Many non-Russians in the Russian Empire were active members of imperial educated society (obshchestvo), and they often conceived of the colonial advance of Russia as part of the march of the progressive West and “civilization” itself into the backward lands of the East. Reformist empire builders who criticized the brutal wars and population transfers that marked the conquest of the southern borderlands also emphasized the civilizing mission of the empire on its eastern frontier. This article explores the conception of Russia and its empire in the work of the Azerbaijani publicist Hasan Melikov Zardabi. Zardabi was genuinely enthusiastic about Russia and the prospect of an enlightened imperial future for the lands of the former khanates on the frontier of the Iranian and Ottoman empires. The unusual circumstances of his life, however, which included exile to his remote and native village of Zardob, a small fishing village on the Kura River to the west of Baku, compelled him to re-evaluate his estimation of Russia and the benefits of imperial rule. Zardabi learned from his experience in Zardob, and grew to rethink his earlier views about civilization and the Russian Empire.

The official language of the medieval Kingdom of Hungaria was Latin until the mid-nineteenth century (Szekfű, 1926); the throne was occupied from the second half of the sixteenth century by the Hapsburgs. The subsequent change to Hungarian was due to several factors, but was caused above all by the ideas of the French Revolution, and by the early anti-Austrian nationalistic endeavors of the Hungarian gentry, endeavors which also expressed the economic interests of the country. As soon as the official idiom of the kingdom became Hungarian, it triggered similar aspirations among the non-Magyar minority groups against the dominating and assimilating Hungarian majority. These aspirations were prominent among the causes of the dissolution of the Austro-Hungarian monarchy at the end of World War I. Within the former Kingdom of Hungary the Felvidék (Upper Land) roughly coincided with what was, after 1919, Slovakia. The eastern part of the kingdom, Ardeal/Erdély/Siebenbürgen/Transylvania, which had enjoyed a certain autonomy between the sixteenth and mid-nineteenth centuries, became a part of Romania in the same year. Thus, both in Romania and in Slovakia (as also in Yugoslavia and to a lesser extent in Austria) a Hungarian minority was created by the 1919 borders. Revision of the peace treaties became the focal point of Hungarian politics in the inter-war period. During World War II Hungary attained a partial revision in respect to, first, the southern part of Slovakia, and also the entire Ruténföld/Rusinsko, which had from the 1920s been administered by the Czechoslovak State); second, northern Transylvania; and third, two further areas which had belonged to the then-dissolved Yugoslav kingdom. As a consequence of these revisions, a considerable number of non-Hungarians once again became minorities in the Hungarian State. After World War II, the 1919 borders were reinstated (with two exceptions: the major exception being that Ruténföld became part of Ukraine). The situation of the minorities was also reinstated, but differently in each instance. This was the age when some kind of democratic reconciliation was on the agenda in Romania (Balogh, 1985; Lázok and Vincze, 1995; “Mit kíván,” 1946/1988), after a period of thorough self-searching and a synthesizing of historical research and political experience (see Bibó, 1946).

This paper traces political events and modes of generating legitimacy in Turkmenistan since the Soviet collapse. The emphasis here is on state policies and social movements that relate to “nation building” for their contribution to political legitimacy. The extent of nation-building success is not an immediate subject of inquiry, for this paper is not about public perception and bottom-up response to state policies, but the reverse. It is certain that state-sponsored proclamations and nationalist ideas espoused by the intelligentsia do not always find resonance among the national population at large. However, attention given to social movements in this paper may compensate for this shortcoming in a small way. It must be stated that social movements in Turkmenistan, and Central Asia, as a whole, have been top heavy. They were principally initiated and steered by the urbanized intelligentsia. The extent of mass involvement in such movements is suspect and hard to gauge.

The new states emerging from the break-up of the Soviet Union not only had to manage the task of political and economic reforms but were also forced to develop a suitable national state ideology in order to ensure their achieved independence. The existence of a national consensus is essential for the stability of every state and society, and during periods of transition the question how national identity is defined becomes especially important. Thus, on the one hand, the dominance of a concrete national state concept may facilitate the transformation process because people are ready to bear the social costs of economic reforms in the name of state sovereignty, as was the case in Lithuania. On the other hand, a continuing Soviet cultural hegemony can also block necessary modernization in the post-Soviet period.

Political leaders often use language as an instrument to establish their legitimacy. From the end of the 1980s, the Belarusian language became the symbol of Belarusian independence; however, it has never been the language of power. The language law of Belarus, which was adopted in 1990 and made Belarusian the official language of the state, appears to have been more a symbolic action for a new appropriation of power than the expression of a real political will. During perestroika political elites, mostly Russophones, preferred to rely on the language situation inherited from the Soviet system, in which the majority spoke Russian, rather than question a policy that could guarantee their popularity. When Alyaksander Lukashenka came to power in 1994, the gradual process of Belarusian language development was slowly reversed in order to integrate language policy into the continuity of Soviet practice. The promotion of the Russian language and the increase of discrimination against Belarusian have taken place along with the establishment of an authoritarian regime, which is based on press censorship, arrests of political opponents, and the monopolization of social, political, economic, and cultural activities. Faced with a direct threat to its existence, the Belarusian language became, as was the case during the Soviet period, a language of opposition and of counter-power. Belarusian leaders have tried to keep the Belarusian language and the discourses related to it out of power. The opposition, however, uses Belarusian as a political weapon against the regime, seeking to transform Belarusian into a future language of power. Considering the language as a crucial political issue, language policy is a way to manage and control not only the use of language, but also the discourse and the persons who are using it. In that context, language implies a speech, and the French distinction between langue and language is interesting in this respect. Language politics implies social and political representations of language and speech, which can be studied, analyzing the influence of political actors on these representations and the way in which they deal with the language problem.

The population of the North Adriatic area has always been linguistically mixed. Slovene, Croatian and Italian populations have lived here for 14 centuries; German people moved here in the period of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. In the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries the city of Trieste became the official harbor of the Empire, and, as a consequence, the town grew, attracting others immigrants: Greeks, Jews, Serbs, and so on. Linguistically three main groups lived in Trieste: German, Italian and Slovene speakers. The Slovenes in Trieste owned many important activities, such as banks and trading companies. They were organized in the fields of education and culture with their own theater, private schools, library, daily newspaper and magazines. The Slovenes in Trieste also had their own political movement electing some representatives to the Parliament in Vienna. On the whole, they were considered a very well organized linguistic group. The Italians in Trieste were similarly well organized, and many supported a strong irredentist movement, economical and political organizations, as well as the theater. The German speakers were mostly immigrants who had moved to Trieste for business reasons or as civil servants.

The Slovene-speaking minority in Austria—when compared with many other linguistic minorities in Europe—is in an enviable position. Superficially, its minority rights are both constitutionally guaranteed and, for the most part, legally enforced; in the province of Carinthia/Kärnten/Koroška (the home of nearly all the minority; see Map 1) bilingual education is available in many communities at the primary level, and there is a thriving bilingual secondary school; Slovene is officially used in many offices and churches, and can be heard in many shops and on many street corners; there are two weekly newspapers. The picture below the surface is not quite as pleasant: there is anti-Slovene discrimination in several forms, and the pressure on minority members to Germanize themselves is strong; in particular, it must be emphasized that although the minority enjoys virtually full support from the federal government in Vienna, the provincial government in Carinthia has seldom been as favorably disposed. Still, most of the other minorities in Central and Eastern Europe can only dream of living in conditions like those of the Carinthian Slovenes.

One of the most frequently heard phrases in Communist Poland was the notorious nie ma “there is not, is not available, is out of stock,” reflecting the permanent shortage—of virtually everything—that was so characteristic of what was labeled “real socialism.” The phrase disappeared shortly after the introduction of a market economy overnight filled the hitherto empty shelves with an abundance of goods which had been unheard of throughout the postwar decades. The phrase became almost forgotten—only to make a sudden and seemingly unexpected (although foreseen by some) comeback, when the “post-Communists” were returned to power by the September 1993 parliamentary elections. It may not (yet?) concern Warsaw, which devours an unfair share of what the country can produce, and it may not (yet?) concern other larger Polish cities, but across the countryside chronic shortage is often felt only too bitterly. In spite of this most alarming development, however, the strong opinion prevails that there can be no return to the old centrally steered socialist economy. The changes have gone too far, enabling the people to resist attempts at revising the impressive economic, social and political reforms in Poland.