Riots in Skopje & The North Macedonian Name Game

In my last post, I asked, “What’s in a name?” when we discussed the City of Light. Little did we realise that we were about to discover the mother of all naming disputes – and get caught up in the news.

Once upon a time, in a land not-so-far away, there was a little country stuck in an almighty conflict over its cognomen.

When it declared its independence from Yugoslavia in 1991, it found itself in a pickle, because it chose to name itself Macedonia.

You see, its southern neighbour, Greece, had an administrative region of its own called Macedonia. Macedonia was also a kingdom in Greek antiquity ruled by some bloke called Alexander who was Great. Greece believed its new neighbour had a sneaky agenda to snatch land and lay claims to their historical glory. Rather like their hero, Alexander, without whom, all this wouldn’t have mattered.

Alexander of Macedon’s perfectly acceptable expansionist agenda had increased the size of the ancient Greek Kingdom of Macedonia massively. He incorporated bits of six of today’s countries: Greece, Bulgaria, Albania, Serbia, and Kosovo and the new little country, Macedonia.

But that was a long time ago, so it was okay.

Back in the 20th century, Greece threw a hissy fit, concerned that this upstart nation had an expansionist agenda into their Macedonia, and intended ancient empire theft. Rather like their Alexander, whose expansionism had gained him recognition as one of the world’s greatest military geniuses. No wonder Greece didn’t want to give him up.

Meanwhile, the people of new-Macedonia just wanted to embrace their heritage and live their best Balkan lives. They felt connected to the ancient Macedonian empire, including Alexander of Macedon. After all, he’d given them their country, which occupied about two-fifths of Macedonia (the geographical region). But even though Greek Macedonia (the administrative region) had only half the area and population of new-Macedonia, Greece was having none of it.

Like a modern-day iteration of their gods of old, the Greeks stamped around the political heavens and launched diplomatic thunderbolts. They vetoed Macedonia’s accession to the Big Boys’ clubs like NATO and the EU. That made investors wary and damaged their neighbour’s economy and world standing.

The little country managed to join the United Nations in 1993, but only because it agreed to adopt the snappy new title ‘Former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia’. Or FYROM for short.

Who doesn’t want FYROM on their stamps?

After what seemed like an eternity, or twenty-seven years to be precise, the two countries finally reached a compromise. In 2018, with much relief and a sigh of, “Thank Zeus,” the little country signed the Prespa agreement and renamed itself The Republic of North Macedonia. In a fit of generosity, Greece even said it could refer to itself as North Macedonia for short. Twenty-seven years, economic turmoil, and all it took was a single syllable.

North.

Whew! Now, everyone could differentiate it from the Greek region, while still allowing the little country to keep a smidge of its national identity.

But oh, the chaos! The name change meant rewriting history books, altering national symbols, and reconstructing public institutions. North Macedonia had to agree to stop using the Vergena Sun, or Argead Star on its flag. The sixteen-rayed sunburst was the royal symbol of the Argead dynasty who ruled the ancient kingdom of Macedon – and the insignia adopted by The Great family, Phil and his son Alexander. North Macedonia also had to purge the image from everything, except its archaeological sites. Although they aren’t Macedonian, right?

Some folks were thrilled. Now they could cherish their heritage without stirring up trouble. Others, however, were not so amused. They grumbled about how it damaged national pride and made their country sound like a generic GPS location.

Amidst all the confusion, foreign investors once again got cold feet. Were they dealing with ‘North Macedonia’, ‘The Republic of North Macedonia’, ‘FYROM’, or entering strange alternate reality? Economic growth faltered.

Eventually, as the dust settled, the neighbours began to play nicely. The region saw glimpses of stability and prosperity, and the compromise opened doors for collaboration and integration.

Under the agreement, both countries acknowledged that ‘Macedonia’ and ‘Macedonian’ mean completely different things to each of them.

Just to clarify, depending on your point of view, the term Macedonia refers to:

1. A kingdom in Greek antiquity.
2. An administrative area in northern Greece.
3. A geographic region which includes parts of six Balkan countries.
4. Macedonia, now known as North Macedonia, the Macedonian country in the geographic region of Macedonia.

To help you with the distinction, folk with Macedonian heritage refer to Macedonia (the country) as Vardar Macedonia. They call the Greek administrative area Aegean Macedonia, and the Bulgarian bit Pirin Macedonia.

And so, the name game of North Macedonia is a darkly comic reminder of how historical baggage, cultural pride, and political tussles can turn even a name into a mighty saga.

You might think that was it, but lines on maps always cause problems, as we were about to discover when we got caught up in another ongoing row.

I was disappointed to miss the Gutenberg Printing Press and paper making museum, but we decided not to take a second walk into Ohrid because our eldest pup, Kai, was off colour.

Our friends, The Orkney Overlanders, had given us an online introduction to Those Trucking Celts, who were touring nearby in their truck, Olive. In an attempt to cross paths, Mark and I set off towards Macedonia’s capital, Skopje.

We drove over a spectacular mountain pass, with vertigo-inducing drops – and we got rain. Delicious cool rain. Even though we found a lovely middle-of-nowhere interim stop, we pushed on towards the city because driving in something other than buttock-broiling, seat-singeing temperatures was an opportunity we couldn’t miss.

With instructions to avoid toll roads, the satnav directed us through small towns and villages. We saw Albanian flags everywhere, which made me wonder about the country’s political backdrop. Later, I learned that 25% of North Macedonia’s population are ethnically Albanian. As the weather cleared, the damp green lanes and gentle rolling hills reminded me of Merrie England with Minarets.

We made good enough progress to arrive in Skopje by early evening. It was a short walk into the centre along the river from our park up near the Park City Sports Stadium. I rather liked the city’s modern feel; it had an alternative vibe, rather like Berlin, with some wonderful graffiti on the embankments by the Vardar river.

We noticed a lot of police hanging around doing nothing. Some were sitting on walls along the river embankment.

“Mark, stand there. I’m going to get a shot of them!”

In my experience, police are not usually thrilled about having their photos taken, so I employed stealth tactics, and used Mark as a decoy.

In the central square, an immense statue of Alexander The Great aboard his horse, Bucephalus, reared eight storeys high. Until I set eyes on the 40-metre (130 ft) stainless steel Genghis in Ulaanbaatar, North Macedonia’s Alexander will probably retain the prize for the most impressive equestrian statue.

Except that it isn’t a statue of Alexander The Great.

No, honestly, I know what you’re thinking.

But the government erected it in 2011, before the Prespa agreement. So, the 22-metre (72 ft) sculpture simply depicts ‘A Warrior on a Horse’.

Honest!

I could understand Greece being less than amused, although personally, I found another aspect of the statue disappointing.

It should have had a traffic cone on its head.

At least I spotted a shoe on the plinth of another equestrian statue in Skopje. It was at the entrance to the stone bridge, but I daren’t say who the statue represents. I wouldn’t want to cause a diplomatic incident.  

Mark and I found a craft beer place, Kollektiv, and it was that time. Inside, there was a hiss as mist sprayers deployed a fine aerosol of water to keep the covered seating area cool. We tucked in to a refreshing pint of well-hopped golden summer ale.

“Put it away!” Mark snapped, as he caught me focussing my camera on three police sitting on a bench across the square.

“Aw!” I said, disappointed. “They look like the three wise monkeys.”

Part way down our second beer, we heard chanting. In the square, we spotted a man whirling like a  dervish with the Macedonian flag wrapped around his shoulders.

When we arrived in Albania, we just missed an international football game in Durrës that turned violent.

“Do you think it’s a football match?” I asked Mark.

In answer to my question, the chanting got louder. Then, a crowd of protestors burst into the square.

“Oh. It’s a march…”

The barman told us,

“It’s a protest about Bulgaria vetoing Macedonia’s accession to the EU.”

We’re usually on the ball with news about our destinations, but had missed this.

Poor Macedonia. I mean North Macedonia.

It seems the course of true nation building never did run smooth.

After North Macedonia changed its name to appease the Greeks, the Bulgarians opened up a new line of dispute. It seems the Bulgarian world view doesn’t include a separate Macedonian language. They claim Macedonian is merely a regional dialect of Bulgarian and accused North Macedonia of failing to respect history. They demanded that official EU documents must not mention the “Macedonian language”. Then, for good measure, they lobbed in changing North Macedonia’s constitution to respect the rights of the 3,500 ethnic Bulgarians living in North Macedonia.

This time, after only a couple of years rather than decades like last time, the French brokered a deal. North Macedonia could start EU accession talks if they amended their constitution to grant equal rights to the Bulgarian minority. In return, Bulgaria didn’t have to recognise the Macedonian language.

However, you can’t please all of the people all of the time, and North Macedonian nationalists were not amused.

Hence, police with riot shields lined our route home along the river. We watched the march cross over a bridge, but saw no violence.

Things changed once we got back to the truck. Our pooch, Rosie, is particularly scared of loud noises, although we all cowered as we suddenly found ourself surrounded by screams and explosions. The cannonades of booms and bangs that detonated all around us made us feel like we were in a war zone. We peered out and only saw fireworks, but we felt trapped and vulnerable. It was unnerving.

Later, the news reported that at least 47 police officers had been injured in Skopje.

We read that the North Macedonian Parliament was scheduled to vote on the French/Bulgarian deal the following day.

Although we wanted to explore Skopje, we decided it could be wise to leave.

At 6 a.m. the following morning, we sneaked off, in case voting day prompted more violent protests.

When we met them later, we realised Those Trucking Celts had been in Skopje at the same time as us. If only we’d known! Thank you to Mark Fallon for his photos – he had none of my qualms about photographing protestors or riot police!

Join us next time as we finally meet up in the Matka Canyon.

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I recently had an email from the Animal Veterinar Hospital in Fier, Albania, who saved our little Kai Boy’s life. They need funds to continue their charitable work in caring for animals in need in Albania, so I have decided to donate all the coffee money to them. They need it much more than me!

My most recent voluntary donation has helped Luiza, Andi and An Ni to treat this pup with with advanced haemolytic anemia, blood infection, inflammation plus fungal, parasitic, traumatic dermatitis, gingivitis and cachexia. If you want to top up my donation, click Buy Me A Coffee, or to donate direct, see the details below or on this page: Animal Charities & Volunteering in Albania. All money is used for the benefit of the 4 Paws.