estimated to comprise a few hundred people, who then began vandalizing and removing signs in Hungarian around the city center. When a Romanian actor attempted to prevent them from removing Hungarian theater signs advertising upcoming plays, he was beaten. The increasingly aggressive group then advanced toward the offices of UDMR, calling for the removal of specific UDMR members from high-level local posts. The office was located on a side street off of the central square, not far from the Bolyai High School.36 At the UDMR office, a group of three hundred to four hundred Hungarians had gathered to protest the removal of Kincses from his office earlier that afternoon. By around 3:30 p.m., the crowd had dwindled to a group of one hundred fifty to two hundred that was discussing avenues to reinstate Kincses. After an appeal by writer and UDMR leader András Süto˝ to postpone action until the next day, many of these participants dispersed. Upon the arrival of the crowd of Romanians, approximately fifty to sixty Hungarians remained in front of the office – and they quickly took refuge inside, joining those already working in the party office. This group of Hungarians, between seventy-four and seventy-seven in number, essentially remained under siege for the next several hours while the crowd of Romanians surrounded the building. After the crowd broke through the door on the ground floor, they rushed in and began damaging other offices, shouting threats. The Hungarians retreated to the upper floor and called for help from local governing bodies. They also barricaded the door to their upperfloor refuge, which held against onslaughts from the crowd. However, the Romanian crowd then broke into the Liberal Party office, located next to the UDMR’s office. As the two parties shared some common office space, at this point the group of Hungarians took refuge in the attic, blocking the attic door. The aggressive crowd destroyed the UDMR office and tried to set the building on fire in an effort to oust the Hungarians from the attic. The besieged Hungarians dumped 34

35

36

CL, “Raportul” (V), January 31, 1991; CL, “Imperioasa˘ nevoie de unitate,” March 20, 1990; Kincses, Martie negru la Tîrgu Mures¸, pp. 55–6; and NÚ, “Lemondatták Kincses Elo˝döt.” Kincses, Martie negru la Tîrgu Mures¸, pp. 56–7. These individuals came primarily from the ethnically homogeneous villages of Hodac and Iba˘nes¸ti. This issue of their transportation to the city remains murky and disputed. Kincses, Martie negru la Tîrgu Mures¸, pp. 57. The office no longer occupies this location.


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sand on the visible flames and tried to throw bricks at the crowd outside. Fearing the worst, they also made up a list of the names of those present.37 In the meantime, the city radio’s Hungarian-language program began broadcasting an appeal in Romanian to local officials and the army to rescue those trapped in the building. At this time, individual Hungarians did not mobilize en masse, possibly due to the previous day’s appeal to stay home and due to faith that the appeal would result in an official intervention. However, increasing numbers of Romanians from outside the city continued to arrive, forming a crowd of 1,500 to 1,600 outside of the UDMR office by evening.38 Around 8 p.m., a well-spoken Romanian man from the village of Hodac39 volunteered to serve as a liaison between local officials and the Hungarians. The head of the City Council, Colonel Ioan Judea, and an army general arrived, along with a cordon of troops. They declared that the Hungarians would be provided protection if they left the building and would be escorted to a truck waiting outside. As some of the small fires were starting to take hold on the building, a few Hungarians decided to take the chance of leaving. Led by Süto˝, between eight to ten individuals began to descend from the attic. They paused for some time at the door. The general noted that if the Hungarians agreed to pose as if they had just been arrested, their transfer through the crowd might go more smoothly – they refused. As the Hungarians left the building, starting down a path toward the truck that was guarded by a double row of soldiers and police, part of the unruly crowd broke through the cordon and a man hit Süto˝ with a blunt object, knocking him down. Others helped him onto the truck. The other Hungarians advancing toward the truck were also beaten, while those at the end of the line ran back inside the building.40 Those on the truck were transported to the hospital. Soon afterward, the crowd of Romanians dispersed, allowing the remaining Hungarians to exit the building. Due to the extent of Süto˝’s injuries, he was flown to a military hospital in Bucharest, and President Ion Iliescu visited him and his wife to express regret for his injuries. In the end he survived, but lost an eye. That evening, President 37

38 39

40

CL, “Raportul,” (V), January 31, 1991. Some accounts, including the parliamentary report, state that a Romanian crowd also gathered at the city’s radio station to protest Hungarian programming. NÚ, “Lemondatták Kincses Elo˝döt, “Drámai törtések,” “Feldúlták az RMDSz székházát,” March 20, 1990; NÚ, “Erdélyi Karabah készül Marosvásárhelyen?” March 21, 1990; and Sz, “Marosvásárhelyi pillanatok,” March 22, 1990. The Romanian version of events holds that Hungarians threw bricks down upon the crowd in advance of any attack; Ioan Judea, CL, “‘Suferinț ele’ domnului Sütö András,” November 24, 1990; Kincses, Martie negru la Tîrgu Mures¸, pp. 57–8, Cseke, “A felszabadult rádiózás forró napjai; Kincses reports seventy-seven in the building; the parliamentary report lists seventy-four. Kincses, Martie negru la Tîrgu Mures¸, p. 59. According to the account, “according to his clothing and his dialect he seemed to be an intellectual”; Kincses, Martie negru la Tîrgu Mures¸, p. 59. CL, “Raportul” (V), January 31, 1991; Kincses, Martie negru la Tîrgu Mures¸, pp. 59–61; NÚ, “Drámai törtések,” “Feldúlták az RMDSz székházát,” March 20, 1990; NÚ, “Erdélyi Karabah készül Marosvásárhelyen?” March 21, 1990; and Sz, “Marosvásárhelyi pillanatok,” March 22, 1990. The UDMR later relocated to another building.


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Iliescu made a radio and television appeal to both sides for reason, stating that some Romanian citizens had engaged in “regrettable acts of excess.” He also expressed regret that the local authorities had failed to ensure security for those injured, as well as the fact that “extremist elements were not restrained by persons of goodwill, by rational persons.” All told, the aggressive actions of the “visitors” throughout the city and at the UDMR office resulted in a list of around thirty wounded, most of them Hungarian, but also one Romanian. The organization Vatra Româneasca˘ later denied responsibility for these events in a written statement and called for a decrease of group tensions.41 II. D. Battle on the Square of the Roses Events escalated on March 20. A number of Hungarians went on strike to protest the previous day’s violence at the UDMR office. Many learned about the incident upon arriving at their places of work, and then marched from work to the county administration building in the center of town. According to Romanian accounts, some of these individuals also attempted to persuade or threaten their Romanian colleagues to abandon regular work. Hungarian teachers left the Bolyai School and joined the protesters, which within a few hours numbered around twelve thousand. The Hungarians gathered in front of the building expressed support for a statement by the UDMR, which had also been read in a morning radio address. It declared that Hungarians would not return to work until four points were fulfilled: (1) a media retraction for “misinformation” about the Hungarians; (2) the resignation of individuals from the county and city councils who had been involved in forcing the previous day’s resignation of Kincses; (3) an accounting of the failure of the police to prevent violent acts and damages against Hungarians; and (4) the nullification of the Vatra Româneasca˘ organization and the punishment of those responsible for the attack on the UDMR offices. A few individuals emerged from the crowd to give short speeches to those assembled. Among the responses of the crowd were the following slogans: “Rights!” “We are brothers,” and “Now or never!” The latter phrase is viewed as particularly provocative by Romanians, as it was used in an irredentist context during World War II when portions of Transylvania were briefly returned to Hungary. In addition, another man made a statement that the local Hungarian and Romanian youth organizations had expressed solidarity with each other in the wake of the previous day’s events.42

41

42

CL, “Raportul” (V), January 31, 1991; “Ion Iliescu l-a vizitat . . .,” “Chemare,” “Alocuț iunea domnului Ion Iliescu în lega˘tura˘ cu evenimentele de la Tîrgu-Mures¸,” March 21, 1990; Kincses, Martie negru la Tîrgu Mures¸, p. 61; and NÚ, “Erdélyi Karabah készül Marosvásárhelyen?” March 21, 1990. The appeal was made to central media sources based in Bucharest. CL, “Raportul” (V), January 31, 1991; CL, “Adeva˘ rul despre as¸a-zisa greva˘ de la Fabrica de pîine din Tîrgu-Mures¸,” parts I–III, March 27–9; CL, “Realitatea trebuie sa˘ iasa˘ la lumina˘,” March 28, 1990; Kincses, Martie negru la Tîrgu Mures¸, pp. 63–4.


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The gathering outside the building was mirrored by a simultaneous meeting of the County Council inside the building, where the violence of the previous day was condemned and Kincses was reinstated to his post.43 At the end of the council meeting, several decisions were made public and communicated to the crowd. Among them was a statement that the County Council would punish those responsible for the previous day’s violence, including removing any officials involved from office. They expressed that the actions of the police would be investigated and condemned any propaganda or efforts to manipulate the public. They also asked members of all ethnic groups to protect their long tradition of coexistence and to avoid giving credence to the manipulation attempts of extremist elements.44 After these points were read to the crowd, a representative of the police asked the crowd to disperse. The crowd refused, expressing that they wanted to see the points carried out. Local leaders of the UDMR then read a party communiqué stating that a brief strike would be held on March 22 and listed a number of points that they wished to advance, including improvements in Hungarianlanguage education through the university level and an increase in bilingual signs and street names. The UDMR officials added that if these requests were not fulfilled by the end of the month, a general strike would begin on March 30 and would last until they were carried out. By noon, more moderate Romanians also began addressing the crowd. General Scrieciu, a Romanian county official, addressed those assembled and asked that they preserve calm in the city. The crowd responded that they would not go home. Other moderate Romanians also made speeches appealing to good sense and norms of coexistence.45 Around this time, a group of strident Romanians began to gather not far from the Hungarian demonstrators.46 General Scrieciu appealed to them to leave, as did more moderate Romanians, but they also refused. The two crowds hurled slogans at each other. The Romanians chanted, “We are at home, you are the guests!” and “We’ll die, we’ll fight, we won’t give up Transylvania.” The Hungarians responded, “Now or never!” “We are home!” “We want our rights!” and later, “Europe is with us!” Hungarian students also arrived, carrying signs in support of Hungarian language education. By 1:30 p.m., a unit of eighty police arrived to form a cordon between the two groups. In spite of their small number and the obvious tensions, the two groups remained in a standoff without engaging in violence for nearly six hours. By late afternoon, the crowd of Hungarians and a few moderate Romanians had grown to approximately

43 44 45

46

He was in another city at the time on business and returned only by late afternoon. Kincses, Martie negru la Tîrgu Mures¸, pp. 65–6. Kincses, Martie negru la Tîrgu Mures¸, pp. 66–9. The strike declaration and the UDMR demands appeared in NÚ, March 21, 1990. The group began forming in front of a hotel. Some of the Romanian visitors from the previous day had stayed overnight at the hotel; some of these had also vandalized their hotel rooms. CL, “Vandalul de turma˘ ,” March 23, 1990.


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fifteen thousand to sixteen thousand and the crowd of strident Romanians comprised between two thousand and four thousand.47 Officials inside the administration building made calls to President Iliescu in an effort to get him to visit the city and calm the crowds. The president explained that it would be a few days before he could arrive. Some of the UDMR leaders went into hiding around this time, although a number of local officials remained in the building. After 4 p.m., Kincses, recently returned from court business elsewhere, attempted in vain to disperse the groups. From the perspective of those in the crowd, while tensions mounted outside, the local council officials simply continued with their meetings. After news reached the crowd that a Hungarian council member had resigned to protest the handling of the previous day’s events, the heads of two large Catholic and Reformed churches (attended by Hungarians) made a statement that Hungarians should refrain from participating in council meetings as a sign of protest for the assault on the UDMR office.48 News then reached those in the administration building that buses were again on their way from some of the Romanian villages nearby. They contacted local security officials, who said that they would begin blockading some of the roads into the city, and, after some hesitation, that they would also send some army troops. Both Hungarian and Romanian officials in the building again attempted to disperse the crowds, to no avail. Word then arrived at the administration building that a meeting was beginning at 5 p.m. in Bucharest to discuss the situation of minorities and of Târgu Mures¸. Kincses asked the crowd of Hungarians if they would wait for the decision, to which they responded that they would. He explained that they might be attacked, and if they were, that they should remain together and help each other. In Hungarian, they responded, “Now or never!” He also asked the radio station to announce that those Hungarians who wished to go home should do so now, while those who wished to join should also do so. As the Hungarian-language program would only last until 6 p.m., this decision was made in haste.49 Around 6 p.m., some of the first buses containing the Romanians from surrounding villages arrived; once again, they were armed with implements and many were inebriated. According to Hungarian sources, the melee between groups began with the advance of these new arrivals, while Romanian sources stated that empty bottles had been thrown across the square, sparking acts of violence between the two groups. Interviews with locals several years afterward indicated that each side has generally remained convinced of the fault of the

47

48

49

Kincses, Martie negru la Tîrgu Mures¸, pp. 68–73, lists two thousand to three thousand Romanians, while the parliamentary report lists four thousand; CL, “Raportul” (V), January 31, 1991. Kincses, Martie negru la Tîrgu Mures¸, pp. 68–73, NÚ, Véres események Marosvásárhelyen,” March 21, 1990. The resignation of the City Council member and the declaration of the religious leaders on boycotting meetings appeared in NÚ, March 21, 1990. Kincses, Martie negru la Tîrgu Mures¸, p. 74.


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other for the onset of violence. Once the riot had begun, Kincses called out some directions to the Hungarians from the balcony of the administration building. From the Hungarian point of view, he was helping the Hungarians to engage in self-defense. From the Romanian point of view, he took the form of an ad hoc general directing troops. Hungarians and Romanians also hold different perceptions of police actions during the events. From the Hungarian point of view, the police joined the Romanian groups, while Romanians argue that the police were simply overcome by the number of rioters. These different views also remain alive in the memories of local residents.50 The women and children among the Hungarian demonstrators were rushed into the administration building. As the Hungarians were not armed, the arriving Romanians dispersed the group somewhat, but some broke the benches on the town square to create splintered, green clubs. They also obtained pieces of fence and other informal weapons. Holding these “arms,” they were then identifiable to the Romanians as their opponents. Some Hungarians left the square briefly and returned with their own implements. They also began to create street barricades to impede newcomers from accessing the square. Some barricades were later temporarily removed to allow for the entry of a few tanks sent by the army, arriving around 7 p.m. Both sides seemed to view the arrival of the tanks as a gesture in their favor, but otherwise their presence was rather ineffective. Among the weapons used in the confrontation were steel bars, pitchforks, scythes, axes, and Molotov cocktails.51 Also around 7 p.m., some Hungarians from the outlying villages began to arrive, coming to the aid of the Hungarians. Officials in the Hungarian enclave region east of the city52 had made phone calls to their colleagues in Târgu Mures¸ to ask whether they could come to their aid, stating that one thousand were ready to travel there. In response, the city’s Hungarian elites said that they did not want to expand the conflict, but asked instead that they make urgent calls to the central government to pressure it to intervene.53 At the same time, average individuals of both groups engaged in phone conversations with friends and neighbors in the towns surrounding Târgu Mures¸. Although the first groups of “outsider” Romanians had received some encouragement from local officials in their villages to go to the city, some Hungarians and some Romanians arrived later after receiving personal calls from individuals they knew. In addition, locals in some of the Hungarian villages around Târgu Mures¸ established barricades on the roads to prevent Romanians from arriving there. Some scuffles over these 50

51

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CL, “Raportul” (V), January 31, 1991; Kincses, Martie negru la Tîrgu Mures¸, p. 75. According to the account in the Hungarian newspaper, bottles were thrown earlier, around 5 p.m., but did not incite violence right away. NÚ, Véres események Marosvásárhelyen,” March 21, 1990. CL, “Raportul” (V), January 31, 1991; Kincses, Martie negru la Tîrgu Mures¸, pp. 75–6; and New York Times, “Upheaval in the East,” March 27, 1990. Disagreement reigns over whether these bottles were assembled in advance or on site, possibly using fuel from the tanks. The two counties in this region are more than 75 percent Hungarian, and in places comprise 80 to 90 percent. CL, “Raportul” (V), January 31, 1991; and Kincses, Martie negru la Tîrgu Mures¸, p. 76.


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barricades continued during the next few days, even after events had quieted in the city itself. Between 8 and 10 p.m., a group of armed Roma, or Gypsies, appeared on the square, announcing that they would join the Hungarian side.54 In the midst of the general chaos, vehicles carrying Romanians from the outlying villages continued to enter the square. The driver of one truck lost control of the vehicle after he was hit by a rock thrown by someone in the crowd. The truck crossed a barrier on the square and careened toward an Orthodox church, coming to a halt on its steps. Other vehicles and buses were set on fire. Also during the melee, a number of Hungarians occupied the Vatra Româneasca˘ office. In the course of the clashes, a few “prisoners” were taken, and questioning of those Romanians from outside the city revealed that they had received some encouragement and occasionally even financial incentives from their local officials to travel to Târgu Mures¸. As stated by one, “They told us that the Hungarians had broken windows and were breaking into stores.” The infantry, including some parachutists, finally arrived around 5 a.m.55 II. E. Restoring Order and Reciprocal Voting Over the next few days, Hungarians in a number of Transylvanian cities held strikes and demonstrations to protest the events in Târgu Mures¸. These protests did not spark further violence; in fact, the Cluj demonstration on March 23 also involved Romanians. Thousands of Hungarians also gathered in Budapest to protest the events.56 On March 21, a delegation from the central government arrived, and the local administration asked people to return home after the end of the workday at 3 p.m. instead of gathering on the streets. The small contingent of the army remained on the square. Some individuals gathered in the morning hours, including a group of strident Romanians who once again convened in front of the same hotel as on the previous day, and a group of about one thousand Hungarians who once again took their previous place in front of the administration building. Each side chanted slogans, but the vehemence of the previous day was missing. By noon, these groups had dwindled into smaller circles of those most committed to the cause. At one point, some members of the Romanian group attempted to cross an army cordon between themselves and the Hungarians, prompting local officials to address them by microphone in both languages and asking them to avoid any clashes. In general, the tone was far more halfhearted than the previous day.

54

55

56

CL, “Raportul” (V), January 31, 1991; CL, “Întreba˘ri, întreba˘ ri . . .,” March 23, 1990; and Kincses, Martie negru la Tîrgu Mures¸, pp. 77–80. CL, “Raportul” (V), January 31, 1991; Kincses, Martie negru la Tîrgu Mures¸, pp. 78–9; and NÚ, “Véres események Marosvásárhelyen,” March 21, 1990. In the Hungarian version of events, the driver is rarely described as having been hit by a rock; at least one Hungarian was killed by the truck. Sz, “Dialógus,” March 24, 1990.


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As described by the Hungarian paper, individuals were still angry, but they also recognized how pointless it would be to provoke further hostilities. Around 3 p.m., a central government representative requested by microphone that both groups go home in accordance with the curfew, noting that police would begin to control entry onto the square. The Hungarian groups in front of the administration building dispersed, while a few Romanians remained in front of the hotel. Local Romanian and Hungarian church leaders issued a joint declaration condemning the violence.57 On March 22, closed negotiations began between members of the UDMR and Vatra Româneasca˘ , with approximately ten representatives of each group, in the local administration building. The negotiations produced a joint declaration stating that the Hungarians would respect the territorial integrity of Romania and that Vatra would inform the Romanian public of this Hungarian position (rather than describing the Hungarians as dangerous). The negotiators also called for an end to the strikes, a commission to investigate the events, and guarantees for minority-language education and use. Among those striking were workers at the bread factory, a move that had left the town with a shortage of bread over the few days following the riots. In addition, a standing committee of representatives from the two groups was created in order to foster future communication.58 During these negotiations, a group of Romanians gathered outside of the building, chanting some slogans. However, the group’s size and intensity had decreased from that of the previous days. In spite of the official reconciliations, the local Hungarian press and the UDMR began to criticize the version of the events presented by the Romanian government, national television, and the local Romanian media. For their part, the local media of each group generally condemned the actions of the other, although they also emphasized the need for dialogue and the avoidance of rumors.59 The next day, new individuals were elected to the county and city councils. During the County Council meeting, the old council dissolved itself and procedures were discussed for choosing the new County Council. Upon the proposal of a young Romanian, those individuals perceived as the five most controversial 57

58

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CL, “Declaraț ie,” March 21, 1990; NÚ, “Ami bennünk és körülöttünk összetört,” March 22, 1990; NÚ, “Nyilatkozat,” March 23, 1990; and United Press International, “Government Gives in to Hungarian Demands,” March 21, 1990. A similar joint declaration was signed between the UDMR and the National Liberal Party. CL, “Declaraț ie comuna˘,” and “Cine se teme de . . . presa˘ ?” March 24, 1990; Kincses, Martie negru la Tîrgu Mures¸, pp. 83–4; NÚ, “Közlemény,” March 23, 1990; and NÚ, “A Nemzeti Egység Ideiglenes Marosvásárhely Municípiumi Tanácsának gyu˝lése,” “Tovább tart a manipulálás?” and “Közös Nyilatkozata,” March 24, 1990.. CL, “Ne linis¸te în suflet de mama˘,” and “Ca asemenea fapte sa˘ nu se mai repete!” March 22, 1990; CL, “Avem nevoie de linis¸te s¸i stabilitate,” March 23, 1990; CL, “O zi mai linis¸tita˘ la Tîrgu Mures¸,” March 23, 1990; CL, “Înț elegere prin dialog,” March 24, 1990; CL, “Comunicat,” March 27, 1990; CL, “Oras¸ul aspira˘ spre linis¸te,” March 30, 1990; NÚ, “Kire számithatunk?” March 22, 1990; NÚ, “Elhu˝ltem a képernyo˝ elo˝tt,” and “Tiltakozás,” March 23, 1990; NÚ, “Tovább tart a manipulálás?” March 24, 1990; and Sz, RMDSz “Nyilatkozata,” March 24, 1990.


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for the other ethnic group were barred from running for either the county or city council; among these individuals were Károly Király and Elo˝d Kincses for the Hungarians and Ioan Judea and General Scrieciu for the Romanians. The new members for the councils were nominated in a “reciprocal” fashion, with the Romanians nominating the Hungarian candidates and the Hungarians nominating the Romanian candidates. Valer Gâlea, an independent, was chosen as the new president of the County Council, with two Hungarians and one Romanian as vice presidents. This process was not easy – it involved heated debates, and the County Council meeting lasted eight hours. Members the Romanian Peasant Party and the PSDR left the meeting in order to protest the procedures, stating that they would start a demonstration outside.60 In spite of its difficulties, it is notable that this very local resolution to a difficult dispute was markedly successful in preventing a return to violence. For the meeting of the City Council, much of the morning portion consisted of reports on the progress of normalizing the city. Leaders of factories provided assurances that the sources of food, particularly the bread factory, would now operate at full capacity, and the council issued a decision that alcoholic drinks would not be sold in town for the next few days. The schools, however, remained out of session for at least a week, partly due to some vandalism incurred during the riots. From the mayor’s office, Dezideriu/Dezso˝ Orbán61 outlined efforts to repair the damage done to the central square, as well as to the transportation infrastructure and basic services such as sanitation. To prevent further aggression between groups, bi-ethnic patrols consisting of one police officer, one solider, and two others would roam the city. The progress of choosing a new City Council was somewhat disturbed by the noise of the Romanian demonstration outside, but was ultimately successful. As in the case of the County Council selection, voting for the City Council took place in a reciprocal fashion as Romanians chose the new Hungarian members of the council, and vice versa. The president of the new council was a Romanian (who replaced the nowexcluded Ioan Judea), with three vice presidents, two Romanian and one Hungarian. The mayoral office remained the same.62

60

61

62

A few days later, the council held its first meeting, discussing routine business. CL, “Am crezut, credem s¸i vom crede întotdeauna în virtuț ile raț iunii,” and “Comunicat,” March 24, 1990; Kincses, Martie negru la Tîrgu Mures¸, p. 84; NÚ, “Közlemény,” March 23, 1990; NÚ, “A Nemzeti Egység Ideiglenes Megyei Tanácsának gyu˝lése,” and “A Nemzeti Egység Ideiglenes Marosvásárhely Municípiumi Tanácsának gyu˝lése,” March 24, 1990; and Sz, “Vásárhely a normalizsálódás útján,” March 25, 1990. He was listed as a sort of interim mayor in a March newspaper account, but by August Orbán (of the UDMR) was serving in a vice-mayoral position. CL, “Noua conducere a prima˘rie Tîrgu Mures¸,” August 15, 1990; and the author’s telephone conversation with György Virág, June 28, 2011 CL, “La Tîrgu-Mures¸, viaț a reintra˘ pe fa˘gas¸ul normal,” March 24, 1990; CL, “Raportul” (V), January 31, 1991; Kincses, Martie negru la Tîrgu Mures¸, p. 84; NÚ, “Közlemény,” March 23, 1990; NÚ, “A Nemzeti Egység Ideiglenes Marosvásárhely Municípiumi Tanácsának gyu˝lése,” March 24, 1990; and Sz, “Vásárhely a normalizálódás útján,” March 25, 1990.


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iii. seeing through hungarian or romanian glasses The new County Council held its first meeting on March 27. Orders were given to inhabitants to renounce all forms of demonstrations as well as disruptions in places of work. In addition, the police institutionalized ethnically mixed patrols. Also on that day, Prime Minister Petre Roman visited Cluj to hold a meeting between UDMR and Vatra officials in an attempt to avoid similar outbreaks there.63 In discussions after the conflict, one common theme among both groups was the attempt to explain the events as resulting from the actions of extremists. Front-page articles in both the Hungarian and Romanian press also warned against the danger of rumors and provocations.64 As individuals could easily define themselves as non-extremists, this oft-repeated frame provided an explanation of the events that could allow for a normalization of relations between groups. With regard to punishment for those involved in the riot, legal actions were brought primarily against the Roma, who seemed to serve as a scapegoat in spite of some attempts by Hungarians to defend them.65 In the months that followed, it became clear that the disagreements between groups would not simply disappear. By June, a group of Hungarian parents and teachers at the Bolyai School again repeated their request that the school be changed into an exclusively Hungarian institution. The Vatra organization again issued a sharp declaration against such actions.66 The mixed commission to investigate the events released its report in early 1991, and it was discussed in parliament in January and February of that year. More strident Romanians condemned the report as representing the version of events presented by the UDMR or as presenting a complex story to avert blame. A group of Vatra members from Târgu Mures¸ even went to Bucharest to protest the hearing of the report by parliament on January 30, 1991, and the Romanian National Unity Party (PUNR) and the FSN in Târgu Mures¸ issued formal statements against it. The central premise of the report was that the violent events had emerged in the context of a society unfamiliar with the public presentation of diverse points of view, particularly in the area of education. It also emphasized the disruptive aspects of celebrating the March 15 holiday for the first time and referred to the arrival of Hungarian visitors and printed materials from Hungary, statements that led Hungarians to condemn portions of the report as well.67 63

64

65 66

67

Sz, “Petre Roman miniszterelnök találkozott az RMDSz és a Vatra Româneasca˘ Kolozs megyei vezeto˝ivel,” March 28, 1990. CL, “Tensiunea zvonurilor,” March 29, 1990; CL, “Concluzii comune privind evoluț ia situaț ei din Tîrgu Mures¸,” April 5, 1990; and NÚ, “Ne higgyünk az ALHÍREKNEK!” March 29, 1990. NÚ, “Hol vagy justitia?!” April 2, 1990. CL, “Ca˘tre inspectoratul scolar județ ean,” and “Noi încerca˘ri de destabilizare a înva˘ ț a˘ mîntului în Tîrgu-Mures¸,” June 9, 1990. Throughout the nine sections of the report published by CL, the newspaper included various criticisms with each, beginning with the first on January 25, 1991. CL, “Raportul” (I–IV), January 25–6, 29–30, as well as “Raportul” (VII, IX), February 5–6, 1991.


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Among its conclusions, the report notes that one of the primary conditions for the context of violence was the absence of regular institutions of governance, which were only then in the process of construction. At the same time, the Romanian remembrance of a controversial previous institution, the Hungarian Autonomous Region (Târgu Mures¸ had been its capital), incited some Romanian fears of what might come. The report outlined three possible perspectives on the events: (1) they were a symptom of transition; (2) they were a symptom of ethnic deadlock; and (3) they were caused by certain individuals acting in their own interests. They settled upon the first view – that the clashes had emerged as a symptom of transition, as all were engaging for the first time in the “school of democracy.” The authors also acknowledged that in taking this position, they would probably antagonize extremists of both ethnic groups.68 In analyses and in interviews several years after the events, many Hungarians tended to allude to a conspiracy to foment conflict against Hungarians. In general, Hungarians think that Romanians employed the conflict as a means to quell Hungarian aspirations for language and other rights. Kincses in particular took issue with the report. In a book on the events and in a response to the parliamentary report, he argued that the structures of the old regime remained, and that those who were part of those remaining structures had an interest in eliminating vocal members of the Hungarian elite. He included an insinuation that they were possibly connected to high state officials, citing the participation of individuals from outside the city and the slow arrival of the army. This hint of a conspiracy is now common in Hungarian rhetoric about the events, although the report and many Romanians attribute the army’s delay to the new government’s inexperience and lack of organization. In Kincses’ view, the Vatra group was explicitly anti-Hungarian in nature; he thus could not agree that the conflict had emerged from simple disagreements or an influx of ideas from Hungary. He also stated that in the clash, the Romanians had been on the offensive and the Hungarians on the defensive.69 The Romanian view is the opposite – that the Hungarians were on the offensive and the Romanians on the defensive. In the course of constructing the parliamentary report, one member of the commission, Ion Mânzatu, left the group, stating that he did not agree with the proceedings. In a later report and interviews, he argued that the report had downplayed what he viewed as the strong role of the Hungarian state and local Hungarians in the events and argued that they posed a threat to Romanian state security.70 Other Romanians took issue with what they viewed as Kincses’ benign characterization of Hungarians and negative characterization of Romanians. They also disputed his description

68 69

70

CL, “Raportul,” sections VI–IX, February 1–2, 5–6, 1991. CL, “Raportul” (VIII), February 5, 1991; Kincses, Martie negru la Tîrgu Mures¸; and Sz, “A marosvásárhely jelentés hiányosságai,” March 8, 1991. CL, “Adeva˘ rul despre Evenimentele de la Târgu Mures¸,” reprinted interview with Mânzatu in six sections, September 5–8, 11–13, 1990; and CL, “Raportul” (VII), February 2, 1991.


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of his own actions on March 20, both in radio broadcasts and his relationship with the crowd during the violence.71 Several years later, conversations and interviews in Târgu Mures¸ revealed that individuals of each ethnic group tend to hold to the arguments put forth by members of their own group, either remaining unaware of or disparaging the views of the other group. In addition, there is a tendency for each group to believe that more of their “own” people were killed, indicating the belligerence of the other side – a difference reflected in printed sources in each language. But in spite of this strong disagreement over blame for the events, and over politics in general, the town has never returned to a state of violence. After years of contention and disagreement within democratic institutions, groups have become used to each others’ demands, as well as to their limits and implications. When, in the late 1990s the request was again put forth to make the Bolyai School Hungarian, there was no unrest. Years later, the school did begin to hold only Hungarian classes, but by this time the decision took place in the context of solidified institutions rather than in the vast uncertainty of early 1990.

iv. vandalism of the police office in miercurea ciuc, june 1990 The Târgu Mures¸ riot was the only example of widespread ethnic violence against persons in these states. However, 1990 was a turbulent and uncertain year for Romania that witnessed other destructive events. Soon after the May elections, miners came to the capital city of Bucharest to protest reforms, beating and injuring a number of students and intellectuals and terrorizing the city for a number of days.72 In Miercurea Ciuc, a city with a Hungarian majority, a sizable mob vandalized the police office in June of 1990, in what Hungarians describe as a protest against the state and what Romanians describe as anti-Romanian vandalism. Miercurea Ciuc is located in a Hungarian-majority enclave in central Romania and at the time had an 83 percent ethnic Hungarian population and a 16 percent ethnic Romanian population.73 Some violent removals of local elites (most of whom were Romanian) by the local Hungarian majority during the December 1989 revolution have been described by Romanians and a parliamentary report as having an ethnic character. Hungarians strongly oppose this view, instead taking the position that such removals were simply political in nature.74 As in Târgu Mures¸, debates over separate schooling for Hungarian minorities began in late January of 1990 in Miercurea Ciuc, causing tension on both 71

72

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CL, Mihai Suciu, review of Martie negru la Tîrgu-Mures¸ in two parts, March 22–3, 1991; CL, Ion Ardeleanu, review in three parts, September 19–21, 1991. A detailed discussion appears in John Gledhill, “States of Contention: State-Led Political Violence in Post-Socialist Romania,” East European Politics and Societies 19, no. 1 (2005), pp. 76–104. Data from the 1992 national census. Given the general chaos in the country at that time, this claim is difficult to substantiate one way or the other. A summary of different viewpoints appears in Adeva˘rul Harghitei (hereafter AH), “‘Starea a devenit patologica˘ . . .,’” May 8, 1991.


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sides.75 Large demonstrations also took place in the city in response to the March events in Târgu Mures¸. The first, on March 20 after the first day of violence, drew several thousand. The second, on March 21 and organized by the local UDMR, also involved several thousand and included a general strike to protest the Romanian government’s response to the events. The divergence in local media coverage between groups in Miercurea Ciuc closely resembles that of the Târgu Mures¸ media, with the Romanian press emphasizing the Hungarians’ March 15 holiday and the proposed separation of schools as provocations, and the Hungarian press presenting the events as an antiHungarian campaign.76 These differences in coverage resulted in a largely Hungarian protest at the local Romanian-language newspaper headquarters on March 22. Although the Romanian paper defended its position, it noted that a later meeting on the issue between thirty individuals representing each group attempted to promote further cooperation and understanding across ethnic lines.77 The Târgu Mures¸ riots remained a stark symbol of the extent to which these different opinions could be pursued. The first post-communist elections were held on May 20, with Hungarians voting for the UDMR in large numbers and Romanians voting for the FSN. The elections resulted in a significant win for the UDMR in the Hungarian enclave region, which includes Miercurea Ciuc. Campaigns in each newspaper had presented the UDMR as the only voting option for Hungarians, and the FSN as the only option for Romanians.78 Polarization between the two groups became an official part of political institutions at this time. On June 13, the police in Miercurea Ciuc removed the bilingual signs designating the police bureau, replacing them with signs that read “Police” in Romanian only. A group of young men, some under the influence of alcohol, gathered around the police station demanding that the old bilingual signs be restored. By evening the group had grown into a crowd of more than a thousand and had begun shouting pro-Hungarian and anti-Romanian slogans. They also began throwing rocks and other items at the building. A Hungarian Catholic priest was unable to calm down the crowd, which then broke into the police headquarters by damaging the main doors. Several rooms were set on fire, documents and equipment were damaged, and some soldiers attempting to block the crowd were injured and taken to the hospital. The police tried to

75

76

77 78

AH, “Cine dores¸te izolare naț ionala˘ s¸i de ce?” January 21, 1990; AH, “Separatismul: un concept discutabil,” January 30, 1990; Hargita Népe (hereafter HN), “Farkas avagy bárány?” January 20, 1990. AH, “Miting s¸i greva˘ generala˘ la Miercurea-Ciuc,” March 21, 1990. HN gave the number of demonstrators on both days at around ten thousand. HN, “Tegnap megyénk helységeiben tízezrek tiltakoztak . . .,” March 21, 1990; and HN, “Újabb határozott kiállás . . .,” March 22, 1990. AH, “Demonstraț ie la sediul redacț iei,” March 23, 1990. AH, “Singura noastra˘ s¸ansa˘ ,” May 17, 1990.


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capture some of the most strident demonstrators, but they slipped away in the press of the crowd. By 2 a.m., the crowd had dispersed.79 An extraordinary meeting of the local County Council was held soon after these events, where it was decided that the bilingual signs should once again be installed. Two explanations for the vandalism were proposed: (1) that the signs themselves provoked the events; and (2) that something larger was behind the events that had nothing to do with minority conflicts, a notion embraced by the Romanian press.80 These divergent opinions reflected the similarly divided views on the Târgu Mures¸ riots. When confronted with the fact that members of their own group have instigated violence or vandalism, individuals often describe their own acts as legitimate responses to provocations. Violence or vandalism undertaken by members of the other group is often described as evidence of a broader conspiracy linked to state-level forces. These divergent stances emerge quite consistently in the stories in this book.

v. dynamics of mobilization The path toward and away from violence in Târgu Mures¸ is a complex story. It can be mapped in shorthand across time, using the intensity of action codes for elites and masses discussed in the book’s appendix, as well as in Chapter 2 This technique of scaling actions, based on a model of coding by Joshua Goldstein, is applied in Figures 4.1 and 4.2, which first denote the activities leading up to the riot in Figure 4.1, and then the events during March of 1990 in Figure 4.2. Breaking down the riot into its component parts reveals a clearer understanding of how specific interactions between elites and masses of different groups can spiral down a trajectory toward violence. The process of polarization between groups began in January of 1990, as Hungarian leaders formally began to pursue increased Hungarian-language education. In sharp contrast to later events, Hungarian elites did play some role in the initial polarization process in these early events, by formally advancing claims for Hungarian-language education against the state. There was first a dramatic increase in action intensity from Hungarian elites. However, following these initial claims, ordinary Hungarians began to realize that they could also make public claims for language use. As ordinary Hungarians increasingly expressed public support for increased Hungarian-language education – even to the extent of advocating removal of Romanian students from the Bolyai High School – Romanians began to express their own counterclaims. It was in this way that tensions among ordinary people of each group began to increase. 79

80

AH, articles under heading “Nefasta zi de 13 n-a fost sa˘ fie,” June 15, 1990; AH, “Raportul a subcomisiei parlamentar de ancheta˘” (events of June 13–14), 1990, February 19, 1991. AH, “La s¸edinț a C.P.U.N,” June 16, 1990. The view that larger, state-level forces were behind the demonstration was explicitly mentioned by the Romanian press in Târgu Mures¸, which connected the incident to arson at the police office in Bucharest and other events in the capital on the same day. CL, “Elemente fasciste, legionare îtineaza˘ Rovoluț ia noastra˘ !” June 15, 1990.


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10 8

4 2 0

D ec D . 22 ec . D 23 ec D . 24 ec D . 25 *L ec. at 26 *E e D ar ec ly . *M Ja id n .J Ja an n. Ja 18 n. Ja 19 n. Ja 20 n. Ja 21 n. Ja 22 n. Ja 23 n. Ja 24 *L n. at 25 e *J Jan *E an. ar 30 ly Fe Fe b b. Fe 6 b. Fe 7 b. Fe 8 b Fe . 9 b. Fe 10 *M b. 1 i 1 *L d F at eb e . Fe b.

Intensity of Action

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–2 –4 –6 –8 –10


R Masses

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figure 4.1. Târgu Mures¸ Activity before Riot, Action Codes Using Modified Goldstein Scale 15

5 0 *M *L id F a *E te eb. ar Fe ly b. M M ar. ar M .8 a M r. 9 ar M . 10 a M r. 1 ar 1 M . 12 ar M . 13 ar M . *M ar 14 a .1 *M r. 1 5 ar 6a *M . 1 a 6 *M r. 1 b ar 7a . M 17 *M ar. b a 1 *M r. 1 8 ar 9a *M . 1 a 9 *M r. 1 b ar 9c *M . 1 a 9 *M r. 2 d ar 0a *M . 2 a 0 *M r. 2 b ar 0c *M . 2 a 0 *M r. 2 d ar 1a . M 21b a M r. 22 a M r. 23 ar M . *L ar 24 at . 2 e 5 M ar .

Intensity of Action

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–5

–10 –15 Days H Masses Intervention

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figure 4.2. Târgu Mures¸ Riot, March 1990, Action Codes Using Modified Goldstein Scale

Because actions and polarization move together, this increase in tensions is a function of the growing distance between the “mass” lines of the groups. It was only after this process had begun that Romanian elites joined in, as represented by their later increase in action intensity. In an examination of several small



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segments of interaction in the riots, some recurring interactive patterns emerge. They can be seen in Figures 4.1 and 4.2 and are broken down visually into segment examples in Chapter 2. V. A. Mass–First/Elite Delay It is often not elites but rather ordinary people, or individuals from the “masses,” who start off an episode of contention. In the Târgu Mures¸ case, as well as in subsequent protests elsewhere in Romania, Hungarian students – or idealistic members of the minority group – began the first in a series of demonstrations. These “early risers” or “first actors”81 tend to be particularly committed to a cause and are later joined by others. In addition, more strident Romanians often mobilized before elites. Similar interactive patterns emerged in the vandalism of the police office in Miercurea Ciuc. Here also there was a mass-first mobilization of ordinary, nonelite men under the influence of alcohol. Because Miercurea Ciuc is a Hungarianmajority city, the local demographic counters the apparatus of control established by the central state and represented by the Romanian police office. The state’s effort to remove a bilingual “police” sign and replace it with a Romanian-only sign further highlighted the office as a symbol of the central state. Reflecting its mass-led character, the crowd was unresponsive to an attempt by a Hungarian priest to get them to disperse. Although the vandalism at the police office was not necessarily an admirable way to advance claims against the state, it was disruptive and therefore effective. In the next day’s meeting of the County Council, it was decided that the bilingual signs would be restored. V. B. Cross-Group Emulation; Mobilization If Romanian masses are not responding to elites, why then do they mobilize? It turns out that although masses do not always respond to the actions of elites, they do tend to respond to mass mobilizations of the other group. A mobilization by idealistic members of the minority group can often provoke a mobilization response from members of the majority group. Such mass mobilization may sometimes take on a “delayed” form, in which masses of the other group do not mobilize simultaneously with their opponents but rather the next day. Delayed reactions are usually more desirable, as they naturally reduce the probability of violence between groups. V. C. Cross-Group Emulation; Demobilization There may be mundane reasons for groups to demobilize. With the exception of the two days of violence in Târgu Mures¸, masses generally tend to go home at 81

The term “early risers” is from Beissinger, Nationalist Mobilization, and the term “first actors” is from Petersen, Resistance and Rebellion, p. 272.



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night. However, when demonstrations continue over a series of days, they are often likely to continue as long as each side feels that it must “hold its own” in protests. This situation is best seen in the demonstrations on March 21 after the violence, when new elites began telling their masses to go home. Demobilization thus can take on the appearance of a “tipping game,” proceeding only as each group feels that the other is also dispersing to some degree. These dynamics show that demobilization after the riot took place slowly between groups rather than all at once. V. D. Mass–Elite Tandem for Minorities Ethnic majorities can rely on formal democratic institutions to make successful claims. For minorities, however, contention and protest must serve as alternative and informal avenues for claim-making. The evidence shows a higher degree of coordination among elites and masses within a minority group than among elites and masses of a majority group, because a more concentrated effort may be required to communicate minority group goals. Throughout these mobilizations, Hungarian elites and masses tended to move more often in tandem than did majority elites and masses. Such minority “teamwork” among elites and masses helps the minority to make credible threats to disrupt order and pressure the majority. This tandem for minorities differs greatly from the majority Romanian mobilizations, which show some coordination among Romanian masses and elites only in the response to the March 15 Hungarian celebration. More commonly, Romanian elites attempted to take a neutral stance toward Romanian claims, whereas Romanian masses continued to mobilize. V. E. Boundary Weakening; In-Group Splintering Although the identity boundaries sustained between Hungarians and Romanians are very strong, there are some instances in which group members may deviate from the ethnic party line. Some elite deviations appear in Figures 4.1 and 4.2, as more moderate officeholders and party leaders briefly distanced themselves from the activities of other elites. Such splintering took place as some Hungarian elites attempted to moderate language claims in January. They also emerged as Romanian elites tried to moderate their stances in February and on March 20, following a day of violence instigated by a group of Romanians. These elite deviations are represented as actions scaled at the neutral point of 0, in which elites splinter and make neutral concessions toward the other group. Most accounts of the riot describe a rift between elites – a rift that appeared and then vanished. For this reason, these moderate elites are coded as “rejoining” the other elites once their moderate actions disappeared from the accounts. The interactive patterns identified here are not limited to the Târgu Mures¸ riots and the police office vandalism in Miercurea Ciuc. Similar dynamics appear in the story of the Cluj statue protest that follows in Chapter 5.



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40 30 20 10

–10

D

ec .

2 ec 2 .2 D 3 ec . D 24 ec . D 25 e *L c. 2 at 6 e *E De ar c. ly *M Ja id n .J Ja an n. Ja 18 n. Ja 19 n. Ja 20 n. Ja 21 n. Ja 22 n. Ja 23 n. Ja 24 n *L . 25 at e *J Jan a *E n. 3 ar 0 ly F Fe eb b. Fe 6 b. Fe 7 b. Fe 8 b Fe . 9 b. Fe 10 b *M . 11 id *L Fe at b. e Fe b.

0 D

Intensity of Action and Weights

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–20 –30 –40 Days H Masses Intervention

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figure 4.3. Târgu Mures¸ Activity before Riot, Action Codes with Participation Weights

40 30 20 10 0

*M *L id F a e *E te F b ar eb ly M M ar ar M .8 a M r. 9 ar . M 10 a *M r. 1 ar 1 M . 12 ar M . 13 ar M . 14 *M ar. a 15 *M r. 1 a 6a *M r. 1 a 6b *M r. 1 ar 7a . M 17b *M ar. a 18 *M r. 1 a 9a *M r. 1 a 9b *M r. 1 ar 9c *M . 1 a 9d *M r. 2 a 0a *M r. 2 a 0b *M r. 2 ar 0c *M . 2 a 0d *M r. 2 ar 1a . M 21b ar M . 22 ar M . 23 ar M . 24 *L ar. at 25 e M ar .


50

–10 –20 –30 –40


R Masses

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figure 4.4. Târgu Mures¸ Riot, Action Codes with Participation Weights

vi. mobilization dynamics and number of participants The use of similar scaled action codes for elites and for masses allows for a comparison of elite and mass actions in order to see how they interact over time. However, they evade the issue of number of participants. In comparing different contentious episodes, we may want to know how many mass participants were


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involved at different times. This can be done using the weights for mass participation presented in the book’s appendix. These weights are not meant to denote absolute values, but rather to help identify the relatively more contentious or tense segments of an episode, using a combination of action and mass participation.82 Figures 4.3 and 4.4 present the events of the riot through this lens. In contrast to the previous graphs, which merely represent variations in action intensity, the graphs in Figure 4.3 and 4.4 denote mobilization as a function of both action intensity and the number of mass participants. Here it is clear that mobilization increased steadily in the months before the riot, with a particularly high point in the large Hungarian demonstration on February 10. The next tension jumps come with the mobilizations around the Hungarian holiday on March 15 and with the Romanian protest against the bilingual sign at Pharmacy 28 on March 16. A large mobilization and some violence by Romanians against a small number of Hungarians on March 19 are followed by a large mobilization of Hungarians to protest early in the day on March 20. Mobilization of both groups peaked late in the day on March 20 after the eruption of violence, in both action intensity and number of participants.

vii. conclusions This chapter has examined the components of ethnic mobilization at the local level, through the events of the Târgu Mures¸ riot between Hungarians and Romanians in Romania in early 1990 and in later vandalism against the police office in Miercurea Ciuc. Using event analysis and codes for action, I have identified a number of recurring interactive mechanisms in these events. Many of these mechanisms also appear in the detailed example of the Cluj statue protests of 1992 and 1994 discussed in the following chapter. They demonstrate that masses, rather than elites, were a driving force in these mobilizations. Elites did play a role in reducing these tensions as they resumed negotiations in earnest after the riot, providing a bargaining alternative to mass mobilization to push for demands. As outlined in Chapter 1, repeated bargaining between elites of each group keeps a channel open for resolving disputes – one that is needed for the smooth resolution of disagreements in a divided polity. I have also outlined how the uncertain period of the early 1990s provided a context ripe for violence between groups. With repeated contentious interaction over time throughout the decade, groups became more used to each other’s demands, and slowly began to view them as less threatening. It was through this process that violence between groups became much less likely by the late 1990s, in spite of Romania’s previous experience of the riot. This example demonstrates how violent conflict need not become a vicious cycle, but rather may evolve into contentious interactions without violence. 82

Some researchers prefer to use the numbers themselves rather than weights. However, in this analysis, to minimize differences in the reporting of numbers between the sources of each group, using weights was a more sensible alternative.


5 The Power of Symbols Romanians, Hungarians, and King Mathias in Cluj

When territories change official hands through border shifts, the marking and re-marking of places can be a point of tension among populations. Spaces are full of points of reference, and these points of reference help construct and preserve the identity of groups. Markers such as statues, monuments, and commemorations bring the past into the present. Such spaces both preserve a group’s identity and are preserved within group rituals and practices.1 They can thus be especially salient for groups that resist officially recognized boundaries. The preservation of group identity requires the maintenance of collective memory, in a sense of continuity over time and space.2 For Hungarians, statues and other markers that were built in the days of Austro-Hungary often hold significance as reminders of a time in which they were the majority, rather than the minority, on these territories. Cities throughout this region are dotted with both Hungarian and titular monuments, viewed through different lenses by each group. With the rupture of the end of socialism and the onset of pluralist politics, monuments became frequent objects of local contention.3 Disputes over national symbols were a regular feature of politics in the Romanian-majority city of Cluj, where Hungarians and Romanians consistently reference different identity markers.4 Not only are there a number of statues that resonate differently within each group, but there are also monuments and ceremonies to commemorate battles during the uprisings of 1848–9, World War I, and World War II. Each brings forth divergent memories, as Hungarians and 1

2

3

4

Fox, “Consuming the Nation”; Charles Tilly, “Spaces of Contention,” Mobilization 5, no. 2 (Fall 2000), pp. 135–59; and George White, Nationalism and Territory (Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield, 2000). Images, physical sites, and commemorative activities preserve this sameness by serving as a means to connect individual and group memories. John R. Gillis, “Memory and Identity: The History of a Relationship,” introduction to Gillis, ed., Commemorations: The Politics of National Identity (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1994), pp. 3–24, especially pp. 3, 5, 17. Benjamin Forest, Juliet Johnson, and Karen Till, “Post-Totalitarian National Identity: Public Memory in Germany and Russia,” Social and Cultural Geography 5, no. 3 (September 2004), pp. 357–80, at pp. 360–3. Brubaker et al., Nationalist Politics.

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Cluj: A Tale of Two Squares

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Romanians often fought on different sides during these events. One group’s hero is thus often the other’s enemy, and one group’s victory is often remembered as the other’s loss. The socialist “solution” of establishing Lenin and other socialists as shared heroes, with ubiquitous monuments throughout Eastern Europe, does not resonate in the post-1989 context – and possibly never did. Once the government no longer required people to worship such heroes, they quickly turned to the symbols of their ethnic and national groups, leaving only a few diehard pockets of socialist symbolism.5 Instead of the old socialist heroes, the new post-socialist regimes of nationalizing states6 attempted to codify the markers of the majority as symbols to be embraced by all those living within state borders, regardless of their diverse populations. Hungarians living as minorities in these states generally resisted such efforts, preferring instead their own monuments, symbols, and holidays.7 As each group resists the celebration of the other’s symbols, their identity differences slowly become even more solidified through these contentious interactions over time. National identities are practiced through the preservation of boundaries and categories between groups, and monuments serve as particularly effective focal points in this process.8 This chapter describes two waves of protest that emerged around a statue in the City of Cluj, Romania, in 1992 and 1994. The strident Romanian mayor of Cluj, Gheorghe Funar, made some attempts to modify and possibly remove a century-old statue of the Hungarian King Mathias from a central town square in the early 1990s. Local Hungarians were not pleased with his efforts and mobilized against them. These mobilizations, as outlined in the discussion that follows, exhibit dynamics similar to those from the Târgu Mures¸ riot examined in the previous chapter.

i. cluj: a tale of two squares Downtown Cluj is dominated by two large squares that serve as “competing centers” of the city.9 “Unity Square” (Piaț a Unirii in Romanian),10 near the 5 6 7

8

9 10

Vladimir Tismaneanu, Fantasies of Salvation (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1998). Brubaker, “National Minorities.” For Hungarians, the officially endorsed state symbols contrast with their own “vernacular” symbols and long-standing components of collective memory and identity. See Anderson, Imagined Communities, p. 159, on official nationalism as state policy; John Bodnar, “Public Memory in an American City: Commemoration in Cleveland,” in Gillis, ed., Commemorations, pp. 74–89, especially pp. 75–8; and Forest, Johnson, and Till, “Post-Totalitarian National Identity,” p. 363. Charlotte Tacke, “Les lieux de mémoire et la mémoire des lieux: Mythes et monuments entre nation et région en France et en Allemagne au XIXe siècle,” in Dominique Julia, ed., Culture et Société dans l’Europe moderne et contemporaine (Florence: European University Institute, Yearbook of the Department of History and Civilization, 1992), pp. 133–63, especially pp. 135, 139. Brubaker et al., Nationalist Politics. This name refers to the unification of Romania following 1918.


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university, features a fourteenth century Catholic cathedral and a hundred-yearold equestrian statue of Mathias Corvinus, king of Hungary during the fifteenth century. (The vast majority of Romanians are Orthodox, and the vast majority of Hungarians are either Catholic or Protestant.) The historical Hungarian name for the square is simply “main square” (Fo˝tér), and this remains the name by which Hungarians refer to it. To the east of Unity Square, about a ten-minute walk, lies Avram Iancu Square. This larger square faces the Hungarian Opera and features a large Orthodox church built in 1933, as well as a statue to Avram Iancu, a Romanian hero. The Iancu statue is a recent addition to this square, holding a spot that until 1989 was occupied by a Soviet tank. The proportions of the two squares are striking – the Orthodox Church on Iancu Square is far taller than the Catholic Church on Unity Square, and the Iancu statue is far taller than the Mathias statue. These proportions are not an accident, but rather are symbolic of a subtle (and not-so-subtle) effort to dwarf the Hungarian presence in the city.11 Unity Square is a pleasant gathering place that serves as a sort of “collective living room” for the town, as noted by Rogers Brubaker.12 Although both Hungarians and Romanians use the space, it is particularly meaningful for the town’s Hungarians, who account for about 20 percent of the population. For this reason, more strident Romanian members of the town’s leadership, particularly Mayor Funar, have made a variety of attempts to diminish the “Hungarian-ness” of the square. After the 1989 revolution, one of the first city government acts was the changing of its name from Freedom Square to Unity Square, to evoke the joining of Transylvania to Romania after 1918. Mayor Gheorghe Funar then embarked on a program to “redecorate” the square.13 I. A. 1992: Of Statues and Disclaimers As the city was preparing the 1992 celebrations of the country’s December 1 Romanian National Day, rumors were confirmed that Mayor Funar planned to hang a plaque on the base of the Mathias statue during the festivities. This planned act was ripe with symbolism. The December 1 holiday commemorates the 1918 unification of Romania (and Hungary’s loss of Transylvania). The plaque’s inscription was intended to minimize the grandeur of King Mathias as a hero and to question his status as an ethnic Hungarian. The inscription is a quote by the poet and historian Nicolae Iorga, and the same plaque had hung on the statue during the interwar Romanian state until its removal by Hungarians during their rule of the city in World War II. The quote itself describes King Mathias as “victorious in battle,” but qualifies his success as reaching only to the edge of “invincible Moldova,” eastern 11

12 13

Brubaker et al., Nationalist Politics, p. 142; and Robert Kaplan, Balkan Ghosts: A Journey through History (New York: Vintage, 1994), pp. 150–1. This is aptly described in Brubaker et al., Nationalist Politics, p. 139. Brubaker et al., Nationalist Politics, p. 141.



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Romania, where “his own people” defeated him. Funar explained that the quote added a necessary correction to the statue, which depicts Mathias as standing victorious over several provincial standards, including that of Moldova. Hungarians consider the quote to be offensive, as they not only interpret the king’s successes more favorably, but also resist the reference to the Romanians of Moldova as the king’s “own people.” Mathias is generally understood by Hungarians to have been either Hungarian or at least half-Hungarian by birth. The general feeling among Hungarians was that the reattachment of the plaque would be a violation of the statue.14 On November 28, a few days before the holiday, a declaration against the proposed plaque was released – signed by seventy-five Hungarian intellectuals.15 According to the local Hungarian media’s account of the events, workers arrived on the square to hang the plaque around 10 a.m. on November 30, but the plaque was not hung right away. Whether this delay was due to technical problems in hanging the plaque or whether it was intended to allow time for a crowd to develop (as Hungarians attest) is unclear. But by 2 p.m., a number of Hungarian students, many of them from the theological school, had appeared on the square and attempted to form a protective “living chain” around the statue.16 Within a few hours, police removed them from their positions close to the statue to allow the workers access. The actual hanging of the plaque included a tense moment during which it seemed to Hungarians that the “Mathias Rex” inscription might also be removed, but in the end the plaque was simply added below the king’s name. By 6 p.m., the students had settled down on the square with candles, singing hymns and adding an air of drama at the scene. It was at this point that the leadership of the Hungarian party (UDMR) called one of their members to the square. In the days that followed, ordinary Hungarians and party members repeatedly described the November 30 protest as spontaneous, with the UDMR only later becoming involved.17 The student demonstration continued for the next few hours. The local police told the students to quiet down, but they continued singing. A Romanian group also arrived and began to sing Romanian national songs somewhat to the side of the protesters (then suddenly switched to Christmas songs before being escorted away by police).18 Even after police intervention, Hungarians continued returning to the square over the next few days. 14

15

16

17

18

Brubaker et al., Nationalist Politics, p. 139; Gheorghe Funar, “Semnificaț ia restaura˘ rii unei inscripț ii,” Adeva˘rul de Cluj (hereafter AdC), December 3, 1992; and Sz, “Merénylet készül Mátyás szobra ellen,” November 25, 1992. Sándor Balázs and Róbert Schwartz, Funar-korszak Kolozsváron: A helyi sajtó tükrében 1992– 1996 (Cluj: Transylvanian Book and Press, 1997), p. 65. For many, the contentious repertoire of a living chain evokes memories of 1989 and is used throughout Eastern Europe. The Romanian accounts imply that the UDMR was behind the demonstration, which the Hungarians asserted was spontaneous. AdC, “1 Decembrie: A fi Român,” December 2, 1992; and AdC, “Primim la redacț ie” (Scrisoare deschisa˘), December 3, 1992. Sz, “A Mátyás-szober elleni merénylet,” December 1, 1992.


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On the December 1 holiday, the local Romanian newspaper celebrated the National Day and decried Hungary as wanting to take back territory from the state, criticizing the Hungarian UDMR party as having similar goals. It also outlined historical events to justify the text on the plaque as a correction to the statue.19 The ceremonies of the day included various officials, political parties, and organizations depositing flowers at statues of Romanian heroes around the city.20 At the Mathias statue, the plaque was unveiled. The ceremony took place in the midst of the Hungarian students’ silent protest, and the “civilized” behavior of both sides at the square did not produce outward signs of conflict. Noted the Romanian paper, “It seems that those irredentists can believe that we, in Cluj-Napoca, aren’t about to seize weapons just because it could be something a few others might like us to do”21 – a statement that implied a reference to the Târgu Mures¸ violence a few years before. In spite of the peaceful character of the demonstrations, over the next few days the rhetoric between the leadership of each group remained quite provocative. On December 2, approximately three hundred Hungarians gathered around the statue between 5 and 7 p.m. singing mournful songs and handing out flyers to passersby outlining their position on the statue. Although a few observers exchanged some hot words with the demonstrators, there were no incidents of violence, and afterward the demonstrators moved on to a nearby church service. There the UDMR announced that a more formal protest would be held December 6, that coming Sunday22 – according to the Hungarian leadership, they hoped that a formal protest would convince the younger Hungarians that they might stop demonstrating. Hungarian leaders also attempted various institutional avenues to declare the mayor’s efforts illegal, appealing to the county and central governments as well as to the United Nations Educational, Science, and Cultural Organization (UNESCO) (under which the statue had protected status). Opposition to the plaque quickly grew to involve other Hungarian grievances, such as the elimination of Hungarian street names and increased restrictions on the use of the Hungarian language in the city, which Funar had instituted soon after his election as mayor in early 1992. Members of the Hungarian elite argued that without improvements in these areas, the Hungarian minority might be “provoked to react.” At the same time, the Hungarian leadership attempted to frame the statue protest as a general demonstration against the mayor’s attempts to incite conflict between the groups. In this effort, they hoped to attract some moderate Romanians to their cause. However, the broadening of grievances to general Hungarian complaints tended to reduce potential Romanian support. Both Romanians and Hungarians were nervous about the possibility of an escalation to violence, and parallels to the situation in Târgu Mures¸ soon before 19 20 21 22

AdC, “Ziua Naț ionala˘ a României,” December 1, 1992. This form of formal commemoration of statues is quite common in the region. AdC, “1 Decembrie: A fi Român,” December 2, 1992. Balász and Schwartz, Funar-korszak Kolozsváron, pp. 67–8.



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the 1990 violent events there were obvious to both sides. The Hungarian leaders stated that although the Hungarians were generally disciplined, “in a critical situation events could become unpredictable.” The Hungarian paper consistently repeated that “we should not allow provocation” and that the population should “respond to primitive threats with raised heads, but not with raised fists.”23 Throughout this time, small demonstrations continued, but by December 4 the police became more serious about stopping them – a decision probably linked to news that the mayor had denied permission for the planned upcoming December 6 demonstration. Among his reasons for denial, the mayor cited the “illegal” name Kolozsvár (the Hungarian name for Cluj) that appeared on the letterhead from the Cluj branch of the UDMR, and said that December 6 was Saint Nicolas Day for Romanians. He also questioned their authority to challenge his decisions regarding local affairs.24 In response to the mayor, the Hungarians simply altered their strategy, organizing instead an ecumenical service in the square’s Catholic cathedral. Small groups began mobilizing the day before the service, while the UDMR held a previously planned meeting that day in Cluj to prepare for its upcoming convention.25 It is notable that some of the local Romanians opposing the mayor expressed some support for the Hungarian cause, although the vast majority of those participating in the protest were Hungarian. On December 6, at least three thousand attended the ecumenical service, in which clergy urged Hungarians to avoid responding to the mayor’s provocations with violence. After the service, clergy and local UDMR officials led attendees out onto the square, where they then silently encircled the church and the statue. According to the Romanian paper, by that point approximately ten thousand filled the square, both Hungarians and Romanians (the latter supporting the mayor’s position), with Hungarians concentrated in the center and Romanians around the periphery.26 Some of the Romanians sang Romanian patriotic songs, and 23

24

25 26

AdC, “Primim la redacț ie (Scrisoare deschisa˘ and Protest),” December 3, 1992; AdC, “U.D.M.R. organizeaza˘ duminica˘, în centrul Clujului, o adunare de protest,” December 4, 1992; Sz, “A Mátyás-szober elleni merénylet,” December 1, 1992; Sz, various articles, December 4, 1992; and Sz, “Nem engedhetünk a provokációknak!” and “Kolozsvár polgárai! Románok, magyarok!” December 5, 1992. AdC, “Prima˘ria municipiului Cluj-Napoca interzice adunarea publica˘ organizata˘ de U.D.M.R. pentru 6 decembrie 1992,” December 5, 1992; Sz, “Vasárnapi tiltakozás,” December 4, 1992; and Sz, “Kihallgatás és bordal,” December 5, 1992. Another cited reason was the presence of the Romanian Greek Catholic, or Uniate, Church, which held religious services each Sunday on the square itself (which Hungarians asserted would end before the demonstration). Greek Catholics are a religious minority in Romania, and their church properties were handed to the Orthodox Church under the communist regime. At the time, they held services “in the open air” to protest for the return of their buildings and because they had no other places of worship. A few changes in leadership were announced at the meeting. AdC, “Prima˘ria municipiului Cluj-Napoca interzice adunarea publica˘ organizata˘ de U.D.M.R. pentru 6 decembrie 1992,” December 8, 1992; AdC, “Gheorghe Funar: ‘Nu exista˘ nici o lega˘ tura˘ între statuia lui Matei Corvinul s¸i U.D.M.R.,’” December 8, 1992; Sz, “Vasárnapi tiltakozás,”


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others began to chant slogans such as, “We are not guests, this is our country!” and, “If you don’t like it, you may leave!” – a situation that one observer described as two simultaneous demonstrations.27 However, the two groups did not interact in ways that sparked violence. In the days that followed, the central government, in fear of potential tensions, sent some special police forces to Cluj.28 Mayor Funar attempted to frame the demonstration as a creation of the UDMR and announced that those UDMR members who had organized it would be fined for ignoring the ban he had imposed. He also threatened smaller fines against participants.29 The UDMR representatives in the Romanian parliament made a formal request for a county and national investigation into the mayor’s hanging of the plaque as an illegal action against a protected monument, an offense carrying a sizable fine. Their efforts appeared to assure local Hungarians that their cause would be addressed at the level of the central government.30 The mayor was unshaken and on December 9 announced plans for placing Romanian flags around the statue within the next month.31 By late December, the Romanian Historical Monuments and Sites Commission released a statement ordering the mayor to remove the plaque and to desist with his preparations to place several tall flagpoles for Romanian flags near the statue. In a fiery and somewhat insulting response, the mayor told the commission that its “suggestions” could not be justified by legal means and notified the commission that not only did he intend to continue his projects on the square, but that he would also change the inscription of the king’s name from the Latin “Mathias Rex” to the Romanian “Matei Corvinul,” eliminating its neutrality. Due to a lack of will by the commission to enter into an open conflict with the mayor,32 both the plaque and the flagpoles became fixtures of the square – although the changing of the Latin title remained simply an idle threat at the time. Tense rhetoric continued in letters and newspaper articles over the next few months, and a small Hungarian demonstration, this one planned by the UDMR, was held at the square on January 23. Some central government officials and others held talks with Funar, but his position did not change. Attempts by Hungarians to discuss the issue during City Council meetings were also met

27

28 29

30 31

32

December 4, 1992; Sz, “Kihallgatás és bordal,” December 5, 1992; and Sz, “Provacarea n-a reus¸it!” and “Az igazi Kolozsvár szemben a polgármesteri önkénnyel,” December 8, 1992. AdC, “Noi nu sta˘ m în gazda˘, asta-i ț ara˘ noastra˘ !” “Cui nu-i place-n ț ara˘ sa˘ pofteasca˘ afara˘ !” and “Provacarea n-a reus¸it!” December 8, 1992; and Sz, “Az igazi Kolozsvár szemben a polgármesteri önkénnyel,” December 8, 1992. This again demonstrates the clear memory of the Târgu Mures¸ events. Although sources are unclear on this, it is probable that those fined either refused to pay or obtained donations to cover the fine, as in most of the cases in which Funar imposed such fines. AdC, “Domnul primar Gheorghe Funar ii amendeaza˘ pe organizatorii manifestaț iei U.D.M.R.,” December 9, 1992. Sz, “Az RMDSz parlamenti interpellációja,” December 8, 1992. AdC, “Domnul primar Gheorghe Funar ii amendeaza˘ pe organizatorii manifestaț iei U.D.M.R.,” December 9, 1992. Hungarians alleged that this lack of will stemmed from Funar’s connections to Iliescu.



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with radical statements by the mayor. Funar argued that the town should hold a referendum on the issue, declaring, “We are the majority, and if we want, we may take down the Mathias statue. Cluj’s population is 80 percent Romanian, so there would be no doubt about the referendum’s results. The bronze would be good to use for the [future] Avram Iancu statue.” However, his proposed referendum did not in fact take place.33 By mid-February, the county prefect announced that the plaque did not constitute a fundamental change to the statue itself and that therefore it did not contravene state laws against the modification of monuments. He also emphasized that monuments do not belong to particular ethnic groups but rather belong to the state.34 The Hungarians resigned themselves to an extensive public declaration signed by a number of the Hungarian elite, accusing Funar of anti-Hungarian provocations and “cultural ethnic cleansing.”35 I. B. Statues Multiply Undaunted by Hungarian opposition, the mayor continued his redecorating in other parts of the city throughout 1993 and 1994.36 The mayor commissioned a statue of Avram Iancu, a leader of Romanians in an 1848 uprising, to be installed in front of the large Orthodox cathedral in Iancu Square on November 30, 1993.37 The erection of the statue was accompanied by a ceremony led by Romanian local officials and Orthodox clergy, and affirmations of Romanian national identity were accompanied by some allusions to pre-1918 Hungarian oppression. The statue was put in place just in time for the December 1 celebrations, which marked the seventy-fifth anniversary of Romania’s unification. The rearrangement of the square and the statue’s aesthetics and cost were criticized by Hungarians, who began to see a pattern of “grandomania” in the mayor’s construction of tall, thin monuments to tower over Hungarian structures.38 Soon afterward in early 1994, threats and rumors of threats circulated that changes for the Mathias statue might be forthcoming – that the mayor wanted to change the inscription on the Mathias statue from the Latin to the Romanian

33

34 35 36 37

38

AdC, “Continua˘ ra˘zboiul pentru statuia lui Matei Corvinul,” December 29, 1992; Sz, “A Fo˝teret vissz kell állítani eredeti állapotába,” December 24, 1992; Sz, “Mi lesz veled Fo˝tér?” January 19, 1993; Sz, “Trikolóros Disneyland,” January 23, 1993; Sz, “Népszavazás a Mátyás-szobor beolvasztásáról?” February 2, 1993; Sz, “Meddig mehet el szeparatizmusával a kolozsvári önkormányzó?” February 5, 1993; and Sz, “Ameddig mi döntünk . . .,” February 11, 1993. Sz, “Amedding mi döntünk . . .,” February 11, 1993. Sz, “Nyilatkozat,” February 24, 1993. A good discussion of the mayor’s projects appears in Brubaker et al., Nationalist Politics. According to the Romanian paper, an unsuccessful attempt to erect a Iancu statue had been made in Cluj during the interwar period. AdC, “Statuia Iancului e de acum la Cluj-Napoca,” November 17, 1993; AdC, “75 de ani de la marea unire,” December 1, 1993; Sz, “Hogy Avram Iancu nyugalmát semmi se zavarhassa, avagy kié legyen a buszmegálló?” November 25, 1993; and Sz, “Leleplezték a befejezetlen Avram Iancuszobrot,” December 1, 1993.



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“Matei Corvinul,” or that he wanted to place a Romanian statue in front of it.39 In a January 14 City Council meeting on the issue, some Romanian council members opposing the mayor joined the Hungarians in resisting such a change.40 By January 22, the UDMR county leadership made a public declaration against the mayor’s stated plans and organized a small, silent demonstration in front of the statue, carrying signs to protest the mayor’s actions. The Hungarian Catholic and Protestant churches rang their bells in solidarity with the demonstration, and the forty-five demonstrators followed their protest with a short service in the Catholic church beside the statue.41 In the end, the mayor’s hopes to replace the inscription by late January were later deflated due to the absence of approval from the National Monuments Commission.42 In the spring of 1994, some exploratory digging began for another tall, thin monument at the corner of Unity Square, in memory of the “Memorandists” who had petitioned for a degree of Romanian independence from the Hungarian state in 1894. The digging uncovered some old stone artifacts, and a second round of contention over the fate of the square began. I. C. 1994: To Dig or Not to Dig? By late May, plans to begin digging became more concrete, and the county vice prefect mentioned the possibility that the Mathias statue might need to be relocated in order to make way for further archeological activity.43 Funar, who had been focusing his attentions on the Caritas financial scandal44 and removing evidence of Hungarian names around the city, found the idea attractive. Hungarians were generally outraged and saw the proposed digs as a ploy by Funar to remove the Mathias statue, particularly in light of the mayor’s previous measures.45 The digs also resonated in terms of the historical “who was here first?” debate between Hungarians and Romanians. Hungarians and even some Romanian dissidents argued that the main impetus behind the diggings was political rather than merely archeological and was intended to bolster the arguments of Romanian nationalist parties regarding a historical Romanian presence. However, a number of archeologists expressed some curiosity in the site,

39

40 41

42 43

44

45

Sz, “Mátyás királynak újabb felirat késül?” January 5, 1994; and Sz, “Boritékolt lépés a Mátyásszobor ügyében,” January 6, 1994. The mayor also had hopes of establishing a statue to Ion Antonescu, a controversial World War II fascist. Sz, “Szobortologatás,” January 18, 1994. Balázs and Schwartz, Funar-korszak Kolozsváron, pp. 144; and Sz, “Aki nem tiszteli a mások múltját, az a sajátját sem becsüli,” January 25, 1994. Sz, “Fo˝városi mu˝emlékvédo˝k Kolozsváron,” March 18, 1994. Balázs and Schwartz, Funar-korszak Kolozsváron, p. 170. This section’s heading is from a headline in Sz, July 7, 1994. Caritas was a pyramid scheme organized in Cluj with the visible involvement of Mayor Funar. It began to collapse in the summer of 1994. Sz, “Nem a szobrok ellen, a város mellett,” March 26, 1994.



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and the director of the Cluj Museum of Transylvanian History became a primary advocate and organizer of the digs.46 On June 8, the day before the Memorandist monument was scheduled to be unveiled, Hungarians and a few Romanian elites planned a countergathering at the Mathias statue that drew several thousand participants. The UDMR also announced that it would not be participating in the next day’s ceremony for the Memorandist monument, stating that it had not been approved by the Monuments Commission, and the party’s absence was noted by Romanians.47 At the next City Council meeting, UDMR representatives called into question the cost of the monument’s unveiling, bringing another fiery response from the mayor, who suggested that the Mathias statue needed to be renovated and thus should be removed from the square for a time.48 The mayor’s office initially scheduled the archeological digs for June 22, 1994, and it was made public that they would involve six large sites around the square, some quite near the Catholic cathedral. A UDMR official quickly proposed that Hungarians establish a continuous watch on the square. The UDMR also began to question the budget for the excavations in a council meeting on June 20 and called a protest for the June 22 on the square. In the words of the UDMR leadership, the digs constituted an “insult” to Hungarian “national self-respect” and were being undertaken “not for the advancement of knowledge, but exclusively for political provocation, with the final goal being the destruction of the Mathias statue.” During the protest, which drew a few thousand and effectively postponed the digs, both Hungarians and a few Romanian intellectuals mentioned that the mayor’s efforts to change the square constituted an attempt at the “Yugoslavization of Romania.” They also noted that there were several possible diversionary reasons behind his actions, such as the emerging Caritas pyramid scheme scandal and the parliament’s discussions over the upcoming education law. A meeting held on June 23 between elites of both sides failed to produce an agreement, and the UDMR enacted a system to guard the statue, which involved signaling protesters to mobilize in the case of the commencement of digging. The next day, June 24, again approximately three thousand participated in a previously organized protest ecumenical service at the statue. Police occupied the perimeter of the square and also circled the statue. The Hungarians attempted to frame the issue as one of concern to all Cluj residents, regardless of nationality, while the Romanian leadership continuously referred to the protests 46

47

48

Michael Shafir, “Ethnic Tension Runs High in Romania,” RFE/RL Research Report (August 19, 1994), p. 28; Sz, “A Fo˝tér és a Mátyás-szobor sorsa minden kolzsvári közös ügye,” June 2, 1994. AdC, “Festivita˘ț i la Cluj-Napoca,” June 10, 1994; Balázs and Schwartz, Funar-korszak Kolozsváron, p. 175; Sz, “Tiltakozó népgyu˝lés a Mátyás-szobor védelmében,” June 3, 1994; and Sz, “Mátyás király örök – és sérhetetlen!” AdC, “Festivita˘ ț i la Cluj-Napoca,” June 10, 1994; Sz, “Leleplezték a Memorandisták Emlékmu˝vét,” June 10, 1994; Sz, “A városi tanácsban robbant a petárda,” June 15, 1994; Sz, “Funar kontra Mathias Rex és Bem,” June 16, 1994; and Sz, “Felelo˝tlen és veszélyes provokáció,” July 1, 1994.


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as provocations organized by the UDMR. However, of the Romanian parties, the PUNR, the Party of Social Democracy of Romania (PDSR), PD, and the Peasant Party all sided with the mayor, while only the CD expressed some sympathy with the Hungarians over the statue. For his part, the mayor began to assert that the digs would not disturb the structures on the square.49 A June 27 meeting among city and county officials, the police, the museum, and the UDMR failed to produce any resolution, and the leadership of the Hungarian churches announced that in the event that the digging began on the square, they would ring their church bells to notify city residents. The county prefect had left town on vacation with instructions to the vice prefect to postpone digging. However, the vice prefect, a strident Romanian, gave no sign that he would do so. In spite of a vague June 27 agreement to postpone the digs, the museum directors and some workers showed up at the square the next day, setting Hungarians on edge. The project was postponed due to a large gathering that disrupted progress. After some debate over jurisdiction, it was decided that the question of the diggings would be brought to the City Council on July 4. A few days before the meeting, the Archeological Institute in Bucharest released a statement that it did not agree with the mayor’s plans for digging, a statement aimed against the local museum director’s enthusiasm for the project. Interestingly, both the Hungarian and Romanian local papers ran front-page editorials against what they clearly saw as efforts by politicians to manipulate ethnic tension to their own advantage. However, although the Hungarian position generally was that the archeological project itself was provocative, Romanians tended to argue that Hungarian resistance to the diggings was primarily political, as the project leadership had given assurances that the structures on the square would not be harmed.50 The July 4 evening meeting was extremely contentious and lasted longer than five hours. The mayor, who had continuously expressed frustration at Hungarian resistance to his plans, and who could not obtain a City Council majority to support the diggings, lost his temper, condemning the Hungarians for thinking that they owned the statue. In his view, the Hungarians were acting far beyond their capacity as a 20 percent minority in the city, and he stated that if

49

50

AdC, “Încep sa˘ pa˘ turile în preajma statuii lui Matei Corvin,” June 17, 1994; AdC, “U.D.M.R. declans¸eaza˘ nesupunerea civica˘,” June 23, 1994; AdC, “Prima˘ ria s¸i U.D.M.R. recurg la ameninț a˘ ri,” June 25–7, 1994; Balázs and Schwartz, Funar-korszak Kolozsváron, p. 177; Sz, “Funaréknak semmi sem szent a Fo˝téren,” June 21, 1994; Sz, “Rendkívüli tanácsülés a fo˝téri ásatások azonnali megkezdéséro˝l,” and “Felhívás,” June 22, 1994; Sz, “Ökumenikus istentisztelet Kolozsvár fo˝terén,” and “Történelmi emlékeink védelmében,” June 23, 1994; Sz, “A Fo˝tér védelme nemcsak az RMDSz, hanem a kolozsvári civil társadalom ügye,” June 24, 1994; Sz, “Mátyás király a magyaroké, a románoké, a kolozsváriaké,” June 25, 1994; and Sz, “Paraztpárti nyilatkozat: ‘Újabb provokáció az Egyesülés téren,’” July 9, 1994. Balázs and Schwartz, Funar-korszak Kolozsváron, p. 183; Sz, “Egybehangolt akció a Fo˝tér feldúlására,” June 28, 1994; Sz, “A Fo˝tér ügyében nem alkudozhatunk! Megszegték a megállopodást,” June 29, 1994; and Sz, “Hétfo˝n rendkívüli tanácsülés dönt az ásatások ügyében,” June 30, 1994.



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the Hungarians did not like the decisions of the majority, they should move abroad. Upon this comment, the Hungarian representatives left the meeting in protest, around 10 p.m. Romanian council members among the opposition then continued to pressure the mayor to stop the diggings, to no avail.51 While not all Romanians agreed with the mayor’s posturing on the statue, many expressed the view that democracy means that the majority gets to decide how things work. Years after these events, Romanians tended to describe them as a vehicle through which the Hungarians were supposed to learn this majoritarian lesson about democracy. The Hungarian church bells began to ring around 8:45 on the morning of July 7, as workers arrived on the square with tools for digging. Within fifteen minutes, the square contained a number of Hungarian protesters who sat themselves down on the grass where the digs were to begin. Within an hour, many more people arrived to protest, as did “internal soldiers,” or police reinforcements. Using some force, these reinforcements prevented newcomers from entering the grassy area already occupied by a number of seated protesters. Those removed with some force (the police wielded rubber batons) included some pensioners as well as a UDMR member of the City Council. A group of old women sat down near the area and began singing hymns, despite police efforts to get them to move. The growing crowd became more agitated in view of the police’s use of force, but did not attempt to escalate matters, and after about an hour tensions died down. The diggings were delayed – not only was the museum group unable to gain access to the site, but some protesters were also sitting upon their digging tools. Among those who addressed the crowd were a few local Romanian opponents of the mayor. The crowd stayed on the square all day, and many people shared food and drink, doing their best to ignore the scorching heat. Local estimates of the number of demonstrators range around a few thousand.52 During the protest on the square, members of the Hungarian elite attempted to negotiate with the county vice prefect and with central government officials in an attempt to formally suspend the excavations. They also made a further appeal to UNESCO, an act later criticized by the Romanian president as unnecessarily provocative. This was a sentiment later echoed by a number of Romanians. One of the continuing themes of inter-ethnic contention in Romania during the 1990s was the Romanian perception that Hungarians were better positioned to communicate their viewpoints to international organizations than were Romanians,

51

52

AdC, “D-l Gh. Funar declara˘ : ‘în calitate de primar voi asigura ordinea publica˘ s¸i linis¸tea locuitorilor municipiului,’” July 6, 1994; Balázs and Schwartz, Funar-korszak Kolozsváron, p. 185; Sz, “Távozzatok innen, magyarok,” July 6, 1994; and Sz, “Minden eszközt vállalunk fo˝térünk és szobraink védelmében,” July 7, 1994. AdC, “Prima˘ ria s¸i U.D.M.R. se confrunta˘ în . . . Piaț a Unirii!” July 8, 1994; Balázs and Schwartz, Funar-korszak Kolozsváron, pp. 186–8; Sz, “Jelentés a Fo˝térro˝l,” “Emberek és katonák között,” and “Eseménykrónika,” July 8, 1994.


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and that this perceived imbalance might cause undue harm to the image of Romania in the international arena. The lack of central state involvement up to this point was probably linked to the fact that state officials were distracted by an impeachment vote on the Romanian president by parliament; just that evening, a motion to impeach had failed to pass.53 The necessity of support from the mayor’s party (PUNR) for the president in that vote may partially explain the protracted absence of the central government’s voice as well as the mayor’s bravado at that particular time. But by late afternoon, the central government’s Ministry of Local Public Administration issued an order to suspend the diggings. The government later announced that it would also send a special commission from the Ministry of Culture to make a decision on the excavations over the next few days. The UDMR found the central order rather vague and requested a more forceful statement from the office, and the order was also highly criticized by the mayor.54 Reports after the demonstration from both sides expressed relief that violence had been avoided; members of both groups had expressed concern that the town could become another Târgu Mures¸. It is clear that this self-awareness of just how far such events might go played some role in both groups actively avoiding violence. In the meantime, Hungary also expressed concern over matters in Cluj, including tensions between Hungarians and police and the square’s fate. The next day the square remained peaceful, although when a few workers showed up to check their equipment they were chased away. The mayor decried the demonstration as “anti-Romanian,” stating that throughout the country Romanians repeatedly “need to struggle to be masters in our own house,” noting that it was highly unusual for a special commission to approve such diggings. For his part, the county vice prefect declared that the UDMR was acting on orders from Hungary and that Hungarian citizens brought in by tourist buses had been involved in the protest.55 At a July 11 City Council meeting to discuss the events, the mayor tried to get some of the UDMR representatives excluded from the council for their involvement in the demonstration, but could not obtain the requisite two-thirds majority vote. The mayor also imposed fines on the UDMR leaders who had been involved in the demonstration – which they said they would not pay.56 As the Ministry of Culture commission arrived from Bucharest to examine the site on July 15, the Hungarians continued in their attempt to frame the issue as multi-ethnic, stating that preserving the square’s status quo was an important 53 54

55

56

Shafir, “Ethnic Tension,” p. 30. AdC, “Dupa˘ o zi ‘caniculara˘ ’ în Piaț a Unirii . . . ‘Vremea’ s-a ameliorat,” and other articles, July 9–11, 1994; and Sz, several articles, July 9, 1994. AdC, “A doua intervenț ie a pres¸edintelui . . .,” July 12, 1994; and Sz, “Stratégiát vált az RMDSz,” and “A legjobb védkezés a támadás,” July 12, 1994. AdC, “Consiliul local condamna attitudinea consilierilor U.D.M.R.,” and other articles, July 13, 1994; Shafir, “Ethnic Tension,” p. 31; and Sz, “Ero˝fitogtató, rendkívüli tanácsülés,” July 13, 1994.



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issue for Cluj residents of both ethnicities. The Romanian leadership persisted in portraying the issue as one of Hungarian and UDMR provocation with intent to incite an inter-ethnic conflict. By July 20, the commission made a compromise recommendation: The digs could begin, but only in one (later two) of the six sites initially planned, which were the farthest from Hungarian monuments. The commission also condemned the fact that the dispute had displayed “an unfortunate lack of correct mediation,” and rather involved “the danger of politicization and irresponsible exploitation” (although the commission did not place particular blame on one side or the other, leaving both somewhat satisfied). The excavations formally began on August 2. Although a small crowd began to gather around the operation, UDMR officials showed up to read a statement that although they continued to think the actions were illegal, the excavators should be allowed to continue. The statement noted that if the diggings proceeded beyond the allotted territory, civil disobedience might again ensue. Soon afterward, the group dispersed. Aside from some harsh words exchanged between Romanians and Hungarians, the day passed without incident. The UDMR also pursued a lawsuit against the National Museum of Transylvanian History.57 Mayor Funar continued with threats either to change the inscription on the statue or to remove it for “restoration” over the next few years, but did not take direct action in this vein. Years later, the excavations remain a halfhearted bone of contention. They uncovered no Roman Forum, and the ruins appear instead to have been constructed in the eleventh or twelfth century. During the late 1990s, the holes presented a gaping danger to passersby, making them somewhat unpopular even with Romanians, until a fence was constructed around them, and many were later filled up again.58

ii. dynamics of mobilization The mobilizations in Cluj demonstrate how repeated contention over time can decrease uncertainty among groups, slowly reducing the potential for tense cross-group emulation that might produce violence. The heightened uncertainty in Târgu Mures¸ in 1990 contributed to high levels of mobilization by both groups, as each understood the dispute over the Bolyai High School as an 57

58

AdC, “Sa˘pa˘turile archeologice din Piaț a Unirii în actualitate,” July 16–18, 1994; AdC, “Comisia naț ionala˘ avizeaza˘ sondajele arheologice în Piaț a Unirii,” and “Reacț ii la comunicatul Comisiei naț ionale de arheologie,” July 22, 1994; AdC, “A început sondarea arheologica˘ a Pieț ii Unirii,” and “Comunicat al UDMR,” August 3, 1994; Balázs and Schwartz, Funar-korszak Kolozsváron, p. 203; Shafir, “Ethnic Tension,” p. 31; Sz, “Egymás mellett,” July 15, 1994; Sz, “A régészeti szakbizottság és a fo˝téri ásatások,” July 19, 1994; Sz, “A fo˝téri ásatások ügyében,” July 22, 1994; and Sz, “Kompromisszumos megoldás született,” July 23, 1994. Interviews in Cluj, fall 1997, summer 1999, and in 2008, names withheld from publication but available from author; Népszabadság, “Elhárult a román kormányválság,” July 7, 1997; Sz, “Megtalálták az Óvár kútját,” August 26, 1994; Sz, “A Fo˝téren már nem rómaiak a falak,” September 2, 1994; and Sz, “Nyilatkozat,” November 22, 1994.



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uncompromising question of identity. In Cluj in 1992, ordinary Romanians also mobilized in response to Hungarian mobilizations, as the statue became framed as part of a larger struggle over the identity of the city center. By 1994, however, Romanians mobilized only once, as part of the previously organized unveiling of the Memorandist monument – and then in small numbers. In spite of large-scale Hungarian mobilizations in June and July, by 1994 ordinary Romanians had lost interest in the statue dispute.59 In addition, some organizers played a stronger role in events in 1994 than had been the case in the spontaneous activities in 1992. Those interviewed years after the events described the statue debate cynically, as simply a game of provocation and symbolic politics being played by the mayor. This progression illustrates a change in the nature of disputes over time. During the first few years of transition, much seemed at stake in even the smallest dispute on ethnic politics. But by the mid-1990s, ordinary members of each group were able to discern separate policy issues and were able to sift out the issues they found most critical. Individuals began to mobilize only in response to those issues that they found directly pertinent rather than viewing each dispute as part of an all-or-nothing battle in which no ground could be lost. The process of formulating policy discussed in Chapters 6 and 7 also reflects this importance of time and learning on the content of ethnic politics. As in the case of the Târgu Mures¸ riot, the Cluj statue protests also began with a mass-first mobilization in 1992. However, there was some involvement of Hungarian elites in planning one demonstration in 1992 and then increased involvement of Hungarian elites in the organization of half of the demonstrations in 1994. In contrast, although the Romanian mayor was consistent in his attempt to incite mobilization among Romanians, his efforts generally fell on deaf ears. Ordinary Romanians instead mobilized in 1992 and 1994 primarily in response to mobilizations by ordinary Hungarians. Figures 5.1 and 5.2 reflect these dynamics. A closer examination of these graphs reveals the following interactive patterns. These patterns are visible as portions of the graphs and were broken down into separate visual examples in Chapter 2.60 II. A. Mass-First/Elite Delay In the initial statue protest in 1992, a group of Hungarian students gathered at the square and remained there in spite of efforts to convince them to go home. Hungarian party elites became involved after they realized the salience of the statue issue for ordinary Hungarians, at which point they helped to organize a demonstration/ecumenical service for December 6. Romanians also exhibited mass-led mobilizations in 1992, responding not to the mayor’s consistently agitated rhetoric but rather to Hungarian mobilizations. 59 60

Added evidence of this apathy appears in Brubaker et al., Nationalist Politics. These figures depict events as they unfolded over several days. Days containing several events are broken into portions and depicted in components such as Nov. 30a and Nov. 30b. Asterisks indicate periods of time of intense action.



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10 8

Intensity of Action

6 4 2 0 –2

Nov. Nov. Nov. Nov. Nov. Nov. Nov. Dec. Dec. Dec. Dec. Dec. Dec. Dec. Dec. Dec. Dec. Dec.- Jan. Late Early Mid26 27 28 29 30a* 30b* 30c* 1 2 3 4 5 6a* 6b* 7 8 9 Jan. 23 Jan. Feb. Feb.

–4 –6 –8 –10

Days H Masses

R Masses

H Elites

R Elites

R Elite Mods

Intervention

figure 5.1. Cluj Statue Controversy, 1992: Action Codes Using Modified Goldstein Scale 10 8

4 2 0

*E ar l *L y M a a *E te y ar Ma ly y J Ju un. n. Ju 8 *J n. 9 u M n. 1 id 4 * J Jun un e *J . 2 un 0 Ju . 22 n. Ju 23 n. Ju 24 n. Ju 25 n. Ju 26 Ju n. 2 n. 7 Ju 28 n. a* 28 *E b* J Ju /J l. Ju 4 l. Ju 5 *J l. 6 ul *J . 7a ul .7 Ju b l. Ju 8 l Ju . 9 l. Ju 10 l. *J 11 ul *J y 15 u *A ly 2 ug 0 Au . 2a g. Au 2b gu st

Intensity of Action

6

–2 –4 –6 –8

–10


R Masses

H Elites

R Elites

R Elite Mods

figure 5.2. Cluj Statue Controversy, 1994: Action Codes Using Modified Goldstein Scale

II. B. Mass–Elite Tandem for Minorities In spite of significant mass-first mobilization, Hungarian elites and masses also show a high level of cooperation in the Cluj events, in contrast to their Romanian counterparts. These dynamics are similar to those in Târgu Mures¸. Given that democracy tends to work against minorities, minority claim-making may be more



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successful when elites and masses operate more as a “team.” In the Cluj events, Hungarian elites did increase their level of involvement after they began to realize the resonance of the statue issue among ordinary Hungarians. Hungarian elites became particularly involved in the June 1994 events.61 However, although Hungarian elites scaled back their involvement after June 24, ordinary Hungarians remained active, as shown by the Hungarian mass-first mobilizations. II. C. Mass Indifference to Elites for Majorities In the Cluj demonstrations, Romanian masses began to lose interest in the provocative invocations and actions of the strident Romanian mayor, Ghorghe Funar. Romanian mass mobilization tapered off in the 1992 demonstrations and by 1994 waned even further. This shift demonstrates two aspects of ethnic politics. First, ordinary members of the majority need not turn to protest, as they can rely on votes to obtain their goals. Second, the routinization of contentious action over time can begin to reduce levels of mass mobilization. Over time, Romanians realized that the statue issue did not have broader implications and they thus began to lose interest. II. D. Cross-Group Emulation: Mobilization In Cluj, Romanian masses tended to mobilize not in response to the mayor but rather in response to Hungarian mobilizations, similar to Târgu Mures¸. This interaction took place twice in 1992. By 1994, however, Romanian masses were weary of the issue. It is important to note that the action intensity codes tell us only part of the story – an examination of the narrative provides more context. What initially appears to be cross-group emulation in June of 1994 was in fact a prescheduled Romanian gathering; Hungarians later decided to protest it in advance. Emulation need not always follow in sequence, as a group might plan in advance to “preempt” a scheduled event. An examination of narrative details can provide this added context. II. E. Boundary Weakening: Elite and Group Splintering The mayor’s mania regarding the Mathias statue was not shared by all Romanian officeholders and party leaders. In particular, Romanian elites at the county level were willing to make a number of concessions to Hungarians, distancing themselves from the mayor. These elite deviations are represented as actions scaled neutrally at 0, in which elites splinter and make neutral concessions toward the other group. These interactive patterns are strikingly robust across the bilateral mobilizations in both cities. With the exception of mass indifference to elites, which appears in the Cluj statue protest, the interactive mechanisms outlined here appear in abundance in both the Târgu Mures¸ riot and the Cluj statue protests. 61

In Figure 5.2, “E J/J” represents the end of June into July.



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40 30 20 10 0

Nov. Nov. Nov. Nov. Nov. Nov. *Nov. Dec. Dec. Dec. Dec. Dec. Dec. Dec. Dec. Dec. Dec. Dec.- Jan. Late Early Mid26 27 28 29 30a* 30b* 30c* 1 2 3 4 5 6a* 6b* 7 8 9 Jan. 23 Jan. Feb. Feb.

–10 –20 –30 Days H Masses

R Masses

H Elites

R Elites

R Elite Mods

Intervention

figure 5.3. Cluj Statue Controversy, 1992: Action Codes with Participation Weights

25 20 15 10 5 ar l *la y M a *E te M y ar a ly y J Ju un. n. Ju 8 *J n. 9 u m n. 1 id 4 * J Jun un e *J . 2 un 0 Ju . 22 n. Ju 23 n. Ju 24 n. Ju 25 n. Ju 26 Ju n. 2 n. 7 Ju 28 n. a* *M 28b -E * J Ju /J l. Ju 4 l. Ju 5 *J l. 6 ul *J . 7a ul .7 Ju b l. Ju 8 l Ju . 9 l. Ju 10 l *J . 11 ul *J y 15 u *A ly 2 ug 0 Au . 2a g. Au 2b gu st

0

–5

*e


30

–10 –15 –20 Days H Masses Intervention

R Masses

H Elites

R Elites

R Elite Mods

figure 5.4. Cluj Statue Controversy, 1994: Action Codes with Participation Weights

II. F. Mobilization Dynamics and Number of Participants Although the action codes present a useful means to compare the actions of elites and masses, when used alone they conceal the fact that some mass protests were better attended than others. Once participation weights are added to



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the scale, they reveal some of these differences, illustrated in Figures 5.3 and 5.4. The graphs show that among both Hungarians and Romanians, the largest gathering of 1992 took place on December 6, while in 1994 the Hungarian protests of June 8, 22, and 24 and July 7 tended to draw similar numbers of people.

iii. conclusions This chapter has outlined in detail the dynamics of mobilization behind the Cluj statue protests of 1992 and 1994, using event analysis and action codes to represent the interactions between elites and masses of each group across time. This approach reveals interactive mechanisms similar to those in the Târgu Mures¸ riots discussed in Chapter 4. The observations presented here demonstrate the centrality of mass actions in mobilization over the action of elites, as well as the willingness of minorities to use protest to advance their aims. They also show some increased elite involvement in organizing demonstrations by 1994, in contrast to the spontaneous character of mobilizations in 1992. Just as ordinary people learned how to use contention to achieve goals over time and interaction, elites also learned that they could sometimes try to jump on the bandwagon of these contentious sentiments. However, it is important to note the continued mass-led character of contention overall. Indeed, Mayor Funar’s consistent efforts to mobilize Romanians to support his causes fell on deaf ears. Romanians mobilized in emulation of Hungarian mobilizations in these stories, but did not respond to the mayor’s appeals. The next two chapters turn away from the local, city-level analysis of mobilization and instead examine policy formation at the state level, in relation to aggregate contention data across the three sample cities in each state.


6 Forging Language Laws Schools and Sign Wars

In daily interactions in mixed areas, language is a flexible tool for communication, and bilingual conversations are not uncommon. In the diverse Transcarpathian region, where language fluidity is accepted as the norm, conversations may involve each participant speaking their own language or Slavic dialect,1 but with everyone understanding each other. As the interloper who occasionally had to ask for clarification in such discussions, I found that sometimes people didn’t even realize that they were mixing languages. “That’s simply the way we live here,” one commented. As explained by the mayor of a town with split group demographics, “people use whatever seems appropriate. This also goes for the town council meetings.”2 In the three towns examined with split demographics across Romania, Slovakia, and Transcarpathian Ukraine, it is customary for shopkeepers to greet customers in both languages, usually responding in the language chosen by the customer. At the grassroots level, language tends to be simply a tool for communication, not a political matter. In multi-ethnic communities that are also multilingual, people will commonly choose the path of least resistance to communication, whether this means one person switching to the other’s language to conduct basic transactions or whether conversations become truly bilingual. Those living in these regions realize that a successful interaction with others does not require a perfect command of the other’s language – a rudimentary mastery of a second language can be sufficient. People thus tend to learn a language “to the degree that they need it.” A young Hungarian who wishes to move out of a Hungarianmajority enclave may be bilingual, while her parents and grandparents who remain in the enclave may maintain only a rudimentary knowledge of the titular language. Similarly, a titular person living in a Hungarian enclave may learn 1

2

Ukrainian, Russian, Ruthenian, Slovak, and Hungarian are the typical languages available from the menu. On language use and “code-switching,” see Susan Gal, “Language and Political Economy,” Annual Review of Anthropology 18 (1989), pp. 345–67; and John Gumperz, Discourse Strategies (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1982). He added, however, that all written records and official documents are written in the state language.

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Forging Language Laws: Schools and Sign Wars

Hungarian in order to maximize his or her social network, as titulars living in Hungarian enclaves who do not speak Hungarian often have a smaller social circle. As a result of their different networks, even members of the same family may begin to rely on different languages as their favored mode of communication.3 Daily linguistic interactions, however, are not the only part of the language story in these states. Some of the same people who comfortably switch among multiple languages in their daily interactions are also strongly committed to policies that would promote their own “mother tongue” language in the public sphere. Debates over language policy produced some of the most contentious exchanges among Hungarians and others throughout the 1990s, as each group sought state support for their language of choice – often at the expense of other languages.4 This chapter examines how language policies were forged out of contentious debates across Slovakia, Romania, and Ukraine during the 1990s.

i. language policies and why they matter Hungarian, a Finno-Ugric language, is in a different language group than each of the titular languages in the three states. Romanian is a Latin-based language, and Slovak, Ukrainian, Ruthenian, and Russian are Slavic languages. Linguistic group differences are not always a good indicator of potential language disputes. In Ukraine, the most visible conflicts over language take place among Slavs – between Ukrainians and Ruthenians, as well as between Ukrainians and Russians. This pattern holds even in the western region of Transcarpathia. Under the Soviet regime, Hungarians attended Russian-speaking schools, because Russian was promoted as the “inter-nationality” language of the Soviet Union. In everyday interactions, Hungarians are also more likely to speak the Transcarpathian dialect (Ruthenian) than Ukrainian, based on their available social networks. Like the Russians and Ruthenians, Hungarians therefore tend to resist language policies promoting “Ukrainianization.” The situation in Hungarian enclaves is somewhat reversed – there, Ukrainians and Russians may join forces to resist local “Hungarization.” Although interactions at the local level require mastery of the titular language only to a certain degree, such mastery is usually crucial for successful interactions at the state level. At the state level, the titular language is the common tongue for interactions among different linguistic groups, and the use of Hungarian is limited to Hungarian–Hungarian interactions. The titular

3

4

These tendencies for individuals to absorb a language to the degree they need to use it were often observed and were mentioned in interviews, especially with Irén Balogh, Berehove, June 1998; Olivér Kiss, September 30, 1997; Péter Kolár, president of Csemadok, Košice, April 8, 1998; and Levente Salat, director of the Soros Foundation, Cluj, July 23, 1997. An extensive examination of these politics appears in Csergo, Talk of the Nation; and Volodymyr Kulyk, “Language Identity, Linguistic Diversity and Political Cleavages: Evidence from Ukraine,” Nations and Nationalism 17, no. 3 (2011), pp. 627–48, at pp. 627–8.


Language Policies and Why They Matter

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language thus takes priority at the state level, while the minority language is relegated to the status of a “regional language” or “mother tongue.”5 However, these roles for each language may be unofficially reversed in Hungarian-majority enclaves. Language policies attempt to formulate rules about which languages should be used in public settings. Disputes over such policies involve language use in interactions with state and local authorities, the demarcation of names on official documents, the posting of signs, and the language to be used in education. Titulars tend to understand language heterogeneity as a hindrance to the smooth functioning of public activity, arguing that it requires duplication and translation that can drain state resources.6 In contrast, Hungarians generally wish to augment the status of their language in the public sphere, in line with a desire to “live their lives – as fully as possible – in Hungarian.”7 This different viewpoint on language between Hungarians and titulars is about more than mere words; it is also about resources and identity. First, the number of available jobs and educational slots per group will vary greatly according to the official status of their mother tongue language.8 Second, Romanians and Slovaks hold the status of “state-forming nations” in the Romanian and Slovak state constitutions, while Hungarians do not. When states officially privilege their titular nations, language becomes a tool to socialize individuals into that state. Language use is thus not simply an ethnic marker but can also be understood by many titulars as a sign of loyalty or disloyalty to the state.9 Hungarians, however, tend to view the preservation of the Hungarian language as a question of group loyalty, as a means to preserve their identity and ward off assimilation – but not in terms of loyalty or disloyalty to the state.10 In all of these states, names chosen to denote geographic locations have been particularly contentious. Cities, towns, and villages carried Hungarian names before 1918–20. When these territories were taken over by Hungary’s neighbors, nearly all of these spaces were renamed in the titular languages. To this day, Hungarians continue to refer to city and town locations – and sometimes streets or squares – by their Hungarian names. As a result, debates have raged in each state over whether location signs should be bilingual. In places where

5 6

7

8 9 10

An overview can be found in Brubaker et al., Nationalist Politics. It is often considered a “handicap,” a view that often arose in interviews with titulars in all states. Term from Lachman M. Khubchandani, Plural Languages, Plural Cultures: Communication, Identity, and Sociopolitical Change in Contemporary India (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press/East-West Center, 1983), p. 66. This phrase was also reflected in interviews with Hungarians in these states. Extensive insight on the details of linguistic politics can be found in Zsuzsa Csergo, “Beyond Ethnic Division: Majority–Minority Debate about the Postcommunist State in Romania and Slovakia,” East European Politics and Societies 16, no. 1 (2002), pp. 1–29; and Csergo, Talk of the Nation. Laitin, Identity in Formation. Csergo, “Beyond Ethnic Division”; and Csergo, Talk of the Nation. Csergo describes this as the “cultural reproduction” aspect of language. Csergo, Talk of the Nation, p. 5.


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bilingual signs have been established by law, they are often vandalized by titulars. As described by Zsuzsa Csergo, such acts constitute struggles to mark and preserve space.11 Numerous protests, petitions, and other forms of mobilization throughout the 1990s regarding language revealed the enormous resonance of language debates among ordinary people. Individuals hold sincere desires regarding what language they can use with local officials and what language their child must use in school. Individuals may also simply defy official language policies, continuing to use language as they choose. These states often looked askance at such practices, allowing some de facto flexibility in relation to official policies – especially as the issue began to resonate less in the late 1990s. As one example, during the fall of 1997 a group of Romanian parliamentarians visited the Hungarian enclave region to examine how adept local schoolchildren were in their use of the Romanian language. In some schools, the children had been taught specific phrases to employ if Romanian “investigators” appeared, guided from signals by their teachers. But when this strategy was uncovered, the “scandal” was limited to a few articles in the Romanian press.12 One reason for this tepid response, much to the chagrin of Romanian extremist politicians, stems from the societal learning over time that took place during the process of contention. During the early 1990s in Romania, contention involved a great deal of brinkmanship on both sides, with each testing the limits of the other. By 1997, however, the parameters of possible action for the Romanian state had become more clearly defined through the repetition of contentious interactions. By this point, the linguistic aptitude of the enclave schoolchildren simply did not make the state’s list of policy battles to fight with the Hungarians. Similar examples emerge in the overview of 1990s language politics in Slovakia, Romania, and Transcarpathian Ukraine that follows.

ii. language disputes in slovakia The language debate in Slovakia centers on two competing paradigms. Hungarians view the right to use their language as crucial to the survival of their identity in the Slovak state. Ethnic Hungarians comprised approximately 11 percent of the Slovak population in the 1990s, and intermarriage between Hungarians and Slovaks tends to be more common in Slovakia than in Romania.13 Whether the children of these mixed marriages should attend Slovak or Hungarian schools is a topic of much debate within each group, as 11

12

13

Csergo, “Beyond Ethnic Division”; and Csergo, Talk of the Nation, p. 6. See also Tilly, “Spaces of Contention.” Interview with an unnamed school teacher, Miercurea Ciuc, October 1997; Adeva˘rul, “Românii din inima Ardealului îs¸i pierd identitatea,” October 27–28, 1997; and România Libera˘ (hereafter RL), “Românii din Harghita s¸i Covasna se simt frustraț i,” October 27, 1997. This is partly due to the fact that both groups may be either Catholic or Protestant, allowing for crosscutting cleavages. Cross-cutting cleavages do not appear with regard to religion in Romania, as Romanians are Orthodox or Greek Catholic and the Hungarians there are Catholic or Protestant.


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notions of assimilation often focus on the language issue.14 Hungarians accuse Slovaks of assimilating Hungarians by removing or reducing their opportunities to speak their mother tongue, and Slovaks similarly accuse Hungarians of assimilating Slovaks in the country’s southern regions with Hungarian concentrations by “forcing” them to speak Hungarian in daily interactions.15 The issue of state loyalty also feeds the language debate. Whereas some Slovaks view a person’s choice of language as reflecting loyalty to the state, Hungarians resist this view.16 These fears stem from the shifting borders and language policies of the past century. II. A. “Official” Language Use: Language Laws and the Naming of People and Places Debates over language use emerged in Slovakia as early as 1990, while the territory was a republic in the Czechoslovak federation. In October 1990, the parliament of the Slovak Republic passed a law on official language use in that portion of the federation. Three variants of the law had been proposed: one by the Slovak cultural organization Matica Slovenská; one by the Coexistence Party (already primarily a Hungarian movement); and one by a coalition of governing parties, including the Public against Violence (VPN), the primary revolutionary movement of 1989 in Slovakia.17 The VPN version was the law that passed, much to the disappointment of both Hungarians and strident Slovaks who wished to see stronger protections for their own languages. The constitution for the new Slovak state, adopted by the republic in September 1992, referred to Slovak as the “state language” of the Slovak Republic.18 Many Hungarians did not support the Czechoslovak divorce, as they considered a state in which both Slovak and Hungarian were secondary to Czech to be more optimal than a state in which Slovak might be endorsed as the only official language. Soon after independence, the new Slovak government, headed by Vladimír Mecˇ iar, began steps to minimize the presence of Hungarian in official circles. In 1992 and 1993, road crews following orders from the Transportation Ministry began removing location signs throughout southern Slovakia that

14 15

16

17

18

This reflects Csergo’s points on language as cultural reproduction in Talk of the Nation. Ján Podolák, “Asimilácia Slovákov na južnom Slovensku,” Literárny Týždenník, April 2, 1993, pp. 11–12; and interview with Podolák in Bratislava, March 25, 1998. His studies are frequently cited in Slovak circles. Interviews with Gabriela Kobulská, director of Matica Slovenská in Komárno, and Ol’ga Cˇ ierna, Komárno, March 9, 1998, and with Krisztina Reiter of Coexistence, Košice, April 8, 1998. Dunataj (Komárno), “K otázke zákona o úradnom jazyku, Stanovisko Okresného výboru VPN,” October 20, 1990. The VPN was the counterpart to the Czech Civic Forum (OF). Article 6, section 1, Slovak version. In the English version, this is misleadingly translated as the “official language.” The Slovak version reads, “Na území Slovenskej republiky je štátnym jazykom slovenský jazyk.” Reprinted in Ministry of Culture of the Slovak Republic, Štátny jazyk v praxi (Bratislava: Ministry of Culture of the Slovak Republic, 1997), p. 35.


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were written in the Hungarian language.19 Some towns protested this action in creative ways throughout the summer of 1993. For example, the mayor of the small town of Marcelová/Marcelháza, near Komárno, closed the road through the town in response to the August 11 removal of a sign on the town’s outskirts denoting the town as Marcelháza, leaving only the Slovak version. At noon the next day, the town was closed to traffic, and two town police officers erected a barrier that read “protest” in Slovak, Hungarian, and German. After television coverage of the blockade that day, the central government ordered the barrier removed. The local police simply placed the “protest” banner over the road and requested that those traveling in their direction might detour around the city, in a gesture of solidarity. However, the mayor also stated that he would await the parliament’s pending decision regarding whether Hungarian town names could also be used. From the Slovak perspective, the mayor’s actions were a “provocation,” and they argued that the town had a long Slovak history.20 This matter of location signs remained controversial for some time. The Hungarian parties organized a demonstration in Komárno on August 27 to protest the removal of Hungarian signs for town names. The demonstration drew approximately four thousand protesters. There some Hungarian leaders noted that a letter would be sent within a few days from the Hungarian parties to the Council of Europe to protest the government’s actions.21 In the letter, the parties argued that the Slovak Republic was in violation of norms regarding minority rights, and that the Ministry of Transport’s actions had been a violation against signs that were the property of the local towns and villages. They also protested the reduction of teacher training for Hungarian schools, the law on personal names (discussed later in this chapter), and the fact that the English translation of Article 6 of the Slovak Constitution made Slovak an “official” language whereas the Slovak version established it as a “state” language.22 The Slovak government persisted in ignoring Hungarian complaints, and the Hungarian strategy turned to the question of autonomy, as discussed in the next chapter. In the context of Hungarian declarations of autonomy, the Slovak parliament formally rejected by a close margin a law that would allow for

19

20

21

22

According to Beáta Kovács Nás, these policies began as early as the fall of 1992 and increased in the summer of 1993. “Chronology: Hungary and Hungarian Minorities,” in Nationalities Papers 24, no. 3 (1996), pp. 563–85. Komárnˇ anské Listy (hereafter KLi), “Kto kali vodu v národnostných vzt’ahoch na južnom Slovensku, alebo causa Marcelová,” and “Marcelová – (ne) známe fakty?” August 20, 1993; and Komáromi Lapok (hereafter KLa), “A túlfeszített húr elpattant: Marcelháza hét napja,” August 20, 1993. The status of Hungarian education was another concern raised at the meeting. KLa, “Tiltakozó naggyu˝lés Komáromban,” September 3, 1993. According to official Slovak media, only 1,500 were present. Foreign Broadcast Information Service, Europe (hereafter FBIS-WEU), “Hungarian Parties Air Grievances to CE,” September 1, 1993, pp. 24–5; originally read in Slovak on Bratislava Rozhlasová Stanica Slovensko Network, August 31, 1993.



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bilingual location signs in areas with ethnic minorities.23 This contention over location signs became dubbed the “sign war” (táblaháború) among Hungarians. In addition to locality names, personal names became a contested issue throughout 1993. Under the Czechoslovak state, Hungarian names had been “Slovakized” in official documents, such as birth registers. Christian names were translated into their Slovak equivalents, while parents who gave their children Hungarian names without Slovak equivalents often had to choose a Slovak name for the child’s official use. Also, because female last names in Slovak carry an -ová ending, whereas Hungarian names do not, Hungarian women’s names were automatically registered with this ending. On July 7, 1993, the Slovak parliament voted by secret ballot to allow minorities to register their names in their mother tongues, a measure in agreement with Council of Europe statutes. However, the government recommended that the law go through a second reading, putting its legal status in question and delaying its implementation. A severely watered-down version of the law passed in September during a session in which the Hungarian representatives left the session in protest.24 II. B. A Temporary Reprieve from the Mecˇ iar Government The Mecˇ iar government was removed by a no-confidence vote on March 11, 1994, which opened the door for more liberal minority policies. The reformist Jozef Moravcˇ ík government that held power for nine months before the renewed success of Mecˇ iar’s party in the fall 1994 elections allowed for increased visibility of the Hungarian language. The new Moravcˇ ík government submitted to parliament a more comprehensive and liberal proposal on names, including the removal of -ová suffixes for women. Although the parliament approved the proposal, many local governments did not act immediately to implement changes in legal registers, and name changes required a long petitioning process.25 The reformist government also proposed an amendment to the language law that would allow for bilingual locality signs in areas with more than a 20 percent Hungarian minority.26 The first defeat of the sign law by one vote on June 6 was a blow to the Moravcˇ ík government. Slovak nationalists and Hungarians – displeased with a version that they found inadequate – voted against it. However, when the law was proposed again a month later, on 23

24

25

26

RFE/RL Daily Report (hereafter RFE/RL), “Slovak Parliament Rejects Law on Bilingual Signs,” January 31, 1994. RFE/RL, “Slovak Parliament Approves Law on Names,” July 8, 1993; Slovenský Východ (hereafter SV), “Hungarian Parties Air Grievances,” and “Parliament o priezviskách: 70 za, 41 proti,” September 25, 1993. The law, “Zákon NRSR cˇ . 300/1993 Z. z. o mene a priezvisku,” is reprinted in Ministry of Culture, Štátny jazyk v praxi, p. 42. KLa, “Merjük vállalni a nevünket,” June 2, 1995. The law, “Zákon NR SR cˇ . 154/1994 Z. z. o matrikách,” is reprinted in Ministry of Culture, Štátny jazyk v praxi, p. 43. SV, “Štvrt’ stovky bodov na programe vlády: jedno, cˇ i Štefan cˇ i István,” May 4, 1994; RFE/RL, “Slovak Government Agrees to Amend Law on Names,” May 4, 1994; and RFE/RL, “Slovak Cabinet on Minorities and Budget,” May 11, 1994.


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July 7, it easily passed, with only Slovak National Party (SNS) and HZDS deputies opposed.27 Hungarians viewed this sign law as only a “temporary” compromise, as it provided only for signpost designations and not for the general official use of Hungarian names. Under the new law, communities that disagreed with their appellation could hold a referendum change it. The prevailing opinion among Slovaks was that it was unacceptable to recognize officially those (Hungarian) names that had been used during the Horthy regime’s rule of Slovakia during World War II. The Hungarian opinion was that the compromise was somewhat empty. As one Hungarian critic noted, the new law essentially stated that, “we’ll give you the sign, but not the name.”28 All the same, the signs represented an official recognition of a Hungarian presence, an overall improvement for the Hungarians. As one writer expressed, the “Hungarian sign means this: that in the community, Hungarians – or Hungarians as well – reside. This is why it should matter to us, that our name appears on its own page.” However, once established, the signs with Hungarian names were sometimes vandalized with spray paint.29 II. C. The 1995 Language Law After the fall 1994 elections heralded the return of Mecˇ iar’s HZDS-SNS government, the Hungarians again began losing ground on the language issue. In the fall of 1995, the government proposed a law to codify Slovak as the state language. The Hungarian representatives in parliament resisted the placement of the proposed language law on the docket, with the argument that the time should instead be used to discuss the pending basic treaty between the states of Slovakia and Hungary – but they were outvoted.30 The Hungarian state prime minister Horn sent a letter to the Slovak government criticizing the proposed law, to no avail. In the course of debate over the language law on November 15, Hungarian representatives in the Slovak parliament called it unconstitutional, while representatives of the government coalition made statements that those who opposed the law were a public disgrace, or that they demonstrated their “great malevolence, hate, and scorn of the nation within whose midst they live.” The law passed that day with an overwhelming margin: 108 “yes” votes,

27

28

29

30

RFE/RL, “Slovak Parliament Rejects Law on Road Signs,” June 6, 1994; and SV, “Máme ‘tabul’ový’ zákon,” July 8, 1994. The law, “Zákon NR SR cˇ . 191/1994 Z. z. o oznacˇ ovaní obcí v jazyku národnostných menšín,” is reprinted in Ministry of Culture, Štátny jazyk v praxi, p. 47. FBIS East Europe (hereafter FBIS-EEU), “Duray Sees Signpost Law as Temporary Solution,” July 14, 1994, p. 30; originally from Prague Cˇ TK News Service, July 8, 1994; and KLa, “Adunk táblát, nevet nem . . .,” September 9, 1994. Gemerské Zvesti (hereafter GZ), “Sprejom na tabule?” December 7, 1994; and Gömöri Hírlap (hereafter GH), “Kék tábla és személyi lap,” December 12, 1994. SV, “Slovencˇ ina ako najdôležitejší znak osobnosti národa,” October 25, 1995; and SV, “Návrh zákona o štátnom jazyku na programe 15. novembra,” November 9, 1995.



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17 “no” votes, and 17 abstaining. The only parties opposing the law were the Hungarian coalition and the Christian Democratic Party (KDH).31 The law specified the Slovak language as the “most important sign of the individuality of the Slovak nation.” It argued that public administration activities and meetings in official settings would be required to take place in Slovak and emphasized the Slovak language in education and broadcasting. The law deliberately avoided the issue of the conditions under which minority languages might be used, leaving them to be clarified by future legislation.32 The government never addressed the use of minority languages during its remaining three years in office, leaving it open to arbitrary enforcement. II. D. Of School Directors and Report Cards As in many East European countries, minority-language schooling was prevalent under the Czechoslovak socialist regime. Hungarian schooling may imply separate institutions, particularly at the grade school level, or it may take the form of Hungarian classes in mixed schools. Although it persists in the post-1989 system, its existence has become highly contentious in all of these states. After the independence of Slovakia in 1993, various government programs began to emphasize more Slovak-language instruction in Hungarian classrooms. In addition, various disputes arose at the local level regarding the use of buildings and monies for either Slovak- or Hungarian-language education. Both parents and students were active participants in various local protests over such matters.33 Beginning in 1990, grassroots efforts began to raise money for an independent Hungarian-language university. By the end of the 1990s, there was no exclusive state university in Hungarian, but there was a Hungarian section for pedagogy and culture at the university in Nitra, and the cities of Komárno and Král’ovský Chlmec sponsored city universities in the Hungarian language.34 The return of the Mecˇ iar HZDS-SNS government in the fall of 1994 brought an increased push by the government to increase Slovak-language instruction. The government’s education ministry, headed by a member of the extremist SNS, began implementing a program of “alternative education” throughout 1995, which was intended to increase the use of the Slovak language in minority schools by offering some subjects in Slovak – particularly history and geography. These efforts were strengthened by a law passed by the parliament on April 6, 1995. This law centralized the educational apparatus in Bratislava, giving the 31

32

33

34

New York Times, “Slovaks Further Curb Use of Hungarian Language,” November 16, 1995; and SV, “Rozprava plná rozporov – súhlasu, protinávrhov i odporu,” November 16, 1995. “Zákon NR SR cˇ . 270/1995 Z. z. o štátnom jazyku Slovenskej republiky,” reprinted in Ministry of Culture, Štátny jazyk v praxi, pp. 16–24. A description also appears in Sharon Fisher, “Making Slovakia More ‘Slovak,’” Transition 2, no. 24 (November 29, 1996), pp. 14–17; and New York Times, “Slovaks Further Curb Use of Hungarian Language,” November 16, 1995. Such protests included a dispute over both grade school and high school resources in Rimavská Sobota in 1993 and 1994 and over a grade school in Komárno in 1995. Interview with Kovács István, Herényi Béla, and Bán Zoltán, Rimavská Sobota, April 29, 1998.


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Ministry of Education the power to hire and fire all school directors. On April 22, a group of Hungarian teachers, parents, children, and party leaders met to protest the alternative education program in Komárno, which they understood as an effort to assimilate Hungarian children.35 By late May 1995, the Education Ministry declared that it would be replacing a number of school directors throughout Slovakia. Parents protested the Education Ministry’s actions by keeping their children home on the last day of school, which ensured that the children would not pick up their report cards and certificates. They thus wished to provide an informal record of the number of parents who resisted the changes. The school director removals, which took place throughout the summer of 1995, were particularly concentrated in southern Slovakia in schools with Hungarian-language instruction. Even some Slovak media criticized the draconian measures being taken by the government with regard to Hungarian-language education. On June 29, simultaneous demonstrations were held in several towns throughout southern Slovakia to protest the dismissal of these school directors.36 The following 1995–6 school year brought various forms of protest to different schools. The night before the first day of the new school year, parents held quiet demonstrations in front of schools in Komárno. On the first day of school, the Hungarian schools generally ignored the traditional speech by the Ministry of Education, and at several schools the parents kept their children home on the first day in protest or simply showed up at school in place of their children. On September 12, Komárno hosted a well-publicized group of Hungarian students from Romania who were making a “Youth Caravan for Mother Tongue Education” from Romania to the European Union offices in Strasbourg by bicycle to protest Romanian government efforts to curb Hungarian-language education there.37 The school situation remained unresolved throughout 1996 and 1997, with the new pro-Slovak school directors attempting to impose the new education policies and with Hungarian parents generally refusing them. 35

36

37

Under the plan, parents could choose “alternative” classes in Slovak for their children in minoritylanguage schools. Very few parents did so. Sharon Fisher, “An Education System in Chaos,” Transition 1, no. 16 (September 9, 1995), pp. 44–9, especially p. 48; GH, “Alternatív oktatás – az anyanyelvi kultúra és az anyanyelvu˝ mu˝velo˝dés leépitése,” March 7, 1995; GH, “Tiltakozás és felhívás!” April 19, 1995; KLa, “Meghívó az április 22-el tiltakozó nagygyu˝lésre,” April 21, 1995; KLa, “Szlovákiai Magyar pedagógusok tlitakozó nagygyu˝lése Komáromban,” April 28, 1995; and Tünde Puskás, “Language Policies as Indicators of Nationalism in Estonia and Slovakia,” Master’s Thesis, Central European University, p. 44. Fisher, “Education System,” p. 49; GH, “Nemet mondtak az alternatív oktatásra,” July 4, 1995; GH, “Tiltakozó levél,” July 11, 1995; GH, “Obava z konfliktu,” part I, June 6, 1995; GH, “Obava z konfliktu,” part II, June 14, 1995; GH, “Rozumnejšia alternatíva,” June 14, 1995; GZ, “Alternatívne školstvo,” July 6, 1995; GZ, “Bez udania dôvodu,” August 31, 1995; KLa, “Nem kérünk az alternatív kínálatból,” June 30, 1995; NS, “Újabb igazgatóleváltások szlovákiai iskolákban,” August 28, 1995; and SV, “Spolužitie varuje pred ostrou reakciou mad’arských spoluobcˇ anov,” May 24, 1995. KLa, “Rendhagyó tanévkezdés,” and other articles, September 8, 1995; and KLa, “Ifjúsági Karaván az Anyanyelvu˝ Oktatásért,” September 15, 1995.



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II. E. The “Report Card War” The absence of a law on the use of minority languages gave the Education Ministry a particular advantage in its efforts to promote the Slovak language. Using the 1995 law on the state language as justification, the ministry declared that it would end the practice of issuing bilingual report cards and certificates to children in Hungarian schools, beginning with the January 1997 midyear reports. According to the ministry, the report cards were official documents that were only to be written in Slovak, the state language. Hungarian school directors and teachers in Komárno met on January 15 to design their own bilingual reports, and school directors in the western towns of Dunajská Streda and Nové Zámky38 called for the resignation of SNS Education Minister Eva Slavkovská. More than two hundred teachers signed a protest petition in the eastern county of Trebišov. On the late January day that the monolingual reports were issued, Hungarian parents throughout southern Slovakia boycotted them either by keeping their children home from school or by instructing their children to refuse to pick them up, a protest that originated from below. Afterward, several parents began signing petitions against the measure.39 Many individuals jumped into this debate at the grassroots level. The mayor of a small town near the Hungarian border produced a customs form from 1876 that was written in five languages, arguing that even the AustroHungarian Empire had been more flexible with its official language use than the Slovak state. In interviews a year later, many Hungarians remembered this difference as showing that although traded goods merited several languages in the last century, Hungarian children could not obtain such respect in the contemporary Slovak state. Because this issue touched nearly every Hungarian, it achieved a high level of resonance and outrage, with the Hungarian press dubbing it the “report card war” (bizonyítványháború).40 As the school year began to draw to a close in June 1997, protest demonstrations by Hungarian parents and teachers took place in eight of the largest Hungarian communities across southern Slovakia. Over fifty thousand had signed petitions, and eighty thousand letters had been sent to the Slovak ministry protesting the steps taken in Hungarian-language education, particularly with regard to the report card issue. With the June release of report cards, some parents again kept their children home from school or had them refuse the

38

39

40

Komárno is 64 percent Hungarian, and Dunajská Streda and Nové Zámky are 83 and 31 percent, respectively. “Városok és falvak jegyzéke,” in Együttélés/Coexistence, Az önkormányzat az önrendelkezés alapja (Bratislava: Együttélés 1994), pp. 248–64. KLa, “Bizonyítványosztás után” (interview with Fodor Attila of the Slovak Hungarian Teachers’ Association), February 7, 1997. KLa, “Ne hagyjuk magunkat méglázni!” February 14, 1997; and KLa, “Komáromból indul a harmadik világháború?” February 28, 1997.


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reports. For their part, strident Slovaks decried these protests as a sign of the Hungarian minority’s lack of loyalty to the state.41 In a September 1997 meeting between the prime ministers of Slovakia and Hungary, Mecˇ iar and Horn, Mecˇ iar had vaguely promised Horn that duallanguage report cards should not pose a problem for the 1997–8 school year. However, when report time came again in January 1998, the government and Minister Slavkovská stated that only Slovak reports would be issued, partly because the bilingual reports were expensive. County governments were to fund and produce an additional, unofficial record in Hungarian if requested by the parents, an option that almost no parents used because they viewed it as a sign of defeat. On January 30, all official reports were released only in Slovak.42 However, different schools took different measures of their own. In some, school officials modified the names on the reports with a typewriter or issued their own Hungarian-language reports. Other administrators admitted that they were compelled simply to issue the monolingual reports, pending an appeal to the Constitutional Court. In some locales, parents kept their children home from school that day, and where children did attend, some took home Slovak reports, while others refused them.43 On March 15, 1998, the Education Ministry removed two school directors in the small towns of Búcˇ /Búcs (94 percent Hungarian) and Bátorove Kosihy/ Bátorkeszi (85 percent Hungarian), near Komárno. According to the Hungarian press, the directors’ removals were due to the fact that on the day that school reports had been issued, a large majority of parents in both towns had kept their children home from school. The local parents quickly began organizing a series of protests, and the Slovak Hungarian Teachers’ Association began sending letters to the EU, the UN, and the United States to protest the removals, stating that their situation was not simply a local case but was representative of the Slovak government’s attacks on Hungarian-language education. The Hungarian parties also became involved.44 A March 31 demonstration in Bátorove Kosihy drew 2,000 participants, a sizable number for a town of 3,600. On April 1, the government removed another school director in Dunajská Streda, making a total of twenty school directors who had been

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Népszabadság (hereafter NS), “Veszélyben a szlovákiai magyar oktatás,” June 4, 1997; GH, “Ilyen is volt, meg olyan is,” July 1, 1997; and Lúcˇ , “Lidri mad’arskej koalície nevedia, cˇ o je slušnost’: iredentistické snahy neochabujú” (letter to editor), September 25, 1997. Romániai Magyar Szó (hereafter RMS), “Kétnyelvu˝ szlovákiai bizonyítványok bonyadalma,” November 15, 1997; Sme, “Na školách v Šahách a vo Fil’akove nemali žiadosti o vydanie dvojjazycˇ nej informácie o vysvedcˇ ení,” January 31, 1998; Szabad Újság (hereafter SÚ), “Kell-e vagy sem a nem hivatalos kétnyelvu˝ bizonyítvány? January 28, 1998; Új Szó (hereafter ÚS), “Ismét a kétnyelvu˝ bizonyítványról: Mennyibe kerül?” January 27, 1998; and ÚS, “Mindenütt egynyelvu˝ bizonyítványt adtak,” and “Senki sem kért a fordításból,” January 31, 1998. Slovak Spectator, “Report Cards Cause Problems,” February 12, 1998; and SÚ, “Milyen érzéssel adták ki a szlovák nyelvu˝ bizonyítványt a magyar iskolákban?” February 11, 1998. NS, “Magyar igazgatókat váltottak le Szlovákiában,” March 18, 1998; and ÚS, “Nemcsak Búcs és Bátorkeszi ügye,” and “Elo˝rehaladás nélkül,” March 21, 1998.



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removed since 1995.45 Protesters continued to mobilize in Búcˇ and Bátorove Kosihy, and on April 5, a “living chain” of four thousand individuals joined hands in protest to connect the two towns, a distance of 5 kilometers. The protesters included schoolchildren, and they called for the return of the two school directors as well as for the reinstatement of bilingual report cards. A few Slovaks were present as well. Protests continued throughout April, and letters and petitions were sent to the government.46 On April 28, the SNS submitted an education bill to parliament that would severely curb minority-language education. In response to Hungarian criticism of the SNS and the government, the SNS party president stated that if the Hungarians wanted schools in their own language, they should support them themselves, without the help of the state. To protest the proposed education bill and the general state of education, parents in Búcˇ and Bátorove Kosihy kept their children home from school on May 26. During the next two days, parents in two neighboring towns also kept their children home from school in a sign of solidarity and protest against the proposed education law.47 As discussions over the bill intensified, on June 12, more demonstrations drawing a total of ten thousand took place in Galanta in the west and Moldava nad Boldvou in the east, and that day few Hungarian children attended school.48 When report cards were distributed at the end of the month, Education Minister Slavkovská visited Galanta to make sure that the school was issuing them only in Slovak. Some Hungarian parents again kept their children home from school, but no broadly organized protest took place. In late August, the 1998–9 school year began without school directors in Búcˇ and Bátorove Kosihy.49 At this point, many Hungarians had turned their energies to the upcoming September elections, which they hoped would oust the government coalition – and which did. As the new Mikuláš Dzurinda government prepared legislation on the state language and on education in late 1998 and 1999, one of its first steps was to reestablish the issuing of bilingual report cards in four hundred Hungarian-language schools.50

45

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47

48

49

50

SÚ, “Újabb igazgatókat váltottak le,” April 8, 1998; ÚS, “Iskoláink védelmében,” April 1, 1998; ÚS, “Újabb igazgatót menesztettek,” April 3, 1998; KLa, “Mi lesz az iskolaháború vége?” April 3, 1998; and ÚS, “Hu˝ tükre a honi viszonyoknak,” June 12, 1998. Previously, 106 schools had issued bilingual report cards. Sme, “Školy bez riaditel’ov v Búcˇ i a Bátorových Kosihách spojila živá ret’az obcˇ ianskeho protestu,” April 6, 1998; ÚS, “Vissza az igazgatókat!” April 6, 1998; ÚS, “Levél Slavkovskának,” April 16, 1998; and ÚS, “Levél a járási elöjáróhoz,” April 17, 1998. Sme, “L. Szigeti: SNS likviduje narodnostné školstvo,” April 29, 1998; Sme, various articles, June 4, 1998, p. 5; and ÚS, “Látamozott könyvek,” April 30, 1998. KLa, “Az egyszer már elismert jogokat csak a diktátorok vonják vissza!” June 19, 1998; and ÚS, “Szülo˝földünkön – anyanyelvünkön!” June 13, 1998. Sme, “V Búcˇ i a Bátorových Kosihách zacˇ nú školu bez riaditel’ov, v Jesenskom v nevyhovujúcich priestoroch,” August 25, 1998; and ÚS, “Slavkovská provokál,” June 26, 1998. Sme, “Po dvoch rokoch sa vrátili dvojjazycˇ né vysvedcˇ enia,” January 30, 1999; and ÚS, “Visszaállt a régi rend,” January 30, 1999.


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It is important to note that these extensive, grassroots contentious actions took place before the 1998 elections that ousted Mecˇ iar. These mobilizations were instrumental in the momentum leading up to the election, as I observed while in Slovakia between January and May of 1998. Indeed, elite-driven actions by nongovernmental organizations and other civic groups also had some effect on the electoral outcome. But such activities became more useful in protest form, such as a large March 25 general demonstration by opposition forces against the government in Bratislava. Similarly, the constant stream of Hungarian protests in southern Slovakia contributed to an overall sense of chaos and disruption, one that gave just enough electoral support to the opposition for them to take the reins of government after the fall elections.51 These facts serve as a corrective to accounts that credit only the Hungarian party and the post-1998 government for achieving changes on linguistic matters. In fact, it was these prior grassroots mobilizations that produced the electoral change to enable such policy shifts. II. F. Language and Local Administration In the months preceding the September 1998 elections, Hungarians’ frustration with the continued lack of a minority-language law fostered a petition drive to force the parliament to address this issue. According to the Slovak Constitution, an issue had to be considered by the parliament if one hundred thousand citizens signed a petition requesting its consideration. Mobilization for the petition began around February 1, 1998 – the day that the European Framework Convention on Minority Rights, which Slovakia had ratified, was to take effect. The convention included provisions on protections for some official use of minority languages.52 On February 1, Rósza Erno˝, a representative of the Hungarian Coalition Party (SMK/MK) in the Slovak parliament, greeted the assembly in Hungarian and proposed that they discuss the Hungarian coalition’s draft minority-language law. The Hungarian coalition also began efforts to bring the 1995 language law before the Constitutional Court for the second time, now taking into account the international agreements signed by Slovakia.53 Within this contentious preelection political context of early 1998, individuals became quite sensitive about language use in their daily interactions with

51 52

53

Mecˇ iar’s HZDS party officially won the most seats, but could not form a government coalition. NS, “Pozsony nem akar kétnyelvu˝ államot,” July 7, 1997; and Sme (English page), “Minority Language Law Petition Tops 10,000 Signatures So Far,” February 5, 1998; SÚ, “Petíció – anyanyelvünkért,” January 28, 1998; and ÚS, “Két hónapon belül meglesz a százezer,” February 4, 1998. Sme, “Poslanci odmietli zaradit’ na schôdzu NR SR návrh zákona o používaní jazyka národnostných menšín,” and “Máme právo hovorit’ v NR SR po mad’arsky,” February 4, 1998; Sme, “Mad’arská koalícia chce dat’ zákon o štátnom jazyku znovu na Ústavný súd,” February 7, 1998; SÚ, “Szükség van kisebbségi nyelvtörvényre,” February 11, 1998; and ÚS, “Ezentúl magyarul is felszólalhatnak,” February 4, 1998.



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others. Even greetings that a month before might have been ignored were now often viewed as heavy with meaning. Slovaks living as a minority in Komárno and in other enclave towns felt that it was no accident that Hungarians did not speak Slovak to them, calling it part of an intentional, cooperative refusal to use the Slovak language.54 In late February, the government declared that the language law made the practice of using Hungarian location names in television and radio broadcasts in Hungarian illegal. Some broadcasters attempted to avoid the names by using appellations such as “the capital city” or “East Slovakia’s second largest city.”55 On March 1, the European Minority Languages Charter took effect in Slovakia, yet a few days later the Constitutional Court declared that only Slovak could be used in parliament. European Union observers visited Slovakia on March 9 and 10, declaring Slovak minority policies to fall below European norms and standards and noting the need for a law on the use of minority languages.56 The government’s continued resistance to change its policies led opposition parties to claim that the survival of an HZDS-SNS government could be fatal to Slovakia’s future admission to the EU, and that a coalition with Hungarian parties would be viewed favorably by Western Europe. This argument fared well in the 1998 elections. But it is crucial to note that European institutional standards were picked up and deployed in these domestic debates – their causal effects were only filtered through domestic politics.57 The highly contentious nature of language issues required a process of domestic debate before stable policies could be forged. II. G. A 20 Percent or 10 Percent Solution? After its victory in the 1998 elections, the Slovak Democratic Coalition (SDK) government, which included the Hungarian Coalition Party (SMK),58 took sizable and immediate steps to change the language legislation. However, sharp disagreement quickly emerged between the Slovak and Hungarian members of the coalition over the particular nature of new legislation.59 With the Hungarian SMK in the governing coalition, the government coalition was 54

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57 58

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Participant observation in Komárno, February and March 1998; Slovenské Národné Noviny, “Tak si myslím,” February 10, 1998; and ÚS, “Ez itt nem Dél-Tirol,” February 10, 1998. ÚS, “Szlovákul a tévében is,” February 27, 1998; ÚS, “Ismét a helységnevek,” February 28, 1998; ÚS, “Érvényesülo˝ keretegyezmény?” March 7, 1998; and interview with Péter Kolár, Csemadok president, Košice, April 8, 1998. ÚS ,“Reménykedhetünk-e?” February 28, 1998; ÚS, “Felszólni: csak szlovákul!” March 5, 1998; ÚS, “Szlovákia – a léc alatt,” March 10, 1998; and ÚS, “El kell fogadni a kisebbségi nyelvtörvényt,” March 11, 1998. Also observed by Csergo in Talk of the Nation. The other governing parties were the Party of Civic Understanding (SOP) and the Party of the Democratic Left in Slovakia (SDL’). Miroslav Kusý, “Ako vyžit’ s jazykovým zákonom?” Obcˇ ianské Spolocˇ nost’, June 1999, pp. 5–7; Slovak Spectator, “Language Law Held up by Squabble,” June 7–13, 1999; Sme, “Koalícii hrozí kríza kvôli návrhu zákona o používaní jazykov menšín, tvrdí Csáky,” May 3, 1999.


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fraught with tension over this issue and had difficulty coming to an agreement on policy. The SMK made it clear that although the SDK could technically get its version passed in parliament without the support of the Hungarian parties, the lack of Hungarian support for a minority-language law would make Slovakia look bad to the European Union and other Western institutions that the new government was trying to impress. Hungarian leaders noted that they simply could not sacrifice the support of their voters for the good of the government coalition, thus they could not support the weaker SDK version of the proposed law.60 The SDK version would allow for minorities to use their language in interactions with local administration in communities where they comprised more than 20 percent of the local inhabitants. The Hungarian party version, far more extensive, proposed that this threshold should be 10 percent and that such provisions should apply at the county and regional level as well.61 The HZDS-SNS forces linked to Mecˇ iar, now in opposition, gleefully celebrated the disagreement between the SDK and the Hungarians as a “government crisis.” They strongly disagreed with both proposals and distributed pamphlets against any changes in the language legislation that they had established under the previous regime. They also initiated a petition to hold a referendum on the issue of the use of minority languages at the local administration level. The petition, which required 350,000 signatures for a referendum to be proposed, had obtained this number of signatures by early July.62 The Hungarians, circumventing a norm of coalition government, introduced their own proposal in parliament in June 1999 to compete with the SDK version. Hungarian Coalition Party president Béla Bugár explained that this deviation did not mean that the Hungarians were leaving the government (a previously considered option), but simply that they disagreed with the other government parties on this issue. “If we step out of the government over this,” noted Bugár, “then how can we later help the Hungarians of Slovakia in similar problematic cases?” In the meantime, the SDK version of the language law was approved by

60

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Sme, “SMK neche podporit’ zákon o jazykoch menšín,” and “Dohoda by nemala byt’ horkou pilulkou,” June 9, 1999; ÚS, “MKP: elfogadhatatlan a jelenlegi változatban,” June 8, 1999; and ÚS, “Nincs közös nyelv,” June 9, 1999. Sme, “Návrh zákona o používaní jazykov národnostných menšín,” June 11, 1999; Sme, “Návrh zákona o používaní jazykov národnostných menšín podl’a SMK,” June 14, 1999; ÚS, “Javaslatok, különbségek,” June 10, 1999; and ÚS, “Részletesebb dokumentumtervezet,” June 11, 1999. The Hungarian party’s version also included provisions for education that the SDK version lacked and proposed more extensive official protection for the use of Hungarian locality names The petition also included a provision against the privatization of strategic industries. RFE/RL, “Slovak Opposition Completes Referendum Drive,” July 7, 1999; Slovenská Republika (hereafter SR), “Vládna kríza klope na dvere,” June 10, 1999; SR, “Trinást’krát nie,” “Prijmú protiústavný zákon,” and “Petícia za vyhlásenie referenda,” June 14, 1999; Sme, “HZDS chce do júla predložit’ 350-tisíc podpisov za referendum of jazykovom zákone,” June 16, 1999; Sme, “Vyhlásenia referenda o jazyku a strategických podnikoch bude problém pre právnikov prezidenta,” June 19, 1999; and ÚS, “‘Szlovákul szól a nép,’” June 14, 1999.



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the European Commission on National Minorities as providing adequate protections of minority rights.63 After much parliamentary debate, parliament finally approved the SDK version of the minority-language law on July 10, 1999, by a vote of seventy to eighteen. The SMK voted against the bill, and the HZDS and SNS parties boycotted the vote.64 The law was promptly given favorable recognition by the European Commission and later by the Organization for Security and Cooperation in Europe (OSCE). However, Hungary formally objected to the law and sided with the SMK, stating that law violated the Hungarian–Slovak state treaty and that it would “hinder” relations between the two states.65 On July 14, SMK leaders in Slovakia called on President Rudolf Schuster to return the law to parliament; instead, he signed it on July 20. The SMK announced that it would “reconsider” its government participation the following day, but did not end up leaving. The matter was closed – for all except the HZDS and SNS, which submitted their petition to reconsider the matter but received no government response.66 II. H. Language Contention in Slovakia throughout the 1990s The complex events outlined in the preceding subsections can be summarized in a graph of the HURS data from the 1990s. Figure 6.1 depicts contentious activities on language by group during this period. Different activities are counted and weighted by intensity, so that a demonstration event is weighted as a more intense action than a petition, in line with the codes in Table 6.1 and outlined in the appendix. As in previous chapters, Hungarian actions are registered above the x-axis with positive weights, and titular actions are registered with negative weights. 63

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Sme, “SMK vie o nepriechodnosti svojho návrhu, jeho zverejnením chcela ukázat’ absurdnost’ obvinení,” June 16, 1999; SÚ, “A kormányból nem lépünk ki,” June 16, 1999; and ÚS, “Hágai javaslatok a tervezet kibo˝vítésére,” and “Bábeli nyelvtörvényzavar,” June 16, 1999. RFE/RL, “Slovak Parliament Approves Minority Language Law,” July 12, 1999; Sme, “Vládny návrh jazykového zákona nerieši otázku národnostných menšín,” June 18, 1999; and ÚS, “Még egy nekifutás,” June 22, 1999. RFE/RL, “European Commission Welcomes Slovak Minority Language Law,” and “Hungary Criticizes Slovak Language Law,” July 13, 1999; RFE/RL, “EU Sees Slovakia Negotiating Entry at Year’s End,” July 14, 1999; and RFE/RL, “OSCE Welcomes Slovak Minority Language Law,” July 20, 1999. When the president declined to call the referendum on the grounds that the question was one of human rights, the parties made an unsuccessful appeal to the Constitutional Court. NS, “Népszavazást tartanak a szlovákiai nyelvtörvényro˝l?” July 29, 1999; RFE/RL: “Slovak Hungarian Ethnic Party Wants Schuster to Return Law to Parliament,” July 15, 1999; RFE/ RL, “Slovak President Promulgates Minority Language Law,” July 21, 1999; RFE/RL, “Hungarian Party in Slovakia to ‘Reconsider’ Participation in Government,” July 22, 1999; RFE/RL, “Hungary Files Objection to Slovak Language Law,” July 23, 1999; RFE/RL, “Slovak Opposition Submits Referendum Petition to President,” July 29, 1999; and RFE/RL, “. . . While Meciar Supporters Appeal to Constitutional Court over Referendum,” September 21, 1999.



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table 6.1. Weights for Group Actions across Sample Cities Weights per Event

Types of Action Declaration, celebration, visit, request, vandalism, deny, hunger strike (due to individual nature) Walkout, boycott, petition, vote, decision, meeting, debate, and demonstrations with fewer than 100 participants Demonstration, strike, violence against a person

1 2 3

14 12 10

Events

8 6 4

0 –2

Dec-89 Mar-90 Jun-90 Sep-90 Dec-90 Mar-91 Jun-91 Sep-91 Dec-91 Mar-92 Jun-92 Sep-92 Dec-92 Mar-93 Jun-93 Sep-93 Dec-93 Mar-94 Jun-94 Sep-94 Dec-94 Mar-95 Jun-95 Sep-95 Dec-95 Mar-96 Jun-96 Sep-96 Dec-96 Mar-97 Jun-97 Sep-97 Dec-97 Mar-98 Jun-98 Sep-98 Dec-98 Mar-99 Jun-99

2

–4 Dates Hungarian

Slovak

figure 6.1. Language Activity in Slovakia – HURS

This divergence allows for an observation of polarization and emulation between groups. This graph differs from the mobilization graphs in Chapters 4 and 5 in three ways. First, rather than depicting a local instance of contention over a short period of time, Figure 6.1 is a broad view of contention using data from the three sample cities across Slovakia during a several-year period. Although the graphs in Chapters 4 and 5 point the microscope at local actions, this graph draws back for a broad view of state-level contention. Second, this graph represents aggregate group activities and does not distinguish between elites and masses. Finally, the action weights used here are based on the simpler three-point code, outlined in Table 6.1, for the purpose of counting and representing a large number of events more easily.


Language Disputes in Romania

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This graph shows that Hungarians were far more likely to engage in contentious activity on language throughout the 1990s than were Slovaks. This observation supports the premise that minorities should be more likely to advance claims through protest than will majorities, because democracy does not work in their favor. Hungarians tended to protest in reaction to government actions that they found damaging to their language rights, such as the removal of bilingual signs throughout southern Slovakia in 1993, decisions centralizing education in 1995, and the cessation of bilingual report cards in 1997. In the short term, the results of such protests were often indeterminate. However, a broader view of the formation of language policy throughout the 1990s shows how protest directed the form of this trajectory, as discussed at the end of this chapter.

iii. language disputes in romania Language disputes in Romania differed in scale from those in Slovakia, given the smaller proportion of Hungarians there. While Hungarians in Slovakia constitute 11 percent of the population, in Romania they are 7 percent, proportions reflected in the Hungarian party representation in each state’s parliament. Fundamental disputes between Hungarians and Romanians over language, however, are quite similar to those in Slovakia. Hungarians in Romania also believe that the use of their language is crucial to the preservation of their identity, while Romanians tend to understand language use either in purely practical terms of preserving a common state language or in terms of language as a marker of loyalty to the Romanian state. As in Slovakia, the use of location signs and official language in Romania has also been controversial. The degree to which Romanian is spoken in the Hungarian/Szekély enclave in central Romania is another touchy issue. Probably the most contentious issue in Romania has been the status of education in the Hungarian language. This debate included a Hungarian proposal to establish a Hungarian-language university, which became particularly contentious as the Hungarian party (UDMR/RMDSz) entered the governing coalition after the elections of 1996. According to a survey published in early 1999 of Hungarians in Romania, 79 percent agreed that it was “not allowable to give up on the founding of an independent Hungarian-language university,” and 62 percent stated that it was the most important issue to them at the time of the survey.67 The university thus had sizable resonance among ethnic Hungarians in Romania, as did (and do) most issues regarding Hungarian education.

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Only 26 percent thought that a “multicultural university” compromise might be acceptable. Sz, “RMDSz felmérés, nem szabad lemondani a Bolyai-egyetemro˝l,” April 10, 1999. This survey was conducted by the Center for Research on Inter-ethnic Relations (CCRIT) at Babes¸-Bolyai University, Cluj.


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III. A. Of Locality Signs and City Officials During and after the March 1990 violence in Târgu Mures¸, several placards denoting street or firm signs in Hungarian disappeared from public view. Romanian government officials justified their continued absence with the argument that the signs hurt Romanian sensibilities, noting that the Hungarianlanguage inscription on a pharmacy had played a role in the violent events in Târgu Mures¸. Hungarian street signs also began to disappear in Cluj in the spring of 1991. This process became more accelerated throughout 1992, after the election of Ghorghe Funar, a Romanian nationalist, as Cluj’s mayor. Hungarian-language signs had only been visible in Cluj since the fall of the Ceaus¸escu regime, and Funar quickly ordered them to be taken down soon after his election. A few months after his election, Funar also levied fines against two Hungarian-language middle schools for displaying Hungarian-language placards, saying that he was merely trying to uphold the law on the country’s official language. The Hungarians responded with well-publicized protest declarations.68 In January of 1993, Funar produced local regulations stipulating that all public inscriptions must be written in Romanian. At that time, he fined a Hungarian school, sent a warning to the Hungarian Opera in Cluj about its posters, and prohibited the singing of the Hungarian national anthem. In 1995, he levied an enormous fine against the Hungarian Opera for a Hungarianlanguage banner advertising a Bartók festival. He also continued his efforts to eliminate street signs with Hungarian names, declaring them to be anachronistic remnants of the Hungarian rule of Cluj during World War II.69 The skirmishing over bilingual location signs continued intermittently over the next several years, in spite of an emergency ordinance issued by the president regarding language in early 1997. Ordinance 22/1997 provided for the existence of bilingual signs in communities in which the minority comprised over 20 percent of the local population; the ordinance also modified a local administration law from 1991.70 As attempts were made throughout the late summer of 1997 to establish bilingual locality signs, some Romanians described this gesture as an effort to reinstate the names that had existed under the Austro-Hungarian 68

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NÚ, “Nevük-volt, nevük-nincs utcák,” June 21, 1990; Sz, “Cserélik az utcanévtábláinkat!” May 17, 1991; Sz, “‘Törvényeink tiltják a kétnyelvu˝ feliratokat,’” April 3, 1992; and Sz, “Funar saját kezüleg kivánja elvégezni,” April 18, 1992. Funar was actually in violation of a 1991 public administration law, according to Brubaker et al., Nationalist Politics; and Michael Shafir, “Transylvanian Shadows, Transylvanian Lights,” RFE/RL Research Report, June 26, 1992, pp. 29–30. Kovács Nás, “Chronology”; Sz, “Plakátjaink továbbra is betiltanak,” January 7, 1993; Sz, “Szaporodnak a román oroszlánykölykök, de egyelo˝re maradnak a magyar utcanevek,” November 25, 1995; and Jan Cleave, “Romanian Nationalist Mayor Protests HungarianLanguage Banner,” Transition 1, no. 21 (November 17, 1995), p. 70. This 20 percent threshold follows a West European norm. Dan Oprescu, “Politici publice pentru minoritatile nationale din Romania,” Sfera politicii no. 66, available at http://www.dntb.ro/sfera.



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or the World War II Horthyite occupation. One historian proclaimed that the “uncontrolled bilingualism” promoted by the government’s Ordinance 22 could only lead to conflict. Although the ordinance did not require that such signs be approved by local councils, officials in Cluj County managed to delay the installment of bilingual signs for some time, using the argument that the emergency ordinance would eventually need to be passed by parliament and might be modified in the process. They also tried to establish that the names could only be Hungarian translations of the Romanian names rather than the historic Hungarian names. As the UDMR strongly advocated the use of historic Hungarian names, they were branded as provocateurs by the Greater Romania Party (PRM), Funar, and some of the local Romanian press.71 As bilingual signs began to appear in early October, they were vandalized in several locations, including in Târgu Mures¸. The sign had its Hungarian name, Marosvásárhely, repeatedly vandalized with paint – often in red, yellow, and blue, the colors of the Romanian flag – an expensive problem that inspired some dialogue between local Romanian and Hungarian leaders. Hungarians protested the fact that the vandalism had occurred in spite of the signs being guarded by police, stating that the vandalism had taken place with the police officers’ “supervision.” Ethnic Hungarian leaders in Târgu Mures¸ also proposed that a number of the town streets should bear Hungarian names, a move opposed by many Romanians.72 In Cluj, Mayor Funar resisted the portion of the ordinance on the ability of minorities to use their language in interactions with local officials, and in early November he declared that all city employees would be required to pass a Romanian-language exam.73 In mid-March 1998, the Romanian Senate defeated Ordinance 22. However, by December of that year, the Senate approved one article of the law, allowing for minorities to use their mother tongue in interactions with local authorities,

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Romanians view the Hungarian names as particularly unjust for communities that have historically contained Romanian majorities, and for Romanian names that were given Hungarian versions either during Hungarian rule in the 1940s or under the Hungarian Autonomous Region. Interview with Mihail Groza and Adeva˘rul Harghitei, Miercurea Ciuc, October 28, 1997, and interview with Marius Însura˘ț elu and Mariana Cristescu of the newspaper Cuvîntul Liber, Târgu Mures¸, November 21, 1997. AdC, “Inscripț ionarea bilingva˘ nu se aplica˘ inca˘ în județ ul Cluj,” September 17, 1997; AdC, “Protest,” September 18, 1997; AdC, “UDMR Cluj strînge rîndurile în vederea instala˘ rii pla˘cuț elor bilingve,” and “Gh. Funar îl cere premierului revocarea ministrului Tokay Gyorgy,” September 19, 1997; Evenimentului Zilei, “UDMR scoate limba la români,” August 7, 1997; România Libera˘ (hearafter RL), “Cluj – UDMR dezbate cu primarii tehnica instala˘ rii inscripț iilor bilingve,” August 7, 1997; and Sz, “Hol lesznek magyar helységnévtáblák megyénkben?” September 17, 1997. RL, “La Târgu Mures¸ s-a legalizat vandalismul!!!” July 24, 1997; RL, “UDMR vrea sa˘ schimbe denumirile a 50 de stra˘ zi cu numele unor personalita˘ ț i maghiare”; and RL, “Pres¸edintele PUNR îl cheama˘ la dialog pe pres¸edintele UDMR,” July 29, 1997. AdC, “Salariaț ii Prima˘riei vor susț ine, la angajare, un test de limba româna˘,” November 1–2, 1997; NÚ, “Szervezett provokáció!” October 4, 1997; Sz, “Már befestették Szilágycsehen a kétnyelvu˝ feliratokat,” October 7, 1997; Sz, “Azon tu˝no˝döm,” October 10, 1997; interview with Smaranda Enache of Liga Pro Europa, Târgu Mures¸, November 17, 1997.


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provided that the minority group comprised 20 percent of the local population. By June of 1999, parliament had codified these modifications.74 Mayor Funar responded to the law by declaring that all Cluj residents who did not understand Romanian should present a written notice to the local registration office, a call to which no one responded.75 III. B. The Romanian Language in the Hungarian Enclave Region of Secuime/Székelyföld The vast majority of communities in the Harghita and Covasna enclave counties in central Romania contain Hungarian majorities of more than 75 percent (and in places 80 to 90 percent). In these communities, which are primarily agricultural, fewer Hungarians learn Romanian than in other parts of Romania. As is common in linguistic acquisition, whether individuals speak Romanian tends to depend more on their opportunities to use the language than on their level of education in it. Given the more prevalent use of Hungarian in these two counties, those Romanians who live there also often tend to acquire and use a great deal of Hungarian. Some Romanian officials consider this process to be one of assimilation. Others are concerned with the lack of Romanian-language use among Hungarians there. After a visit to Harghita and Covasna in the fall of 1997, Senator Gheorghe Pruteanu, president of the Senate’s education committee, strongly criticized the level of Romanian language instruction and the general lack of Romanian language use in those counties. Although Pruteanu was then a member of the Peasant Party (PNT¸CD), which was a member of the reformist government coalition at the time, his rhetoric was quickly picked up by members of the more nationalist parties in the opposition bloc. Soon after his report, a delegation of opposition deputies made their own visit to schools and to Romanian Orthodox churches in the two Hungarian enclave counties. One of the stated reasons behind their visit was to examine the impact of a recent ordinance on the teaching of history and geography in Hungarian.76

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“NS, Bukaresti nem a helységnévtáblákra,” March 18, 1998; RFE/RL, “Romanian Senate Creates New Constitutional Stalemate,” March 18, 1998; RFE/RL, “Senate Approves Controversial Article on National Minorities,” December 16, 1998; and RFE/RL, “Romanian Senate Adopts Language Bill,” May 26, 1999. The Senate passed it in May and the Chamber of Deputies in June. Currentul (hereafter Ctl), “Coaliț ia strânge rândurile în jurul UDMR,” June 30, 1999; RFE/RL, “Romanian Parliament Approves Minorities-Friendly Bill,” June 30, 1999; RL, “Statutul funcț ionarilor publici da˘ posibilitatea minorita˘ț ilor sa˘ foloseasca˘ limba materna˘ ,” June 30, 1999; and Sz, “Boros: Nem kell komolyan venni a felszólítást,” July 8, 1999. The three parties were the PUNR, PDSR, and the Greater Romania Party (PRM). AH, “Vizita˘ de informare în ‘zona autistica˘,” October 28, 1997; Ctl, “Disputa˘ româno-româna˘ în Ardeal,” October 27, 1997; and Hargita Népe (hereafter HN), “Kedves Pruteanu szenátor úr!” October 22, 1997.



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The visit was very well publicized. The deputies, unannounced, visited a few schools in the Covasna County, where their attempts to speak Romanian with the second-grade children resulted in only minimal communication. They were also displeased with the fact that small numbers of Romanian students often meant that they attended Hungarian classes. Some classes appeared to be using a Hungarianlanguage history textbook that had been published in Budapest, a fact that they and the Romanian press found particularly egregious.77 Local Hungarians reacted with indignation to the visit, which they viewed as an attempt to incite controversy by using young children, and argued that the schools should have been notified of the visit in advance. The possibility that teachers might have then better prepared students for a Romanian conversation was evident to both sides.78 After the visit, the Romanian deputies drew up a proposal on “monitoring” the situation of Romanians and Romanian institutions in the Hungarian enclave area. In the midst of the ensuing debate, Romanians noted in particular that the more extreme wing of the Hungarian party included a number of individuals from the region.79 Indeed, Odorheiu Secuiesc/Székelyudvarhely, a town with a 96 percent Hungarian population, openly prides itself on its homogeneous ethnic composition, and the inhabitants have attempted to preserve the local demographic status quo.80 The proposal on monitoring quickly turned into a proposed law on the “protection” of the Romanian language that would outlaw many foreignlanguage expressions.81 This “Har-Cov” motion regarding potential monitoring for the two counties failed by a two-to-one ratio in one parliamentary chamber in mid-November, as many parliamentarians indeed believed that the visitors had exaggerated their experiences for political purposes.82 Within a few days, it 77

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Adeva˘ rul, “Românii din inima Ardealului îs¸i pierd identitatea,” October 27–28 , 1997; AH, “Vizita˘ de informare în zona autistica˘,” October 28, 1997; Cronica Româna˘, “Desant al PDSR – PUNR – PRM în Harghita s¸i Covasna,” October 27–28, 1997; RL, “Majoritatea parlamentara˘ ar trebui sa˘ viziteze Harghita s¸i Covasna,” October 28, 1997; and RL, “Românii din Harghita s¸i Covasna se simt frustraț i,” October 27, 1997. HN, “Álruhás királyfiak,” October 28, 1997; HN, “Valami bu˝zlik . . .,” October 29, 1997; and Sz, “‘Szúropróbálkozások; a székelyföldi iskolákban,” October 28, 1997. AdC, “SRI considera˘ ca˘ în Harghita s¸i Covasna exista˘ manifesta˘ ri extremiste izolate,” November 6, 1997; Ctl, “Posibila democraț ie transetnica˘,” October 29, 1997; AH, “PDSR propune monitorizarea județ elor Harghita s¸i Covasna,” and “Cine sunt asupritori s¸i cine sunt cei asupriț i . . .,” October 30, 1997; HN, “Parlamenti felszólalás,” October 29, 1997; Sz, “Államterrorista elképzelés a székelyföldi ‘helyzet’ megváltoztatására,” November 3, 1997; and Sz, “Nem feyeget magyar veszély,” November 6, 1997. In the last few years, the town has strongly resisted founding an orphanage that would bring in children from other parts of Romania; see the discussion of Cserehát in Chapter 7, in the discussion of Romanian orphans in the Hungarian enclave. Ctl, “O urgenț a˘ milenara˘ ,” November 12, 1997; and RL, “Lege pentru protecț ia limbii române,” November 11, 1997. Pruteanu also hosted a regular television program that examined the history and structure of the Romanian language. Ctl, “Moț iunea ‘Har-Cov’ nu a avut nici o s¸ansa˘ ,” November 19, 1997; NÚ, “A Kovászna megyei tanács tiltakozó levele,” November 20, 1997; RL, “Prefectul de Harghita considera˘ ca˘ în județ domenes¸te o atmosfera˘ de convieț uire sa˘na˘toasa˘,” November 13, 1997; and RL, “‘Har-Cov’ a fost respinsa˘ cu 183 de voturi ‘împotriva˘,’” November 19, 1997.


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had been blocked in the senate, as even Romanian intellectuals viewed the proposal as being excessively intolerant.83 After the law’s defeat, the nationalist PUNR increased its emphasis on material support for Romanian institutions in the region, collecting money for the restoration of Romanian Orthodox churches that had been destroyed during the World War II Hungarian regime. However, the PDSR initiated a degree of communication with the UDMR to attempt to resolve problems in the two counties “without patriotic sentimentalism.”84 III. C. Education: Linguistic Segregation, Integration, and Protest Under the communist regime, many previously Hungarian schools had been integrated to form mixed institutions, with some classes in Hungarian and some in Romanian. Soon after the December 1989 revolution, Hungarians began agitating for separate Hungarian-language schools, a process that took place primarily at the local level. Hungarians explained the separation process as part of their newly bestowed democratic rights, arguing that the schools had historically been Hungarian. The Târgu Mures¸ dispute over schools led to the violence between Romanians and Hungarians in March 1990, as examined in Chapter 4. In Miercurea Ciuc and other communities in the Hungarian enclave region, the separation also occurred in an abrupt manner and with much upset. Romanians in the region remember having to scramble to find new places to study in the middle of the school year, with very little notice. A sharp decline in Romanian classes rendered some ethnic Romanian teachers unemployed, many of whom then left the region. One Hungarian woman sadly explained that her Romanian friends were forced to leave her school one year before they would have graduated and that now they live in “two different worlds” in the same town.85 Romanians continued to protest against school segregation throughout 1990, describing it as a way to make separatism a permanent feature of local interethnic relations – which could only foster intolerance. Some Romanians living in the Hungarian enclave stated that the ideals of the 1989 revolution had been tarnished by the marginalization of Romanians there.86 83

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Ctl, “Iniț iativa ‘Pruteanu’ – blocata˘ la Senat,” November 20, 1997; and Octavian Paler, “Zeii s¸i limba,” RL, November 21, 1997. AdC, “PDSR va înainta o moț iune ‘Harghita-Covasna,” November 27, 1997; CL, “Ziarul ‘Adeva˘ rul’ cheama˘ la salvarea bisericilor românes¸ti din Harghita s¸i Covasna,” November 19, 1997; NÚ, “A ‘Har-Cov ügy’ folytatásaként gyu˝jtési akció,” November 21, 1997; and PUNR press conference, briefing by Laza˘r La˘ dariu, Târgu Mures¸, November 21, 1997. AH, “Cine dores¸te izolare naț ionala˘ s¸i de ce?” January 21, 1990; interview with Nicolina Kurchakowsky, principal of the Octavian Goga High School (Romanian-language high school founded in 1990), Miercurea Ciuc, October 29, 1997; and interview with a young Hungarian woman, name withheld, Miercurea Ciuc, October, 1997; and Sz, “Közlemény,” January 10, 1997; HN, “Farkas avagy bárány?” January 20, 1990. The existence of these two separate worlds is amply outlined in Brubaker et al., Nationalist Politics. AH, “Separatismul: un concept discutabil,” January 30, 1990; AH, “. . . Eram s¸i noi în sala˘,” March 17, 1990; AH, “Declaraț ie – protest,” June 16, 1990; and AH, “De cine ne e teama˘ ?” July 31, 1990.



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In Cluj, Romanian organizations began opposing the existence of independent Hungarian schools and criticized the government’s early-1990 decisions increasing classes in minority education. Cluj officials attempted to add Romanian classes to two of the three Hungarian-language middle/high schools in the summer of 1991, prompting July protests by Hungarian parents and students, as well as a UDMR declaration against these attempts. Although the schools were required to offer entrance examinations for Romanian students, in the context of the protest no Romanian students presented themselves for the exams.87 In the summer of 1992, soon after Hungarians held protests over the proposed education law, the Cluj local government tried a different tactic of allocating more classes to one of the Hungarian schools without denoting what their language of instruction would be, then later explaining that some of the classes should be Romanian. The school’s director threatened to resign over the issue, saying that appeals would be made to the European Council. Again, when the entrance exams were scheduled, no Romanian students appeared to take them, and in early September the county government sanctioned the school’s Hungarian-only status – although in early 1993 the mayor fined the school for its Hungarian-language placard. Another school was assigned one Romanian class, and a small number of Romanian students actually did take the exam there.88 III. D. History, Geography, and the 1995 Education Law As the draft education law was being prepared in late 1991 and early 1992, the UDMR began to advocate the teaching of history and geography in the Hungarian language in Hungarian schools. Because the official draft law omitted this provision, Hungarians in the enclave region held a March 11, 1992, protest, followed by a larger protest in early May.89 As debates over the draft continued up through 1994, all of the Hungarian amendments submitted – which would have outlined a right to instruction in the mother tongue in all subjects at all public education levels (including vocational schools and all faculties at the university level) – were rejected. Part of the UDMR’s difficulties stemmed from the fact that the minister of education, Liviu Maior, was a 87

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Sz, “Provokákió (?),” September 6, 1990; Sz, “Iskolakonfliktus Kolozsváron,” June 27, 1991; Sz, “Egyelo˝re eredmény nélkül,” June 29, 1991; Sz, “Méltóságteljes tüntetés iskoláinkért,” and “Tiltakozás,” July 3, 1991; Sz, “Folytatódik a támadás iskoláink ellen,” July 16, 1991; and Sz, “Folytatódik az iskolakonfliktus,” August 6, 1991. A few thousand had participated in demonstrations in Cluj on June 11; the class changes were announced during the next few weeks, first at the Báthory Líceum, then at the Brassai. Sz, “Mátyás király és a kolozsvári bíró,” June 12, 1992; Sz, “Légy részen!” June 19, 1992; Sz, “Iskolai körkép a felvételi elo˝tt,” July 8, 1992; Sz, “A Báthory Líceum ismét magyar tannyelvu˝!” September 5, 1992; and Sz, “Összadja a büntetéspénzt,” January 13, 1993. Sz, “Az RMDSz Országos Elnökségének Nyilatkozata,” November 2, 1991; and Sz, “Tiltakozás a nemzetiségi jogokat csorbitó tanügyi törvény tervezete ellen,” March 13, 1992.


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member of an extreme Romanian group. Even members of the more liberal Romanian parties, who were generally allied with the Hungarians against the then-government, opposed the UDMR proposals. With the new law pending at the beginning of the 1994 school year, Hungarian schools asked parents to present a written request regarding their choice to give their child a Hungarianlanguage education, “in case of any misunderstandings or problems.”90 The law was finally passed in June 1995 without any of the UDMR modifications, in spite of a petition signed by nearly half a million Hungarians supporting the UDMR version of the law (the Constitutional Court had delayed in verifying the signatures). The Hungarians condemned the law as being more restrictive than that of the Ceaus¸escu regime, and even the Council of National Minorities, which the UDMR had previously viewed as a mere puppet of the government, criticized the law. President Iliescu signed the law in late July, in spite of UDMR efforts to convince him that he should veto it. The UDMR also appealed to the European Parliament and other institutions. A well-publicized “Youth Caravan for Mother Tongue Education” embarked on a September journey to Strasbourg by bicycle, carrying the Hungarian petition to EU leaders. The caravan was warmly welcomed by Hungarians in Slovakia as it passed through Slovakia en route.91 Several protests by Hungarian parents and students took place as the school year began in 1995. Various Hungarian cities throughout Transylvania organized their own successful protests on education. The most sizable, in Odorheiu Secuiesc in early September, drew ten thousand.92 In early November, Cluj County authorities removed a director of a Hungarian-language middle/high school. As the second attempt to remove a Hungarian school director, it prompted an indignant response among local Hungarians. When meetings failed to resolve the issue by early December, the school’s students and their parents held a “Japanese strike” against her removal. The strike involved occupation of the building and parental involvement to keep their children home on designated days. It was also understood to constitute a protest against the new education law, and the demonstrations forced the Education Ministry to agree to mediate a solution.93 The new post-1996 government that included the UDMR began with a more liberal approach to education. In the summer of 1997, the government issued

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HN, “To˝kés László Kezdeményezésere Csíkszeredában,” May 9, 1992; Shafir, “Ethnic Tension,” pp. 25–6; and Sz, “Igényelni az anyanyelv oktatását!” August 25, 1994. Michael Shafir, “Controversy over Romanian Education Law,” Transition 2, no. 1 (January 12, 1996), pp. 34–72; and Sz, “Az RMDSz nélkül szavazták meg a tanügyi törvényt,” June 15, 1995. Shafir, “Controversy,” p. 37; Sz, “Kiáltványa,” September 5, 1995; and Sz, “Tüntetések a tanügyi törvény ellen,” September 8, 1995. The school was the Apáczai Líceum. Sz, “Az RMDSz Kolozs megyei szervezetének nyilatkozata,” November 9, 1995; Sz, “Japánsztrájk az Apáczai-líceumban,” December 5, 1995; Sz, “Fehér zásló, japánsztrájk az Apáczai-líceumban,” December 6, 1995; and Sz, “A tanügyminiszter az Apáczai-ügy megoldását ígéri,” December 7, 1995.



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Emergency Ordinance 36, allowing for minority language education at all levels (including vocational education and in universities) and for the teaching of history and geography in minority languages even above the primary school level. However, as with Ordinance 22 on local administration, Ordinance 36 needed parliamentary approval. As a result, the debate over educational policy went on for two more very contentious years before parliament finally passed a new education law in the summer of 1999. III. E. A Hungarian-Language University? In September 1993, it was announced that Hungarians could take entrance exams in Hungarian at the Cluj Babes¸-Bolyai University for a designated number of Hungarian slots in various subjects.94 Under the leadership of Rector Andrei Marga, the university became known as a “multicultural” university, where courses were offered in Romanian, Hungarian, and German and where entrance exams could be taken in all three languages. In spite of the university’s unique structure, the UDMR persisted in its goal of reestablishing an independent Hungarian-language university, a long-standing feature of its electoral platform. The historic Hungarian Bolyai University had been merged with the Romanian Babes¸ University in 1959. A number of Hungarian intellectuals and party leaders thus argued that Cluj should be the location for an independent Hungarian institution, given the city’s status as a historic Hungarian intellectual center.95 Rector Marga’s multicultural university model became quite popular with the post-1996 reformist Romanian government, and President Emil Constantinescu also advocated the establishment of a multicultural university in Chernivtsi, Ukraine, with a Romanian section for the sizable Romanian community there. But some Romanians began to question the multicultural policies of the Cluj university in 1997, when affirmative action for Hungarians produced a scenario in which some Hungarians were admitted instead of Romanians who had scored far higher on the law school entrance exam. Rector Marga avoided the controversy by simply asking the central government for more places for new students, and a “student protest” organized by strident Romanian parties drew only a small number of participants – many of them clearly above student age.96

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Sz, “Lesznek magyar helyek a Babes¸-Bolyain!” July 21, 1993. Michael Shafir, “Irrational Rationality in the Carpathians,” RFE/RL Newsline, End Note, August 4, 1998; and Matyas Szabo, “Hungarian University in Romania: Culture or Politics,” paper prepared for the Convention of the Association for the Study of Nationalities, Columbia University, April 1999. The author observed the protest, which drew twenty-eight. AdC, “O universitate multiculturala˘ la Cerna˘ uț i,” September 16, 1997; AdC, “Concurenț a la secț ia româna˘ a fost de aproape trei ori mai mare ca la maghiara˘,” September 23, 1997; AdC, “28 de parsoane au ma˘ rs¸aluit ieri la ClujNapoca pentru ‘a salva înva˘ț a˘mîntul,’” September 30, 1997; RL, “Cluj – Demonstraț ia naț ionalis¸tilor – un mare fâs!” September 30, 1997; Sz, “Integráció és tüntetés,” September 30, 1997; and participant observation, September 29, 1997. An extensive discussion of student apathy regarding


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In the Senate In the summer of 1997, the president had issued Emergency Ordinance 36, which countered the more restrictive provisions of the 1995 education law. The discussion over this move, and parliament’s potential approval of a new law, fostered a public debate over the teaching of history and geography in minority languages. Although members of the antireformist parties opposed Ordinance 36, the most active lines of debate were drawn between two parties in the government coalition, the UDMR and the PNT¸ CD. Several government talks were held with both parties in an attempt to work out a compromise in this area, to no avail. The UDMR strongly advocated the study of history and geography in minority languages beyond the primary school level, as well as the establishment of an independent Hungarian university, whereas the PNT¸ CD opposed both. As the positions of each party solidified, each side accused the other of “blackmail,” and the press began to talk of a government crisis.97 As in Slovakia, the government coalition could not serve as a unitary actor on these matters with a Hungarian party in government. As the struggle continued, another coalition party, the National Liberal Party (PNL), announced that it also supported the study of history and geography in Romanian. President Constantinescu diplomatically avoided voicing an opinion on the subject.98 Problems arose within the UDMR as well, as the more extreme wing led by Bishop László To˝kés increasingly began to criticize the party’s participation in the government coalition as betraying Hungarian interests. The moderate UDMR president Béla Markó thus found himself in the unpleasant position of having to respond to both critiques from the government and from some in his own organization.99 As debate on the law began in the latter part of 1998, Rector Marga of Cluj’s Babes¸-Bolyai University, who had designed the multicultural model, was named to the post of education minister. The Cluj UDMR was initially pleased with the choice of Marga, as they viewed him as an ally of minority education. However, they became less pleased as Marga continued to support the idea of a multicultural

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the university issue appears in Jon Fox, “Missing the Mark: Nationalist Politics and Student Apathy,” East European Politics and Societies 18 (2004), pp. 363–94. CL, “UDMR ameniț a˘ cu pa˘ sa˘ rirea corabiei!” November 5, 1997; CL, “130 de minis¸tri în ca˘ utarea unei remanieri,” November 13, 1997; Ctl, “Urgenț a˘ legislativa˘ la Înva˘ ț a˘ mânt,” November 6, 1997; Ctl, “O attitudine inflexibila˘ ,” November 11, 1997; Ctl, “UDMR ra˘ mâne neclintita˘ ,” and “Remanierea,” November 13, 1997; RL, “Legea înva˘ ț a˘ mântul s-a amânat din nou,” November 4, 1997; and RL, “Vrem sau nu vrem sa˘ înva˘ ț a˘ m limba româna?” November 5, 1992. Ctl, “Negocierea limbii române,” November 14, 1997; NÚ, “Feszül a húr a kormánykoalíción belül,” November 14, 1997; and RL, “PNL va vota pentru studierea Istoriei s¸i Geografiei în limba româna˘,” and “UDMR îi cere lui Emil Constantinescu sa˘ -s¸i precizeze poziț ia în problema Legii Înva˘ ț a˘mântului,” November 14, 1997. NÚ, Útkeresés zsákutcában,” November 15, 1997.



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university rather than the division of Babes¸-Bolyai, where he also retained his role as rector.100 The UDMR’s provisions were excluded from the version of the law passed by the Senate in early December 1997, paving the way for a version from the Chamber of Deputies. Markó announced that the UDMR no longer felt obliged to honor the government’s decisions, and the party temporarily suspended its participation in the coalition. During this time, the UDMR ministers in the government cabinet went on “strike,” ceasing their involvement in the daily affairs of the government and starkly codifying the ethnic rift in the governing coalition.101 After a few days, the UDMR decided to return to business. Markó noted that the UDMR’s “leaving the government would not be of any use to the organization, nor the Hungarians of Romania, nor to the society of Romania in general.” However, the version of the law then confirmed by the Senate on December 16 also omitted the UDMR provisions. The UDMR had lost this round.102 International Views Turning to the Chamber of Deputies, the UDMR continued to advocate not just for a Hungarian university, but also for Cluj as the location for such a university. However, those who were involved externally in the university issue did not categorically support the Hungarian position. In early 1998, Max van der Stoel of the OSCE declared that Romania was not bound to any legal documents that would call for the establishment of an independent, state-funded Hungarian-language university. It is notable that Europe’s lack of endorsement did nothing to dampen the Hungarian party’s efforts, which persisted apace. After the Babes¸-Bolyai University Senate also voted against the establishment of a separate Hungarian faculty for language and literature, some UDMR members submitted a draft law proposing an independent university directly to parliament. Within a week, the UDMR again threatened to

100

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AdC, “Boros Janos (UDMR Cluj) este foarte mulț umit de noul ministru al Educaț ei Naț ionale,” December 5, 1997; Ctl, “Verdict amânat,” November 19, 1997; Ctl, “UDMR, ra˘ zboi total,” and “Senatorul de Geografie s¸i Istorie,” November 26, 1997; RL, “Legea înva˘ ț a˘ mântului a intrat în dezbatere,” November 19, 1997; RL, “Noii minis¸tri au fost audiaț i de Comisiile mixte permanente,” December 4, 1997; Sz, “Az új tanügyminiszter is ellenzi az önálló magyar egyetem létesítését,” December 5, 1997; and Sz, “Andrei Marga rektor marad,” December 8, 1997. Ctl, “România în pragul unei crize de Guvern,” and “UDMR arunca˘ în aer coaliț ia,” December 10, 1997; RL, “Radicalii sar din nou la gâtul conducerii UDMR,” December 9, 1997; RL, “Greva˘ guvernamentala˘ a minis¸trilor UDMR,” and “Legea înva˘ ț a˘ mântului ameniț a˘ sa˘ rupa˘ coaliț ia de guverna˘ mânt,” December 10, 1997; and Sz, “Szenátoraink elhagyták az üléstermet,” December 10, 1997. NS, “Az RMDSz koalícióban marad,” December 15, 1997; NS, “A román szenatus a korátozás mellett,” December 17, 1997; Magyar Hírlap, “Pruteanu gyo˝zött,” December 17, 1997; RFE/ RL, “Hungarian Alliance to Remain in Romanian Government,” December 15, 1997; and RFE/ RL, “Romanian Senate Approves Amended Education Law Regulations,” December 17, 1997.


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leave the coalition until it received assurance that the issue would be resolved by the fall.103 In late July 1998, Hungary’s Prime Minister Viktor Orbán emphasized the importance of the university to Hungary during a visit to Romania. Education Minister Marga restated his opposition to an independent Hungarian university, promoting instead the “multicultural university” framework as a solution.104 The UDMR subsequently called for Marga’s resignation, which Marga ignored; President Constantinescu declared that he would not intervene in the university dispute, stating that it was a matter for the parliament and the cabinet of ministers to decide. A few days later, the president officially endorsed the “multicultural” option.105 The Peto˝fi-Schiller Option By September 1998, the Education Commission for the Chamber of Deputies rejected the UDMR proposal, stating that it would only endorse the establishment of separate departments that would allow for Hungarian-language instruction at the university level. Yet again, the UDMR threatened to leave the coalition. UDMR deputies boycotted parliament on September 3, and then set a September 30 deadline for a decision. The minister for minorities, a UDMR member, pledged that he would resign if a Hungarian university was not established – as he later did. In the meantime, Minister Marga proposed that a different university could be established on the Hungarian–Romanian border, one serving citizens of both states.106 The government offered another compromise on September 30 in the 103

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ÚS, “Nem akadályozza,” February 12, 1998; RFE/RL, “Maverick Romanian Senator Joins Opposition Party,” February 25, 2000; Sz, “Az RMDSz nem mondott le a kolozsvári székhelyu˝ magyar egyetemro˝l,” June 2, 1998; RFE/RL, “Romanian Government to Examine Ways to Set Up Hungarian University,” June 11, 1998; “Romanian Education Minister Opposed to Hungarian University,” June 12, 1998; “Tensions Continue over Hungarian-Language University in Romania,” June 17, 1998; “Hungarian University Still Causing Tensions in Romanian Coalition,” and “. . . As Ethnic Hungarians Present Ultimatum,” June 23, 1998; “Tension in Romanian-Hungarian Relations,” June 26, 1998; and “Romania’s Hungarian Alliance to Remain in Ruling Coalition,” June 29, 1998. RFE/RL, “Hungarian Premier in Romania,” July 27, 1998; and RFE/RL, “Romanian Education Minister Still Opposed to Hungarian University,” July 31, 1998. AdC, “Deputatul UDMR Jeno Matis îi contesta˘ ministrului dreptul de a vorbi în numele comunita˘ ț i maghiare,” August 8–9, 1998; AdC, “Emil Constantinescu evita˘ sa˘ se pronunț e în problema înființ a˘ rii unei universita˘ ț i în limba maghiara˘ ,” August 8–9, 1998; NS, “Marga nem gondol a távozásra,” August 4, 1998; NS, “Constantinescu az önálló magyar egyetem ellen,” August 14, 1998; RFE/RL, “Romanian President Will Not Intervene over Disputed Hungarian State University,” August 10, 1998; RFE/RL, “Romanian Education Minister to Remain in Office?” August 4, 1998; RFE/RL, “Romanian President on Hungarian University,” August 14, 1998; RFE/RL, “Ethnic Hungarian Leader on University in Romania,” August 17, 1998; RL, “Ministrul Educaț iei Naț ionale îs¸i menț ine poziț ia,” August 8, 1998; RL, “Markó Béla vrea capul lui Andrei Marga,” August 10, 1998; and Sz, “Nem lehet többé halogatni a reformot,” August 8, 1998. RFE/RL, “Tensions within Ethnic Hungarian Party in Romania,” August 8, 1998; RFE/RL, “Romanian Parliamentary Commission Rejects Ethnic Hungarian Demands,” and “. . . While



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form of a Hungarian–German “multicultural university,” to be called Peto˝fiSchiller. Although the proposal stirred controversy among many Romanian deputies who said they would not support a proposal for a university that did not offer at least some courses in Romanian, the Peto˝fi-Schiller option was successful in preventing the UDMR from leaving the government and brought praises from the OSCE.107 On November 17, 1998, the Chamber of Deputies passed its version of the education law, which varied somewhat from the Senate version but still lacked the UDMR proposals.108 Both the border university proposal and the Peto˝fi-Schiller option suffered severe setbacks, however. The commission was prevented from entering the Babes¸-Bolyai University premises in early November 1998, about the same time that student protests took place throughout Romania against a lack of education funding and against a potential Hungarian–German University. In addition, Bucharest courts declared a university on the basis of ethnic criteria to be unconstitutional in late 1998 and early 1999. However, these decisions were reversed by the Supreme Court in July of 1999. Compromise It was not until mid-June of 1999 that a compromise between the Senate and the Chamber of Deputies versions of the education law was finally reached and legitimized by a visit from Max van der Stoel of the OSCE. After months of extensive UDMR politicking, the compromise law included a provision allowing

107

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Ethnic Hungarian Party Warns of Consequences,” September 3, 1998; RFE/RL, “Ethnic Hungarian Party to Leave Romanian Coalition?” and “Moderate UDMR Leader Pledges to Resign,” September 4, 1998; RFE/RL, “. . . But Will Cabinet Survive?” September 7, 1998; RFE/ RL, “Romanian Coalition Leaders Fail to Compromise on Hungarian University,” September 9, 1998; and RFE/RL, “Romanian Education Minister Proposes ‘Danube University,’” September 10, 1998. On the extreme wing of the UDMR and the university issue, see Michael Shafir, “Romania’s Hungarian Party Torn by Inner Conflict,” RFE/RL Newsline, End Note, April 4, 1999. RFE/RL, “Romanian Coalition Deputies Propose Amendment to Education Law,” September 24, 1998; RFE/RL, “Romania’s Hungarian Party to Leave Coalition?” September 30, 1998; RFE/RL, “Romanian Government Offers Compromise to Ethnic Hungarian Party,” October 1, 1998; RFE/ RL, “Bucharest’s Decision on ‘Multicultural University’ Stirs Controversy,” October 2, 1998; RFE/RL, “Ethnic Hungarians to Remain in Romanian Government,” October 5, 1998; RFE/RL, “OSCE Welcomes Decision on Hungarian-German University,” October 9, 1998; RFE/RL, ZsoltIstvan Mato, “Romanian Coalition Conflict Continues,” October 13, 1998; and RFE/RL, “Romanian Court Allows ‘Multicultural’ University,” July 8, 1999. Also, Ctl, “Universitatea Peto˝fi-Schiller, acceptata˘ de Curtea Constituț ionala˘ ,” July 8, 1999; and RL, “CSJ a respins acț iunea PUNR,” July 8, 1999. RFE/RL, “Cluj University Shuts Doors on Government Coalition Members,” and “. . . As Students Protest Plans to Set Up ‘Multicultural’ University,” November 10, 1998; RFE/RL, “Dispute Continues over Romanian Education Law,” November 18, 1998; RFE/RL, “Romanian Court Says ‘Multicultural University’ Unlawful,” December 11, 1998; RFE/RL, “New Tensions over ‘Multicultural University’ in Romania,” December 15, 1998; RFE/RL, “Romanian Government to Appeal Court Decision on ‘Multicultural’ University,” December 18, 1998; and RFE/RL, “Romanian Court Again Rules against ‘Multicultural University,’” March 16, 1999.


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for the establishment of separate Hungarian-language departments at universities and the establishment of “multicultural” universities. However, the law included the provision that history and geography would be taught in Romanian above the primary school level, and this continued to be a sore spot for the UDMR.109 Although the UDMR had officially endorsed the law, it was unhappy with some of its provisions. Some members, particularly in the Cluj UDMR branch, openly criticized the party’s concessions that had accompanied the law’s passage. One splinter group advocated the establishment of a church-sponsored independent university in Oradea; such a university was actually established in fall 1999 with the support of private donations and the Hungarian government.110 In addition, UDMR representatives quickly began to explore various means of establishing separate Hungarian departments at the Babes¸-Bolyai University. These actions provoked some irritation among the rector and faculty – and even among some ethnic Hungarians.111 III. F. Language Contention in Romania throughout the 1990s The complex story of language contention in Romania throughout the 1990s is summarized in Figure 6.2. This graph depicts the Târgu Mures¸ riot as a point of intense polarization between groups at the left of the graph, in early 1990. This spot on the graph illustrates the difference between Figure 6.2 and the local-level mobilization graphs of the riot in Chapter 4. The detailed mobilization graphs in that chapter take a microscopic view on the events; here they are simply represented as part of a composite decade-long view of language contention. As with the summary of contentious language activity in Slovakia, the graph shows that Hungarians were more likely than Romanians to use contention to advance their claims. However, Romanians on the whole appear to be more contentious than Slovaks and more likely to emulate Hungarian contention than were Slovaks (note that the number scale for contention here is higher than for 109

110

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Ctl, “Victorie parț iala˘ a UDMR,” July 2, 1999; RFE/RL, “Romanian Parliament Approves Compromise on Education Law,” June 16, 1999; RFE/RL, “Hungarian Minority Content with Romanian Education Law,” July 1, 1999; and ÚS, “Max van der Stoel Kolozsvárott,” June 19, 1999. Mesagerul Transilvanian, “UDMR Cluj este dezavuat de ca˘ tre conducerea centrala˘ a Uniunii,” July 17–18, 1999; Monitorul de Cluj (hereafter MdC), “Marko Bela nu e mulț umit de Legea Înva˘ ț a˘ mântului,” July 17, 1999; RFE/RL, “Hungarian Christian University Inaugurated in Romania,” September 14, 1999; RFE/RL, “Officials Discuss Subsidies for Hungarian University in Romania,” December 1, 1999; Sz, “Az RMDSz szenátusi frakciója elítéli Csapó I. József gesztusát,” July 9, 1999; and Sz, “Öszto˝l magyar egyetem indul Nagyváradon,” July 19, 1999. MdC, “Maghiarii au pornit pe drumul segrega˘rii universitare,” July 19, 1999; RL, “Se cere înființ area a înca˘ trei faculta˘ ț i cu limba de predare maghiara˘,” July 17, 1999; Sz, “Ülésezett a Felso˝oktatási Tanács,” July 17, 1999; “A Babes¸-Bolyai rektora ellenzi a magyar karok létrehozását,” Sz, July 22, 1999; and interview with an anonymous Babes¸-Bolyai faculty member, Cluj, July 1999.


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20 15 10

0 ov M -89 ar Ju 90 l N -90 ov M -90 ar Ju 91 l N -91 ov M -91 ar Ju 92 l N -92 ov M -92 ar Ju 93 l N -93 ov M -93 ar Ju 94 l N -94 ov M -94 ar Ju 95 l-9 N 5 ov M -95 ar Ju 96 l N -96 ov M -96 ar Ju 97 l N -97 ov M -97 ar Ju 98 l N -98 ov M -98 ar Ju 99 l N -99 ov -9 9

Events

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–5


Romanian

figure 6.2. Language Activity in Romania – HURS

the Slovak graph). Also similar to Slovakia, in Romania Hungarians tended to protest in response to new government restrictions on language, as in the case of government proposals on education in 1992 and the education law passed in 1995. But unlike in Slovakia, in Romania Hungarians protested not only in response to government restrictions, but also used protest during a “window of opportunity” to push for more open policies on Hungarian-language use during the uncertain period of early 1990. The overall influence of contention on language policy is examined at the end of this chapter.

iv. minority languages in ukraine The language-use issue in Ukraine was far less contentious for Hungarians there than in Slovakia or Romania, thanks largely to the strong presence of Russianspeakers in Ukraine. This situation, however, began to shift at the end of the 1990s, when additional language restrictions were introduced beginning in 1995. One month before the December 1991 referendum on Ukrainian independence, the Ukrainian parliament passed a “Declaration of the Rights of Nationalities in Ukraine” in an effort to reassure minorities of their status within the new Ukrainian state. This document contained a provision granting that in areas where non-Ukrainians comprise a majority (50 percent plus), their language might function as an official language in addition to Ukrainian. This position on minority-language use reflected the 1990 Law on Languages in the Ukrainian Soviet Socialist Republic, during the days of the Soviet Union. This 50-percent-plus provision reappeared in Ukraine’s June 1992 Law on National Minorities, which also included a liberal stance regarding education for


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minorities in their mother tongue. Such legislation was intended primarily to placate Russian-speakers – between 30 and 45 percent of the country’s population. During the 1990s, the Ukrainian language retained a status as the only official state language, which many Russians attempted to change.112 Members of Ukrainian groups such as the Rukh Party, however, repeatedly attempted to increase use of the Ukrainian language through proposed legislation on education and in other public settings. Interestingly, in spite of Ukraine’s unique linguistic situation, many of the debates that arose between the Hungarians and Ukrainians in Transcarpathia, western Ukraine, were the same as those that arose in the more “bipolar” states of Romania and Slovakia. Among these, the primary issues were the use of names and the status of minority-language education. IV. A. Berehove, Beregovo, or Beregszász? The Hungarian TUKZ/KMKSz was founded in early 1989 and by 1990 featured several local branches. Although officially a Hungarian cultural organization due to Ukrainian state laws restricting parties, the group runs candidates for public office and serves in most capacities as a Hungarian party. In July 1990, the organization decided to take advantage of the Law on Languages in the Ukrainian Soviet Socialist Republic, effective starting in January of that year. As Berehove contained a population that was more than 50 percent Hungarian, the Berehove TUKZ put forth a proposal calling for the restoration of the Hungarian “Beregszász” as the town’s legal name, recalling the town’s long history under that name. The organization also called for bilingual signs on administrative buildings and the use of Hungarian as an official language alongside Ukrainian.113 The TUKZ argued that it wasn’t that the locals didn’t understand the use of the Russian “Beregovo” or the Ukrainian “Berehove,” but that for “the majority of the population, which is Hungarian-oriented, it would be an appreciated sign of our self-respect.”114 The local council then decided to hold a late November referendum on the official use of the “Beregszász” name. The local referendum on the Hungarian name was resisted throughout 1990 by some of the city’s Slav residents, who stated that the matter was being undertaken too quickly. A letter to the paper signed by two Slavs also expressed 112

113 114

According to the 1989 census, Ukraine’s population was approximately 50 million, with 11.4 million Russians and 4.6 million Russian-speaking Ukrainians. Susan Stewart, “Ukraine’s Policy toward Its Ethnic Minorities,” RFE/RL Research Report, September 10, 1993. See also Roman Solchanyk, “The Politics of Language in Ukraine,” RFE/RL Research Report, March 5, 1993, p. 2. A Ukraine Media Club Poll listed 45 percent of the population as Russian-speaking, 39–40 percent as Ukrainian-speaking, and 15 percent mixed. Time (Ukraine), May 4, 1998. Solchanyk, “Politics of Language,” p. 3. Vörös Zászló (hereafter VZ), “Nyilatkozata,” and accompanying article, July 7, 1990. This newspaper was the socialist precursor to Beregi Hírlap. Under the Soviet Union, the Hungarian and Ukrainian versions of the paper were practically identical.



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displeasure with the new Hungarian street names. They noted the Hungarian memorial tablets that began to “multiply” around the town, arguing that all of these steps could lead to tensions between groups. Soon before the vote, the TUKZ responded that the referendum was about the restoration of the town’s historic name, not its Hungarian name, which had been changed under the rule of the “bourgeois” interwar Czechoslovak state.115 The day before the November 25 referendum, the paper published another letter from the leaders of local Ukrainian organizations, in which the authors again voiced worry that the referendum could “destabilize” the local political situation, for a goal that they found hard to understand. “Wouldn’t it be a more democratic solution,” they asked, “if everyone uses the name with which they are the most comfortable?”116 The referendum itself was a sweeping success for the “Beregszász” name, passing with 86 percent of the vote. In the County Council’s December meeting, the council approved the results and a recommendation that the county name also be changed to Beregszász. In addition, the County Council approved the change of several village names in the county to their Hungarian versions. It then prepared requests to the Transcarpathian Regional Council and the Ukrainian parliament for the formal recognition of the changes. The Transcarpathian council deferred the decision to the Ukrainian parliament, which stalled on the issue. Throughout 1991, both in the local press and in city council meetings, local Ukrainian leaders called into question the way in which the referendum had been held, alleging that some voters had been given more than one ballot. They also noted that if the town’s historic name were to be used, it should be the German name given in the Middle Ages in honor of Prince Lampert by his father, a name predating “Beregszász.”117 The name issue officially remained in the air for several years and was addressed with local ad hoc solutions.118 In early 1992, the Berehove City Council began debating the renaming of particular streets. Local Ukrainian leaders questioned why the names from the World War II “Horthyite period” (the Hungarian names) were in favorable consideration given the number of illustrious Ukrainian or Ruthenian personalities whose names could honor the streets. This letter brought some heated exchanges between the two sides in council meetings and in the local press. During a February City Council meeting to discuss the names, many Slav council members left the session hoping to deprive it of a quorum. However, citing a 115

116 117

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VZ, “Igazi népszavazásra van szükség!” November 1, 1990; VZ, TUKZ response, November 22, 1990; and interview with Fedir Savchur, head of the local Prosvita Ukrainian organization, Berehove, June 23, 1998. VZ, “Szavazás elo˝tt . . .,” November 24, 1990. Beregi Hírlap (hereafter BH), “Anonymous Beregszászban,” March 30, 1991; Kárpáti Igaz Szó (hereafter KISz), “Az emberek Beregszászra szavaztak,” November 27, 1990; KISz, “Blöff nélkül,” December 4, 1991; and Novyny Zakarpattia (hereafter NZ), “Iak povernuty istorychnu nazvu?” June 13, 1991. During the late 1990s, the author observed some surprise among Slavic-speaking train travelers when the train pulled up in front of the local station marked with only the name “Beregszász.”


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legal technicality, the remaining City Council members proceeded to approve the street name changes in spite of their colleagues’ absence. The remaining council members felt justified in this action, noting that they were only changing one-fifth of the streets and thus not “Hungarizing” the topography of the entire town.119 Although some names were also changed to the Hungarian versions in Uzhhorod, it was initially decided that these names would be written in Cyrillic rather than using the Hungarian spellings in Latin letters. Villages and small towns began putting up Hungarian location signs on their own, given a lack of funds and recognition from the central government. Through the late 1990s, these local-initiative signs remained the only Hungarian markers for the fifty villages that changed their names. With regard to personal names, the 1992 minorities law allowed individuals to write their official names without the Ukrainian patronymic form, but Cyrillic lettering was required.120 IV. B. Minority Language Education Transcarpathia offers schools in Ukrainian, Russian, Hungarian, and Romanian, which were instituted during the Soviet period. Although the Soviet Union supported minority languages, Russian was required as an “inter-nationality” language, and the number of minority schools had begun to decline in the years before the reforms of Mikhail Gorbachev. With the independence of the Ukrainian state, the Ukrainian language was promoted from its second-tier status to the state language. This shift brought with it an automatic and severe disadvantage for minority groups who had studied only their mother tongue and Russian in Soviet schools. The fact that the Russian and Ukrainian languages are similar is a doubleedged sword – many can understand Ukrainian passively, and thus rarely study it enough to speak or write it for official use. The switch to Ukrainian also occurred too quickly for the educational system, which was slow to incorporate the teaching of Ukrainian partly due to a lack of funding and materials. In 1995, university entrance exams for subjects such as history at the Uzhhorod State University required passage of a Ukrainian grammar exam. The incoming classes became quite small, as a number of students passed the subject exams but failed the Ukrainian grammar exam. As late as 1998, minorities were still attempting to learn Ukrainian without the benefit of a textbook, as no such textbook had yet been written.121

119

120

121

BH, “KMKSz jarási szervezetének évi közgyu˝lésén,” March 4, 1992; BH, “A népképviselo˝k kárpátaljai területi tanácsanak határozata”; BH, March 28, 1992; and KISz, “Több toleranciát!” February 21, 1992. BH, March 31, 1993; KISz, “Minek nevezzelek?” June 5, 1992; and KISz, “Minek nevezzelek . . .,” May 21, 1998. Interviews and participant observation in Transcarpathia, 1995 and 1998; KISz, “Az ukrán nyelvkönyvre még várni kell,” July 18, 1998.



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Compared to Slovakia and Romania, the teaching of all subjects, including history and geography, in the mother tongue was a relatively uncontested issue throughout most of the 1990s. However, in May 1997, the central Ministry of Education put forth a proposal for “polyculturalism” in the schools, under which students in minority-language schools would study all subjects in Ukrainian past the primary grades, with the exception of courses relating to their mother tongue. Many Hungarians argued that such a structure was intended to forward the “development of a Ukrainian mentality” through education, to the detriment of Hungarian cultural identity. As of late 1999, this proposal was not yet approved by the government. Hungarians also had concerns regarding the lack of a formal system to produce bilingual report cards and certificates from Hungarian schools, which were considered minor issues for a state struggling through a severe economic crisis.122 The Uzhhorod State University features a Hungarian Studies department, and Hungarians may take university entrance exams in their mother tongue for some subjects. After years of uncertainty, a post–high school teacher training school in Berehove was finally accredited by the Ukrainian state in 1996. The school had been founded in 1993 through private and religious donations, as well as through support from the Hungarian state. A Protestant church donated a building to house the school; the Ukrainian government had restored the building to the church. This donation stirred some irritation among locals, as the building contained a clinic. In a unique exchange, the Hungarian government also provided funds to construct a new hospital elsewhere in town, handily resolving this issue. The school’s legal status was much more difficult to resolve. During 1993–6, as a barrage of meetings was held with the Ministry of Education, the diplomas issued by the school were certified by a school in Nyíregyháza, Hungary. Officials from Hungary also became very involved in the accreditation process, and the school was finally legally recognized to award its first diplomas in September of 1996.123 IV. C. Language Contention in Transcarpathia, Ukraine, throughout the 1990s Although Transcarpathia was a highly contentious portion of Ukraine on the issue of autonomy during the 1990s (addressed in Chapter 7), there was less 122

123

KISz, “Jegyzetek az anyanyelvi oktatás kérdéséhez,” December 28, 1995; KISz, “Napirenden az anyanyelvi oktatás jövo˝je,” October 21, 1997; KISz, “A koncepció ügyében továbbra sincs áttörés,” December 2, 1997; ÚS, “Sztrájkhangulat,” February 27, 1998; KISz, “Nyelvében él . . . De hogyan?” May 29, 1999; KISz, “Nyilatkozat a nyelvtörvény-tervezettel kapcsolatban,” July 10, 1999; NZ, “Natsionalna skola: nabutky, problemy,” August 31, 1993; and interviews in Transcarpathia during the summer of 1998. Ildikó Orosz, “Esettanulmány a Kárpátaljai Magyar Tanárképzo˝ Fo˝iskola születéséro˝l,” Magyar Kisebbség (Kolozsvár/Cluj) III (1997), nos. 3–4 (9–10), pp. 60–83, especially pp. 72–82; KISz, “Bízom a megújulásban . . .,” May 23, 1998; KISz, “Az idén is anynyelvünkön felvételizhetnek a nemzetiségi iskolák végzo˝sei,” July 3, 1999; and interviews with Balogh Irén, BH, Berehove, June 1998, and with Orosz Ildikó, director of the teacher training school, Berehove, June 19, 1998.


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contention there on the issue of language. Given that the information on this issue was not collected as systematically as it was for Romania and Slovakia, a graphic depiction is not provided here. One potential reason for the relatively low level of Hungarian contention stems from Ukraine’s initially rather open language laws regarding minorities. Some contention did emerge over the city name of Berehove during an early period of uncertainty and change, just as it did over the autonomy issue discussed in Chapter 7. It is of note that Hungarians in Ukraine did not mobilize as visibly as those in Romania and Slovakia did, even once more restrictive changes to minority languages were introduced after 1995, particularly in the area of education. After a few years of increasing language restrictions, Hungarians began to mobilize more against these changes. By 1999, the TUKZ organized a widescale petition to request an explicit law on the use of minority languages in education.124

v. interactions in language contention The stories in this book have revealed a number of recurrent patterns of contentious interaction. Hungarians were much more likely overall to participate in contentious activity than were titulars. This is because protest is an effective way for minorities to advance claims in a democracy, effectively circumventing its majoritarian principle. Hungarians were likely to mobilize to protest a government action or proposal or to push for more liberal policies where they saw a window of opportunity. Titulars were likely to mobilize when they felt that government policy had gone too far in favoring minority languages or when they emulated contentious action by Hungarians. Protests did not always result in a change in policy in the immediate term. However, contention remained highly correlated with the trajectory of policy throughout the 1990s, as discussed in the next subsections. V. A. Common Interactive Patterns First, I outline the common interactive patterns that emerge from these accounts. They can be observed in the broad graphic depictions presented earlier in this chapter, and some distinct visual examples of each are presented in Chapter 2. Minority Contention to Advance Policy during Window of Opportunity In moments of institutional change, groups may take advantage of this political opportunity structure125 to push for advantageous policies. In Romania, the new post-Ceaus¸escu government proposed a liberal language policy, prompting Hungarians in Târgu Mures¸ to claim exclusive control of the Bolyai High School. High levels of uncertainty during such moments are linked to a greater

124 125

ÚS, “Aláírásgyu˝tést kezd a KMKSz oktatásügyben: Egy törvény kellene,” May 4, 1999. Tarrow, Power in Movement, pp. 18–20.


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potential for violence, a potential that is reduced through repeated interactions between groups. Early 1990 witnessed a Hungarian drive for increased minority-language education, Romanian responsive mobilizations, and the Târgu Mures¸ riot in March. This dispute over a local high school, which culminated in violence in 1990, produced hardly a stir when the same school became Hungarian years later. Instead, consistent interaction between groups throughout the 1990s made both groups more aware of the possible parameters of their desires regarding linguistic issues by the end of the decade. Over time, groups became more discerning about which issues required mobilization and which did not. On a smaller scale, some claims on language were also advanced during periods of uncertainty in Transcarpathia, Ukraine, in 1990 and 1991. Although minorities are generally more likely to use windows of opportunity, titulars may also engage in contention during periods of uncertainty. Emulation and Titular Protest The interactive mechanism of emulation outlined in the discussions of mobilization in Chapters 4 and 5 can also be seen in the broader view of mobilizations outlined here. There were some titular responses to Hungarian efforts to change language policy – in the case of the Bolyai School in Romania and in the case of the Berehove/Beregszász official name in Ukraine. Titular emulation of Hungarians was especially prevalent in the early 1990s and less so by the late 1990s, as majorities became more used to – and sometimes even bored by – Hungarian demands. However, as outlined later in this section, Romanians did mobilize in late 1998 in response to policy changes that they found to be too favorable to Hungarians. Government Change in Status Quo Sparks Hungarian Protest Minorities may recognize that they have little capacity to gain policy ground in divided states. However, they remain quite reluctant to give up ground that they have already begun to take for granted. It is for this reason that they are very likely to resist changes in the status quo, whether in the form of a new law or proposed policies that they perceive as harmful. They are far more likely to resist changes in the status quo than to push for new changes themselves, one factor behind variations in minority policy across states. Protests can be more effective in derailing a proposed or informal policy than in changing a measure that is in the process of becoming a law – or that has already become law. However, language laws in all of these states were modified throughout the 1990s in ways that reflect group contention. As one example of this dynamic, in 1993 in Slovakia, there were Hungarian protests against the informal policy of removing bilingual signs throughout the southern portion of the country with large settlements of Hungarians. Protests ended once this action was formally condemned by a parliamentary vote. In another instance, wideranging protests by parents and students against government education policy in Slovakia kept up a continuous stream of contention against the Slovak



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government, up through its removal in the fall 1998 elections. In Romania in 1992, the release of a Romanian government proposal that would further restrict Hungarian-language education sparked a number of Hungarian protests, particularly in Hungarian enclave areas. More Lenient Government Stance toward Minorities Sparks Titular Protest It is not only masses that use protest. Titulars may also react against laws that they believe give too much ground to minorities. When a liberal Romanian government began to take a more open stance toward the possibility of a Hungarian-language university in Romania, Romanians engaged in some contention that affected subsequent legislation. Similarly, a small group of older Slovaks also held a demonstration in support of the restrictive language law passed in November 1995. Protests remain an effective means for minorities to pressure governments to compromise on policy. However, majorities may also protest to resist concessions to minorities that they feel have gone too far. This potential for titular resistance and counterprotest prevents minorities from achieving all of their desired ends via protest – as seen most starkly in Târgu Mures¸ in 1990, but also in these other examples. V. B. Assessing Interactions Many of these common interactive patterns in ethnic contention over language policy also emerge in the contention over autonomy examined in Chapter 7. These general patterns identify some of the causal sources of policy differences across states. For example, government attempts to change the status quo are very likely to invoke protest. This fact implies that states have an incentive in maintaining the policies inherited from previous regimes. This aspect of policy path dependence and incremental change helps explain why minorities do not seem to expect the same policy standards across different states, and indeed significant variation remains even among states containing Hungarian minorities. These interactive patterns also demonstrate that protest sometimes changes policy, and that policy sometimes incites protest. Policy changes that incite protest often consist of changes to the status quo, as path dependence cultivates minority expectations regarding what they can obtain from the state. Protests that are effective in changing policy must be disruptive enough to give state officials reason to back down. Even with these nuanced aspects, there is inherent feedback and endogeneity between contention and policy trajectories. This relationship takes the form of a lagged sequence process in which one causes the other at one stage and then becomes the outcome at a subsequent stage. An attempt to identify “independent” and “dependent” variables here would be a source of frustration. Rather, a more useful approach is to identify the common patterns in this context of reciprocal causation,126 in which contention and 126

I am grateful to Bear Braumoeller for this point.


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policy together drive the shape of each other’s trajectories. Event analysis is a useful means to summarize information for this type of analysis, as it allows for direct attention to changes over time. Determining the shape of these interwoven contention and policy trajectories, and comparing them across different settings, is the task of the next section.

vi. institutionalizing language policy: contention and transition A summary of language policies in these different states appears in Table 6.2. As outlined in this table, it was not the case that one language law or policy was established early on and then “stuck” throughout the 1990s. Instead, there were repeated revisions of language laws throughout the 1990s, particularly in Romania and Slovakia. Repeated changes in these policies show that it was not the content of laws at a particular point but rather their overall trajectories that tell a more complete story of language policy production in these states. The language policy trajectories in these states can be represented using codes for more open and more restrictive policies on minority language use in the public sphere. Three main areas of language policy remain the most contentious in these states: bilingual signs, minority-language education, and language use in local administration. Government policy is most open toward minorities if it allows them to pursue their desired language use in all three of these areas, and is table 6.2. Language Policy through the 1990s, in Romania, Slovakia, and Ukraine Language Policy

Language/ Education Laws

1990 decree 1994 and 1995 laws 1997 decrees 1998–9 revised laws 1992 (as part of Government initially restrictive on public language use. Restrictive law passed in 1995 Czechoslovakia) 1995 law produces a series of Hungarian 1999 law demonstrations. New government passes more liberal law by 1999. Government conducts liberal minority 1990 (as part of the Soviet policies due to large Russian groups; Union) Hungarians benefit from these. By late 1990s, 1992 more restrictive law. 1999

Romania Government initially liberal on Hungarian Constitution 1991 education in early 1990. Stricter policies follow Târgu Mures¸ riots, loosened by late 1990s.

Slovakia Independent 1993 Constitution 1992

Ukraine Independent 1991 Constitution 1996



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table 6.3. Language Policy Codes. Content areas: bilingual signs, schools in minority language, and language use in local administration More Open Policy Minorities can pursue desired language use in all areas. Open policy with government regulation. Government takes some informal actions against minority language. Formal law restricts minority language in one area. Formal law restricts minority language in two areas. Formal law restricts minority language in all three areas. Restrictive laws carry penalties.

7 6 5 4 3 2 1

More Restrictive Policy

Open

8 7 6 5 4

Restrictive

3 2 1 0 1990

1991

1992

1993

1994

Romania

1995 Slovakia

1996

1997

1998

1999

Ukraine

figure 6.3. Language Law Content and Minorities

most restrictive if it penalizes minorities for using their language in all of these areas. Policy openness can thus be outlined according to the spectrum in Table 6.3. If these codes are applied to the content of language policy at six-month increments in these states throughout the 1990s, they produce a graph of policy trajectories over time, as shown in Figure 6.3. This graph shows strong variation in the shape of the trajectories of language policy in these three states. Language policy in Ukraine, influenced by the large Russian-speaking presence, remained relatively open throughout the 1990s, but became slightly less open in the area of education policy in 1997. Language



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policy in Romania and Slovakia exhibits a “pendulum” quality, in which policies were initially rather open, became more restrictive in the mid-1990s, and then became more open again in the late 1990s. Romanian policy became slightly more restrictive regarding language education in late 1998. These swings in openness of language policy in Romania and Slovakia illustrate the fact that European Union stances on minority languages did not have a direct, immediate effect in these states. The EU took a rather consistent position toward language laws early in the 1990s. Had the EU stances influenced language policy directly, we should see the policy trajectories in Romania and Slovakia becoming steadily more open throughout the 1990s, at similar rates, or an abrupt and rather simultaneous shift toward openness. Instead, however, there were more restrictive language laws in Romania and Slovakia by the mid1990s. There is a back-and-forth swing in policies in terms of openness to minorities. Nor do these pendulum trajectories look identical, further illustrating the driving power of domestic debates in their formation. Rather than being the product of external influences such as the EU, these differing policy trajectories are interwoven with the trajectory of domestic contention in these states. EU standards were certainly incorporated as tools in local debates where they suited the goals of domestic actors. As outlined by Zsuzsa Csergo in her extensive study of language policy formation in Romania and Slovakia, in these domestic settings international influence “is effective only when it matches the interests of dominant domestic political elites.”127 The process of democratization is often described as one in which street contention is slowly replaced by rules and institutions. Although there is some evidence of a process of learning democracy in these states, levels of contention did not show a clear pattern of decline in all of these states. Romania certainly exhibited less contention by the late 1990s than in the early 1990s. But contention over language in Slovakia continued well into the late 1990s, particularly over the issue of bilingual report cards. It is more specific to state that waves of domestic contention were directly correlated to simultaneous policy debates. Usually initiated by Hungarians to register discontent with proposed policies, contention thus became another part of the policy-making process. Although Hungarians did not always succeed in bringing about immediate change, their propensity to protest had a strong influence on the policy trajectory over time. Figure 6.4 depicts how the language policy trajectory for Romania and contention in Romania moved together over time, by transposing the policy trajectory over the contention shown in Figure 6.2. This graph summarizes the story of language policy in Romania. After an initially vague and open policy led to contention by both Hungarians and Romanians and the Târgu Mures¸ riot, the Romanian government enacted more restrictive policies on minority language. The government then proposed a more restrictive education law in 1992, prompting some initial protests by

127

Csergo, Talk of the Nation, p. 75.



186

Open

20 15 10 5

N

ov M -89 ar Ju 90 l N -90 ov M -90 ar Ju 91 l N -91 ov M -91 ar Ju 92 l N -92 ov M -92 ar Ju 93 l N -93 ov M -93 ar Ju 94 l N -94 ov M -94 ar Ju 95 l N -95 ov M -95 ar Ju 96 l N -96 ov M -96 ar Ju 97 l N -97 ov M -97 ar Ju 98 l N -98 ov M -98 ar Ju 99 l N -99 ov -9 9

0

Restrictive

–5

–10 –15 –20 Hungarian

Romanian

Policy

figure 6.4. Language Contention and Policy – Romania

Hungarians that were unsuccessful in derailing the education law. After its passage in 1995, Hungarians engaged in a number of protests until a new reformist government enacted ordinances on more open language laws in 1997. Hungarians then saw a window of opportunity to push for a Hungarian-language university, engaging in some contention to advance this goal. Romanians viewed this demand as going too far, and after protests by Romanian students against a Hungarian-university, the provision was removed from the revised laws. Although Hungarian contention achieved some immediate policy successes in Romania, it achieved far fewer quick results in Slovakia due largely to the unique intransigence of the Mecˇ iar regime, as shown in Figure 6.5. In this graph, informal restrictions on minority language began soon after the state emerged from the Czechoslovak Federation in January 1993. The government’s removal of bilingual signs throughout southern Slovakia produced a number of protests by Hungarians, which helped build opposition to the Mecˇ iar government and contributed to his brief ouster after a no-confidence vote in 1994. Language policies during this hiatus were less restrictive, but were rolled back again after the reappearance of the Mecˇ iar government in fall 1994. Emboldened, the government also embarked on efforts to restrict Hungarianlanguage education, in spite of large Hungarian protests, and passed a highly restrictive language law in late 1995. Disillusioned by the law, Hungarians generally refrained from further protest until 1997, when the government stopped issuing bilingual report cards. Widespread Hungarian protests on this matter lasted throughout 1998, until the September elections and the ouster of the Mecˇ iar government. The new regime immediately established relatively more open language policies for minorities.


Open


187

15

10

5

Restrictive

D

ec Ap 89 r Au -90 g D -90 ec Ap 90 r Au -91 g D -91 ec Ap 91 r Au -92 g D -92 ec Ap 92 r Au -93 g D -93 ec Ap 93 r Au -94 g D -94 ec Ap 94 r Au -95 g D -95 ec Ap 95 r Au -96 g D -96 ec Ap 96 r Au -97 g D -97 ec Ap 97 r Au -98 g D -98 ec Ap 98 r Au -99 g D -99 ec -9 9

0

–5

–10 Hungarian

Slovak

Policy

figure 6.5. Language Contention and Policy – Slovakia

These pendulum-like swings of policy in Romania and Slovakia stand in sharp contrast to the situation in Ukraine. There, Hungarians did not tend to protest unless they had a very strong stake in a policy issue. Ukraine’s relatively open policy on language in the early 1990s, which was influenced by the large Russian-speaking presence there, left little fodder for dissent. Most of the contention over language there in the early 1990s was related to periods of uncertainty, such as the Soviet putsch in August of 1991 and the referendums on Ukrainian independence and Transcarpathian and Berehove autonomy in December of that year. By the late 1990s, the Ukrainian state began to enact more restrictions on minority-language schools, producing some noise from Hungarians. However, given the nuanced nature of these changes, contention remained somewhat low overall. This quiescence is not simply due to the smaller scale of the Transcarpathian region inhabited by Hungarians – contention over autonomy over the same period was much higher, as discussed in Chapter 7. VI. A. Assessing Trajectories These transposed protest-policy graphs depict the feedback inherent in these lagged sequence processes. Hungarian protests may come either before or after a policy change. Although Hungarian protest is not always successful in prompting a change in government policy, the shape of language policy trajectories over the 1990s clearly show that Hungarian protest was strongly entwined with the production of these policies. In Romania and Slovakia, “pendulum swings” in language policy occurred as minority and majority groups learned how far they could push their own desires in light of the desires of the other group. Although Hungarians tended to protest far more often than titulars in order to overcome


188


the majoritarian orientation of democracy, titulars also protested when they believed that Hungarians had received too many concessions. The oscillation of these language policies between more open and more restrictive forms demonstrates how repeated contention fosters compromise between groups with divergent desires over time. Repeated contention reduces uncertainty between groups regarding the possible parameters of their own desires in relation to the contradictory desires of the other group. As shown in Figure 6.3, by the late 1990s language policies in all of these states began to converge, reducing the volatility of the policy swings of the early and mid1990s. In Ukraine, a relative lack of contention on language policy made the state willing to experiment with more restrictive language policies by the late 1990s. Had it tried even more restrictive policies, levels of Hungarian contention similar to those in Romania and Slovakia might have emerged in Transcarpathia. A focus on trajectories tells a very different story about language policy than a story that might examine policy at a particular point, as in 1995 or even in 1999, where Figure 6.3 ends. Although this graph stops with 1999, the story of contention and policy making clearly doesn’t end here. Further shifts in language policy will take place, although it is likely that in Romania and Slovakia they will remain within the band of possibility established by group contention throughout the 1990s, reflecting path dependence. An attempt to adopt more restrictive policies in Ukraine might be responded to with contention. Protest is effective because it is disruptive enough to make groups realize the limits to which they might push their demands. It was through this messy, back-andforth process that language laws and policies were formed in the divided states of Romania and Slovakia throughout the 1990s. These groups will likely maintain their disagreements on language policy issues for years to come, but repeated contention has allowed them to create common rules through a grassroots process of compromise. In the 2000s, the government of Ukraine became even more restrictive with its minority policies, and Slovakia passed a very restrictive language law in 2009, in spite of its membership in the European Union at that point. Contention on these policies from minorities emerged128 and can be expected to continue beyond the trajectory fragments depicted in the graphs in this book. It is likely that these processes will continue to be domestically, rather than internationally, driven, as the 2009 Slovak language law indicates. The presence of the SNS in the 2009 government was part of the reason behind the law,129 and sustained Hungarian resistance is likely to remain a response.

128 129

BBC News, “Protests over Slovak Language Law,” September 2, 2009. István Deák, “Slovakia: The Forbidden Languages,” New York Review of Books Blog, October 8, 2009, available at http://www.nybooks.com/blogs/nyrblog/2009/oct/08/slovakia-the-forbidden-languages.


Conclusions

189

vii. conclusions Beginning with this empirical chapter, I move away from the micro-level dynamics of mobilization discussed in Chapter 4 and 5 to a focus on ethnic contention across the sample cities chosen from each state. An examination of this contention in relation to government actions reveals the close relationship between ethnic contention and specific government policies. It thus provides a corrective to several views. First, ethnic contention as defined through mobilization is not constant in these states. Nor did it decline steadily with the production of more formal rules. Rather, contention trajectories instead moved in tandem with the content of policy. Second, EU stances on language issues did not have a direct effect on the creation of policy in Romania and Slovakia throughout the 1990s. EU stances were picked up and used by domestic actors in their causes, but their effects were filtered through these domestic debates. Rather than being automatically accepted from the top down, policies were hammered out through a messy and contentious domestic process. Chapter 7 examines these dynamics with regard to policies on autonomy and local government for minorities.


7 Debating Local Governance Autonomy, Local Control, and Minority Enclaves

Now we all find ourselves on the threshold of a possible inter-nationality conflict in the region. [. . . It] doesn’t come from the will of Mr. Fodor, or myself, or the will of Mr. Voloshuk, but conflict arises when inappropriate questions of stateness are posed, when different goals stemming from different claims are made. – a representative in the Transcarpathian regional legislature, in a debate on autonomy for the region, October 19911

Ethnic Hungarians living in Romania, Slovakia, Ukraine, and the former Yugoslavia have all claimed some autonomy, also known as self-government, from their respective states. Such declarations do not constitute secession. Rather, they outline various options for institutionalizing local control, in hopes of increasing governance powers to both Hungarian enclave areas and to Hungarian communities more generally. Hungarians understand these claims for autonomy or self-governance as a means to preserve Hungarian identity, using cultural, political, or territorial institutions. In the context behind these claims, Hungarians and titulars maintain very different views on the kinds of rights that should be endorsed by the state. Hungarians generally tend to support collective or group rights for minorities as a means to protect their identity against assimilation, whereas titulars tend to favor individual rights.2 Hungarians have made claims for increased self-governance on a range of issues. While the previous chapter examined language use and educational institutions, this chapter focuses instead on the structure of the administrative apparatus and distribution of powers to supervise this broad range of issues.3 The autonomy issue is a particularly sensitive one in the mixed regions of this study. During World War II, the territories on which the cities studied for this

1 2

3

NZ, “Kompromis,” October 5, 1991. Deets and Stroschein, “Dilemmas of Autonomy”; Will Kymlicka, Multicultural Citizenship (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1995); and Jacob T. Levy, “Classifying Cultural Rights,” in Ian Shapiro and Will Kymlicka, eds., Ethnicity and Group Rights (New York: New York University Press, 1997), pp. 22–66. O’Dwyer, Runaway State-Building.

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Autonomy and Self-Governance

191

project reside were reannexed by Hungary, only to be given up again after the war. The memory of these border changes has faded only slightly. In 1990, Prime Minister of Hungary Antall declared himself the prime minister in spirit of 15 million Hungarians – in spite of the fact that the Hungarian state has a population of 10 million.4 Reactions to this declaration differed sharply for ethnic Hungarians and titulars living within the borders of Hungary’s neighboring states. For Hungarians, Antall’s statement simply implied more economic, social, and cultural ties to Hungary; for titulars, it triggered visions of irredentism and revanchism. The autonomy issue came to the fore in each of these three states throughout the 1990s. A complex structure of autonomy was also proposed for the Vojvodina region of Serbia, with strong support from Hungarians living there.5 Although outside the scope of this book, many elements of the Vojvodina proposal are reflected in other Hungarian autonomy proposals in the region. In Transcarpathia, Ukraine, territorial autonomy for a Hungarian district was approved by a local referendum in Berehove County in December 1991. In Romania, a Hungarian Autonomous Region existed from 1952 to 1968.6 Although some territorial autonomy proposals continue to emerge in Romania, the Hungarian party there began to focus on increased decentralization by the late 1990s. In Slovakia, an early proposal for political autonomy later evolved into a debate regarding the shape of local administrative districts and increased powers for local governments. In these debates, “autonomy” has become a broad concept into which much has been fit.7 I first outline the parameters of this concept in the following section before examining contention over autonomy in each state.

i. autonomy and self-governance Autonomy is generally understood as an asymmetric form of self-government, meaning that it is a step above the symmetric devolution of powers to local units in equal ratios. An autonomous unit represents devolution of power that favors a particular group or region over others.8 Ethnofederalism or national 4

5

6

7

8

The declaration has become legend on both sides and repeatedly came up in interviews with members of all groups. It is mentioned in Sharon Fisher, “Meeting of Slovakia’s Hungarians Causes Stir,” RFE/RL Research Report, January 28, 1994, p. 45. On the Vojvodina proposal, see NS, “Részleges területi autonómiát kér a VMSz,” June 23, 1999; and NS, “A személyi autonómia ido˝szeru˝,” June 24, 1999. See Vofkori László, Erdély közigazgatási és etnikai földrajza (Budapest: SOTE Nyomda/Balaton Akadémia, 1996), pp. 48–53. William Safran, “Spatial and Functional Dimensions of Autonomy: Cross-national and Theoretical Perspectives,” in William Safran and Ramón Máiz, eds., Identity and Territorial Autonomy in Plural Societies (Portland, OR: Frank Cass, 2000), pp. 11–34. Yash Ghai, “Ethnicity and Autonomy: A Framework for Analysis,” in Yash Ghai, ed., Autonomy and Ethnicity: Negotiating Competing Claims in Multi-ethnic States (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2000), pp. 8–10; and Hans-Joachim Heintze, “On the Legal Understanding of Autonomy,” in Markku Suksi, ed., Autonomy: Applications and Implications (Cambridge: Kluwer Law International, 1998), p. 7.


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Debating Local Governance

federalism9 involves autonomous units when such units are granted asymmetric, additional powers in relation to other units in the state. There may be more than one autonomous unit in a state, as in Spain or the United Kingdom – the operative matter is whether the state is symmetrically divided or whether some units have powers that are not distributed to other units. With the onset of democracy in Eastern Europe and the former Soviet Union, the rhetoric of government reflecting the “will of the people” achieved a special resonance with minorities. In interviews, Hungarians often mentioned that democracy should allow them to vote on whether to remain within an existing state, or at the very least a vote to establish an autonomous unit for an ethnic enclave. Indeed, with the advent of democracy throughout the former Soviet bloc, referendums were particularly visible in republics that decided to form new states, as in the case of the former Soviet Union and Yugoslavia. They were also held in some enclave areas, as in the 1991 vote by Berehove County in Ukraine to establish a Hungarian Autonomous District, presented in detail later in this chapter. Autonomy and self-government proposals typically take one of three forms: cultural autonomy, political autonomy, or territorial institutions.10 Each form will be discussed in turn. The cultural autonomy form involves control over educational and linguistic institutions, the mass media, social and cultural activities, and group symbols and monuments.11 Under socialism, heavy state involvement in the cultural sphere produced a system of subsidies for cultural activities of each group. These subsidies have been preserved in the post-socialist era with some modifications. The amounts of these subsidies, the uses to which they are put, and their general disbursement remain hotly debated topics in these states. The Hungarian desire for increased cultural control implies increased control over the planning of cultural activities, whether they are funded primarily by state budgets or by funds allocated by Hungary to support the culture of “Hungarians abroad.” In Slovakia, both the Hungarian and the Slovak cultural organizations, Csemadok and Matica Slovenská, remain highly dependent on state funds. State funding for both Hungarian and titular cultural organizations and activities also exists in Romania and Ukraine, although more difficult economic circumstances in those states have made actual support more ambiguous.

9

10

11

National federalism and ethnofederalism are terms that both denote the formation of nationalterritorial units. Bunce, Subversive Institutions, p. 47, and Roeder, Where Nation-States Come From, p. 57. Beata Kovács Nás, “Cultural Autonomy, Territorial Autonomy and Proportional Representation: Hungarian Communities’ Ideas on Ethnic Accommodation,” paper presented at the Association for the Study of Nationalities Conference, Columbia University, New York, April 24–7, 1997. Cultural autonomy has also been labeled “personal autonomy” or “personal self-government” in some proposals. “A jogrend visszaállítása: Vajdasági autonómia,” Európai Ido˝ (Romania) 13 (1999); and Janusz Bugajski, “The Fate of Minorities in Eastern Europe,” Journal of Democracy 4, no. 4 (October 1993), p. 87.


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Political autonomy may involve nearly all aspects of domestic social and economic administration, including the administration of linguistic issues.12 Political autonomy may take two primary forms. First, it might involve increased powers for enclaves in which the minority comprises more than 50 percent. Second, it might take the form of a nonterritorial elected body for the minority group. Such nonterritorial councils exist in Belgium to regulate linguistic affairs, and they comprise part of the federal structure.13 The Hungarian government has instituted a complex system of minority governments at both the local and national levels within Hungary, partly in an effort to demonstrate how such systems might also function in states with Hungarian minorities.14 The Belgian and Hungarian structures are a type of nonterritorial autonomy.15 Romania maintained a highly centralized governmental structure under socialism. Although Slovakia and Ukraine were devolved structures in federations themselves before the demise of the federal states of Czechoslovakia and Ukraine, there was little actual decentralization of powers within them. Both Hungarians and titulars remain very aware that a broad devolution of government powers to the local level would increase the power of local governments and in enclave areas could have much of the same effect as would territorial autonomy. The more power that is held by local governments under democracy, the more powers are available to ethnic enclaves. Disputes over the decentralization of governing powers in these states thus inevitably involve an ethnic dimension, with Hungarians overwhelmingly favoring more decentralization and many titulars tending toward more centralized governance structures. In interviews, titulars often expressed concern about the fate of their co-ethnics in

12 13

14

15

Bugajski, “The Fate of Minorities,” p. 87. Stroschein, “What Belgium Can Teach Bosnia: The Uses of Autonomy in ‘Divided House’ States,” Journal on Ethnopolitics and Minority Issues in Europe (JEMIE) 3 (2003), available at http:// www.ecmi.de/jemie/. Kosovo’s governing structure includes similar traits. Stroschein, “Making or Breaking Kosovo.” Stephen Deets, “Reconsidering East European Minority Policy: Liberal Theory and European Norms,” East European Politics and Societies 16, no. 1 (Winter 2002), pp. 30–53; Deets and Stroschein, “Dilemmas of Autonomy”; Timothy William Waters and Rachel Guglielmo, “‘Two Souls to Struggle With’: The Failing Implementation of Hungary’s New Minorities Law and Discrimination against Gypsies,” in John Micgiel, ed., State and Nation Building in East Central Europe (New York: Institute on East Central Europe, Columbia University, 1996), pp. 177–97; and interview with Ferenc Mélykuti, Project on Ethnic Relations, Budapest, May 7, 1998. The distinction between territorial and nonterritorial autonomy is outlined in essays by Asbjørn Eide (with Vibeke Greni and Maria Lundberg), “Cultural Autonomy: Concept, Content, and History in the World Order,” in Markku Suksi, ed., Autonomy: Applications and Implications (Cambridge: Kluwer Law International, 1998), pp. 251–76; Hans-Joachim Heintze, “On the Legal Understanding of Autonomy,” in Suksi, ed., Autonomy, pp. 7–32; Patrick Thornberry, “Images of Autonomy and Individual and Collective Rights in International Instruments on the Rights of Minorities,” in Suksi, ed., Autonomy, pp. 97–124; and also in William Safran, “Spatial and Functional Dimensions,” in Safran and Máiz, eds, Identity and Territorial Autonomy, pp. 11–34.


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Hungarian enclave areas in the event of broad decentralization throughout the state.16 In contrast to political autonomy, which need not include a territorial component, territorial autonomy institutionalizes self-government powers within defined borders. Although linguistic and cultural issues such as education might be governed through a nonterritorial body, as in Belgium, economic or environmental policy often requires a territorial base. Examples of territorial autonomy include autonomous regions in Russia, part of the legacy of the Soviet Union, and Native American reservations and territories in North America. Advocates of territorial autonomy fall across a broad spectrum. Some may simply wish for an increased legal status within the state entity, while others may have an ultimate goal of an independent state.17

ii. autonomy referendums in transcarpathia, ukraine, 1991 The region of Transcarpathia, approximately the size of Delaware,18 was exchanged among five to seven governments during the twentieth century alone – depending on how one counts governments. The region made plays for autonomy during the upheaval surrounding the two world wars. Another moment of upheaval came during the 1991 dissolution of the Soviet Union, when locals again posed the question of autonomy. As Ukraine voted for its independence in a December 1 referendum in 1991, Transcarpathia held a simultaneous referendum for its “autonomous status within an independent Ukraine,” approved by 78 percent of its voters. At the same time, a third vote was held in Berehove County, in the southern portion of the region, on promoting the county to the status of a Hungarian Autonomous District, and was approved by 81.4 percent of voters there. General independence for Ukraine received 90 percent support in Transcarpathia.19 In the story that follows, I use the term “region” to denote the oblast of Transcarpathia, and “county” to denote the next smaller 16

17

18

19

Sherrill Stroschein, “Territory and the Hungarian Status Law: Time for New Assumptions?” in Osamu Ieda, ed., The Status Law Syndrome: Post-Communist Nation-Building or Post-Modern Citizenship? (Sapporo, Japan: Slavic Research Center, Hokkaido University, 2006), pp. 53–70. Bugajski, “The Fate of Minorities,” p. 95. It is easier to grant territorial autonomy to more homogeneous regions, but it has also been proposed for quite heterogeneous regions, such as Vojvodina in northern Serbia (57 percent Serb and 17 percent Hungarian in 1991, with the remaining population heavily divided among Romanians, Slovaks, Germans, and other groups). Károly Kocsis and Eszter Kocsis-Hodosi, Ethnic Geography of the Hungarian Minorities in the Carpathian Basin (Budapest: Geographical Research Institute of the Hungarian Academy of Sciences, 1998), p. 160. A view of these demands as a spectrum of increasing intensity appears in Jenne, Ethnic Bargaining. This size comparison is noted in Michael Winch, Republic for a Day: An Eye-Witness Account of the Carpatho–Ukraine Incident (London: Robert Hale Limited, 1939), p. 7. Vote results from BH, “A számlabizottság tájékoztatója,” December 5, 1991; and NZ, “Vidomosti,” December 4, 1991. For an excellent analysis in English, see Alfred A. Reisch, “Transcarpathia’s Hungarian Minority and the Autonomy Issue,” RFE/RL Research Report, February 7, 1992. The


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administrative level, or raion. The municipality of Berehove is the seat of Berehove County. I also use the term “district” to distinguish the proposed autonomous Hungarian unit from the formal region (oblast) or county (raion) apparatus. In addition, I discuss the regional representative body as a legislature, to distinguish it further from the Ukrainian parliament. All three of these December 1 simultaneous votes – for Ukrainian independence, Transcarpathian autonomy, and Berehove autonomy – approved territorial versions of autonomy for the three entities. The all-Ukraine referendum clearly specified the establishment of an independent state, whereas the Transcarpathian referendum was aimed at making the region an autonomous political entity within the structure (sklad) of Ukraine. It was thus aiming for a status similar to that of Crimea, the only place in Ukraine that is formally recognized by the government as autonomous. In spite of Ukrainian fears to the contrary, proposed autonomy for Transcarpathia was repeatedly asserted to be multi-ethnic in character, given the myriad ethnic groups in the region: Ukrainians, Ruthenians, Russians, Hungarians, Slovaks, Romanians, Germans, and Roma. In general, those who feared the autonomy vote were Ukrainians or Russians who had moved to the region under Soviet rule, while the region’s “historic” ethnic groups, the Hungarians and Ruthenians, cooperated in supporting the idea. In contrast, the territorial autonomy envisioned in the Berehove referendum for an Autonomous Hungarian District (magyar autonóm körzet) was explicitly ethnic in character. The 1989 census listed Berehove County with a Hungarian majority, as 63 percent Hungarian and 28 percent Ukrainian/Ruthenian. The Hungarian cultural and political organization, the TUKZ/KMKSz, was active in advancing this question of district autonomy within Transcarpathia. According to the group’s leader, the autonomous district concept was not entirely new, but was based upon the framework of autonomous republics in the Soviet Union. In this view, the Soviet legal basis for autonomous districts based on nationality should be incorporated into the constitution of Ukraine, allowable in areas with enclaves of minority groups.20 II. A. To Vote or Not to Vote? The decision to put the Transcarpathian and Berehove referendums on the December 1 ballot emerged only after several months of meetings, heated sessions in the Transcarpathian regional legislature, demonstrations, and hunger strikes. The movement for both autonomies had begun even before the Soviet coup attempt on August 19, 1991. The TUKZ – a Hungarian cultural

20

year 1991 was a roller-coaster. A March 1991 Ukraine-wide vote had approved both the preservation of the Soviet Union and Ukraine’s sovereign status within the USSR. The failure of the August putsch attempt radically diminished Soviet legitimacy, and on August 24 an act of independence was passed by the Ukrainian parliament. The successful Ukraine-wide referendum of December 1 was to ratify this act. Andrew Wilson, Ukrainian Nationalism in the 1990s: A Minority Faith (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1997), pp. 24–5. BH, “Autonómia az autonómiában?” October 24, 1991.


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organization that also serves the political functions of a party21 – had been formed as early as February 1989. In late 1990, it raised the notion of cultural autonomy for Hungarians in an administrative territory within Transcarpathia.22 Then, in an August 3, 1991, “Declaration for the Autonomous Status of Transcarpathia,” the regional newspaper Novyny Zakarpattia proposed both the sovereignty of Ukraine and the status of Transcarpathia as an “autonomous republic within the structure of Ukraine.” This status was to include “the right to culturalnational autonomy for Rusins (Ruthenians), Ukrainians, Hungarians, Russians, Romanians, Slovaks, Germans, and Roma.” The editors took complete responsibility for the document’s publication, making an appeal to the hopes of the citizens of the region and trusting that the declaration might “summon a large resonance” and an appraisal of its many benefits. “We await your responses/ reflections,” they concluded.23 After the Soviet putsch in late August 1991, on September 1 the Society of Carpathian Ruthenians followed with a formal declaration that Transcarpathia should have republic status.24 The Mukacheve County Council had already voted in support of an autonomous status for Transcarpathia when the Berehove council met to discuss the issue on September 14. All but one representative voted to support the act of presenting the issue in the Transcarpathian regional legislature in Uzhhorod. In addition, the Berehove council voted unanimously to add to the December 1 referendum ballot the question of a Hungarian Autonomous District status for the county.25 The issue of a Hungarian Autonomous District was not completely new. It had previously been approved during a September 1989 TUKZ meeting in Mukacheve, in the form of a Hungarian Autonomous District that would be founded in Berehove County but that would also include Hungarian-inhabited villages in the Uzhhorod and Mukacheve counties. Although the 1991 referendum question was posed only for Berehove County, the TUKZ president for Berehove County argued that there could be a future possibility that “after the establishment of the district, surrounding Hungarian-inhabited villages might

21

22 23

24 25

Ukraine’s laws on formal party registration required that parties have representatives in each region of the country. The Hungarians, concentrated in one region, could not fulfill this formal requirement, but rather posed candidates for office and conducted political business via the TUKZ. It thus served all of the functions of a Hungarian ethnic party even without the formal registration status. Reisch, “Transcarpathia’s Hungarian Minority and the Autonomy Issue,” p. 21. NZ, “Deklaratsia pro avtonomnyı˘ status Zakarpattia,” August 3, 1991. These units were to be joined within the form of a “territorial-civic and national-territorial self administration.” Some Hungarian leaders had proposed an autonomous status for Transcarpathia as early as July 14. KISz, “Autonómia vagy köztársaság?” September 27, 1991. KISz, “Autonómia vagy köztársaság?” They then moved on to other business, such as the removal of the Lenin statue, eliminating the teaching of Marxism-Leninism in the schools, and the reestablishment of the historic (Hungarian) name of the county, Beregszász. BH, “December Elsején népszavazáson döntünk a magyar nemzetiségi körzet megalakításáról,” September 17, 1991.



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attach themselves to us, and thus a healthy administrative territory could result.”26 A few days later, the Society of Carpathian Ruthenians held a joint press conference with members of the Czechoslovak Society of Friends of Subcarpathian Ruthenia in Uzhhorod. During the press conference, they declared the sovereignty of Subcarpathian (Transcarpathian)27 Ruthenia. It was mentioned that Subcarpathia/Transcarpathia had never been part of Ukraine, but that Czechoslovakia and Hungary might be more suitable states to protect such autonomy.28 The primary polemics over autonomy, particularly after September 1991, took place between Ukrainians and these newly “separatist” Ruthenians. The Hungarians found themselves on the Ruthenian side, but were more prone to moderation on the status of Transcarpathia. Some went as far as to support the Ruthenian idea of an independent “Transcarpathian Republic.”29 However, a majority of the Hungarian leaders pragmatically endorsed the compromise solution of autonomy for Transcarpathia within the structure of Ukraine. This middle-road strategy also worked to minimize discussion of the Berehove Hungarian Autonomous District in debates in the Transcarpathian regional legislature – reserving such debate for the Berehove County Council. On September 27, 1991, these debates turned active. As the regional legislature in Uzhhorod began to consider the Transcarpathian autonomy issue, several hundred Ukrainians and Ruthenians, each with their national flags and various signs, placed themselves on opposite sides of the square in front of the legislature building. Each side shouted its disapproval of the other across the square and agreed only on their call for the legislature’s president to resign. News arrived at the square that buses of Ukrainians from other cities and regions were coming to join in the protest; however, some were refused entry to Uzhhorod by police.30 That night, several of the representatives remained shut in the legislature “like prisoners” until the early hours of the morning as the angry crowd outside was blocking the exits. Given these incidents, the regional Hungarian newspaper appealed to the “Carpathian nation” for calm as the legislature continued debating the issue.31 The autonomy issue remained on the agenda for several days. Outside the protests continued and included a small group of hunger strikers who wanted the autonomy issue removed from the docket. The motion to consider a December 1 Transcarpathian referendum on autonomy had been brought 26

27

28 29 30 31

Dalmay Arpád, “Kell-e nekünk az autonómia?” BH, November 26, 1991. The County Council vote is also noted in KISz, “Magyar nemzetiségi körzet Beregszászon?” September 7, 1991. Both Transcarpathia (Ukrainian) and Subcarpathia (Hungarian and Slovak) refer to the same region. The difference has to do with one’s placement relative to the Carpathian Mountains, and the choice of term is highly politicized. NZ, “Rusyny – za suverennu Podkarpatsku Rus,” September 19, 1991. KISz, “Autonómia vagy köztársaság?” KISz, “Hiányzik as egyetértés,” September 28, 1991. KISz, “Felhívása Karpátalja népéhez,” October 1, 1991.


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forth by a Mukacheve City Council representative and had been seconded by representatives from Berehove County and Svaliava County.32 The motion was opposed by the Democratic Bloc of Ukraine and the Ukrainian Democratic Party, and they tried to block its placement on the docket. A few left the meeting in protest, while others voiced their disagreement, but the motion passed. The proposed autonomy status thus became the main issue of business for the October 1 meeting. At this meeting, Ukrainian calls to remove the issue from the docket were countered by a Hungarian TUKZ representative, who stated that as the schedule had been formed prior to the meeting, the group of Hungarian representatives would leave the meeting if it were changed. In the pause that followed, the Hungarians did not leave the room, although some other representatives did.33 Because more than half of the assembly remained, work continued even over the protests of a visitor from the central Ukrainian parliament. One Ukrainian representative commented that the mere discussion of the issue could “slide into an ethnic conflict.” He was quickly countered by others: “Please don’t try to fabricate a national question from the work going on here. The Hungarian representative group is behaving very modestly,” they said. At the end of the day, they voted to seek the approval of the Ukrainian parliament in Kyiv on the issue. But in spite of this move, one Ukrainian representative and some of the crowd took the position that “Moscow is prompting the autonomy, and this is how it wants to pull apart Ukraine!”34 During the following day’s meeting, a TUKZ representative made a motion to word the referendum question as proposing Transcarpathia’s “status within the structure of a free Ukraine.” In response, Ukrainians proposed a general strike against the question, which they still viewed as “criminal,”and one Ukrainian representative left the meeting. The motion passed, however, and more debate began.35 The session was then interrupted by the entrance of a young man and a Ukrainian representative who had been leading a group of hunger strikers outside of the building. The two ran into the chamber and declared that their hunger strike would continue there. They sat down and occasionally heckled speakers during the deliberations.36 In the context of debate, it was mentioned that one of the eastern portions of Transcarpathia had threatened to break off and join a neighboring Ukrainian region if the referendum on autonomy were held. A Hungarian representative responded that he could not understand the fear over the referendum, because the proposal on the floor did not involve leaving Ukraine. He noted that it was

32

33 34 35 36

Berehove is the only Hungarian majority entity in this group; the other two are primarily Slavic. The Soviet census data did not recognize Ruthenians as a separate group from Ukrainians. Szabó Béla, “Legyen-e autonómia Kárpátalján?” (part I), KISz, October 5, 1991. Béla, “Legyen-e autonómia Kárpátalján?” (part I). Béla, “Legyen-e autonómia Kárpátalján?” (part I). Szabó Béla, “Legyen-e autonómia Kárpátalján?” (part II), KISz, October 8, 1991.



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obvious that the region was ethnically mixed – the reason for autonomy was simply that the region had “its own character.” A Ukrainian countered that holding such a referendum before the status of independent Ukraine was fully decided was “nothing less than political provocation.” Another representative asked a practical question: If representatives were so concerned that the people did not want autonomy, then why were they afraid of the referendum? A Ukrainian representative then voiced that the autonomy issue was being pushed by the Hungarian TUKZ and the previous communist leadership and that it was in the interests of the old Soviet powers, Czechoslovakia, and Hungary. “Where did these Ruthenians come from?” he wanted to know. “On what basis does the Hungarian Consulate say that 750,000 Ruthenians live in Transcarpathia?”37 In the same session, he argued that “now we all find ourselves on the threshold of a possible inter-nationality conflict in the region. [. . . It] doesn’t come from the will of Mr. Fodor, or myself, or the will of Mr. Voloshuk, but conflict arises when inappropriate questions of stateness are posed, when different goals stemming from different claims are made.”38 After hours of similar exchanges, the legislature approved the placement of the Transcarpathian autonomy question on the December 1 ballot, as well as the formation of a commission to examine the implementation of autonomy. The wording of “autonomous status within the structure of an independent Ukrainian state” was generally understood to be a compromise between the two sides, and the legislators repeatedly emphasized the non-ethnic nature of the decision.39 These words did not appease the thirty-eight Ukrainian hunger strikers, several of whom continued their strike for some weeks afterward.40 The final referendum question, however, mentioned a “self-governing” rather than “autonomous” status for the region, the result of a hurried compromise after a visit by Ukrainian president Leonid Kravchuk to the region in the week before the referendum.41 In the end, all three referendums passed with margins near and above 80 percent: 90 percent support for Ukrainian independence, 78 percent support for the “self-governing” status of Transcarpathia, and 81.4 percent support for a Hungarian Autonomous District among voters in Berehove County.

40

41

˘

39

˘

38

Béla, “Legyen-e autonómia Kárpátalján?” (part II). Part of the Ukrainian paradigm is that Ruthenians do not exist as a nationality, but are an invention of those who hope to use them as a tool against Ukraine. NZ, “Kompromis,” October 5, 1991. NZ, “Kompromis,” and “Tilky v skladi nezalezhnoı¯ Ukraı¯nskoı¯ derzhavy,” October 2, 1991; and NZ, “Pro status Zakarpattia u seladi nezalezhnoı¯ Ukraı¯ny,” October 8, 1991. BH, “A városi tanács soron kívüli ülesszakán,” October 19, 1991; and NZ, “Protystoiannia tryvae,” October 3, 1991. Paul Robert Magocsi, “The Birth of a New Nation, or the Return of an Old Problem? The Rusyns of East Central Europe,” Canadian Slavonic Papers 34, no. 3 (September 1992), pp. 210–11; and NZ, “Spodivaıemos’, zavtra nashi kraıany proholosuıut’ tak,” November 30, 1991. ˘

37



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II. B. Referendums without Result After the successful referendums, both the Transcarpathian regional legislature and the Berehove County Council wrote and passed laws to codify the self-government status that had been approved by their publics. The Transcarpathian draft was passed on March 6, 1992, and the Berehove draft on April 28.42 The Transcarpathian legislature then submitted its draft as a proposal to the Ukrainian parliament and government in Kyiv. Although the legislature’s efforts were acknowledged by the central government, the proposal did not move forward. Kyiv’s silence on the issue led some local leaders to change their focus to a “free economic zone” status for Transcarpathia by late 1993. They reasoned that this zone might obtain many of the goals intended by the self-governing status, but that it would be less controversial to the center.43 But some Ruthenian leaders, frustrated that the central government was ignoring them, did not relent as easily. In May of 1993, a small number of the Society of Subcarpathian Rusins held press conferences in Slovakia, Hungary, and Austria, proclaiming a “Provisional Government of Subcarpathian Rus” and declaring “null and void” the 1945 treaty that had attached the region to Ukraine.44 These efforts, however, were met with derision on the part of the local authorities and achieved little positive resonance among the general public.45 Efforts by these Ruthenians and their opponents to present Transcarpathian autonomy as an ethnic issue did not generally resonate with the public or most local leaders. Instead, autonomy for the region was quite consistently understood as a multi-ethnic effort to codify the historic uniqueness of the region. II. C. Berehove Blues Unlike Transcarpathian autonomy, the explicitly ethnic character of the proposed Hungarian Autonomous District for Berehove began dividing the local population along ethnic lines throughout 1992 and 1993. During the Berehove County Council meeting on the draft law in April, two non-Hungarian representatives posed that a Hungarian Autonomous District might destroy multiethnic working relationships within the local government and might damage the rights of Ukrainian citizens. Hungarian council members reminded them of the 81 percent success of the referendum and noted that Berehove would remain within the structure of Ukraine. It was also mentioned, however, that an 42

43 44

45

BH, “Elfogadták a törvénytervezetet,” May 7, 1992; KISz, “Az alapdokumentumot elfogadták,” March 10, 1992; NZ, “Samovriadne Zakarpattia: proekt zakonu Ukraı¯ni skhvaleno!” March 6, 1992; and NZ, “Zvernennia,” March 12, 1992. NZ, articles from April 2, 1992, to November 30, 1993. Paul Robert Magocsi, “The Hungarians in Transcarpathia (Subcarpathian Rus’),” Nationalities Papers 24, no. 3 (1996), pp. 525–34, at p. 532. NZ, “Zaiava,” May 25, 1993; NZ, “Ie Tymchasovyı˘ urad ‘podkarpatskoı¯ ryspublyky!’ Ale . . . Menshovykiv,” May 27, 1993; and interview with Sándor Horváth, political reporter for Kárpáti Igaz Szó, Uzhhorod, July 15, 1998.



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autonomous district might be a hard sell in Kyiv, as the Ukrainian Constitution did not include provisions for autonomous districts.46 The draft law passed at the meeting emphasized local powers on economic decisions, bilingual language use, and the establishment of a local police and court system.47 The meeting also called attention to a lack of coverage of the proposed Berehove Hungarian Autonomous District in the state-level Ukrainian press, which the Hungarian leadership found rather insulting. By early 1993, the local council president, a Hungarian, wrote a letter to the Berehove parliamentary deputy to Kyiv. The letter criticized the fact that no progress had been made on the autonomy issue and accused the deputy of not fulfilling his mandate from Berehove citizens. The deputy, not himself Hungarian, wrote a long public response in which he noted that in order to establish legal autonomy, one needed the support of the Ukrainian Constitution, and that “confrontational means” were inappropriate. Interests much larger than Berehove were at stake, he noted, as both the Kyiv and the Moscow press had become concerned with the fate of Ukrainians and Russians in the region. Moreover, he argued, the new Ukrainian law on minorities covered many of the areas that Berehove was trying to protect through the autonomous district, such as bilingualism and the use of national symbols. Pointing out the multi-ethnic nature of the county, particularly in the city of Berehove, he stated that “the smooth character of inter-nationality relations is very thin ice, on which one must walk carefully, not stamp upon it, or we might sink in.” He also mentioned the naiveté of provoking the central powers in Kyiv and Moscow.48 The public Hungarian response to his letter was resoundingly negative. His stance was angrily discussed at a later County Council meeting where some Hungarians urged that he resign from his legislative post and called him a traitor.49 A heated newspaper exchange then took place among a TUKZ leader accusing the deputy of an “anti-Hungarian campaign,” a Ukrainian academic defending him, and the TUKZ county organization. The TUKZ took particular offense at the Slav understanding of local history and at their hints regarding larger forces behind the autonomous district. Observing the vast gap in perceptions between local Slavs and Hungarians, the TUKZ proposed the formation of a Ukrainian–Hungarian mixed commission to preserve communication between the two groups.50 The commission remains active. The district autonomy proposal, however, did not move further in official form. By the late 1990s, the County Council simply continued to exert as many powers as possible while remaining wary of the possibility of intervention by the central 46 47 48 49

50

BH, “Elfogadták a törvénytervezetet.” KISz, “Ukrajna törvény a magyar autonóm körzetro˝l, tervezet,” May 8, 1992. Sepa Vaszil, “Ne topogjunk a vékony jégen! . . .,” BH, March 24, 1993. Interview with Irén Balogh, BH, Berehove, June 1998; and interview with Fedir Savchur, head of the Berehove county branch of the Ukrainian cultural organization, Berehove, June 23, 1998. Balogh József, “Válasz Sepa Vaszilnak, az Ukrajnai legfelso˝bb tanács képviselo˝jének,” BH, June 5, 1993; V. Khudanych, “Kinek az érdekében keltenek magyarellenes hangulatot?” and the TUKZ Berehove county organization, “Valóban: Kinek az érdeke?” BH, September 25, 1993.


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government. In addition, the autonomy issue became a rallying point for the Hungarian Cultural Organization of Berehove, the TUKB/BMKSz, by the middle and late 1990s, and these organizations continued to keep the issue alive in Hungarian discourse.51 II. D. Contention over Autonomy in Transcarpathia, Ukraine In contrast to the relatively peaceful story of language politics in Transcarpathia presented in Chapter 6, contention over autonomy was particularly heated in the region during the unfolding Soviet demise in late 1991. After this period, some contention over a more watered-down versioin of self-government for the region, a proposed “free economic zone,” continued throughout the early 1990s. On one side of this debate were the Hungarians and Ruthenians, who claimed that Transcarpathia should have autonomy based on the fact of its historical orientation toward Central Europe and its ethnic ties to neighboring countries there. On the other side of the debate were the Ukrainians, who preferred no autonomy for Transcarpathia. Their aim was an independent Ukraine with a rather centralized governing structure. Although some ethnic Russians also inhabit the region, they were less visible in these events. To add to the fray, Hungarians in Berehove County simultaneously pushed for a referendum on a Hungarian Autonomous District, which they envisioned as a unit with special powers within the context of an autonomous Transcarpathian region. The contention over autonomy in Transcarpathia somewhat resembles the intense and polarizing joint mobilization in Târgu Mures¸ that emerged during the uncertain, early period of transition in Romania, examined in detail in Chapter 4. Here, this intense mobilization took place in the context of – and as a driver of – the demise of the Soviet Union.52 This observation supports the premise that the uncertainty that reigns during periods of severe institutional change is particularly ripe for tension and mobilization, as groups fear that even the smallest gains by their opponents might grant them wide-ranging and permanent advantages. In Romania, over time and with interaction, groups became more selective about which language policy issues were the most pertinent for mobilization, reserving contention to a narrower scope of disputes. In all of these countries, titulars and the state were far less likely to grant concessions on autonomy than on language, as autonomous structures concern the very identity of a Weberian state. In Transcarpathia, as well as in Romania and Slovakia, minority claims for autonomy initially took a strong form and were then modified throughout the course of the 1990s. The issue remained a pertinent one for minorities, but as titular responses showed them the limits of their possibilities, they began to reframe the issue as one of local self-governance 51

52

NÚ, “A BMKSz nem mond le autonómia-törekvéseiro˝l,” December 7, 1995; NÚ, “Beregszászi magyar nemzetiségi körzet: Van, de mégsincs,” December 2, 1999; and NÚ, “BMKSz-közgyu˝lés Beregszászon: Autonóm körzetet akarnak,” December 7, 1999. On the endogenous aspects of these changes, see Beissinger, Nationalist Mobilization.


The Autonomy Issue in Romania

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and decentralization of government. The following sections illustrate these shifts.

iii. the autonomy issue in romania A Hungarian Autonomous Region was put in place in Romania during socialism from 1952 to 1968. Some memory of this institution remains and provided some of the basis for Hungarian proposals for increased self-government after 1989. Indeed, the Hungarian desire for increased local control, and Romanian fears of what such control might imply, served as one undercurrent of the Târgu Mures¸ riot in March 1990. The city had been the largest that was part of the previous autonomous region, and the Hungarian UDMR/RMDSz began openly discussing proposals for Hungarian self-government in early March of 1990. In this context, uncertainty over the school issue became even more salient, as any small victory for one side appeared to carry strong implications for control at the local level. During these discussions, the Târgu Mures¸ branch of the UDMR tried to articulate clearly its case for autonomy. In part, its members wished to show Romanians that they were not pushing for secession or separatism – but Romanians continued to view these proposals with suspicion and even fear. At this time, the UDMR put forth a concrete proposal for cultural autonomy for all Hungarian communities in Romania, with an emphasis on Hungarian control over language use, education, and cultural institutions.53 The riot on March 19 and 20, which began as a series of protests over control of a high school, reflected a sharp disagreement between Hungarians and Romanians on the desirability of increased Hungarian control at the local level. The riot put a temporary lid on the autonomy issue during the summer of 1990, but by the fall, articles on proposed self-government forms and autonomy for minority enclaves again began to appear in Hungarian journals.54 As parliamentary debates over local administration began in fall 1991,55 very different Romanian and Hungarian positions on increased local government powers emerged. Romanians tended to view the UDMR’s autonomy proposals as a reintroduction of what they called the “unfortunate experiment” of the Hungarian Autonomous Region, and thus as a danger to the state. From this Romanian perspective, even proposals for Hungarian cultural autonomy represented a potential step toward further separate institutions, a form of “salami tactics” progressing toward secession.56 This view was aided by the fact that some more extreme Hungarian factions did advocate separate structures,

53 54

55 56

Török Laszló, “Nem szeparatizmus – autonómia,” NÚ, in installments, March 6, 7, and 9, 1990. One of the earliest of these was Mikó Imre, “A székely közületi kulturális önkormányzat,” Korunk 3, I/11 (November 1990), pp. 1486–95. Sz, “Autonómia – de meddig?” September 19, 1991. CL, “Unii mai vroiau ceva: ‘Ardealul Autonom’!” in installments, October 3 and 4, 1991.



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although a more moderate view embracing less powerful structures was more prevalent. III. A. Territorial Autonomy? In early October 1991, a group of more extreme UDMR members proposed that a referendum should be held on possible territorial autonomy in the two Hungarian-majority counties in central Romania, Harghita and Covasna, where Hungarians overall comprise more than 75 percent of the local inhabitants. This group made its proposal public in a countrywide Hungarianlanguage newspaper on October 11, proposing the referendum for October 19. The referendum proposal was also publicized by Romanian television on October 13, and by October 15, several Romanian parties had made strongly worded public declarations against such activities. Internal divisions within the UDMR on this issue reflected an influence of demographics. Strong supporters of autonomy tended to come from these enclave regions. Moderate Hungarians from demographically mixed regions blamed these Székely (Szekler) Hungarians57 from the enclave as having pushed too far for autonomy and thus increasing misunderstanding between Romanians and Hungarians. In the context of this negative Romanian response, a few more moderate UDMR representatives in the enclave region began to distance themselves from the proposal, with the UDMR president in Miercurea Ciuc, the county seat of Harghita, branding the group openly pushing autonomy as a small band of “radicals.”58 Hungarian leaders from the enclave region then tried to mend relations with Hungarian moderates from more mixed areas, declaring that it had never been the intention of the UDMR faction from the Székely lands59 “to cut off or isolate the Székely from the Hungarians.”60 Romanians generally overlooked these differences between the moderate and extreme Hungarian factions, and efforts by Hungarian moderates to emphasize these differences did little to offset Romanian fears. Tensions were not helped by the impeccably timed release of a parliamentary report on actions against Romanians in those Hungarian enclave counties during the December 1989 revolution. This “Har-Cov” Report (named for the Harghita and Covasna counties) was discussed in parliament within days of the autonomy proposal,61 timing that many Hungarians viewed as intentional. 57 58 59 60 61

The Székely live concentrated in the mountainous Harghita and Covasna counties. AH, “Doresc harghitenii autonomie teritoriala˘?” October 16, 1991. The enclave region of Secuime/Székelyföld. Sz, “Az RMDSz udvarhelyszéki választmányának közleménye,” October 29, 1991. The UDMR condemned the report as an unfair singling out of two counties for examination, based on the notion that the December 1989 violence there was ethnically motivated rather than simply part of the revolution – with which they disagreed. CL, various articles, October 15 and 16, 1991; HN, “Határozottan titltakozunk a megalapozatlan vádaskodások ellen,” October 19, 1991; HN, “[text obscured] & véget a rágalmazásnak, az uszitásnak!” October 22, 1991; Sz, “Mérsékeltebb hangnemben ítélték el a székely autonómia gondolatát,” October 16, 1991; Sz,



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During this period, discourse on autonomy also invoked the “lesson of Yugoslavia,” as violence over the secession of Croatia had received international attention just a few months before. The Harghita County branch of the PUNR, one of the more strident Romanian parties, claimed that the origin of the referendum idea had come from “outside the national borders” (meaning from Hungary), and that it could lead to “the creation of a situation of social and political chaos that leads to the outbreak of an armed conflict similar to that of Yugoslavia.” The PUNR strongly condemned as threatening any attempt to “federalize or autonomize the national territory of Romania.” Both the constitution and the law on local public administration were adopted after the controversy, and Romanians viewed the Hungarians’ proposed referendum as an abuse of the vague and uncertain institutional structure of the transition period.62 Hungarians, however, described this period as a window of opportunity, merely a sensible time to push self-government claims. The UDMR continued to condemn Romanian press coverage and the Har-Cov Report as an “anti-Hungarian campaign.” On November 2, the more moderate UDMR faction attempted to alleviate Romanian fears by stating publicly that the party would not pursue an autonomy proposal by the more extreme Hungarian faction. In a clear declaration, these moderates called the more extreme autonomy proposal “politically irresponsible, because it does not harmonize with internationally accepted and currently held self-determination procedures, and does not take into consideration the present components of the Romanian political circumstances/relationships – both rational and sensitive.”63 A few weeks later, the central government made a declaration on its support of minority rights in the new Romanian Constitution, which was approved in a referendum on December 8.64 Hungarians, however, had generally voted against the constitution due to its references to Romania as a national state.65 The territorial autonomy issue was “rediscovered” in March 1992 by the Romanian newspaper in Harghita County, which published a story on the autonomy issue as well as a letter from Hungarian leaders in Ukraine, Vojvodina (Yugoslavia), and Czechoslovakia to Hungarian leaders in Romania, supporting territorial autonomy for Hungarians there.66 One reason for this story was the fact that some Hungarian leaders had expressed to Romanians that the referendum on autonomy proposed in October had simply been a rumor, started by the government to provoke trouble. The newspaper story, however, sparked little attention or resonance from Romanians. By early

62

63 64 65

66

“Az RMDSz parlamenti csoportjának nyilatkozata,” October 18, 1991; and Sz, “Nyilatkozat,” October 22, 1991. AH, “Declaraț ia, filialei Harghita a Partidului Unita˘ ț ii Naț ionale Române,” October 18, 1991; AH, “Autonomia ț a˘rii secuilor n-a fost un foc de paie!” March 11, 1992; and CL, various articles, October 15 and 16, 1991. Sz, “Az RMDSz országos elnökségének nyilatkozata,” November 2, 1991. Sz, various articles, November 23, 1991. Andrew Bell, “The Hungarians in Romania,” Nationalities Papers 24, no. 3 (September, 1996), pp. 491–507, especially p. 500. AH, “Autonomia ț a˘rii secuilor n-a forst un foc de paie!” March 11, 1992.



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1992, the autonomy question changed to debates over specific aspects of local minority control. One version of this new debate concerned the ethnicity of county prefects in the counties of the Hungarian enclave, discussed in the following subsection. III. B. County Prefects In late July 1992, the Hungarian prefect and Romanian vice prefect of Harghita County were removed from their posts by the central government, which was generally responsible for appointing county prefects. They were replaced by two new individuals with their ethnicities reversed – an ethnic Romanian as prefect and an ethnic Hungarian as vice prefect. In addition, in nearby Covasna County, an ethnic Hungarian was removed from his post as prefect and was replaced with an ethnic Romanian.67 Large demonstrations against the government’s actions followed in the largest cities of each county. Although these protests were also joined by a few Romanian intellectuals, the overall tenor of the demonstrations was not multiethnic, but instead Hungarian. During the demonstration, one speaker proposed that the Hungarian residents of the counties would wear “yellow stars of David” in protest of the prefects’ removal, beginning on August 1 – the symbol was later changed to a “white rosette” instead. In the view of the local Romanian paper, the government’s actions were simply part of its effort to “exercise authority over every square centimeter of the territory of Romania,” arguing that the only fault of the new prefects was that “they had been born Romanian.”68 This sentiment was also expressed by Romanians in interviews several years later. On August 6, the government decided on a compromise: that the two counties would each have two prefects, one Hungarian and one Romanian. However, no legislative provisions confirmed this solution.69 In spite of this compromise, the two counties strongly opposed the Iliescu government in the September 1992 national elections – which the administration won anyway. III. C. Autonomy Revisited Throughout 1992 and early 1993, the Hungarians continued to experiment with means to increase local governmental control. A plan proposed in late 1992 and adopted in January of 1993 established a doctrine of autonomy within the UDMR party itself. The plan, which called for increased “internal 67

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HN, “Patáki Imrét felmentették tisztségbo˝l, Hargita megye új prefektusa Vos¸loban Doru,” July 21, 1992; and Michael Shafir, “Minorities Council Raises Questions,” RFE/RL Research Report, June 11, 1993, p. 37. AH, “Cine are urechi de auzit, sa˘ auda˘ : ‘Guvernul României este hota˘ rît sa˘ -s¸i exercite autoritatea pe fiecare centimetru pa˘ trat din teritoriul României!’” July 29, 1992; AH, “Singura ‘vina˘ ’ a prefecț ilor din Harghita s¸i Covasna: ca˘ s-au na˘ scut români!” August 5, 1992; Sz, “A székely megyék tiltakoznak a Magyar prefektusok leváltása ellen,” July 21, 1992; and Sz, “Közlemény,” July 29, 1992. Sz, “Két-két prefektus,” August 6, 1992.



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self-determination,” allowed for a diversity of views under a broad party umbrella. It became known as the “Cluj declaration,” and party members clearly intended the plan to set an example for state institutions. In it, they mentioned their status as an “equal part of the Romanian nation,” echoing similar language that had been used by Hungarians in Slovakia.70 Romanians remained suspicious and skeptical of this UDMR plan and its goals, interpreting it as another step on the road to autonomy. By March, the government eliminated the previously negotiated dual prefect arrangement for the two Hungarian-majority counties, placing an ethnic Romanian at the head of each. The new prefect of Covasna County professed a strong affiliation with Romanian nationalist parties, which sparked particular resentment in Hungarian circles. In response to these prefect changes, a group of ethnic Hungarian parliamentarians made a declaration reminding the government that the counties were 85 and 75 percent Hungarian and branded the government’s action as “ethnic cleansing.”71 Although President Iliescu formally asked the UDMR to rescind these statements, the party instead planned protests throughout the counties. A demonstration of eight to ten thousand soon took place in Odorheiu Secuiesc/Székelyudvarhely, accompanied by other large demonstrations in at least four other cities across the two counties.72 UDMR representatives also made formal protests in the Romanian parliament. Tensions surrounding the prefect issue were diffused only with referral to a Council of National Minorities, a relatively new institution established by the Romanian government. In a compromise on April 20, the UDMR gingerly accepted that they might exercise a standing influence on legislation through this new body.73 III. D. Emphasizing Local Government Having learned by experience that the Romanian population would not support autonomy, the UDMR began to turn its attention to increased local government powers in November of 1993, when it announced a two-point plan of action on the issue. First, the party concretized its “internal autonomy” by restructuring it and devolving more authority to local branches. The UDMR then called for increased autonomy for communities, towns, and counties.74 Throughout 1994, the UDMR engaged in efforts to get some form of autonomy included in the basic treaty being discussed between Romania and Hungary. In September of 1994, UDMR leader László To˝kés joined Miklós Duray, a Hungarian leader in Slovakia, on an informative visit throughout 70

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Kovács Nás, “Cultural Autonomy, Territorial Autonomy and Proportional Representation: Hungarian Communities’ Ideas on Ethnic Accomodation.” Sz, “Nacionalista prefektus Kovászna megyében,” March 27, 1993; and Sz, “Állásfoglalás,” March 31, 1993. The use of this term sparked a government reaction against László To˝kés as author of the claim. Sz, “Az elnöki hivatal közleménye,” April 1, 1993; and Sz, various articles, April 2, 1993. Shafir, “Minorities Council.” Sz, “Az RMDSz önkormányzati struktúrájának kiépitése felé,” November 5, 1993.


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Slovakia, both leaders voicing the theme that “decisions about us should not be made without us.”75 President Iliescu, however, responded that “territorial autonomy on the ethnic principle” was an idea that was unacceptable to the Romanian state and one that did not fit the European approach. He also strongly criticized the notion of collective rights. In response, the UDMR attempted to replay the Europe card, arguing that the government’s reluctance to devolve government powers contradicted a European Charter that Romania had signed supporting increased local autonomy. Europe’s opinions on the issue of autonomy, however, were and remain remarkably obscure, as discussed later in this chapter.76 By early 1995, the UDMR declared that the Romanian press and representatives were trying to inflate the autonomy issue into an anti-Hungarian campaign. Local Romanian officials persisted in their argument that any push for autonomy was an effort to bypass Romanian law, and some viewed it as an irredentist effort linked to Hungary.77 Given this resoundingly negative Romanian response, the UDMR began to approach the issue from a different angle, focusing its energies on strengthening local governments. The UDMR first began a program of “local government conferences,” starting with a town in the Hungarian-majority enclave. The goal of this meeting was to bring together Hungarian mayors and other Hungarian leaders from throughout Romania to discuss the potential for increased local government powers. Yet again, Romanian reactions to the meeting were decidedly negative. Romanian nationalists strongly criticized the conference and any mention of the autonomy program, and the more liberal Romanian opposition parties made it clear that they would discontinue their cooperation with the UDMR if it did not distance itself from the concept of “ethnic autonomy” that they saw emerging from the meeting.78 In response, the UDMR declared that it was already distanced from the concept, arguing that the party’s working notions of autonomy and decentralization were “independent of the ethnic composition” of local governments. Rather, the UDMR emphasized the principle of subsidiarity for all local governments in a symmetric fashion. It also condemned the view that this position might pose a danger to the unity of the Romanian state. However, Romanians remained concerned that the devolution of government in the enclave areas

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Sz, “A törésvonalat nem lehet az autonómia igenynél meghúzni,” August 4, 1994; and Sz, “Róluk nem nélkülük,” September 14, 1994. Deets and Stroschein, “Dilemmas of Autonomy”; Sz, “Romániában nem indokolt az etnikai alapon szervezo˝do˝ területi autonómia,” September 17, 1994; Sz, “A helyi autonómia sérthetetlenségéért,” October 8, 1994; and Sz, “Feszültségkeltés, centralizálás, autonómia korlátozás,” November 4, 1994. Sz, “Az RMDSz operatív tanácsának közleménye,” January 7, 1995; Sz, “A mi válaszunk: az autonómia,” January 11, 1995; and Sz, “Támadás az RMDSz ellen,” January 12, 1995. Sz, “Önkormányzati konferencia Sepsiszentgyörgyön,” January 17, 1995; and Sz, various articles, January 18 and 20, 1995.



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would increase local Hungarian powers at the expense of Romanians there.79 Overall, several small events took place throughout this period that contributed to a general sense of debate on the issue. As with the question of prefects, the issue was submitted to the Council of National Minorities. The government, however, continued to oppose the question of autonomy categorically, hindering any real powers of the commission to press the issue further. The government continued to raise concerns regarding Hungarian involvement in autonomy activities throughout 1995.80 These discussions became subsumed by talks over the Hungarian–Romanian basic treaty and whether it should include a draft recommendation – Recommendation 1201 – that the Council of Europe was considering regarding the possibility of self-government for minorities.81 When the treaty was finally signed by the government in September 1996, it included a clause to clarify the issue: “The Contracting Parties agree that Recommendation 1201 does not refer to collective rights, nor does it impose upon them the obligation to grant to the concerned persons any right to a special status of territorial autonomy based on ethnic criteria.” Ironically, although 1201 became codified in the treaty, the Council of Europe considered it too controversial; it set the measure aside and later rejected it altogether.82 III. E. Romanian Orphans and the Hungarian Enclave Disputes over Hungarian control in enclave regions encompass a range of different issues. Within the two counties of the Hungarian enclave region, this question of local control has been raised in different forms in different cities. The City of Odorheiu Secuiesc/Székelyudvarhely, located near Miercurea Ciuc, is one of the most “pure” Hungarian places in Romania. Its population of forty thousand is approximately 96 to 97 percent Hungarian, with local Romanians generally residing in a particular quarter of town.83 Within the Hungarian ethnic 79

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Sz, “A decentralizáció hívei vagyunk,” January 20, 1995; and interview with Marius Însura˘ț elu and Mariana Cristescu, journalists at CL, Târgu Mures¸, November 21, 1997. Sz, “Elfogadhatatlanok a kollektív jogok és az autonómia,” March 29, 1995; and Sz, “Szó sem lehet autonómiáról,” October 13, 1995. The wording of the protocol is as follows: “In regions in which they are in a majority, persons belonging to a national minority shall have the right to have at their disposal appropriate local or autonomous authorities or to have a special status, matching the specific historical and territorial situation and in accordance with the domestic legislation of the state.” Sharon Fisher and Zsofia Szilagyi, “Hungarian Minority Summit Causes Uproar in Slovakia,” Open Media Research Institute (hereafter OMRI, temporary replacement for RFE/RL), Analytical Brief # 223. It also includes provisions on the use of one’s mother tongue in interactions with local administrative officials and in courts. Gabriel Andreescu, “Political Manipulation at Its Best,” Transition 1, no. 22 (December, 1995), pp. 46–9, especially p. 47. Appendix to the “Treaty between the Republic of Hungary and Romania on Understanding, Cooperation, and Good Neighborhood [sic],” signed in Timis¸oara, September 16, 1996. Available from the International Law Department of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the Republic of Hungary. Deets and Stroschein, “Dilemmas of Autonomy.” Comisia Natț ionala˘ pentru Statistica˘, data from the 1992 Romanian census.


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community, the majority of the city’s inhabitants are more precisely known as the Székely, a Hungarian subgroup that is concentrated in the mountainous Hungarian enclave. Both Hungarians and Romanians often refer to the town as retaining a strong ethnic character. Although Odorheiu Secuiesc is not one of this book’s sample cities (thus this contention is not reflected in the figure that follows), these events merit mention due to their ongoing significance in the local discourse of both groups in the discussion of Hungarian control in the enclave counties. Throughout the 1990s, Odorheiu Secuiesc had fallen into a dispute with a Swiss NGO, Basel Hilft, over a children’s institute that it wished to build there. The Swiss group had volunteered to contribute funds soon after 1989 for a facility that local authorities understood would provide care for handicapped children in the region. The project became known as Cserehát, after that particular section of town. In the course of the design and construction of the building, the Swiss NGO turned the administration of the property over to a Romanian group, and later chose to donate it to a group of Romanian nuns from a Greek Catholic order. In the course of this transfer, the future institution began to be described as an orphanage for children from throughout Romania. Local authorities angrily disputed this change, arguing that they had understood the institute to be for children from their community, not from the rest of the country. They began to accuse the Swiss NGO and its Romanian counterparts of a plot to “Romanize” or “colonize” the community through the establishment of the orphanage. Because Ceaus¸escu had explicitly attempted similar policies, this accusation easily resonated with locals. Stories were also spread in the local media that the children might be infected with AIDS.84 In 1996, the city authorities filed a formal lawsuit against the Romanian administrative group and the Greek Catholic order, attempting to halt progress on the institution. A local court official sealed the building. By the spring of 1997, a court decision sanctioned the resumption of construction, and the nuns took up residence in the building in March. The arrival of the nuns upset a number of local inhabitants, and some more extreme individuals began to advocate some action. An attempt to reach a solution during a local City Council meeting on May 27 brought no results. One member of the City Council angrily announced that if the nuns did not leave by the next day, he could mobilize several thousand protesters to get them to leave.85 On the morning of May 28, he put his threat into action, using a local television station to rally a group to march on the building. He said that Romanians were trying to establish a Romanian quarter in the city and that it 84

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Renate Weber and Gabriel Andreescu, “Evenimentele din Odorheiul Secuisesc: Raportul comitetului Helsinki Român,” 22, November 1–10, 1997. AH, “O noua˘ Gogota˘ cu peceta ‘Corpului de Autoguvernare’ din O-S?” May 30–1, 1997; NS, “Jelentés az udvarhelyi ‘apácaverésro˝l,’” June 5, 1997; Sz, “Élezo˝do˝ konfliktus Székelyudvarhelyen,” June 2, 1997; and Weber and Andreescu, “Evenimentele din Odorheiul Secuisesc.”



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must be stopped. Around one thousand joined his call. As he was a local union leader, most of these individuals were workers from two local factories, and they were joined also by some students. They angrily surrounded the building and broke inside, forcing out the four Greek Catholic nuns living there and locking the building behind them.86 Although the nuns were not physically harmed by the mob, they were threatened and frightened by them. Accounts of alleged injuries varied predictably between the Hungarian and Romanian press and in later interviews. In addition, although Romanian sources tended to emphasize the ethnic aspects of the dispute and demographic intolerance of the local community, Hungarian sources tended to emphasize the issue as one of local control over zoning and property use.87 The head of the Covasna County Council quickly intervened, making an appeal for peace. However, he also expressed some suspicion regarding the NGO’s intentions. By fall 1997, the central government had become more active in trying to broker a compromise between local authorities and the Greek Catholic order. Many Hungarians began to complain that the government, in exerting pressure on the city to change its stance, was dividing the community. In early December, a number of locals continued to protest against the institution, while some Hungarian officials at the county and party level had softened.88 Within this tense context, the government’s general secretary, Remus Opris¸, arrived at the building on December 8, accompanied by the county vice prefect and the nuns. They attempted to enter the building and were initially barred by city officials, including the mayor. Once inside, the nuns began to conduct an informal religious service. They were heckled by approximately fifty local citizens, who also prevented them from unloading a truck of furniture into the building. The mayor and city councilors argued that Opris¸ should move the surprise meeting to the local council office and away from the disputed building. He refused, calling the proposal an effort of “blackmail” by the city. Instead, he called in a few hundred gendarmeries from the central government for extra protection, and Opris¸ spent the night in the building along with a number of locals, who said they would stay until the “foreigners” left.89

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AH, “O noua˘ Gogota˘ cu peceta ‘Corpului de Autoguvernare’ din O-S?” May 30–31, 1997; Sz, “Élezo˝do˝ konfliktus Székelyudvarhelyen,” June 2, 1997; HN, “Székelyudvrhelyen még mindig feszült a hangulat a Cserehát miatt,” May 29, 1997; and Weber and Andreescu, “Evenimentele din Odorheiul Secuisesc.” Romanian sources counted five hundred participants. HN, “Cserehát – nem etnikai konfliktus,” June 4, 1997; and RMS, “Székelyudvarhely tiltakozik,” November 18, 1997. Romanian sources were also more likely to list as many as six nuns, whereas Hungarian sources cited as few as three. AH, “Comunicat,” June 4, 1997; RMS, “Események és ‘események,’” December 8, 1997; Sz, “Meghátrálásra késztetik a székelyudvarhelyieket,” November 27, 1997; and Sz, “Tiltakozás a városvezeto˝k zaklatása ellen,” December 3, 1997. AH, “O zi s¸i o noapte de pomina˘ la Odorheiu Scuiesc,” December 9–10, 1997; Ctl, “Remus Opris¸ s-a simț it s¸antajat la Odorheiu Secuisesc,” December 9, 1997; HN, “Székelyudvarhely – Cserehát – Az ero˝szak elo˝jelei,” December 9, 1997; Sz, “Rajtaütéses látogatás Csereháton,” December 9, 1997; Sz, “Csendo˝rök Csereháton,” December 10, 1997.



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Once the gendarmerie arrived, they made the city officials leave and then surrounded the building. Over the next several days, Opris¸ attempted to conduct negotiations among the disputing parties, with little success. But the nuns also took formal control of the building and began to move in their furniture. Although local officials protested the presence of the gendarmerie, and the general leadership of the UDMR protested the central government’s lack of regard for the local community’s wishes, the orphanage was again on track. The city continued its war in court battles over the next few years, losing several appeals. Finally, by 1998 the UDMR began to withdraw from the issue and distanced itself from the actions of local city politicians, leaving it as a local issue. However, by late 1999 some court decisions began to favor the local council position, a move toward increased Hungarian control.90 III. F. Contention over Autonomy in Romania Figure 7.1 depicts Hungarian and Romanian contention over the autonomy issue throughout the 1990s in Romania. It resembles the graphs on language contention in Chapter 6. Here Hungarian actions in support of autonomy are registered above the x-axis with positive weights and Romanian actions with negative weights to illustrate polarization between groups. The graphs represent a composite of contentious events from the three sample cities in Romania from 1989–99 and do not distinguish between elite and mass activities (unlike those in Chapters 4 and 5). As discussed in Chapter 6 and in the appendix, the action weights used to create the graph are based on a three-point code as outlined in Table 6.1, allowing some scaling for the intensity of a large number of events. The graph shows some marked levels of Hungarian contention, although somewhat less than over the language issue in Romania discussed in Chapter 6. In contrast to the early, large-scale mobilizations for autonomy in Transcarpathia, here there was relative quiescence by Hungarians on the autonomy issue up to 1991. This is partly due to the fact that after the Târgu Mures¸ riot, ethnic contention on both language and autonomy remained at quite low levels for several months. After groups realized just how provocative their claims could become, they displayed a hesitance to engage in directly contentious activity until after some memory of the riot had faded. Hungarian contention on autonomy in the early 1990s was strongly linked to actions by the central government: the passage of the constitution in 1991 and 90

AdC, “Consiliul local Odorheiu Secuiesc s-a întrunit în sedinț a˘ extradordinara˘ ,” December 11, 1997; AH, “In soapte pe întuneric, culese în orele de intoleranț a˘ de la Odorheiu Secuiesc,” December 16, 1997; AH, “Consiliul Odorheiu Secuiesc împotriva Congregaț ei Inimii Nepriha˘ nite,” June 5–6, 1998; AH, “Consiliul local Odorheiu Secuiesc a pierdut din nou,” November 19, 1998; AH, “Casa pentru copii din Dealul Stejarului din Odorheiu Secuiesc e tot în . . . disputa˘ !” December 11–12, 1998; HN, “Érvényesült a fondorlat és ero˝szak ötvözete,” December 10, 1997; HN, “A csereháti faló,” March 3, 1998, and HN, “Él a remény Csereháton,” October 5, 1999; RL, “Justiț ia a învins la Odorheiu Secuiesc,” December 11, 1997; and Sz, “Csendo˝rök Csereháton,” December 10, 1997. The orphanage was planned to house approximately 160 children.


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10

0 Fe bJu 90 nO 90 ct Fe 90 bJu 91 nO 91 ct Fe 91 bJu 92 nO 92 ct Fe 92 bJu 93 nO 93 ct Fe 93 bJu 94 nO 94 ct Fe 94 bJu 95 nO 95 ct Fe 95 bJu 96 nO 96 ct Fe 96 bJu 97 nO 97 ct Fe 97 bJu 98 nO 98 ct Fe 98 bJu 99 nO 99 ct -9 9

Events

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figure 7.1. Autonomy Activity in Romania – HURS

the government’s removal of county prefects in the Hungarian enclave. Hungarian protests on the prefects’ removal ended when the government either fulfilled their demands or agreed to a compromise. In the Cserehát incident, Hungarian contention emerged over a building dispute with demographic implications and over government intervention attempting to resolve the issue. As in the case of language issues, contention and government action are inextricably intertwined.

iv. slovakia: from the koma´ rno autonomy declaration to the district debate Agitation in Slovakia over the autonomy issue occurred primarily during a period of upheaval and uncertainty: during the first years of the Slovak state’s existence, similar to conditions in Transcarpathia. The prior Czechoslovak federation provided a foundation for a multi-ethnic state, although the Hungarians did not have separate political institutions in the Czechoslovak structure. As the breakup of Czechoslovakia became imminent throughout fall 1992, Hungarians began to worry about their fate in a new Slovakia, which officially came into being on January 1, 1993.91 Hungarian worries regarding a new Slovak state were amplified by the fact that the victor of the 1992 elections in Slovakia, the HZDS and its illustrious leader Vladimír Mecˇ iar, had formed a coalition with the SNS. The SNS leadership, buoyed by Slovakia’s independent status, began to openly declare radical 91

Carol Skalnik Leff, The Czech and Slovak Republics: Nation versus State (Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1996).



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positions against non-Slovaks in the country.92 As described in the previous chapter, the governing coalition’s resistance to reforms on language use led to a number of protests by Hungarians. Nor did Hungarians agree with the government’s proposal to redraw regional administrative districts, made public in late 1993. Because ethnic Hungarians are concentrated horizontally across Slovakia’s southern border with Hungary, they viewed the government’s proposal of more vertically shaped districts as effectively dividing them into small percentages in different districts and diminishing any potential for local Hungarian political power. Partly to protest the government’s district proposal, and partly from a sincere desire to change their lot in the new Slovak state, ethnic Hungarian parliamentary representatives and local officials made a declaration for increased autonomy in Slovakia’s southern region on December 6, 1993, in Komárno, a Hungarianmajority city. On January 8, 1994, they held a mass meeting in Komárno to ratify and concretize the plan. The meeting was attended by a few thousand representatives of the Hungarian minority in Slovakia. The declarations and the meeting produced enormous controversy between Slovaks and Hungarians.93 IV. A. Autonomy or Local Self-Government? Much of the debate surrounding the Komárno meetings was related to various interpretations of what it was that the Hungarians were actually declaring. This vagueness on the meaning of autonomy or self-government was not completely accidental. In addition to an increased emphasis on local government powers, the Hungarians also wished to be recognized by the Slovak state as a “partner” nation, not as a “minority,” a term they felt to be pejorative.94 Ethnic Hungarian members of parliament had tried to change the legal status of minorities in Slovakia but had received little attention from Slovaks.95 The Coexistence (Együttélés) Party, the stronger and more vocal of the Hungarian parties, had made a claim for autonomy as early as October 1991 in a memorandum on the state of Czechoslovakia. In February 1992, the party 92

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Indeed, one of the party slogans remains, “Cudzie necheme, Svoje si nedáme!” (“We don’t want foreigners and we won’t give up ours/ourselves [to foreigners]!”). The SNS bulletin board in Šurany, April 1998. For an English-language summary of these events, see Fisher, “Meeting of Slovakia’s Hungarians Causes Stir.” KLa, “A társnemzeti viszony lényege az egyenrangúság, Interjú Duray Miklóssal,” February 26, 1993. The primary phrase that the Hungarians used to describe their efforts was that “decisions about us must not be made without us.” Hungarians particularly wished increased “autonomy,” or control, over the areas of language use, education, and culture. Agnes Czibulya, interview with Béla Bugár (head of the MKM/MKDH), “A Minority Bill in Slovakia: ‘Decisions about Us Must Not Be Made without Us,’” in Héti Magyarország (Budapest), October 1, 1993, reprinted as FBIS-EEU, “Ethnic Hungarian Alternative to Slovak Minority Law,” November 10, 1993, p. 47. At least two sets of proposals were made by the MKDH, in July and in November. FBIS-EEU, “MKDH Not to Back Call for Hungarian Province,” December 15, 1993, p. 24.


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issued a memorandum on self-determination, defining it as a right being denied to minority groups. The Coexistence Party’s primary emphasis was on cultural and territorial autonomy. Territorial autonomy was also mentioned by leaders of the MKDH/MKM (the Hungarian Christian Democratic Party in Slovakia) in fall 1992, in the context of the breakup of the Czechoslovak state. They ruminated that if Slovaks could obtain territorial autonomy, might the Hungarians also do so? The MKDH later distanced itself from this proposal. And the development of local governments, rather than autonomy, became part of the Coexistence Party platform at its February 1993 congress.96 What had changed? Coexistence leaders, noting the very negative response that autonomy proposals wrought from the Slovak public, decided to change their strategy in early 1993. The party thus retracted its position on autonomy. As Chair Miklós Duray explained, by instead “using the approach of local government, we may already formulate the full breadth of the established conception of autonomy.”97 Although many Hungarians maintained sincere hopes for autonomy, they scaled back the language of their demands in response to Slovak sensitivities. However, Slovaks living in southern Slovakia were not placated by this official watering down of terms. At an April meeting in Šurany of the Slovak cultural organization Matica Slovenská, they adopted the “Second Memorandum of Slovaks from Southern Slovakia.” In this memorandum, they protested the efforts of the Hungarian parties and argued for more legal protection of Slovak culture and language by the state, particularly in the largely Hungarian-inhabited south.98 As in Romania, it was Hungarians in Hungarian-majority enclaves in Slovakia who first attempted to push the autonomy issue. In December 1993, a group of local Hungarian leaders and parliamentarians from the Hungarianmajority enclave of Žitný Ostrov/Csallóköz in southwestern Slovakia made a declaration in which they suggested the creation of a Hungarian “province” with “self administration and special legal status,” including a one hundred– member assembly for the entity. They argued that such a structure was necessary to counter Slovak government actions that they believed were “leading the minorities into ruin.”99 These plans were to be further codified in the January 8 mass meeting, scheduled to take place in Komárno. 96

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Az önkormányzat az önrendelkezés alapja: a szlovákiai magyar választott képviselo˝k és polgármesterek országos nagygyu˝lésének hiteles jegyzo˝könyve, Komárom, 1994. január 8 (Komárom/Komárno: Komáromi Lapok–Szinnyei kiadó, 1995), pp. 14–18. He added that using this approach would take some time. Kmeczkó Mihály, “A társnemzeti viszony lényege az egyenrangúság,” KLa, February 26, 1993. Another Hungarian leader has said that at the time of the first declarations, autonomy was understood as necessary, but that this perception changed in the course of discussion. Interview with Péter Kolár, president of Csemadok (the Hungarian cultural organization in Slovakia), Košice, April 8, 1998. “2. Memorandum Slovákov južného Slovenska, piate stretnutie, 4.IV.1993,” in Matica Slovenská, Stretnutia Slovákov južného Slovenska v Šuranoch, marec 1990–april 1995 (Šurany: Dom Matice slovenskej, 1995), pp. 8–10. The declaration was made on December 6. The wording is from the English version in Prague Cˇ TK News Service, “MKDH Not to Back Call for Hungarian Province,” December 14, 1993, reprinted in FBIS-EEU, December 15, 1993, pp. 23–4.



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IV. B. The Komárno Meeting of Hungarians The Slovak government reacted to the planned meeting with alarm, with Prime Minister Mecˇ iar taking a strident stance against “calls to found a ‘Hungarian parliament’ in Slovakia.” The more moderate President Kovácˇ also held such plans to be unacceptable and unconstitutional – a “dangerous game” intended to cause commotion. He appealed to the Hungarians to instead wait for a decision from the Slovak parliament on administrative decentralization for the entire state.100 The SNS argued that such autonomy plans threatened the longstanding peaceful coexistence of Hungarians and Slovaks in mixed regions of the south.101 By late December, the Slovak parliament formally rejected the Hungarians’ self-government appeal as unconstitutional, decrying its “confrontational tone, excessive demands, and intolerance.” The parliament also asked the organizers of the January 8 meeting to postpone it.102 However, the Coexistence Party restated its plan to push the autonomy issue, noting that the upcoming meeting would continue as scheduled. Party Chair Duray explained the disagreement to Slovaks as merely a problem of translation. He noted that the Hungarian word used, tartomány, could be translated either as “province” or “area,” and that Slovak fears about the threat of an independent Hungarian province were thus simply the result of semantics, for a “Hungarian province” was not the goal of the upcoming meeting. After this point, the Hungarians began to use the word “autonomy” less in their interactions with Slovaks. However, among other Hungarians, the meeting’s organizers often used the term “autonomy” (autonómia) to denote local governments and devolution.103 Linguistic differences thus created the potential for the organizers to say different things to Slovaks and to Hungarians in an attempt to win more favor within each group. 100

101

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Bratislava Rozhlasová Stanica Slovensko Network, “Kovácˇ Warns Hungarians,” December 15, 1993; and Prague Cˇ TK, “Mecˇ iar: Hungarian Autonomy Plan ‘Borders on Crime,’” December 14, 1993. Both reprinted in FBIS-EEU, December 16, 1993, pp. 17–18. He met with Coexistence leaders and with meeting organizers on December 15 and 17 to try to persuade them to change their minds. Fisher, “Meeting of Slovakia’s Hungarians Causes Stir,” p. 44. In addition, the left-wing SDL’ took the stance that Hungarian autonomy was “quite simply unacceptable.” SV, “L’. Cˇ ernák: Požiadavky RE sú splnené,” December 15, 1993. For the SDL’ statement by Peter Weiss, see Prague Cˇ TK, “Weiss: Hungarian Province ‘Unacceptable,’” December 19, 1993, reprinted in FBIS-EEU, December 21, 1993, p. 10. Prague Cˇ TK, “Parliament Rejects ‘Unconstitutional’ Komárno Appeal,” December 21, 1993, reprinted in FBIS-EEU, December 22, 1993, p. 16. Prague Cˇ TK, “Együtélés Defends Appeal,” December 21, 1993, reprinted in FBIS-EEU, December 22, 1993, p. 17. The controversial passage is: “. . . ahol a magyar lakosság jelento˝s számbal él, egy saját önkormányzattal és saját közigazgatással rendelkezo˝ különleges jogállás tartomány kialaktására van szükség, az Euórpa Tanács 1201-es ajánlása alapján.” GH, “Kommentáljuk,” January 4, 1994. The following is one example: “the minister has said that seven territories will come into being, with seven small parliaments, seven small governments, that is, seven small autonomous units will be formed. We would like to get a position in connection with this structure.” Mária Ružicˇ ová, “Komárom az események sodrában,” interview with Komárno mayor István Pásztor, KLa, December 22, 1993.


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In spite of these word games, the Slovak response to any such proposals remained overwhelmingly negative. Different views among the Hungarians on how to handle relations with the Slovaks led to some friction between the two primary Hungarian parties, with Coexistence maintaining a harder line and the MKDH softening its position. The primary point of dispute was on the actual meaning of “self-government.” The more moderate MKDH did not entirely identify with the December 6 declaration, although the party supported the proposal for a self-administrative geographical space.104 MKDH leaders openly disputed plans for territorial autonomy, stating, “we know that the political will for this is lacking, both on the Slovak side and on the part of various European institutions.”105 A few days before the Komárno meeting, Coexistence leader Duray confirmed his view that the meeting was intended to create a “region with special legal status” in southern Slovakia, a structure resembling political autonomy, but that its organizers did not intend to revise the state border with Hungary.106 This statement prompted a third Hungarian party to criticize the event as somewhat extreme.107 Duray, possibly worried that meeting attendance might fall, then quickly began to argue that the Hungarian parties had never in fact spoken about autonomy, but rather only about self-government.108 This word change was a useful public relations move. For their part, Slovak organizations such as Matica Slovenská tried to get the meeting banned, citing the need to protect the territorial integrity of Slovakia. At another meeting in Šurany on January 2, the Matica organization issued a “Third Memorandum of Slovaks from South Slovakia” in which they described the upcoming event as an “obvious anti-Constitutional attempt at subversion against the state” that merited government intervention.109 In Komárno, the 104

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Even Hungary’s socialist leaders, usually less interested in the Hungarians abroad than other parties, made statements favoring the proposed self-governing region. Cˇ eský Deník, “Horn Calls for Autonomy for Minority in Slovakia,” December 28, 1993, reprinted in FBIS-EEU, “MKDH Not to Back Call,” December 30, 1993, p. 13; and Prague Cˇ TK, “Hungary’s Horn: Hungarians Have Autonomy Right,” December 19, 1993, reprinted in FBIS-EEU, December 21, 1993, p. 10. MKDH leader Béla Bugár also noted that although “there will always be such individuals” who will hope for different territorial administrations, what counted was the “political will of parliamentary parties,” which had not declared a formal intent to secede. Slovenský Denník, “MKDH Leader Distances Himself from Coexistence,” December 29, 1993, reprinted in FBISEEU, January 4, 1994, p. 6. Prague Cˇ TK News Service, “Hungarian Minority Leader on ‘Special’ Region,” January 4, 1994, reprinted in FBIS-EEU, January 6, 1994, p. 12. László Nagy, “Update on Meeting of Ethnic Hungarians in Komárno,” RFE/RL, January 7, 1994. Slovenský Denník, “Duray Urges ‘Self-administration’ over ‘Autonomy,’” January 7, 1994, reprinted in FBIS-EEU, January 12, 1994, p. 17. “3. Memorandum Slovákov z južného Slovenska,” in Stretnutia Slovákov, pp. 10–11. An English version appears as “Southern Slovaks Call for Protection of Rights,” originally in SR, January 3, 1994, reprinted in FBIS-EEU, January 6, 1994, p. 13. The meeting was attended by more than five hundred people: RFE/RL, “Surany Slovaks Protest Hungarian Autonomy Drive,” January 4, 1994.



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local Matica Slovenská group organized petitions and a public rally calling for the resignation of town mayor István Pásztor, who was highly involved in organizing the event.110 IV. C. Meeting Results After all of this attention, the Komárno meeting itself was well attended by three thousand ethnic Hungarian mayors, local representatives, and parliamentary representatives. In addition, over 260 international journalists attended, many of whom expected to see true sparks of ethnic conflict, and who left somewhat disappointed. In spite of a bomb threat and the presence of some protesters, no real violence occurred. However, some buses traveling to the meeting from other parts of Slovakia were either detained or turned back by police for obscure reasons. Some individuals hitchhiked to the meeting in order to avoid this inconvenience.111 The meeting produced declarations that comprised a watered-down version of the December 6 autonomy proposal. The notion of a one hundred–member representative body for southern Slovakia was abandoned, and the primary foci became the constitutional rights of Hungarians in Slovakia, increased powers for local governments, and proposed versions of territorial-administrative units to be submitted to the Slovak parliament.112 A draft report on the meeting explained this shift in focus to local government as a necessary part of autonomy efforts: “the meaning of autonomy is identical to that of local government; however, the latter expression is more politically admissible than is autonomy, which Slovak public opinion understands as the first step towards a state’s independence.”113 In these administrative proposals, territories containing Hungarians were classified in three ways: (1) “majority region,” where the Hungarians comprise at least 50 percent of the inhabitants; (2) “minority region,” where Hungarians are at least 10 percent but fewer than 50 percent of the inhabitants; and (3) “diaspora region,” where Hungarians are fewer than 10 percent of the inhabitants but more than one hundred persons. The proposed districts were

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Prague Cˇ TK, “Komárno Citizens Seek to Dismiss Mayor,” January 4, 1994, reprinted in FBISEEU, January 6, 1994, p. 12. GH, “Rendezni végre . . .,” and “Révkomárom, de messze vagy!” January 11, 1994. Cˇ TK National News Wire, “Gasparovic on Yesterday’s Hungarian Minority Meeting,” January 9, 1994; Fisher, “Meeting of Slovakia’s Hungarians Causes Stir”; and SV, “Provinciu nevyhlásili, ale chcú regióny mad’arskej menšiny,” January 10, 1994. The three areas mentioned refer to the three formal declarations produced by the meeting; reprinted in KLa, “Rendezni verge közös dolgainkat, ez a mi munkánk és nem is kevés,” January 14, 1994. Miklós Duray, “Önrendelkezés a Szlovákiában élo˝ magyarság törekvéseiben,” in Komáromi Lapok, Az önkormányzat az önrendelkezés alapja, pp. 8–21, especially p. 12; and Miklós Duray, József Kvarda, and Norbert Oriskó, A nemzetállam és a demokratikus ellenszere (Csenke: Csenke Demokratikus és Nyitott Társadalomért Alapítvány, 1994).


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intended to incorporate the various needs of these three types of communities. Two concrete administrative scenarios were proposed. The first was a coherent administrative unit stretching across southern Slovakia, including some territories in the southeast corner. The second involved three administrative units and a Hungarian island of eighteen villages near Nitra.114 The meeting had some effect on international affairs. Talks scheduled for January 12 between Slovakia and Hungary on a bilateral treaty were stalled by efforts by the Hungarian state to push for ethnic districts in Slovakia.115 Reactions to the meeting in the Slovak press were predictably negative. The Slovak Christian Democratic Movement (KDH) criticized the ethnic criteria at the basis of the meeting’s administrative proposals, and the SNS called the meeting an act of “open aggression.”116 The Ministry of the Interior, closely tied to Prime Minister Mecˇ iar, began an investigation of the Association of Žitný Ostrov Towns and Villages, the Hungarian group that had officially organized the meeting, for activities “not compatible with its program and statutes.”117 Both President Kovácˇ and Prime Minister Mecˇ iar made visits to Komárno over the next few weeks, with Kovácˇ praising the Hungarians for submitting the proposals to parliament rather than using irregular means to advance them.118 IV. D. The Role of the Outside Throughout the 1990s, Europe was perceived by both Hungarians and titulars as both a mediating force and as a target for membership. The Slovak parliament had accepted Council of Europe (CE) resolutions in June 1993 as part of its drive for membership. For Hungarians, membership in European structures took on added meaning, as a perceived means to escape the “confinement” of a nationstate structure.119 In addition, ethnic Hungarian leaders often invoked the Council of Europe as a tactic to increase their negotiating power with the Slovak government. As noted by Duray, “when the government refuses to hold talks with us, as the legitimate representatives of a certain community, we are forced to choose a different method.”120

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KLa, “Szlovákia közigazgatási és területi átszervezéséro˝l,” January 14, 1994. Fisher, “Meeting of Slovakia’s Hungarians Causes Stir,” p. 45. The SNS statement was made by western Slovak representatives. RFE/RL, “Slovak Parties on Hungarian Minority,” January 11, 1994. Slovenský Denník, “Investigation of Hungarian Minority Organization,” January 13, 1994, reprinted in FBIS-EEU, January 24, 1994, p. 17. RFE/RL, “Kovácˇ Meets with Ethnic Hungarians,” January 17, 1994; Prague Cˇ TK, “Kovácˇ Lauds Hungarians for Use of ‘Legal Means,’” reprinted in FBIS-EEU, January 21, 1994, p. 12; and KLi, “Premiér V. Mecˇ iar a cˇ lenovia vlády v Komárne: Míting a zasadnutie republikového predstavenstva HZDS,” February 4, 1994. This theme arose often in interviews with ethnic Hungarian intellectuals. Pravda (Bratislava), Martin Krno, “Interview with Coexistence Chairman Miklós Duray,” September 17, 1993, reprinted in FBIS-EEU, “Duray Denies He Seeks ‘Greater Hungary,’” September 21, 1993, pp. 16–17.


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Among those present at the Komárno meeting were a U.S. consulate observer and the secretary general of the Council of Europe.121 Their presence was understood as a sign of external legitimation for the proceedings. As in Romania, Hungarians perceived Europe as sanctioning their autonomy and self-government claims. The December 6 declaration had invoked the proposed CE Recommendation 1201 (never in fact adopted by the CE) as allowing for the “establishment of a province with special legal status, with its own local government and administration,” where there were significant minorities.122 In resisting the Hungarian push for 1201-like autonomy, Matica Slovenská’s declaration also appealed to the CE in their January 1994 memorandum: “We express our anxiety and fear with regard to the manipulation of working documents of the European Council and their abuse [. . .] as in the case of CE Recommendation 1201.”123 Both sides looked to the CE for definitive answers on self-government in a delegation visit in mid-January 1994. Europe never gave such clear answers. Instead, the talks were quite anticlimactic, producing simply a declaration that “there are no disagreements between the experts from the Council of Europe and the Slovak Republic,”124 and essentially giving a green light to the government’s plan for redistricting. Partly as a result of this visit, the Hungarian proposal instantly became less viable.125 Hungarian leaders later argued that the CE officials had “received one-sided information.”126 In spite of this lukewarm victory for the Slovak government, the ideals of the Komárno meeting remained alive in Hungarian circles. Hungary continued to voice its displeasure about the state of affairs, accusing Slovakia of holding the ethnic Hungarian minority’s leadership as “hostages.”127 In addition, Coexistence leader Duray traveled to Romania on January 27–30 as a guest of László To˝kés. The two politicians, understood as the more strident representatives of each of their Hungarian groups, held public forum discussions there on “autonomy, self-determination, and local government structures” with an estimated ten thousand total participants. Ethnic Hungarians in Romania were particularly interested in the details of the Komárno meeting’s proposed structure for local governments,128 and To˝kés made a subsequent visit to Slovakia in September of 1994. 121

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Tarics Péter, “Rendezni végre közös dolgainkat, ez a mi munkánk és nem is kevés,” KLa, January 14, 1994; and RFE/RL, “Slovakia’s Ethnic Hungarians Meet in Komárno,” January 10, 1994. Az önkormányzat az önrendelkezés alapja includes Slovak and English versions, at pp. 133–6, 147–50, as well as a Hungarian version, at pp. 116–19. SÚ, “Appeal,” December 15, 1993, reprinted in FBIS-EEU, “Call for Local Government Meeting Published,” January 6, 1994, pp. 13–14. “List Rade Európy Slovákov z južného Slovenska,” in Stretnutia Slovákov, pp. 11–12. RFE/RL, “Council of Europe Experts in Bratislava,” January 18, 1994; and RFE/RL, “Council of Europe Experts End Visit to Slovakia, January 19, 1994. Mark Griffin, “Feeling Familiar Tremors in South Slovakia,” Prague Post, February 1, 1994, reprinted in FBIS-EEU, “Political Options of Hungarian Minority,” March 11, 1994, p. 15. RFE/RL, “Hungarian Delegation in Slovakia,” January 24, 1994. RFE/RL, “Hungarian Delegation.” KLa, “Erdélyben is tudnak a komáromi nagygyu˝lésro˝l,” February 11, 1994.


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IV. E. Designing Districts Many of the Hungarian wishes for reforms in the areas of language use and culture were granted under the short-lived Moravcˇ ík government that followed Mecˇ iar’s March 1994 no-confidence vote; however, these reforms were only to be undone with the return of Mecˇ iar after the fall 1994 elections. By this time, MKDH leaders no longer brought up the issue of political autonomy in a serious form, but did continue to press for “educational and cultural autonomy” throughout 1994.129 Coexistence leaders, however, occasionally reintroduced the issue as a political tactic to “calm down the political scene.”130 The two Hungarian parties ran together in a coalition for the fall 1994 elections, but never truly reconciled their positions on this issue. The Slovaks of southern Slovakia also continued to make declarations, primarily on the issue of language use in the region.131 Like the Hungarian–Romanian Treaty that was to follow, the basic treaty that was signed between Hungary and Slovakia in March of 1995 favorably mentioned the ill-fated Recommendation 1201.132 In early 1996, discussions began in earnest on government devolution and the design of administrative districts – and debates again arose along ethnic lines. For example, under the government’s proposed district map, the town of Tornal’a and its surroundings, near Rimavská Sobota, were to be broken off from the Rimavská Sobota District and annexed to a new one to form a northsouth district. As noted by Hungarians, this move would effectively decrease the ethnic Hungarian composition of each district.133 In spite of a May 1996 local referendum in which Tornal’a residents overwhelmingly voted against this change, it remained part of the government plan.134 Other new districts proposed by the government favored the distribution of votes for the governing HZDS party.135 It was this government district plan that was approved by parliament on July 3, 1996, overriding a March veto by President Kovácˇ . Under the plan, which divided the country into eight regions and seventy-nine smaller districts, 129 130

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RFE/RL, “Hungarians in Slovakia Want Cultural Autonomy,” June 14, 1994. Prague Cˇ TK, “Hungarian Coalition to Press for Autonomy,” September 2, 1994, reprinted in FBIS-EEU, September 8, 1994. SR, ”Stretnutia v Šuranoch (1990–1995),” in August 24, 1996. Article 15, “Treaty on Good Neighbourly Relations and Friendly Co-operation between the Republic of Hungary and the Slovak Republic,” signed on March 19, 1995, available from the International Law Department of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the Republic of Hungary. GH, “SOS Tornalja,” March 26, 1996; GZ, “Cˇ aká nás delenie?” January 4, 1996; GZ, “Stanovisko OÚ v Rim. Sobote k návrhu zákona NR SR k územnému a správnemu cˇ leneiu SR,” January 24, 1996; GZ, “Rimavská Sobota nás nechce?” March 20, 1996; ÚS, “Mégis elcsatolják Tornalját?” March 19, 1996. For an overview, see Miroslav Kusý, “Regióny sveta a regióny Slovenska,” Sme, August 22, 1996. GH, “Népszvazás volt,” May 21, 1996; and GZ, “V Tornali bolo referendum,” May 22, 1996. GZ, “Komentár: Delenec: delitel’ = podiel,” April 17, 1996. See analysis in Vladimír Krivý, Viera Feglová, and Daniel Balko, Slovensko a jeho Regióny (Bratislava: The Open Society Fund, Nadácia Médiá, 1996), pp. 358–61. On this process, see O’Dwyer, Runaway State-Building.


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Hungarians were slightly more than 20 percent of the population in two regions and a majority in two of the seventy-nine districts.136 “Autonomy” remains a term that is still halfheartedly mentioned in Hungarian circles, but is a term that the Slovak National Party frequently mentions in its critiques of the Hungarian minority.137 The Mecˇ iar government lost power following the 1998 elections, which instead brought to power a diverse coalition of parties. The Hungarians, who had combined to form a single party for the elections (called Hungarian Coalition, or SMK/MK), became part of the governing coalition. Soon after taking power, this new, ethnically mixed government moved to devolve more authority to regional governments. It began by strengthening powers at the municipal level in the fall of 1998. By 2001, the government also instituted new elections at the regional level for the eight regions established in the 1996 reforms. Both decentralization efforts were criticized by more strident Slovaks as granting too much power to minority groups, particularly in enclave areas.138 IV. F. Contention over Autonomy and Self-Government in Slovakia The complex story of Hungarian and Slovak contention over autonomy in Slovakia is summarized in Figure 7.2. Similar to previous graphs, Figure 7.2 graph depicts higher levels of Hungarian contention than Slovak contention. The most significant point of contention was the Hungarian gathering in Komárno, held in response to the government’s proposed plan on districts for Slovakia. Hungarian mobilization on this issue prompted an emulative mobilization on the part of Slovaks, along the lines of the mobilization dynamics discussed in Chapters 4 and 5. The Tornal’a referendum, held near Rimavská Sobota in south-central Slovakia, was a local act of contention against the government. Although unsuccessful in changing policy, it registered symbolic disagreement. In this way, it resembled an April 1998 referendum to protest government policies in the Hungarian-majority town of Štúrovo/Parkány. Referendums and proposed referendums to resist or support governmental actions have been particularly popular in Slovakia and have come to resemble a common form of contention there.

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Miroslav Kusy, “Regióny sveta a regióny Slovenska,” Sme, August 22, 1996; Bohumil Olach, “Presadí vláda svoj návrh územného a správneho cˇ lenenia alebo prihliadne aj na názory samosprávy miest a obcí?” Národná Obroda, January 8, 1996; and OMRI, “Slovak Parliament Approves Laws on Territorial Reform,” July 8, 1996. Sme, “B. Bugár: SNS záleži na vytvorení autonómie,” August 3, 1998; and ÚS, “Kell a nemzetiségi autonómia,” interview with Viktor Orbán, April 22, 1998. Tom Nicholson and Ed Holt, “Reform Deal: Eight Self-Ruling Regions,” Slovak Spectator, July 9, 2001; Sme, “Samosprávy nacionalistickou optikou,” September 3, 1998; and Sme, “NR SR schválila novelu zákona o komunálnych vol’bách,” November 5, 1998.


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10 8 6

Events

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ec Ap 89 r Au -90 g D -90 ec Ap 90 r Au -91 g D -91 ec Ap 91 r Au -92 g D -92 ec Ap 92 r Au -93 g D -93 ec Ap 93 r Au -94 g D -94 ec Ap 94 r Au -95 g D -95 ec Ap 95 r Au -96 g D -96 ec Ap 96 r Au -97 g D -97 ec Ap 97 r Au -98 g D -98 ec Ap 98 r Au -99 g D -99 ec -9 9

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figure 7.2. Autonomy Activity in Slovakia – HURS

v. interactions in contention over autonomy Relatively high levels of Hungarian versus titular contention were a common feature of the stories outlined previously in this book, although a significant number of Ukrainians also mobilized over the 1991 discussion of Transcarpathian autonomy. The evidence demonstrates how protest can be an effective means for minority groups to advance claims in a democracy, in spite of its majoritarian premises. But in contrast to the issue of language, by the late 1990s mobilization on minority autonomy and local control decreased significantly, with the most intense dispute being that over the Cserehát orphanage in Romania. The autonomy issue remains one that both Romanian and Hungarian elites introduce from time to time; however, it hardly ever arose in interviews conducted during 1997 and 1999. Most individuals understand autonomy as “a game of politicians” or elites that has less relevance for them than language use or statues, symbols, and holidays.139 This distanced viewpoint may explain why

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The 1996 Iliescu campaign incorporated the autonomy issue in an advertisement that juxtaposed the first-round voting results, showing the liberal democratic bloc as victors in Transylvania and Iliescu’s party as victors in the remainder of Romania, with the map of the European “civilization divide” from Samuel Huntington, “The Clash of Civilizations,” Foreign Affairs 728, no. 3 (1993), pp. 22–49, map on p. 30. The fact that Huntington’s “celebrated” map divides Transylvania from the rest of Romania was cited as “proof” of this imminent danger. In spite of these provocative efforts, the liberal democratic bloc, which included the UDMR, won the elections. The advertisement appeared in AdC, October 13, 1996, p. 4, as well as in several other newspapers at that time.



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demonstrations over autonomy in Romania and Slovakia were generally less pronounced than those over language policy. The most sizable mobilizations around these issues related to government attempts to change the status quo, as in the case of prefects in the Hungarian-enclave counties in Romania. There was also sizable mobilization around the matter of Transcarpathian and Berehove autonomy in Ukraine, and Transcarpathia experienced more contention over autonomy than over language. This fact is partly due to the separate institutional structure within which Ukraine found itself, as autonomy movements across the Soviet Union in late 1991 both comprised and produced its breakdown.140 The Transcarpathian story outlined here demonstrates how such mobilizations unfolded at the local level. In spite of these differences among states, some common interactive patterns emerge from the accounts that display similarities to those of contention over language policy. They appear in this chapter’s figures and are broken down into smaller visual examples in Chapter 2. V. A. Minority Contention to Advance Policy during a Window of Opportunity In the first few years after the end of socialism, the collapse of long-standing institutions presented minorities with a window of opportunity that they feared might quickly close. Hungarians quickly drafted proposals for increased autonomy in enclave areas, hoping that they might be codified early on in the consolidation process. Hungarians in Romania, Slovakia, and Ukraine all made such proposals, and all were rejected in various ways by the governments of these states. In Transcarpathia, Ukraine, Hungarians and Ruthenians supported autonomy for the region, or oblast, in spite of opposition from Ukrainians and Russians. These autonomy projects were generally the work of Hungarian party leaders. Although masses showed some support for these causes, they were less likely to engage in sustained contention for autonomy than over language policy. This mass reluctance is one reason behind the successful government squelching of these efforts, as in the cases of the Transcarpathian autonomy referendums and the government rejection of Hungarian autonomy proposals in Romania. These examples illustrate that the emergence of protest does not guarantee that the government will respond favorably. Government denial may either provoke protest or may quell protest, depending on the strength of minority sentiment on the issue. Autonomy and decentralization were less evocative mobilizers than language issues. Thus, although the stories in Chapter 6 show minority persistence in protesting government actions on language, government denials of local government structures did not usually spark a second round of minority mobilization, but rather some scaling back of demands. In Romania, Hungarians initially expressed resistance to the government’s denial of

140

Beissinger, Nationalist Mobilization.


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autonomy, with the intent to change it. However, with the second government denial, they scaled back their efforts. This sequence is significant. Over time and through contention, Hungarians realized the limits that the Romanian context placed on their claims for autonomy. A similar dynamic emerged in Slovakia, where Hungarians also scaled back their autonomy efforts over time. V. B. Government Proposal to Change Status quo Sparks Hungarian Protest During a transition, proposals on new institutions that come from government channels often reflect the will of the majority, given the majoritarian logic of democracy. However, minorities can resist such proposals through protest and counterproposals, as they did in Slovakia in early 1994. In Slovakia, the process of administrative decentralization was fraught with controversy. The new administrative districts proposed by the government prompted a Hungarian protest and a counterproposal, outlined at the Komárno meeting in early 1994. There was also substantial mobilization of Slovaks in an emulation response to the Hungarians. Because minorities are likely to resist giving up ground that they have begun to take for granted, they are highly likely to resist government changes to the status quo. It is worth noting that this Hungarian protest took place early on in the transition and was followed by far less active Hungarian contention in 1996 when this district plan was in fact passed. By this point, Hungarians had begun to perceive the limits of their ability to push for some autonomy and self-government and had instead turned to a more symmetric approach to devolution, in the form of increased powers for local governments. V. C. Emulation and Titular Protest Majority groups rarely initiate protest cycles, as the formal, majoritarian nature of the democratic system usually works to their advantage. However, as in the examples of language contention outlined in Chapter 6 and in the mobilizations discussed in Chapters 4 and 5, here there were some instances of titular emulation of Hungarian contention. In contrast to the outcome for the issue of language policy, minorities did not come very close to achieving their goals on autonomy or local control. There is a mixed logic operating for titulars. The stakes in autonomy claims are high, but as the government often rejected them out of hand, there was not a strongly perceived danger that would bring on continued emulative mobilizations from titulars. Automony thus contrasts with the issue of language policy, as in the example of the dispute in Romania over a Hungarian-language university. V. D. Hungarian Protest on Change in Status Quo Forces Government to Accept Compromise In contrast to their stances on language policy, governments generally tended to override minority claims for autonomy and local control. However, large protests may require a government response. Protest rarely elicits sympathy or



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convinces the other group of your group’s “rightness” – rather, it is effective when it is disruptive. When Hungarian prefects were removed from their positions in 1992 and 1993, very large and disruptive protests in several cities across the Hungarian-majority enclave managed to elicit a government response. The first instance of protest in 1992 forced the government to establish two prefect offices for the Harghita and Covasna counties, appointing one Hungarian and one Romanian for the offices in each. By March of 1993, the government attempted to renege on this agreement, eliminating the dual-prefect arrangement and appointing ethnic Romanians to head each. After more than ten thousand people demonstrated across several cities to protest this arrangement, the government proposed that the Hungarians could use the new Council of National Minorities as an alternative route to influence legislation. This story illustrates how contention and government policy are mutually constituted, with both influencing each other. When the government changed the status quo by removing the Hungarian prefects in 1992, it sparked protest, forcing the government to scale back its efforts. As it did so, contention stopped. After six months of relative calm, the government again tried to achieve its goal of asserting its control in the counties, removing the Hungarian prefects a second time – and again sparking protests. This time, however, the government was able to resolve the control issue within the framework of the Council of National Minorities. Hungarians, under the impression that the council could be used to exert true influence and thus as an alternative to protest, agreed, and ceased their contentious activity. This dynamic illustrates a powerful strategy for governments or majority groups: to throw a bone to minorities in order to stop their protests. This strategy works because with the passage of time, groups are less likely to rally around a policy issue that is largely perceived as elite-focused – as was the case with autonomy. The government’s initial removal of the prefects had been a tangible event around which to rally. However, in the months after the compromise, it became clear that the council would not in fact grant the Hungarians much control over policy. But by this point, without a tangible event to spark more protests, Hungarian masses remained quiescent. Language is a different matter, as it retains everyday salience for ordinary individuals and thus sparked broader mobilizations. V. E. Assessing Interactions These interactive dynamics are similar to those observed in Chapter 6 for language policy. Both illustrate (1) minority contention to advance policy during a window of opportunity, (2) a government change or proposed change in the status quo sparking Hungarian protest, and 3) emulation and titular protest. Unlike language policy, autonomy policy did not evoke titular protest in response to government policies that titulars found too lenient for minorities, because minorities simply did not achieve many concessions in the area of autonomy. However, large Hungarian protests were able to force some government compromise on the prefect issue in Romania, until the government


Institutionalizing Minority Autonomy

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managed to deflect the issue by proposing a compromise in the Council on National Minorities. Minority autonomy and local control are fraught issues, because majorities often view them as challenging the boundaries of the state and the premise of majority control. The stories outlined in this chapter depict the gulf between Hungarian and titular viewpoints regarding the desirability of such devolution for minorities. Interestingly, it was only during the early 1990s that titulars engaged in emulative mobilizations in response to Hungarians, as at that time they were still somewhat uncertain about Hungarian demands. But as Hungarians scaled back their claims throughout the 1990s, and as repeated interactions showed groups the limits of the policies that each could pursue, both Hungarians and titulars became less willing to mobilize on this issue. Autonomy simply did not provoke the same intensity of response in the late 1990s as it did in the early 1990s. The time-sensitive nature of contention on this issue is demonstrated in the policy trajectories on government decentralization, examined in the following section.

vi. institutionalizing minority autonomy: contention and transition As in the case of language policy discussed in Chapter 6, the creation of these policies did not take place once, to “stick” for the remainder of the 1990s, but rather they were modified over time. Also similar to the area of language, contention and policy were intertwined, with each causing the other. At one stage, policy changes may incite contention, particularly where they denote a change in the status quo. At a later state, such contention can change policy, particularly where it is very disruptive. This fact makes it less desirable for us to treat either as “independent” or “dependent” variables, but rather to envision their relationship as endogenous, infused with feedback. In examining events as they unfolded throughout the 1990s, we can observe the sequence by which each affected the other at different points in time. The focus here is on the shape of the contention and policy trajectories over that time period and how they compare across states. Table 7.1 summarizes policies on the decentralization of government control throughout the 1990s. This table illustrates that the creation of law and policy on devolution and local government was a labored process that unfolded slowly in Romania, Slovakia, and Ukraine. Policies on autonomy and decentralization can be ranked in terms of their openness to minorities along the scale outlined in Table 7.2. Hungarian minorities in each of these states made claims for various forms of autonomy. The central government’s laws and policies in relation to these proposals are coded along a spectrum, from devolution policies and structures that are most open to minorities (10) to those that are most restrictive to minorities (1).141 Government policy is most open to minorities if they are allowed formal structures to codify an autonomous territorial district with 141

Because of the importance of local control and representative structures represented in this coding, the spectrum more closely resembles administrative and political decentralization rather


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table 7.1. Autonomy and Decentralization Policies through the 1990s, in Romania, Slovakia, and Ukraine

Country

Autonomy and Local Government Policies

Romania Early but vague law on local public Constitution administration in 1991, and first local 1991 elections held in early 1992. Attempts to centralize control in Hungarian areas spark demonstrations in early 1990s. Ad hoc compromises and interventions follow over next several years.a State highly centralized through early 1990s, Slovakia Independent and government proposal on districts prompts Hungarian protests. Government 1993 plan for districts passes in 1996. By late Constitution 1990s, new government grants more power 1992 to regions, and regional elections are instituted by 2001.b Chaos surrounding end of USSR prompts Ukraine successful referendums on Transcarpathian Independent autonomy as well as a Hungarian 1991 Autonomous District. Government denies Constitution this autonomy repeatedly in early 1990s. 1996 Law on Local Councils and Regional Government in 1992. Modified in June 1994, and first local and regional elections held in 1994. Local administration law passed by late 1990s.c

Local Government/ Public Administration Laws 1991

1996 1998 (2001)

1992 1994 1997

a

Renata Puscasu, “Local Public Administration in Romania,” United Nations Online Network in Public Administration and Finance, 2000, available at http://unpan1.un.org/intradoc/groups/public/ documents/nispacee/unpan005579.pdf. Although a law on the development of regions was passed in 1998 (Law 151) along European guidelines, these regions had no administrative powers. United Nations Online Network in Public Administration and Finance, “Public Administration in Romanian, Law and Administrative Change, Regional Approaches 1925–1998” [sic] [not dated], available at http://unpan1.un.org/intradoc/groups/public/documents/UNTC/UNPAN012893.pdf. b “Constitution Watch,” East European Constitutional Review 10, no. 1 (Winter 2001), pp. 37–9; Juraj Nemec, Peter Bercik, and Peter Kuklis, “Local Government in Slovakia,” in Tamás Horváth, ed., Decentralization: Experiments and Reforms, Vol. I (Budapest: Open Society Institute, Local Government and Public Reform Initiative, 2000), pp. 297–342. c Although some decentralization provisions were outlined in 1992, the 1994 law and elections codified regional representative power. Pavlo Sheremeta, “Ukraine,” in Elizabeth Lowther, ed., Local Governments in the CEE and CIS, 1994 (Budapest: Open Society Institute, Local Government Initiative, 1994); Brama Gateway Ukraine, “Law of Ukraine on Forming Local Power and SelfGovernment Organs,” paraphrased from law number 64 of 1994, available at http:// www.brama.com/law/gov-law/local_po.htm; and Indiana University and U.S.–Ukraine Foundation, Parliamentary Development Project “Law of Ukraine on Local Self-Government in Ukraine, May 21, 1997,” available at http://www.urban.org/PDF/ukr_locgov.pdf.



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table 7.2. Autonomy and Decentralization Policy Codes and Hungarian Proposals More Open Policy 10 Autonomous territorial district for Hungarians with visible administrative powers and internal representation and control – asymmetric 9 Political autonomy for Hungarians with visible administrative powers, leadership chosen in elections – asymmetric 8 Political autonomy for Hungarians with leadership chosen in elections – asymmetric 7 Symmetric devolution at meso-level with both representative councils and governors/ prefects chosen locally 6 Symmetric devolution at meso-level with representative councils chosen locally, but with powerful governors or prefects appointed by center 5 Symmetric devolution at meso-level with some visible administrative powers. These units have county governors or prefects, although they are appointed by the center. 4 Symmetric devolution at meso-level with some visible administrative powers, although there is no council or leadership structure 3 Symmetric districts established at meso-level with some budgetary discretion, but central government maintains primary control 2 Central state allows municipalities or local areas some budgetary and representative discretion, but no operative meso-level of government 1 Fully centralized state with no devolution More Restrictive Policy

internal representation and control of the budget. Such an autonomous unit would maintain more powers than other units, reflecting an asymmetric distribution of powers. This type of asymmetric structure exists in Ukraine for the region of Crimea, a Russian-majority region that maintains exclusive powers to regulate its own affairs.142 The spectrum in this table represents central government policy in relation to proposals involving Hungarians; thus Crimea’s status does not affect Ukraine’s coding here. Transcarpathia aspired to a status similar to that of Crimea with its 1991 autonomy referendum, and the Hungarians also claimed asymmetric governing powers in their simultaneous referendum for a Hungarian Autonomous District for Berehove. In spite of the success of these referendums, the Ukrainian government refrained from recognizing self-governance status for either unit. These codes can be applied to the content of decentralization policy at sixmonth increments in these states throughout the 1990s, producing the comparative graph of policy trajectories over time in Figure 7.3.

142

than fiscal decentralization. See Aaron Schneider, “Who Gets What from Whom? The Impact of Decentralisation on Tax Capacity and Pro-Poor Policy,” IDS Working Paper 179, Institute of Development Studies (Brighton, UK: Institute for Development Studies, 2003). I am grateful to Conor O’Dwyer for this point. This status reflects its 1954 transfer from Russia to Ukraine under the Soviet Union.



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Open

8 7 6 5 4

Restrictive

3 2 1

Romania

Slovakia

2001

2000

1999

1998

1997

1996

1995

1994

1993

1992

1991

1990

0

Ukraine

figure 7.3. Policy on Local Government/Autonomy and Minorities

This graph depicts some interesting variation in the shape of policy trajectories on devolution in these states. The most striking is the placement of Slovakia, which maintained a highly centralized state structure relative to Romania and Ukraine until 2001. Both Romania and Ukraine had structures for regional representative government in the 1990s, with Romania’s first elections to these bodies in 1992 and Ukraine’s in 1994. Slovakia did not obtain such bodies until 2001, and made only slow steps toward decentralization throughout most of the 1990s. Thus, in spite of the fact that Slovakia publicly aspired to European Union membership throughout the 1990s, among these three states it remained the farthest from the EU’s norms on decentralization during that period. This status changed with the introduction of locally elected councils in Slovakia in 2001. Slovakia’s intransigence on this matter demonstrates the limitations of EU influence. Had the prospect of EU membership exerted the primary influence on decentralization policy in these states in the 1990s, one would expect Slovakia and Romania to decentralize to the highest levels rather rapidly. Instead, Slovakia remained centralized for a very long period, and Romania did not pursue a full level of decentralization in line with EU suggestions during the 1990s. The evidence shows how decentralization in these states was driven by domestic factors. As argued by Conor O’Dwyer, domestic politics forged these institutions in spite of the high level of resources that the EU devoted to such regional policy – strongly demonstrating the limits of conditionality and Europeanization.143 143

O’Dwyer, Runaway State-Building, pp. 101–7.



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Rather than being successfully imposed from outside, policies on decentralization were forged through a domestic process fraught with domestic contention. In Slovakia, the release of a government proposal for new districts in late 1993 prompted an intense round of Hungarian contention and Hungarian counterproposals at the Komárno meeting of early January 1994. Uncertainty and some fears about the meaning of these Hungarian proposals among ordinary Slovaks not only produced valuable political capital for the Mecˇ iar regime but also prevented Slovaks from pushing for quicker and more complete decentralization. The state thus decentralized far more slowly than one might have expected of a prospective EU member. The EU’s position on Hungarian claims for autonomy remained somewhat murky throughout most of the 1990s, given internal EU disputes on the issue. Although the Hungarians regularly invoked some vague European clauses, such as Recommendation 1201, Europe did not clearly support their claims. As with the language issue, Hungarians attempted to put forth proposals that went beyond EU standards and invoked EU norms primarily when they could be linked to specific domestic aims. Slovaks similarly used this rhetoric only when it matched their aims, and it was in this limited and specific way that some of the EU language filtered into domestic debates. In contrast to the issue of language, Hungarian autonomy proposals by definition involved a higher degree of elite involvement. Such proposals were deployed by elites and evoked mass contention only with a window of opportunity, as with the Transcarpathian and Berehove autonomy referendums, or a change in the status quo, such as the removal of the Hungarian prefects. In other instances, most individuals interviewed found the question of autonomy to be far less relevant to their daily activities than the language issue. In addition, state titular officials were less willing to compromise on this issue, perceiving the distribution of control as fundamental to the survival of the state. It is for these reasons that overall grassroots contention on autonomy by Hungarians was less prevalent than that over language. National symbols also tended to be more powerful mobilizers at the local level than autonomy, as shown by the Cluj statue protests described in Chapter 5. By the late 1990s, Hungarian contention for autonomy and local self-government had declined from previous levels. Instead, Hungarians scaled back their demands in all three states after being confronted with a categorical refusal of such autonomy both by the governments and by titular public opinion. In Transcarpathia, Hungarians both cooperated with Ruthenians and engaged in their own contention for autonomy in Berehove in 1991. Hungarian–Ruthenian cooperation in the effort toward Transcarpathian autonomy faced Ukrainian contentious opposition on the issue. After the central government rejected the autonomy proposals, Hungarians and Ruthenians pushed for the establishment of a free economic zone in Transcarpathia – in essence, a scaled-back version of autonomy. The codification of local government structures in the form of Law 64 of 1994, and the holding of elections that year, alleviated contention and claims over autonomy for the region.



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Open

10

5

Fe bJu 90 nO 90 ct Fe 90 bJu 91 nO 91 ct Fe 91 bJu 92 nO 92 ct Fe 92 bJu 93 nO 93 ct Fe 93 bJu 94 nO 94 ct Fe 94 bJu 95 nO 95 ct Fe 95 bJu 96 nO 96 ct Fe 96 bJu 97 nO 97 ct Fe 97 bJu 98 nO 98 ct Fe 98 bJu 99 nO 99 ct -9 9

0

Restrictive

–5

–10

–15 Hungarian

Romanian

Policy

figure 7.4. Autonomy Contention and Policy – Romania

Despite Romania having a structure and policy trajectory similar to that of Ukraine, the story in Romania is somewhat different, as shown in Figure 7.4. As in the previous chapter, this graph transposes the policy trajectory line from Figure 7.3 over the depiction of contention in Figure 7.1. After the first local elections, held in 1992, there is an increase in Hungarian contention, due not to laws but to the government’s ad hoc decision to remove ethnic Hungarian prefects in Harghita and Covasna counties. As this was a specific decision rather than a full change in policy or institutions, it is not reflected in the policy trajectory line, but it remained influential for mobilizations. These Hungarian protests forced a compromise by the government in 1992 and a feigned compromise in 1993 that managed to settle the prefect issue. Another local issue emerged with the Cserehát orphanage dispute in late 1997. But on the issue of autonomy and local control more generally, there was a scaling back of Hungarian demands and a decrease in contention over time, as Hungarians slowly became aware that achieving autonomy was unlikely given strong government and titular resistance. A very different policy trajectory appears in Slovakia, depicted in Figure 7.5. As outlined earlier, Slovakia began its existence as a rather centralized state, as mid-level administrative units did not have local elections and local control. The government proposal on the initial drawing of districts and the negative Hungarian response in the form of the Komárno protest meeting established a tense dynamic over the issue throughout the 1990s. The meeting produced a Hungarian counterproposal for autonomy, prompting a negative Slovak reaction. The Mecˇ iar regime cleverly took advantage of these Slovak sentiments as an excuse to postpone general decentralization further and strengthen central


Assessing Trajectories

233

Open

15 10 5

Restrictive

D

ec Ap 89 r Au -90 g D -90 ec Ap 90 r-9 Au 1 g D -91 ec Ap 91 r Au -92 g D -92 ec Ap 92 r Au -93 g D -93 ec Ap 93 r Au -94 g D -94 ec Ap 94 r Au -95 g D -95 ec Ap 95 r Au -96 g D -96 ec Ap 96 r Au -97 g D -97 ec Ap 97 r Au -98 g D -98 ec Ap 98 r Au -99 g D -99 ec -9 9

0 –5 –10 –15 Hungarian

Slovak

Policy

figure 7.5. Autonomy Contention and Policy – Slovakia

control over all areas of government in Slovakia. The codification of the government’s plan for districts in 1996 – which remained disputed by Hungarians – achieved some decentralization and new electoral districts, although the drawing of the districts was clearly intended to grant electoral advantage to Mecˇ iar’s party, the HZDS.144 After the election of a new government in late 1998, local governments were able to exert more de facto control than under the rule of the HZDS. By 2001, a point in time beyond the scope of Figure 7.5, regional selfgovernment structures and parliaments were established, with their first elections held in December of that year.

vii. assessing trajectories These transposed protest and policy graphs illustrate how the trajectories of policy content and ethnic mobilization were intertwined during the transition process. Hungarian minorities engaged in contention when there were windows of opportunity for new policies or when a government threatened to change the status quo. In this way, policy change fostered protest. But protests often fostered policy change when they were sufficiently disruptive, as in the case of prefects in Romania. Beyond these statements of the conditions under which one affects the other, it is clear that ethnic protest and policy formation were codetermined in these states, maintaining an endogenous relationship that is best traced over time. Each fed back upon the other. A sequenced view that traces these interactions over time allows an observation of when protest affected 144

O’Dwyer, Runaway State-Building, pp. 110–14.



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policy and when policy incited protest. In contrast to a common view that ethnic mobilization is ongoing and ubiquitous in mixed states, each of these instances of ethnic mobilization can be traced to a particular policy debate in the sequence of transition. These stories show that Hungarians were far less successful in advancing their various claims for autonomy than they were in advancing favorable language policies. Hungarians felt that democracy should imply strong levels of control in areas where they comprised local majorities or where they at least comprised a significant number. Titulars feared that even a symmetric devolution of powers to the local level could harm the rights of titulars living in Hungarian-majority areas. This zero-sum understanding of the distribution of state powers made this issue difficult to resolve quickly. Rather, it was through repeated contention that Hungarians learned the intractable nature of the titulars’ position on this issue, which fostered Hungarian revisions of their autonomy claims into more neutral proposals for strengthened local governments. As in the previous chapter, the graphs in these figures end in 1999. However, as new policies were and are forged in these states, we can expect a continuation of the trends shown in these trajectories. Governments are unlikely to centralize further, as this would spark protest on the part of Hungarians. Some more strident factions among the Hungarians may continue to push for increased autonomy, and some Hungarian parties may show respect for these positions. Indeed, some even proposed a 2012 vote on autonomy for the enclave region. However, the mainstream Hungarian actors have also learned that they can instead achieve many of their goals of local control through the avenue of symmetric government devolution to regional and municipal governments in enclave areas. Prior experiments with such proposals have brought Romanian resistance, and this learning process has fostered Hungarian moderation regarding the means through which this discussion may take place.

viii. conclusions This chapter has examined the relationship between ethnic contention and policy on local government and autonomy during the 1990s in these states. When the event data on mobilization is placed in sequence with government policy, a feedback relationship can be observed between government policy and ethnic mobilizations. These dynamics are illustrated in the recurring interactive patterns identified here and in the case of language policy described in Chapter 6. The overall policy trajectories also reflect this endogenous relationship. Policy trajectories on autonomy, however, reflect less of an influence of minority contention than exists in disputes over language use, due both to the higher importance of language in everyday life to ordinary people and to the state’s strong interest in its control apparatus. Thus, over time Hungarians scaled back their demands, after repeated contention made it clear that governments and titulars would be reluctant to grant them asymmetric governing powers.


8 Implications of Group Interaction

“What time is it?” asked a vendor in the market of a woman rushing by. She glanced quickly at her watch. “Eleven. Hungarian time.” The vendor expressed her thanks in Ukrainian as the woman went on her way. The mental update would be automatic: Eleven Hungarian time would mean twelve Ukrainian time, or Kyiv time.1 Transcarpathia’s dual ethnic time zones, one for Hungarians and one for Slavs, are an example of the local adjustments and compromises that emerge to facilitate daily exchanges in a diverse context. Different ethnic groups may maintain opposing stances on topics such as the time, whose heroes should grace the town square, which languages should be endorsed by the state, or how much local control minorities might wield. Theorists have often argued that such differences should produce instability in ethnically divided democracies, particularly where groups are organized into ethnic parties – as are minority Hungarians. The logic behind this argument stems from the majoritarian principle of democracy. Due to their smaller numbers, ethnic minorities should consistently lose out in policy debates, including those on which they may hold strong views. When such views are considered crucial to minority identity – as with minoritylanguage education – minorities may reject majoritarian institutions or could attempt to exit from the state through an uprising or secession. In line with this view, democratization should also be fraught with instability. The democratization process in these states required more than mere elections. Rules, in the 1

Kyı¯ vskyı˘ chas. In Transcarpathia, ethnic Hungarians generally live according to Central European time, while local Slavs use Ukrainian time. This difference means that a ten o’clock meeting in Hungarian workplaces and churches, as well as social gatherings, will convene an hour later than a ten o’clock meeting for Slavs. For an appointment between Hungarians and others, it must first be established whether they will meet according to Hungarian time or Ukrainian time. Some households have two clocks, one for each time – a child attending Hungarian school and a parent working at the hospital will need to stay in step with each. Adjustments to coordinate with the other group are automatic: In Hungarian-majority areas, where offices sometimes run on Hungarian time, many Hungarians show up to work an hour “early” to coordinate with their Ukrainian counterparts.

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Implications of Group Interaction

236

form of constitutions, laws, and policies, also had to be carefully forged through heated debates.2 Following the logic that minorities should become dissatisfied with the majoritarian principle of democracies, we should see far more fragmentation in democracies that are divided along ethnic or religious lines. Instability should be even higher in states undergoing democratization, as groups often disagree on the rules for governing that must be created during this process. Democratization was indeed a particularly messy process in Romania and Slovakia. The decade of the 1990s featured frequent protests and strikes by ethnic minorities, and sometimes by majorities, over laws and policies. How did common institutions emerge under such conditions?

i. arguments The evidence in this book shows that it was precisely this contention that facilitated minority Hungarian acceptance of democratic institutions in which their parties continually lost elections. Hungarian protests served to temper and moderate policies that Romanians and Slovaks would have preferred regarding language, government structures, and symbolic issues. By means of contention, Hungarians thus managed to obtain policy concessions in spite of their very small shares of the electorate: 7 and 10 percent, respectively. In Ukraine, more moderate policies toward minorities during the early 1990s resulted in rather quiescent Hungarians there, as ethnic groups tend to mobilize only when they have specific political claims that resonate widely among a population. Ethnic mixing alone does not foster mobilizations, tensions, or conflict. Rather, expressions of “nationalism” that take contentious forms are better understood simply as one form of possible political claims within a state.3 Ordinary individuals within these groups maintain sincere desires regarding the content of minority policy, as well as strong normative beliefs regarding the justice of their own group’s claims. The riot in Romania between Romanians and Hungarians in the city of Târgu Mures¸ in 1990 demonstrates that peaceful transition there was not a foregone conclusion. But the ethnic stances on language policy that led up to the riot were then moderated via a process of political interaction between groups over the remainder of the 1990s. The uncertain conditions that brought about the riot were never repeated. Over the course of this first decade of democratization, ethnic contention produced familiarity with the claims and contentious routines of the other group, as well as the limits to which a group could push its own. “They always do that,” or, “There they go again,” are now phrases frequently used by ordinary people to describe the political activities of another group. Such views differ greatly from the initial uncertainty, anger, and fear of the early years of transition. 2

3

McAdam, Tarrow, and Tilly, in Dynamics of Contention, observe that contention and democratization are processes that interact. Brubaker, “Ethnicity without Groups”; Brubaker, Nationalism Reframed, pp. 13–22; and McAdam, Tarrow, and Tilly, Dynamics of Contention.


Implications for Democracy in Divided States

237

New laws, institutions, and policies were created and often modified as these processes of contention and compromise moved through time together. As compromises were slowly made on both sides, the incremental forging of these policies reflected the viewpoints and compromises of each group, as articulated in these contentious processes. These policies thus emerged through a de facto process of deliberation. Group stances and goals were transformed by contentious interactions with the other group, as the messy grassroots process of contention socialized and moderated group claims through interaction. In spite of their small electoral numbers, ethnic Hungarians found some of their claims organically incorporated into political decisions through this process. This de facto deliberation through contention took place even under conditions of strong group tensions (as evidenced by the 1990 riot) and a lack of strong formal institutions, such as consociationalism, to guarantee minorities a voice in the political process. These arguments give grounds for optimism regarding ethnic or religious minority support for democratic institutions generally and for moderation between groups during even a turbulent phase of democratization. Some of these general implications are outlined in the following sections.

ii. implications for democracy and democratization in divided states This book contains ample evidence of the moderating effects of ethnic contention during the policy formation and democratization processes in these states. This evidence requires a rethinking of some previous views on minority support for democracy and democratization, ethnic mobilization, group conflict, protest and moderation, and external involvement in domestic political processes. Although the period of focus here has been on the democratization process of the 1990s, the mechanisms of moderation outlined in the relational model of group interactions sheds light on how moderation can also be preserved in consolidated democracies with divided societies. II. A. Democracy and Democratization in Divided States Ethnically divided democracies need not fragment due to minority dissatisfaction with their status as “permanent minorities.” Instead, minority expressions of their stances, goals, and claims through protest can produce visible policy results. In these states, with the accommodation of some of their claims, Hungarian minorities were able to accept democratic institutions in which they are permanent minorities. Democracy may minimize powers for minorities, but it also allows for protest and contention – new forms of political action and influence that became possible only in the post-socialist era. Even in the rocky and uncertain context of democratic transition, when these states had to remake entire bodies of law, opposing ethnic groups managed to form common policies on controversial issues, a long and contentious process. Moreover, in Romania this process took place even after a violent riot between groups, demonstrating


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how fear and uncertainty can be reduced over time through continued interaction. These moderating processes show promise for other states divided along ethnic or religious lines – both for democracies and for states undergoing democratization. II. B. Ordinary People and Elites in Mobilization In the events examined here, ordinary people were not manipulated to mobilize by elites; that is, by officeholders or party leaders. Rather, they were driven by their own strongly held beliefs regarding justice claims for their group.4 Those interviewed did invoke the potential for elite manipulation, but they did so primarily with regard to mobilization by the other group, not their own. Elite manipulation became a way to explain the actions of the other group, while mobilizations of their own group were explained as emerging from sincere, just, and widely held rights claims. It was in this way that people explained mobilizations by the other ethnic group on positions with which they did not agree. This invoking of the fault of elites serves a useful function of preserving harmony in daily exchanges; rather than blaming one’s neighbor for his or her political views, one blames the political elites of the neighbor’s ethnic group. This social routine likely appears in mixed settings elsewhere, in which individuals have strong political disagreements but exercise politeness in everyday exchanges.5 The evidence here shows that ordinary people in fact easily mobilize without encouragement from elites. Instead, they gather to express sentiments at points of policy change on issues that they sincerely care about, such as the language that their children are to speak in school. The patterns outlined in detail in Chapters 4 and 5 illustrate the sequence of steps in mobilization processes, revealing a particular standard sequence and mechanisms that can be examined or “tested for” in other mixed settings. This sequence is as follows. First, the earliest mobilizers tend to be idealistic members of the minority, such as students. Due to their numerical disadvantage in democracy, minority groups are more likely to engage in initial mobilizations than are majorities. Majorities, however, have the luxury of relying on democratic institutions to achieve their goals and are therefore less likely to mobilize in protest. Second, minority masses and elites tend to move in tandem during mobilizations more often than do majority masses and elites. This fact illustrates another aspect of the luxury of majorities: minorities must pool their resources to achieve goals, due to their smaller numbers, whereas majorities can rely on elections to achieve their goals. Third, when majorities do mobilize, they rarely do so in response to their own elites, but rather as an emulative response to minority mobilizations. Demobilization also often takes place via emulation – slowly, as each group relinquishes protest space only incrementally in relation to the other. 4 5

On this point, see Petersen, Understanding Ethnic Violence. A discussion of routines of politeness appears in Brubaker et al., Nationalist Politics.



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Finally, although elites do not tend to play a strong role in mobilization, they can play an important role in moderating conflict, by preserving channels of communication to negotiate policy deals between groups. These elite channels are crucial to maintaining peaceful coexistence in mixed settings, both in an ongoing preservation of peace and during a recovery from intergroup violence, as was the case in Târgu Mures¸. The story in this book is one of interactions between elites of different groups via two mechanisms: bargaining between elites and brokerage between elites and “their” masses. Both of these mechanisms, as outlined in the relational model in Chapter 1, preserve a perpetual flow of information throughout a divided society. These two mechanisms are crucial to the creation and preservation of a successful politics of moderation in divided democracies and democratizers. Even if groups rarely interact or even dislike each other, moderation can still emerge provided these mechanisms of interaction are both present. Cross-group ties and bonds between individuals are thus not a necessary component for coexistence – but they can complement the mechanisms of bargaining and brokerage. This complementary role merits some discussion. Cross-group ties and bonds can weave a web of information flow through mixed cities and towns. Local conflicts differ from international conflicts and “security dilemmas,”6 due to this potential for grassroots channels for cross-group information exchange. An understanding of such ties reveals the conditions in which the dynamics of local coexistence may be broken. Violent intervention from outside a city or town, such as the incursion of an army, can place extraordinary pressure on a web of local ties and interactions, causing them to break down. Not only will these incursions disrupt local ties among ordinary people, they will also render the crucial mechanisms of bargaining and brokerage impossible, as is discussed further in the following section. II. C. Mobilization and the Potential for Group Violence Potential mass violence between groups can emerge when both groups are mobilized in the same space at the same time – conditions of bilateral mobilization. However, bilateral mobilizations often take place without the emergence of violence, as was the case in Cluj in 1992. The evidence from the 1990 Târgu Mures¸ riot shows that elite bargaining broke off before the events of the riot, demonstrating the importance of both mechanisms of bargaining and brokerage for moderation to be preserved or to emerge in the first place. The relational model depicted in Figures 1.1 and 1.2 in Chapter 1 illustrates the importance of negotiation between elites of different groups, as well as of brokerage between elites and masses. With both of these mechanisms present, policy change can be pursued without mass mobilization. Importantly, this dynamic among the four actors in the model can be easily disrupted by external 6

Posen, “The Security Dilemma and Ethnic Conflict”; and Walter and Snyder, eds., Civil Wars, Insecurity, and Intervention.



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shocks, such as military action by the state or other external actors. In settings such as the former Yugoslavia, violence between groups was tied to a disruption in the local dynamics of moderating decisions – by the invasion of military or militia troops to support one side. With the exception of a rather extreme mayor of Cluj, Gheorghe Funar, elite officeholders in these examples did not generally attempt to foster conflict between groups. It is notable that Funar attempted to incite trouble along these lines in 1994, but without a large response among Romanians. The evidence here on the largely moderate stances of elites, and their primary role in negotiating policy outcomes to prevent or reduce mobilization, stands in contrast to examples from the former Yugoslavia, where elites were implicated in military mobilizations. Indeed, there the dynamics of mobilization were quite different, largely due to the availability of military force. As noted by V. P. Gagnon, Jr., mass publics in the Serbia and Croatia were largely demobilized,7 a stark contrast to the cases here. Instead, much of the political work there was done with weapons, by militias or armies. Military force is more than just an external shock to a smooth-running moderation dynamic between groups. It also changes the calculations of elites. Military backing for extremist positions reduces the need for elites to obtain public resonance or support for their goals. With weapons, little or no public support is necessary for an elite to push a particular agenda. There is no brokerage mechanism between elites and their masses, rendering the relational model obsolete under strong military conditions. The presence of weaponry also reduces the ability of masses to mobilize to push agendas counter to elites, such as moderate agendas. A high probability of being shot reduces the likelihood of mass mobilization, another reason that the dynamics of the relational model cannot take place. It is important to note that in spite of very large mass mobilizations in the Târgu Mures¸ riot, there were only about six dead and a few hundred injured – because it wasn’t guns that were used as weapons, but everyday household implements instead. Where local interactions along the model are preserved, over time groups can learn how to resolve their disputes without resorting to violence, a primary argument of this book. This explanation illustrates a role for purpose and ideas in determining the probability of violent actions. During the 1992 events in Cluj, participants were well aware of the violent events of two years before in Târgu Mures¸. Interviewees in Cluj said that they were intent that tensions should not bring on similar violence. Both elites and masses of each group learned the same lessons from this example. The constant linkage of the two events in the minds of participants illustrates the internal psychology behind a process of moderation. Repeated, incremental exchanges between groups teach lessons. Example and intent in inspiring or constraining certain actions have been strongly demonstrated to be causal forces in politics.8 It is crucial to note that 7 8

Gagnon, The Myth of Ethnic War. Beissinger, “Structure and Example,” p. 270.



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members of different groups need not agree or like each other in order for these causal forces to have an effect. Indeed, individuals of different groups may be quite mistrustful of each other, as interviews revealed was certainly the case in Târgu Mures¸ in the first few years following the riot. It is sufficient for group members to be pragmatic about the limits of what can be achieved in a mixed setting and to learn from prior examples. II. D. Ethnic Protest, Moderation, and Democratization Ethnic contention, often described as “nationalist” politics, does not remain constant. It fluctuates, rising and falling at specific times in conjunction with the creation of particular rules and policies in divided states. The two processes of ethnic mobilization and policy formation entwine with repeated feedback mechanisms, such that each might cause the other at alternate stages. In Romania and Slovakia, it was this repeated feedback that forged the shape of policy trajectories, because outcomes at one stage affected the events and outcomes that followed. These insights demonstrate the importance of examining entwined processes together, guided inductively by the stories told by empirical evidence. Attempts to separate processes artificially for the purposes of analysis often misrepresent and then misinterpret the available facts. In Romania and Slovakia, language laws were hammered out through a number of revisions. Throughout the 1990s, the different versions of these laws alternated between content that was more open and more closed toward minorities before moving toward a middle ground of compromise in the late 1990s. These policy trajectories moved in tandem with ethnic contention on these matters, and compromises on their content emerged through a messy and domestic contentious process. In Ukraine, initial open laws toward minority languages minimized the need for Hungarian contention, and indeed Hungarians there remained quiescent on language policy. This lack of minority mobilization provided a window of opportunity for the Ukrainian government to move to more restrictive language policies by the late 1990s. In the area of autonomy and local governance for minorities, Slovakia’s initial reluctance to move toward decentralization emerged from strong disputes between Hungarians and Slovaks on this issue. In Romania, several ad hoc actions by the central state against two Hungarian enclave counties prompted Hungarian protests on local governance powers. In Transcarpathia, Ukraine, contention on autonomy for both Transcarpathia and for a “Hungarian Autonomous District” in Berehove County was most intense before the 1994 elections. The fact that these elections codified some local control generally appeased minority demands in this regard. Overall, however, Hungarians found greater limits with regard to the issue of decentralization, in contrast to the ground that they gained in language policy. It was through contention that Hungarians slowly learned that they had to moderate these claims for local autonomy. By the late 1990s, Hungarians had moved away from claims for


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Hungarian autonomy and began instead to focus on increasing local government powers symmetrically throughout these states. Hungarians tended to mobilize quickly to push for policies in the first few years after the end of socialism, as they viewed this phase as a window of opportunity that might quickly close. These mobilizations took place early in the 1990s in a context of uncertainty that was unique to the early stage of transition. It was in this uncertain context that the Târgu Mures¸ school conflict produced violence between groups. However, repeated contention between groups throughout the 1990s slowly reduced this uncertainty, as groups became aware of the parameters of each other’s demands. As evidence of this moderation process, when the Târgu Mures¸ school issue emerged again in 1997, it produced little interest on either side. Groups thus moderated their own claims through this process of socialization and de facto deliberation. Such moderation could take place in spite of strong normative and policy differences between groups, a fact that provides optimism for democratization and policy formation in other divided democracies and democratizing states. Ethnic or religious contention need not be a source of breakdown, but rather can be a source of minority inclusion and moderation. II. E. External Involvement in Democratization and Policy Formation A common story that has emerged regarding EU enlargement to Eastern Europe has been that EU standards and conditions drove policy formation in these states in several issue areas, including minority rights.9 The evidence in this book, however, presents a story that is domestically led.10 Had EU norms strongly directed the content of language laws, the policy trajectories of these laws would not have taken the pendulum-like back-and-forth patterns they did in Romania and Slovakia. Direct absorption of EU norms on language matters should have prompted a quick shift toward openness or at least a consistent trend in this direction rather than the policy oscillations that in fact took place. In addition, the EU’s advocacy of decentralization was initially resisted in Slovakia, due partly to its controversial status in the divided ethnic context – and debates on this matter in Romania remain fraught with domestic disagreement. A careful outline of policy trajectories over time shows that EU doctrine was not automatically accepted, even in the EU aspirant (and later member) states of Romania and Slovakia. Instead, EU stances were filtered into local debates, becoming part of the domestic contentious process. In this way, they became rhetorical tools for particular factions to use in pushing for their demands – but they were not automatically accepted by parliaments or governments. In Slovakia, the 9

10

Kelly, Ethnic Politics in Europe; Linden, ed., Norms and Nannies; McGarry and Keating, eds., European Integration and the Nationalities Question; and Vachudova, Europe Undivided. See also Csergo, Talk of the Nation; Hughes, Sasse, and Gordon, Europeanization and Regionalization; and O’Dwyer, Runaway State-Building.


Implications for Examining Processes in Social Science

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explicitly anti-EU Mecˇ iar regime survived elections from 1992 until 1998 (with a brief hiatus in 1994), giving electoral approval for foot-dragging on EU matters until late in the decade. Romania exhibited similar resistance, as the parliament repeatedly blocked government attempts to enact EU policies automatically via ordinances even by the late 1990s. Moreover, Hungarians in each of these states pushed for minority-language standards that surpassed those of the EU, demonstrating a strong role for domestic political goals over international standards. Even the promise of EU membership could not diminish the centrality of domestic politics in these processes. EU rhetoric was used as a discursive tool by domestic actors when it suited their purposes.11 But the actual compromises that emerged on these matters were forged organically through domestic contention and learning. The EU was not the only entity attempting to influence policy in these states. As a kin-state for Hungarian minorities, Hungary also had strong interests in influencing minority policy in its neighbors and repeatedly tried to do so. In particular, Hungarian influences could filter into these states through meetings among Hungarian party leaders in different states and through crossborder networks.12 Although these networks involving Hungary likely had more influence than did the less immediate EU rhetoric, a similar mechanism applied to both of these external entities: their influences were filtered through domestic actors.

iii. implications for examining processes in social science One of the intentions of this book is to present a means to approach the study of social life in a manner that can incorporate both (1) relations between entities and (2) time and sequence in analysis. The discussion in this book is intended to have implications not only for understanding ethnic contention, democratization, and moderation processes, but also for how one might think about approaching social research. The approach in this book is founded on a relational ontology of social life, which prioritizes ties and bonds over essences. In addition, an emphasis on time and sequence in the analysis of processes and causal mechanisms is informed by historical institutionalism, via the applied technique of event analysis. This approach to analysis was chosen inductively. Rather than force the available data to “adjust” to methods that are perhaps more widely used, this mode of analysis preserves elements of the evidence that are crucial parts of the story, such as interaction, incrementalism, and endogeneity. More typical methods of social science that are grounded in the hard sciences, such as the analysis of variables and the production of covering laws, are simply alternatives among other possibilities. 11 12

Csergo makes a good case for a similar point in Talk of the Nation, p. 75. Jenne, Ethnic Bargaining; Saideman, Ties that Divide; Saideman and Ayres, For Kin or Country; and Waterbury, Between State and Nation.



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The focus here is instead on causal mechanisms and processes, as driven by the data. This research paradigm has proven particularly fruitful in biology, a science that requires an impressive level of disaggregation. As noted by Jon Elster, causal mechanisms are a useful social science alternative to lawlike generalizations, which he finds problematic for the social sciences. They also provide an alternative to an abandonment of generalizations.13 Although some social science projects may follow physicists in their search for covering laws, this project takes a biologist’s approach to scientific progress: the identification of regular, patterned sequences of exchange and interactions among elements. The language of biology is one of interaction: binding, bonds, receptors, activation, and signals. These biological interactions and processes are general patterns that have been isolated through painstaking inductive research into the micro level of life. Once isolated, they form the basis of propositions that can then be researched in other settings.14 Such is the goal of this project as well, and more is said on the specifics of analysis in the following sections. III. A. Relationalism Methodological individualism prioritizes individuals and their cognitive processes as the causal stuff of social life. It thus focuses on essences, and in this way it differs greatly from relationalism’s ontological focus on ties and bonds.15 In the rational choice variant of methodological individualism, social actors (including groups or states) behave like individuals, making rational decisions and strategic calculations based on a predetermined set of preferences or goals.16 Following these premises, interactions between individual social actors take the form of strategic games, in which a decision by one actor affects the potential strategy decision of the other actor. In game theory, the actors themselves remain static; neither their preferences nor their identity attributes are expected to change as a product of interaction.17 In contrast, relationalism understands relational transactions as prior to essences.18 For relationalists, game theory is a slower and less effective route to assess interactions because it focuses on the individual preferences and decisions of each actor. A relational ontology can instead assess transactions directly. 13

14 15 16

17

18

Jon Elster, “A Plea for Mechanisms,” in Peter Hedström and Richard Swedberg, eds., Social Mechanisms: An Analytical Approach to Social Theory (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1998), p. 45. Other examples include McAdam, Tarrow, and Tilly, Dynamics of Contention; and Petersen, Resistance and Rebellion, Chapter 2. Discussions with Charles Tilly and Traci Watson helped to clarify this issue. Tilly, Durable Inequality, Chapter 1. Jon Elster, “Introduction,” in Elster, ed. Rational Choice (New York: New York University Press, 1986), pp. 1–33. Although some social learning models attempt to incorporate these aspects, the individualist premises remain. Emirbayer, “Manifesto for a Relational Sociology”; and Jackson and Nexon, “Relations before States.”



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Relations in social life may take three primary forms. Ties are connections between two social sites. A triad involves similar ties among three sites and is the building block of networks. Paired categories consist of a “socially significant boundary and at least one tie between sites on either side of it.”19 Group-ness requires an identity of opposition, sustained by the maintenance of a boundary between individuals or groups.20 Like ties, these self/other categorizations are inherently relational – where Romanians and Hungarians coexist, part of what defines a Romanian is the set “not Hungarian.” We are thus far from a focus on essences and well into the domain of ties, bonds, and oppositions. Attention to these categories allows for a better understanding of the constraints on potential actions in such settings. For example, a self-defined Hungarian is unlikely to begin acting as a Romanian under the conditions of strong ethnic parties. Oppositional categories have been examined with regard to constructions of security and warfare in international relations, usually in the context of states encountering each other.21 But for students of domestic politics, a focus on categories at the local level – where individuals come into actual contact with each other – is a fruitful line of research.22 The focus on relational forms elides with the sociological institutionalist perspective in comparative politics.23 Combined with insights from historical institutionalism, a form of analysis emerges to assess interactive mechanisms; it can reveal the causal dynamics of political processes. III. B. Time and Sequence, Incrementalism, and Endogeneity The forms outlined in the previous subsection provide a good foundation for understanding the structural shape of different types of relations. However, a second dimension is crucial to analysis – that of time. Historical institutionalists have developed systematic means to analyze trajectories and processes. Useful concepts such as critical junctures, timing and conjunction, and incrementalism are products of this school.24 An insight from this approach is that change becomes part of the dynamics of politics, in an intrinsically endogenous fashion. Path dependence and feedback effects mean that change is likely to be incremental rather than dramatic or punctuated. 19 20

21

22

23

24

Tilly, Identities, Boundaries, and Social Ties, pp. 75–6. Abbott, “Things of Boundaries,” in Abbott, Time Matters, pp. 261–79; Emirbayer, “Manifesto for a Relational Sociology”; Tilly, Durable Inequality; Tilly, Identities, Boundaries, and Social Ties, p. 61; and Tilly, The Politics of Collective Violence. Goddard, “Uncommon Ground”; Lustick, Unsettled States, Disputed Lands; and Daniel Nexon, The Struggle for Power in Early Modern Europe: Religious Conflict, Dynastic Empires, and International Change (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2009). Brubaker et al., Nationalist Politics; Petersen, Resistance and Rebellion; and Varshney, Ethnic Conflict and Civic Life. Granovetter, “Economic Action and Social Structure”; Hall and Taylor, “Political Science and the Three New Institutionalisms”; Nexon, Struggle for Power; and Tilly, Durable Inequality. March and Olsen, “The New Institutionalism.”



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Historical institutionalism takes the view that institutions do not emerge in functional, efficient ways, but rather from inefficient political struggles. Emergent institutions are thus strongly influenced by events in sequence and preserve some degree of continuity across time.25 Key traits of this approach include a respect for sequence, incrementalism, and path dependence and feedback effects. First, in an analysis of sequence, comparative “cases,” or entities for analysis, do not have fixed attributes, but rather are trajectories or processes, as sequences of events across time.26 Research on sequences tends to be strongly inductive, focusing on the order of events in a trajectory to identify patterns that might consist of causal mechanisms.27 Second, the insight of incrementalism reveals that change in social life is often cumulative, via small steps, rather than taking a form of abrupt shifts.28 Finally, path dependence and endogeneity influence the shape of trajectories. As described by Paul Pierson in his study of policy feedback, the presence of increasing returns makes it likely that each step along a particular path will increase the probability of further steps in the same direction – a detailed account of path dependence.29 He also demonstrates how policies are endogenous to public mobilization, via policy feedback effects.30 To examine data of a processual nature, this book applied the technique of event analysis, discussed in Chapter 2 and further in the appendix. III. C. A Recipe for Analysis The approach in this book is not one of positing covering laws as general rules of social phenomena. As outlined in Chapter 2, the task is rather one of identifying other general aspects of relationships between phenomena. First, processes may contain sequences or patterns of events that repeat across different trajectories. Where these sequences are repeated across different contexts, they can be understood as required and regular components of particular processes. Second, causal mechanisms that recur across different settings are the components that drive these processes. The task of this research is to identify the causal mechanisms and dynamics behind the mobilization, policy formation, and moderation 25

26 27

28

29 30

Hall and Taylor, “Political Science and the Three Institutionalisms”; Mahoney and Rueschemeyer, eds., Comparative Historical Analysis; March and Olsen, “New Institutionalism”; Pierson, Politics in Time; Powell and Dimaggio, New Institutionalism; Steinmo, Thelen, and Longstreth, Structuring Politics; and Thelen, How Institutions Evolve. Aminzade, “Historical Sociology.” Aminzade, “Historical Sociology”; Beissinger, Nationalist Mobilization; Hall and Taylor, “Political Science and the Three Institutionalisms”; Mahoney and Rueschemeyer, eds., Comparative Historical Analysis; McAdam, Tarrow, and Tilly, Dynamics of Contention; March and Olsen, “New Institutionalism”; Pierson, Politics in Time; Steinmo, Thelen, and Longstreth, Structuring Politics; and Thelen, How Institutions Evolve. Charles Lindblom, “The Science of ‘Muddling Through,’” Public Administration Review 19, no. 2 (1959), pp. 79–88; and Charles Lindblom, “Still Muddling, Not Yet Through,” Public Administration Review 39, no. 6 (1979), pp. 517–26, at p. 517. These are also known as positive feedback processes and self-reinforcing processes. Pierson, “When Effect Becomes Cause,” pp. 600–5, especially p. 602.



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processes that constituted the democratic transition. An analysis of this sort involves two elements: digesting detailed sequential information31 and applying a systematic analysis to diagnose patterns and causal mechanisms that might apply in a variety of settings. In approaching an explanation of political processes, the following steps can be followed, using insights from the approach of most similar systems analysis:32 1. As a starting premise, social processes such as democratization or mobilization (note the “-ization” suffix) are composed of sequences of events in time that take a particular shape as a trajectory. A process thus cannot be treated as a variable. Variable analysis might reliably record a particular snapshot in time along the trajectory. In contrast, the task of process analysis is to understand the unfolding of events in sequence, more like a film. An event database, in which detailed information on events is collected in sequence, is a particularly useful source of evidence for understanding political processes. The first step to engaging in analysis is organizing the data, with some attention to a relational ontology. Using the technique of event analysis,33 one can catalog the material chronologically in terms of the following: *

*

*

The positions of political actors in relation to each other (relational forms, such as ties or oppositional categories) The transactions among political actors performed at each point in time, such as actions or statements A classification of the content of the issues of claim-making34

The goal of this task is to organize detailed and particular data from narratives such as newspapers into units that can be examined for general patterns. 2. With the first premise and the collection of data, the second task is to discern the sequence of events that comprise each process and identify recurrent patterns across different trajectories of the same general type, such as policy formation. 3. The third task is to identify causal mechanisms that produce changes along the course of the trajectory, using a comparison of different trajectories of the same general type. For example, in the case of mobilization trajectories, in order to identify the causes of bilateral ethnic mobilization, 31

32

33

34

This analysis is similar in philosophy to process tracing (see George, “Case Studies and Theory Development”), but it is much more systematic. Discussions of this approach to analysis appear in McAdam, Tarrow, and Tilly, Dynamics of Contention; Charles Tilly, Contentious Performances (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2008), pp. 200–11; and Tilly, Durable Inequality. Beissinger, Nationalist Mobilization; Ekiert and Kubik, Rebellious Civil Society; and Tilly, The Contentious French. It is helpful if some attention is also paid to potential narrative differences among groups, which may involve ethnographic information to supplement the event data.



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one would examine two trajectories of such mobilizations in detail to discern their common features at the point of such mobilization. As outlined in Chapters 4 and 5, cross-group emulation, in which masses of one group emulate the masses of another group, appears to be a robust mechanism in such bilateral mobilization processes. Some attention should also be paid to potential interactions with other processes, as with contention and policy formation processes. 4. The general phenomena identified from these inductive and comparative studies, such as robust causal mechanisms and general statements regarding trajectories, can be examined for their prevalence elsewhere or “tested” across a variety of settings. This step should identify how general they indeed are and help to define conditions under which they may or may not apply. In essence, this set of steps allows researchers to provide general statements to explain outcomes in the course of social processes by using detailed and specific narratives – contributing to a general understanding of the components of social dynamics.

iv. conclusions Using the techniques outlined in the preceding section, this book has examined evidence on ethnic politics during the 1990s to explain how democratization and policies on ethnic minorities could take place successfully in spite of stark ethnic divisions. This question is an important one, as the principle of majority rule in democracies implies that ethnic and religious minorities, particularly those represented by ethnic or religious parties, are permanent losers in democracies. Even more remarkable is the fact that common institutions of governance and of minority policies could be forged during a democratization process, given strong group disagreement on goals. The evidence presented here shows that ethnic minority Hungarians used protest as a means to advance policy claims that they could not easily pass through parliaments. This minority contention was often met with majority resistance. Common rules and institutions were forged through a process of trial, error, and correction – incrementally creeping toward compromises after vast oscillations in Romania and Slovakia. The concessions achieved via minority contention gave democratic systems legitimacy in the eyes of the Hungarians, as they found protest to be an alternative route to formal institutions, one through which they could advance policy goals in spite of their smaller numbers. Through ethnic contention, compromise on institutions emerged organically through a de facto deliberative process, in which protest and resistance became forms of debate in the public political sphere – moderating each group’s positions through interaction. The arguments and evidence I have presented here provide grounds for optimism regarding democracy in divided societies, even after potential violence


Conclusions

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between groups. The moderating mechanisms I have outlined here show how other states that are divided along ethnic or religious lines might also engage in successful democratization or preserve stability in divided democracies. These mechanisms are domestic in character. For institutions to be true compromises by pragmatic publics, they must emerge organically in a domestic context and cannot be imposed by external actors. The stories in this book show that there can indeed be wisdom in the unruliness of masses – and that when democracy is built to last, it may require a messy, grassroots process to get there.



Appendix: Event Analysis

A declaration, a protest, and a boycott are all examples of different contentious events. An event is a particular interaction between political actors that takes place at a specific point in time. It thus constitutes a shift from a prior state.1 Cycles or episodes of contention consist of a string of such events over a relatively short period of time.2 Everyday descriptions of politics tend to take the form of narratives, outlining how the actions of one entity relate to the following actions of others. Narratives retain the essence of the responsive unfolding of actions across time. However, the details of narratives can present a difficult problem for comparative analysis, which requires some level of generalization across different contexts. Researchers often encounter this problem when trying to reconcile the detailed findings from fieldwork in one setting with detailed findings on similar phenomena in vastly different settings. An emphasis on common sequences of events can help to identify similarities without eliminating important pieces of the narrative.3 A study of common interactive patterns over time incorporates sequences, or trajectories, directly into analysis as “cases,” such as contentious episodes. In contrast, variable analysis tends to document correlations between particular attributes in “snapshots” and is thus less useful for this task than an approach that is grounded in chronological interactions. 1

2

3

Stuart Bremer, Patrick Regan, and David Clark, “Building a Science of World Politics: Emerging Methodologies and the Study of Conflict,” Journal of Conflict Resolution 47, no. 1 (February 2001), pp. 3–12; and Philip A. Schrodt and Deborah J. Gerner, Analyzing International Event Data: A Handbook of Computer-Based Techniques (2001), especially Chapter 3, available at http://eventdata.psu.edu/papers.dir/automated.html. Abbott, “Transcending General Linear Reality,” in Abbott, Time Matters; Abell, The Syntax of Social Life, and Abell, “Causality and Low-Frequency Complex Events: The Role of Comparative Narratives,” Sociological Methods and Research 30, no. 1 (August 2001), pp. 57–80; Beissinger, Nationalist Mobilization; William Corsaro and David Heise, “Event Structure Models from Ethnographic Data,” Sociological Methodology 20 (1990), pp. 1–57; Larry Griffin, “Narrative, Event-Structure Analysis, and Causal Interpretation in Historical Sociology,” American Journal of Sociology 98, no. 5 (1993), pp. 1094–1133; McAdam, Tarrow, and Tilly, Dynamics of Contention, especially p. 85; and Sewell, Toward an Eventful Sociology. The use of time series methods can be applied to get around this problem in variable analysis. Corsaro and Heise, “Event Structure Models from Ethnographic Data.” As one example, studies of children at play in the United States and Italy have revealed a common sequence of particular actions and reactions.

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Appendix

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In sociology, a number of different techniques are employed in the task of identifying and comparing recurrent patterns of interaction, to uncover sequences that may be generalized across different contexts. “Comparative narratives” and “event-structure” approaches break events down into (1) the actors that comprise them and (2) the verbs denoting what those actors in fact do. A computer program can then extract the actor/verb data in sequence, in order to identify similar action sequences in other settings. This technique of mapping actions over time can be used to identify causal relationships between prior actions and subsequent actions or events.4 Time series and path dependence analysis are other ways to approach event data, as is “whole sequence analysis,” which examines patterns among sequences, such as the interactions that compose a career.5 Although these approaches may share some of the qualitative aspects of methods such as process tracing,6 they differ in their systematized means of documenting sequences for the purpose of comparison and generalization.7 A focus on common sequences of interaction across different settings allows a researcher to identify which interactions tend to produce waves of contention consistently. Once the causal mechanisms in a particular story have been identified, one can see whether similar mechanisms operate to produce similar results in a different setting. Like variable analysis, this approach requires researchers to “operationalize” data from narratives. In essence, this involves an effort to remove details in order to produce units of information that can be compared across settings. However, the order of steps taken here differs from that of variable analysis. Variable analysis requires researchers to simplify or operationalize the data before beginning to look for correlations between variables and positing potential explanations for them. Here these steps are reversed: the explanation of a particular narrative precedes the attempt to generalize it.8 4

5

6 7

8

Abell, The Syntax of Social Life; Corsaro and Heise, “Event Structure Models from Ethnographic Data”; Roberto Franzosi, “From Words to Numbers: A Generalized and Linguistics-Based Coding Procedure for Collecting Textual Data,” Sociological Methodology 19 (1989), pp. 263–98; Griffin, “Narrative, Event-Structure Analysis, and Causal Interpretation in Historical Sociology”; and Takeshi Wada, “Event Analysis of Claim Making in Mexico: How Are Social Protests Transformed into Political Protests?” Mobilization 9 (2004), pp. 241–58. Abbott and Tsay, “Sequence Analysis and Optimal Matching Methods in Sociology,” pp. 3–9. Some of these methods involve coding and statistical analyses that can be quite complex or can also consist of methods to trace sequences that are similar to DNA analysis in biology. Abbott, “A Comment on ‘Measuring the Agreement between Sequences.’” Techniques for the social sciences are outlined in Janet Box-Steffensmeier and Bradford Jones, Event History Modeling: A Guide for Social Scientists (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2004). George, “Case Studies and Theory Development.” Within political science, sequences have often been discussed in terms of large processes, in the form of large-scale stage theories on state or economic development. Such processes are often described as moving in one direction, as in modernization theory. However, the microprocesses that make up the features of everyday life, which recur across time and different settings, have been woefully underexamined. See Abbott, “What Do Cases Do?” in Time Matters. Abell, “A Case for Cases: Comparative Narratives in Sociological Explanation,” Sociological Methods and Research 38 (2009), pp. 47, 62–3; and Abell, The Syntax of Social Life, especially Chapter 6.


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event catalogs For a researcher to assess a sequence of events, there must first be a record of those events, or an event catalog.9 Constructing event catalogs requires standard categories to classify actors, actions, and objects of action across time. One of the early forms of such a catalog in political science was developed in the 1960s and 1970s by Charles McClelland, in his World Event/Interaction Survey (WEIS).10 The various actors and objects of action in the WEIS set are entities in the international system, such as states and state leaders. Based upon this foundation, a more contemporary project, the Kansas Events Data System (KEDS), is a similar collection of events, with the added feature of software for processing these data into readable forms.11 The WEIS and KEDS categories provide some useful insights, although the catalogs themselves are less useful for researchers interested in events within states, such as domestic protest and contentious politics. A number of similar catalogs have thus emerged to document events in specific settings. In a comprehensive study of popular protest and the collapse of the Soviet Union, Mark Beissinger presents detailed information on the number and magnitude of protests across the years spanning state collapse, explaining how the “impossible became the possible.”12 Ashutosh Varshney gives a detailed account of Hindu– Muslim riots in India to examine how they might relate to local civic structure.13 Grzegorz Ekiert and Jan Kubik examine protests over the first few years of Poland’s transition to democracy to illustrate the relationship between protest and democratic consolidation there.14 Other projects to code events data over time are Integrated Data for Events Analysis (IDEA) and a detailed set of European protest and coercion data by Ron Francisco.15 These event catalogs provide a broad source of contentious events

9

10

11

12 13 14 15

On event catalogs generally, see Charles Tilly, “Event Catalogs as Theories,” Sociological Theory 20, no. 2 (July 2002), pp. 248–54. Further information is available from the Inter-University Consortium for Political and Social Research, available at http://www.icpsr.umich.edu/icpsrweb/ICPSR/. A comprehensive description of the KEDS project is available at http://web.ku.edu/~keds/, which has now become part of the Penn State Event Data Project, available at http://eventdata.psu.edu/. The KEDS approach relies on many of the WEIS codes as its foundation, but also incorporates some modified and newer codes. Beissinger, Nationalist Mobilization. Varshney, Ethnic Conflict and Civic Life. Ekiert and Kubik, Rebellious Civil Society. Doug Bond, Joe Bond, Churl Oh, J. Craig Jenkins, and Charles Lewis Taylor, “Integrated Data for Events Analysis (IDEA): An Event Typology for Automated Events Data Development,” Journal of Peace Research 40, no. 6 (2003), pp. 733–45; Doug Bond, J. Craig Jenkins, Charles Taylor, and Kurt Schock, “Mapping Mass Political Conflict and Civil Society,” Journal of Conflict Resolution 41, no. 4 (August 1994), pp. 553–79; J. Craig Jenkins and Doug Bond, “Conflict-Carrying Capacity, Political Crisis, and Reconstruction,” Journal of Conflict Resolution 45, no. 1 (February 2001), pp. 3–31; and Joshua Goldstein, Jon Pevehouse, Deborah Gerner, and Shibley Telhami, “Reciprocity, Triangularity, and Cooperation in the Middle East, 1979–97,” Journal of


Appendix

254

compiled across a variety of different countries, organized in comparable categories. Events may be collected by hand or by computer programs that seek code words in texts from English-language newspapers, as does IDEA.16 As in any effort to collect information in research, event analysis is confronted with questions regarding the level of analysis or “fine-ness” of data and the potential for gaps in information. For example, even the best computer programs that rely on English-language newspapers will skip events that are covered extensively in the non-English media but missed by English sources. They thus run the problem of false negatives, meaning that may omit events of high local significance. To reduce the potential for false negatives, the in-depth event studies by Beissinger, Varshney, and Ekiert and Kubik rely extensively on media sources within their countries of study. Even an emphasis on in-country sources cannot completely solve the false negatives problem, however. The most widely read newspaper in a country may provide good coverage of events in the capital and larger cities where the paper may have bureaus, but will likely present only spotty coverage of equally sizable events in other cities or villages. The only way to truly reduce the false negatives problem would be to have a researcher living in the place of interest and working for a local newspaper. For this reason, we must find other ways to provide convincing surveys of in-country event data.

event data in this book This book is based on a collection of events on ethnic politics from local newspapers in Romania, Slovakia, and Ukraine, in these languages and in Hungarian. For Romania and Slovakia, these daily and weekly papers were examined across a ten-year period from late 1989 to late 1999 in selected mixed cities. In Ukraine, extensive newspaper information was obtained, but due to availability constraints, it was collected in a less systematic manner. As it would not have been possible to conduct such in-depth work for all of the mixed cities in these states, nine sample cities were included, chosen according to specific criteria.

16

Conflict Resolution 45 (2001), pp. 829–45. Further information on the IDEA project is available at http://vranet.com/idea/. Work that does not apply machine coding includes Ron Francisco, “The Relationship between Coercion and Protest: An Empirical Evaluation in Three Coercive States,” Journal of Conflict Resolution 39 (1995), pp. 263–83; and Ron Francisco, “Coercion and Protest: An Empirical Test in Two Democratic States,” American Journal of Political Science 40 (1996), pp. 1179–1204. See, for example, Gary King and Will Lowe, “An Automated Information Extraction Tool for International Conflict Data with Performance as Good as Human Coders: A Rare Events Evaluation Design,” International Organization 57 (Summer 2003), pp. 617–42. Gary King has published an extensive database of events (2003), available at http://gking.harvard.edu/ publications/10-million-international-dyadic-events. Some of the HURS event coding on Slovakia also incorporates items from Ron Francisco’s Slovakia database. A discussion of considerations in coding appears in Taehyun Nam, “What You Use Matters: Coding Protest Data,” Political Science and Politics 39, no. 2 (2006), pp. 281–7.


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First, three mixed cities were selected in each state. These three cities vary according to demographics: one is a titular-majority city, one a Hungarianmajority city, and one “split” city with relatively balanced proportions of titulars and Hungarians. A table of the cities chosen appears in Chapter 2 (Table 2.2), and they are also described in detail there. Second, all nine cities lie on territories that belonged to Hungary before 1920 and were temporarily reannexed by Hungary during World War II. Because Hungary did not acquire all of its old territories during the war, this selection aspect provides some control for the local memory of Hungarian rule during the war. Even by the 1990s, members of both groups who had been alive during the war vividly remembered the annexation and the postwar assignment of these territories to Romania, Czechoslovakia, and the Soviet Union. Attention to this trait aimed to standardize these experiences across cities as much as possible. Third, after meeting these criteria, I attempted to include cities with both titular and Hungarian local newspapers. Of the nine cities, seven met this standard. The two cities that did not were Košice in Slovakia, which maintained a regular titular paper but not a Hungarian paper, and Chop in Ukraine, which is a small city without local newspapers. Instead, extensive interviews focusing on local politics were conducted with individuals in both of these cities. The newspapers used are summarized in Table 2.1 in Chapter 2. Field research for the book was conducted over a sixteen-month period in 1997–8 and for shorter periods between 1999 and 2009, without the assistance of a translator. In addition to researching newspapers, I conducted more than 160 interviews with individuals of different groups in each setting in order to gain an understanding of local views on contentious politics. Later research between 2007 and 2009 added newspaper material to the database. The resulting database of events, approximately nine hundred for Romania and six hundred for Slovakia, systematically depicts contentious interactions between Hungarians and titulars in Romania and Slovakia over time, as well as the available interactions in Ukraine. This database is referred to as HURS (Hungarians in Ukraine, Romania, and Slovakia).17 The categories for actors and actions reflect standards set by the IDEA and Francisco databases and appear in Table A.1.

scaling: incorporating event intensity One important problem to consider in event analysis regards the weight of particular events. Not all events are created equally. A declaration or petition, for example, does not polarize groups as much as a demonstration of ten thousand people. It is the sizable demonstration that will stick in local collective memories, arising later in interviews as a significant event. But in an attempt to

17

The information is most useful in a program that can sort by category, such as Excel or Access.


Appendix

256 table a.1. HURS Categories for Event Dataa Context

Subject

Action/Claim

Object

Date Date of report Level (city, state) Place Source

Subject name Type (mass, elite?) Organization Number Other subject Other number

Act (demonstration) Claim (language) Claim-specific

Against whom? (Harms whom?) Favors whom?

Other Information Police involvement? Violence? Number wounded Number dead Notes

a

Note: I am grateful to Takeshi Wada for discussions on categories for events.

table a.2. Weights for Group Actions across Sample Cities, for Chapters 6 and 7 Weights per Event

Types of Action Declaration, celebration, visit, request, vandalism, deny, hunger strike (due to individual nature) Walkout, boycott, petition, vote, decision, meeting, debate, and demonstrations with fewer than 100 participants Demonstration, strike, violence against a person

1 2 3

rely on a simple count of events, both the demonstration and the declaration might be recorded as one entry. A more accurate portrayal of intensity of action and its effect on group polarization requires a consideration of the differing weights of events. For this reason, the events designation along the y-axis for the graphs in Chapters 6 and 7 emerges from more than a simple count of events. It also incorporates a simple scale of weights for intensity of action, depicted in Table A.2. The addition of these weights depicts the relative intensity of actions over time, allowing a tracking of polarization between groups over a specified period.18 This simple assignment of weights is not intended to produce complex equations, but rather is used to represent more accurately the polarizing effects of different actions in sequence. Because these weights are intended to denote relative changes over time, they are most useful in a continuous sequence rather than in a discrete representation of event counts.

18

A similar kind of scaling for contention, developed separately, appears in Michelle Benson and Gregory Saxton, “The Dynamics of Ethnonationalist Contention,” British Journal of Political Science 40 (March 2010), pp. 305–31, at p. 313.


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How might event scales reflect levels of intensity or hostility in actions? One standard attempt, attributed to Joshua Goldstein, scales the WEIS event data action codes along a spectrum of conflict versus cooperation.19 Moreover, if the number of protesters can be determined for specific demonstrations, this component can be added to scale the relative intensity of events. The HURS set employs both of these aspects to denote action intensities, as outlined in the following section.

scaling in mobilization It is especially useful to scale the intensity of contentious actions when researching the dynamics of inter-ethnic relations and polarization between groups over time. The advantages of scaling are even greater to track polarizing actions across time in a particular local setting, to better understand the dynamics behind mobilization. The detailed accounts of the Târgu Mures¸ riot and the Cluj statue protests in Chapters 4 and 5 demonstrate how the actions of each group’s elites might – or might not – influence “their” masses to mobilize. Scaling also helps to show how the actions of the masses of one group might incite mass mobilization of the other. Such an examination, however, requires distinguishing between actions that are very inflammatory from those that are more benign. The weights for action presented in Table A.3 provide scaling codes to assess the intensity of such local-level actions. The action codes in Table A.3 are modified versions of the Goldstein codes for WEIS data. The IDEA project employs modified Goldstein codes in order to make them more applicable in a domestic setting. Table A.3 lists the codes used in the HURS data. They generally follow the domestic IDEA codes, with a few changes for the inter-ethnic context for analysis. These codes are used to designate both mass and elite actions. An outline of the relationship among the Goldstein, IDEA, and HURS codes is available from the author. For mass actions, a second component may be added to the scale: the number of persons involved, or at least a close estimate.20 These weights for number of participants appear in Table A.4. They present increments to reflect implicitly a

19

20

Joshua Goldstein, “A Conflict-Cooperation Scale for WEIS Events Data,” Journal of Conflict Resolution 36, no. 2 (June 1992), pp. 369–85. It must be noted that a number of event data researchers are more skeptical about the prospect of scaling actions, fearing that they might introduce some arbitrary classifications into the overall data. Schrodt and Gerner, Analyzing International Event Data, Chapter 3; and conversation with Ron Francisco. I am grateful to Takeshi Wada for advice on separating these components – any errors in content, however, are my own. A quite convincing case can be made for the use of the numbers themselves, rather than the weights. However, vast discrepancies in the reporting of number of participants among different sources actually makes coding a rather more reliable option in many cases. Each newspaper generally tends to report high numbers of participants for their own group and fewer for the other group. An average between discrepancies is often less disruptive to the weights produced than are the raw numbers. The problem of vast discrepancies on numbers made the participation weights less important for this research, simply due to reliability issues.


Appendix

258 table a.3. Coding for Scales of Local Action, for Chapters 4 and 5

HURS – Types of Action Join other group in common cause Urge action or decline comment Deny accusation Cancel joint event; charge, criticize, blame, disapprove Issue formal complaint, but willing to compromise Accuse Warn or plan for future action/demonstration Hinder negotiation Refuse, break laws, complain to extra-state entity, reject proposal, reject meeting, reject settlement, refuse to pay fine Mention publicly tension between groups in daily exchanges Make symbolic arrest or detention Impose sanction or fine Demand aid, information, meeting, protection, rights Expel or disenfranchise organization Engage in boycott, walkout, defacement, hunger strike, indoor meeting, a return to negotiation after halt Act to deprive other group of status quo issue Threaten to halt negotiations or break relations Threaten Seize or steal Mass: Participate in demonstration that does not generally disrupt normal city activity; strike, give ultimatum Elites: Organize demonstration Formally refuse negotiation or mediation; attempt to remove opponents from positions, including arrests Mass: Participate in demonstration that disrupts normal city activity Elites: Encourage demonstration to disrupt normal city activity Mass: Participate in riotous behavior, destruction of property, looting, with no human injury Elites: Encourage destruction of property Mass: Commit violence against few persons Elites: Encourage violence against few persons Take over property Mass: Commit violence with implements against more than 10 persons Elites: Encourage and direct violence against group Mass: Participate in riotous violence using daily implements Elites: Encourage riotous violence Mass: Engage in battle-like violence using arms of war Elites: Encourage battle-like violence; distribute arms

HURS – Weights per Action (Reflect IDEA’s Modified Goldstein Codes) 0 0.1 1 2.2 2.4 2.8 3 3.8 4 4.1 4.4 4.5 4.9 5 5.2 5.6 5.8 6.4 6.8 6.9

7 7.6

8.3

8.7 9 9.3

9.6 10


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259

table a.4. Mass Weights for Scaling per Number of Persons, for Chapters 4 and 5 Number of Persons, or Estimate (Categories Reflect Increments Reported in Newspapers)

Weights*

Between 5 and 10 Between 10 and 25 Between 25 and 50 Between 50 and 75 Between 75 and 100 At least 100 At least 200 At least 300 At least 400 At least 500 At least 1,000 At least 2,000 At least 3,000 At least 4,000 At least 5,000 At least 10,000 At least 15,000

1 1.2 1.4 1.6 1.8 2 2.2 2.4 2.6 2.8 3 3.25 3.5 3.75 4 5 6

*

Weight increments reflect declining threshold in mobilization.

declining threshold in mobilization and as such do not proceed in a strictly linear pattern. For example, once a mobilization threshold of five hundred persons has been passed, the scales here reflect a declining marginal importance of the addition of further participants, whereas for smaller numbers, added participants have more marginal importance. Using these scales, the HURS event data can be analyzed in two ways: (1) using simply the action codes, and (2) using the action codes multiplied by the weights for mass participation. Both methods are employed for Chapters 4 and 5.



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Index

Abbott, Andrew, 33 actions intensity of and scaling, 54, 56, 255–9, Figure 2.1, Tables 6.1, A.2, A.3 interconnected, as, 38 Alba Iulia, 79 alternative education, Slovakia, 151–2, See also language policy analysis, recipe for, 247–8 Antall, József, 191 Antonescu, Ion, 82 approaches. See institutionalism, historical. See relationalism armaments, 25, 240 army. See military force assimilation, 72 language and, 147, 164 Ausgleich. See Hapsburg Empire, Dual Monarchy of Austria, 49 autonomy, 190–4, 241. See also decentralization, government cultural, 192, 203, 215 defined, 191 Native American reservations and, 194 nonterritorial, 193 political, 193 Russia and, 194 territorial, 194, 215 autonomy, policy, 202, 227–9, Tables 7.1–2, See also Recommendation 1201 trajectories of, 229–31, Figure 7.3 autonomy, Romania, 203–6, See also Hungarian Autonomous Region contention and policy on, 232, Figure 7.4 contention on, 212–13, Figure 7.1 autonomy, Slovakia, 214–20 contention and policy on, 232–3, Figure 7.5 contention on, 222, Figure 7.2 term differences for, 216 autonomy, Ukraine, 194–5 contention on, 202–3

referendum for Hungarian district, 195–7, 199, 200–2 Transcarpathia and, 196–200 Babes¸-Bolyai University, 44, 169–71, 173–4 bargaining, 21–3, 26, 30, 50, 239–40, Figure 1.2 Bátorove Kosihy, 154–5 Beissinger, Mark, 35, 51–2 Belgium, 87, 193 Beneš Decrees, 72, 82 Beregovo. See Berehove Beregszász. See Berehove Berehove, 47, 79, 81, Table 2.5 autonomy in. See autonomy, Ukraine name and signs in, 176–8 teacher training school in, 179 bicycle caravan, minority language, 152, 168 bilateral mobilization. See mobilization, bilateral biology, as model for social science, 51, 244 BMKSz. See TUKB Bolyai High School, 97–102, 107, 114, 116 boundaries, group, 245, See also groups; identity, oppositional as categories and, 245 weakening of, 121, 140 Bourdieu, Pierre, 21 brokerage, 23, 26, 30, 50, 239–40, Figure 1.2 Brubaker, Rogers, 21 Búcˇ , 154–5 Caritas, 132–3 Carpatho-Ukraine. See Transcarpathia cases book, as used in, 48–9, 251 trajectories, as, 6, 37, 49, 247–8 categories. See boundaries; identity, oppositional as causal mechanisms. See mechanisms, causal Ceaus¸escu, Nicolae, 84, 210 census voting, 18, 90 centralization, government, 88, 193 Charter, European Minority Languages, 157

281


Index

282 Chop, 48, 81, Table 2.5 cities, sample, 41–3, 49, 61, 254, Table 2.2 map of. See Map, ii names and descriptions of, 42, 43–8, Tables 2.2, 2.3, 2.4, 2.5 civil society, 15 claims, group, 11–12, 85, See also groups, paradigm differences of normative aspects of, 10, 236, 242 cleavages dual time zones, 93 political, 18–21, 90, Figure 1.1 religious, 93 Cluj, 44, 82, Table 2.3 archeological digs in. See statues, Mathias Corvinus in Cluj; Unity Square, Cluj dispute over university in, 169, 171 language and schools in, 162–4, 167–8 codes, policy autonomy and decentralization, Table 7.2 language, Table 6.3 Coexistence Party, 147, 214–17, 220 collective rights, 190 comparison, 36–8, 252 compromise, government, 66, 225, Figure 2.12. See also moderation consociationalism, 14, 87, 237 constitutions, 84–5, 205 constructivism, 17–18, 74 contention, 2, 15, 32, See also deliberation, de facto; mobilization; policy trajectories action weights for, Table 6.1 endogeneity and, 40 forms or repertoires of, 8 language and autonomy, for, 180, 223, 231, 234 policy trajectories and, 63, Figure 2.8 trajectories of, 61, Figure 2.6 contention, Romania autonomy and decentralization, on, Figures 7.1, 2.12 language, on, 174–5, Figures 6.2, 2.9, 2.13 policy trajectories and, Figures 6.4, 7.4 contention, Slovakia autonomy and decentralization, on, Figures 7.2, 2.10 language, on, 159–61, Figures 6.1, 2.11 policy trajectories and, Figures 6.5, 7.5 contention, Ukraine autonomy and decentralization, on, 202 language, on, 179–80 contingency, 51 continuity thesis, 75 correlations, 34–5, 50, 52, 251 Corvinus, Mathias. See statues Council of Europe, 148, 209, 219, See also European Union Council of National Minorities, 207, 209

counterprotests, 9, See also emulation; mobilization county, 194 county prefects, 206–7 Covasna. See Secuime covering laws difference from causal mechanisms of, 37, 51, 243–4, 246 Crimea, 195, 229 critical junctures, 40, 245 cross-group emulation. See emulation Csallóköz. See Žitný Ostrov Csap. See Chop Csemadok, 192 Cserehát, 209–12 Csíkszereda. See Miercurea Ciuc culture, 17 organizations for as parties, 92, 176 sponsored activities of, 83, 192 Cyril and Methodius, 76 Czechoslovakia, 72, 79–80, 213–15 Dacians, 75 December 1 referendums in Ukraine. See autonomy, Ukraine Romanian holiday, 79, 126, 128, 131 decentralization, government, 26, 85, 88, 193–4, See also autonomy; autonomy, policy asymmetric or symmetric, as, 191 districts in Slovakia, 221–2 EU norms and, 230 free economic zone, as, 200, 202 deliberation de facto, 11–15, 17, 32, 237, See also contention democratic, 12–15 implications for moderation and democratization, 242, 248 demobilization, 21 cross-group emulation and, 58, 120–1, 238, Figure 2.5 publics in former Yugoslavia, 26, 240 democracy majoritarian principle of, 1, 235, See also minorities, permanent referendums on self-government and, 192 school of, 115, 185 democracy, deliberative. See deliberation, democratic democratization, 1, 7–10, 185, 235 contention, and, 236 defined, 4 optimism for in divided societies, 237, 248–9 organic, as, 10, 28, 248–9 Tilly’s trajectories of, 50 demography, 24 sample cities and, 42, 49


Index

283

deportations, 82, See also resettlement devolution. See autonomy; decentralization, government digs, archeological. See statues, Mathias Corvinus in Cluj. See Unity Square, Cluj discourse, 13, 15, 18 districts, 195, See also autonomy, Ukraine; decentralization, government divided societies, transition in, 9, See also democratization domestic politics, 28–9 driver of change, as, 4, 38–9, 184–5, 230, 243 filter for external factors, as, 28, 31, 189, 231, 242 dual citizenship, 28 Dunajská Streda, 80, 153–4 Duray, Miklós, 207, 215–17, 219–20 Dzurinda, Mikuláš, 155 economics, 27 Együttélés. See Coexistence Party elections, 86, Table 3.1 reciprocal in Târgu Mures¸, 112–13 electoral systems first past the post, 85 proportional representation, 86 quotas in, 88 thresholds in, 88, 92 Ukraine, in, 86 elites defined, 20, Figure 1.1 democratization and, 8, 10, 14 manipulation by, 21, 29–30, 56, Figure 2.2 manipulation by, excuse of, 238 mass response to, 21–3, 240, Figure 1.2 mid-range, 20 role in conflict moderation of, 21–3, 30, 238–41, Figure 1.2 Elster, Jon, 51 emulation cross-group and demobilization, 58, 120–1, Figure 2.5 cross-group and mobilization, 57–8, 120, 140, Figure 2.4 cross-group and titular protest, 67, 181, 225, Figure 2.13 mechanism, as, 50, 238 enclaves autonomy and, 88, 203–4, 215 language use and, 145, 164–6 endogeneity. See also path dependence analysis and, 41, 52, 243, 247–8 contention and policy as having, 65, 187, 226, 233–4, 241 defined, 32, 34–5 historical institutionalism and, 4, 245–6 reciprocal causation and, 182 relationalism and, 17

equilibrium, punctuated, 38 versus incremental change, 245 ethnic parties. See parties, ethnic ethnofederalism. See autonomy; decentralization, government ethnography, xiii–xv European Union, 27–8, 30, 49, See also Council of Europe autonomy contention and, 208, 230 exogenous actor, as, 39, 63, 242–3 language contention and, 154, 157–8, 168 events analysis of, 5, 243, 247–8, 251–9 catalogs of, 253–5, See also HURS event database data categories for, 255, Table A.1 defined, 251 false negatives in analysis of, 254 narrative and sequence, in, 251–2 processes, in, 37, 41 scaling of, 53, 255–9, Tables A.2, A.3, A.4 everyday exchanges, 238 exogenous shocks, 38 experience, lived, 23–4 extra-institutional politics. See contention extremism, 21 resonance of, 23–4 extremists, 20, 104, 108, 114 federalism. See autonomy; decentralization, government feedback. See endogeneity fields, groups as. See groups fieldwork, xiii–xvi, 41 first past the post. See electoral systems flags, 130 former Yugoslavia, 49 demobilized publics in, 240 example, as, 9, 133, 205 violence and, 22, 24–6, 30, 240 Fo˝tér. See Unity Square, Cluj framing, 23–4 free economic zone, 200, 202 FSN, 117 Funar, Gheorghe, 44, 126, 128–35, 136–7, 162–3, 240 functionalism, 36, 246 Gagnon, V. P., 240 game theory, 16, 244 General Linear Reality, 33 assumptions of, 33–5 hypotheses and, 33 generalization, 35 event analysis and, 252 mechanisms and, 50–1, 68, 248 goals, 16 transformation of, 34, 237, See also deliberation


Index

284 Goldstein, Joshua, 257 event scaling codes of, 257 Great Moravian Empire, 76 group rights. See collective rights groups, xvi, 18–20, Figure 1.1 bounded categories, as, 17, 73, 77 claims of. See claims, group collective actors, as, 16 collective memories of, 73, 124 constructed or primordial, as, 74 contested fields, as, 21 oppositional identities of, 73 paradigm differences of, 73–5, 99, 101, 114–16, 191 Gulag, Soviet, 82 Hapsburg Empire, 77 Dual Monarchy of, 78 Har-Cov Report, 204–5 Harghita. See Secuime heterogeneity, 24 historical institutionalism. See institutionalism, historical history divergent, as, 73–5, 101 problems with a “true,” 74 Hitler, Adolf, 80–1 holidays identity markers, as, 125 homogeneity, 24 homogenization. See assimilation Horn, Gyula, 150 Horowitz, Donald, 89 Hungarian Autonomous District. See autonomy, Ukraine Hungarian Autonomous Region, 26, 84, 96, 115, 191, 203 Hungarian conquest, 75 Hungarian language, 72 Hungarian Status Law, 28 Hungarians abroad, 28 Hungarian state support and, 83, 192 Hungarization, 72, 78, 144 Hungary border changes of, 79, 82 kin-state, as, 27, 49, 243 minority governments in, 193 HURS event database, 41, 254–5 categories for, Table A.1 cities in, Table 2.2 newspapers in, Table 2.1 scaling in, 255–9, Tables A.2, A.3, A.4 Hutsul Republic, 79 hypotheses, 33, See also General Linear Reality. See also propositions generalizable, as, 35 HZDS, 92, 150–1, 157–9, 213, 221

Iancu, Avram, 77. See also statues IDEA, 252–3 event scaling codes in, 257 ideas, cause and, 17, 240 identity, See also boundaries; groups mixed, 19 oppositional, as, 73, 245 practices and, 124 reified, as, 73 Iliescu, Ion, 106, 109 increasing returns. See path dependence incrementalism, 39 change as exhibiting, 38 historical institutionalism and, 243, 245–6 policy and, 60, 182, 237 processes and, 34, 38 indifference, mass to elite, 140 individual rights, 190 individualism, methodological, 16 induction, xiv, 16, 37 recipe for analysis using, 247–8 information, flow of, 239 institutionalism, historical, 4, 33, 35–40, 49, 51, 245–6 event analysis and, 243, 247–8 institutionalism, sociological, 16 institutions constraining effects of, 40 defined, 35 functional or inefficient, as, 36, 39, 246 incremental change in, 38 organic emergence of, 38–9 instrumentalism. See elites, manipulation by interaction, 3 analysis incorporating, 247–8 change and, 32 dynamics of mass–elite, 18–23, 53–4, Figures 1.1, 1.2, 2.1 game theory and, 16 processes and, 51 relationalism and, 13, 16, 244 international actors, 27–9 Jewish communities, 47, 82 Kárpátalja. See Transcarpathia Kassa. See Košice KEDS, 253 Kincses, Elo˝d, 96, 98–9, 105, 107–10, 113, 115 kin-states defined, 49 policies and, 27 Király, Károly, 96, 105, 113 KMKSz. See TUKZ Kolozsvár. See Cluj Komárno, 46, 80, 148, 151–2, 157, Table 2.4 autonomy meeting in, 214, 216–19


Index

285

Komárom. See Komárno Košice, 45, 80, Table 2.4 Kovácˇ , Michal, 216, 219, 221 Kravchuk, Leonid, 199 Kyiv, 200–1 lagged sequence process, 182, 187 language enclaves and, 145 everyday use of, 143–4 geographic marker, as, 146 networks and, 143 socialization tool, as, 145 language, Romania, 161 contention and policy on, 185–6, Figure 6.4 contention on, 174–5, Figure 6.2 laws and ordinances on, 162, 167–70 local administration and, 163 schools and, 97–101, 164–9 signs and, 162–3 university and, 169–74 language, Slovakia, 146 contention and policy on, 186, Figure 6.5 contention on, 159–61, Figure 6.1 laws on, 147, 150–1, 156–7, 188 local administration and, 156–9 personal names and, 149 schools and, 151–6 signs and, 147–50 language, Ukraine, 175–6 contention on, 179–80 personal names and, 178 schools and universities and, 178–9 signs and, 176–8, See also Berehove language policy, 85, 95, 144–6, 183–8, Tables 6.2.3 demographic thresholds for, 149, 157–9, 162, 164 oscillation of, 187–8, 242 trajectories of, 183–5, Figure 6.3 large-N analysis, 33 learning models, 17 legitimation, 32 macro-level analysis, 53, 60–1, 160 Magyarization. See Hungarization Marcelová, 148 March 15 holiday Miercurea Ciuc, in, 117 Târgu Mures¸, in, 102 Marga, Andrei, 169–70, 172 Markó, Béla, 170–1 Marosvásárhely. See Târgu Mures¸ Marxism, 17 mass–elite tandem, 59, 121, 139, 238, Figure 2.5 masses. See ordinary people

mass-first mechanism, 56, 120, 138, 238, Figure 2.3 Mathias Rex. See statues Matica Slovenská, 78, 147, 192, 215, 217, 220 mechanisms, causal, 6, 37, 50–2, See also boundaries, weakening of; emulation; mass–elite tandem; mass-first mechanism; status quo, change in and mobilization; windows of opportunity difference from covering laws, 51, 244 event analysis and, 246, 252 recipe for analysis of, 247–8 recurrent patterns, as, 50–1 Mecˇ iar, Vladimír, 92, 156, 213, 221 autonomy and decentralization, and, 216, 219 language and, 147, 149–51 regime of as resistant to EU, 243 Memorandists, 78 Cluj monument for, 132 memory, 23, 43 collective, as, 73, 124 micro-level analysis, 52–3, 118 Miercurea Ciuc, 44, 82, Table 2.3 autonomy and, 204 schools in, 116 signs in, 117 vandalism of police office in, 116–18 military force, 24–6, 30, 239–40 minorities legal protections for, 84, 97 permanent, 1, 3, 19, 237, See also democracy, majoritarian principle of representation for, 85–8 Minority Rights, European Framework Convention on, 156 MK. See SMK MKDH, 215, 217, 221 mobilization, 2, See also contention; policy trajectories bilateral, 9, 21, 53, 239 macro-level, 60–2, 180, 223–4, Figures 2.6, 6.1, 6.2, 7.1, 7.2, See also compromise, government; emulation; status quo, change in and mobilization, titular protest; windows of opportunity micro-level, 53–5, 118–20, 138, Figures 2.1, 4.1, 4.2, 5.1, 5.2, See also emulation; mass–elite tandem; mass-first mechanism networks and, 23–5 number of participants in, 122–3, 141–2, Figures 4.3, 4.4, 5.3, 5.4, Table A.4 ordinary people and, 21, 29–30 policy formation and, 35 process, as, 34, 37 scaling of actions in, 53, 159, 257–9, Tables 6.1, A.2, A.3 sequence in process of, 238–9 violence and, 60, 238–41


Index

286 moderates, 20 moderation, 3 elite role in, 21, 30, 238–41 following violence, 25, 237–41 policy formation and democratization, in, 12, 34, 92, 188, 237–8, 241–2 monuments. See statues; symbols Moravcˇ ík, Jozef, 149, 221 Moscow, 201 Mukacheve, 79, 81, 196 multicultural university. See language, Romania Munich, agreement of, 80 music, 55 naming. See language narratives, 34, 251 analysis and, 247–8, 251–2 national awakenings, 77–8 National Monuments Commission, 132. See Romanian Historical Monuments and Sites Commission National Salvation Front. See FSN national self-determination. See selfdetermination nationalism as ethnic contention, 3, 69, 236 Native American reservations, 194 negotiation. See bargaining networks. See ties newspapers HURS event database, in, 41, Table 2.1 narratives in and use of, xv–xvi socialism, under, 83 Northern Ireland, 14 northern Transylvania, 80–1 number of participants. See mobilization, number of participants in oblast. See region Odorheiu Secuiesc, 165, 168, 207, 209 ontology, 13, 16, 243 operationalization, 33, 252 opinion-making persons. See elites, mid-range oppositional categories. See identity, oppositional, as Orbán, Viktor, 172 ordinary people, 19 de facto deliberation, and, 12 democratization and, 7–8, 14–15 mixed states and, 10, 15 mobilization and, 29, 238 relationship with elites, 21–3, Figure 1.2 Organization for Security and Cooperation in Europe (OSCE), 171, 173 orphanage. See Cserehát Ottoman Empire, 77 outbidding mechanism, 89, 92 pacts, 7 Papiu High School, 97

paradigms. See groups, paradigm differences of parties, ethnic, 14, 18, 89–93, Table 3.2, See also culture, organizations for as parties; outbidding mechanism defined, 1, 89 Hungarian, 14, 18, 89–90, 92 Roma, 92 swing role of, 90 titular, 90, 92 parties, religious, 1, 86, 248 partner nation, 214 Pásztor, István, 218 path dependence, 34, 182, 245–6, 252 defined, 39 increasing returns and, 40 patrols, ethnically mixed in Târgu Mures¸, 114 patterns, recurrent mechanisms, as, 50–1 sequences, in, 52, 182, 252 PDSR, 166 Petersen, Roger, 24 petitions, 153, 156, 158–9, 168, 218, See also contention Peto˝fi-Schiller University. See language, Romania Pharmacy 28, Târgu Mures¸, 103 Piaț a Unirii. See Unity Square, Cluj Pierson, Paul, 39, 52, 246 plaque. See statues, Mathias Corvinus in Cluj PNT¸CD, 164, 170 polarization, 61 process, as, 37 Târgu Mures¸, in, 117–19, Figure 4.1 police office, vandalism of in Miercurea Ciuc, 116–18 policy formation, 30, 85, See also autonomy policy; decentralization, government; language policy; policy trajectories contention and, 35, 63, Figure 2.8 feedback in, 39, 187 process, as, 35, 60 policy trajectories, 62, Figure 2.7, See also contention; policy formation. autonomy and, 229–34, Table 7.2, Figures 7.3, 7.4, 7.5 contention and, 63–4, Figure 2.8 language and, 184–8, Table 6.3, Figures 6.3, 6.4, 6.5 oscillation of. See language policy, oscillation of political opportunity structures, 9, 65 windows of opportunity, as, 65, Figure 2.9 polyculturalism, 179. See language, Ukraine practice, xvii, 18 symbolic, 124–5 prefects, county. See county prefects preferences. See goals primordialism, 74 PRM, Table 3.2


Index

287

processes, 34, 38 defined, 37 endogeneity and, 51 endogenous, as, 32–5 event analysis, and, 246 finding mechanisms in, 50–1, 244 process tracing, 252 proportional representation. See electoral systems propositions, 68 mechanistic generalizations, as, 244 protest. See contention Pruteanu, Gheorghe, 164 Pünkösd, 44 PUNR, 136, 166, 205, Table 3.2 quotas. See electoral systems raion. See county rational choice, 16, 36, 244 recipe for analysis, 247–8 reciprocal causation. See endogeneity reciprocal voting. See elections, reciprocal in Târgu Mures¸ Recommendation 1201, 209–10, 231 treaties and, 209, 221 referendums. See also autonomy, Romania; autonomy, Ukraine; Berehove, name and signs in independent Ukraine, for, 195 region, 195 relational constraints, 18, Figure 1.1 relationalism, 4, 13, 15–18, 243 defined, 15 religion cleavages and, 93 socialism, under, 83 repertoires of contention. See contention report card war. See language, Slovakia, schools and representation. See minorities, representation for resettlement, 84, See also deportations resonance, 21, 23–4, 240, Figure 1.2 defined, 22 revolution process, as, 37 Romania, in. See Romania Rimaszombat. See Rimavská Sobota Rimavská Sobota, 46, 80, Table 2.4 district and, 221 riot. See Târgu Mures¸, riot in RMDSz. See UDMR Roma, 47, 90, 92, 111, 114 Romania case, as, 48 revolution in, 84, 94–5 Romanian Historical Monuments and Sites Commission, 130, 132

Romanian Ministry of Culture, 136 Romanian National Day. See December 1 Rukh, 176, Table 3.2 rumor, 23 ties, and, 24 Rusins. See Ruthenians Rustow, Dankwart, 9 Ruthenians, 76, 79–81, 197, 200 Society of Carpathian, 196–7 Saint-Germain, agreement of, 80 sample cities. See cities, sample scaling in event analysis, 53, 56, 257–9, Figure 2.1, Tables 6.1, A.2, A.3 school directors. See language, Slovakia, schools and schools, separation of. See language, Romania, schools and SDK, 157–9 secession, 190 Secuime, 44, 77 county prefects in, 206–7 language and schools in, 164–6 security dilemma, 239 self-determination, 79 self-government. See autonomy; decentralization, government sequence, 35–7, 243, 245–6 event analysis and, 41, 50, 251–2 mobilization process, of, 55, 238–9 recipe for analysis of, 247–8 recurrent patterns and. See patterns, recurrent signs war on bilingual. See language, Romania; language, Slovakia; language, Ukraine Slovak language law. See language, Slovakia Slovakia case, as, 48 independence of, 213 previous state of, 81 Slovaks of south Slovakia. See south Slovakia: Slovaks of small-N analysis, 33 SMK, 156–9, 222, Table 3.2 SNS. Table 3.2 autonomy and decentralization, and, 213, 216, 219, 222 language and, 150–1, 153, 155, 157–9, 188 social facts, 17 social movements, 8, 15, See also contention socialism, 83–4 sociology, historical, 37 south Slovakia, 80 signs in, 147, See also language, Slovakia Slovaks of, 215, 217, 221 Soviet Union, 48, 72, 82, 224 autonomy and, 194–5 language and, 144, 175, 178 spillover, information and, 83 spin. See framing


Index

288 state level. See macro-level analysis statistical analysis, 33, 50 statues, 124 Avram Iancu in Cluj, of, 126, 131 Avram Iancu in Târgu Mures¸, of, 101, 104 Mathias Corvinus in Cluj, of, 126–37 Memorandists in Cluj, for, 132–3 status quo bias for in institutions, 40 change in and mobilization, 65, 181, 225, Figures 2.10, 2.11 Stoel, Max van der, 171, 173 strategic calculations, 16 structuralism, 17 Subcarpathia. See Transcarpathia subsidiarity. See decentralization, government Šurany, 215, 217 Süto˝, András, 99, 105–7 symbols, 124 Székely, 44, 77, 204, 210 Székelyföld. See Secuime Székelyudvarhely. See Odorheiu Secuiesc Szekler. See Székely tandem, mass–elite, 55. See mass–elite tandem Târgu Mures¸, 45, 82, Table 2.3 capital of autonomous region, as, 96 demobilization in, 111–12 language in, 97–103, 163 local government in, 96–7, 104, 107–9, 111–13 reciprocal voting in, 112–13 report on, 114–16 riot in, 25, 53–5, 94–5, 103–11, 239–40, Figures 2.1, 4.1, 4.2 riot in as example, 128, 136, 240 testing, 50, 68, 248 Thelen, Kathleen, 39 thresholds. See electoral systems ties cross-cutting or bridging, 24, 239 network or social, 23, 245 relationalism and, 15–16, 244 Tilly, Charles, 50 time, 32–5, See also institutionalism, historical; sequence dual zones of, Ukraine, 93, 235 time series analysis, 51–2, 252 timing, 28. See sequence Tiso, Jozef, 81–2 titular, 2 titular protest, 67, 182, Figure 2.13, See also emulation To˝kés, Lászlo, 84, 170, 207, 220 Tornal’a, 221 trajectories. See cases; contention; mobilization; policy trajectories; processes transactions. See interaction

Transcarpathia, 47, 76 autonomy and. See autonomy, Ukraine border changes for, 71, 79–82 case, as, 48 councils and plebiscites in, 79–80 dialect and language use in, 143–4 free economic zone in, 200, 202 independence declaration in, 81 joke in, 71 transformation of goals, 13 transition. See democratization Transylvania, 75, 77–8, 80, See also northern Transylvania treaties, 221, See also Recommendation 1201 Trianon, Treaty of, 74, 79–80, 82 TUKB, 93, 202, Table 3.2 TUKZ, 93, 176, Table 3.2 autonomy and, 195–6, 198, 201 language and, 176–7, 180 UDMR, 92, 166, 167, 170, 208, Table 3.2, See also autonomy, Romania; language, Romania Cluj, in, 127–37, 163 Miercurea Ciuc, in, 117 seige of party office, Târgu Mures¸, 105–7 Târgu Mures¸, in, 100–1, 104–7, 109, 112, 114 Ukraine, See also Transcarpathia case, as, 48 referendum, independence for, 175, 195 Ukrainian hunger strikers, 197–9 uncertainty early in transitions, 236 reduction of via interaction, 138, 242 Romania and Târgu Mures¸, in, 96, 115 Ukraine, in, 187, 202 UNESCO, 128, 135 Ungvár. See Uzhhorod unitary state. See centralization, government Unity Square, Cluj, 125–6, 132–7 university dispute, Romania. See language, Romania University of Medicine and Pharmacy, Târgu Mures¸, 97, 101, 104 Uzhgorod. See Uzhhorod Uzhhorod, 47, 79, 81, Table 2.5 autonomy and, 196–7 signs in, 178 university in, 178–9 vandalism, See also Târgu Mures¸, riot in police office, Miercurea Ciuc, 116–18 signs, of, 150, 163 variable, difference from process analysis, 247 variables, 33–5 change and, 34 conceptual independence and, 34–5, 37 difference from process analysis, 50, 243, 250–1


Index

289

independent and dependent, 34–5, 182, 227 lagged dependent, 52 stable, measurable attributes and, 34, 37 Vatra Româneasca˘, 100, 104, 107, 111–12, 114 Vienna decision of, 81 Protocol of, 80–1 violence, 9, 10, 65, See also Târgu Mures¸, riot in bilateral mobilizations and, 21, 53, 60 influences for, 25–6, 240 moderation following, 6, 237, 240 Vlachs, 76 Vojvodina, 49, 191

Voloshyn, Avgustyn, 81 VPN, 147 wasted votes, 85, See also electoral systems weapons. See armaments weights in event analysis. See mobilization, number of participants in; scaling in event analysis WEIS, 253, 257 windows of opportunity, 65, 180, 224, Figure 2.9 World War II, 5, 23, 43, 72, 80–2, 101–2 Žitný Ostrov, 46, 215 Association of Towns and Villages, of, 219


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