KIRJOGI NET DAILY
Coming Catastrophe for Kirjogi
22 March 2023
(Article originally published by Novaera Geopolitical Report)
Is Kirjogi headed unavoidably for catastrophe? Yes, argues Lech Stenkowski, associate professor of political science at the University of Novaera, in his newly released book on the subject, Brittle Empire. Stenkowski, a specialist in comparative politics and political economy who wrote his dissertation on the economic background of Asuckian unification movements of the 1920s, has long had an interest in the politics of Kirjogi, which he believes serves as an ominous warning for leaders unable to adapt to the changing conditions of modern life.
“Kirjogi is a paradigmatic case study of a regime that has long outlived its socioeconomic relevance,” he said in an interview, “It’s a fascinating case of a mismatch between a state’s political apparatus and its underlying material conditions, and therefore it can be an instructive example for researchers interested in the causes of political dysfunction.”
What is the underlying ‘mismatch’ crippling the Kirjogi state? Stenkowksi identifies a few culprits, but the chief difficulty is the coupling of a premodern political form and modernizing economic conditions.
“Kirjogi purports to be an essentially feudal state, a regime-type called ‘Haschag’ that combines a corporate organization of social life with a polycentric state, dividing powers between theocratic, representative, and bureaucratic institutions,” Stenkowski explains. “These are basically vestigial organs of the old empire that was killed during the URSC and resurrected following the Restoration in 1979.”
The URSC stands for the ‘United Republican Socialist Confederation,’ a socialist regime that was installed in 1961, three years after the deposition of the Veschalo dynasty. Following a successful counterrevolution in 1979, the URSC was deposed in Kirjogi but endured, in some form, in nine constituent republics that remained at war with the new right-wing regime, whose rule is often referred to simply as ‘the Restoration period.’
“The basic problem is that this complicated power-sharing apparatus evolved over centuries as a way of managing competing interests in a premodern society,” Stenkowksi went on. “The Pursanvitali (the institutional clergy) served as an educated elite that maintained a proto-national unity among the old, effectively independent princely states. The confederal structure allowed the empire to exert influence over diverse ethno-religious minorities that otherwise might have asserted their independence. All of this was possible in a largely agricultural society based on relations of personal fealty to an imperial suzerain. Local aristocratic elites could maintain their privileges by bargaining with the imperial government, accepting a few token concessions in exchange for integration into the empire’s economic network and relative toleration.”
But, Stenkowksi explained, this is no longer the case.
“This sort of arrangement made sense in the seventeenth century, and it allowed the Haschag to incorporate neighbors relatively peacefully, rapidly expanding beyond the boundaries of Kirjogi itself and consolidating an impressive empire. The problem is that this system begins to break down under conditions of industrialization and urbanization, when the old aristocratic system of patronage gives way to modern mass politics, and, with it, the rise of nationalism and socialism. By the early twentieth century, you see a shift in power from the old landowning aristocracy to new, educated, urban elites, both in Kirjogi and its subject nations, who begin to discuss new ideas to replace the old imperial organization, ranging from ethnic separatism to establishment of a democratic confederacy. This is obviously quite threatening to the theocratic basis of the Kirjogi state, which is deeply wedded to the imperial power structure.”
Unlike some of his academic peers in Kirjogi, who see the failure of the URSC as the death of a viable political left in the country, Stenkowski believes that the legacy of the second half the twentieth century is a series of unsettled questions, to which the present regime has no answers.
“It’s widely believed that Kirjogi is a case study in successful, thorough counterrevolution,” Stenkowski, a left-leaning Labor supporter, began, “In 1961, a coalition of ethnoreligious minorities and an urban elite in Kirjogi installed a socialist regime and adopted a program of social modernization and secularization. This was never accepted as legitimate by the majority of the population, and, within two decades, a right-wing order was again in charge. The thing is, they couldn’t exactly put the genie back in the bottle. The landed aristocracy was never completely restored (though that’s a subject for another time), the imperial throne is vacant, and the old manorial order has been replaced by a form of guild socialism. Most importantly, there are no longer any local princes that can negotiate with the central government: subject states are effectively republics, whose demands for autonomy now take democratic forms that are unacceptable to the imperial government. ‘The Restoration’ has been so violent and thorough precisely because it is in fact very frail, hence the title of my book, ‘Brittle Empire.’”
Stenkowsi admits, the official ideology of the counterrevolutionary regime is uniquely self-aware about the material constraints it faces, yet he believes they are fighting a losing battle.
“These people aren’t idiots,” he continues, “They fully understand that they’re an untimely regime – dinosaurs, to put it bluntly. So one of the key goals of the Restoration has been to reverse-engineer the political economy of the old empire. For example, the government has been promoting a policy of neo-agrarianism, ‘Geriflisi’ or ‘back-to-the-land,’ trying to revitalize rural life and encourage agricultural development. This was mildly successful in the late-twentieth century at achieving its goals, namely encouraging ‘traditional values’ and restoring the peasant powerbase of the Pursanvitali, as well as raising the fertility rate. The problem is that this can only go so far before it begins to run into problems: the swelling population of the countryside means that the per-family acreage of small farms is shrinking, resulting in a decline in rural earnings and wages. The guild system made this sustainable for a time, but it can’t work forever.”
That reference to ‘fertility rates’ broaches one of the most significant – but also taboo – concerns in Kirjogi political discourse.
“Demographic anxiety is one of the largest issues facing the Haschag. In the past, the ethnoreligious core of Kirjogi could dominate its neighbors, because they constituted a single cohesive national actor and a majority, or at least plurality, of the empire’s population. The arid lands of eastern principalities bordering Kimina or Falkasia just could not sustain the same masses of people as the river valleys in southwestern Kirjogi. That’s changing now, as declining living standards in Kirjogi are discouraging childbearing, while these eastern republics are growing and urbanizing. Neo-agrarianism resulted in a temporary boost to the birthrate, but they’re now running up against economic limits. The regime doesn’t want to dump off the excess rural population in cities, because they fear a repetition of 1961, when the urban nodes of the country were taken over by a revolutionary minority.”
Stenkowski admits that the Haschag is attempting to address this problem, yet he doubts the effectiveness of their available options.
“Large-scale investments and subsidies in rural improvements have had an effect, especially within the last decade. The government has also begun encouraging small-scale independent artisans to move to medium-sized towns, as an alternative to the industrial mass-production that they believe set the stage for the ’61 Revolution. But I’m not sure that even they believe this will avert a coming crisis. The fact of the matter is that the gap between Kirjogi and the separatist republics is declining, and there isn’t much the Haschag can do to reverse this short of opening the floodgates to global capital and urbanization.”
Yet this is precisely what Stenkowski believes is most dangerous about the present situation: an unavoidable shift in the balance of power that will produce political instability.
“The Haschag is in a difficult position,” he says ominously, “For ideological reasons, they cannot concede to the demands for autonomy in these eastern republics. Too much political capital, too much of the regime’s legitimacy, depends upon ‘restoring’ the legacy of the old empire, with its territorial integrity intact. On the other hand, it becomes likelier, day-by-day, that these republics will formally secede and have the means to back this up. So, with the stakes existential and a narrowing window of opportunity, I think it’s likely that the regime will try to settle the issue by brute force. We’ve been fortunate enough to see peace in the Haschag since 1986… I should qualify that as a relative peace, a cessation of large-scale hostilities. Of course, there has been terrible violence in the intervening years. But my point is that this is a delicate balance that is not really sustainable, and it’s becoming increasingly apparent – most of all, to the leaders of the regime themselves – that economic reforms are not going to avert this crisis.
“In 2019, Evrit Seshti, the Kirjogi prime director (effectively, head of the administrative bureaucracy), said during a press conference that the Haschag must ‘permanently resolve the question [of the separatist republic’s] within the present generation's lifetime.’ That signaled that the regime no longer accepts the legal limbo that has existed since 1986, but it also implies that a growing segment of the power structure also no longer believes that some kind of gradual reintegration of these republics is a serious possibility.”
So, is Kirjogi headed for implosion? Stenkowski is unsure.
“The Haschag is certainly not going to concede the issue. It would mean the death of the regime, one that claims to trace itself back to antiquity, or at least, realistically, to the eleventh century. That story, is, of course, a fanciful legend that obscures discontinuity and rupture, but it is one that Kirjogi take seriously, and the legacy of a millennium of history weighs heavily on the regime. So, if they will not capitulate, and peaceful solutions are off the table, a re-litigation of the fallout from the URSC seems likely. Only, things are different than they were in 1986, when the last civil war resulted in an armistice. The separatist republics are much stronger, and they have much more international sympathy. They’ve had time to prepare their own militaries as well, and it’s possible they will be able to call upon foreign support. Kirjogi’s illiberal conduct hasn’t quite pushed it into international pariah status, but it will leave the regime much more isolated. This is a much riskier gamble, but it’s one I believe the regime will have to take. Unfortunately, a catastrophe – whether tomorrow or in a decade – is probably on its way.”
Asked whether there is any course left to avert a resumption of large-scale hostilities, Stenkowski frowned, evidently dismayed.
"Honestly, I can't see it. The URSC, while suffering from problems of its own, was at least a serious attempt at offering this diverse region some kind of confederal structure, which might have been able to balance the needs for autonomy and modernization. If something like that existed today, it would be difficult but perhaps not impossible to keep these competing interests united under one roof. But the socialist form that regime took was an aberration that was never going to be viewed as fully legitimate, and the scars it left behind have meant that no middle-of-the-road, democratic compromise could be worked out. Strangely enough, given my own left-liberal inclinations, I think that a true restoration of the monarchy could have preserved a certain kind of unity, since it might have avoided some of the brutal, homogenizing effects of impersonal mass politics the country now faces. But, even if that were in the offing, it is likely too little and too late. The current regime is insufficiently democratic, but also not a true restoration: it's the bastard child of rushed compromises from the 1980s, and it's too sclerotic to navigate the current crisis without some profound constitutional changes that I couldn't possibly anticipate."
Stenkowski's book, Brittle Empire: From Revolution to Ruination, is available for order online now.
