Julia Damphouse
Jacobin
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| Camponeses perto de Tirnovo, Bulgária, 1906. (William Le Queux) |
Resenha de The Lost World of Socialists at Europe's Margins: Imagining Utopia, 1870s - 1920s por Maria Todorova (Bloomsbury Academic, 2020).
Em 1911, uma senhora idosa em trajes típicos de camponesa entra em uma livraria socialista na pequena cidade búlgara de Vrats. “Avó, não temos os livros que você está procurando”, comenta o dono da loja, quando finalmente a notou. Imperturbável por sua respota rude, ela calmamente pede uma cópia do Anti-Dühring de Friedrich Engels e pergunta se eles têm uma obra particular de Karl Kautsky em mãos. A lojista, um tanto perplexa, atende seus pedidos - e ela sai satisfeita da loja.
Esta história é um entre muitos vislumbres da vida dos primeiros socialistas búlgaros incluídos em The Lost World of Socialists at Europe’s Margins, de Maria Todorova. A camponesa mencionada, Angelina Boneva, é um dos temas de seus detalhados capítulos biográficos, que retratam uma rica história de militantes socialistas de fora do núcleo do movimento na Europa Ocidental. Na verdade, embora este episódio seja uma curiosidade divertida, também se mostra uma metáfora adequada para o movimento social-democrata da Bulgária na virada do século.
Mas por que uma velha camponesa se interessaria pelas obras dos marxistas alemães? E o que uma nação de pequenas propriedades camponesas se beneficiaria com o socialismo marxista, com seu foco na organização da classe trabalhadora industrial? As respostas têm muito a nos dizer sobre o projeto socialista desta época, muito além da Bulgária.
Ação coletiva
Esta história é um entre muitos vislumbres da vida dos primeiros socialistas búlgaros incluídos em The Lost World of Socialists at Europe’s Margins, de Maria Todorova. A camponesa mencionada, Angelina Boneva, é um dos temas de seus detalhados capítulos biográficos, que retratam uma rica história de militantes socialistas de fora do núcleo do movimento na Europa Ocidental. Na verdade, embora este episódio seja uma curiosidade divertida, também se mostra uma metáfora adequada para o movimento social-democrata da Bulgária na virada do século.
Mas por que uma velha camponesa se interessaria pelas obras dos marxistas alemães? E o que uma nação de pequenas propriedades camponesas se beneficiaria com o socialismo marxista, com seu foco na organização da classe trabalhadora industrial? As respostas têm muito a nos dizer sobre o projeto socialista desta época, muito além da Bulgária.
Ação coletiva
Ao longo da década de 1920, a economia búlgara era primária e obstinadamente agrícola. Durante as quatro décadas entre a independência de fato do país do Império Otomano em 1878 e sua saída da Primeira Guerra Mundial, a parcela da economia nacional empregada na agricultura quase não mudou (na verdade, passou de 69 por cento em 1890 para 66,4 por cento em 1911). Mas o aumento do crescimento populacional e a queda da mortalidade significavam que o número absoluto de pessoas empregadas na indústria aumentava constantemente. Este foi o contexto em que o movimento socialista cresceu.
O livro de Todorova é focado no biográfico ao invés do estatístico; se baseia em um banco de dados de quase 3.500 indivíduos envolvidos na política socialista na Bulgária de 1870 a 1920. Estes eram em sua maioria membros e companheiros de viagem do Partido Social-Democrata dos Trabalhadores da Bulgária (BWSDP) antes da guerra, que se dividiu em partidos "Estreito" e "Amplo" nos primeiros anos do novo século. Mas eles também incluem narodniks de influência russa, anarquistas e outros radicais agrários e nacionalistas.
A imagem que emerge do desenvolvimento do socialismo búlgaro é uma transição lenta de pequenos grupos socialistas ecléticos de influências ideológicas variadas para uma organização mais estável, extraindo força e estabilidade dos laços com a Segunda Internacional. O movimento socialista lutou pela adesão em massa em face da repressão, lutou com sua crença no papel central do proletariado industrial e enfrentou a questão de como desenvolver uma posição socialista em relação à questão nacional no contexto único e multinacional dos Bálcãs.
A primeira geração de socialistas que Todorova discute não tinha organizações partidárias substanciais ou movimento sindical significativo. Foi necessária a consolidação dos partidos "Estreito" e "Amplo", e seus respectivos sindicatos, para que se desenvolvesse um número substancial de membros da classe trabalhadora. Antes da Primeira Guerra Mundial, os socialistas eram menos frequentemente proletários ou camponeses industriais, e mais frequentemente trabalhadores urbanos de vários tipos (o pessoal ferroviário empregado pelo Estado é um exemplo ilustrativo); muitos eram intelectuais de classe média baixa, como professores de origem pobre ou camponesa. Aqueles com formação universitária eram, na maioria das vezes, advogados.
Antes das Guerras dos Bálcãs de 1912-1913 - e especialmente antes da virada do século - a forma mais comum de exposição ao socialismo era a influência de um professor primário ou por meio de grupos de estudo socialistas compostos por alunos do ensino médio. Professor era a ocupação individual mais comum entre os socialistas antes da guerra (19% do total), embora, como um todo, vários tipos de trabalhadores os superassem significativamente (42%).
A mulher da anedota de abertura é um exemplo esclarecedor: Angelina Boneva nasceu em uma família de camponeses pobres, mas conseguiu fugir aos 23 anos. Só então ela conseguiu o ensino fundamental e, posteriormente, uma bolsa para se formar como professora. Mais tarde, ela se tornou membro de uma organização de professores social-democratas em 1908-1910 - segundo todos os relatos, ela permaneceu uma socialista dedicada até sua morte em 1938.
A prevalência de professores e outros intelectuais no movimento socialista da Bulgária significava que, Todorova nos diz, "uma das questões mais debatidas na primeira década do século XX foi se os professores e a intelectualidade como um todo pertenciam ao proletariado ou ao pequena burguesia.” Sem surpresa, eles não foram capazes de resolver este debate, que ainda hoje preocupa os socialistas. Outro resultado foi a proliferação de círculos de leitura marxista nas escolas, tanto entre meninos como meninas.
As organizações socialistas não foram proibidas. Mas funcionários públicos poderiam ser demitidos se suas atividades políticas fossem conhecidas - e professores “problemáticos” poderiam ser removidos por funcionários antipáticos. Os advogados eram mais livres do que professores e funcionários públicos para agir publicamente em nome de um partido socialista - e com sua renda independente, eles podiam defender ideias socialistas sem riscos catastróficos para seus meios de vida.
O caminho russo
Embora a Bulgária tenha permanecido um país totalmente agrícola, isso não levou necessariamente ao crescimento avassalador de um pensamento socialista centrado nos camponeses. Isso foi verdade na Rússia, onde antes do crescimento do socialismo de influência marxista na década de 1890, a principal organização política radical eram os narodniks (literalmente “populistas”, um termo que o autor evita por causa de suas conotações contemporâneas). Esses intelectuais visavam fomentar uma ação radical entre a maioria camponesa empobrecida do império czarista.
Given Russia’s wider force of example, it’s easy to imagine that before the Socialist International gained strength and spread the gospel of Marxism, the socialist tradition more rooted in rural and peasant traditions would have been popular in Bulgaria, too.
Some historians do portray the development of Bulgarian socialism as following a similar pattern to that of Russia.
Thus, instead of socialists grappling with how to draw landless agricultural laborers into their own political organizations, the key strategic question after the turn of the century was how and when to cooperate with the main party of small agricultural interests: the Bulgarian Agrarian National Union (BANU). Rather than following a Russian path of development, Bulgarian socialism grew from a unique combination of influences: occasionally Russian, at times German, and often totally homegrown in the Balkans.
Conspiratorial Reading Groups
The influence from Germany may seem surprising, given that it was, unlike Bulgaria, already a leading — and rising — industrial power. Yet a key connection with German-style social democracy, hegemonic in the Second International, founded in 1889, was a commitment to operating within the existing legal structure as much as possible and fighting for more democratic and political rights. Bulgarian socialists were able to freely form parties and run in elections, securing over 20 percent of the vote in 1913. If harsh Tsarist repression led Russian radicals toward conspiratorial tactics out of necessity, the same could not be said of relatively free Bulgaria.
This context makes the stories of some of the earlier Bulgarian radical groups particularly intriguing. Spiro Gulabchev, the founder of several circles in the 1880s, believed in a relatively nonviolent form of political activity. While early Russian Narodniks trusted in revolutionary action, Gulabchev believed in the power of the word. He especially championed the power of radical education — meaning the appropriate consciousness would have to be imparted before any real revolution could successfully take place.
Nevertheless, the form his clubs took was itself thoroughly conspiratorial. A group in any one town had no direct contact with any of the others, and individual members were not to form relationships or get to know other members personally. But if they weren’t planning any imminent bombings or assassinations (and the historical record shows they were not), what accounts for all the secrecy? According to one historian writing in the 1970s, it was for the psychological effect: if young people couldn’t be enticed to join an organization and undergo its political education with the excitement of the deed, they could at least be made to feel very revolutionary by being secretive.
While Gulabchev’s circles were certainly inspired in some ways by the Russian example, in Bulgaria this form of organization fell in significance after the turn of the century. Todorova insists that rather than a change in perspective of key figures toward a more Marxist or social-democratic viewpoint, this largely owed to different sets or generations of radicals beginning to succeed in organizing differently.
In short: Those who adopted Marxism in the 1890s and 1900s had largely been revolutionary nationalists disillusioned with Bulgaria’s path of independence. And rather than a Russian influence giving way to a German one, the Russian influence continued to exist, but in an increasingly anarchist and often explicitly anti-Marxist direction (through Gulabchev’s organizations and his book and pamphlet publishing venture, which endured until 1905).
The influence from Germany may seem surprising, given that it was, unlike Bulgaria, already a leading — and rising — industrial power. Yet a key connection with German-style social democracy, hegemonic in the Second International, founded in 1889, was a commitment to operating within the existing legal structure as much as possible and fighting for more democratic and political rights. Bulgarian socialists were able to freely form parties and run in elections, securing over 20 percent of the vote in 1913. If harsh Tsarist repression led Russian radicals toward conspiratorial tactics out of necessity, the same could not be said of relatively free Bulgaria.
This context makes the stories of some of the earlier Bulgarian radical groups particularly intriguing. Spiro Gulabchev, the founder of several circles in the 1880s, believed in a relatively nonviolent form of political activity. While early Russian Narodniks trusted in revolutionary action, Gulabchev believed in the power of the word. He especially championed the power of radical education — meaning the appropriate consciousness would have to be imparted before any real revolution could successfully take place.
Nevertheless, the form his clubs took was itself thoroughly conspiratorial. A group in any one town had no direct contact with any of the others, and individual members were not to form relationships or get to know other members personally. But if they weren’t planning any imminent bombings or assassinations (and the historical record shows they were not), what accounts for all the secrecy? According to one historian writing in the 1970s, it was for the psychological effect: if young people couldn’t be enticed to join an organization and undergo its political education with the excitement of the deed, they could at least be made to feel very revolutionary by being secretive.
While Gulabchev’s circles were certainly inspired in some ways by the Russian example, in Bulgaria this form of organization fell in significance after the turn of the century. Todorova insists that rather than a change in perspective of key figures toward a more Marxist or social-democratic viewpoint, this largely owed to different sets or generations of radicals beginning to succeed in organizing differently.
In short: Those who adopted Marxism in the 1890s and 1900s had largely been revolutionary nationalists disillusioned with Bulgaria’s path of independence. And rather than a Russian influence giving way to a German one, the Russian influence continued to exist, but in an increasingly anarchist and often explicitly anti-Marxist direction (through Gulabchev’s organizations and his book and pamphlet publishing venture, which endured until 1905).
The National Question
So, Bulgarian socialists looked to the international movement for guidance, if not necessarily imitating it entirely. This is clear from the story of Angelina Boneva, who went into the shop searching for a book by Karl Kautsky, a prominent member of the German social-democratic party and one of the international socialist movement’s foremost intellectuals.
So, Bulgarian socialists looked to the international movement for guidance, if not necessarily imitating it entirely. This is clear from the story of Angelina Boneva, who went into the shop searching for a book by Karl Kautsky, a prominent member of the German social-democratic party and one of the international socialist movement’s foremost intellectuals.
Todorova’s extended introduction contains a fascinating collection of information on what socialist literature was made available in the Balkans in the 1880–1914 period. She shows that many of the reading materials made available to Bulgarian socialists were translated works shared through Second International networks. Here, by far the greatest number of works were translations from German — amounting to around 40 percent in the Bulgarian case.
When it comes to specific authors, Kautsky topped the list of most-translated works, with fifty-one texts in these decades, as compared to Georgi Plekhanov’s forty-two, Karl Marx’s twenty-one and Engels’s seventeen. Todorova uses this to make a compelling case that Bulgarian socialists and their organizations were often more influenced by German socialism and the socialism of the Second International writ large than by Russian socialism in particular.
But this is not to move Bulgaria out from the shadow of Russia only to put it under a German one. One area where the Bulgarian and Balkan socialists more generally could not find guidance from foreign theoreticians concerned their particular problems of nationalism and national autonomy.
Austrian Social Democrats, in particular Otto Bauer, are recognized for their early attempts to engage with and elaborate a position on the national question, at least in the context of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. But Todorova shows how the small Bulgarian movement in fact influenced the thinking of the leading European socialists.
Many of the socialist movement’s most influential figures were also members of the Internal Macedonian Revolutionary Organization (IMRO), which wanted autonomy from the Ottoman Empire for the Macedonian region, but was skeptical of a future for the Balkans consisting of a patchwork of small, fully independent nation states.
Instead, some Bulgarian and Macedonian socialists began advocating the idea of a Balkan federation. The federative idea was widely shared in Bulgaria and often debated. It has much in common with the more well-known Austro-Marxist idea, but had been around since as early as the 1860s and was prominent in the movement from the 1880s onward.
Dimitar Blagoev and Christian Rakovsky published on this very theme and attempted to get the International to pay attention to the Macedonian question. But when it came to making practical interventions or even symbolic resolutions, the International was wary of weighing in on issues of national self-determination when it had the potential to feed great-power animosity that could even lead to war.
So, although in principle socialists supported national self-determination, the Balkans was seen as a particularly risky terrain for the International to intervene. Many thought the International should instead focus on its “more important and more immediate interest, that of the proletariat,” as the Austrian Victor Adler put it.
Despite such attempts to evade this decisive question, Todorova insists that the federative idea should be considered one of the Bulgarian movement’s main theoretical contributions to socialist thinking in the Second International. She refers to this movement’s most famed figure, Kautsky, advocating this same idea as early as 1909 — and while some accounts have almost credited him with coming up with the idea, it should not be forgotten that its origins lie outside the movement’s German core. Kautsky, the purported “pope of Marxism,” just gave it his blessing.
Against the War
The Bulgarian movement was faced with a unique and challenging organizing context. Unlike some leading Second International parties at the turn of the century, its vision of its future could not easily ignore or subordinate the challenges of nationalism and national self-determination.
So, despite its country’s marginality, it found themselves particularly well-equipped to face the realities of nationalism and war. As Todorova notes, “the Bulgarian socialist parties and factions on the eve of the Balkan Wars espoused the pacifist orientation of the International in support of the status quo as a guarantee against a general conflagration.”
The Bulgarian movement was faced with a unique and challenging organizing context. Unlike some leading Second International parties at the turn of the century, its vision of its future could not easily ignore or subordinate the challenges of nationalism and national self-determination.
So, despite its country’s marginality, it found themselves particularly well-equipped to face the realities of nationalism and war. As Todorova notes, “the Bulgarian socialist parties and factions on the eve of the Balkan Wars espoused the pacifist orientation of the International in support of the status quo as a guarantee against a general conflagration.”
Yet once war became pan-European, the same could not be said of other socialist parties, almost all of which supported their own national governments’ calls to arms. When Bulgaria broke its neutrality and joined the war in 1915, its “Narrow” socialist party was one of few parties anywhere in Europe that stood up against the slaughter.
Sobre a autora
Julia Damphouse is Jacobin’s Reading Groups Coordinator and a History MA student at Humboldt University Berlin.
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