Hunting for John Dewey's Ghost: Part One

Electrical Wires in Tirana

I have been in Albania for four months now. My son and his wife were here a few weeks back and it was lovely to see them. We went to Munich for the weekend they were here and explored the Christmas markets and toured the Dachau Memorial Site – interesting contrasts to say the least.  Below are a few pictures that may give some sense of that contrast. My daughter-in-law took these and the other photographs in this post; she is a far better photographer than I am.

Where "special prisoners" were kept at Dachau

Christmas Market at Marienplatz

One of MANY Gluhwein kiosks at Christmas Market

View from Barracks at Dachau

While I do not wish to diminish that sharp contrast between the vibrancy of Christmas markets at Marienplatz and the bleakness of the Dachau Memorial Site, the contrast between Munich and Tirana was in some ways more interesting to me and relates to the topic I will begin in this post: searching for a sense of the common good.

"New Town Hall" in Munch

Christmas in Tirana: Decorations on the Main Boulevard

Before I left for my stint in Albania, I had various coffees, lunches, dinners, and meetings with students, former students, colleagues, and friends. At one of these coffees, a former student of mine asked me if one of my reasons for going to Albania was to “hunt for John Dewey’s ghost.” I thought that a lovely turn of a phrase and captured one of my enduring quests:  searching for discursive evidence of a society’s (community’s?) commitment to the common or public good.

Having talked to various people about the state of public discourse here and witnessed (though not understanding) televised ‘debates,’ it is rather clear to me that if John Dewey’s ghost is haunting around Albania, he is shaking his head in despair. He may even be crouched in a corner crying.

Maybe John Dewey is Down this Walking Path in Big Park in Tirana

Or Maybe He Is Down This Path also in the Big Park

But as an optimistic pragmatist (idealistic pragmatist, maybe, borrowing from James Baker), he would quickly compose himself and set about documenting the consequences of this lack of commitment to a common good and, I would suspect, recommend some method to bring about “A Great Community.”

I, however, do not have the intellectual acumen of John Dewey. While I can offer my observations and reflections, I doubt I can offer a method to bring about radical societal change. And maybe radical societal change isn’t even needed.

But I am getting ahead of myself. First, my observations and reflections from my trek to a conference in Bulgaria. While these center mainly on identity, I hope eventually to tie them back to my search for the common good.

My hunt for John Dewey’s ghost started as soon as I landed at Mother Teresa Airport, but it really kicked into high gear when I took a road trip in mid-November to Sofia, Bulgaria for a conference. The conference was sponsored by the Balkan Sociological Forum and its theme was “Close but Unknown Neighbors: Balkan Sociological Perspectives.” As you can probably imagine, many of the presentations were on identity and identity formation. I was called upon to moderate two panels during the conference.  I will get to the good, the bad, and the interesting about that experience, but first I wanted to relate some stories from the bus ride itself, as they give some insights into Albanians’ consciousness about a common good.

Soon after we left Tirana and were on a new four-lane highway to Kosovo and on to Bulgaria, a colleague sitting beside me on the bus made a comment about the highway. She indicated that as we approached the border, we would go through a long tunnel – one of the longest (maybe the longest) highway tunnel in the Western Balkans. She said construction of the tunnel and new road we were on had cut travel time from Tirana to Prishtina, the capital of Kosovo, by more than half!  A trip that once took well over seven hours on windy narrow mountain roads could now be accomplished in a little over three hours.

As a side note, a tunnel is currently being built through Krabbe Mountain, which I drove over on the way to Ohrid, Macedonia. It too will cut travel time from Tirana to Elbasan at least in half.

My colleague went on to explain that the roads during the communist era were purposely constructed to be difficult to maneuver. The reasons for this included making it difficult for Albanians to escape the country and, perhaps more importantly, making it extremely difficult for the enemies of Albania (or, more accurately, enemies Enver Hoxha supposed Albania to have) to land planes inside the country.

Really?!?! Yes, really. I guess Hoxha wasn’t worried about helicopters . . . or maybe that’s what all the bunkers were for. For citizens to both protect themselves and shoot down the helicopters. But that’s another story.

This colleague also told me that during the communist period her father was a civil worker – an accountant, I think. But during his course of work, he displeased someone higher up than he. He was soon “reassigned” to agricultural work, which he continued to do until the fall of Hoxha’s regime and his eventual retirement.

She further explained that during the communist era, the ability for citizens to travel was tightly restricted. For one thing, few people had cars, the trains did not (still do not) run across the borders, and a person could be shot for just walking near border crossings. In fact, she had a cousin who was shot for walking near a border crossing. She ended her stories with the profound proclamation that “You Americans can never really understand Albania, because you have not lived through what we have.”

Quite true. I cannot imagine a world in which I have no contact with an “outside” world – a world no bigger than the borders of my country, or a more accurate comparison would be no bigger than my state, or even more accurately the county in which I live. To give you some idea of how small this insular world of communist Albania was, consider that the state of Arkansas is approximately 137,700 km2; Albania is less than a fourth that in land mass: 28,750 km2. In a nation so small, a sense of the common good or public good should be easy to find, right?

One would think so, but . . . nothing is really “easy” to find in Albania. But again I am getting ahead of myself.

One more story from the bus ride to Sofia. As we neared Kukes, a city in northern Albania near the Kosovo border, another colleague, who was traveling with her mother who was born in Kukes, told me that in the 1970s the original city of Kukes, which was in a valley, was flooded to construct an artificial lake that was part of the Albanian hydroelectric system. A new city was constructed on the mountain ridge. Her mother had helped to build that new city.

I imagine this work as mandatory “volunteer professional contribution” work citizens were compelled to do during the communist era – like my colleague the language professor who, with his fellow teachers, built his own apartment building (which he still lives in today) or my political science professor colleague who spent three months a year harvesting potatoes as “professional development.” 

Anyway, the view of the “new” city of Kukes I was able to glimpse from the window of the bus revealed a series of concrete block buildings – massive nondescript gray rectangular blocks, one after another. One was to wonder what the old city looked like, as it had been an Ottoman city and a minor trading post.

Yes, water is important, but at the expense of destroying history? Hmmm . . . a clue on my search for the common good.

One last comment from the bus trip. As my colleagues related these stories they kept saying, “Albania is a country of many colors.” I am still not sure I know what they meant. Perhaps I can never know, as I haven’t lived their history. But I think it may relate to my quest for the common good. And it may relate to all the layers of Albanian identity – Illyrian, Roman, Ottoman, Gheg (North Albania), Tosk (South Albania), communist, etc.  

In fact, the discussion of Albanian identity figured heavily into my experiences at the conference in Sofia. So, on to the good, the bad, and the interesting of that experience

The Good.  Every presenter on both panels I moderated heeded my time cards and did not go over time on their presentations. Can you imagine? I have been on too many panels at conferences when the first presenter took up all the time. This did not happen in Sofia.

I don’t know if people keeping to time happened because generally it happens at conferences in this region or because during the opening session, the woman who organized the conference openly chastised a speaker for going too long: “Unfortunately, Dr. Blah-Blah went on far too long and we have no time for questions.” Or because my status as a “foreigner” afforded me the privilege to make “rules” that the panelists politely followed. No matter the reason, it was surprisingly refreshing and left a good amount of time for discussion.

Also many of the presentations were quite excellent – particularly one that focused on the Roma population in Sofia and another that focused on Bulgarian identity. The author of the paper about the Roma had done an ethnographic study, living in the Roma community for over two years. His conclusions were not necessarily surprising (e.g., the Roma were just afraid of the majority population as the majority population was afraid of them) but he offered a clear and vivid picture of this fascinating and often neglected “gypsy” world.

The presentation on Bulgarian identity was based on survey research that included over 1000 Bulgarian respondents. Bottom line: Bulgarians are proud of their past and ashamed of their present and when primed by asking them to describe either the German people or the Albanian people, they express less pride in their Bulgarian identity. I am not so sure this would not be the case with almost all citizens of all the Balkan countries . . .

Anyway that was the good.

The (Relatively) Bad. As I briefly mentioned in an earlier post, the venue of the opening sessions was beautiful – really more like a church than a university. Stained glass windows, ornate doors, polished wooden floors – but literally freezing! You could see your breath when you talked – really! One of the local organizers of the conference even commented on the lack of heat and jokingly said, “I apologize for the lack of heat but be assured we will turn it on . . . after everyone leaves.”

And we did leave after the opening session.  Whether it got warm in the hall or not, I do not know; however, I do know that the venue for the panel presentations was not nearly as aesthetically pleasing as the hall where the opening sessions were held.

The panel presentations were held in the “Hotel of the Academy of Arts and Sciences,” which was several miles away from the main campus of the university. We had to take a cab to get there. This venue was typical communist era style architecture (boxy and gray) and the décor was straight out of the late 1960s down to the textured wallpaper and paneled walls. But it was warm, so not all bad.

As for the quality of the panel presentations, as I already mentioned most of them were quite good. A few were not – simply straight descriptions of others’ work (e.g., theories of language) without any analysis, or bold opinion (here’s how to fix the economic crisis in Greece) without any evidence. But in retrospect such presentations were not any more egregiously awful than some I have attended at conferences in the U.S. In fact, the “good” presentations outweighed the “bad” and everyone stuck to their time allotments so all-in-all my moderating experience was relatively easy, except for what turned out to be the most interesting experience I had at the conference.

The Interesting. By far the most interesting (and heated!) discussion of my experience as a moderator at the conference in Sofia took place after a presentation on Albanian identity, or more specifically Kosovar- Albanian identity. The authors of this presentation argued that the identities of Albanians living outside the borders of Albania needed to be understood and studied as multi-layered: Albanian (culturally and historically), Kosovar [or Macedonian, Montenegrin or Serbian, etc.] (politically or constitutionally, rights-based), and European (supra-state).

It was a claim that seemed quite reasonable to me, but, WHEW! What a fervor it created! I think the main bone of contention came from the authors’ use of the first order Albanian identity (the cultural level) as fundamental coupled with their use of the term “national” with this level. Many in the session took issue with this, stating Kosovars were Kosovars first and foremost no matter their cultural heritage, same with Macedonians, etc.

The Albanians argued back that “No! They/We are Albanians first!”

I cannot adequately describe the passion with which each person spoke. I let the “discussion” go on for a while and tried to paraphrase the arguments of anyone who made a comment; however, at some point I realized the discussion was going nowhere. I ended the conversation by stating that it seemed the argument was not going to be resolved and there seemed to be confusion due to translations, interpretations, and semantics (the language of the conference was English and I was, again as in Macedonia, the only native English speaker in the room).

As I reflect on this discussion, I realize that, yes, the conflict was due partly to issues of speaking in a language not native to any of those putting forth their ideas but also due to, well, language use. Kosovar-Albanians speak Albanian, so to say they are “Kosovar first and foremost” seems a stretch, right? Our language is inextricably tied to our identity and our worldview, right?

One the other hand, the authors’ use of the words “national identity” for the first order “Albanian identity” did not ring true either. Cultural or historical, but not national, right? The national identity of Kosovar-Albanians is Kosovar, right? People who are citizens of Kosovar, vote in Kosovar, are Kosovar nationals, right?

Actually, it is not that clear. Any Albanian living outside of Albania can vote in Albanian elections. Of course, no system of absentee voting exists, but if you can get yourself to a polling place inside the borders, and prove you have registered to vote as an Albanian, you can vote. Really you can.

And perhaps to muddy the waters even more, on the way back to Tirana, on a road in Kosovo, our bus passed four men walking. They were all dressed in traditional Albanian fashion, including high-domed Qeleshes, which indicated they were from Kosovo. One of them was carrying the Albanian flag.

“Where are they going?” I asked those around me.

“They are going to Vlore [a seaside town in South Central Albania], for the celebration of Albanian independence. A group of men does this every year.”

And sure enough, when I went to Vlore two weeks later, the bus I was on passed the men again. Still walking. Still carrying the red and black double-headed eagle flag of Albania.

Albanian Nationals? Kosovar-Albanian Nationals? Albanian-Kosovar Nationals?

As I stated earlier finding anything, even identity, is not an easy task here.

But this identity conundrum, is quite interesting. And also provides another clue on my search for the common good here in Albania.

I’ll end here since I have gone way too long. Next time, I hope to add more pieces to my “common good” puzzle, although I am not quite sure how all the pieces fit together yet or even if they fit together.

John Dewey, where are you?

My Son and I on the Hunt for John Dewey :)

Postscript: This story does not quite fit anywhere, but it needs to be told. It is also about identity, but not necessarily Albanian identity. Some time ago, I had dinner with a group of people from various institutes and universities. During the course of the conversation, I began talking with the person across the table from me about the EU and Albania’s bid for EU candidacy status. I happened to mention that a colleague back home thought the EU would be the next super power.

“That will never happen,” was his reply.

“Why not?” I asked.

“Because, if you ask someone from Germany where he is from, he will say ‘Germany’ or a Frenchman will say ‘France,’ and an Albanian will say ‘Albania.’ No one will say ‘I am from Europe.” That means nothing. And besides, you will never get leaders from all the EU countries to agree on a unified foreign policy.”

His answer was so simple yet so profound. I thought of my own answer to that question, “Where are you from?” To another American, I would probably say “Arkansas,” but I’ve learned here I have to say “America” because that has meaning. And it has meaning to me, also. I am an American fundamentally, just as a German is a German and not a “European.” What exactly is a European identity?