The Bulgarian transition: Archetypes and stereotypes 

"Let me say this from the very beginning - I doubt it that 10 November is a date for celebration," says Bulgarian writer Georgi Gospodinov of the events that took place twenty years ago: the day the Bulgarian communist regime ended with an internal coup d'état. 

Gospodinov is one of many intellectuals who question well-established stereotypes. In his analysis '1989: The other dates', the writer insists that there are other, sometimes forgotten but more important milestones in the Bulgarian transition. 

"What exactly are we celebrating on 10 November?" Gospodinov asks. On that day, in his words, the Bulgarians were merely "informed that they were free". 

"The passive voice in the sentence is important. We were informed. Similarly to the way in which the communist regime 'released' oranges, red pepper, and sanitary towels to the market. You have been waiting, and waiting, and one day somebody informs you: 'they were released'. This is an award for exceptional patience," reflects Gospodinov. 

He also points to the known fact that on 10 November 1989 nobody walked out on the streets to celebrate the news. 

As a result of this passivity, the writer asserts that Bulgarians should rather pay tribute to the civil acts of democratic protest which preceded this date. 

One of these acts, in Georgi Gospodinov's view, is the peaceful protest on 3 November 1989, organised by the ecological non-formal organisation 'Ecoglasnost'. 

On that day, some 3,000 citizens gathered in front of the Alexander Nevski cathedral in Sofia and then handed to the Bulgarian Parliament, situated nearby, a petition opposing the building of hydro-technical facilities in the Rila Mountains. 

The protest of 'Ecoglasnost' may seem unimportant from today's perspective. However, Gospodinov argues that the glory of this act lies in the fact that people "dared" to protest. Moreover, one needs to consider that at that time nobody knew "whether it was naïve or dangerous to protest," the author argues. 

Earlier, in the spring of 1989, another key manifestation of civil non-submission occured. The Turkish minority organised a series of protests and hunger strikes against the forced expelling from Bulgaria to Turkey of ethnic Turks, especially in the summer of 1989. This ethnic cleansing policy began in the early 80s by forcing ethnic Turks to take a Bulgarian name. More than 25,000 Bulgarians protested against the campaign in different Bulgarian cities as well as in the capital, which according to Gospodinov is more relevant than whatever happened on 10 November. 

The Bulgarian writer singles out one more important protest: on 10 February 1988 in the city of Rouse, more than 3,000 people protested against cross-border pollution. At that time, poisonous gases were emitted by the Romanian chemical factory situated on the opposite bank of Danube River, in the city of Giurgiu. The demonstration was a very courageous act, as protesting against another 'socialist' country was seen as a hostile act by the authorities. Mothers with their children's prams were in the first ranks of the protests. 

The new 'heroes'

Manifestations of society's desire for democratic change may be forgotten today, but in contrast, everybody knows, and some even admire, the controversial Bulgarian entrepreneurs that emerged in the transition years. 

In a recent article, Dnevnik provided identikits of the main types of these innovative 'new heroes' of Bulgarian society. 

Shortly after the fall of the Berlin Wall, the so-called 'exchange-man' (cheinchadjiya in Bulgarian) appeared in Sofia. His main activity was exchanging money, but more often, money scams. Usually, this kind of activity was developed by ex-prisoners, sometimes students or sportsmen left without jobs. The monthly income of such 'exchange agents' in some cases reached several thousand USD per month. Their places of activity were city centres and tourist resorts. Nowadays most of the 'exchange men' have changed occupation and call themselves 'businessmen'. 

Another typical new Bulgarian entrepreneur is the 'mutra' in Bulgarian, a Mafioso, typically a tough guy with a short haircut, designer sunglasses and gold chains who drives an expensive SUV with tinted glasses. The 'mutra' emerged in the early 90s from similar circles, in particular sportsmen, therefore they are also called 'wrestlers'. Their area of activity is Bulgaria and its neighbouring countries, and they mainly deal with racketeering, smuggling and drug dealing, as well as people trafficking and prostitution. Their monthly income ranges between tens and hundreds of thousands of dollars, and in late 90s in some cases reached millions of dollars. 

The 'privatisation man', or 'white collar', is another offspring of the Bulgarian transition. 'Born' in the period 1993-94, with a good education and managerial experience, privatisation men easily make millions of dollars. Typically, these are businessmen who build on knowledge and relationships from their previous occupation as a director of a state-owned factory or an officer of the secret police. The privatisation men excel in activities such as tax fraud and money-laundering. 

A category 'imported' from the West is the 'yuppie', a term which normally means young urban professional. The yuppies came to Bulgaria around the year 2000, bringing there knowledge and experience gained in the West. Yuppies often deal with complex issues such as post-privatisation and consultancies, but also tax evasion and money laundering. Often, as many to recent examples illustrated by the Bulgarian press have shown, they also engage in politics. 

Generation paradox 

The years of transition have increased the gap between rich and poor, educated and less educated, but also younger and older people. In general, in Eastern European communism nostalgia is usually shared by older people - only 37% of the people above the age of 65 approve the changes. What seems unexpected, though, is that many Bulgarian aged between 18 and 29 are not exactly the ones supporting democracy. Sirprisingly, when asked to prioritise values, the young are not evaluating democracy as high as their parents. 

Commenting this finding, Ruzha Lazarova, author of the recently published novel 'Mausoleum', told Dnevnik that the key is memory. Memories about the totalitarian past are not a static photograph, but rather they are something "that should be developed, kept alive, provoked and woken up," she argues. According to the author, people mix their positive childhood and youth memories with their memories of communism. "However, these are different things and one should be distinguished the other," Lazarova insists. 

While the older generations remember their first-hand experience with the totalitarian regime, the generation of this age group, which does not perceive democracy as their utmost priority, does not have the privilege - or disadvantage - of such personal memories. The younger generation of Bulgaria relies on the second-hand experience of the cultural memory that is formed, developed, provoked, and woken up by told and untold stories about the past. 

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