Chernobyl and the Anthropology of Sacrifice

Chernobyl and the Anthropology of Sacrifice

From the very beginning, Chernobyl is packed with scenes of sacrifice. It is no coincidence that the narrative opens with Legasov’s immolation, underlining the centrality of sacrifice in the series. In this sense, the various sacrificial events presented in the story may be broadly grouped into three types: the one voluntarily assumed by multiple characters throughout the series (heroic); the animal sacrifice perpetrated by the authorities or forced by the toxic radioactive situation, where immolation adopts a literal as well as figurative value (symbolic); and finally, the offering of another innocent human being, releasing others from their hardships and adversities (redemptive).

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Chernobyl a Miniseries Between “Reality” and “Television”

Chernobyl a Miniseries Between “Reality” and “Television”

Chernobyl (HBO – SKY, 2019) is a miniseries inspired by the real fact (or, rather to say, by the huge amount of historical, journalistic, administrative and scientific documents available on the subject) and also, in part, by the book Prayer for Chernoby by Svetlana Aleksievic. Miniseries are one of the most popular formats in current television production. They are characterised by a closure at the end of the planned episodes and are therefore also called limited series.

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Lessons from Chernobyl... the HBO Series...

Lessons from Chernobyl... the HBO Series...

The above quotes of Greek audiences of the series Chernobyl (HBO, 2019) raise a crucial question regarding the cognitive effects of the interplay between audiovisual genres. One could ask: What if history was teached through watching movies inside classrooms? The question is partially rhetoric since - to various extents - this educational and pedagogical practice, e.g. the use of fiction and movies to support teaching history or other subjects is implemented in all educational levels. Thus, fiction is de facto crafting historical memories and knowledge…

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History, Power, and Narrative: Chernobyl is Still There

History, Power, and Narrative: Chernobyl is Still There

The title of this contribution is alluding to the relationship between history and fiction, in Chernobyl tv series. On the one hand, the Chernobyl series challenges the so-called connection between fiction and nonfiction. It takes up the narration of the events in a rather precise way; but, at the same time, it works on memory and narrative, on the construction of personal experience and testimony, as well as on perception – and therefore on the plastic (that is, aesthetic-perceptual) and visual/figurative dimension. On the other hand, the question is: how the process of contextualization is staged?

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Chernobyl: From Nuclear Disaster to the TV Series, and Beyond – The Importance of Archives in Narrative Construction

Chernobyl: From Nuclear Disaster to the TV Series, and Beyond – The Importance of Archives in Narrative Construction

The title of this contribution is alluding to the relationship between history and fiction, in Chernobyl tv series. On the one hand, the Chernobyl series challenges the so-called connection between fiction and nonfiction. It takes up the narration of the events in a rather precise way; but, at the same time, it works on memory and narrative, on the construction of personal experience and testimony, as well as on perception – and therefore on the plastic (that is, aesthetic-perceptual) and visual/figurative dimension. On the other hand, the question is: how the process of contextualization is staged?

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Chernobyl Miniseries Polarizations: Good/Bad, Rational/Emotional

Chernobyl Miniseries Polarizations: Good/Bad, Rational/Emotional

Plots in Television series are often based on polarizations, in other words, on binary oppositions, which are extremely simple to follow. The miniseries Chernobyl brings into play a distinct clash between good and evil. The main opposition spectators are faced with is an ethical one, between the good guys, the scientists Valery Legasov and Ulana Khomyuk, who heroically try to limit the damage of the disaster, and the bad guys, the technicians of the nuclear plant Anatoly Dyatlov, Viktor Bryukhanov and Nicolai Fomian, who due to their incompetence and arrogance are the cause of the accident. Amongst the bad guys, various institutions can be placed like the government and the KGB, which have hidden and are still continuing to hide the deplorable mistakes made in the plant construction.

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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.