Intermedial Realism in Chernobyl

Intermedial Realism in Chernobyl

The persuasive effectiveness of the miniseries Chernobyl (HBO, 2019) comes from its documentary approach (Odin 2013). It is not just about historical accuracy in representing places and people, furnishings, clothing and technology in the fictional reconstruction of a narrative possible world (Eco 1979; Ryan 2014). The "figures" of death from invisible radiation are achieved through a sound design that remixes Geiger counters; the scenes of contaminated urban spaces and forests are based on iconographic sources from photo reports at the disaster site; characters and narrative situations (e.g., the death of the young firefighter) are created using investigative literature of interviews with survivors and their families as source texts. And after the fictional finale, Chernobyl goes on to feature a long documentary sequence, with photos and archive footage, that becomes an ethical and political commentary on the nuclear disaster and its management.

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Chernobyl Reloaded: Renewing Traditional Male Heroism Through Female Characters

Chernobyl Reloaded: Renewing Traditional Male Heroism Through Female Characters

As highlighted in various studies on the miniseries, the protagonism and tragic fate of Valery Legasov (Jared Harris) and Boris Shcherbina (Stellan Skarsgård) in Chernobyl grants them an absolute pre-eminence. This work, however, vindicates the narrative prominence of the two female characters, who rework the male Homeric models of heroism: Lyudmilla Ignatenko (Jessie Buckley), the wife of one of the first victims of the nuclear accident, and Ulana Khomyuk (Emily Watson), the scientist who travels to Chernobyl to determine the causes of the explosion at the nuclear power plant. Both women, who initially complement the firefighter Vasily Ignatenko (Adam Nagaitis) and the scientist Legasov plots respectively, subvert the men's protagonism by forging their own narrative trajectories: Lyudmilla's desperate struggle to find her husband and support him in his agony, and Ulana's collaboration with Legasov to halt the spread of the radiation.

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Remembering (and Refiguring) Chernobyl: What Can be Learned from the HBO (2019) Series?

Remembering (and Refiguring) Chernobyl: What Can be Learned from the HBO (2019) Series?

The premiere of Chernobyl (HBO-SKY, 2019) recalled the greatest man-made catastrophe in human history and the enormous damage on both living beings and the environment. This "historical drama" —as the critics labelled the miniseries— made nuclear disasters the focus of public attention once again, after being overshadowed in the last two decades by the increasing dramatization of other risks such as climate change. This article launches a Pop Junctions series that unpacks a range of dimensions related to the series Chernobyl.

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“Part of Your World”: Fairy Tales, Race, #BlackGirlMagic, and The Little Mermaid

“Part of Your World”: Fairy Tales, Race, #BlackGirlMagic, and The Little Mermaid

In 2016 Disney announced a live-action adaptation of its 1989 animated film The Little Mermaid. Loosely based on Hans Christian Andersen's 1837 fairy tale, the animation earned critical acclaim, took $84 million at the domestic box office during its initial release, and won two Academy Awards (for Best Original Score and Best Original Song). Given Disney’s recent foray into creating live-action adaptations of some of its most successful animated films, it’s no surprise that The Little Mermaid was added to the list. Yet controversy rose when Black actress Halle Bailey was announced as Ariel in July 2019. Among the critiques was the argument that the adaptation should be as close to the original as possible, and the original featured a white mermaid; that if a Black character was re-cast as white in a remake there would be uproar; and while representation in all forms is important it shouldn’t override the history of the characters.

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Tumblr, TikTok, Dead Memes, and ‘Me’: Finding Yourself in the Niche-fied Internet

Tumblr, TikTok, Dead Memes, and ‘Me’: Finding Yourself in the Niche-fied Internet

Sulafa Zidani in conversation with Amanda Brennan. Amanda’s decade-long career as an internet librarian spans across different platforms and materials ranging from memes to trends at large. I spoke to her to learn about how she understands and struggles with internet culture. In our interview, Amanda highlights the internet as a place for creative niches and fandoms where people can explore and make sense of their identity, with Tumblr being the quintessential place for that type of engagement. We also discuss the difference between “memes” and “trends” in Amanda’s work, how she organizes and categorizes internet culture to forecast trends, and whether trends ever really die.

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Games as Social Technology—A Syllabus

Games as Social Technology—A Syllabus

(Video) Game is a curious topic to teach. Despite its social and cultural significance, it is still a topic that gets an occasional “wow, this thing exists?” and a “wow, people are actually into doing this stuff?”, often followed by a “but it’s not real!” At times, you may catch a whiff of condescension in the awe. When you engage with popular culture enough, whether as an academic, a fan, or both, you get trained to its distinct note.


Game design is a curious topic to teach because this lingering prejudice can contribute to a unique classroom atmosphere; a sense of community. Many students are likely to have been drawn to the course by their pre-existing interest in games, with an eagerness that matches their fan expertise. They are likely to have observed and experienced first-hand many of the topics to be covered in class, although not necessarily with a critical or analytic approach. Research findings and concepts may resonate on a personal level, and discussions can be rich with examples. The class may grow to become a safe space to bond over shared passions, an environment that may not have been readily available to everyone. In fact, my first semester of teaching COMM 260: Games as Social Technology at the University of Illinois at Chicago (UIC)—which was also my first semester here—started with many “I was so happy to see a course on games!” and ended with a series of student presentations that truly felt like a celebration of learning and camaraderie that we have fostered together over the course of the past 15 weeks.

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YouTube Musicians and a Pathway from Fandom to Empowerment

YouTube Musicians and a Pathway from Fandom to Empowerment

In 2007, I was a K-12 music teacher in Northern Illinois when one of my students told me about this amazing website that had a ton of music videos that I could watch for free. Of course, the video-sharing website he wanted to show me was YouTube, the site with the slogan “Broadcast yourself. Watch and share your videos worldwide!” The site instantly provided me with listening and learning examples for my students to enhance their time in my classroom. Not only could I find random choir performances of the music I had programmed to have my students go home and practice with, but I also pulled inspiration from the ways people were converging culture to propel my students into new ways of creating.

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Geeking-Out, Nerd Culture, and Oral History Methodology: An Interview with See You at San Diego’s Mathew Klickstein (Part Two)

Geeking-Out, Nerd Culture, and Oral History Methodology: An Interview with See You at San Diego’s Mathew Klickstein (Part Two)

Multi-platform storyteller Mathew Klickstein talks to Lauren Alexandra Sowa about his recent book, See You at San Diego: An Oral History of Comic-Con, Fandom, and the Triumph of Geek Culture. Following on from Part One, this interview explores the often-circuitous path that is qualitative research and book publishing, as well as the implications of pop cultures’ transformation over the decades and its changing dynamic within fandom studies/ theory.

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Geeking-Out, Nerd Culture, and Oral History Methodology: An Interview with See You at San Diego’s Mathew Klickstein (Part One)

Geeking-Out, Nerd Culture, and Oral History Methodology: An Interview with See You at San Diego’s Mathew Klickstein (Part One)

Mathew Klickstein is a multi-platform storyteller and his recent book, See You at San Diego: An Oral History of Comic-Con, Fandom, and the Triumph of Geek Culture, is a fascinating (and unexpected) journey into the pop culture world. In this interview, Lauren Alexandra Sowa talks to Klickstein about the the often-circuitous path that is qualitative research and book publishing, as well as the implications of pop cultures’ transformation over the decades and its changing dynamic within fandom studies/ theory.

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Dawn of a New Era: Reinventing Confessions of an Aca-Fan

Dawn of a New Era: Reinventing Confessions of an Aca-Fan

I have some big news today. I am going to be shutting this blog down for a few weeks and when it returns, it will do so with a new name and a new editorial structure. When we return, this blog will have evolved towards a collective editorial board that will be responsible for generating most of the content. Since there will no longer be just one “Aca-Fan,” the old title no longer makes sense. So, the new titles, collectively selected, will be Pop Junctions: Reflections on Entertainment, Pop Culture, Activism, Media Literacy, Fandom and More.

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Turning Red: Ming Lee and Authority

A few years ago, I was interviewed by a high school student, Alice Shu, who impressed me with her intelligence, curiosity, and passion. She has since come to USC and I was thrilled to learn she was going to take my Imaginary Worlds class. Hers was one of the best papers I read on the first assignment and so I wanted to share it with my blog readers.

Turning Red Costumes: Ming Lee and Authority

By Alice Shu


Historically, the stories of Pixar Animation Studios tended to feature white-coded characters, whether they be human or not— consider Woody, Buzz, Mike, and Sully, all voiced by white actors. Slowly, the films began featuring more diversity with side characters like Frozone and Russell, but it has only been recently with 2017’s Coco that uses an essentially complete non-white cast. Like Coco, director Domee Shi’s Turning Red uses cultural traditions as allegories for generalizable themes like family and adjustment. As a toddler, Shi had moved from China to Toronto, and her adolescence was defined by 2000s pop culture and Chinese culture, both of which play major aesthetic roles in the film (Tangcay).

Turning Red’s story is straightforward but laced with symbolism. Chinese-Canadian Meilin “Mei” Lee attempts to maintain a close relationship with her mother Ming, who places high traditional and academic expectations onto her. Together, they run their family temple devoted to honoring their ancestors, of which the women (including Ming and Mei) hold an ability to transform into powerful red pandas. For adolescent Mei, the emotion-triggered power becomes volatile but eventually profitable, and her manipulation of the ability draws disapproval from her family. Mei spends the film managing her family’s pressure and her new social popularity to negotiate a true identity.

Ming largely foils Mei’s impulses and stands as an intimidating force within the narrative. Like Mei, her identity is also re-assessed and these changes are expressed in both characters’ costumes, which remain static for most of the film. Analyzing Ming’s costume in particular demonstrates its role in establishing her as a complex authority shaped by cultural and familial standards. In addition, Turning Red’s costumes provide more insight into the film’s setting, highlighting the role of detail in characterizing imaginary worlds.

First, Ming’s dress and accessories establish her cultural authority within the film by drawing on Chinese traditions. She wears a qipao, a traditional Chinese dress that has become iconic along with kimonos and hanbok in symbolizing East Asia in media. Her qipao displays key identifying features, including the slit, curved collar, and knotted fastenings, proving its authenticity (Lee). Whenever Ming moves, the dress also has reflective properties that mimic a silky material, which is a traditional aspect of Chinese fashion (Lee). The dress is complemented by her home surroundings, which also feature Chinese iconography in the form of paintings, calligraphy, and furniture. Similar to how Mark Wolf associates relatability with audience acceptance of design, our acknowledgement of the inspired motifs allow us to associate Ming with tradition despite her existing in a fictional world (Wolf). By accepting this consistency the world provides a ripe setting for Mei’s conflicting narrative.

In addition, her jewelry also holds heavy cultural significance and association with her family. Her earrings and ring are made of jade, a highly valuable stone that symbolizes balance and wisdom (Shan). The Lee women also wear jewelry that hold and represent their Red Panda transformations, a destructive force that contrasts with the serenity of their green outfits. The transformative gift is passed between the family’s female members, and this maternal connection is evident when Ming rubs her symbolic pendant when nervous about her daughter. The lacquer also appears in their family temple, with the main shrine being surrounded by lacquer furniture. Interestingly, each aunt’s jewelry varies in terms of the object and style, be it earrings, a hair clip, or, like Ming’s, a necklace. All the pieces, however, feature a reference to the red panda— with some even using the same design—demonstrating that the jewelry is personalizable but serves to unify the women in their commitment to tradition.

The pendant and its iterations demonstrate how specific detail can be used to advance narratives. According to Wolf, authors will select and elaborate on world details depending on their opinion on its relevance to the story. Minor details can be left for assumption by the audience, while mysterious elements require clarification. Initially in Turning Red, we see numerous allusions to red pandas in the Lees’ temple, but these are dismissed as purely aesthetic. Even when Ming explains the family’s connection to the animals, she purely states that an ancestor had admired them and that they were “blessed” by red pandas. Without prior context, the audience can interpret this purely as background information that details the temple’s purpose without anticipation for further reference. Additionally, Ming’s red necklace, while clashing with her green clothes, receives no exposition. The only interaction it receives is when Ming uses it as a comfort item, alluding to a relationship to Mei based on the scene’s context. Verbal exposition is only given after Ming confronts Mei’s panda form and explains the family’s mythology, and a close-up reveals the red panda carved into the necklace to confirm its symbolism. Thus, delaying characterization added extra weight to Mei’s sudden transformation and the family’s new stakes, proving that selecting details can advance narratives as well as expand fictional worlds.

Ming’s pendant also acts as a differentiator that separates the film’s fictional world from the known world to help legitimize setting. Turning Red succeeds as an homage due to the setting’s adherence to realism— depictions of Toronto’s population and landmarks like CN Tower confirm its sameness. It also relies on a historic time-frame to further inform aesthetics and audience reactions, as the fashion and music trends of the 2000s are prominently featured.

Further demonstration of commitment to historic accuracy can be found with the film’s climactic SkyDome. The film, set in 2002, correctly uses the stadium’s name before it was renamed to the “Rogers Centre” in 2005, twelve years before the film would begin its development. Evidently, the setting’s realism enhances the fantastical aspects of the story. Much like Ming’s costume, the primary aspects— the blazer and qipao grounded in historic authenticity—contrast with the magical, symbolized by the enigmatic pendant. The pendant then comes to symbolize a transition into the fictional aspect of the world and an indicator of the separation between the known and new.

While Ming’s costume has very real and traditional references, her daughter’s are more symbolic of her modern surroundings. Mei wears a black wire choker that sits around her neck while Ming’s pendant hangs toward her torso. Instead of a longer, fluid dress Mei’s choice of skirt and leggings divide her body, making her seem shorter while Ming’s dress elongates her figure. And, while Ming’s costume is dominated by the green to symbolize her family, Mei consistently wears more red to demonstrate her affinity towards her red panda. The only aspect that Mei retains is her green barrette, which is small and not noticeable.

Through these differences Ming is clearly defined to be grounded in her culture, and her costume serves to express her devotion to tradition in her increasingly modern context. When Mei was younger it was easier to introduce and enforce tradition within their home, as demonstrated by the numerous photos of Mei in a small reddish-pink qipao of her own. However, as proven by her choker, Mei begins to dress herself according to trends and is less expressive of the culture that her parents prioritized. The film explores this conflict as Mei negotiates with her cultural transformative qualities and aligns less with her mother’s traditional

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expectations, a tension that is common within diaspora cultures. In this way, costume becomes a way to express culture and one’s embrace of it.

Furthermore, the externals of Ming’s costume affirm her authority within a diasporic space. While her costume itself does not allude to her role as a parent, it mirrors that of Ming’s own mother and demonstrates themes of maternal influence. Green shades reappear as an association to their Chinese background, and serves as a contrast to Mei’s social aspirations. Mei’s grandmother, the family matriarch, is introduced in a flurry of green, with her first shot dominated by a rich jade bracelet and a deep green jacket cuff. An intimate scene of Mei’s family preparing dumplings for dinner is lit by the green-blue glow of their television, which, of course, is playing an imperial Chinese drama. Mei’s family adopts signature green-blue tones, which tend to be darker and firmer— consider her grandmother’s rich turquoise cardigan— while Mei’s friends don brighter colors (Yamanaka). For example, Miriam, Mei’s friend who serves to foil Ming’s traditional expectations, wears greenish-yellow tones instead. Both characters are dressed almost completely in green, but the tonal differences establish them as important yet opposing forces in Mei’s life. Further emphasizing this tension, red and green act as complimentary colors (in reference to the color wheel theory), implying that Mei will need to compromise to preserve her relationships.

The remaining elements help confirm her authority by adding intimidating aspects. The stripes on her dress serve to elongate her height, thus making her seem taller and authoritative. This trait is enhanced by Ming being taller than all the younger characters, including her daughter, and equal height to the significant adult characters. The blazer with shoulder pads, pantyhose, and pumps contribute to a “working woman” aesthetic that also defines Ming’s livelihood in America— an early photo flashback shows her and her family attending a business convention, for example. In addition Mei and Ming are both involved in the operations of their established family temple, and Mei’s deviation from her duties causes tension between the two, demonstrating the emphasis on business industry that Ming places on herself and her family. Mei also briefly wears the blazer during a presentation to her parents in an attempt to emulate the maturity and expertise her mother is associated with. Interestingly, Ming’s blazer is always present when she conducts business or runs errands, likely to project an image of confidence to her community. However, within her closed household, she usually wears only her dress, possibly to signify being more genuine and comforting with her immediate family.

Thus, it becomes obvious that Ming’s costume helps contextualize her experiences within a diasporic context. With Mei’s family in Toronto and her grandmother and aunts in Florida, it can be inferred that a majority of her family has relocated from China to the Western hemisphere. While Mei is raised within Toronto’s Chinatown, she and her mother spend a significant amount of time outside its confines. In these less familiar contexts Ming utilizes her costume to encourage respect despite being a perpetual foreigner. Eventually, she expects mutual respect consistently from others, as shown when she becomes visibly frustrated with the school’s security guard while attempting to approach Mei during class. Evidently, Ming’s costume acts as a defense mechanism to reassure herself to maintain her authority in any context.

Despite the story mainly featuring Chinese-Canadian characters, it focuses more on the generational mother-daughter relationships. Mei’s affinity toward modern, Western trends does intensify tension with her mother, but this merely represents general conflicts of interest that characterize diminishing maternal relationships. In addition to representing an affirmative position within a foreign context, Ming’s blazer symbolizes her overprotectiveness towards her daughter. The wide shoulder-pads assist in Ming’s body overshadowing Mei during furious acts of maternal protection, demonstrating a perceived control over her. The blazer also clashes with the casual outfits that surround her, further characterizing her overprotectiveness as strange, and according to Mei’s peers, embarrassing or “psycho”. Refreshingly, the source of Mei’s shame is not of her family’s Chineseness; only once does another character disparage their traditions, as nemesis Tyler briefly yells for Mei to “go back...to your creepy temple.” Instead, it’s Ming’s closeness that is perceived as strange by others, instead of her culture, which diasporic films tend to hyperfocus on as sources of conflict.

Certainly, though, Ming’s cultural designs inform her confidence. Production designer Rona Liu and director Domee Shi describe Ming as “controlled and elegant”, and her design aims to emulate the ladies of 1960s Hong Kong (Yamanaka). Historically, this period is said to be the “second golden age” for qipaos amidst the less glamorous Communist China (Lee). Ming also wears the dress well; the stiff collars serve to display a woman’s good posture, and Ming is almost always poised and composed, emulating the traditional values of the outfit.

Interestingly, Ming’s qipao also differs drastically from the costume choices of her relatives. Mei’s aunts are dressed very immigrant and very 2000s— chunky sandals, zebra-print boots, tracksuits, and, of course, a puffer vest for the predictably cold weather. While the relatives dress casually, Ming’s costume emulates elegance and professionalism. Considering that Ming is geographically isolated from her relatives in Florida, her outfit maintenance can help provide an impression of success and assurance, especially as her own mother, who, like Ming, maintains high expectations for her daughter.

Halfway through the film, a shift in Ming’s role becomes apparent. Around her Toronto community, Mei, and her husband, she is able to intimidate and welcomes respect. However, around her mother and relatives (referred to Mei as “aunties”), she becomes defensive and more timid. Despite being the same height as her mother, she looks downward when being addressed, and her voice becomes less firm. During the climax Ming’s internal fragility and frustration with her family act as a deviation of her otherwise consistent character. Her blazer can then be interpreted as a shield from her family to preserve an internal pride that becomes diminished around her family.

Once the family’s generational tensions are resolved, though, their accommodation can be expressed through new additions to their costumes. Prior to the climax Ming wears a pendant that holds her sealed panda spirit, but after it breaks it is replaced with a red tamagotchi, a relic of the trendy concert that Mei attends. The theme of cultural adjustment continues across Mei’s family, as her grandmother’s jade bracelet is replaced by a red 4-Town charm, which represents a band that the family consistently disapproved of. The combination of modern media and the red colors symbolize a coherent acceptance of the family’s adjustment to a new era defined by acceptance.

Ming’s costume successfully characterizes her complexity and authority within Turning Red’s narrative. First, small details and ornamentation establish her as a character prior to the start of the film. The blazer, pendant, and ring allude to previous struggles of adjustment, angst, and determination in relation to her family and diaspora. The dominant green-blue tones demonstrate her alignment with the traditional expectations of family and tradition, creating a symbolic cohesion that defines the film. While the blazer and dress represent aspects of clashing worlds, the color and silhouettes allow for an elegant combination to guide our expectations of her poised character. Turning Red’s creative team undoubtedly succeeded in using her costume to extend her character in an evident demonstration of costume and narrative design.





Works Cited

Lee, Ching Yee. “How the Qipao Became the Quintessence of Chinese Elegance.” The Collector, 21 Feb. 2022, thecollector.com/how-qipao-became-timeless-chinese- elegance/.

Shan, Jun. “Importance of Jade in Chinese Culture.” ThoughtCo., 6 Dec. 2018, thoughtco.com/ about-jade-culture-629197.

Tangcay, Jazz. “‘Turning Red’: How Anime and Teen Bedrooms All Feature in Production Design.” Variety, 11 Mar 2022, variety.com/2022/artisans/news/turning-red-how-anime- teen- bedrooms-and-easter-eggs-all-feature-in-production-design-1235202044/.

Wolf, Mark. “World Design.” The Routeledge Companion to Imaginary Worlds, 1st Edition, Routeledge, 17 September 2017.

Yamanaka, Jeanine. “Creating the Look of Disney and Pixar’s ‘Turning Red’.” SoCal Thrills, 8 Mar. 2022, socalthrills.com/disney-and-pixar-creating-the-look-of-turning-red/.









Alice Shu is a USC undergraduate (class of 2025) studying Communications and East Asian Area Studies. She comes from a Chinese-American and Bay Area background that has informed her interests in intercultural communication. While at USC, she has developed interests in fandom studies and entertainment industries, particularly themed entertainment. Her favorite attraction, predictably, is the Mad Tea Party. She currently works with social media platforms on sales and marketing.

“Dr. Terwilliker’s Doe-Mi-Doe Duds”: How They Contribute to the Film as a Whole, And One Possible Alternate Interpretation

I shared my syllabus for my Imaginary Worlds class here at the start of the term and many of you have expressed interest in how it is progressing. We’ve had some amazing guest speakers and watched some of my all time favorite films. The quality of the student writing has overall been very strong so I thought I would share a few samples over my next few posts. First up, David Ling, an MFA Production student, wrote about costumes in 5000 Fingers of Dr. T, a film which is close to my heart.

“Dr. Terwilliker’s Doe-Mi-Doe Duds”: How They Contribute to the Film as a Whole, And One Possible Alternate Interpretation

by David Ling

In the final sequence of “The 5000 Fingers of Dr. T”, Dr. Terwilliker, a disciplinarian piano instructor in the real world, but a deliriously over-the-top, narcissistic megalomaniac who runs the Terwilliker Institute in Bart’s nightmare world, dons a truly outlandish set of garments in anticipation of what he believes will be his crowning achievement. In his salon, Dr. T instructs his underlings to outfit him in the increasingly bizarre layers of what he calls his “Doe-Mi-Doe duds.” The entire ensemble engages in a song-and-dance number befitting a Busby Berkeley musical. In this surreal spectacle, there’s a lot to unpack, as it offers both a summation of Terwilliker’s identity/persona and a critique of his twisted worldview. Additionally, it’s emblematic of the unique, often whimsical Surrealism associated with Seuss’s imagination. After exploring some of the more obvious ways in which this costume contributes to the film, I’ll also suggest another, perhaps less obvious, reading of what it might signify.

Examining the film as a whole, one can note a sort of narrative trajectory with regard to the clothing Dr. T wears: his garb goes from relatively staid and buttoned-down in his opening scene, to truly outlandish and over-the-top in his very final scene (the Doe-Mi-Doe duds). These changes in costume serve a meaningful narrative purpose, as they map out a sort of“character arc” for Terwilliker. Although he does not “grow” or “evolve,” at least not from a moral standpoint (which isn’t unusual, since he’s the film’s antagonist, not its protagonist), his delusions of grandeur grow more and more profound as we get deeper into the story, and his clothing reflects this.

When first introduced in the real world, as Bart’s piano instructor, Terwilliker wears a relatively “quiet,” muted outfit: dark grayish suit, with black shoes. His unconventional necktie and pocket square lend a somewhat comical flair, but still nothing yet signifies anything too out-of- the-ordinary. Once Bart falls asleep and enters the imaginary world of his dreams, we’re (re)introduced to Dr. T: this time he wears the sort of long-tailed black tuxedo jacket often worn by conductors. This seems appropriate because in Bart’s dream, he does indeed occupy the role of a symphony conductor, who “conducts” Bart at the 500-child piano. But already, the eccentricity factor has been increased. Here, Terwilliker sports a bright red “tie” (with gold pin) and dapper gray vest. His pants are now striped, not solid, and his shoes are black-and-white.




In short, his attire has gotten noticeably more colorful and flamboyant than it was in the real world.

Terwilliker then goes through a couple more wardrobe changes as Bart’s nightmare continues to unfold. First, he dons a purplish frock with black stripes and a large “T” on it; underneath this, he sports a bright pink turtleneck. (This is worn during his “duel” with Zlabadowski.) By now, his fashion sense has entered the realm of the bold and the exotic, with bright hues and wild patterns one wouldn’t expect to see in the “real world.” Then, when he takes Bart down to the dungeon, he sports a dark-blue robe-like garment with white stripes, with a pink musical “clef” symbol stitched onto it. His increasingly outlandish and loud wardrobe choices are a perfect reflection of his unhinged personality and delusional frame of mind, now fully on display. The T (for Terwilliker) sown onto his frock reinforces just how narcissistic he is, and the musical clef denotes how music is the means by which he intends to promote his cult of personality. And yet, all these increasingly strange garments are merely a precursor to his most outrageous wardrobe choice of all, the Doe-Mi-Doe duds. Just as the story’s narrative increases in intensity as it proceeds towards the explosive finale, the visual aesthetic expressed in Dr. T’s clothing also builds in intensity and “loudness,” until it too crescendos in the final act. If Dr. T’s clothes are a reflection of his mental state, then in the natural progression towards greater and greater excess and visual flair in his wardrobe, the Doe-Me-Doe duds represent the absolute pinnacle of his extreme megalomania and narcissism.

Interestingly, right before the “Doe Mi Doe” musical number takes place, Dr. T takes the stage to address the 500 kids before him; here, he’s wearing a gold-and-white silk robe with a pattern that seems like something out of ancient Rome, perhaps the sort of toga that Caligula might have worn to an orgy. Retreating back to his salon, he then launches into the spectacular musical number in which five valets assist him in putting on the various items of the Doe-Mi- Doe duds. These attendants themselves wear light-blue long-tailed tuxedo jackets and green shirts with the letter “T” emblazoned on them. To fully understand this scene’s significance, it’s helpful to first break down how its “action” unfolds and to take stock of what the actual items of clothing that Dr. T puts on are.

First, the silk robe is taken off, leaving him in nothing but pink shirt, lime green boxer shorts, and yellow socks. Then, the attendants put garters and maroon striped pants on him. Next, he receives a blue gownlike garment with black geometric shapes and matching collar. Various ornamental items, most notably several medals, are pinned to his chest, and epaulets (one feathery; one circular) attached to his shoulders. After he’s seated, his attendants entwine him in a long, multi-colored braided yarn, which seems to serve no real functional purpose. A furry white cape, with red interior lining, is then draped over his shoulders. Finally, as he heads towards the window, the veritable piece-de-resistance, a large blue-and-black bearskin hat, replete with colorful plumage on top, is plopped onto his head. The ceremony now complete, Terwilliker triumphantly exits the salon as petals are strewn before his feet. The whole scene has the feel of a coronation, full of spectacle, brimming with pomp and circumstance.

Now, having catalogued the various items that make up the Doe-Mi-Doe duds, we can better appreciate how they both fit into the story as a whole and enhance it by adding various levels of meaning that might not be immediately apparent. First, the Doe-Mi-Doe duds represent the apex of Dr T.’s sartorial ambitions: seen in terms of the progression of his increasingly outlandish wardrobe choices, they reveal Dr. T in his full character. Completing a radical 180- degree transformation from the suit and tie he wears initially, the Doe-Mi-Doe duds chart his evolution (through Bart’s eyes) from being merely a strict, disciplinarian piano teacher in the beginning to a full-blown dictator and ruthless tyrant at the end. And while he first appears in Bart’s dream looking refined and sophisticated like a conductor, at the end, he looks garishly caricaturish, resembling more of a marching-band leader than an orchestra maestro.

Additionally, these Doe-Mi-Doe duds serve to contrast him with two other major figures, namely, young Bart Collins and the plumber Zlabadowski. Whereas Terwilliker’s attire is luxurious and extravagant, both Bart’s and Zlabadowski’s attire is mundane and pedestrian. Bart wears the striped shirt and denim pants typically associated with all-American youngstersin the ‘50s. Zlabadowski’s outfit, though not working-class, certainly bespeaks a sort of bland “everyman” quality. In his tan jacket and simple slacks, he signifies a sort of “ordinary Joe” type. Interestingly, he’s not outfitted in the sort of gray and grimy overalls one often associates with plumbers, but this makes narrative sense, since it’s his paternal qualities, rather than his plumbing skills, that the film emphasizes. He wears the look of an easygoing, if somewhat boring, middle-American dad.

Also, unlike Dr. T’s clothing, each item of which seems unique and one-of-a-kind, the clothes that Bart and Zlabadowski wear look as if they are mass-produced, churned out by factories rather than hand-stitched. This is particularly true of Bart’s “Happy Fingers” beanie, presumably made in a factory in large bulk quantities. When Bart puts it on, it not only looks ludicrous on him, but it also anonymizes him, so that when the busloads of kids arrive in the final scene, Bart becomes only one rather unremarkable kid in a sea of kids, all of whom look generically the same, visually speaking. In contrast, Dr. T’s clothing is meant to set him apart as a unique individual, with an idiosyncratic style that is all his own. His feathery, ornate bearskin hat suggests that he, like it, is one-of-a-kind, singular; on the other hand, Bart’s mass-produced beanie supports the notion that he, like all the other kids, is essentially indistinguishable and replaceable.

The Doe-Mi-Doe duds also heighten the sense of Surrealism. At some level, any breakout into a musical number inherently forces the audience to realize that what’s on screen is a departure from “the real.” But here, the entire visual space, from the set decoration to the servants in their colorful formalwear, is conceived in such a way that the audience instantly knows this is a dreamlike realm of fantasy and imagination. Additionally, the song lyrics that Dr. T sings as he’sbeing dressed are themselves utterly nonsensical, veering occasionally into absurdity. He begins to rattle off names of things that don’t actually exist in the real world and are just made- up juxtapositions, such as “Chesapeake mouse” or “Hudson Bay rat.” In this sense, the lyrics call to mind the process of free association, in which patients in psychoanalysis are encouraged to let words bubble up from their unconscious, even if the connections between those words aren’t immediately apparent. Dr. T’s spouting of gibberish does indeed have this sort of free- associative quality, which becomes particularly apparent towards the song’s end when he references food rather than fashion, e.g., “pretzels” and “bock-beer suds.” And the Doe-Mi- Doe costume itself seems to embody Surrealist principles: it’s a hodgepodge of fancifully bizarre items that seem joined together purely as a result of whimsy and imagination (e.g., a feather epaulet, a white cape, assorted medals).

Taking this line of reasoning further, in psychoanalytic terms, this musical extravaganza can be seen as an expression of Terwilliker’s unbridled “id.” Literally, the lyrics of the song are a relentless recitation of “I want” statements, repeated over and over, and reformulated to encompass more and more outrageous articles of clothing. Like a child, Dr. T unabashedly declares that he desires certain items, and his obedient manservants promptly cater to his every whim. In fact, the song expresses a sort of dialectical relationship between Dr. T’s identity as a terrorizer of children, on the one hand, and his identity as essentially a big child himself, full of wants and needs (again, the notion of the unbridled “id”). It’s probably not mere coincidence that, during the song-and-dance, Terwilliker requests being dressed up in “silk and spinach,” or mentions clothing made of “liverwurst and camembert.” On the one hand, those are plainly absurd propositions (using food as garments), but also, at the basic level of child psychology, those appear to be specific foods that many children find detestable or revolting, or would associate with punishment. Through this song Terwilliker expresses both the unrestrained impulses of an undisciplined, spoiled child, while at the same time referencing the sort of unpleasant culinary experiences (e.g., eating spinach or liverwurst) that children often think of as punitive. Thus, his dictatorial qualities come to the foreground: he is both a child to be indulged, and a tyrant who sparks fear in other children.

Additionally, Henry Jenkins has written about how this film can be viewed as a veiled critique of fascism and dictatorship in the post-WWII era, and the iconography of the Doe-Mi-Doe duds fits neatly into this aspect. Specifically, Jenkins points out that in both early script drafts and the finished product, there is a clear linkage between the Fuhrer-like Dr. Terwilliker and Adolf Hitler. See Henry Jenkins, “No Matter How Small: The Democratic Imagination of Dr. Seuss,” Hop on Pop: The Politics and Pleasures of Popular Culture (hereinafter, “Jenkins”), p. 201. For instance, Jenkins notes how the grand procession of Terwilliker’s henchmen towards the end has intentionally been choreographed to resemble the Nazi rallies depicted in Riefenstahl’s Triumph of the Will. (Jenkins, p. 201). In the imagery of the Doe-Mi-Doe duds themselves, the antifascist commentary is equally present. As noted above, Dr. T wears a large number of medals as part of this costume. These have strong military connotations. On each shoulder, he sports the sort of epaulets typically worn by military officers. His imposing bearskin hat subtly likens him to the bombastic bandleader of a jingoistic military marching band. Strutting around in his Doe-Mi-Does and surrounded by goosestepping goons, he more closely resembles a military dictator than a benevolent leader or instructor.

So far, we’ve catalogued how the Doe-Mi-Doe duds operate at two distinct levels of meaning. One is informational, in service of a narrative function (telling the specific story of the conflict between Terwilliker and Bart). The other way in which this costume functions is at a symbolic level, i.e., alluding to the wider struggle against fascism, and specifically against Hitler’s Nazi Germany, that America had just emerged victoriously from. As Jenkins points out, this aligns closely with Seuss’s own authorial intent. Seuss’s interest in exploring themes loosely described as Surrealist, drawing upon theories of the unconscious, or child psychology, is also detected here. Thus the two levels described above (narrative and symbolic) in fact correspond to the first two levels of meaning that Roland Barthes identifies when he proposes that there are three levels of meaning when looking at a film. See Angelos Koutsourakis, “A Modest Proposal for Re-Thinking Cinematic Excess,” Quarterly Review of Film and Video (hereinafter, “Koutsourakis”), pp. 706-707.

The Barthian “third meaning,” however, consists of a layer of meaning that often operates outside the range of the author’s own intentions. Instead, it often manifests as what is described as an almost “fetishistic” interest in surface details. Furthermore, often operating against, or frustrating or impeding, the narrative flow, it can also take the form of an indulgence in what theorists often call “cinematic excess,” a fixation on certain filmic aspects of the medium that ostensibly serve no narrative impulse but rather satisfy an aesthetic impulse beyond linear storytelling. In fact, these qualities have led some theorists to assert that it is closely connected to a sort of queer sensibility and viewership. (Koutsourakis, p. 707). I would argue that this Barthian notion of a third meaning has particular relevance to Dr. T and his Doe- Mi-Doe duds.

One of the most interesting aspects of the song-and-dance routine is that, in singing it, Dr. T recites a litany of items that are in fact not ever put on him, and which never appear on screen. Rather, they are merely alluded to, but do not actually comprise the components of the Doe- Mi-Doe duds he actually wears. Thus, he speaks longingly about items such as a bolero, a gusset, Chamois booties, a dickey and other assorted items, none of which actually materialize for him. In effect, Terwilliker is reading out loud a long list of clothing items that are simply not present. Of course, his valets are indeed dressing him up in assorted fineries, but those fineries are not the actual ones he speaks of in his song.

What is one to make of this? Perhaps one reading is simply that he’s an oaf, that he is stupid and doesn’t quite realize that he’s not getting what he’s asking for. Certainly, one aspect of his persona is indeed that he is a buffoon, so this may indeed be a plausible explanation. But to me this doesn’t seem like the correct reading. Terwilliker certainly seems to know exactly what each of the articles of clothing are; his eyes seem to light up as he mentions each by name. It seems then that the constant mismatch between what he requests and what he gets speaks, in effect, to a gap between desire and reality. There’s a disjuncture between the spoken words he utters and the physical reality he encounters, the material objects he receives. In any event, this echoes the sort of tension that exists between the world of pleasures that a gay man living in a heteronormative world would like to experience and the actual pleasures that he is allowed to experience in that same world. The act of singing about each clothing item takes on the tone of a kind of fetishistic wish fulfillment when the scene is re-interpreted in this light. It also goes hand-in-hand with the notion of “excess” or “surplus” in the most literal way possible, as he’s calling out for many more items of clothing than he could possibly hope to wear at once (i.e., an overabundance). Perhaps the strongest argument that there is indeed a “third meaning” to this scene is a transgressive element that some viewers might have missed: much of the clothing he says he wants are actually items of women’s clothing, e.g., a brocaded bodice, a peekaboo blouse, bright blue bloomers (women’s underwear) or a Mother Hubbard (a gown worn by women in the Victorian era). As a man who seems obsessively fixated on fashion, style and beauty, Terwilliker himself seems to be coded as gay, queer or transgender. When one considers that his coterie of attendants in the scene are all attractive young men, thus subverting the traditional (straight) male gaze that seeks to locate the female body as the site of sexual desire, the looming presence of a queer sensibility seems all the more plausible. Thus, even though Terwilliker ostensibly seeks to marry Bart’s mom, competing with Zlabadowski for her, this musical number suggests a subtext in which he’s coded as a repressed or closeted gay man. At any rate, this reading of the Doe-Mi-Doe scene is not necessarily authoritative or “the truth,” but merely one possible interpretation that emerges when viewing it through the lens of Barthes’ “third meaning.” Since the Barthian third meaning exists outside of authorial intent, it’s quite possible it could still be meaningful even if Seuss himself never intended the film to be interpreted this way.

Bibliography of Works Cited

Henry Jenkins, “No Matter How Small: The Democratic Imagination of Dr. Seuss,” Hop on Pop: The Politics and Pleasures of Popular Culture (2003)

Angelos Koutsourakis, “A Modest Proposal for Re-Thinking Cinematic Excess,” Quarterly Review of Film and Video (2021)

David Ling is currently a second-year graduate film student in the Film and Television Production MFA program at USC's School of Cinematic Arts. Before enrolling in the program, he spent time as an entertainment lawyer, filmmaker, and film journalist in New York City. His short film "San Gennaro" premiered at the New York Short Film Festival in 2018, and his film reviews and filmmaker interviews have appeared in papermag.com. He received his bachelor's degree from Harvard College, where he was the recipient of the Thomas T. Hoopes Prize in his senior year.

Global Fandom Returns: Cendera Rizky Anugrah Bangun (Indonesia)

 I dedicated my blog last year to the Global Fandom Jamboree — a series of conversations amongst scholar from many different nations about fandom and fandom studies. I have been gratified by the level of interests this undertaking generated. We are already seeing unexpected collaborations — from conference sessions to co-authored papers — emerge from the match-making that was required to make this series work. But there were still some outstanding (in both senses of the term) conversations still to be completed when the blog shut down for the summer. So I will be sharing a bit more consideration of the topic. Here’s a stand alone statement from Indonesia.

I’m an academic and a fan. How can you not fall in love with the music itself, with the chemistry between actors when watching movies, or when your favorite football club competes with another club during the football season?

Indonesia is known as the most populous Muslim country in the world, but that doesn’t mean that Indonesia only has one religion; the other religions are Buddhism, Christianity, Catholic, Hindu, Confucianism, and thousands of folk or beliefs in Indonesia. There are hundreds of languages spoken in Indonesia, most of them are locally used indigenous languages. In addition, various tribes live in Indonesia side by side every day. For this reason, it is not enough to see how popular culture lives in Indonesia in just 1-2 studies. There are so many traditional cultures in Indonesia, it is quite challenging to find the exact form of popular culture in Indonesia, but that doesn't mean it doesn't exist. Many traditional cultures also influence the popular culture eventually. During the presidential Era, from President Soekarno, President Soeharto, until Presiden Joko Widodo, the popular culture has been shaped also by the socio political influence. For example, one of the pop culture that influence by this condition is Dangdut.

One form of Pop Culture that exists in Indonesia is Dangdut and Melayu (Pop) Music. Dangdut is a genre of Indonesian dance and folk music originated from Java island, Dangdut is partly derived and fused from Hindustani, Arabic music, and to lesser extent local folk music. The music itself become a “melting pot of cultures” as describe by Wreksono because it has the of Melayu, Indian, Arab, Chinese and European music mix in it. According to Frederick (1982), Dangdut is the kind of music defended by contemporary Indonesia's best-known popular entertainer, has been an enormous influence in much of the post-Sukarno period. Aimed directly at youth, it is dominated by a pulsating dance rhythm and a populist message, with both Islamic and secular variants. It plays a large role in creating a market for the mass media in Indonesia; made a mark on other areas of cultural activity, sparked open and often heated debate over the state of Indonesian culture; and given Indonesian Islam a new kind of public identity. It’s because through Soekarno’s Speech on August 17, 1959, during the Old Order, the Rediscovery of Our Revolution, which called for an attitude to protect national culture from foreign influences, gave birth to such a strict anti-Western policy. Radio broadcasts stopped broadcasting western music, all forms of western music were banned from performing and recording, the names of English-speaking bands and musicians were forced to change, and even young men with long hair were targeted for control (Quroatun'uyun, 2020). This condition then brought up regional music (under the influence of traditional music) to come to the surface; Bengawan Solo, Neng Geulis, Ampar-ampar Pisang, Ayam Den Lapeh, Sarinande, Angin Mamiri, and so on. This is the forerunner to the birth of dangdut music. Sukarno's claim to dangdut as Indonesia's native culture strengthened the counter action of western music that entered the homeland and even used the principle of political manifestations to dispel the onslaught of western music (Rhoma and Muhidin, 2008: 413; Andrew, 2006).

In his work, Weintraub (2006) stated that representations of Dangdut as the music of ‘the people’—the majority of society—have been produced with great frequency and in a variety of popular print media. Weintraub (2006) describe the ways in which popular print media ‘speaks for’ people, and the relations of power that define those discourses. Aside from love as a popular topic, dangdut also addresses social issues normally avoided by other genres (Weintraub, 2010). One of the Kings of Dangdut well known in Indonesia is Rhoma Irama. From the late 1970s, he began transforming into a more Islamic-oriented style, commanding the religiously pious popular music culture. He change his music style by not only began to cultivate a heavier, rocklike sound, but, moreover he determined to use his music to spread the word of Islam to the world.

During the height of his stardom in the 1970s, he was dubbed "Raja Dangdut" ("the King of Dangdut") with his Soneta Group. His Begadang album ranked No. 11 on Rolling Stone Indonesia's "150 Greatest Indonesian Albums of All Time" list. His main single "Begadang" reached number 24 on the magazine's "150 Greatest Indonesian Songs of All Time" list. His 1973 hit "Terajana", one of the best-known Dangdut songs, was the first to use the newly coined, term Dangdut, distinguishing the Javanese Orkes Melayu music, heavily influenced by Indian Bollywood records, henceforth Dangdut, from the established Orkes Melayu, associated with North Sumatran Malays. As Indonesia is the largest Muslim populated country, it is inevitable to experience Islam influence on some culture and arts. Rhoma Irama even took on a more explicit Islamic moral tone, adopting Islamic dress and shorter hairstyles, and ejecting band members who consumed alcohol or had extra-marital sex. He also resolved that his music should instruct, and not merely entertain, a form of devotion waged through music. Themes in his music included prohibition of extra-marital sex, government corruption, drugs, and gambling. The song "Haram" for instance, warns against both drugs and gambling, while the song "Keramat" asserts the instructions in Islam to honor mothers.

Weintraub found that the dangdut style changed following the development of people's tastes and media technology. The similarity in dangdut music is only in the aspects of the messages carried. Popular types of dangdut music carry collective messages, not individualist messages. Rhoma Irama's dangdut music brought a new awakening movement for Muslims in Indonesia. By bringing Islamic content in dangdut music, Rhoma became one of the public figures whose presence was felt by the community stronger than existing political figures. From that moment on, dangdut became a music that was able to reduce the gap between the rich and the poor. At the same time, Muslim style in dangdut as social criticism, is comparable with individual attention to public morality.

Rhoma and his Soneta Band performance                       

Rhoma Irama fan art behind the truck

 The development, shifting, and changes in Dangdut, from the music of the majority, to modern consumer culture is not only describes the political and cultural conditions of Indonesia but is more about economic, political and sociocultural practices. After the President Soeharto Era, on 2003, another Dangdut’ singer and dancer name Inul Daratista has become the talk of the day.  With her so-called drill dance (goyang ngebor or goyang inul) she contributed to one of the most heated debates. Within a short period, a national debate exploded among politicians, Islamic clerics, celebrities, and local women’s groups on the question whether or not her performance was morally acceptable (Van Wichelen, 2005).

Inul doing a performance of her “Goyang Ngebor” on stage





Inul Daratista illuminates contemporary ‘body politics’, in which human bodies invested with diverse meanings and values have powerful implications for discourses about Islam, pornography, women’s bodies, state/civil relations in Indonesia, and changing forms of media. A woman’s body became the focal point for public debates about religious authority, freedom of expression, women’s rights, and the future of Indonesia’s political leadership. At the center of these debates was Inul Daratista, from East Java, whose dancing was described as ‘pornographic’ and therefore haram, forbidden by Islam. In the highly mediated sphere of popular culture, ‘Inulmania’ contributed to a new dialogic space where conflicting ideological positions could be expressed and debated. Inul’s body became a stage for a variety of cultural actors to try out or ‘rehearse’ an emergent democracy in post-Suharto Indonesia (Weintraub, 2008). Inul's appearance was even more heated when the King of Dangdut, Rhoma Irama did not want to be on the same stage with Inul, even in the same television program. According to Rhoma, Inul's ‘Goyang Ngebor” has violated the limits of fairness and degraded the nation's morale.

In the President Jokowi Era, another well-known Dangdut singer is Didi Kempot, a singer and songwriter in the Dangdut Campursari style. Originally, Campursari is the combination of two musical elements Keroncong and Javanese gamelan. Popular culture is often considered people’s culture (mass culture) that does not show a high culture. Another way to describe popular culture is a culture that is not cultured. Since popular culture is floating in most of society, which is unintentionally created by the community itself, it is excluded from people who have power (Storey, 2009). Dangdut Campursari is part of the pop culture that unintentionally created by the community itself. It was popularized again when Didi Kempot wrote songs mainly in his native Javanese language.

His fans call him “The Godfather of the Broken-Hearted" during his later years because vast majority of his songs are themed around heartbreaks and other sad love stories. In April 2020, he streamed a live charity concert from his house and raised a total Rp7.6 billion (~$500,000) to help Indonesians who are affected by the COVID-19 pandemic. He also released a song entitled "Ojo Mudik" ("Don't Go Mudik"), pleading for his fans not to go back home during the Eid al-Fitr holiday season to prevent further spread of the coronavirus. His fans are known as “Sobat Ambyar”. On one of the occasions in his state speech, Jokowi said that Sobat Ambyar could be a means to spread the Pancasila ideology. This is because many young people (Millennials generation) are fans of Didi Kempot, it is only natural that things favored by many groups are used as a tool to share an ideology. This condition is also essential to strengthen the voter base and give meaning to every campaign activity (Rusadi, 2015).

His fans mourned when he passed away. Even the President of Republic Indonesia stated in his Instagram post: “"I watched the charity concert by Didi Kempot to raise money for Covid-19 victims. He's also helped the government by telling his followers to cancel their mudik plans. This morning he passed away. My condolences to his family, his fans, all the 'sobat ambyar' ['broken-hearted friends,' another

Didi Kempot, The Godfather of Broken Heart

Source: Antaranews

Another singer name Nassar Fahad Ahmad Sungkar , or some people call him King Nassar or Oppa Nassar become one of the dangdut singers and because his personality is quite unique, people called him "Oppa Nassar Kiyowo".  When McD presents "BTS Meal" and it's sold out it even creates chaos because even though we're still on Pandemic but the queue is very long, then people create fan art King Nassar as BTS Meal packaging just for fun. This shows how dangdut can also imitate modern cultures when it comes to fan production such as fan art as can be seen in the pictures below.

Nassar and fan art





Nassar and his fan art packaging meals





 

 

 

 

 

 






Nassar and fan art

 

                                                                             Nassar and his fan art packaging meals

 

Another form of pop culture is Sinetron short for Sinema Elektronik (Electronic Cinema/Soap Opera) that you can watch on TV. One of the soap operas currently in demand, Ikatan Cinta has many fans: although the audience is dominated by housewives, many others also enjoy watching Ikatan Cinta. The behavior shown is not far from fans elsewhere: namely fans actively participate by visiting the shooting location, attacking other actors who are considered disturbing in the storyline, or even to disturbing the personal life of the actor concerned. However, television is one mainstream dominant media in creating fandom. Jenkins stated in his book that fans are segment of audience that are very active, who do not only reject or accept what is offer, but also demanding to become a full participant. Other example how Islam integrated in pop culture is when in Sinetron (soap opera), the family must be muslim, not the other religion. There are words that always appear such as, "Astagfirullah" ("I seek forgiveness in God") In popular culture, people can say this if they see something wrong or shameful. "Alhamdulillah" = "praise be to Allah", sometimes translated as "thank Allah".  In shaa Allah = "if God wills", and many more. Sinetron is watched by most of the housewives, but all of them are Islam. but these words seem to be usual for them.

My first work about pop culture and fans was titled “Participatory Culture on BTS Army in Indonesia.” The object of this research was the South Korean boyband, Bang Tan Boys, also known as BTS. BTS is also considered as the future of K-Pop, and the symbol of globalization based on their achievement in Billboard Music Awards, which have so far been dominated by Western artists.  In January 2021, Time Magazine featured BTS on their cover and dubbed BTS the “Entertainer of the Year” and the “Next Generation Leaders.” BTS’ fan base is named ARMY, the acronym for Adorable Representative MC for Youth, categorized as a militant-like group. Just like their name, ARMY has so far become the biggest fan club in South Korea, and other K-Pop loving countries including Indonesia. Fandom according to Jenkins transforms personal reaction into social interaction, spectatorial culture into participatory culture. One becomes a ‘fan’ not by being a regular viewer of particular program but by translating that viewing into some kind of cultural activity, by sharing feelings and thoughts about program content with friends, by joining a ‘community’ of other fans who share common interest” (Jenkins, 2006). ARMY fans in Indonesia use all aspects of participatory culture from affiliation, expression, collaboration, and circulation and they are doing so both personally and collectively. When they want their idol to notice their presence by changing all profile pictures or using the same color t-shirt when one of the idol is having a birthday, they did that collectively. Participatory culture shifts from individual expression to community involvement.

My next research dealt with fan practices on Twitter, how they create Social Media Alternate Universe (AU) about their idols. In addition to creating a sense of “closeness” with their idols, fan fiction can also provide a feeling of satisfaction for fans who want an ending or even a whole new world for their idols.  Alternate Universe (AU) is a popular subgenre of fan fiction. Fan fiction usually has a long format platform such as Watt pad or Asian FanFic site.  Now the trend is changing to social media platforms, especially Twitter. Local-based AU on Twitter are somehow more engaging than a story they read on the major fan fiction platform. Readers can easily share their thoughts, make comments and retweet the chapters they like. Writers also sometimes tried to fulfil the readers’ view on the story by creating a poll, involving the readers to choose the storyline. For the past years, many of Indonesia K-pop fans are enjoying local-based alternate universe content from their favourite group. Often the writers have even changed their idols name to be more Indonesian, for example K-pop idol Hyunjin from Stray Kids is Haris in the @eskalokal Twitter account, or K-pop female idol Yena from IZ*ONE is Yanti, a common Indonesian name in the @Wzonetrenggalek Twitter account. One of the fan fiction writer said that she likes to make the content more local because she finds it more comfortable. One of the reader said that when a writer makes the content local, it feels real. The changing platform of fan fiction is more suitable for the informants. It turns out that many fans who initially liked fan fiction using Watt pad or website switch to the social media alternate universe. Not only because their attention span has decreased, but also because the variations of the content make the new form of fanfic even more enjoyable. As they develop the personal relationship through social media fanfic, they like the local content better, because it is easier to understand. Through using the new names for their idols Indonesian fans feel more proximity with the idols.

 

I also have conducted a research about participatory culture amongst students with autism spectrum disorder. Because the anonymity in the world of internet, no one really knows if you are a person with disability or not. That is why those with autism still need to be supervised and mentored when accessing social media. When I did my research on ASD subjects, they should be accompanied by their therapists or parents, and most of the time the ones that answered my questions/or in FGD are their companions. So, sometimes it's difficult to know if it is really what they feel, or is it just because of their habit and that's why their companion can know about that. Even so, there are some questions that are answered by some of the autistic subjects. When they are obsessed with one thing (like one of the subjects really like trains or cats or idols) they will look it up really thoroughly just like any other fans. But it's quite hard for them to interact with each other when it's online. I hope we can have further discussion about this or other impairments. The technology itself does not provide enough accessibility for those who are disabled. From the point of view of teenagers with autism spectrum disorder, social media provides an opportunity for them to access information, because participation and access depend on each other. For example, collaborative problem-solving in fandom depends on differing degrees of access to information and a community that values differences in viewpoint. Most social media platforms assume mainstream users can use their tools but do not consider the needs of those with disabilities.  These exclusions are particularly troubling given the potential of these spaces to stimulate engaged, active citizens of the world. We need more work to build a culture of inclusion and friendliness for persons with disabilities if we are to create more equal opportunities to everyone.

 

My latest work is “Kim Seon Ho, you are cancelled: the collective understanding of Cancel Culture”. In this research, research tries to explore the cancel culture phenomenon and how people give meaning to cancel culture regarding the celebrities that got cancelled. Cancel a celebrity can be beneficial or harmful form of social media activism.

 

Currently, I’m working on two papers about fan activism. The first one is about the participation of fans in online social networks. Networked fandom facilitates the use of a shared hashtag to coordinate interactions between fans and idols.  Doing so enables people to join the activism even though they have never met and don’t know each other. The second one explores how K-Pop fans mobilize many people through small groups in each fan base to spread concerns amongst other fan bases. The same method is also used to ward off rumors or hoaxes, confronting disinformation and misinformation. In this way, fans are embracing a freedom of expression, criticizing rulers and defending themselves against criticism.

 

REFERENCES

Frederick, W. H. (1982). Rhoma Irama and the dangdut style: Aspects of contemporary Indonesian popular culture. Indonesia, (34), 103-130.

Qorib, F., & Dewi, S. I. The Phenomenon of Fans, Social Media, and Modern Campursari Music in Popular Culture. Pekommas.

Quroatun'uyun, Z. A. F. I. R. A. H. (2020). The Dynamics of Industrialization in Dangdut Music Culture on Television with CDA Concept. Ekspresi Seni: Jurnal Ilmu Pengetahuan Dan Karya Seni22(2), 17-31.

 

Rusadi, U. (2015). Penerimaan Makna dari Iklan Televisi da









Nassar and his fan art packaging meals 

 

Responses to Fandom in Bulgarian Context

The editorial team of Shadow Dance—the leading fandom magazine in Bulgaria.

Nyasha to Dora:

I enjoyed reading very much your opening statement, Dora - partly because my background is film and media studies (my PhD was in film - specifically the Hollywood gaze on Africa in turn of the century films such as Hotel Rwanda, Blood Diamond and Last King of Scotland) but also because of the really interesting theoretical work you are doing on the tertium quid ('third thing') that is Bulgaria/Eastern Europe that seems not to fit the normative global south/global north binary. Your location of the origins of this tertium quid, via Chari and Verdery’s “Thinking Between the Posts”, in the Balkans/Cold War is also salient and intellectually very provocative. In my PhD, I sought to examine if the Hollywood gaze had changed since colonial and cold war times, now that all of Africa had by 2000 become - at least nominally - independent from European colonisation. I found that the more things change the more they remain the same. Many of the racist tropes in colonial films had been updated and recharged for 21st century audiences.

I am interested to find out from you if Bulgarian fandom reflects, refracts and/or resists the rather unique Cold war, post-Cold war and post-Communist histories that you highlight, how it does so, and in which forms of entertainment/genres such attitudes and practices are to be seen most saliently at play. Football? Movies? Music? What makes such genres especially liable to be affected by these histories and conditions? Also, is there a normative Bulgarian fandom or there are plural fandoms? If there is a plurality of fandoms, what explains such plurality? It would be nice if you could use specific illustrations, particularly contemporary ones, but also some seminal ones from the late 20th century.

Of some interest to me is that the Cold War, in Africa (and South America and Asia), was not “cold” at all. Wars, proxy wars and civil wars (for instance, in Mozambique, Zimbabwe, Angola and the Congo etc.) were a key testament to the hotness of the Cold war, but also its constant shape-shifting to fit changing conditions.. Was there the same sort of hot, shape-shifting Cold war in Bulgaria/Eastern Europe? How hot was the Cold war in Bulgaria, and how would that fact affect the nature of the post-Communist terrain? Furthermore, the nature of the Cold war in Africa was that it effectively Balkanised many parts of the continent, partly through fomenting tribalism and “tribal war”, and the clearest effect of that Balkanisation today can be seen in the Congo and the Great Lakes region. The Cold war has, sadly, not ended in many parts of Africa. Anyhow, the reason I mention the Cold war in Africa and other places is to suggest that, perhaps, Bulgaria might share certain similarities with, say, Southern Africa - at least as far as Cold war histories are concerned. Firstly, the Cold war was an extension of colonialism and an element of its metamorphosis. Secondly, it thrived on division. Finally, the fall of the Soviet Union in 1989 had important ramifications for South Africa and other Southern African countries which had been used as Cold war proxies. In South Africa, for instance, historians maintain that the ANC was forced to come to the negotiating table because of this geopolitical shift to a unipolar world. Also, the apartheid regime could not use the Russian communist menace as an convenient excuse for its primitive violence. So how different/unique is Bulgaria/Eastern Europe, really, from this point of view?

Finally, could you comment briefly, if you can, on the place of the Roma in this non-binary/extra-binary lens/framework that you are advancing? Are the Roma, with their traditionally marginal identities, easily incorporated into Bulgarian fandoms? Why/why not?

In my feedback to your Opening Statement, Dora, I want to focus on augmenting your interest in formulating an “integrated analytical framework (of fandom)”and what I see as the relatable sites of such a framework. I like this focus of yours very much, and am excited by the fact that you are from the “Balkans” because I have always been fascinated by the history of this region and what it means and portends for truly international analytical frameworks of our modern times. So, I’m going to meander and loop a lot, and there will be gaps in my feedback. Nothing that I am going to say is gospel: I merely seek to open avenues for intellectual engagement. My initial engagement, also, is much broader than a narrower focus on “fandom” should allow. This is deliberate, because I expect to engage with you starting from a broad-based discourse on Bulgarian history/Bulgarian identity/Balkan history/Balkan identity, before narrowing further to a discussion of Bulgarian media work and the sites of fandom around it.

Note that I have not proof-read my response, and so there will be many typos and punctuation and grammatical errors, and many sentences that make no sense. I apologise in advance. I think I offered a similar apology in my response to Stelios! So this should become standard, I guess.

So, where to begin? I think that – and most people would probably agree – there is very little doubt that the Balkans is not only a salient part of modern international history, but plays an outsized role for a tiny “peninsula” in south-eastern Europe. Thus, I’ll begin by mentioning two bits of fact that link the present to the past, and then build my thinking about Bulgaria, Bulgarian/Balkan identity, and fandom on these thoughts.

First bit of fact: In 2007, Vasil Levski (Levski = Lionlike) was voted the all-time greatest Bulgarian in a nationwide television poll conducted as part of the Velikite Balgari (“The Great Bulgarians”) survey. This is a man been born 170 years before that television poll. 


What links contemporary Bulgarians to such a long past? Indeed, several sites in Bulgaria such as the town of Levski, the Bulgarian national stadium, the Levski Sofia football club, and the Vasil Levski National Military University, are all named after Levski. The day when Levski’s was hanged is observed each year across Bulgaria on February 19, and several personal items – including some of his hair, a silver cross, copper water vessel, Gasser revolver, and the shackles from the episode of his imprisonment in Sofia – are on exhibit at the National Museum of Military History. 


Now, on to the second bit of fact: East Thrace, which is Turkish to this day, once belonged to Bulgaria but was appropriated by Turkey in the Second Balkans War. East Thrace is significant in this discussion because it is the European part of Turkey (the one where Istanbul province is). What is the role of the “Oriental” in the Bulgarian (and Balkan) imaginary? What is the meaning of this contest over the European part of the Orient?


Perhaps a third thing I can add is a personal note – that before I read about the Balkans in school, I had had prior introduction to Bulgaria in the larger-than-life sporting figure of footballer Hristo Stoichkov at the 1994 FIFA football world cup in America. Which footballing fan who was watching football at the time can forget Stoichkov? Stoichkov also played for Barcelona FC in Spain. 


When I read your introductory note, Dora, and then thought back to my high school and undergraduate history, I have to say that I find the move you make in utilising Todorova’s conception of “Balkanism”-as-a-discourse to be quite salient and productive. I cannot help but add to this by framing my feedback to you in the form of an additional proposition: that the “Balkans” is as much a “discourse” as a “paradigm” (if we want, we may say “discursive paradigm”), and that this paradigm shapes not only the identity and perception of being Bulgarian, but the also the outcomes of being Bulgarian in a contemporary world (and Europe) that is in a flux and is undergoing uncertain (economic, social, and political) reconfiguration. 


It is important – and serendipitous – that you happen to come from Bulgaria because, when you mention Bulgaria, there is already a default association with the Balkans since the name Bulgaria itself is drawn from the Balkan Mountains that stretch throughout the whole of Bulgaria (i.e., the Balkan Mountains are mostly located in Northern Bulgaria). Perhaps Bulgaria is the original seat of what Zizek calls the “spectre of Balkan”. I think that the account of fandom that I read in your submission is one that is shaped by the specific notion of Balkans as “discourse” and/or “paradigm”, a paradigm that simultaneously competes with, restricts, constrains, and complements yet another paradigm that you focus on quite saliently: the “(post)Cold War” paradigm. 


I am drawn to your remark that your contemporary lived experience in the U.S., as a Bulgarian woman and scholar, “has been mediated through U.S. perceptions (and misperceptions) of Soviet and Eastern European communism and post-communism.” The history we did in high school (if I recall correctly) was that, during the Cold War the Balkans were split between the two blocs of NATO and the Warsaw Pact. Bulgaria and Romania belonged to the Warsaw Pact, while Greece and Turkey were members of NATO. Yugoslavia belonged to a “third way” as a founding member of the Non-Aligned Movement (NAM). Since Bulgaria, along with Albania, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Croatia, Kosovo, Montenegro, North Macedonia, Romania, Serbia and Slovenia, are all former communist states, this could explain why the “communist” tag in the US is probably unescapable. 


However, to limit the historical splay of Balkans history (and narrative) to communism seems to be a reflection of the limited historical imaginations of the Americans themselves. The joke is on them! So, I would perhaps like to start with the contemporary frame of Bulgaria-as-communism’s-left-overs, and then lead back (and forth) to the “Balkans” (as paradigm), because there is a sense in which being-Bulgarian appears to be constituted in the productive tensions of pasts that refuse to be properly past. The past not only competes with the present for salience, but even opens a portal or revolving door through which the past sends the present back to the past. 


In my indigenous language (Karanga from Zimbabwe), there is a saying that “Kare haagari ari kare” (The past does not stay past). For some people this means that the past gives way to the present, in linear, progressive fashion, but this is a weak reading of this idiom – or at least there is another compelling re-reading that I have always preferred. This alternative reading is that, in reality, “Kare haagari ari kare” means that the past has no interest in being or staying (as) the past. Rather, the past is always updating itself, largely by raiding and invading the present and the resources of the present. 


In the reading that I do below, I find that the Balkan “past” has not stayed past at any point, but is constantly reconnoitring and updating itself in the present. I thus agree with your long-held/deeply felt skepticism about the efficacy of frameworks that rely on the geographical separation of the world between a Global North and a Global South in order to read not just the ensuing world order but the everyday lives and identities of local populations. Perhaps looking at the Balkans as paradigm might, at least in part, shed newer light on the problem and perhaps even bear out your (and Chari & Verdery’s) framing of the limitations of the Three-World Model Nawal El Saadawi, the Egyptian novelist and philosopher, has innovatively rejected the idea of either the Three-World or Two-World Model, saying:


Why do we have inequality and poverty in the world? I notice that some people still use the phrase ‘Third World’ to name us, to name the people who live in Africa, Asia and South America. This term is no longer used by many people, including myself, because we live in one world (not three) and we are dominated or governed by one global system which is now called the New World Order. However, we know that in fact it is an old world order which uses new methods of exploitation and domination, both economic and intellectual. Language and the media have become more efficient at obscuring the real aims of those international institutions or groups that speak about peace, development, justice, equality, human rights and democracy, but whose agreements and decisions lead to the opposite – that is, to war, poverty, inequality and dictatorship. (Newson-Horst (2010), The Essential Nawal El Saadawi, London: Zed, 78.)


Considering these critiques, we can be broadly agreed that the normative tendency to see the world through the two or even three world split (as well as the East/West, Communism/Capitalism binary) is mostly unfeasible.  


Your gravitation towards Chari and Verdery’s view that “an integrated analytical field ought to explore intertwined histories of capital and empire…. but also the ongoing effects of the Cold War’s Three-Worlds ideology” is to my mind well-founded, if only because it allows your study of Bulgarian fandoms to be much richer than it would have been had you merely followed the contours of received Cold War binaries (or “three-naries”?). I certainly agree with you that there is an “odd fit”, which your opening statement does well to refract and disrupt, although I would still argue that there is scope to see coloniality and post-coloniality in the broader account of the “Balkans” itself. 


Certainly, coloniality and post-coloniality, as frames with which to see our modern times, seem to me to have more utility than the framing of communism and post-communism. I will explin myself. In fact, I do not broadly agree with the claim that “Balkan people…were not colonized” if by colonialism we mean a specific practice of mutation of empire. Bulgaria (and the Balkans) are certainly marked by so-called “great power” politics, stretching for hundreds of years, including a genealogy that leads back to the heritage of the Roman empire (i.e., during the Middle Ages, the Balkans was the arena of a succession of conflicts and wars between the Byzantine Roman and the Bulgarian Empires) and, more importantly (for our current discussion) of the Ottoman empire, the perennial tension between the Ottoman empire and “the West”, between (feudal/Tsarist) Russia and “the West”, between, during and after the two World Wars, and between the Communist Soviet Union and “the West”, and so on. 


Where the Bulgarians never colonised? There is a sense in which one can say that, historically, the Bulgarians have been colonised by, and been (framed as) the victims of the Turks/Ottoman Empire, whether in terms of the almost five centuries of Ottoman rule, or (singular incidents such as) the April Uprising of the 1870s which resulted in Bulgarian massacres by the Turks, the Liberation struggle of 1878, or the First and Second Balkan Wars. More precisely they have been victims of great power machinations and competing empires, through WWI and WWII, through the Cold War and post-Cold War, and now through gradual absorption into EU and NATO. Whether or not we see the play and splay of (Ottoman, and, later, Soviet) imperialism in Bulgaria as constituting colonialism is worth a technical (perhaps more than a technical) discussion. 


Yet, also, interestingly, Bulgaria itself may have had colonising impulses, and could even be considered a “sub”-coloniser. Consider, for instance, that so-called Greater Bulgaria in the 19th century had irredentist claims, with claims on Macedonia and, later, in terms of the loss of East Thrace to Turkey. The Treaty of San Stefano in 1878, for example, had indicated that Macedonia was part of Greater Bulgaria, yet Macedonia in practice remained part of Ottoman Empire. That is, in the early 20th century, control over Macedonia was a key point of contention between the Ottoman Empire, Bulgaria, Greece, and Serbia, all of whom fought in both the First Balkan War of 1912–1913 and the Second Balkan War of 1913. Bulgaria, at the same time, has historical claims to parts of the Western borders of Turkey, including the area where Istanbul today is located. 


Even the claim that you make, Dora, that “Balkan people are…Christian (albeit Orthodox Christian)” appears to elide and efface several interesting historical strands of the sorts of religions and religious cultures of the region: e.g., the history of the influx of “pagan” Bulgars and Slavs into the area (i.e., the confluence of Orthodox and Catholic Christianity came a little later) or even the more interesting theme of the Balkans as the meeting point between Islam and Christianity. After all, the Ottoman heritage in the Balkans expresses both the exchange of “far eastern” culture and religion in the form of Islam. Ottoman society, we have heard, was multi-ethnic and multi-religious, with confessional groups divided on the basis of the “millet system” in which Orthodox Christians (Greeks, Bulgarians, Serbs, etc.) constituted the Rum Millet while, in Islamic jurisprudence, the Christians had dhimmi status, which entailed certain taxes and lesser rights. 


Through Islamization, communities of Slavic Muslims emerged, which survive until today in Bosnia, south Serbia, North Macedonia, and Bulgaria. It would also seem that there have always been many/plural strands of “Slav”, including Eastern Orthodox Slav, Hellenised Slav, the Muslim/Turkic Slav, and so on. More notably, the tension between Islam and Christianity has proved durable, though always differentiable, and has joined other nested tensions coalescing around identities, belonging, politics, (allocation of) resources (who gets what?), class, gender, nationality, and so on.  If you consider the language situation in contemporary Bulgaria, for instance, most people (nearly 80%?) speak Bulgarian, but some speaking Turkish (nearly 10%), others Romani (4%), and so on. I dare say that the Ottoman/oriental factor is still present even in the languages of Bulgaria. So, I want to think that the “Balkans” is not just nested – Milica Bakic-Hayden conceptualisation of “nesting orientalisms” – but also involves exchanges (and even transfusions) between past and present, amongst cultures, across itineraries of power (Ottoman, Russian, Soviet, “Western” etc.) and across modes of domination and influence.


So, what kinds of epistemic itineraries would “an integrated analytical framework” (to use your succinct phrase) of fandom in Bulgaria trace and re-trace? If, as you suggest, the literal bodies of contemporary fans in Bulgaria have been “invoiced” (to use a term from Apartheid Studies) the gaps (and costs) of the Balkan-with-Cold War past that does not want to be past, what should be the scope of our (re)search of such integrated analytical frameworks? 


As already indicated, my reading of your opening statement revolves around, and is specifically drawn to, your interest in formulating an integrated analytical framework (of fandom) and what I see as the relatable sites of such a framework. I think that such an analytical framework, if it is to be properly integrated, needs an additional dimension that you seem to have silenced or at least glossed over. Certainly, there is a gap. So, when you mention Orientalism in your opening statement, you do not include it as part of the integrated analytical framework. Why not? The fact that the provinces of the Ottoman Empire in Southeast Europe existed from 1500 until 1928 indicates the longevity of the “Oriental” in the Balkans landscape. I think/strongly suggest that you must consider including it in the integrated analytical framework because of the major role that the “Ottoman factor” plays in the whole Balkans imaginary. 


That is, Orientalism = East/Ottoman. Balkan nationalism in the 19th century was, clearly, anti-Ottoman both in spirit and letter. It is, in the same vein, difficult to speak of the birth of the Bulgarian nation, and of Bulgarian nationalism, and of being Bulgarian, while excluding the anti-Ottoman/Oriental factor in shaping the foundations of Bulgarian identity. Consider the fact that Ivan Vazov’s 1888 novel Under the Yoke, (a novel which is celebrated in Bulgarian accounts of the rise of Bulgarian national identity), is centred on the depiction of Ottoman oppression of Bulgaria. Bulgaria is chafing under the Ottoman “yoke”. Bulgaria’s Liberation Day, March 3 (1878), represents liberation from the Ottomans and the agreements of the Treaty of San Stefano. The Bulgarian “revival” itself coincided with (and exploited) Ottoman decline since the Crimean War and eventual disintegration of Ottoman rule following the Russo-Turkish War of 1877-78. Indeed, Bulgaria as an independent nation arises after almost five centuries of Ottoman domination (1386–1878), with the help and military intervention of Russia. It is safe to say that Ottoman glue held Bulgaria together and shaped it, for better or for worse. 


At the same time, the successful quest for independence from Ottoman rule suggests the presence of a strong strand of Bulgarian identity that sought an autonomous existence from the fraught identities conferred by Empire. The international rivals of the Ottomans, for their part, supported and promoted the rise of an independent Bulgaria, further complicating the picture of competing interests. Pre-Communist/Tsarist Russia supported the disintegration of the Ottoman Empire and the rise of Balkan nationalism not so much for the benefit of the people of the Balkans but for its own strategic reasons. One of those reasons was the Orthodox/Pan Slavic idea that all Slavs should be united under Russian leadership. I read somewhere that Slavophiles, including Russian author Fyodor Dostoevsky, regarded the impending Russo-Turkish war in Bulgaria in the late 19th century as a once-in-a-life-time opportunity to unite all Orthodox nations under Russia’s helm, thus fulfilling what they believed was a/the historic mission of Russia. 


The rest of Great powers (such as Britain, Austria and France) sought to use Balkan nationalism to erode and counter their rivals’ power and reconfigure the international order in their favour, when and if it suited them. That is, all the great powers used the Balkans as a sandbox and training ground where they would “proxy” and “offshore” their conflicts. Indeed, all the Great Powers were rivals in the Balkans such that the expansion into Balkans by other Great Powers was itself an anti-Ottoman move. 


In the main, the Great Powers operated typically by parcelling out the Balkans amongst themselves. We can see the opaqueness of great power machinations in the fact that the Paris Peace Treaty included guarantees of Ottoman territorial integrity by Great Britain, France and Austria. The Great Powers never wanted the creation of a large new united Slavic state. Hence the Congress of Berlin modified the Treat of San Stefano. There was to be no Greater Bulgaria, for instance. In a kind of slow-motion Truman Doctrine, the Balkans remains to this day a proprietary playground and sandbox of the “big boys” (the so-called great powers). 


On the other hand, as intimated, the Balkan nationalists themselves had their own separate intentions, and sought to use the tensions amongst the Great Powers to their own advantage, with varying results. But even if we do not go back beyond the 20th century, we may still find elements of Balkan paradigm at play in the time before the Cold War. Consider, for instance, the fact that Bulgaria had entered WWII on the so-called Axis side. It was rewarded with territory by Hitler, but this was reversed by the so-called Allies in 1947 at the Paris Peace Conference. In fact, with the start of the Second World War, all Balkan countries, with the exception of Greece, were allies of Nazi Germany, having bilateral military agreements or being part of the Axis Pact. Thus, Bulgaria and the other Balkan states, in the geopolitical space since the end of WWII, must be seen as part of the defeated “axis” that included Japan, Italy, and Germany, but – unlike the other three – Bulgaria (and the other war-ravaged Balkan states) did not benefit from American post-war support such as the Marshall Plan or American support for Japanese economic reconstruction.


It is the Orientalist/Ottoman factor that, for me, is largely responsible for the thread of the past that is no longer past. Indeed, it has been said that the origins of the word Balkan itself might be Persian or Turkish, further indicating a debt to the “Oriental factor”. Whatever the word’s origin, it is hard to separate any conception of Balkan-as-paradigm from the “Ottoman pivot”. In one sense, we could actually talk about the Balkans as anti-Ottoman, or as an anti-Ottoman paradigm. If the term “Balkan Peninsula” was once a synonym for the so-called “European Turkey” (that is, the political borders of former Ottoman Empire provinces) the term later morphed into an affirmation of anti-Ottoman nationalism with South Slavs as its spear-head (“Yugoslavia” = Serbs, Croats, Slovenes). The Orientalist/Ottoman/anti-Ottoman factor can (even) explain not just the genealogy of NATO but also the utility of the Balkans as “buffer”. That is, if we look at NATO, as a “defence concept”, it seems to go back to the conception of military frontier and cordon sanitaire against the Ottomans. 


The Orientalist/Ottoman factor, to my mind, inaugurates the Balkans-as-Buffer concept, expressed, in large part, in the notion of the Military Frontier established in the 16th century (following the election of Ferdinand I as King), with the primary aim of keeping out the Ottomans. The Military Frontier formed both a special system of military organisation, military border and even land ownership that served Habsburg aims of anti-Ottoman war. Indeed, the anti-Ottoman and anti-Islamic nature of the Balkans-as-buffer cannot be overemphasised. If we note that, for more than two centuries (1553-1881), the Croatian Military Frontier and the Slavonian Military Frontier (both conceived as the Militärgrenze, Vojna krajina/Vojna granica or cordon sanitaire against the Ottomans), was in place, exercising and retaining complete civilian and military authority over the area until abolition of the Military Frontier in 1881, we can even start to see the outlines of NATO not just as a “defence concept” but as a defence concept against the Ottoman/the East. Note, also, that the dominant religion within the Militärgrenze cordon sanitaire itself would be either Roman Catholic or Eastern Orthodox, while Islam was meant to be outside. Today, the Militärgrenze countries would be Croatia, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Serbia, Hungary, and Romania. Interestingly, some of the Militärgrenze countries (in the Western Balkans) generally belong in a “marginal EU” and, even, “pre-EU” where they are subjected to a waiting period of “growing up” before they can “graduate” into full EU members.  Bulgaria itself was in the vetting/waiting programme known as CEFTA – the Central European Free Trade Agreement – before it could fully join the EU. 



For me, when I hear “Balkans”, some of what I hear is “shared history”, although I do not know to what extent the shared history is shared, or even to measure how much is shared and why. I can only speculate. At the same time, I hear displacement, and then assimilation. If the Balkans normatively comprise Albania, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Bulgaria, Croatia, Greece, Kosovo, Montenegro, North Macedonia, Romania, Serbia, and Slovenia (Do we even call these countries the countries of South Eastern Europe or Balkans?), then there is scope to engage, at least at the beginning, in a move that reads back (way back) to the framing of the Balkans as a site, locus and crossroads of cultures (with the emphasis on crossroads), from the Latin and Greek extensions of the Roman Empire (note, for instance, that, in the 19th century, the concept of the Balkan Peninsula was a synonym for Rumelia, which etymologically means “Land of the Romans”), before being the locus (as already mentioned) of demographic shifts (and reorientations) caused by the sustained influx of “pagan” Bulgars and Slavs, and being  the meeting place (and crossroads) of religions (Orthodox Christianity, Catholic Christianity and Islam) and cultures, ways of seeing, and ways of being.


Indeed, in the long, long past, there was a point in history where there was a Slavic invasion of the Balkans itself, before the Slav’s became indigenous to the Balkans region. That is, even the Balkan Slavs themselves came from elsewhere. The historical narrative indicates that, in the long past (in 681, to be precise), Bulgaria became the first South Slavic polity and regional power, formed in 681 as a union between the more populous Slavic tribes and the bulgars of Khan Asparuh, before the First Bulgarian Empire was conquered by the Byzantine Empire in 1018. The Second Bulgarian Empire (1185-1396) defeated and replaced the Byzantine Empire in the Balkans, becoming the dominant empire in the Balkans until 1256, followed by decline under constant invasions by Mongols, Byzantines, Hungarians, and Serbs, as well as internal unrest and revolts, in the late 13th century. Interestingly, the 14th century saw temporary recovery and stability, but also the peak of Balkan feudalism as central authorities gradually lost power in many regions, such that Bulgaria was divided into three parts on the eve of the Ottoman invasion. By the time the Ottomans came the Bulgarian Empire was already in decline; already dismembered. 


The European shift to the Atlantic (and thus turning Europe’s back on the Balkans as a pivot of European strategic power) starts just as the Bulgarian Empire is about to be defeated and absorbed into the Ottoman Empire. Hence, much of the Balkans was under Ottoman rule throughout the early modern period, with Ottoman rule lasting from the 14th into the early 20th century in some territories. The fact that the Balkans existed, for the longest time, as provinces of Turkey/Ottoman Empire, means that Balkan culture and society (and by extension the Balkan “paradigm”) were also shaped, for better or worse, by the notion of the “Oriental”. The point I am trying to make is that looking at coloniality and postcoloniality, on the one hand, and the “Orientalism” aspect, can add to the integrated analytical framework you wish to privilege in your study of the contours of Bulgarian fandoms.


Because I watch football frequently, I know of a Bulgarian football team known as Sofia Levsky which sometimes competes in European football competitions (UEFA champions league and Europa league) and which hails from the Bulgarian city of Sofia. The link is the idea of Bulgaria and the historical figure of Vasil Levski. There are, not surprisingly, and as already intimated, many monuments to Levski in Bulgaria (and across Southeastern Europe and even in western Europe); many streets in Bulgaria carry his name. 


These contemporary sites and naming(s) have deep pasts in the Bulgarian imaginary, linking the idea of being-Bulgarian with independence-seeking but also with nation building in the context of resisting empire and exploiting possibilities and tensions of/within the international order. That is, I seem to find that the idea of Bulgaria itself, in its originary sense, might have been shaped (in part) by the construct of Bulgaria as anti-Ottoman/buffer construct, and by (playing off) the tension between two “Easts” of the Ottomans and Russia. Hence, Bulgarian heroes, such as Levsky, came to be national heroes in the war of liberation from the Ottomans in the 1870s and the Balgarsko natsionalno vazrazhdane, a period of Bulgarian “national awakening”, renaissance, socio-economic development and national cohesiveness emerged among oppressed Bulgarians living under Ottoman rule (1762/1820s), and reached its zenith with the Liberation of Bulgaria in 1878 (as a result of the Russo-Turkish War of 1877-78). Levski himself, regarded as the one responsible for the original act of imagining a Bulgarian republic based on ethnic and religious equality, seems to have drawn on liberal ideas reflected, for instance, in the French Revolution, among other sources. Levski is quoted as saying, “We will be free in complete liberty where the Bulgarian lives: in Bulgaria, Thrace, Macedonia; people of whatever ethnicity live in this heaven of ours, they will be equal in rights to the Bulgarian in everything.” Being Bulgarian today, as it was in the past, thus seems to be a pluralistic identity that draws from many sources, histories, and influences, as well as tensions and contradictions.


That is, if I were to represent the Balkans, it would first have to be seen as a melting pot, and then as an equation: displacement + assimilation + more displacement and more assimilation = Balkans. If we throw in all these influences, then we may have to say that there is more in the mix here than just the claim that Bulgarians are white, Orthodox Christian, and non-colonised. There seems to me to be more than meets the eye once we accept the “Balkan-ness” of Bulgaria. What does it mean to be Balkan? I thus read with interest you reference to the notion of the Balkans as “incomplete self”, not so much one that has yet to reach enlightenment, as you say, but as one that has yet to become itself. Your reference to Slavoj Zizek’s description of the Balkans as a region “caught in another’s dream” is especially relevant to thinking of the Balkans (and by extension countries like Bulgaria) as loophole in the world order. There is an irresolvable tension (and ongoing “incompleteness” [undecidability?]) at the heart of the concept of the Balkans – one that is a bit like the one that we see, for instance, with the perennially irresolvable question of “European Turkey” (can such a thing exist?) and “Muslim Europe” (can Europe be Islamic?), but now with an even longer, much longer, history, genealogy, heritage and itinerary preceding the Ottoman Empire. When Zizek writes of “The Spectre of Balkan”, he appears to be framing the Balkans as an ever-present ungovernable. 


The elusive, constantly shifting and even illusory Balkans can be seen in the fact that the concept of the “Balkan Peninsula” itself was created in error by a German geographer who, in 1808, mistakenly considered the Balkan Mountains to be the dominant mountain system of Southeast Europe, or if one considers that the Balkan Peninsula, as Rumelia, had a geopolitical rather than a geographical definition. At any rate, the so-called peninsula itself is also, technically, not a peninsula – because in a peninsula the water border must be longer than land, with the land side being the shortest in the triangle. This is not the case with the Balkan Peninsula. 


What is the Balkan and how does it emerge in relation to the East and the West? Note, for instance, that a country like Greece is “Western” rather than “Balkan” not so much by geography but by – among other things – having been pro-Western and non-communist during the Cold War. In one sense, one can see that the “West’s” geopolitical moves in its eternal power struggles against the Ottoman empire shaped the Balkans, first as buffer, and then later as forgotten backwater, and, finally, as a sandbox for experimenting with new modes of configuring international power, capitalism, and world order. As an example, we can see that Europe’s shift to the Atlantic (at the dawn of “modernity”), done largely to isolate “the Ottoman pivot”, had the (unintended) consequence of isolating the once central Balkans. This isolation (and marginality) has marked the Balkans ever since, and shaped its interactions with local and global power. The European shift to the Atlantic is best indicated in the countries that participated in the Atlantic Slave Trade. Neither Turkey nor the Balkans participated in the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade, showing their marginality to European modernity, since European modernity was forged by the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade. I think that, had the Balkans participated in the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade, they would certainly have been a part of the “West”. 


The marginality of the Balkans was on show, again, in the 20th century in the fact (already mentioned) that there was no Marshall Plan for South Eastern Europe. Why? Why was there no Marshall Plan for South Eastern Europe? This aspect could be crucial in thinking about the separate and differentiated trajectory that the Cold War took within the Balkans. The latest iterations are seen in the moves around which Balkan countries get into NATO and the EU, when they do (i.e., how long before they join), and how they do so (i.e., the conditions for joining). Indeed, a consideration of the differentiated manner in which the access of the countries of the Balkans to NATO and the EU could be instructive in thinking about the Balkans as paradigm. Bulgaria joined NATO in 2004 (joining in the same year as Romania and Slovenia). Albania and Croatia had to wait until 2009 to become members. Montenegro was only let in 2017, and North Macedonia only in 2020. The NATO memberships of Bosnia and Herzegovina and Serbia are paused and pending for a whole range of reasons. Since 2000, all Balkan countries are friendly towards the EU and the US, and want to join NATO and the EU or have already joined or are in the process of joining. An interesting question, in light of Brexit, is what happens if the EU breaks up? Or why some are desperate to get into the EU while some want out. 


In every European country, the population consists of elements who are EU-philes and those who are anti-EU, and the reasons tend to be complex, as we saw with Brexit. We saw how Levski’s ideas followed a liberal path, and it might not be an exaggeration that had he lived in contemporary Europe he might have advocated for Bulgaria to be in the EU and to stay in the EU, and to retain a “European” identity as far as such a thing can be said to exist. Were this to be the case, and considering the national poll in 2007 that identified Levski as the greatest Bulgarian in history, could one say that many/most Bulgarians are of a liberal (and pro-EU) persuasion? However, as we noted, things are not that simple in reality. 


Levski and other early Balkan patriots were not pawns of great power but, instead, sought to retain independence of thought and action, within the bounds allowed the “subaltern”. As their shifting historical alliances show (allying with Tsarist Russia against the Ottomans; allying with other Balkan nations against Turkey (in the First Balkan War); allying with other Balkan nations against other Balkan nations (in the Second Balkan War); being monarchical during WWI and before WWII; being republican after WWII; allying with Hitler against the “Allies”; being part of the Soviet Union and Communism post-1945; being non-aligned (in the case of Yugoslavia since the Tito-Stalin split of 1948); being fragmented after the fall of the Soviet union; and currently being EU-aligned, WTO-aligned, and NATO-aligned), we can see that being-Balkan resists generalisation. 


Does absorption into the EU represent the end of Balkan shape-shifting? Have we seen the end of the shifting alliances? Could one say that Bulgarians, in general, are traditionally freedom and independence loving and therefore their relationship with Europe is ambiguous? Or is the general desire to be non-aligned? Or to have the freedom to choose one’s friends? As Levski is quoted as saying, “We will be free in complete liberty where the Bulgarian lives”. What does freedom and independence have to do with it. Can “Yugoslavia” return in the future (say, if the EU at some point disintegrates)? Where is pan-(Southern) Slavic identity today? Being-in-the-EU, and how each Balkan nation gets to be in the EU, has also had significant influence on hierarchies of nations, with some having higher incomes and rates of economic development while others are poor (the most unequal Balkan nation by Gini coefficient is Bosnia. Bulgaria is one of the comparatively well off, but with demographics of the poor internally, such as the Roma).  Anyhow, the phenomenon of “Balkanism” is an ongoing complicated relationship with Europe, and of the Balkan countries with each other. 

A further interesting aspect that shows how intertwined with global power the reconfigurations in the Balkans are, for instance, would be that the countries of the Balkans were monarchies up to WWII, but became republics since that time, with the end of WWII marking a watershed between “monarchical Balkans” and “Republican Balkans”. What did this shift mean? What did it imply? What did the Balkans positioning in WWII mean for the shift to republicanism? Was this the logical culmination, for instance, of Levski’s espousing of liberal ideas from the French Revolution? The same watershed-like reconfiguration happened with the fall of the Soviet Union, which saw the Balkans absorbed into the orbit of NATO and the EU (and of capitalism), with differentiated vetting and conditions of entry. Today all the Balkan states have open market economies, instead of the “planned economies” of some of the states from the former Eastern Bloc. Qualification criteria (such as World Trade Organisation membership and any European Union Association Agreement) and the gradual induction into the EU function to draw the Balkan countries into a very specific form of US and EU-mediated capitalism and versions of democracy and territorial sovereignty.  For instance, the EU pledged to include the Western Balkan states after “their” civil wars (in fact, two states, Slovenia – in 2004 – and Croatia – in 2013 – have already been absorbed, four are candidates, and the remaining two have pre-accession agreements). While Bulgaria, Croatia, Greece, Romania and Slovenia are now part of the EU, Albania, North Macedonia, Montenegro, and Serbia are negotiating for EU membership. Bosnia and Herzegovina and Kosovo are “potential candidates” for EU membership. (Footnote: The curious case of Turkey, which applied to get into the EU in 1987, and has been stalled since 2016, continues). There are other dimensions, too. For instance, Bulgaria (with Croatia and Romania) is legally bound to join the Schengen Area (which Greece and Slovenia are already part of), thus initiating the country into a specific form of border control and trade criteria. The outsized influence of George Soros in the Balkans and former Soviet bloc since the fall of the Soviet Union may also require mention if one is to make sense of the shift to privatisation and neoliberal capitalism in the former Soviet Union. 



Question for Dora: Does the sense still persist that the Balkans is still framed as Europe’s buffer (and also proxy and playground) against whatever existential threat that might come from the “East”, as well as a sandbox in which to test and experiment new modes of power, sovereignty, violence and socio-economic ordering? If this sense no longer persists, what has replaced it?


Question for Dora: Do you think that Balkans identity would have been different if the region had been part (instead of being left out) of the shift by Europe to the Atlantic? Is the current move to absorb the Balkans into the EU (including “cultural inclusion” into European sporting and singing competitions etc.) signalling another shift away from the Atlantic, or at least a post-Atlantic reconfiguration of the European international order?


Question for Dora: Do we see the same cleavages in contemporary Bulgaria about being pro-EU and anti-EU as those we saw with Brexit? What does being-in-the-EU mean for Bulgarian identity? Does being in the EU mean the same thing as being-of-Europe and being-European? Do you see the possibility of a post-EU and post-NATO Balkans? Why or why not? The First Balkan war, and later the Tito-Stalin split of 1948, could be said to have showed the traditional independence and non-alignment (and tendency towards decentralisation-centralisation-disintegration) of the South-Slavs coming to the fore. Could the idea of “Yugoslavia” ever return in the future? Or is the move towards a reconfigured pan-European, EU-based, identity irreversible and permanent? Is the idea of an EU-based identity too hubristic to be feasible? Is it too big/too centralised to be feasible? Or, in fact, is an EU-centred identity too big to fail?


Question for Dora: Bulgaria is generally excluded from the pan-Slavic idea which saw the birth, in the 20th century, of Yugoslavia (meaning “South Slavia” or “Southern Slavland”), uniting all South Slavic peoples (Serbs, Croats and Slovenes) under a single state. The fact that Bulgaria was not part of the Yuzhni Slavyani (South Slavia/Yugoslavia) is an important exception. It means that Bulgaria is intersected by, but falls outside of, the Pan-Slavic idea. Bulgaria’s place and identity in the Balkan paradigm, therefore, carries an asterisk. How does being-Bulgarian/Bulgarian identity relate to Southern Slavic identity, seeing that Bulgarian traditionally stands outside the “Yugoslav” grouping? 


Question for Dora: when Levski says, “We will be free in complete liberty where the Bulgarian lives: in Bulgaria, Thrace, Macedonia; people of whatever ethnicity live in this heaven of ours, they will be equal in rights to the Bulgarian in everything,” is he not – somehow – also setting up the idea of Bulgarian exceptionalism? Do you ever get a sense that, within the Balkans, Bulgaria is exceptions/Bulgarians are exceptional? Is the idea of a Greater Bulgaria feasible? Think of the Greek irredentist Enosis and Megali idea (mythologies about resurrecting the Byzantine Empire) that continue to cause problems in Cyprus (and problems with Turkey in Cyprus).


Question for Dora: Is there such a thing as pan-Balkan folklore? For instance, I read somewhere that the Pan-Slavic colours are blue, white and red. Balkan cuisine? Is there a genre of music that we can call Balkan music?


Question for Dora: There is normative tendency to associate the word “Balkan” with disintegration and constantly shifting, unstable alliance. So, for instance, in 1912–1913 the First Balkan War broke out when Bulgaria, Serbia, Greece and Montenegro united in an alliance against the Ottoman Empire, meaning that 1912 was the moment when the Ottoman Empire was dismembered. The glue of the oppressor that had held the Balkans together also fell away, and the disintegration was to continue after the expulsion of the Ottoman Empire. In the Second Balkan War, the former allies Bulgaria, Serbia, Greece and Montenegro turned against each other. (The Second Balkan War amongst the allies actually helped to solidify the Western borders of Turkey). Fast forward to 1989: the moment when the Soviet Empire is dismembered, and the glue of the oppressor falls away again, and disintegration appears to have continued apace. In June 1991, Slovenia became the first republic that split from Yugoslavia and became an independent sovereign state. There have been seemingly endless splits then, and “civil wars”, and the EU has appeared to wait until the end of Balkan “civil wars” before integrating the South eastern European states into the EU. My question is: how has the association of “Balkanisation” with disintegration and fragmentation framed Balkan (and Bulgarian) identity? How wary should we be of such a stereotype? What place should such an association have in your integrated analytical framework?


Question for Dora: What role has the U.S. “system” (of overreaching power) (basically the U.S. Empire and the so-called Truman Doctrine) played in the current and ongoing configurations of Balkan (and Bulgarian) identity? 


Question for Dora: Bulgaria seeking independence and self-determination in the late 19th century was constantly caught in-between two empires that were in trouble: the Ottoman Empire (the so-called “Sick man of Europe”) and the Russian Empire facing revolution at home. It has found itself constantly caught in between competing power in the First and Second Balkan wars, in WWI and WWII, in the Cold War and the post-Cold War, and in the current shifts heavily influenced by the EU, the U.S., and NATO power plays. How much has Bulgarian identity (and by extension, fandom) been altered by all these forms of “being-caught-in-between” and reacting to/and negotiating “being-caught-in-between”?


Question for Dora: The book Istoriya Slavyanobolgarskaya by Paisius of Hilendar (1762) is celebrated in Bulgaria as having laid the outlines Bulgarian national identity. How much has Bulgarian identity stayed within/moved beyond these originary frames, particularly in the context of the sharp (and also gradual) shifts of the 20th century and early 21st century?


Discussion point for Dora:  When you mention “the Cold War roots [of these concepts”, Dora, it seems clear to me that you could easily go beyond the Cold War if you wanted. In my feedback I’ll try to emphasise this “largeness” (and “incompleteness” and “undecidability”) of Balkan history and Balkan identity that may be of utility in a discussion of the interstices of fandom in contemporary Bulgaria.  If the integrated analytical framework that you seek to build is to be truly integrated, I feel that there are areas where you can go further than the post-Soviet, post-socialist construct.

For now, I’ll end here, and look forward to learning and engaging.





Shadow Dance magazine spread

Dora to Nyasha: 

Thank you for your thorough engagement with my opening statement, Nyasha. You hone in on critical questions that I (and I am sure many others) continue to grapple with and that strike at the core of “Balkan identity” (to the extent, to which we can speak of such a construction) and Bulgarian identity. You are also correct in pointing out that there are multiple and overlapping layers of history here that make generalizations difficult and not particularly helpful. There are also many contradictions such as the one that you point out: Bulgaria was subjected to imperial rule—first by the Ottomans and then by the Soviet Union—and yet it has itself exhibited imperial ambitions, whose vestiges continue to this day in the form of Bulgaria’s veto of North Macedonia’s bid to join the European Union. The veto itself is motivated by what to many Bulgarians is an unresolved territorial dispute: the idea that North Macedonia is part of a Greater Bulgaria. These are, of course, macro-level considerations and what I intend to do in this write-up is respond to some of your questions, while also connecting macro-level constructs to Bulgarian fandom. 


I see Orientalism as a subcategory of post-socialism. In my dissertation I discuss the orientalization of the Soviet Union and communism itself both in U.S. historical documents as well as Cold War film. Thus, invoking a post-socialist framework invariably forces us to grapple with the orientalization of the Soviet World. We can, however, following Bakic-Hayden (1995), distinguish between different strains of Orientalism. Here we also have to be careful in how we are defining the term Orientalism, which in Said’s (1979) original formulation is a Western invention and describes the West’s conceptual lens of the Middle East and Asia. Still, we can speak of a specific strand of Orientalism in the Balkans, which finds an expression in attitudes towards music of the region.


Eastern (i.e. Turkish and Arabic) influences are present in the music of many Balkan countries, including Bulgaria. Pop-folk, also known as turbo-folk, also known as chalga is a Bulgarian music genre that combines elements of Western pop music with elements of Turkish and Arabic beats and sometimes Bulgarian folk motifs. The popular term for the genre—chalga—is itself derived from the Turkish word çalgı, which means “musical instrument,” further denoting the Eastern influences that define the genre. Chalga music tends to be reviled ostensibly for the hypersexualization of chalga stars who are overwhelmingly women and simplistic lyrics. Furthermore, as a genre that grew exponentially after the fall of communism, it drew intellectuals' condemnation for “... [propagating] nothing more than the new ‘culture’ of corruption, easy money, indiscriminate sex, and mugs driving fast cars.” In the eyes of intellectuals (but also people who don’t necessarily regard themselves as such), chalga is synonymous with low culture and trashy taste. Simultaneously, “many ‘ordinary’ people became so enthralled by the new freedom that they would embrace chalga as their alternative to officialdom” (Georgieff, 2009).  It has remained consistently popular and in the three decades since the fall of communism it has given rise to a lucrative entertainment industry around it. A Facebook page titled “The Pop-Folk Hits are Here” has over 580K followers, which is a significant number, considering that the population of Bulgaria is 6.9 million. I would argue that in addition to the reasons mentioned above chalga also draws contempt for two related reasons: 1) it is seen as a cheap knock-off of Western pop-music, thus stoking specific resentments reserved for imitations of the West (Krastev & Holmes, 2019); 2) it has noticeable Eastern musical influences that trigger internalized Orientalism; 3) chalga is one of few popular media genres where Romani people are represented. I am writing this with the provision that even something like “internalized Orientalism” becomes complicated here by the fact that Bulgaria was ruled by the Ottoman Empire (or colonized, even though historians (Todorova, 2009) debate whether the term applies to the Balkans and the Ottoman Empire) for five centuries. I was a highschool student when chalga really started to gain momentum and I recall an ambivalent attitude towards it whereby even those who actively condemned it for supposedly catering to “the lowest common denominator” also enjoyed it and would feel shame in admitting so. 


What I have briefly delineated so far would fit a high/low culture explanatory framework, where an educated elite and those aligned with it look down upon a popular cultural form, of which chalga music is an example, as “low culture.” However, as we have discussed so far, a more complex, integrated framework allows us to understand the explosion of chalga music after 1990 (i.e. the fall of communism), its integration of musical elements both from the West and from the East, and the specific brand of contempt it elicits that shows characteristics of internalized Orientalism mixed with a resentment for all that resembles a cheap copy of a Western cultural form. 


It should be mentioned that while chalga itself is a Bulgarian genre, its musical DNA is recognizable in other Balkan countries (notably, Serbia) and here, I think, we catch a glimpse of what can be called “Balkan culture.” A notable example that should be cited here is the Romani folk song “Ederlezi” (“St. George’s Day”), which was popularized in the soundtrack of Emir Kusturica’s Time of the Gypsies (1988) and was more recently used in Borat (2006) in the construction of Sacha Baron Cohen’s eponymous character.. The Romani word Edirlezi itself is believed to be a variant of the Turkish Hıdırellez—a holiday, which celebrates the first day of Spring and coincides with St. George’s Day in Orthodox Christianity. Ederlezi has been remixed and covered by a number of Bulgarian performers—some of those explicitly identified with the chalga genre and others less so. The title of the Bulgarian version of the song is “Gergiovden” (“St. George’s Day” in Bulgarian) and one of the covers was performed on live television by two Bulgarian chalga/pop-folk singers: Neli Petkova who is white and sings in Bulgarian and Sofi Marinova who is Romani and sings in Romani and Bulgarian languages. A more recent version by Turkish performer K-Billy feat. Merve Deniz blends electronic beats with the original and speaks of the song’s continued appeal. Going back to your question, Nyasha, about Balkan identity, I think we can read a cultural imbrication across Balkan countries in the many versions and remixes of “Ederlezi” that speaks of a nebulous sense of a shared identity.  


The explosion of pop-folk music in Bulgaria after the fall of communism lends support to the usefulness of a post-socialist analytical frame—the argument I outlined in my opening statement. The genre has grown through its rapid commercialization afforded by the newly established structures of the capitalist market post-1990. Crucially, prior to 1990 the communist regime through its strict control of the media supported only those cultural forms that furthered the party line. In art that included art forms that could be broadly categorized as falling under the banner of “socialist realism.” That rarely included art or folklore by or about other ethnicities but white Bulgarians. In fact, during communism, in an effort to “integrate” ethnic Turks into Bulgarian society and culture, people with Islamic-sounding names were ordered to change their names under a directive called “Process of Revival.” The directive was met with protests and while some of those were peaceful, others ended with arrests, violence, deaths, and people sent to labor camps. 


To reiterate, the case of pop-folk illustrates your point, Nyasha, that Orientalism should be part of an integrated analytical framework that takes into consideration the ruptures brought about by the fall of communism in Eastern Europe and the Soviet Union. What also becomes clear and what I touched on in my opening statement is that the country’s membership within the Eastern Bloc has exerted an influence on the development of fan communities in the second half of the 20th century, which necessitates a post-socialist analytical framework. In the remainder of this write-up I will briefly discuss how the advent and growth of science fiction fandom communities in Bulgaria illustrate that point. 


The first science fiction fan club in Bulgaria called “Friends of the Future” was founded in 1962 (Borisova, 2020). We could thus take that year as the starting point of science fiction fandom in the country. In terms of the timeline of the communist regime in Bulgaria, 1962 was a time of a process of “destalinization” where the cult of Stalin in the country was being dismantled. There was some hope of an end to the “dogmatic winter,” but the process itself was superficial and political persecutions of enemies of the people nevertheless continued. 

While this first club was active only until 1966, science fiction clubs continued to crop up around the country in the following decades. Although the exact origins of science fiction аs a concept among fandom communities are being debated, it is clear that from its early days, the conception of science fiction in Bulgaria included ideas of “forecasting” (in Bulgarian: прогностика) and “futurology” (футурология). Thus, a fan club founded at Sofia University in 1971, for example, was called “Science Fiction and Futurology.” Club “Ivan Yefremov” in Sofia, founded in 1974 is an “Integrated Club on Science Fiction, Forecasting, and Heuristics.” I suspect that the conception of the genre as “science fiction and futurology” was influenced by Stanisław Lem’s monograph Science Fiction and Futurology (1970), in which he theorizes the genre, reviews science fiction literature from around the world, and sharply criticizes Western science fiction. Furthermore, I suspect that as the work of a Polish citizen (i.e. originating from within the Eastern Bloc) critical of a Western cultural form, Science Fiction and Futurology (1970) faced no barriers to publication and distribution in communist Bulgaria. 


I asked Yuri Ilkov—one of the early members of Club “Ivan Yefremov” about access to Western science fiction literature during communism and he explained that since the publication of Western science fiction was limited, much of that access was through two Soviet series titled Зарубежная Фантастика (i.e. Foreign Science Fiction) and Библиотека Современной Фантастики (i.e. Library of Contemporary Science Fiction), which was published between 1965-1973 through an initiative of Ivan Yefremov—a Soviet science fiction writer and paleontologist—after whom the science fiction fan club in Sofia is named. The publication of the series was supervised by prominent Soviet science fiction writers Ariadna Gromova, Sergey Zhemaytis, Yeremey Parnov, and Arkady Strugatsky. The series does feature prominent science fiction works from around the world though the notable omission of Philip K. Dick should be pointed out. 


What this suggests so far is that one of the ways, in which Bulgaria’s status as a member of the Soviet Bloc has shaped the development of fandom is through access to material culture. The question of how access shapes fandom is certainly complex and requires a more thoroughgoing investigation than what can be covered within this forum, but I hope that what I have described so far begins to provide a glimpse of how access to material culture (science fiction literature during communism, to be specific) influenced the early development of fandom in Bulgaria.


Access, of course, is only one aspect of the whole media ecosystem during communism. Another one is censorship and self-censorship. Ilkov reports that the activity of the club he founded in Pazardgik—Club “Arkady and Boris Strugatsky''—was monitored by party operatives who on a number of occasions sent an Officer of Ideological Work to observe the activities of the club. At a time when listening to “decadent” Western music or dressing in a Western fashion could result in being sent to a labor camp, it is easy to suspect a level of self-censorship when it comes to engagement with Western literature. Ilkov reports that he had written a manuscript on Arkady and Boris Strugatsky, but was advised by an acquaintance to scrap it. In retrospect he reflects that this was more of an act of overcautious self-censorship than a realistically existing danger of punishment. Yet the caution was warranted by circulating rumors of authors who had been beaten for their deviating from the party line. 


Without having exhausted the question of the development of fandom during communism, in the interest of brevity, I want to skip forward to the 1990s. The 90s were a period of crisis for Bulgarian fandom. Ilkov reports that a vast majority of clubs were wiped out and those that remained were struggling. The question of what was happening in that decade demands its own thorough investigation, itself beyond the scope of the present project. Suffice to say that during my interview with Ilkov, he mentioned his belief that two of the reasons for that crisis were the mass emigration to the West and a reorientation among club members to profit-generating/lucrative activities (i.e. starting one’s own business). 


Fan activity started to pick up again towards the end of the decade. In 2000 the first issue of ShadowDance magazine came out. Interestingly, the description on ShadowDance’s website mentions that it is a magazine for “фантастика, култура и футурология” (“science fiction, culture, and futurology”) (“About Us”), which reflects the specific conception of the genre within the fandom communities during communism. Yet the audience of ShadowDance is more oriented towards Western culture and media. The info section of their Facebook page includes a one-line description written in English: “Online Sci-Fi and Fantasy Magazine.” Responses to a brief survey published on ShadowDance’s Facebook page indicate that two of the most popular texts among those who completed the survey are the tv series The Wheel of Time and The Wicher.  


The reason I briefly mention these developments is because they demonstrate the necessity of a post-Socialist/post-Cold War analytical framework. Club “Ivan Yefremov'' continues to be active to this day; its members organize Bulgakon—the country's main annual fandom convention. As the club’s name itself reflects its close linkages with Soviet science fiction in the second half of the 20th century, its current activities bear traces of that history. Bulgakon 2021, for example, featured a talk by Yuri Ilkov titled: “The Unknown Lem—A Conversation on the 100th Anniversary of His Birth.” ShadowDance magazine, on the other hand, is more in sync with Western fandom communities and pop culture texts. They are the “younger generation” about whom Ilkov comments: “Another type of literature has shaped their tastes” (Borisova, 2019). While we could speak of Club “Ivan Yefremov” as the “old guard” of fandom and the community around ShadowDance as the “new generation,” it should also be mentioned that Club “Ivan Yefremov” continues to attract younger members thus resisting a clear-cut categorization. 


From my interviews with Ilkov I understand that both Club “Ivan Yefremov” (and the clubs around the country that are affiliated with it) and ShadowDance magazine enjoy a friendly and cooperative relationship. As previously mentioned, the description of ShadowDance as a magazine for “science fiction, culture, and futurology” reflects the specific historical inflections of science fiction fandom in Bulgaria. However, if we are to gain a thorough understanding of science fiction fandom then and now (given that in the contemporary moment that fandom converges with globalized fandom communities), a post-Socialist/post-Cold War integrated analytical framework is necessary. 








Bibliography





“About Us.” ShadowDance, http://www.shadowdance.info/magazine/about/ 




Bakic-Hayden, M. (1995). Nesting Orientalisms: The case of former Yugoslavia. Slavic Review 54(4), 917-931.




Borisova, E. (2019, August 23). Юрий Илкое: За миналото и насточщето на научната фантастика (Yuri Ilkov: About the past and present of science fiction). Фантастика и Бъдеще (Science Fiction and Future). https://fantastika-bg.eu/юрий-илков-за-миналото-и-настоящето-на/




Borisova, E. (2020, March 29). Накратко за българския фендъм (Briefly about Bulgarian fandom). Фантастика и Бъдеще (Science Fiction and Future): https://fantastika-bg.eu/накратко-за-българския-фендъм/




Georgieff, A. (2009, May 1). A brief history of Bulgarian chalga music. Vagabond. https://web.archive.org/web/20190124203344/http://www.vagabond.bg/features/item/126-a-brief-history-of-bulgarian-chalga-music.html




Krastev, I. & Holmes, S. (2019). The light that failed: Why the West is losing the fight for democracy. New York, NY: Pegasus Books. 




Krastev, I. & Holmes, S. (2019). The light that failed: Why the West is losing the fight for democracy. New York, NY: Pegasus Books.




Said, E. W. (1979). Orientalism. New York, NY: Vintage Books.




Todorova, M. (2009). Imagining the Balkans. New York, NY: Oxford University Press.










The first print issue of Shadow Dance magazine titled “Cyberpunk,” released in October, 2019. More information about the magazine is available here: https://www.shadowdance.info/magazine/shadowdance/

Stelios Stylianou's Reply to Dora Valkanova's Opening Statement





In the course of this forum, we have presented opening statements to set a ground for exchanging ideas.  I have been thinking about these opening statements as points of departure rather than mature texts to be evaluated for completeness or correctness.  With this in mind, I have read your opening statement, dear Dora, as a proposal to construct an exciting and ambitious analytical framework.  In replying, my intention is to present an opportunity for elaboration on some issues in an open and creative way.





(1) My first point is about the level of analysis.  As a sociologist, I would say that there is clearly a macrolevel aspect in your study of Bulgarian fandom.  This aspect is both historical, as a single society is being studied through time (with primary emphasis on the eras of Cold War and post-communism), and comparative, as it looks at how fandom has developed in Bulgaria in juxtaposition to instances of "otherness" (be it those developed in the West or the East, in the sense that you describe, which leaves Bulgaria—or even the Balkans and Eastern Europe—in some kind of middle ground). At the same time, fandom, substantively and analytically, involves microlevel elements, such as identity, choice, learning, and emotion.  Thus, if I am correct, you are indeed on an ambitious track: to present an instance of the application of the micro-macro link, what C. W. Mills has called the sociological imagination.  Obviously, sociologically speaking, this is a very exciting project.  Could you please talk a little bit more about these two levels of analysis in your study and the empirical methods you have used and will be using to support this task.  I already see in the opening statement that you have been interviewing people and that you have been following the history of fan clubs and this is probably part of the answer, but I would be interested to read a little bit more about this matter.

 

(2) Then, you suggest that the post-Cold War condition can be an analytical category in understanding fandom and you explore the genealogy and the ecology of fan clubs.  You suggest that we need to move in the direction of an integrative analysis of fandom, one that synthesizes continuity and change with respect to major divisions, such as race, gender, sexual orientation, social class, and ableism.  I would be interested to see more on the gender issue.  In my own study, gender and gender-related issues are in the center of interest.  In particular, I study how various forms of masculinities are manifested in live events such as football games; thus, it would be interesting to see, theoretically and/or through an example, what kinds of masculinities dominate or are at least detectable in the discursive practices that make up the world of Bulgarian fandom.  In my case, I suggested that the shift from hegemonic toward more inclusive masculinities does not seem to have effectively reached deeper cultural tiers, where the dehegemonizing project is far from complete.  Does this apply to Bulgarian fandom?





(3) Another point is that the change in the media landscape from the end of the 20th century to the two decades that followed has been rapid and profound. Can we attempt a generation analysis regarding this change, with respect to Bulgarian fandom? The Zoomers are probably of special interest.  These are the people that we are getting to know in recent years as our undergraduate students.  I tell them that, unlike earlier generations, who were introduced to digital media as young children, teenagers or adults, "you were born with a tablet at hand."  This means that the world as they know it is contained in a screen and that includes perhaps all objects of media fandom; thus, the question is how has this affected the very development of media fandom. This is a huge question of course, but what I am thinking is that you may provide a narrow answer, focusing on contemporary Bulgaria? 





(4) Finally, such questions invite considerations about access and economic inequality as well.  Online fan communities require access to the internet and perhaps subscriptions.  On the other hand, access to a wide variety of content has been much more universal, compared to previous decades. So, my last question is to what extent and in what ways does social inequality matter in the development of Bulgarian fandom?  







Bulgacon, 2010

Dear Stelios, 





Thank you for your thoughtful questions, which provide me with an opportunity to elaborate in more depth about aspects of my research on Bulgarian fandom. To begin with your first question, you are correct that my approach to the subject of Bulgarian fandom combines both macro- and micro-level analysis. I have found that approach to be necessary as the micro—fan and fan club activity—seems to have been deeply impacted by the macro-level—the socio-political structure under the communist regime up until 1990 (Borisova, 2020). As Borisova notes, the 90s marked a period of crisis for Bulgarian fandom parallel to the broader social and political crises the country was undergoing as it was transitioning from a communist social, political, and economic structure to a Western-style liberal capitalist democracy. More specifically, both Borisova and Yuri Ilkov (a founding member of Bulgarian fandom whom I interviewed for this project) talk about a marked decline in fan activity in the 90s, which further points to the complex interlinkages between the macro and micro levels. Indeed, in sociological terms, part of my argument is that in order to arrive at a more thoroughgoing understanding of Bulgarian fandom, it is necessary to interrogate the macro context, or, what Chari and Verdery term a (post-) Cold War analytical framework that asks “how Cold War representations have shaped and continue to shape theory and politics” (p. 18). Such a framework is particularly necessary when studying social, political, and cultural phenomena in Eastern Europe as countries across the region form a metaphorical faultline between Russia and the West (as the war in Ukraine has thrown into stark relief); a faultline that at its southern tip extends to Turkey. 





A (post-) Cold War analytical framework can also help us understand the role of social categories such as race, gender, and class. I should mention, however, that I think that it is important to distinguish between fandom communities based on the object of fandom. The focus of my study is science fiction fandom in Bulgaria both before and after the fall of communism. While science fiction fandom (broadly defined) shares similarities with soccer fandom, there are also crucial differences. As you mention in your write-up, Stelios, identification with a given soccer club and antagonism of its rivals is a key structuring characteristic of soccer fandom in Cyprus. Thus, it seems like fan identity is defined not only in terms of loyalty to a given soccer club, but also, and crucially, oppositionally to other soccer clubs. While my focus is not soccer fandom specifically, a cursory look at reports of soccer fans in Bulgaria suggests that a similar dynamic is structuring that fandom community. 





Such antagonism and rivalry are ostensibly missing from science fiction fandom (Jenkins, 2013). Certainly, social categories of difference such as race, gender, class, sexual orientation, age, and ability structure the experience of fans in the science fiction community, but those categories are not further refracted by an added lens of rivalry and/or antagonism towards specific fan clubs within that community. These are differences that appear to stem from the specific characteristics of the object of fandom: a competitive game in the case of soccer fandom and media texts in the case of science fiction fandom. I think that these distinctions are particularly relevant when considering configurations of hegemonic masculinity. Soccer as a sport has historically been dominated by all-male teams and fans. In that sense, it is a privileged site for the production and reproduction of hegemonic masculinity. In soccer (as in other sports), “hegemonic masculinity is the most valued form of masculinity and is associated with being white, heterosexual, privileged/middle class and able-bodied” (Owton, 2018). As you note, articulations of hegemonic masculinity are central to soccer fandom and fans in turn form relationships to such articulations. Stafill (2011) has similarly pointed out that “sports fandom [...] would commonly be understood to be integral to normative masculinity.” Furthermore, Stanfill adds: 





“The distinction that can be made here between sports fandom and other sorts does point to some challenges of looking at "fan" as a broad discursive category; fan type may well be another axis of intersection, with more or less privileged types of fandom positioning one as closer to or farther from heteronormativity. Further research is clearly needed.”





One interesting question that emerges from this comparative framework—specifically between your case study, Stelios, and mine is if an argument can be made about soccer fandom as a privileged site of hegemonic masculinity vis-a-vis science fiction fandom. On what grounds could such an argument be made? The production and reproduction of hegemonic masculinity is undoubtedly an aspect of Bulgarian science fiction fandom as well. Bringing a (post-) Cold War analytical framework to bear on this question would mean taking into consideration the complex role of gender in post-socialist countries that eschewed feminism as one of the “-isms” of the West throughout much of 20th century (Valkanova, 2007). As Šmejkalova-Strickland (1994) succinctly summarized: “current feminist theories cannot be separated from the development of postwar Western thinking and writing about society and culture” (p. 277). A (post-) Cold War framework, I would argue, would help us better understand, for example, anecdotes like this one, which emerged from my interviews:





“Arkady Strugatsky came [to Bulgaria] in 1978 [...] and he had read a lot of works [of science fiction] and I remember him saying [of Ursula K. Le Guin]: ‘This woman is amazing. If you didn’t know this was a woman, you’d think a man wrote this. The style is super intelligent…a very smart, very wise woman. There’s no other like her. ’”





Age/generation is certainly a related category. In her study of Bulgarian fandom Ilieva (2011) has noted: “fandom is perceived as a project primarily of the old generation of fans whose objective and obligation is to socialize the younger generation of fans while for the younger generation it is a matter of choice whether to join the project or to reject it due to the ‘totalitarianism of the old dogs’” (p. 41). The mention of “totalitarianism” here suggests that normative generational gaps that we see, for example, in Western societies here are complicated by association of the older generation with communism/the Soviet Union—entanglements that are better understood through a (post-) Cold War analytical framework. As Dimiter Kenarov (Case, 2014) suggested in his interview with Holly Case, the project of post-communist transition in Bulgaria involved grappling with the question of how to reject an oppressor (i.e. the Soviet Union) while simultaneously holding onto aspects of their culture (i.e. language, literature (i.e. science fiction works), etc.). I suspect that this tension also mediates the generational divide between older and younger fans. 





With respect to your fourth (and last) question, if we are to understand social inequality in terms of class, its impact is significant and underexplored. Crucially, class is intertwined with race and ethnicity in a way that within Bulgarian culture lacks recognition and/or legitimacy. As previously mentioned, I conducted a screening survey, which I shared in social media groups related to various fandoms (science fiction, k-pop, astrology, and reddit). Comments to two separate Facebook posts of the survey attracted comments on the question about ethnicity. Commenters either asked what ethnicity means or wondered why it was included in the survey. Another commenter found the question insulting. The ethnicity question was open-ended and while almost all respondents filled “Bulgarian” as a response, some used the space to also add: “Bulgarian, but why this question?” That in turn points to the next big question about the role of race and ethnicity in Bulgarian fandom (I briefly touched on this question in my previous response to Nyasha and elaborated on how a (post-) Cold War analytical framework could further illuminate it). Members of the Bulgarian Roma community are mostly absent from online fan spaces, which is a result of the fact that they disproportionately live in extreme poverty and without internet connection. As previously mentioned, Bulgaria reports the highest income inequality index in Europe (fifth in the world after South Africa, Costa Rica, Chile, and Mexico). This inequality certainly impacts who gets to participate in fandom—both offline and online, disproportionately affecting racially marginalized communities (specifically the Roma)—a central and critical question I will continue to explore in my study. 






Works Cited: 





Borisova, E. (2020, March 29). Накратко за българския фендъм (Briefly about Bulgarian fandom). Фантастика и Бъдеще (Science Fiction and Future): https://fantastika-bg.eu/накратко-за-българския-фендъм/





Case, H. (Host). (2014, December 29). Interview with Dimiter Kenarov. [Audio Podcast Episode]. In East-Central Europe Past and Present. Cornell University. https://ecommons.cornell.edu/handle/1813/39026





Chari, S. & Verdery, K. (2009). Thinking between the posts: Postcolonialism, postsocialism, and

ethnography after the Cold War. Comparative Studies in Society and History 51(6), 6-34.





Jenkins, H. (2013). Textual poachers: Television fans and participatory culture. New York, NY: Routledge.





Ilieva, A. (2011) Science fiction and fantasy fans in Bulgaria: Boundaries of fandom. Bulgarian Ethnology 1, 30-43.





Owton, H. (2018). Sporting women in the media. The Open University. https://www.open.edu/openlearn/health-sports-psychology/sporting-women-the-media/content-section-4





Šmejkalova-Strickland, J. (1994). Do Czech women need feminism? Perspectives of feminist theories and practices in Czechoslovakia. Women’s Studies International Forum 17(2/3), 277-282.





Stanfill, M. (2011). Doing fandom, (mis)doing whiteness: Heteronormativity, racialization, and the discursive construction of fandom. In Reid A. R. & Gatson, S. (Eds.) Transformative Works and Cultures 8.


Valkanova, D. (2007). Comparison of attitudes towards abortion between post-communist and post-industrial countries. John Wesley Powel Annual Research Conference.

Fandom Studies in Bulgarian Context

Fandom Studies in Bulgarian Context

Dora Valkanova (Bulgaria)

 

 

I enter the field of media fandom after having completed a dissertation on U.S. Cold War cinema since 1947, in which I applied a Critical and Cultural Studies lens to a cinema canon that had been studied primarily through the methods of film historiography. The necessity of such an approach had been underscored to me both through my own experience as a Bulgarian woman, living in the U.S. since 2003 and as a scholar, broadly trained in the theory and methods of Critical and Cultural Studies. From a scholarly perspective, my training in Critical and Cultural Studies increasingly appeared to suggest that the plight of Eastern Europe and the Balkans was not clearly legible through critical concepts like Global North and Global South, which are central to the field of Media and Cinema Studies and that demanded further analysis. On a personal level, my lived experience in the U.S. has been mediated through U.S. perceptions (and misperceptions) of Soviet and Eastern European communism and post-communism. This was most noticeable specifically during my undergraduate career when jokes about communism were my U.S. colleagues’ usual (and sometimes only) means of engaging with me. On an academic level, I encountered a range of contradictions that seemed to suggest the relevance of the Cold War as an analytical category in studying media. My intention for this opening statement is to briefly outline the concepts and theories that I have found productive in understanding media from and about Eastern Europe and to articulate the framework that will serve as my jumping-off point for studying fandom in Bulgaria. 

 

World maps that depict the geographical boundary between a Global North and a Global South tend to draw the line between the two along the border between Bulgaria and Turkey with the former falling within the domain of the Global North. This is significant, considering that the Global North tends to be associated with whiteness, colonialism, and higher economic development, while the Global South is the geography of non-whiteness, post-colonialism, and lower economic growth (to name a few). What is seldom acknowledged, however, are the Cold War roots of these concepts. The Global North specifically, as mapped onto depictions of the globe, spans the territory of what used to be called the “First World” and the “Second World” in Alfred Sauvy’s Three-World Model. According to that model, “a ‘free’ First World that is modern, scientific, rational, and therefore a ‘natural’ society; a ‘communist’

Second World controlled by ideology and propaganda, with ‘natural’ society subordinated to a totalitarian state; and a Third World that is ‘traditional,’ irrational, overpopulated, religious, and economically ‘backward.’” (Chari & Verdery, 2009, p. 18). However, as Chari & Verdery contend, “[t]his division makes even less sense after 1989, when many socialist countries became, like postcolonial ones, synonymous with underdevelopment” (p. 19).

 Bulgaria and Eastern Europe’s odd fit within the Global North/South framework and its attendant implications of coloniality and post-coloniality became further apparent to me through my engagement with the work of Maria Todorova (2009) and Neda Atanasoski (2013), which explores the specific socio-historical orientation of Eastern Europe and the Balkans to the West. Maria Todorova’s work Imagining the Balkans (2009) articulates “balkanism” as a discourse, which shares similarities with Edward Said’s orientalism, but diverges from it based on critical categories such as the fact that Balkan people are white, Christian (albeit Orthodox Christian), and were not colonized. Thus, according to Todorova, while the Balkans were never viewed as totally Other to the West, they were nevertheless seen as an “incomplete self” that has yet to reach enlightenment. That formulation is in turn reminiscent of Slavoj Zizek’s description of the Balkans as a region “caught in another’s dream.” Similarly, Neda Atanasoski (2013) has surveyed Western discourses and imaginaries of the Balkans, Eastern Europe and (to a lesser extent) Russia—what was collectively known as the “Second World.” Atanasoski details the racialization of the Balkans and Eastern Europe through Western media accounts of the region and points out that “[i]in the Western imaginary, the distant and more recent history of Balkan violence and hatred makes manifest the (im)possibility of transition from East to West, from primitive to enlightened, and from barbaric to benevolent” (p. 141). Along similar lines, Milica Bakic-Hayden (1995) has proposed the concept of “nesting orientalisms:” “a pattern of reproduction of the original dichotomy upon which Orientalism is premised. In this pattern, Asia is more ‘East’ or ‘other’  than eastern Europe; within eastern Europe itself this gradation is reproduced with the Balkans perceived as most ‘eastern’; within the Balkans there are similarly constructed hierarchies.” More recently, Wallace (2008) used the concept in his study of Sacha Baron Cohen’s character Borat, which he describes as a simulacra of Eastern Europe that Cohen associates with the country of Kazakhstan—itself on the Asian continent. Notably, Borat, as one of Cohen’s three Da Ali G Show (2000-2004) alter egos (the other two being Ali G and Brüno Gehard), is an object of fandom within the U.K. and the U.S.

 

I detail these discrepancies between Eastern Europe and some of the dominant concepts structuring scholarly work on transnational media, because my research suggests that they are indispensable for understanding the current state of fandom in Bulgaria. My own survey of the contemporary contours of Bulgarian fandom as well as its history and development in the latter half of the 20th century appears to support Chari & Verdery’s (2009) argument for the relevance of “the (post-) Cold War” as an analytical category. In fact, in Bulgarian fandom the (post-) Cold War as an analytic mediates more established concepts in Western Anglophone culture such as divisions between high-art and low art. Chari & Verdery’s concept itself is closely aligned to Atanasoski’s (2013) deployment of postsocialism, which she describes as a “global condition that produces a social, economic, and cultural ethic that builds on and disavows previous racial and imperial formations” (p. 23). According to Chari & Verdery, “an integrated analytical field ought to explore intertwined histories of capital and empire, as we have suggested, but also the ongoing effects of the Cold War’s Three-Worlds ideology” (p. 19). 

 

My intention in participating in this forum on fandom is to aim towards such an integrated analytical framework in surveying fandom in Bulgaria. The historical development of Bulgarian fandom necessitates such an approach where questions of whiteness and its construction (Stanfill, 2011), gender (Scott, 2019), sexual orientation, class, and ableism interact with questions of media access (Morimoto & Chin, 2017) shaped by Bulgaria’s past as a Soviet satellite state, the fall of communism in 1990, and the policies of economic “shock therapy” in the 90s. The economic crisis of the 90s had a profound effect on all aspects of media and culture and is evident in various aspects of fandom, including fans’ own accounts of the history of fan activity in Bulgaria (Borisova, 2020). Furthermore, such an integrated approach helps us understand how the “battle of ideologies” played out on real bodies of fans who were left to bridge the gaps between two opposing global ideologies that positioned them as a periphery to their respective centers and how fans continue to labor to close these gaps to present day. 

 

 

Bibliography:

 

Atanasoski, N. (2013). Humanitarian violence: the U.S. deployment of diversity. Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press. 

 

Bakic-Hayden, M. (1995). Nesting Orientalisms: The case of former Yugoslavia. Slavic Review 54(4), 917-931.

 

Borisova, E. (2020, March 29). Накратко за българския фендъм (Briefly about Bulgarian fandom). Фантастика и Бъдеще (Science Fiction and Future): https://fantastika-bg.eu/накратко-за-българския-фендъм/

 

Chari, S. & Verdery, K. (2009). Thinking between the posts: Postcolonialism, postsocialism, and

ethnography after the Cold War. Comparative Studies in Society and History 51(6), 6-34.

 

Morimoto, L. H. & Chin, B. (2017). Reimagining the imagined community: Online media fandoms in the age of global convergence. In Gray, J., Sandvoss, C., & Harrington, C. L. (Eds.) Fandom: Identities and Communities in a Mediated World, 2nd Edition, pp. 174-188. 

 

Scott, S. (2019). Fake geek girls: Fandom, gender, and the convergence culture industry. New York, NY: New York University Press.

 

Stanfill, M. (2011). Doing fandom, (mis)doing whiteness: Heteronormativity, racialization, and the discursive construction of fandom. In Reid A. R. & Gatson, S. (Eds.) Transformative Works and Cultures 8.

https://doi.org/10.3983/twc.2011.0256

 

Todorova, M. (2009). Imagining the Balkans. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. 

 

Wallace, D. (2008). Hyperrealizing "Borat" with the map of the European "Other." Slavic Review 67(1), 35-49.




Responses to Scarcity and Bifurcated Fandom in South Africa

Stelios to Nyasha:

 

(a) Could you provide a short paragraph on how the "decimalization" argument applies to football fandom?

(b) Could you define "forensic apartheid studies"?  More specifically, as I read (https://apartheidstudies.wordpress.com/2019/09/05/towards-apartheid-studies/ ), I am interested to know more about whether "forensic" is a metaphor from criminal justice to emphasize that apartheid studies is a form of criminal investigation into history (the crime being apartheid and the task being to prove that harm has been done and that there is a guilty offender) or does "forensic" apply in the common sense, i.e., investigating cases where specific apartheid-motivated crimes have been committed (or both).



Nyasha pasting some text from some early email responses for additional context [we have already seen this - am just creating a thread for the record. Dora had asked about “good neighbourliness”: “I wanted to make sure I understand the concept of "good neighborliness." Is a central/defining component of that concept that the one-tenth and the nine-tenths need each other? The term itself--"good neighborliness"--seems to suggest a spatial organization of that inequality. Would you say that it is intended to describe, for example, how wealth and poverty exist side by side in cities in (South) Africa (so, for example, extremely wealthy neighborhoods existing and maintaining good relations with extremely poor neighbors right outside their borders)?”]: 


“Good neighbourliness” is the definition of apartheid advanced by the so-called father or architect of apartheid, HF Verwoerd. In 1961, Verwoerd, in a broadcast, defined apartheid as "a policy of good neighbourliness" (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vPCln9czoys). He was, of course, trying to euphemise and airbrush apartheid. In my work, I turn this definition against itself, because I see that apartheid is indeed a policy of good neighbourliness, but just not in the sense Verwoerd meant to euphemise it. Rather I show in the emerging framework of apartheid studies (AS) that apartheid has two forms, a primitive one and an advanced one (just like a butterfly). Primitive apartheid is what we typically know and recognise as apartheid (1948-1994 in South Africa). It is easy to mobilise against, as proven at Sharpeville (1960) and Soweto (1976), and so on. It is primitive because it is merely the first draft of apartheid, a rehearsal or caterpillar stage of the butterfly. But the more data apartheid gathers, the better it gets at what does it. It becomes more "normal" and "beautiful". In other words, we notice it less and less, and it becomes a part of the furniture. We begin to live our everyday lives according to the very structures that we used to recognise as alien impositions, but have now become less urgent as targets of our disquiet. We now have other more urgent things to focus on, such as paying bills and catering for household expenditure. When we no longer notice apartheid, even if it is still there, we become "good neighbours". This is the butterfly stage of apartheid that apartheid has always been aiming for - the highest stage o apartheid. We struggle to see the caterpillar in the butterfly - or even if we do, we do not have the energy for it anymore. Thus life goes on as best as it can, or as best as it knows how. 

So good neighbourliness explains why, despite oppression having such a pedigree (hundreds of years of persistence) within global modernity, there has yet to be a truly successful revolution against it (i.e., one that abolishes oppression and injustice). The reason seems to be that the oppressed, with time, find ways to live in harm's way (the way we are expected to eventually learn to "live with" Covid, for instance). So "living with" is a central concept of good neighbourliness. I use the notion of decimalisation as one of the means to illustrate how good neighbourliness takes place. So if you put a decimal point between 00, which is one number, you immediately transform the number to 0.0, with the two zeroes no longer equal. It is still one number, but now with a central transformation. The zeroes are still located next to each other in the string (like "good neighbours", or the same citizens, or the same Europeans, or the same human beings etc.), but now with vastly different and unequal outcomes. To the right of the decimal point is where slums and poverty occur. To the left is where wealth, leafy suburbs and affluence are found. There is no passage between the two. So, in fact, I invert the normative political "left"/"right" distinction.

In my view, butterfly apartheid is truly global. You find it in every society in the world where the oppressed live in harm's way (and are unable to get out) and "live with harm". You find it in Brazil, Bulgaria, Germany, the US (see New York, for instance), Kenya, Zimbabwe, India, Cyprus, South Africa etc.

Consider, for instance, the deaths of Cristina and Violetta Djeordsevic (or Ebrehmovich), the two Italian Roma sisters aged 13 and 11, who drowned in the sea at the public beach at Torregaveta, in Naples, Italy (https://observers.france24.com/en/20080723-holidaymakers-drowned-roma-girls-naples). That is good neighbourliness. Look at how life goes on. There is no apocalypse.



[Then Dora asked about race: “...to what extent the "nine-tenthification" follows racial lines. I wasn't sure if this bifurcation of economic inequality between one-tenth and nine-tenth also follows racial lines with the one-tenth being white and the nine-tenth being BIPOC. I am assuming that some version of that is the case, but I would love to know more about it. ”]


(T)he way I see it, apartheid uses race optimally only in its primitive phase. But the more apartheid learns from its mistakes and gathers newer data about how the oppressed behave, the less it depends on race as the organising principle. Instead, it seeks to hide in plain sight. So we can speak of phases of ninetenthification, one phase occurring within primitive apartheid, and so clearly race-bound, and the other phase occurring in the present and since 1994, and able to easily transcend race. 

In any case, once a decimal point is placed amongst the ranks of the oppressed, it separates the one-tenth from the nine-tenth, and the one-tenth starts to belong to the left side of the decimal point where whites historically were located as citizens and full humans.

In the emerging apartheid studies framework, race is important only secondarily. Apartheid, being a domain of an interface, uses anything that it finds handy, race included. Apartheid can use any interface,  beyond just race. It also relies less and less on race.


Stelios Stylianou's Reply to Nyasha Mboti's Opening Statement


In the course of this forum, we have presented opening statements to set a ground for exchanging ideas.  I have been thinking about these opening statements as points of departure rather than mature texts to be evaluated for completeness or correctness.  With this in mind, I have read your opening statement, dear Nyasha, as a brief introduction to apartheid studies, which includes some connections to fandom.  In replying, my intention is to present an opportunity for elaboration on some issues in an open and creative way.


(1) Your text presents the grand concept of apartheid, introduces a whole new field of study, apartheid studies, and is, at the same time, an academic manifesto.  It is broadly about inequality, one of the central axes of sociological thinking.  Your conceptualization falls within the conflict paradigm, whereby society is a field of conflicting interests, political, economic, and symbolic, with the conflicting parties mobilizing every means available to sustain and promote their power.  You place the theoretical subject in the broader area of the study of social change as well, by distinguishing between the "caterpillar" and the "butterfly" versions of apartheid.  This corresponds to structural dimensions such as those defined around gender, race, ethnicity, citizenship, and so on, where theoretical analyses and normative debates have existed for many decades.  I see, in your conceptualization, a clear way to understand (and explain to my students—thank you!) the difference between overt (or old-fashioned) and institutionalized discrimination.  These are narrower concepts to be fair, but they are of the same analytic nature.  Indeed, your "life goes on" concept is an excellent way to represent the consolidation of oppression, where inequality has been legitimized and normalized. Could you please comment on these thoughts. 


(2) In this respect, although not necessarily related to fandom—but you may make the connection—I am particularly interested to see a more elaborate definition of forensic apartheid studies.  As a criminologist by training, I am interested to know more about how forensic science is used in comparative-historical sociological analysis and in cultural studies, particularly in the context of apartheid studies.  Can we say that apartheid studies is a form of criminal investigation into history; the crime being apartheid and the task being to prove that harm has been done and that there is a guilty offender? 


(3) Turing to fandom, I think that you are making some connections which are worthwhile and I would like to see some elaboration.  I would be interested to read your thoughts about how fandom is defined in a society with stark inequalities and discrete social classes, a dual peripheral economy, if I may use the concept form World Systems Theory.  Whether we analytically stay within one African society or take Africa as the society of reference, we seem to be talking about two separate worlds, the elite and the rest; hence, your decimalization thesis.  There seems to be no middle class, in any case not a visible, let alone powerful enough, middle class, and this makes the fandom landscape uniquely interesting to start with.  Could you please tell us a little bit more about the fandom aspect of decimalization; and, if space permits, a little bit about football fandom in particular? Can we juxtapose this fandom landscape with, say contemporary Western European Societies, where a large and mature middle class exists? 


(4) Finally, my observations on the masculinist discourse in my own studies, seem to echo your comment on continuity and change ("the more things change the more they remain the same") in 21st century Africa.  The shift from hegemonic toward more inclusive masculinities and from rigid to more relaxed patriarchal structures that has been happening in the Global North at surface level does not seem to have effectively reached deeper cultural tiers.  So, could you please briefly comment on the role of gender and masculinity with respect to fandom in decimalized societies?


Scarcity and Bifurcated Fandom in Africa: An Apartheid Studies Perspective

Scarcity and Bifurcated Fandom in Africa: An Apartheid Studies Perspective

 

By Nyasha Mboti

University of the Free State

 

In 2000, Africa’s share of global manufacturing stood at 1%. In 2021, as I write this, Africa’s share of global manufacturing still stands at 1%. It was 3% in 1970. Basically, Africa is where it was in 2000, or in 1970, in terms of its share of global economic market power. This economic marginality indicates that Africa’s exit from colonialism and apartheid by the turn of the century merely facilitated re- entry into the same vacated structures. In 1894, one the architects of British colonialism and apartheid in Southern Africa, Cecil John Rhodes, inscribed a concrete colonial principle where he said “in future nine-tenths of (Africans) will have to spend their lives in manual labour, and the sooner that is brought home to them the better”. Rhodes said these words as part of the passage of the infamous Glen Grey Act, also known as the “Native Bill of Africa”, which legalised a reality where nine-tenths of Africans were to remain strangers in their own land. The other one-tenth were to be incorporated into the colonial state as “civilised” Africans who not only assisted in managing the nine-tenth, but were by and large exempt from daily deprivations and violence that the nine-tenth experience. Mamdani in Citizen and Subject suggests that institutional colonialism remains intact today and apartheid and colonialism constitute a continuum of “decentralised despotism” that contemporary Africa has failed to abolish. This decentralised despotism reproduces citizens and subjects, whereby “Civil society…was presumed to be civilized society, from whose ranks the uncivilized were excluded” (Mamdani, 1996: 16) Also, “Citizenship would be a privilege of the civilized; the uncivilized would be subject to an all-round tutelage.” Mamdani suggests that Africa has largely failed to democratise – a process which, had it been successful, would have abolished the algorithm that produces citizens and subjects in the nation state. I propose that the problem is more complex than failed democratisation. Instead, the problem is one of a persistent apartheid, which requires a form of forensic apartheid studies to understand.

 

The apartheid studies perspective is an emerging framework from the global south which considers apartheid to be a paradigm and theoretical framework that explains our modern times in terms of co-extensive separations or “good neighbourliness” (Mboti, 2021). For instance, inequality is a form of “good neighbourliness” because it has not led to visible apocalypse in social and economic relations. Instead, life generally goes on. Poverty and wealth exist side- by-side not only without visible conflict but also in a “good neighbourly” relation whereby they seem to constantly need each other. Hence the nine-tenths of Rhodes, or the citizens and subjects delineated by Mamdani, or Africa’s 1% share of global manufacturing, all speak to the fact that there is now permanent apartheid (or good neighbourliness) in our social and economic relations whereby none of these stark separations – however shocking – cause the global order to overturn. Instead, life goes on. The sun rises in the east and sets in the west as it has always done.

 

In as far as fandom is an invention of unended apartheid, it has to be regarded as a marginal and marginalising construct in Africa. Only the one-tenth can be fans. The nine-tenth cannot be fans directly or intentionally. That is, I am going to argue that any discussion of fandom in Africa has to reckon with the fundamental “nine-tenthness” of Africans in general. Nine-tenthness is a construct that I wish to use to express not only the fragmented nature of fandom but also the manner in which fandom expresses the continuing economic and market marginality of 90% of the continent’s population. Essentially, fandom in Africa is un-separate from the economic and market marginality of Africans, at the same time that it is an expression of that marginality. This means that fandom in Africa is bifurcated by the permanent apartheid that is a constant of feature of African life: there is, as intimated, fandom incorporating nine-tenths of the population and fandom for the one-tenth. There is no passage between the two. This border between fandoms is regulated and policed by economic scarcity. Hence, for instance, there are always problems of distribution in Africa (cf. Mboti 2014; Mboti and Tomaselli 2015). The route to market is always policed by middle men, monopolies and cartels that force popular entertainment industries into the shadows and informality (Lobato, 2012; Ureke 2018, 2019; Mboti and Brown

2014). When you have more people than available resources, (probabilistic) distribution is out of the question. The only solution is what we can call decimalisation: the parting of wholes. When you have more children than school textbooks – say, five children per textbook – the scarcity is solved by fractions (hence, the “ninetenthification” of African publics). In situations of scarcity, whatever you do, the available resources will never be properly distributable.

Using examples from film, music and sport (football, rugby, tennis, netball and cricket), I seek to demonstrate that fandom in Africa is decimalised. Fandom in Africa is both a construct and a practice incorporated into economic power structures, but also policed and refracted by them. I must make clear that this argument assumes that Africa is still operating under economic structures derived from colonial and apartheid “pasts” – pasts which are still present. At the same time, we can see fandom as a process that does not passively accept apartheid. Instead, there is constantly refracted resistance.

 

 

References

 

Lobato, R. (2012). Shadow Economies of Cinema: Mapping Informal Film Distribution. London: Palgrave

 

Mamdani, M. (1996). Citizen and Subject: Contemporary Africa and the Legacy of Late Colonialism. Princeton,NJ: Princeton University Press.

 

Mboti, N. (2021). Apartheid Studies: A Manifesto, Vol. 1. Trenton, NJ: Africa World Press.

 

Mboti, N. (2014). The Zimbabwean Film Industry. African Communication Research 7(2), 145-172.

 

Mboti, N. and Brown M (2014). Nollywood’s Unknowns: An Introduction. Journal of African Cinemas. 6(1), 3-9.

 

Mboti, N. and Tomaselli, K.G. (2015). New Political Economies of Film Distribution for South Africa’s Townships?Examining the ReaGile concept. Critical Arts 29(5), 621-643.

 

Rhodes, C.J. (1894). “The Glen Grey Speech” [Cecil John Rhodes’ Speech on the Second Rereading of the Glen Grey Act to the Cape House Parliament on July 30 1894],http://www.sahistory.org.za/sites/default/files/glen_grey_speech.pdf Accessed 30/6/2011.

 

Ureke, O. (2018). Introducing the 'drasofi': A genre of convenience and context in Zimbabwean film production.Journal of African Cinemas, 10(1-2), 147-164.

 

Ureke, O. (2019): Locating Sembène’s mégotage in Zimbabwe’s kiyakiya video-film production, Journal of African Cultural Studies, https://doi.org/10.1080/13696815.2019.1599829
















Global Fandom: Stelios Stylanou Responds

Reply to Dora Valkanova and Nyasha Mboti



Stelios Stylianou

Cyprus University of Technology



Thank you, dear Dora and dear Nyasha, for your comments.  I am addressing your points below, trying to synthesize as much as possible.  I am organizing the text thematically to include replies to your comments together rather than following the order in which the comments were presented. 



Antagonism and protagonists

The concept of antagonism, as used in my analysis, is not related to an underlying power structure or hierarchy, as in drama genres and elsewhere.  The opposing fans are analyzed as equal, they are both antagonists, in the same sense that two teams are equal at the beginning of the game.  Superiority and dominance are sought, not given, and if/when they are attained, they must be constantly reaffirmed and defended.  To use a parallel example from UEFA Champion's League, when we say that e.g., Real Madrid will try to "defend her crown" we do not imply that Real Madrid has a given structural advantage on the playing field.

Antagonistic fans' discourse refers to language and other symbols used by each side against a theoretically equal opponent.  Yet, Nyasha's observations about how power differences are important in sustaining the opposition and, more so, making it worthwhile, hold.  In Limassol, the second-largest city in Cyprus, AEL and Apollon are the top-tier teams and they often compete with good chances to win the League or the Cup or enter the European championships.  The games between them are the most intense, both in the field and on the terraces.  Aris, the other Limassolian team, is much weaker on the field and on the terraces, and games between Aris and AEL or Aris and Apollon are less intense.  Nevertheless, the discursive landscape that unfolds during or around games involving Aris is still the same research object: fans' antagonistic discourse.  (Interestingly, this season, Aris is the "pleasant surprise" in the First Division League, ranked 4th and entering the Europa Conference League qualification stage).

Nyasha further observes that if "one rival is not doing well over a long period, and ceases to be a threat, the nature of the antagonistic discourse [...] is less sharp."  This is mostly true; but, note that a "long period" must be quite long.  Sports journalists refer to well-established clubs as "historical clubs", "great teams," and "eternal enemies," even if such clubs do not do well for a while, say a few years, but even more.  Consider Liverpool FC, for example, which was the "Queen of Europe" in the 1970s and 1980s and has only recently returned to the top ranks.  When the club was not doing well for quite a while, it was still a "great team."  In Cyprus, the recent example is Omonoia, who won her last title before 2020 in 2010.  It has now returned to "where she belongs" but even when she was doing badly, for about a decade, while her "eternal enemy" APOEL was winning the championship every single season from 2012-13 to 2018-19, the game between them was always named a "derby."

Returning to the fans, a club's performance does stimulate specific discursive themes, depending on which team is doing well on the field (and in the bank!).  During the aforementioned period, APOEL was being constantly accused by fans of most other top-tier clubs for being a "client" of the system, i.e., favored by the Football Federation authorities.  At the same time, APOEL fans were trolling Omonoia for its failure to enter the European championships.  So, there is a specialized discourse, yes, but the overall mode is the same: use any discursive means available to attack the opponent.

Nyasha points out that "winning over the opponent" may be contradictory in the sense that if you win over someone, the game is over, so "what next?" Perhaps the expression "winning over" is confusing.  The way I use it, "winning over the opponent" means prevailing on the terraces during each game (operationally speaking, being louder, more visible, and more offensive).  The goal is to prevail during the game and elsewhere and fans constantly attack their opponents sustaining the opposition, rather than resolving it.  Envy is also part of the motivation.  We talk about antipalon deos, in the sense that you need a worthwhile opponent, one that is a real threat, one that inspires awe, one that you can take seriously (Theodoropoulou, 2007).  One interview participant told us that in the last few years, when Omonoia was not doing well, APOEL fans started feeling lonely! 

Finally, can "antagonistic discourse be expanded to include beneficial acts as well, rather than just the negative and harmful?"  In free-market economies, "antagonismos" indeed means competition, a struggle to be better than others and therefore more successful in selling your product or service, and it can be beneficial, assuming that the object of antagonism is a well-valued one, like healthier food, safer cars, faster computers, etc.  In football, as a game, to struggle for victory or the league is in a sense beneficial, as the quality of the games is elevated, coaching techniques are developed, etc.  There are good things that can come out of fans' activity as well, such as the development of the social and esthetic aspect of antagonism.  There are instances where wonderful things happen, such as a beautiful coreo, a nicely performed non-insulting chant, social events around victories, etc.  In our data, such positive elements are found under the category "praising the in-group" but they are much less prevalent, compared to those that I have focused on in the present exchange.



The prevalence of racist discourses

The question about the prevalence of any kind of content in football fans' antagonistic discourse is hard to answer at the European level.  UEFA records and occasionally sanctions players, clubs, and national teams and this is evidence of the existence of the problem.  In the last few years, various entities have been punished, e.g., Slavia Prague, Hungary, Bulgaria, and Slovakia.  Locally too, there are incidences of racist behavior by players or fans which are occasionally sanctioned.  

Yet, the frequency of these publicized incidences is a poor estimator of the prevalence of racist and supremacist discourses in football games in Europe or elsewhere.  One reason for not including a quantitative discussion on this matter is that I have not studied the epidemiology of these discourses systematically.  What I have mentioned is that, in the last few years, non-racial politics and sex are noticeably more prevalent in football fans' antagonistic discourse in Cyprus, compared to racism.  This is the case in the physical field during football games, where my data come from.  I can also mention a bachelor's thesis that I have recently supervised, in which very little content was found on race, ethnicity, or religion on football-related Facebook pages in Cyprus (Nikolaou, 2020).  So, racism is not among the prevalent themes of the opposition discourse.  

Nevertheless, the current discussion is not about prevalence; our concern about racism in football is always academically and socially legitimate and it is further fueled by the general presence of racism on the internet.  Occasional events, spikes in social media, or reports by www.kickitout.org are enough to remind us that we are nowhere near the end of exclusion discourses and practices.  We can refer to numerous examples, as Dora has already done in her comments.  I would highlight one from the top level of European football, the recent social media racist abuse of England players Saka, Rashford, and Sancho, who missed penalties in the Euro 2020 final (July 2021).  Studying racist, sexist, homophobic, and all other discriminatory and exclusion discourses in football is and will continue to be a big and challenging project.  In my present work, I study these discourses in qualitative terms, within the theoretical framework that I call the cultural hypothesis.  Dora's comments are mostly supportive of this idea and this is very encouraging.



The "seriousness" of football fans' antagonistic discourse

Nyasha's comment that my presentation "seems to regard antagonistic discourse as non-serious in that it merely seeks to annoy and irritate the other side, rather than to reflect or entrench a long-lived national schism" offers an opportunity to present a more elaborate explanation.  

This discourse is always "serious," in two ways.  The first lies in the historical dimension, where history and politics are enacted and reiterated as ends in themselves.  This dimension, which is emphasized in my analysis, reflects the history of political conflicts.  When fans orally or otherwise use political—in the narrow sense, e.g., related to political parties—slogans in football games, the soundscape is indeed political, sometimes reminding pre-election gatherings.  Alternatively, when fans denounce political figures, such as the President of the Republic or Members of the Parliament, for their political actions, they are making political statements that are quite serious as well.  All this concerns the surface structure of the content of football fans' antagonistic discourse.

The second way lies in the game dimension, where history and politics are used as means to pique the opponent, not enacted as ends in themselves.  This communicative practice is serious too, precisely because, even though it is not explicitly focused on politics, it still is profoundly political. In Stylianou and Theodoropoulou (2019), we put it this way: 



Our game dimension should not be interpreted as an ahistorical explanation or one that defies culture.  By using historically and culturally specific elements as weapons in the symbols war, fans, without necessarily having an intention and without necessarily realizing that they do so, contribute to the sustaining of binary divisions and to the drawing of difference marking boundaries and inclusion-exclusion discourses. (p. 1986)



Extending this discussion to racism, to address Dora's question, let me first confirm that fans do use racist slurs to attack black players of opposing teams, when in fact there are black players in their own team as well.  It is "bizarre" in a sense, as Nyasha notes; but, not so in my game dimension analysis.  In this case, race becomes a selectively convenient attack weapon (like gender, sexuality, politics, and history) or, to quote Dora, "racist abuse becomes an instrument in the larger toolkit for abuse of players of the opposite team."  Thus, the point here, which I try to address by investigating the deep structure of the content of this discourse, is that the instrumentalization of race is a manifestation of the racism that exists in wider society and, as such, it is very serious and it bears critical (i.e., political, in the broader sense) analysis.  To quote Dora again "these 'instruments' have unintended consequences as well, namely—the very real dehumanization of nonwhite players."  I also agree with Kassimeris (2021, p. 33) that "not every fan using racist language is a racist," adding that fans using racist language still represent and promote racism.

To return to politics and history, let me present one more example where reducing history to a game involves contempt for pain, victimihood, and suffering.  The instance is a nostalgic chant about Anorthosis' home city, Famagusta, which is under Turkish occupation since 1974, sung by Anorthosis fans with love and devotion.  Omonoia fans occasionally sing a parody of this chant, in which they blame Famagusta residents as traitors and/or cowards because they abandoned their city when the invaders were approaching.  Blaming victims of war for cowardliness and/or accusing them of treason is certainly serious, morally, politically, and symbolically speaking, and it is as disturbing as the "say yes to racism" banner that Dora mentions.



Sex and politics in the game dimension

Is the sexual discourse a dimension of the political discourse? It certainly is, assuming that we refer to "political" in the broader sense, i.e., power structures and relations at all levels.  In my analysis, I also refer to politics in the narrow sense, i.e., macro-political processes around the distribution of power at the level of political institutions and authorities, i.e., government, parliament, legal system, political parties, etc.  This separation is analytical, not substantive.  

Let me extend this discussion to address Nyasha's comment that "the game dimension which makes history and politics irrelevant might also end up making the [sexual] normative underlying structures irrelevant."  Let me use two parallel real (from my data) examples of expression of binary opposition: (a) Displaying a banner with a picture of Che Guevara, to contrast the ingroup to the outgroup in terms of ideology, and (b) displaying a penis-shaped balloon, to contrast the ingroup to the outgroup in terms of masculinity.  The content of the first banner is "irrelevant" in the sense that the manifest purpose of using it is to irritate the opponent, not the promotion of Che's ideology.  But the display of the banner is not irrelevant as a political act: the instrumentalization of Che rests on the prerequisite that Che is a well-established figure of leftist ideology, one that you can conveniently use to compose your ideological superiority text.  The same explanation can be applied to the second example: the penis-shaped balloon is "irrelevant" in the sense that the manifest purpose of using it is to irritate the opponent, not to degrade women or gay men.  In this example too, the display of the balloon is not irrelevant as a political act: the instrumentalization of the penis rests on the prerequisite that it is a well-established symbol in the gender/sexuality discourse, again, one that you can conveniently use to compose your masculinist superiority text.  This is a point that I was making from the early stages of my study.  In Stylianou (2011), I stressed that we should not only study the surface structure of fans' antagonistic communication but the latent structure as well.  Attacking with homophobic tools is a homophobic act, regardless of whether your purpose is to attack homosexuals or to attack fans of the opposite side. 



Symbolic Contradictions

The observation about the use of swastikas (and other symbols of fascist, Nazi, or other extreme right ideologies) in the Bulgarian context confirms that this phenomenon is not unique to the Greek-Cypriot context.  Football has been a vehicle for the promotion of worldviews, ideologies, political parties, regimes, and historical narratives.  In Bulgaria, this has been the case with CSKA, a child and instrument of the Bulgarian Communist Party.  This made me think that the CSKA case presents a contradiction: the recent/current use of swastikas and similar symbols by its fans is dissonant to communist or left-wing discourses (although, in political analysis, communist and fascist/Nazi regimes have both been classified as forms of authoritarian/totalitarian projects).  This antithesis seems a prima facie negative case in my game dimension analysis.  

Let me discuss this further with an example: in Cyprus, it has happened that fans of Omonoia, a left-oriented team, connected to the former communist and currently major left-wing political party (AKEL), displayed the flag of China in games against APOEL and other right-oriented teams.  This has been a joking response to slogans directed against Omonoia fans, calling them "Chinese" (because they are "too many" and because they are "communists").  Displaying the flag of China sends the message that "yes, we are Chinese, as you want" which is annoying as it invalidates the original message but also because it makes any defeat by the "Chinese," for those who devalue the "Chinese," more painful.  This explanation does not seem to hold in the case of CSKA fans displaying swastikas.  If we consider CSKA's history, who are the fascists or Nazis?

But then, after receiving Dora's second set of comments, I am thinking that this negative case in my game dimension analysis, may be very useful.  Using analytic induction, I can conceptually expand the game dimension analysis to include this case as an instance where the communicative function of language and other symbols can develop around contradictions, which make original or literal meanings less important (vis-à-vis the desired outcome), irrelevant, and even opposite.  The example of CSKA fans displaying swastikas and that of the "racist pastry" that "upsets" the foreigners can be consistently interpreted as such within the game dimension analysis.  The display of a symbol that stands for racism to defy UEFA or American culture or American imperialism, is a communicative act the purpose of which, on a manifest level, is to upset whomever the opponent or the enemy is.  So, the answer to the question "who are the fascists or Nazis?" is that you do not need them, as long as their symbols are effectively irritating, when it comes to seeking ways to challenge the opponent.

Returning to the "seriousness" discussion, the very fact that such symbols are used as tools of opposition, even when their original meaning is irrelevant or opposite, is an indicator of a deeper culture of prejudice, disrespect, and contempt.  The same applies to sex- and gender-related symbols. 



Gates and Ultras

Gates and Ultras fans are central actors in football fans' antagonistic discourse.  They are engaged in pre-game activities, including preparing banners, gathering in Clubs, marching or driving to the game together, making their presence visible and loud, sometimes blocking traffic, etc.  During the game, they are typically clustered in the "horseshoe" stands (behind the goalkeepers) and they are significantly more active than the rest of the fans.  They are the "fanatics," those who are more likely to also engage in physical violence and vandalism.  They are the ones who will—to answer another question—throw objects and fireworks and set off smoke generators.  In my research, they are the richest data sources.  Still, football fans' antagonistic discourse is not limited to those fans.  Participation in communicative acts during the game is typically massive in almost all discursive practices, including curses, offensive slurs, and body language.  This massive involvement is one thing that impressed me from the beginning of the fieldwork and it is supportive of my cultural hypothesis.



Sex and violence

Finally, a word on the violence dimension of the sexual discourses.  Τhe element of violence is always present in the sex-related themes in football fans' antagonistic discourse.  The discursive "fucking" of the opponent, be it the opposite team, its agents, its fans, their family members, affiliated politicians, historical figures, etc. is always violent.  Physical sexual violence (rape scenarios) is effectively degrading because the other party's body is being forcefully violated.  Even when physical violence is not explicitly present (as in slogans and chants that imply that members of the opposite side are promiscuous or are enjoying sex) and not necessarily implied (as in the case of praising the ingroup members for being super-masculine in that they have consenting sex with many women), the penetrated party is always degraded and this is a form of symbolic violence.  There is no positive vibe and certainly no "love-making" in any sense in our sex-related data. 



References

Kassimeris, Christos. 2021. Discrimination in Football. Routledge

Nikolaou, Konstantinos. 2020. The Presence of Racist Language in Fandom Facebook in Cyprus and Greece. Bachelor's Thesis. Cyprus University of Technology. [in Greek].

Stylianou, Stelios. 2011. The Use of Political Symbols by Young People in the Public Sphere of Cypriot Society: Summary of Main Findings and Conclusions. Cyprus Center for European and International Affairs. Nicosia, Cyprus. [in Greek].

Stylianou, Stelios, and Vivi Theodoropoulou. 2019. Explaining the Presence of Political Content in Football Fans’ Antagonistic Communication in Cyprus. Sport in Society 22: 1975-1989.

Theodoropoulou, Vivi. 2007. The Anti-fan within the Fan: Awe and Envy in Sport Fandom. In Fandom: Identities and Communities in a Mediated World, edited by Jonathan Gray, Cornel Sandvoss, and C. Lee Harrington, 316–327. New York: New York University Press.

Responses to Politics and Sex in Football Fans' Antagonistic Discourse in Cyprus




Dora Valkanova's Comments to Stelios Stylianou's Opening Statement




PART I

The study you describe, Stelios, sounds really interesting and pulls focus on critical questions surrounding football (i.e. soccer) fandom. In response to your first question: “...to what extent this happens elsewhere too. Do football fans use historically and politically sensitive derogatory (perhaps anti-patriotic, extremist, vulgar, etc.) terms to pique their opponents in the course of a symbols game?” I would say that what you describe sounds very similar to aspects of soccer fandom I have observed in Bulgaria. 

 

Historically, Bulgarian soccer fandom has tended to concentrate around two main teams: CSKA & Levski, which are both based in the capital city Sofia. The rivalry between fans of both teams has tended to be intense and antagonistic. I had general knowledge of the use of swastikas in particular by Bulgarian soccer fans so as I was processing your opening statement, I did a brief search online on recent uses of swastikas and Nazi symbols by soccer fans in Bulgaria. As I anticipated, news and online media articles on the subject were readily available and they speak of a persistent and pervasive problem with the use of Nazi symbolism by soccer fans. Examples range from national games involving the two soccer clubs I mention above to European level (i.e. UEFA) games. CSKA was fined 37,500 Bulgarian levs ($22,373) in 2015 over the raising of a flag with an inscribed swastika during a game with another Bulgarian team (Lokomotif Sofia). In 2017 Levski was also fined 37,500 Bulgarian levs for a swastika banner and an additional 4,000 Bulgarian levs ($2,386) for thrown objects (including stones and small fire crackers), which reached the bench of the opposing team—CSKA. 

 

To cite a more recent and more virulent example, a 2019 Bulgaria-England game, played in Sofia was halted twice after British players were subjected to racist abuse by Bulgarian fans, which included Nazi salutes and monkey chanting. Pavel Klymenko—Eastern Europe’s coordinator of FARE (Football Against Racism in Europe)—has reportedly named Levski as “one of the worst clubs” in terms of “neo-Nazi infiltration.” According to the previously hyperlinked article, in 2014 Bulgarian fans made their racism even more explicit with a banner that read: “Say yes to racism”—a pointed response to UEFA’s “Say No To Racism” campaign. As Klymenko notes: “The scale of the problem is quite massive.” 

 

I also did a brief search in r/Bulgaria for threads on the use of swastikas in Bulgarian public space. I found two such threads, in which redditors generally express their disapproval of the trend. In the first thread (titled “We need this in Bulgaria”) one of the redditors expresses doubt that those paining swastikas on public property even “connect the swastikas with anything,” (i.e. specific ideology) and hypothesizes that to them it looks “funny and cool.” In the second thread a redditor under the alias Clowns_Sniffing_Glue comments (in Bulgarian): “Hahaha. If Hitler were alive, his moustache would curl up from laughter. What idiots in Bulgaria think that they are pure enough to be part of the Superior White Race, the Aryan Family? And we’re not even gonna get into whether these jerks are better than minorities and people of color… Shitpants.” 

 

I should re-emphasize here that I selectively cite examples from a brief online search—examples related to the two main soccer teams in Bulgaria (CSKA and Levski) as well as examples of reactions to the use of swastikas I found on Reddit, which exemplify different positions. Beyond the cited examples the instances of Bulgarian soccer fans’ use of swastikas and Nazi symbolism during games are too many to list here and they require detailed study and analysis. It is clear, however, especially from the 2019 game against England (and similar examples from UEFA level games from the last decade) that the use of these symbols goes beyond attempts to egg fans of the opposite team on, to provoke, to transgress, to engage in adversarial and antagonizing discourse. The antagonizing discourse that we might anticipate around games that encourage an us—vs—them mentality in Bulgaria is also intertwined with racism and the use of Nazi symbolism expresses that entanglement. 




Here it should be noted that racism in soccer fandom is not unique to Bulgaria or to Eastern Europe. Rather, it is endemic in European soccer. To cite another recent example, this past summer England’s black players were subjected to racist abuse after the Euro 2020 final, which England lost to Italy, 3-2. In that sense, I would anticipate the use of Nazi symbolism specifically (swastikas, the Nazi salute, etc.) by soccer fans to be entangled with that racism. Since Cyprus is part of UEFA, I would be curious how it relates to the larger issues of racism in European soccer and how the use of Nazi symbolism by Cypriot fans specifically relates (or does not relate) to that. 




In regard to your second question: if the hegemonic masculinity that gains articulation around soccer persists or is declining, I think that an interesting way of addressing that question indirectly might be to interview fans familiar with the tv show Ted Lasso (2020--). Ted Lasso is a comedy-drama that uses the tv serial form to strategically engage with the toxic aspects of hegemonic masculinity (i.e. heteronormativity, misogyny, racism, etc.) that are widely known to be characteristic of European soccer clubs. Studying the audience for that show--especially those who overlap with soccer fandom in Cyprus—could reveal interesting insights that together with other data provide a snapshot of how soccer fandom is changing. 




PART II

You make a number of excellent points, Stelios, and in this response I would like to address some of them and also echo some of the issues Nyasha raised in his thorough-going analysis above. 




As you point out, “we seek to make empirical generalizations only through rigorous data collection and analysis.” I am not deeply acquainted with the literature on racism in soccer specifically, however, while preparing my notes for this response I came across the UK organization Kick It Out (originally established as Let’s Kick Out Racism in Football in 1993 “in response to widespread calls from clubs, players and fans to tackle racist attitudes existing within the game,” (Kick It Out, About Us). One aspect of their work is collecting annual statistical data and conducting analysis about the status of racism in soccer, which are then used by FARE (Football Against Racism in Europe), UEFA, and FIFA. According to Kick It Out’s 2018/2019 report, “discrimination in both professional and grassroots football rose significantly in the 2018/2019 season with reports up by 32% percent” (Kick It Out, 2018/2019). Online racist abuse is also on the rise with “some social media platforms (including Twitter, Instagram and Facebook) experiencing an increase of 600-900%” (Kassimeris, 2021, p. 37). It is precisely the increased incidences of racism among soccer fans that prompted UEFA to create Guidelines for Match Officials that enable referees to suspend a game in instances of persistent racist incidents on the field. Those guidelines, known as the three-step protocol, were used in the England-Bulgaria game previously mentioned. 




Thus, while the prevalence and persistence of racism in Cypriot soccer may be declining as you suggest, it must be acknowledged that the trend across the wider European continent and globally is reversed. That in turn seems to lend support to the cultural hypothesis you mention above, namely—that soccer mediates broader socio-cultural structures and phenomena. As racist and discriminatory rhetoric increased in the wake of the 2016 U.S. Presidential election (according to data provided by the Brookings Institution, “support for the 2016 campaign was clearly driven by racism, sexism, and xenophobia” (Kassimeris, 2021, p. 44))—both in the U.S. and globally, the cultural hypothesis would suggest that soccer would mediate, or as you claim—make manifest—these broader social trends. 




If we thus accept that the cultural hypothesis is operative here, we would expect soccer to make manifest the broader rise in discriminatory, racist, and anti-immigrant rhetoric we’ve seen in recent years. This in turn begs the question of how does soccer mediate these broader trends? As part of my brief research for this response I flipped through Christos Kassimeris’ Discrimination in Football (2021). One aspect of discrimination that he discusses is racism, about which he claims:




 “[r]acism in footballs does reflect discrimination in society, yet it is more noticeable because the anonymity of the mass that is the supporters on the stands of any given football stadium allows any one fan to engage in concerted racist activities short of any sense of apprehension. Yet, not all football leagues experience the same degree of racial discrimination for much relates to their political, socio-historical, and cultural background.” (pp. 51-52)




Some of the points that Nyasha makes, specifically that there have been cases “where racist fans in the stands direct monkey chants at black players in the rival team EVEN though the racists’ own team has black players in it” echo Kassimeris’. The latter speaks of “the very likely possibility of ‘fans who racially abuse the black players who play for their opponents, yet cheer those who play for their own side,’ although ‘the ‘acceptance’ of black players and spectators by certain white fans can be contingent upon them demonstrating allegiance to the ‘right’ club or team’” (p. 33). In that sense, racist abuse becomes an instrument in the larger toolkit for abuse of players of the opposite team. Kassimeris further explains:




“[...] abusing players of the opposition is part and parcel of football culture. A black football player defending our club’s values is one of ‘us’ and is, therefore, celebrated for his performance and overall heroics. By contrast, the black footballer playing for our rivals is one of “them” and, if targeted would invite racist abuse to affect his performance” (pp. 33-34). 




I believe this goes to support your argument, Stelios, regarding soccer’s inherently antagonistic discourse, however, going back to Nyasha’s point, an analysis of power is critical in this case. While the ostensible objective of the deployment of racist discourse (chants, monkey noises, throwing of bananas, etc) might be to annoy, distract, and/or antagonize the players of the opposite team, it goes without saying that these “instruments” have unintended consequences as well, namely—the very real dehumanization of nonwhite players, which they carry with them off the playing field. 




That leads me to my next point about the framing/conceptualization of political symbols as an analytical category, which again aligns with Nyasha’s analysis above. Can the deployment of all political symbols be treated equally? Would the peace sign be considered a political symbol within the context of the study and, if so, can it be regarded on the same level as a swastika? Can it be said that as weaponized by fans to pique the opponent’s team and fan groups, these symbols stand apart from their broader cultural and historical meanings? I somewhat grappled with this question when thinking about Bulgarian fans’ use of explicitly racist language and imagery.




I suspect that to some extent Bulgarian fans’ use of such imagery and symbolism is intended as an act of defiance towards UEFA and their anti-racism campaign—an act of defiance performed in the spirit of soccer’s broader culture of antagonism that you describe in your opening statement. To briefly illustrate what I mean, I would point to this Reddit post: https://www.reddit.com/r/bulgaria/comments/q8sz2k/lets_upset_the_foreigners/ titled “Let’s upset the foreigners,” which features a picture of a packaged Bulgarian chocolate pastry (I believe they have been produced and sold in Bulgaria for decades) that would roughly translate in English as the n-word. The discourse that emerges from the comments to the thread is the idea that Bulgarians have had this pastry for decades, its name stands apart from and is completely divorced from the U.S. context, within which the n-word came to stand for racist attitudes and meanings, therefore, “the foreigners” have no right to come here and tell us that the name of this pastry is racist; in doing so, they show that they are ignorant of Bulgarian culture and history, within which the n-word does not have the charge, meaning, and connotations it has in the English language. There is a rejection here of what is perceived as Western—and specifically U.S.—logics of race and racism being “forced” onto the Bulgarian context. In a way, anti-racism itself becomes part and parcel with or enfolded into the broader phenomenon of U.S. cultural imperialism and defied under that pretext (as another patronizing overreach of an interfering and edifying West). What this discourse ultimately does is provide a cover for legitimately existing racism in Bulgaria by claiming some sort of an exception from the U.S. context. I suspect that this discourse is also involved to some extent in the use of swastikas and racist imagery whereby fans believe that they are challenging a Western conceptualization of racism that does not apply to them so all they are doing is “upsetting the foreigners.” Thus, the East-West Cold War divide (which in turn overlays deeper historical and cultural bifurcations) becomes operative in the way symbols are invested with meaning. 




To return to my previous point, however, I wonder if all political symbols can be treated as equally problematic. This touches again on Nyasha’s point about the specific culture and history of Cyprus, which he so thoroughly laid out and how symbols interact with those. 




Lastly, I wanted to address your point about CSKA in Bulgaria, its communist roots and how that communist history of the club is inconsistent with the current right-wing attitudes demonstrated by its fans. This is a great question, which in itself touches on the peculiarities of the communist regime and its administration in Bulgaria. Succinctly, communist ideology, while strictly enforced by the state and its institutions was only superficially embraced by the broader population for the purposes of career advancement and avoiding brushes with the police state. Thus, beyond a minority of party operatives who were devout believers in the communist cause and subscribed to its philosophical principles, broad swaths of the population were skeptical of the communist regime and saw it as an imperial extension of the Soviet Union, which wanted to keep its satellite states as a buffer zone against the West. The superficial allegiance to communism quickly collapsed after the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989 and the communist regime in Bulgaria the following year. CSKA’s affiliation with communist ideology can thus be said to have been in name only, which is why we are not seeing a continued legacy of that ideology in the current administration of the club or the behavior of its fan base. For a more detailed discussion specifically about the status of communist ideology in Bulgaria between 1945-1989, I would recommend Holly Case’s interview with Bulgarian scholar and journalist Dimiter Kenarov for Cornell University’s Blog: “East-Central Europe Past and Present” (Case, 2014). 





References: 




Case, H. (Host). (2014, December 29). Interview with Dimiter Kenarov. [Audio Podcast Episode]. In East-Central Europe Past and Present. Cornell University. https://ecommons.cornell.edu/handle/1813/39026

Kassimeris, C. (2021). Discrimination in football. New York, NY: Routledge. 

Kick It Out. (2022, January 15). About us. https://www.kickitout.org/about-us

Kick It Out. (2022, January 15). 2018/2019. https://www.kickitout.org/faqs/2018-19



Nyasha Mboti's Comments to Stelios Stylianou's Opening Statement




I am fascinated by your construct, Stelios, of football fans’ antagonistic discourse, particularly in the context of an island fractured by heritages of empire and colonialism, and historically divided by politics and opposing political ideologies, but also where football dominates conversation for most men. Antagonism is a common trope in such a context.  When I was making notes for this conversation, I read somewhere about the joke that if you want to know a Cypriot’s politics on the island, you just have to ask them which club they support. In my remarks, I am going to dwell on aspects of antagonistic discourse with illustration from the Nicosia derby between AC Omonia and APOEL FC (arguably the biggest event on Cyprus’s sporting calendar), but also Limassol’s three major football clubs (Apollon, AEL and Aris), as well as Anorthosis Famagusta, and so on. Please note that I have not proofread these notes, so expect some spelling and grammatical errors, and some uses of word choice that could be better. Also, I was writing as ideas came to me, so there is no unifying structure. The consistent thread is merely the theme of antagonistic discourse.




If I am correct that the Latin agonia means “a struggle for victory”, and agōn is a “contest”, where both sides are competing, therefore both sides are equally antagonistic towards each other. So, for instance, APOEL fans are antagonistic towards Omonia fans, and vice versa. There is a kind of equivalence and, even, tit for tat. Both are at odds. Both give as good as they get. That is, in as far as antagonism marks that which is mutually oppositional, antagonistic behaviour should be framed as flowing from both sides in a kind of tit-for-tat. In a sense, the mutually oppositional division of Cyprus into pro-Greek South and pro-Turkey North should perhaps be seen as expressing this ongoing, nested play of agonia and agōn.




But there seems to me to be a contradiction in the sense of two sides being mutually antagonistic if we consider the fact that, at least in writings on Greek drama, the agonist is a hero who is attacked in the play by an antagonist, meaning that antagonistic discourse opposes and disrupts normative discourse. “Anti” certainly means “against”. In this sense, you have usefully talked about the outgroup, which can be seen as embodying the “anti” or, even, the “Other”. So there has to be an outgroup and an in-group, those who belong and those who don’t. They cannot both equally belong or both be equally centred. One group is marked by alterity. One has to be disruptive of what is settled, and do so from the margins. 




If we consider that the Greek prōtagōnistēs refers to an actor who plays the chief or first part (protos = first) in a story or drama, then the anti + agōnistēs is the disruptive rival and competitor to the prōtagōnistēs or principal character. So, while it may be fairly easy to see the North and South of Cyprus as mutually antagonistic, it may be difficult to see both sets of rival fans in a football context as locked in relationship that is mutually antagonistic. There must, rather, be one side dishing out the antagonism, and another receiving it, and perhaps the receiving side turning the tables, and the giving side transformed into receivers of antagonism, but with the back-and-forth never settling into equivalence. Instead, it is an either/or. Either one is receiving or one is giving antagonistic discourse – because there has to be protagonist who is in the chief position, whom the rival seeks to antagonise, perhaps from a position of disadvantage and weakness. 




After all, it may be difficult to see how equally matched rival fan bases can be antagonistic. Where they are equally matched, then they would simply cancel each other out, and may opt for coopetition rather than competition (Coopetition is the act of cooperation between competing companies). For a “policy” of antagonism to be sustained, I think, there has to be something that the “other” side lacks, or is said to lack. In other words, I have a passing interest in finding out not only what it is exactly that antagonistic discourse targets, but also what provokes antagonism. Where antagonism is concerned, it seems to me that you can only antagonise the antagonisable or to antagonise that which is available to be antagonised. It seems that a sense of competition and rivalry is necessary for antagonistic discourse to take root. 




It is difficult, for instance, to imagine the kind of sustained antagonistic discourse from Aris, the least successful – though the oldest – of the three Limassol football clubs (it has no silverware). Only when Aris wins something (thus perhaps actively preventing others from winning it) can they become properly antagonizable – and antagonising. An also-ran, or a punching bag, offers little in the way of provoking contest. They are just a door mat, rather than a proper antagonist in an agonia and agōn. In Zimbabwe, the antagonistic discourse between the two biggest clubs, Dynamos and Highlanders, is driven by many factors, such as the clubs’ location in the two biggest cities (Harare and Bulawayo respectively), putative ethnic identification (“Shona” vs.  Ndebele), and the historical fractures occasioned by such ethnic identification. History is always important. However, such a list of causes and factors in themselves cannot sustain antagonistic discourse. Instead, antagonistic discourse seems to be at its sharpest and highest when both rival clubs are at their strongest, and pose significant challenges to the each other’s plans for domination. 




In other words, for antagonist discourse to remain sharp and usable, the rivals must be strong or make a show of being strong. When one rival is not doing well over a long period, and ceases to be a threat, the nature of the antagonistic discourse – at least in the Zimbabwean case – is less sharp. Success on the pitch, it seems, is the core factor that sharpens antagonistic discourse. As such, if we agree that antagonistic discourse constitutes a kind “provoked, provoking discourse” (it triggers and is triggered), it may mean that antagonistic discourse exists in a constant polarity with its normative opposite whose normativity provokes antagonism in the opposition. 




Can the one in power be as equally antagonistic towards the one without power as much as the one without power is antagonistic towards the one with power? Or antagonism lies more with the rival who is increasingly on the margins? So, the antagonist would be the one who, in Stelios’ account of the game dimension, uses historically and politically sensitive derogatory terms and anti-patriotic, extremist, vulgar terms to disrupt and unsettle the protagonist’s settled or normative discourse. That is, this disruption locates the antagonist in the “outgroup”. However, since antagonistic discourse itself seems to be rather unstable, each side may consider itself the patriotic side while assigning to its rivals the negative semantic prosody of “anti”. If the power is well matched, can we still call it antagonistic discourse? Interestingly, in an “us and them” classification, “us” is the protagonist and “them” are the antagonists – the ones who antagonise us for being what we are. As such, the identification of an antagonist remains unstable and arbitrary.




A further point is that antagonism also functions in terms of two poles, where one thing acts, and another counteracts. This suggests that antagonistic discourse is not itself negative. It can be a good or at least productive thing, particularly where it counteracts something that is harmful. In pharmaceutical discourse, for instance, antagonistic substances are those that counteract the effects of another drug or substance. For instance, an anticarcinogen is antagonistic to a carcinogen. In Stelios’ account, it seems that the emphasis is on antagonistic discourse being negative and harmful. Can the account of antagonistic discourse be expanded to include beneficial acts as well, rather than just the negative and harmful?




You put emphasis on “a second way in which football fans produce and take part in the antagonistic discourse”, which you state is the application of “the us vs. them model”. In the “us vs. them” model, you point out that what some fans are or what they claim to be or identify with is defined in binary opposition to what they are not, what they detest and what they condemn. I wish to point out that “what they are not” is not necessarily or always what you detest; it could also be what you envy, what you would like to be but cannot be in the current circumstances for a variety of reasons. 




One notable view popularised by Frantz Fanon in his seminal essay “The Pitfalls of National Consciousness” (In The Wretched of the Earth) is, for instance, that the opposition of some African nationalists to colonialism could have been because they wanted a seat on the table; as such they wanted to be like their colonisers. That is, they did not really detest colonialism. Rather, they just detested being kept away from the high table. Once they got into power, they immediately mimicked the oppressor and reproduced his ways. The oppositional positioning lapsed into disuse. 




I have seen, in football, cases where rival fans are antagonistic towards a player who is in one team but who would celebrate him if he signs for their team. The same fans may even loathe that same player again if he leaves their club and/or signs for a rival. While rare, an APOEL player can move to Omonia and vice versa. In such cases, it can be expected that fans will shift from antagonising a player to cheering him if the player moves to “our side”, and vice versa. As such, it seems that antagonistic discourse is not stable and cannot be stable. It is not clear, ultimately, what holds antagonistic discourse together. There have even been bizarre cases where racist fans in the stands direct monkey chants at black players in the rival team EVEN though the racists’ own team has black players in it (whom they cheer or at least do not abuse as they abuse the black players on the rival team). 




What role, if any, does envy play in antagonistic discourse? In Cyprus, with Omonia no longer the power it once was in the 1970s and 1980s, it’s power (interestingly, coincidentally) waning with the end of the Cold War, and APOEL now serial winners (regularly playing in Europe), with more money and linked to the ruling DISY, could it be that what Omonia fans detest in APOEL could be something which they could be glad to have if it were them in a position of power, financial success and ascendancy? Omonia last won the league title in 2010 (when the communist party was in power, and were supported by then president and Omonia fan Demetris Christofias). (In Limassol, also, AEL was successful before Apollon came on the scene).




Could the Omonia fans turn around and celebrate the very things that they now seem to detest and condemn in their rivals? Could it be a case of sour grapes driving some elements of antagonistic discourse? Would Omonia fans refuse to have the money or success that APOEL now have? It seems fair to speculate that Omonia fans would have been OK with creating history by becoming the first Cypriot team to reach the quarter-finals of the European Champion League (as APOEL did in 2012) and to be the only local team to reach the group stage three times. There is nothing (directly) antagonizable about (the success of) playing in Europe’s premier competitions. The fans would probably be OK with the money and the recognition as well. 




Recently, fans of Newcastle in England were celebrating the coming of “oil money” into their club from new Saudi owners, despite the fact that the influx of “oil money” has sometimes been seen as corrupting football in the sense of “buying” success. In response, some fans reason that, at least, football-corrupting money brings success on the pitch and so they can live with that kind of corrupted football instead of constant struggles on the pitch. They’d rather be corrupt and successful than be honest, broke and relegated. 




Anyway, a consideration of fans’ shifting discourses suggests that antagonistic discourse itself alters and shape-shifts, and does not have singular or monolithic, fixed motivations. If the city of Limassol is on the margins of Nicosia, and plays second fiddle in terms of titles and supporters, the outcome could be that the football dominance of the city of Nicosia causes the Limassol teams to direct their antagonistic discourse, in a retaliatory sense, towards the dominant capital city teams. The reality, however, is that supporters of teams such as AEL and Apollon, seem to target a common dominant enemy from Nicosia, APOEL, differently to the way they target Omonia.




Thus, supporters of AEL, which won the league in 2012 (the last team other than APOEL to do so), have engaged in ongoing antagonistic discourse against APOEL for different reasons to those motivating Omonia fans to be antagonistic towards APOEL. Hence, AEL supporters, like those of Apollon, coalesce around a “differentiating antagonistic discourse” against the two Nicosia “giants”, with the worst antagonism reserved for APOEL. That is, AEL have reserved intense antagonism for only one of the Nicosia teams – APOEL. During a title decider in 2014 with AEL, the match was controversially abandoned following the alleged use of a “pistol-fired missile” directed at the APOEL dugout. The match was replayed at an empty neutral venue, with APOEL victorious, although the Cyprus football authorities then cancelled the result and awarded APOEL a 3-0 win anyway. 




Fans of Apollon, who have won the Cypriot Cup three times in the last few years, have also found APOEL more antagonisable than other rivals. Thus, in 2016, an Apollon firework was fired across the running track behind the goal directly into a densely populated section of the APOEL support. Despite winning the match 2-0, Apollon were forced to play their next three matches in an empty stadium. The fact that the antagonistic discourse of Limassol supporters against the capital city teams actually targets APOEL almost exclusively suggests that the more dominant a club is (thus a constant feature in competitions for silverware), the more it becomes the target of antagonistic discourse. In England, I have seen Chelsea fans and Arsenal fans attacking each other (via song), and then “uniting” to attack Tottenham fans. However, Tottenham last won any silverware in 2008, and are the least successful of the three clubs, although their new stadium rivals Arsenal’s and is far better than Chelsea’s old Stamford bridge. Some fans claim to hate certain rival fans more than they hate other rival fans, suggesting that there are degrees of antagonistic discourse. Still, the point is that I do not think that we can definitively know all the reasons and all the motivations behind, say, AEL, Apollon and Omonia fans’ antagonistic discourse towards APOEL fans. The controversy in 2017, when state-run broadcaster Cyta were willing to pay for the television rights of APOEL’s Champions League qualifier away to Viitorul but not Apollon’s Europa League qualifier in Aberdeen, could be, for instance, valid motivation of a sense of injustice for Apollon’s supporters. 




Not all antagonistic discourse is equal. Some of it, it seems, is more intense and long-lasting than other kinds of antagonistic discourse. It may also be triggered by different things, some of which are felt more keenly than others, and some having a longer pedigree than others, and so on. Considering that not all fans may express the same antagonistic sentiments, or the same antagonistic sentiments with the same intensity, there could also be scope for differentiating even within the antagonistic discourse of fans of the same team. Perhaps antagonistic discourse exists on a continuum rather than a binarity? 




For instance, it may be that APOEL’s AU79 right-wing, ultra-nationalist, fan group, which believes strongly in unification with Greece (the enosis concept) actually express a brand of ultra-antagonistic discourse as opposed to the “usual” antagonistic discourse of other ordinary APOEL fans? If, perhaps, most APOEL fans are nationalists, and pro-Greece, it is not likely that all APOEL fans are AU79 types. The shortlived success of the ultra-nationalist Golden Dawn party in Greece, seeing some electoral support from 2010 to 2019, and advancing the old Megali concept of a Greek Empire which seeks – among other things – to incorporate Cyprus, shows what we have always suspected: that the extremists may not be in the majority. 




The same consideration applies to Omonia’s fiercely left-wing Gate 9 anti-nationalist fan group which espouses a single united Cypriot state. They are not representative of all Omonia fans. Apollon’s blue and white colours may signify a pro-Greece positioning, but they are widely regarded as sitting in the centre of the political spectrum, while Anorthosis Famagusta’s blue and white signified a pro-Greece position that is far to the right off Apollon’s. Apollon’s Gate 1 fan group also has appreciable pro-union support. In the 2008 election, around 2,000 Apollon supporters decided to forgo their vote, although this was in direct protest at the supposed cronyism of the Cypriot Football Association (this is another notable example of how politically extreme football can be in Cyprus). Whilst slightly more political than AEL, Apollon are not defined by their radical beliefs in the way that, for instance, APOEL or Anorthosis Famagusta are. (Anorthosis are the other traditionally right-wing club in Cyprus). 




I read somewhere that AEL’s Gate 3 fan group have adopted a rare apolitical position (although there are some left-wing elements within their support). Thus, during the presidential election in 2008, over 400 voting slips were allegedly spoilt by being marked simply for “AEL” rather than for any of the political candidates running in the election.  Many of Gate 3’s street tags may be seen accompanied by anarchist symbols. 




Thus, there could be scope for continuously differentiating antagonistic discourse itself, and allowing more nuance. 




It seems, too, that antagonistic discourse can bypass the “us vs. them” binarity and find locus in sites of negotiation. An interesting example of this would be how, in 2014, when the Cypriot government introduced proposals requiring biometric identification of everyone entering a football stadium in the form of ID cards (those with criminal records would be forbidden from entering), representatives of every major fan group in Cyprus, including Gate 1 and Gate 3 – but not including, interestingly, APOEL’s AU79 (who chose to stage their own protest) – gathered at the parliament building in Nicosia under one banner, where they put forward a unified peaceful protest. 




Is there a sense in which antagonistic discourse is in fact, strategic, or strategically antagonistic? The different clubs from different cities – again with the notable exception of APOEL – were willing to put their antagonistic discourse aside and work together when the situation demanded it and when threatened by what they regarded as a common enemy. It seems that APOEL, at least in the 2014 example of the ID card protest, was the exception to this strategic setting aside of antagonistic discourse. It might also be that APOEL is the club that all the other clubs’ fans love to hate, and they can set aside their differences as long as it is not with APOEL. What could be behind such “specialised” formations of antagonistic discourse?




So how exactly does the “us/them” binarity play out where the rival teams would accept happily what the other side enjoys? I do not think that the source of Omonia’s antagonism towards APOEL is because APOEL have comparably fewer fans or are not people centred, as this would not count as antagonistic discourse (since this is an absence rather than an existing thing to detest). The identity of Omonia as having more fans and being more people-centred than APOEL does not in itself directly counteract the reality that APOEL are now serial winners (compared to Omonia), materially successful, successful on the field and with more money. One can still have more fans and more money at the same time. Omonia could be people centred and still enjoy being serial winners also, if they could have both. These elements are not mutually exclusive.




If it is true that in Cyprus one knows your politics from the team you support, is there recognition, within antagonistic discourse, that what is going in is more than just a football game? That is, how is antagonistic discourse in football fandom an emotive proxy for a general “policy” of mutual opposition in Cyprus? What role, if any, do Graeco-Turkish relations, and the Graeco-Turkish schism, for instance, play in fanning antagonistic discourse? Does the fact that it is nearly 50 years since the unhealed division of the island into a Turkish-held north and Greek Cypriot south suggest a waning salience of history or its continuation, evolution and metamorphosis? What sort of role does the unfinished business of history and the past in Cyprus play in provoking antagonistic discourse and in shaping its form, style and content? 




The account that you have given, Stelios, seems to regard antagonistic discourse as non-serious in that it merely seeks to annoy and irritate the other side, rather than to reflect or entrench a long-lived national schism. But, if it is correct, for instance, that Omonia’s success coincided with the political success of the left in the 1970s when the right was discredited and blamed for the 1974 Turkish invasion (itself triggered by the Greek-engineered coup to unite the island with Greece), and if it can be argued that APOEL has now risen to the top as the right gained favour in Cyprus politics, then it may be a fair expectation that history plays a more salient role in feeding and sustaining antagonistic discourse. 




Since the shadow of Greece and Turkey looms large over the rivalry between Omonia and APOEL, for instance, to what extent can antagonistic discourse also be considered to exhibit traits of a proxy conflict? After all, some of the salient divisions directly express the Greece/Turkey division:




• APOEL fans (nationalists) vs Omonia fans (anti-nationalists)

• APOEL = Hellonocentric; espouses Greek identity and ideas 

• Omonia = Cypriot-centric; Turkish Cypriots; Turkish-leaning; 

• Omonia fans = waving Cyprus flags (Che Guevara t-shirts) 

• APOEL fans = waving Greek flags

• Anorthosis Famagusta (blue and white colours)




How deep (or how shallow) does the antagonism that feeds antagonistic discourse run? When APOEL play in Europe, for instance do Omonia fans support them as patriotic Cypriots, or is the domestic dispute extended to Europe as well? When Greece became European champions, did APOEL fans celebrate while Omonia fans were not happy? With Greece failing economically, is there a sense of schadenfreude amongst some of the anti-nationalist football fans in Cyprus? 




Does the “us vs. them” schism run so deep that there is no possibility of bridging the breach? Or are there certain shared Cypriot traits that can be seen in both Omonia and APOEL fans alike? For instance, one can talk of the putative Cypriot tendency towards stubbornness – is there reason to believe that both sets of fans have the same shared trait and therefore could be alike in certain senses? In Ireland, fans of Celtic and Rangers may perhaps still be expected to enjoy Irish beer and have certain “Irish traits” that cross the perennial divide. Consider the fact that at one point Omonia and APOEL were once one team until, in 1948, Omonia members and players split from APOEL over politics. If they used to be one club, then perhaps there are some prior shared values that have been buried under more recent animosity? If they used to be one team, to what extent is the antagonistic discourse mere sibling rivalry rather than fratricide?




How much of the antagonistic discourse in Cypriot football is anchored in the deep-level history of “Hellenic-Christian Civilization” vs. “Muslim” (i.e., dating back to Ottoman hegemony over the Hellene), the contest of enosis vs. taksim,  and of an internal Cold War (i.e., if the Cold War model cannot be sustained because all major players and guarantors of the 1960 independence – Britain, Turkey and Greece –  were all on the “Western” side of the Cold War divide, and Turkey and Greece are both members of NATO, still the Cold War divide may be reprised in the division between the right vs. left, the nationalists vs. the Communists). The divide between Omonia and APOEL seems to be an “internal Cold War” divide between the pro-Western, pro-Greek right and the Communist left. But it seems that it is impossible to entangle the various strands of these deep level histories until one can say which ones are evident in such and such expressions of antagonistic discourse. The clash of enosis and taksim, however, seems most significant from the point of view of the agonia (“a struggle for victory”) and agōn (a “contest”), with the internal Cold War between the right and the communists assisting in sharpening the antagonistic discourse.




Could we speak in terms of higher intensity antagonistic discourse and lower intensity antagonistic discourse, if, say, we consider that the huge rivalry between the Limassol clubs is still not as big as the rivalry with the Nicosia clubs or the rivalry between the Nicosia clubs? Could the expression of antagonistic discourse on many street corners and doorways in Limassol, illustrated by huge 1s and 3s often painted over each other in a contest for prominence, be a form on antagonistic discourse that is more accommodating and banal rather than all-out? We see that, once APOEL come into the picture, the antagonistic discourse with the Limassol teams – especially Apollon and AEL – becomes intense and even settles into iterations of aggression.




A few other talking points:




How is antagonistic discourse distinct from football banter and bragging rights? Do Cypriot rival fans banter and troll each other in addition to antagonistic discourse? Or are football banter and bragging rights elements of antagonistic discourse itself? Banter and bragging rights, however, tend to be friendlier (or at least less hostile) than antagonistic. If an image of a Che Guevara or a swastika is displayed with the prime or sole intention to irritate and pique the opposite team’s fans, rather than to promote what these symbols historically or politically stand for, how is this intention not indicating that antagonistic discourse is harmless banter?




Could you say a bit more about the antagonistic discourse driven by “Gate” fan groups (Gate 9, Gate 1, gate 3 etc.)?




What is the gendered dimension of antagonistic discourse? Kartakoullis, Kriemadis and Pouloukas, in Soccer and Society (2009) have said that 77% of men between 21 and 70 years support a football club. So is antagonist discourse male?




As unification overtures continue to ebb and flow between the North and South, and the infamous Ledra street opens to north-south crossings, does the nature of antagonistic also change or, at least, is it inflected by these ebbs and flows of tension?




Finally, I am interested in “us vs. them”, also, from an apartheid studies (AS) point of view because “us vs. them” is a decimalising operation. The fact that, after the violence of 1963, Turkish Cypriots started living in their own enclaves within Cyprus itself, the expulsions of Greek Cypriots and Turkish Cypriots from North and South, the persistent division between North and South, the existence of the Turkish Cypriot quarter in Nicosia, and the reality and symbolism of Ledra Street and the division of Nicosia by the Green Line, also interests me from the point of view of the Apartheid Studies framework of decimalisation). With the little reading I have done on the so-called “Cyprus Problem” or the “Cyprus Question” as I was preparing notes for this conversation, I have to say that there are some traces and echoes of such persistently irresolvable “Questions” as the Palestinian Question, the Irish Question and, in colonised Africa, the Native Question, and so on. This makes me think that the study of antagonistic discourse in Cyprus has relevance for the global framework of apartheid studies. 




Does the performative element of antagonistic discourse in the terraces also include throwing of flares and fireworks, as happened in 2016 when an Apollon firework was fired into a densely populated section of the APOEL support or, like during the title decider in 2014 with AEL, when the match was controversially abandoned following the alleged use of a “pistol-fired missile”, targeted at the APOEL dugout?




Of the two domains of politics and sex that you have identified, that of politics is more readily identifiable, due to the prevalence and visibility of deeply marked ideological formations in Cyprus. However, I wonder if the domain of sex is easily identified in the political domain except as a convenient improvisation to emphasise a political and ideological point. The derogatory language of pussies, fags, pussies, sluts, and bastards, for instance, seems to me to function to humiliate and delegitimise those that may be thought of as “weak” and “sensitive”. If this reading (that sexual insults are improvised) is correct, then the domain of sex is in fact not a separate domain. Instead, it can be read as a subdomain of the domain of politics. 




As you correctly point out that in football “scoring involves the physical violation of a designated territory, which conceptually invites penetrative metaphors”, this interpretation accords with rape more than it does with sex. It is a language of violation, not of love-making or enjoyment. As such, I am doubtful that the subdomain of sex makes sense only if contextualized in a heteronormative sexist milieu, specifically one that promotes hegemonic, or otherwise dominant masculinities. That is, unless you are regarding rape to be an element of heteronormativity and hegemonic masculinities. But the pairing or association of sex and rape is a bit of a stretch.




The contests in the domain of politics seem to coalesce around unresolved questions about what is means to be Cypriot. Hence, a number of domains present themselves to the performance of antagonistic discourse:




CYPRUS IS TURKISH (taksim)

CYPRUS IS GREEK (enosis)

CYPRUS IS CYPRIOT (ambivalent, patriotic)

CYPRUS IS --- (ongoing quest for resolution of the “Cyprus Problem”)




These contests can be accommodated in the subdomain of sex, but perhaps if we considered not just sex but rape. Because sex is consensual, it may not be useful in the attempt to interpret the contests outlined above. Rape, on the other hand, can accommodate the often-violent historical schisms that today still sustain antagonistic discourse.




In the game dimension, how do you conclude that rival fans, in their use of political symbols in an auxiliary-instrumental mode, may be trying “to win over the opponent”, instead of keeping the opponent at bay? If the objective is to win over the opponent, won’t this game dimension in itself result in the dissolving of antagonistic discourse? Suppose I succeed in winning over my opponent, then what? Perhaps you can explain further and also illustrate what you mean by “to win over the opponent”. Do Omonia fans try to win over APOEL fans? What for? How? When the “pistol-fired missile” was targeted at the APOEL dugout by AEL fans, leading to the abandonment of the match, or when an Apollon firework was targeted at APOEL fans, was this an attempt to win over the opponent? There seems to be a contradiction when you state that, in the game dimension, “these messages are just convenient and effective means to effectively attack the opponents”. How, then, can one win over an opponent by attacking them?




Whereas in the game dimension that you describe, the historically established meaning of antagonistic messages may be said to have become irrelevant, what exactly makes historical meanings irrelevant?  Is it a quest to forget the past or to heal the past or is it just the onset of a tendency towards wilful historical amnesia? Is the irrelevance arising from the fact that this is just a football match? My experience in Zimbabwe is that history remains politically charged, even many decades after an event such as the Gukurahundi genocide that killed thousands in the south of Zimbabwe. Football games between Dynamos and Highlanders are tense events, sometimes flaring up in violence.




I agree with your argument that in the cultural hypothesis what we see and hear in and around football games could be manifestations of underlying normative structures. You identify sexism, heteronormativity, and patriarchy as these underlying normative structures. I wonder, however, why you do not include politics here, or ideology, since Cyprus is visibly ideologically divided, but also since you identify the political domain as being salient alongside the domain of sex. Where does the political domain fit into these three underlying structures of sexism, heteronormativity, and patriarchy? I still need convincing that there is no politics in the underlying normative structures. If anything, politics seems to be the golden thread that cuts through all the other themes. In any case, even if you succeed in making the cultural hypothesis exclude politics, the earlier point you made about the game dimension which makes history and politics irrelevant might also end up making the normative underlying structures irrelevant. Can we eat our cake and still have it? If the game dimension succeeds in making history and politics irrelevant, how does sexism, heteronormativity, and patriarchy survive? Shouldn’t they also be rendered irrelevant by the same process that, in the game dimension, render history and politics irrelevant?




I disagree somewhat with your contention that “Cyprus was a society in the periphery of the East-West antagonism”. I do not think that there is warrant to this claim of Cypriot exceptionalism in geopolitics. The historical evidence seems to suggest that Cyprus was, in fact, at the heart of it. A core reason for this is that Cyprus was, is, and remains a STRATEGIC LOCATION in the Eastern Mediterranean. Let us not forget that this location was the crucial main route to India, then Britain’s most important overseas possession. This mere fact means that it cannot be on the periphery of global geopolitics, of which the East-West antagonism is a part. Consider that the modern “Cyprus question” properly begins (in my view anyway) with the Russo-Turkish War (1877–1878) (the same one after which Bulgaria gets its independence from Turkey) and the Congress of Berlin after which Cyprus was leased to Britain and became an important part of the British Empire. This fact links Cyprus to the events in the Balkans which Dora is looking at because the events in Bulgaria, for instance, centred Russo-Turkish and great power geopolitical contests which involved all of Europe, Russia and Turkey at the centre of which was the question of the “sick man of Europe” (the headache of the imminent breakup of the Ottoman Empire). 




In the post-war “agreement”, Britain was going to use Cyprus seemingly to protect the “sick man of Europe” (the Ottoman Empire) against possible Russian aggression. Cyprus would serve the British Empire as a key military base for its colonial routes. Famagusta harbour was completed during the heyday of the British Empire, a strategic naval outpost overlooking the Suez Canal since 1906. There is a clear East-West thread here. So, Cyprus, like Bulgaria, enters the 20th century as a pawn in a “great power” game of exit from one waning empire and entry into another rising empire.  Britain used (and later, by extension, NATO) and still uses Cyprus as a military base, retaining the two Sovereign Base Areas of Akrotiri and Dhekelia.




Secondly, I feel that there is scope to retrieve some salient features in Cyprus’ history that may suggest that there is no need to treat Cyprus as exceptional. For instance, the irredentist claims around the incorporation of Cyprus either into Greece or Turkey are reminiscent of the Balkans theme that Dora is examining. After all, the link between Dora’s study of Bulgaria and Stelios study of Cyprus is actually Turkey/Ottoman empire. Cyprus was ceded by the Ottomans to the British, thus inserting Cyprus into the East/West contest perhaps not directly but by inversion. Cyprus seems to be an inverted Bulgaria or an inverted Balkans, but with the same outcomes.




The over three centuries of Ottoman rule of Cyprus between 1571 and 1878 (de jure until 1914), then becoming a British colony (1878/1914) (ceded to Britain by the Ottomans at the Congress of Berlin in 1878), until the Zürich Agreement of 1959, followed by independence of Cyprus (1960) and decolonisation, are, rather than exceptional, mirroring both the Balkans in miniature and also colonial and decolonising Africa, with all attendant fractures, partitions and colonial hangovers. The ceding of Cyprus to Britain by the Ottomans at the Congress of Berlin in 1878 is interesting in its timing and location as it is also very close to the Berlin Conference of 1884 where Africa was sliced up as if it were a cake by European powers. Most African problems begin at this time, in a conference room in Berlin. The independence of Cyprus in 1960 also bears close resemblance to the independence and decolonisation happening around this time in African countries such as Ghana. The problems that followed in the 1970s mirror the problems that followed independence in Africa in countries such as Nigeria, including the scourge of military rule.




I believe that the “Cyprus Problem”, which includes the military rules, coups, social strife, partition and north-south division, is a manifestation of what I would call the delayed “hotness” of the Cold War, best exemplified by what took place in once “non-aligned” Yugoslavia.




My view would be that history is not irrelevant to antagonistic discourse in Cyprus. Rather, it is at its heart.




Politics and Sex in Football Fans' Antagonistic Discourse in Cyprus

I dedicated my blog last year to the Global Fandom Jamboree — a series of conversations amongst scholar from many different nations about fandom and fandom studies. I have been gratified by the level of interests this undertaking generated. We are already seeing unexpected collaborations — from conference sessions to co-authored papers — emerge from the match-making that was required to make this series work. But there were still some outstanding (in both senses of the term) conversations still to be completed when the blog shut down for the summer. So for the next few weeks, I will be sharing a bit more consideration of the topic.

Politics and Sex in Football Fans' Antagonistic Discourse in Cyprus



Stelios Stylianou

Cyprus University of Technology



About 12 years ago, two colleagues invited me to take part in the preparation of a grant proposal to study the use of political symbols by young people in the public sphere of Cyprus (area controlled by the Republic of Cyprus).  The idea was attractive as Cyprus has been a place of intense political struggle, including armed conflicts from the mid-fifties to the mid-seventies and a public sphere of political antagonism that has been effervescent well into the decades that followed.  Public use of political symbols was part of the political process, both in elite and lay discourses.  As a sociologist, even though my specialization was in criminology, I gladly accepted, we luckily got the grant, and we dived into the field.  One major site of data collection was football (soccer) games.  Part of the curiosity that motivated our study was the readily observable fact that football fans are the most vocal and loud among young people in publicly, massively, and constantly communicating political messages, especially during and around football games, but also on city walls, school desks, their bodies, and on the internet.  Our study soon entered the area of football fandom and focused mainly on fan identities.  In the following years, I ended up continuing this project, as I had moved to a communications department, I met a colleague who studied football fandom, and I had the opportunity to do more field research, mostly observations of football games and in-depth interviews with fans.  The focus of my study shifted toward football fans' antagonistic discourse.

Football fans perform and reaffirm their collective identity as fans of their team, members of fan clubs, residents of the team's home city, etc.  One mode of doing this is by expressing their devotion to their fandom object during football games, as other fans express their devotion to other fandom objects during other occasions or rituals: citizens express their devotion to their country during parades, believers express their devotion to their God(s) during religious services, and music lovers express their devotion to their favorite musicians during concerts.  Similarly, football fans chant, dance, paint themselves and display banners in favor of their team.  

There is a second way in which football fans produce and take part in the antagonistic discourse: they apply the us vs. them model, whereby, what they are (what they claim to be, what they identify with) is defined in binary opposition to what they are not (what they detest, what they condemn).  The embodiment of this latter element (them) is the opposite team and its fans.  Thus, through antagonistic discursive practices, fans praise the superiority of the ingroup by exposing the inferiority of the outgroup.  During football games, this is enacted in a game-like mode, with informal goals and rules, winners and losers (who will be louder, who will be more offensive, who will be more "creative" in destroying the opponent's reputation).  This game runs simultaneously with the football game: while 22 players play football on the field, hundreds or thousands of fans play symbols on the terraces.  Regarding the content of this communication, there are two main cultural domains where the antagonistic discourse is located: politics and sex (interestingly, sport-related content, e.g., about the opposite team's poor performance is almost absent).

Beginning with the former domain, there is, plainly speaking, a lot of politics in football fans' antagonistic discourse, as it would (reasonably but not necessarily) be expected in an intensively public political setting like Cyprus.  Football fans present identity discourses that densely contain political messages, such as praising or condemning political ideologies, parties, and figures.  What we are finding in our ethnography is that there is a political-historical dimension that explains the political elements in football fans' antagonistic discourse.  The presence of such elements is expressive, yet rational: fans affirm their political identity as citizens and this identity correlates with football clubs' origins, histories, ideological orientations, and party affiliations.

On the other hand, we are finding that the political gravity of these messages is variable and often noticeably light.  During antagonistic communication, fans exchange curses, call names, and otherwise discursively attack their opponents in ways that transform politics into a playful game, where the sacred becomes profane, heroes become bastards, and victims of violence become objects of contempt and ridicule.  Indicatively, emblematic historical figures, like Che Guevara, or symbols representing extremist ideologies, like swastikas, are displayed with the prime or sole intention to irritate and pique the opposite team's fans (rather than to promote what these symbols historically or politically stand for).  We term this the game dimension.  Our conclusion is that in their struggle to win over the opponent, fans use political symbols in an auxiliary-instrumental mode, whereby the historically established meaning of such messages becomes irrelevant.  In other words, these messages are just convenient and effective means to attack the opponents.  This is the first idea/observation that I would like to share in this conversation, asking to what extent this happens elsewhere too.  Do football fans use historically and politically sensitive derogatory (perhaps anti-patriotic, extremist, vulgar, etc.) terms to pique their opponents in the course of a symbols game?


Turning to the second domain, sex, we must first note that sex-related themes are more widespread than politics in they manifestations in football fans' antagonistic discourse, both quantitatively as well as in terms of discursive structures.  Their content and intensity differ across societies but they follow a more or less common discursive form: to be a (serious, active, real, etc.) fan of a football team, you "must be" reputable, heterosexual, masculine, and you must (be able to and actually) penetrate others (interestingly, these formative "criteria" apply to female fans as well).  These identity elements are displayed in various ways, including what fans say and do during and around the game.  Various sex-related themes are found in our data, the most prevalent among which are those articulating us vs. them divisions concerning gender, sexuality, and family or descent reputation.  If I were given a word limit of just four words to present our thematic findings, those would be fags, pussies, sluts, and bastards.  These are the main claims against the outgroup, which simultaneously signify the superior qualities of the in-group; that is, we are heterosexuals (not fags like them), males (not pussies like them), reputable (not sluts like their mothers and sisters), and honorable (not bastards like them).


Why do fans choose to use these sex-related themes? Part of the answer comes from the nature of antagonistic sports, where a binary opposition (winner vs. loser) is native, more clearly so if winning is a function of scoring against an opponent. In football, scoring involves the physical violation of a designated territory, which conceptually invites penetrative metaphors. But such interpretation makes sense only if contextualized in a heteronormative sexist milieu, specifically one that promotes penetrative, hegemonic, or otherwise dominant masculinities. This necessary condition leads to a more sociological explanation, obtained by zooming out of the football game as an event to ask where these discursive elements come from. My answer is mainstream culture. The evidence, at least as I interpret it, is in favor of what I call the cultural hypothesis: what we see and hear in and around football games are manifestations of the underlying normative structures of sexism, heteronormativity, and patriarchy. These structures are discursively manifested during football games, as, there, they more easily find their way out of mainstream normative barriers (this discourse is also found in mediated content, such as print newspapers and on the internet, albeit to a lesser degree, due to formal or informal censorship). I support this answer by juxtaposing it with an alternative explanation, namely the subcultural hypothesis. I argue that football fans are not a subculture, as they share with mainstream culture more than they oppose. They are significantly different only in behavioral terms: they depart from mainstream norms of communication and decency. To conclude, I quote one of our interview participants: "Just go to a football game to understand our society". So, the second question I would like to discuss is to what extent hegemonic or otherwise dominant masculinity (as expressed in my description above) persists or is declining in football fans' antagonistic discourse.

Stelios Stylianou (PhD in Sociology, University of Washington) is an associate professor in the Department of Communication and Internet Studies at the Cyprus University of Technology. He has taught courses in sociology, criminology and social research methodology at the University of Washington, the University of Cyprus, Intercollege, the University of Nicosia, and the Cyprus University of Technology. His research has focused on victimless deviance, crime seriousness, juvenile delinquency, drug use, rave parties, internet use, privacy concerns, television violence, and football fandom. He has published articles in international journals, a book on juvenile delinquency in Cyprus (University of Nicosia Press, 2007) and a book on television violence (Papazisi, 2018).\\

Dora Valkanova is a Visiting Assistant Professor in Critical Media Studies at the University of Texas at Dallas. She is a film historian and practitioner whose research focuses on memory and nostalgia in film and media, mediated representations of Eastern Europe and Russia, film branding, and media fandom. Her most recent article: “White masculinity in the ‘New Cold War: reading Rocky IV and White Nights as multidirectional memories” was published in the journal Critical Studies in Media Communication in April, 2022.