Macedonia's identity crisis could shape the future of the EU

The stronger the sense of identity, the harder it is to make concessions – and Macedonians’ sense of their uniqueness is extremely strong

Alexis Tsipras and Zoran Zaev sign an agreement on Macedonia’s name change (EPA)

As the last centenaries of the First World War approach, the troubled region where it all began is under scrutiny once again. The western Balkans is where those who favour the further enlargement of the European Union and Nato have set their sights. Tiny Montenegro (population 600,000) became the latest addition to Nato last year, and land-locked Macedonia (population 2,100,000) could be next. Both also aspire to join the EU, though the EU is split about whether this is advisable, and even if it is, how soon.

But geopolitics is not what took me to Macedonia this week. It was rather the happy coincidence of cheap end-of-season flights and a long-standing desire to visit Ohrid. Why Ohrid? Because, as anyone whose Russian studies included an element of Old Church Slavonic will know, this is where the Byzantine missionaries, Cyril and Methodius, came to preach to the Slavs in the ninth century, and where they devised the Glagolitic and Cyrillic alphabets for the purpose of setting down the gospels in their language.

Now, I should make clear that this is a scandalous journalistic simplification and there are all sorts of scholarly caveats that should be brought to bear, not to mention academic disputes that remain unresolved. But the fact is that Ohrid claims Cyril and Methodius as its own, and still more, their local disciples, Clement and Naum. They feature in the glorious frescoes and icons to be found in various states of preservation in the town’s wealth of Byzantine churches, and their much more recent statues look out on to the lake from the waterfront. The lakeshore south and west to the Albanian border is studded with churches and monasteries.

In this contested part of the world, however, geopolitics never really goes away. And I have to admit that the television in my room, alas, competed with the lakeside view for my attention. For in what seemed the very far-off capital, Skopje – in fact, only a three-hour bus journey away – Macedonia’s parliament was debating a question that stands to determine the country’s future. Will it join the European Union, and what might be seen as the western mainstream? Could it lean to the east – and a potentially welcoming Russia?

Or will it rather pursue a lonely and uncertain course, buffeted by its bigger and not sometimes unfriendly neighbours? With Serbia and Kosovo to the north, Bulgaria to the east, Greece to the south and Albania to the west, and no outlet to the sea, this republic of the former Yugoslavia is more a hostage to its geography than almost any other country in the region.

The parliamentary debate was not, it should be stressed, on the big-picture matter of Macedonia’s destiny. Or rather it was, and the passion of MPs speaking from the podium showed that no one had any illusion about what was at stake; ditto the clashes that took place outside parliament on the first day. But the actual question before them was whether Macedonia should change its official name to North Macedonia – essentially to placate Greece.

Greece has its own province of Macedonia (adjoining the former Yugoslav republic) and is blocking Macedonia’s path to EU membership until such time as there is only one – Greek – Macedonia. It voted against Macedonia’s EU accession back in 2009, and has not changed its mind since. Behind the quarrel lies much historical baggage, and fear on either side – hard to comprehend for an outsider – of future territorial claims. Cyprus is sometimes cited as a precedent for an unforeseen landgrab.

With Albania and Montenegro now in Nato, and both moving (quite slowly) towards EU membership, with Serbia just about tolerating an independent Kosovo with the same objective in view, and Greece and Bulgaria already fully ensconced in the two western “clubs”, Macedonia can be forgiven for feeling isolated and being ready to make the ultimate concession – on its name – in order not to be left out.

And yet… names are sensitive things. Think Northern Ireland, for a start. And I cannot help but feel some sympathy for those Macedonians who ask why it should be their country that has to change its name. Luxuriating – for a brief space – in the proud history of Ohrid and the sense of identity it imparts, I could understand the hostility to even such an apparently small change as adding the word “North”, as though this Macedonia was somehow the pretender. In Skopje, I was told, the Tito-era monuments to partisans are “at last” being replaced with Macedonian heroes, such as Alexander the Great.

A Scottish commentator, also sympathetic to the Macedonian cause – compared the proposition, not quite fairly, with requiring Scotland to become “North Britain”. Why can’t Greek Macedonia call itself “South Macedonia”? After all, this Macedonia is a sub-unit of Greece, whereas the former Yugoslav republic is now an independent country. But, of course, Greece has the whip-hand. Macedonia is the supplicant. If it wants EU membership badly enough, it will have to be the one to concede.

That concession, however, cannot be taken for granted. The government’s intention was to decide the issue by referendum. But on 30 September far too few voters turned out to validate the poll, although the vast majority of those who voted approved the name change. The failed referendum is how the question ended up this week, acrimoniously before parliament, with charges of treachery being bandied around. There are now calls for top-level talks between government and opposition. But, even if they happen, they will not be easy.

The proposed name change pits the same forces as are pitted against each other in many places just now – between sovereignty and identity on the one hand and cooperative multilateralism on the other.

The stronger the sense of identity, the harder it is to make concessions – and Macedonians’ sense of their uniqueness is extremely strong.

But there are also two other considerations.

The first is Russia. Some accuse Russia of what used to be called “fishing in troubled waters” to thwart EU expansion into southern Europe. The suspicion clearly aroused US interest. One of the oldest churches in Ohrid – now called St Clement – was restored between 2009 and 2016, the plaques say, with US government (note, not EU) money.

Whether Russia actually needs to “fish” is another matter. Macedonian uses the Cyrillic alphabet; the dominant religion is Orthodox; Russia is not seen in the negative way it is further west in Europe. Nor, it has to be said, is Turkey. Mosques, too, are restored. You don’t risk offence by ordering a Turkish coffee. This is the Balkans, where cultures – for all the dramas of recent years – still mingle.

The second consideration is practical. Even some of the most nationalistically-minded also want what they see as a better future. Ohrid, it must be said, feels a long way from the European mainstream: which might be good for us visitors, but less good if you live there, you have no work or earn a pittance. Younger men, I was told, pay good money to change their birthplace, even their names, so as to qualify for a Bulgarian passport – and free entry to work in the EU.

Will personal hopes outweigh pride in a collective history and identity? Maybe, in the end. But the calculation may be a lot finer than it looks from the outside.