Romanian historians during the Communist era and in the two post-Communist decades have had to deal with two essential questions: first, who are the Romanians and where are they headed? And second, how much weight to give to the forces of continuity and how much to the forces of change? Their task is made all the harder because Romania in the latter twentieth century and for most of its history has stood at the crossroads between East and West. It was hard for earlier generations of historians, too, but to investigate such critical matters under the Communist regime was a particular challenge because history was subordinated to party interests, and historians were mobilized to help build the new, collectivist order.
One of the tasks in which historians have lately been engaged is measuring the effects of Communist rule on Romania’s development, but they recognize that its significance for Romania’s long-term development can be adequately determined only with greater historical perspective. In time, they may judge the Communist period as an aberration that diverted Romania for the Europeanizing course it had been following since the early nineteenth century. But it is likely that they will also point to many aspects of development that suggest continuity with the interwar years, particularly in economic development. Some of them will undoubtedly see Communist rule as having promoted the modernization of the country through industrialization, a drastic reorganization of rural society, and the introduction of extensive social programs. Yet, in the short run, the majority of historians view Communism in Romania as a traumatic experience.
Despite the twists and turns in historical research and writing imposed by the Communist order, it is useful to remember that Romanian historiography has been a part of European historiography since the first half of the nineteenth century and is becoming integrated into the international historiography that has been taking shape in the past half-century. It is reasonable to expect that Romanian historiography in the twenty-first century will reflect the evolution of Romania’s political and economic relationships with the rest of Europe in general.
What is immediately apparent about Romanian historiography since 1989 is the state of flux in which it finds itself. It is passing through a period of transition not unlike earlier periods of transition such as those at the end of the eighteenth century and the beginning of the nineteenth, when scholar-priests in Transylvania inaugurated a new direction toward national history, or at the beginning of the twentieth century, when “critical” history displaced “romantic” and “impressionistic” varieties. Yet, there are differences, too. Whereas previous transitions may be said to have represented continuity and stages in the adaptation to Western European practices, the present transition is, in many ways, the recovery of lost ground and the effort to return to the original character of early twentieth-century scholarly history.
All the above is not to say that valuable work in history was not done during the Communist era. Indeed, previously neglected aspects of the Romanian past were investigated, as new emphasis was given economic and social history and the analysis of structures. Collaborative research in institutes of history, where scholars could be mobilized and resources provided to accomplish specific tasks led to the publication of indispensable collections of sources and pioneering monographs. But in the long run both the practice of history and its results were distorted as history was obliged to serve ends other than the pursuit of knowledge and the establishment of truth. Perhaps the most serious consequence for the profession was the erosion of the national style of historiography.
Evidences of continuity between contemporary Romanian historiography and that of earlier periods are numerous, suggesting that not just history, but also historiography, repeats itself. The concentration on national history and the preoccupation with national identity are striking features of continuity not only in post-1989 or post-1945 historiography but in that of the nineteenth century as well. A perusal of major historical journals also reveals a strong emphasis on political and economic history and the history of Romanian foreign relations, especially with neighboring states and the European great powers. At the same time, a transition implies a re-examination of established values and methods and an orientation toward the future. Such trends are manifest in contemporary Romanian historiography, as a growing number of scholars challenge the myths of national history and approach problems of identity and models of development from new perspectives and with a variety of methodologies.
Thus it is that in the contemporary period of transition Romanian historians are engaged in the crucial work of reestablishing the identity of their discipline after four decades of heavy burdens under the Communist regime. The majority favor a return to the Western orientation of Romanian historiography that prevailed before the Second World War. In charting this course, they are conscious of broader currents of political and social development, especially of the fact that the Atlantic community is restructuring itself not on the basis of nationalism, but is, on the contrary, promoting international cooperation and the consolidation of the common European heritage. Yet, even as internationalization proceeds, Romanian historians have no reason to think that their own historiography will lose its national character in the process any more than French or German historiographies have lost theirs. The majority of Romanian historians have demonstrated through the practice of their craft since 1989 that integration into Europe is the best means both of ensuring the flourishing of their discipline and of deepening an understanding of the national history.
Response: Dr. Charles King
Scholarship that remains exclusively within the national frame is inherently political. Its goal is to reify the nation, to elevate the national above all other categories of analysis, and to contribute to a sense of national awakening or solidarity. During the Communist period, much of Romanian scholarship in the humanities, and indeed a good deal of scholarship about Romania produced abroad, might be classified in this way. This is not to say that the work was not valuable; much of it was critically important. But it was, in one form or another, predicated on the idea of the national category as relatively unproblematic and the nation-state as the endpoint of a unique historical trajectory. Romania was not alone in this regard, of course. Much the same point can be made about the fields of history, literary studies, and cognate disciplines across then-Communist Europe.
Today, these fields of research are rather more variegated. Exciting work is being done which links Romanian themes to broader debates in the humanities. Scholars have to resist the allure of “me-too-ism”—that is, the effort to use Romania merely as a case study for phenomena that have already been well-studied in other fields. In its most overt form, this style of writing can in fact become a species of protocronism. Sadly, the realities of academic publishing are such that books and articles in this vein will always be seen by editors as relatively obscure, regardless of how well they are “linked” to broader themes.
But in the study of history, I see four ways in which Romanian themes might be brought to the fore, although there are surely many others:
1. The power of geography. Romania is a diverse geographical space, where multiple cultures (in many senses of that term) have long interacted. Are there comparisons to be made between Romania and other similarly diverse spaces across Europe and beyond?
2. Modernization reconsidered. One of the most influential books in our field (and, indeed, in east European studies generally) was Ken Jowitt’s doctoral dissertation on revolutionary breakthroughs and national development. Is it time to consider once again the place of modernity/modernization in Romanian history, and the particular role of Romanian thinkers and politicians in this regard?
3. The nationalist losers. Romanian nationalism was never just one thing. There were more inclusive and exclusive strands, more and less liberal, more and less geographically expansive. How did a particular brand of “Romanianness” win out in the historical game. What might this tell us about the success or failure of competing nationalisms in general across Europe?
4. Romania in the wider southeastern Europe: From the early 1960s, Romania’s real historical connections with the south and east were forsaken for an almost exclusive concentration on the West. That theme was enhanced after 1989, when many historians took up the task of underscoring, in whatever form, Romania’s (central) European vocation.
But what of the historical connections with Greece and Bulgaria? With Russia (a theme almost wholly absent from scholarship, except in a propagandistic way, after the 1960s)? With the Caucasus or Turkey?
Response: Dr. Irina Livezeanu
Since the beginning of the Cold War, Romania has been viewed with continued interest among foreign scholars both as part of the communist bloc, as well as an exotic twist (in some people’s view linguistically and culturally, in other people’s view politically) on what it meant to be “East European”. While Romanian scholars and many Romanian émigrés seemed intent on simply representing the uniqueness of Romania as inherently interesting and significant for the world beyond Romania’s borders, their foreign counterparts have been more interested in exploring connections (be they contrasting features or similarities) between Romania and its surroundings. The scholarship in the humanities, overall, has stayed rather limited to the national paradigm, even when contesting its parameters. This has been visible especially with regard to definitions of what counts as the core of Romanianness (from a linguistic, ethnic, religious, regional, gender, etc. perspective).
What are the strengths and the weaknesses of this scholarship over the past half century?
What paths do you see research and work on Romania in the humanities take from now on?
What new connections and directions do you suggest considering?
This is an exciting time to be a historian of Romania and Romanians after the end of the communist era during which censorship, self-censorship and ideology made works of history written in Romania on modern, contemporary and ancient topics only slightly more interesting than Communist Party newspapers. A little freer were the medievalists whose findings held less obvious relevance to the regime’s agenda. Literary historians were also an exception. Literary scholars wrote the most daring works about the late 19th and 20th century produced in Ceauşescu’s Romania. Not necessarily very analytical, they abounded in direct citations from out of print books and forbidden periodicals, and served as a semi-open reservoir of primary sources.
During that same period there were relatively few historians working on Romanian history beyond the Iron Curtain. Although they were subject to the stricter rules of the game prevalent in Western academia, they had reason to be careful if they wanted to obtain or maintain access to the raw materials of their discipline. Not all subjects were approved by Romanian exchange partners, and not all archives were open to every researcher. Self-censorship was a temptation. Because Romanian history was a tiny and exotic field, these works were not always measured by the strictest standards. Romanian history in the West, although ostensibly much freer than in Romania, simply did not have the necessary density of practitioners or depth of field to provide a consistently critical audience. Some excellent works were produced and held their own nevertheless.
The present period has obvious advantages, but caution is still in order particularly with regard to topics like nationalism, fascism, the Holocaust, and ethnic minorities—largely taboo before 1989. Time is needed to compensate for the lack of information and education in sensitive areas of history, a lack that affected both historians and their audiences. An uncritical public allows the production of convenient narratives. Former court historians of the national communist regime have become full-blown nationalist ideologues. Nationalist historical narratives are not only a remnant of the Ceauşescu era; they also build on intellectual strands woven during the interwar period, which were buried during communism. Post-communist nationalist historiography is thus the top coat in a palimpsest of nationalisms—pre-communist and communist. Even some pro-Western Romanian intellectuals have fallen pray to nationalist temptations in connection with the intellectual heroes of the interwar period. Historical “illiteracy” has also facilitated the acceptance of any and all Western historians, even those marginal or disputed in their home countries.
Many former communist historians have reoriented in genuine and profound ways—for example turning to the study of feminist movements, of disdained ethnic minorities, and of historical myths. A number of Romanian-born historians have adopted a post-modern vocabulary. This phenomenon deserves circumspection. In some cases post-modernism has meant extreme relativism and allowed scholars to be all things to all people, that is one thing in Romanian texts made for domestic consumption, and a different thing in texts made for export. Such strategies have led to newly sophisticated forms of dishonest history, and can—through mentoring and patronage relationships—profoundly influence new generations of historians in training right now.
Aside from new topics of research, which broaden the field, new methodologies and forms of collaboration can lead to exciting projects and new knowledge. For example research on the transformation of literary and artistic worlds during and after communism is one direction that Andrew Wachtel took, with an inter-disciplinary and international team of researchers. There Romania and Moldova are present as pieces of a larger whole. Studying the Romanian and Moldovan literary and artistic worlds in different periods may be worth pursuing, along with other such comparative studies of these two modern Romanian states and societies. Rogers Brubaker has led a team of sociologists in a study of everyday ethnicity in the city of Cluj. Even though the topic might sound narrow, it is a path breaking study of relational ethnicity and nationalist politics. A multi-ethnic and historically contested city like Cluj, or K., as Holly Case refers to it in her dissertation, lends itself to explorations that go far beyond the polarized nationalist historiographies of the last century. Any study that interrogates and deconstructs—rather than defend or accuse—specific institutions, practices, or subgroups—be these the state, the Orthodox Church, the Gusti school of sociology, the avant-garde, sexuality, Roma slavery, to give only a few examples, would be worthwhile. Current trends in the historical profession as a whole favor trans-national history, the history of memory and migration history and scholars of Romania are sure to be inspired by these trends. I favor social and cultural histories of “Romanian” phenomena because political history has dominated Romanian historiography in the past.
Response Dr. Christian Moraru
The Exceedingly Long Nineteenth Century
In a 2003 essay, Romanian writer Mircea Cartarescu declares: “I speak for no one but myself; the only country I represent is my writings.’ I could be Portuguese, Estonian, or Swiss; I could be man or woman, Greek or barbarian. Of course, my writings’ texture would adjust accordingly, but their spirit would stay the same.” The article bears witness to the cosmopolitanism on the rise in Romania after communism’s downfall. Fueling this cosmopolitan awareness is a propensity to picture oneself through, with, or as another and view one’s corner as part and parcel of a vaster geography. This predisposition is political not because it chimes in with EU and NATO “integration,” the mot d’ordre of Romanian foreign policy since the mid-1990s, but because Cartarescu calls into question the national imaginary order, asking, before endorsing the country’s incorporation into a greater political body, how national identity has been imagined and what the implications of those imaginings are.
Envisaging a post–Berlin Wall, united Europe’s political body that would incorporate Romania presupposes, Cartarescu and others like him have contended, a critical anatomy of the nation’s own body politic and politics in general. To step across the nation’s borders into an ampler ensemble, one must first break the mold of national self-representation, break, that is, with certain inherited prescriptions of identity, both collective and individual. For one earns the acceptance of “others” outside the nation’s body self-critically, as one comes to terms with how the national self has positioned itself with respect to its “others” inside itself. Indeed, one cannot imagine oneself with others without reimagining one’s self. And vice versa: reimagining one’s self, revisiting one’s identity and history entail seeing oneself with others in a deeply defining way.
While national politics and policies have not encouraged such revisions, new writers and intellectuals do not hesitate to undertake them, to refigure, that is, the body politic, its space, and makeup. As recent critics inside and outside Romania have emphasized, the nation’s geographical and political body are burdensome legacies. Both had been aggressively policed by the former communist regime and others before it. After 1989, a motley crew coalition of old-time apparatchiks, neocommunists, nationalists, and self-proclaimed cultural conservatives clustered around a number of influential magazines, foundations, publishing houses, and official agencies such as the Ministry of Culture, the Romanian Academy, and the Romanian Cultural Institute has carried on this problematic configuration of collective identity as territorial-biological unit. In response, writers, artists, and critics like Cartarescu have argued—more covertly before 1989, more openly thereafter—that this national project, this regulatory tying down of “Romanianness” to a particular place and “streamlined,” “mainstream,” “straight” bodies hems in and hurts inquiry.
Thus, more and more scholars and writers tell us that they cannot be confined to what is written, crafted, and otherwise imagined inside the historically shifty national borders by bodies “rooted” in the native soil, soaking up its mystic nutrients. Further, they insists, not only do these bodies “go places,” breaking through the national frontiers and out of the nation’s geographical body. More complex than one may think, they complicate rather than replicate the corporeal template that superannuated policies and cultural reflexes continue to reinforce along heterosexist, misogynist, xenophobic, anti-Semitic, and racist lines. These intellectuals set out to recast this counter-imaginative bodily matrix explicitly by de-coupling concepts the national imaginary welded together: identity and national identity; national identity and ethnicity; ethnicity and Romanian ethnicity; ethnicity and nativity or, native space; nativity and the sexually homogenous, “non-deviant” native body. They counter-imagine an other to the nation’s territorial and corporeal straightjacket, diversifying and complicating an ossifying way of figuring self and other, the individual and its community, sex, gender, and ethnicity, their spaces, times, and meanings.
This is an uphill battle because it jars with a resilient tradition both inside and outside Romania. Within the nation, its traditional paradigm and the cultural model turning on it remain indebted to nineteenth-century models. Obsolete as they may strike us, these models and pertaining research habits are something to contend with long after communism’s official demise. Nor are the nation’s calls and claims less vociferous abroad, where the East European nationalisms and ethnic strife of the 1990s have done little to dispel the West’s presumptions about what Eastern literature and culture should be like.
In conclusion: to preserve a minimum of relevance in today’s world, Romanian studies must take on a twofold, somewhat self-contradictory task. Briefly, the field must leave the nation and its exceptionalist/isolationist paradigm behind. However, this should be something like a Hegelian “sublation.” That is, I am not urging us to simply cast the nation and its issues aside at once, but to move on by moving through them, by thinking them through. As I suggest above, the nation is far more complex, far less homogenous than its romantic and nationalist fictions would have us believe. These constructs are not innocent. Taking them at face value any longer would be both anachronistic and irresponsible. Indeed, they call for our serious scrutiny but only, as I say, in order for us to move beyond. For it is precisely the new complexities, heterogeneities, and heteronomies of national identity—the “many” embedded in the national monolith—that might help link the Romanian problematic up to the larger world and thus make a case for why studying things Romanian presents some interest outside Romania. I am arguing, in other words, for something like “comparative Romanian studies,” an approach attuned to today’s “network society.”
