Mediterranean democracy, Year 2 Athens, 10-11 January 2014
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- Bu səhifədəki naviqasiya:
- Several questions were collected: Joanna Innes
- Maurizio Isabella
- Paschalis Kitromilides
- Paschalis
- Konstantina Zanou
- Antonis Anastasopoulos
- Ioannis Tassopoulos: Constitutionalism and legal thought
- Discussion: Eduardo Posada Carbo
- Michalis
- Several questions were collected: Gianluca Fruci
- Stella Ghervas
- Ioannis replied to the series of questions.
- Pascalis Kitromilides: Religion and the Church
- Discussion. Several questions were collected: Mark Philp
- Pericles Vallianos
- Marios Hatzopoulos
- Socrates Petmezas: The Land Question
Discussion: Mark Philp noted that Laurence Rosen in Justice and Anthropology argued that in lots of Kadi court cases, the role of the judge is not to find questions of right, but to make an allocation that serves to re-establish the order of the community. So that the kind of legal decisions being discussed may be indicative more widely of a certain type of judicial action, that is concerned with management of the communities and its expectations, rather than with established rights. Antonis said the key phrase was constructive ambiguity. Institutions in the Ottoman empire capitalise on unceratainty so as to maximise flexibility – the institutional and non-institutional are not binary opposites and mutually exclusive. Several questions were collected: Joanna Innes thought that it would be worth playing down the contrast between West and East to see how far this took us. She thought loose institutionalisation could be found in the west too. From C16, the English state through statute law specified chains of command over various functions that ran down into parishes, but the examples of constables and vestries show that the reality was more complex. Constables had certain responsibilities by statute, but their anchorage in the system was shifting and locally determined: they began as manorial officials but tended to be transformed into parish officials, but parliamentary returns in 1844 show that even by that time the process was not complete. Parish vestries existed from an indeterminate date, their composition and selection being determined by local custom, but were rarely mentioned in statute law, and only given well defined statutory roles in early C19. If in terms of local office-holding, the trend was towards more nationally consistent patterns of institutionalisation, in terms of the way people related to parliament, the opposite trend can be observed. Until later C18, the expectation was that people would petition parliament on the basis of some clear authority to speak: operating through jurisdictional units, or on the basis of interest. But then and through C19 people began to band together in all sorts of self-defined groups to express their shared opinions. Maurizio Isabella: what does the dragoman do? Peter Hill wanted to know more about what wakil/vekil meant in other contexts. Andrew Arsan wondered why historical sociologists, rather than historians of political thought, had dominated the history of the Ottoman state. Also wanted to know about the effect of Ariel Salzmann’s work. Perikles Vallianos asked what was left of the idea of the Millet system. He saw echoes of issues raised by Marinos Sariyannis’ paper about natural justice vs religious authority as competing systems of legitimation. Also, when the state exiled officials on what basis did they do so – was it a question of legitimacy? Antonis H said that the UK case sounded familiar; showing that an east/west contrast doesn’t help. Indeed there were broader European patterns. A dragoman did whatever the Ottoman state needed him to do – formally he was a translator/interpreter – but this the least important aspect of his role; he became a de facto governor of Cyprus, and a major economic agent; it’s a process of taking an older office and adapting it to new demands. The name of dragoman though formally abolished continued to be used into the 1830s informally; there wass an icon of a dragoman in a Cypriot church, not so described, but people identified him by this defunct title just by his attire. Vekil had many meanings, including guardian, but in specific judicial contexts. It connoted acting on behalf of someone else. It can be translated otherwise, but he thought representative the most accurate, in that it included different functions, and reflected the relationship with guarantor in judicial nomenclature. Historical sociologists have been locked into modernisation as a thesis, and tend to look for the emergence of new concepts, though they are not always there; often existing concepts are reworked in response to new needs – as is the case with representation [or democracy!]. Ariel Salzmann is an exception; she avoids the rigid weberianism of Barkey. What’s left of the millet: it only crystallised in C19, at the time of the war of Greek independence – not an accident. Before there was communal organisation, but it functioned neither in unified, homogenous ways, nor according to a ‘millet system’. As to legitimacy: pre C19 most authority structures were de facto. Dysfunctionality and illegitimacy were seen as linked, through the idea of the circle of justice. Injustice was seen to cause practical problems. There were also problems generated when local structures of power couldn’t reproduce themselves materially – as when conditions became so bad that people fled; peasant flight alerted the Ottoman state to things collapsing. Paschalis_Kitromilides'>Paschalis Kitromilides asked whether the text which mentioned the guarantor was a text emanating from Ottoman rulers or local subjects? Antonis said that the text stated that the people had appointed the guarantor; he was not appointed by the Sultan. Paschalis asked if loyalty did not figure? The appointment documents called berats mentioned guaranteeing loyalty. Antonis said that berats did figure in stories about the Greek church’s representative role. The earliest is supposed to have been granted to Gennadios in 1453, but it was apparently burnt in a fire. A later patriarch asked to have one on what he said were the same lines as Gennadios. Paschalis said he thought there were berats from Cyprus in which this guarantee was included. Antonis said the earliest surviving for Cyprus was from the C18. Asking someone to give a guarantee implicitly recognised their authority, but didn’t imply that they had total authority. He said that insofar as loyalty played any role initially, it was taken for granted; but it became more fraught after the Greek war. Konstantina Zanou asked if revolts usually signified the end of a cycle of sustainability? Was this the case in 1821. Antonis said indeed so 1690s/1764/1804: those were the big cycles. Also get peasant flight from Cyprus in early C18 and C19, when peasants left for Anatolia. The centre told officials toget them back, promising tax breaks. He hasn’t studied the 1820s, but suspects the same pattern operated. Antonis Anastasopoulos asked whether C17 marked the first such cycle of criss. Also who ‘the people’ were in the context of representation. Antonis H said since authorisation was fictional, that question didn’t really have an answer. He said it was possible that crisis was only documented from C17, but there was increasing bureaucratisation during that period, hence more information about phenomena that may well have existed previously. Stella Ghervas said her understanding was that the millet system cut Christians off from access to Ottoman courts. Could this have led to the equation of religious with political authority? Antonis said that access of the Christians to the Ottoman courts is well documented. All kinds of officials were expected to guarantee peace, so religious and political authority were not equated, even if sometimes they overlapped. Ioannis Tassopoulos: Constitutionalism and legal thought He had revised his presentation in the light of the previous day’s discussion. He would focus on five ways in which democracy figured in constitutional and legal thought:
We need to look for interconnections Crucial context is provided by the fact that Greece was a divided society, frequently rent by civil war, and with confrontation as an everyday aspect of politics. Historiography since the national schism of1915 has tended to underplay this. He would distinguish two basic strands in Greek constitutional thought: the political liberalism of A Korais; and the Jacobinism of Rhigas Velestinlis, and ask how they developed through time. The field in which they compete is the constitution, which provided (contested) rules of the game. What was accepted (after 1844) was that there should general elections. From 1844 there was close to universal male suffrage under a constitutional monarchy. A further breakthrough came in 1864, when universal manhood suffrage was guaranteed by the constitution. The fact that thenceforth governments could lose power as a result of elections shows the level to which they were accepted. Though an interesting word was coined, ‘ectopy’: being out of place, or deviation. This was seen to prevail when legitimacy on the basis of elections broke down. The various coup d’etats are examples of ectopy. Greek political history in C20 was marked by various coups, but compared to Italy and Germany it showed greater stability [but they didn’t have coups in C19 either]. From 1844/64 to 1915 (when there was a schism over participation in WWI), there was 50-70 years when elections determined who governed – a longer period than that from 1975 to now. The ascendancy of democratic ideals in a country which started from scratch is striking – though perhaps the late start helps explain the pattern. All basic criteria were satisfied: universal suffrage and popular sovereignty; unicameralism; principle of parliamentary confidence; appointment of the PM on the basis of the electoral balance of power; guarantee of basic political liberties – no prior administrative restraint; the idea of a fixed constitution; recognition of judicial review. Constitutional lawyers were major political actors; they played a central role in 1864 – indeed, it is difficult to separate law and politics. But they had varying perspectives. In the liberal view, power relations can be grounded on a basis of political equality; it is sufficient for rights to be equal before the law. According to the Jacobin view, hierarchical power had been reasserted; there was an invidious distinction between rulers and ruled; pressure from the governed on governors was necessary to maintain an element of popular control. The liberal view can be illustrated from a Korais letter of 1822: it would be better to be ruled by a Sultan-despot than the Christian Turk; at least the Sultan is not a hypocrite. A slightly later letter expresses a vision of society based on equality: said Greeks had graduated from a school of unlawfulness – but the lessons of tyranny remained engraved in our souls. He invoked the values of common sense, prudence etc. In 1864 Saripoulos in the National Assembly expressed this view: the nation is sovereign so should be free to express itself via elections; journalists must also be left free. Their writings express the views of some section of society. If these rules were breached, then the people had a right to rebel. The Jacobin perspective by contrast stressed political voluntarism. Elections results were to be interpreted as an expression of the single will of the people. Discussion: Eduardo Posada Carbo asked how suffrage rules differed 1844/64, if both were basically universal? Ioannis said that in 1844, only those adult males those without moveable property, and domestic servants and apprentices were excluded. Michalis said that the object was to exclude those who were themselves dependent. Antonis Anastasopoulos: on the rules of the game: wanted to know if he was suggesting that the Greeks had an idea of fixed rules to the political process? Ioannis said the chief rhetorical contrast was with the absolute rule of the sultan. The idea of the ‘rule of law’ was important in that context. Reason was opposed to will Socrates Petmezas invited him to comment on the issue of fairness in elections. He suggested that elections were not fair till 1875 (with the sole exception of the 1866 elections). There were important elections at the municipal level, but he didn’t know enough about how these worked. He thought that mayors were important figures. Ioannis cited a study by George Sotirelis which enquired into the working of electoral ascendancy. He concluded that by 1875 they had become much fairer, though this didn’t happen overnight. Even in 2001, the government changed the electoral rules just before the election. Several questions were collected: Gianluca Fruci was very struck by how early universal suffrage came in, and wondered what expression captured the term? Michalis Sotiropoulos: It is important to emphasise the importance of local elections prior to 1864; during the crisis of the monarchy, MPs were replaced by mayors. [He has since elaborated: The incident of the 'mayors' was one of the most characteristic ways with which King Otho tried after 1860 to bypass the Parliament. In 1860 the then administration, which was favourable to the crown, lost parliamentary support and was forced to resign. The king immediately dissolved the Parliament and called for elections. In the rigged elections that followed the administration that had previously resigned won and significant opposition figures were not elected. The Parliament was thus packed with 'mayors' – unpopular local officials close to the crown – to such an extent that it was called 'the Parliament of the mayors'. In addition the King replaced eighteen senators with others who did not meet the formal requirements, waging at the same time a war against the anti-governmental press.(see George Finlay (1861), History of the Greek revolution and of the reign of King Otho, pp. 251-253, see also for the mayors pp. 178-179. There are several editions of Finlay I am using the English edition of 1971.] He said that he thought that Greek historiography was too preoccupied with the theme of division, and in that context difference from western Europe; he thought that Alivizatos had set the tone in this regard. He also queried the notion of distinct liberal and Jacobin traditions, saying that in the constitutional texts, he saw no clear evidence of influence from either Korais or Rhigas. Although there was certainly self-conscious interest in liberal traditions, people did not turn to Korais to flesh these out. Stella Ghervas suggested that the most basic question people faced was whether or not ‘the people’ were really capable of governing themselves. Mark Philp asked if there was no conservative tradition in constitutional thinking. Dimitris Christopoulos said that he thought division was an important theme, but didn’t understand Ioannis’ identification of the two poles. He thought that indeed there was no space for conservatism. He thought that polarisation needed to be conceptualised in a mobile way: different binaries operated at different points. Konstantina Zanou agreed with Michalis in questioning the concept of polarisation. The point was not that it did not exist, but that it was a normal feature of political life. Ioannis replied to the series of questions. He said that the thought what the traditions had in common was a full and rich notion of popular sovereignty. This was always direct sovereignty. There was some discussion as to whether there should be a property qualification, but this did not pass. He cited what he thought was an important contribution by Gianfranco Poggi, The Modern State, in which it was argued that the ‘rules of the game’ served the traditional elites as much as the modernisers. He thought that Korais played an emblematic rather than substantive role – until C20 when he ceased to be invoked. He had inhabited a very different world, in which questions did not arise in the same institutional and technical context. But also, his ideal of political unity no longer worked in C20 – where, to the extent that it existed at all, the reference point was now Byzantium, and the vehicle the ‘megali idea’. Polarisation was compatible with democracy.
He hadn’t prepared a written paper. He identified 6 main themes:
Discussion. Several questions were collected: Mark Philp asked if secularisation was then just an elite process? Joanna Innes asked to what extent the position of the church was a concern in constitutional discussions around 1843-4? Konstantina Zanou asked if Constantine Oikonomos initially saw religion as compatible with enlightenment, but then changed his mind – or did he think that they remain compatible? Pericles Vallianos asked whether Korais was really entirely secular? Eleni Calligas said in 1864, when union with the Ionian islands was under discussion, the ecclesiastical question certainly came up: the question was whether the Ionian church should become part of the Greek church; the same question arose when Greek territory was later extended in other directions. She wondered if, when the megali idea came to be pursued more vigorously, that was associated with any changes in conceptions of autocephaly? Marios Hatzopoulos wondered why Otto and his ministers didn’t address the issue of the position of the church earlier, given the problems it caused. Socrates Petmezas asked if the specific programme, relating to the reform of the Holy Syno and Monasteries, as set out in Hellenike Nomarchia, was applied? Paschalis answered. Korais was entirely secular in his concerns and was not religious in any traditional sense. The ecclesiastical question was not raised when the constitution was being debated – it just wasn’t seen as comparable in importance to other pressing issues. He did not see religion and Enlightenment as mutually exclusive, but there were gradations of compatibility; these things are never clear cut. Everyone in the enlightenment movement was Christian, though they might be anti-clerical, like Korais, or the author of Hellenic Nomarchy, who charged the church with corruption and collaboration with tyranny. Oikonomos took refuge in Russia; he conducted a mass for Gregorius V in Odessa, and returned to Greece a religious conservative. In the Ionian islands, under the British protectorate there were plans for a separate ecclesiastical administration– but this was resisted by the local hierarchy, including by the man proposed to be the head of the new church. The Ionian islands were brought under the Greek church; similarly in Thessaly, when this was united with Greece by the Congress of Berlin. In other cases, the issue remained unsettled until after WW1. Crete eg had an autonomous church; it was administered by Greece, but spiritual leadership lay elsewhere. Cyrpus had been made autocephalous back in C5. Socrates Petmezas: The Land Question The land question was an issue in the Ottoman heartlands, from the Balkans to western Anatolia, from late C18 through late C19 He would talk about this period in Greece, and also about how similar issues were tackled in Serbia and the Ottoman heartlands. The era of reforms is traditionally dated from the accession of Selim III 1789 to the Ottoman constitution of 1876. This was an era of cutthroat military competition and associated reforms. It followed a period of properity – an Indian Summer until the 1770s. The crisis of the 1770s was caused by war with Russia. The reform strategy was absolutist, involving a reaction against the preceding period, characterised by Ariel Salzmann as an era of decentralisation. In that period, local magnates were able to bargain contributions off against political power. This order of things was associated with the transformation of the ‘classical’ timar system – the allocation of lands ex officio to a military elite – in favour of an expansion of tax-farming in relation to agricultural land, and of the so-called çiftlik system. Chris Bayly has shown that similar processes took place in all Muslim ‘gunpowder’ empires: this was a different modernising process from that pursued by absolutist European powers, but not self-evidently a worse one, and in fact, though some absolutist states such as Sweden lost great power status, the Ottomans survived. In the longer run, nonetheless, the Ottomans found it hard to deal with the power amassed by successful European states: during C18, the gap became apparent. Selim III 1789-1806 engaged in a vigorous attempt to reform the state – but failed because he was opposed by traditional elites and populace. Significant reform had to wait for the reign of Mahmut II, esp. from the 1820s, when he destroyed the independent power of Ali Pasha, and later that of the beys of Albania and Bosnia, while failing in Greece and Serbia, which however set up different kinds of states. A new challenge arose 1831-40 when Egypt invaded through Syria. In helping to resolve this dispute, European powers gained more leverage and more commercial rights. In the Ottoman world, centralisation and exposure to globalising economic competition came together. New globalising forces were associated with the further extension of çiftlik landholding, whose growth was the most critical change during C17-19. In the classical timar system, changing land use was in theory prohibited, except in relation to the cultivation of waste. Peasants were guaranteed usufruct so long as they cultivated continuously and paid taxes, which were assigned to the support of centrally appointed officeholders. Privately owned land (mülk) was not unknown, but it was mostly the untaxed landholding of the dynastic family and state élite and it was usually at the base of extensive pious endowments (evkâf). These were inalienable and tax-exempt properties , sometimes but not always assigned to pious and charitable works. Taxpaying subjects (reaya) could also hold mülk properties, mostly in the form of small vineyards, tree orchards, gardens and buildings (houses, shops and mills). The cultivators in lands held by pious endowments or high dignitaries paid personal taxes to the treasury and rent to the landowners. Small scale subsistence family farms paying taxes and rents in kind dominated the classical ottoman land tenure system (leaving aside the pastoral populations and the extreme cases of relatively rare large-scale commercial farms). As cavalry, supported by the timar system, became less important, and revenues were increasingly needed to support riflemen, some land units were parcelled out in fiscal units (mukata) and assigned to tax farmers. In C18, lifelong tax farms became common. Powerful men at the centre and local potentates were able to capture much of the social surplus. The most novel event was the development of large landholdings, çiftlik, by such powerful men, or merchants and city dwellers – often the same men who held tax farms. The cultivators were sharecroppers, who might have their own homes and gardens, or be entirely landless. They paid both taxes to the state and a share of their crop to the estate holder. Their size varied. The terms on which the land was held also varied: the estate holder might have the status of owners, or be tax farmers, or timar holders. The sharecroppers might be effectively bound to the soil – as in Thessaly or Bosnia – or be free to leave. Crops might be consumed locally or go to distant markets. Over time, the fiscal and financial burden on sharecroppers tended to expand: always a large part of what they produced went to the provincial elite, whose chief concern was to control labour. Çiftlik agriculture was established principally in the lowlands in symbiosis with semi-nomadic animal husbandry. Sharecroppers could prosper: the landlord was supposed to offer them credit and assistance when necessary. Other inhabitants of large estates were landless laborers (aylikçi), shepherds and various small shopkeepers and artisans living in villages. The estate superintendent (subaşi) sometimes held a relatively independent position imposing labor services on the sharecroppers and acting as usurer for his own profit. The distribution of surplus between the State treasury, the tax-farming/sub-farming network, the (mostly Muslim) landlords, their (self-serving) superintendents and other auxiliary personnel (various groups of militia men and local grocers/usurers) and of course the various strata of labouring rural population (mostly Christian in the Balkans) provided a focus for conflict. The çiftlik land tenure system expanded to cover a major part of the lowlands in the ottoman heartlands (see map of McGowan, Economic life in Ottoman Europe, C16-18). Overtime, the sharecroppers tended to put more time into eg animal husbandry or forestry, not subject to ground rent; landlords found it more profitable to rent winter pastures to semi-nomadic herdsmen than force cereal production. There were incentives to end security of tenure and introduce shorter leases. Untangling the competing claims of lords and peasants over land would be a major issue through C19. In Greece and Serbia, early revolts put a sudden end to mainly Muslim çiftlik tenures. These conflicts were not the most serious challenges facing the sultan at that time, who had problems on multiple fronts. Greek independence was unexpectedly achieved by the intervention of foreign powers: the ‘untoward event’. It is noteworthy that during constitutional discussions little was said about the land question in the round. Greek historiography takes it to have been clear that peasants would in effect gain land from dispossessed Muslims, notwithstanding the ambitions of tax-farmer koçabaşi and chieftains, who probably gained only a small part. Most either passed into hands of peasant cultivators or became part of the National Estate (ethnika ktemata – a Greek translation of the French biens nationaux); the latter were finally sold to peasant holders cheaply in 1871. In a few regions where Ottoman armies remained powerful, Muslim landowners were able to sell their estates, so that large çiftlik estates were sustained (in Attica, Locris and Boeotia and Northern Euboea). In 1821, in the charters of the three provincial assemblies (Morea, East and West Continental Greece) refer to (and presumably reflect discussion about) public lands, held by the state or in the form of pious endowments (including monastery lands), and Muslim property. Three points were clear from the start:
The effect of the war was therefore to secure peasant farms and reduce taxes; it was sometimes to enlarge pre-modern usufruct rights to something more like modern ownership. There were no popular demands for land registration: that came only in 1856; it did not reflect an intention of contesting the property of the peasant. There were however sometimes tensions over land, as in Apr. 1823 at the second National Convention when there was a move to sell national estates. The compromise reached was that only perishable features, requiring maintenance, might be sold off. Further attempts to sell of lands to pay debt, or to use as collateral for loans, largely failed. Sometimes lands were promised to young men to lure them into military service during the war, but only after the end of the war was this formally addressed. Kapodistrias wanted to establish a body of landowning peasants in order to provide an independent property basis for the electorate he proposed in a letter to the consultative legislative body of the Senate in February 1830 that suffrage should be dependent on property. He saw land distribution and the expansion of education as more important than the constitution. The project was taken over by the Bavarian absolutist government. They tried to sell off national lands, while putting a limit to the amount that it was possible to purchase. However, peasants who already controlled the land they cultivated didn’t want to pay a premium to acquire full title. Two policies linked to giving peasants a hold on the land were:
In 1833, most monastic land was seized, diminishing the power of the Church. National estates and church lands were amalgamated, making the move impossible to reverse. There seems to have been squatting and illegal appropriation of these lands, not documented in the case of former Muslim properties. There was little conflict over land until the annexation of Thessaly with its çiftliks. Rural conflict was more likely to be anti-fiscal. Though perishable national estate was purchased, most of the land was left to the cultivators. In March 1843, in the law extending the duration of the Law on the distribution of National Estates to retired military chieftains, the absolutist government made clear that no one could claim National Estates without the agreement of their cultivator. Holdings on National Estates were secure, and could indeed be inherited, sold or mortgaged. The only drawback was that they were liable not only to the usual taxes but a further 10% tithe in kind. In some places, peasants established commercial currant vineyards on national lands, changing the landscape. When in 1837 the government tried to extirpate what it thought were illegal plantations, it met active peasant resistance. It conceded, and these came to be called ‘national-private plantations’. Further change came only in the confused but revolutionary and democratic 1860s, at the best of young politicians (Alexander Koumoundouros and Sotirios Sotiropoulos). The 1871 law on land distribution left open the possibility that, if they could obtain consent, those with money could buy up land suitable for commercial development. The cultivator was first in line. National-private plantations were to be sold at the same price as uncultivated land. Peasants were not eager to pay for arable land, however. çiftlik land was not affected, and there seems to have been no sharecropper pressure for change. Recent research has shown that the traditional picture of the continuing triumph of the peasant should be modified to capture variation by region. Where there was land suitable for speculative plantations, it was usually bought up. Large landholdings were created in the W and NW Peloponnese littoral. Still the scarcity of labor and democratic politics gave bargaining power to landless cultivators. In plantation regions, a contract would be negotiated through which half of the newly planted estate had to be transmitted to the peasant, the land owner keeping the other planted half – so the peasants regained half the land affected. The chronic currant crisis of the early 20th century finally put an end to larger currant plantations. The Serbian revolt has similarities to the Greek, in that it was largely fought by peasants with some intellectual leadership. His impression was that land passed securely into the hands of the peasantry. Urban, commercial and political developments were more timid and less rapid that in the Greek case, leaving Serbia in the condition of a ‘peasant kingdom’. In the Ottoman case, the timar system was abolished, a new tax system was imposed (although tithe and tax-farming were preserved) and the majority of charitable pious endowments were put under the supervision of central government. In parallel with developments in Greece, the economic power of the conservative ulema was undermined and governmental revenues soared. In 1858, there was a general land law, about which there has been much historical debate, chiefly over whether or not it brought real change (also paralleling historiographical debate in Greece). Some emphasise the survival of older çiftliks; some the ban on creating new ones. The historian Huri İslamoğlu-İnan emphasises that the state set out to tax everybody. The effect was to promote property registration, starting with public property. In 1876 the registration of absolute properties (mülk) began, effectively abrogating all tax exemptions that had survived until then. This was a major change. Islamoğlu explains that once the major decisions were respected, the central administration was ready to accommodate local interests and incorporate regional customary realities in special provincial regulations. çiftlik landholders were, in contrast to the Greek case, co-religionists with policy makers, and their interests were taken seriously. In Thessaly, there was a move to confirm formal bondage of peasants, though this was not finally published. Differences between the Ottoman empire and Greece had much to do with the differing relations between established local elites and (old or new) state power. In Greece and Serbia, the mobilisation of peasant populations for national wars also created expectations of reward. Yüklə 275,63 Kb. Dostları ilə paylaş:
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