Macedonia Passage: Dangerous Cargo
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When goods which are known or suspected to be dangerous cannot be found by name in any of tables A or B, they have to be classified in accordance with Part 2, which contains all relevant procedures and criteria to determine whether such goods are deemed to be dangerous or not and which UN number should be assigned. Nevertheless, due to the transitional measures provided for in 1. Territorial applicability ADR is an Agreement between States, and there is no overall enforcing authority.
In practice, highway checks are carried out by Contracting Parties, and non-compliance may then result in legal action by national authorities against offenders in accordance with their domestic legislation. ADR itself does not prescribe any penalties. ADR applies to transport operations performed on the territory of at least two of the above-mentioned Contracting Parties. All rights reserved. Download ADR. Certifico Home Chi siamo Contatti Tutte le news. Enshrined in imaginations and popularized through glossy photographs in bound volumes on ancient art and archaeology, for many years Macedonia seemed to belong to a long past era of ancient history.
Since the early S, however, the name Macedonia has come to elicit sharply different images, particularly for those who follow developments in the Balkans. Late-twentieth-century Balkan nationalisms have given rise to competitive, even antagonistic, legitimation ideologies that make the Ancient Macedonia of coffee-table picture books the center of discord and controversy. At the turn of the twentieth century, Greece and Bulgaria had been engaged in national struggle over the region of Macedonia.
Today, at the threshold of the twenty-first century, the axis of competition has shifted, as the Former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia FYROM has risen to independent statehood, encompassing a population of Slavs, Albanians, Muslim Turks, and Rama gypsies, among others. National activists and elites in contemporary Greece and the FYROM have become locked in a protracted contest to "prove" the supposed "national identity" of the Ancient Macedonias.
But such are the arguments through which the respective cultural warriors of the Greek and Macedonian national causes today sometimes attempt to affirm their political legitimacy over the region. Quite often, the rhetoric of national competition between states or, more properly, nation-state elites harkens back to distant historical developments to legitimize present-day claims of-or demands for-sovereignty. The proud aura of Ancient Macedonia and its glorious heroes of ages past represent a mythological ancestral land and ancestors invoked by modern-day hegemonists-national ideologues and nationalist historians alike-in both Greece and the FYROM.
Academic arguments and political rhetoric invent a national time, which is then used to legitimize a national space. Protagonists on each side of this dispute have constructed, in effect, a putative descent of their nation from glorious personages in ancient settings in order to provide their citizens with a national genealogy and an ideology of nationhood that links space, time, and notions or metaphors of kinship and descent.
Yet they also attempt to delegitimize claims put forward by their antagonists, sometImes accusing each other of appropriating, stealing, or counterfeiting history. Harnessed to serve the interests or purposes of the nation, itself an artificial and highly reified entity, history becomes a commodity.
It is zealously possessed, but it must be circulated in order to increase and realize its value. It is this paradox between exclusion and inclusion that also lies at the heart of the concept of "nation" Hobsbawm In the competitive discourses of nation-building in the southern Balkans, the word "Macedonia" has become not merely the name of a disputed region but also a symbol of national identity and its rightful historical glory.
The manner in which I originally conceived this study, before Macedonia had appeared in media headlines as a topic of political controversy, reveals that I too had been immersed in this national fiction making. Born and raised in Thessaloniki, the principal commercial center of Greece's northern province of Macedonia and the city in which my relatives still live, I had grown up amid conflicting images of cultural diversity and homogeneity.
When I began to formulate a doctoral dissertation project in , I was seeking to understand how the culturally diverse peoples inhabiting that region had come to feel themselves as part of a single national culture, that of Greece. The common popular perception, with which I too had been enculturated as I grew up, was that Greek Macedonia was inhabited by two groups: "locals" dopyi and "refugees" prosfighes from the Greco-Turkish War who had settled among them. Both groups were regarded as Greek.
I wanted to explore xiii I PREFACE how these people, at times seemingly so different, had come to regard each other as members of a single collective group, enabling them to interact and intermarry despite other appreciable differences. It was, I admit, a topic of deep personal interest.
Macedonia Passage: Dangerous Cargo
I myself was the product of a mixed marriage between a "local" and a "refugee. Orphaned in the warof , he and his siblings had come to Greece with little more than the clothes on their backs and but a few words of Greek in their vocabularies. My mother, on the other hand, was the daughter of a Greek-speaking Thessaloniki merchant, a man from highland Halkidhiki who as a child had left his natal village and walked alone and barefoot to Salonika.
There he eventually built a once successful import-export business lost in the Great Depression and married the daughter of one of the city's then prominent shoe merchants. Before her marriage and during the last years of the first decade in this century, my grandmother had been a teacher of Greek, posted to the village school of Laina in the Langadhas basin just north of the city. Perhaps in my search for what made my parents, different as they were, both Greek, I was also looking subconsciously for the basis of my own Greek identity.
Born and raised in Greece, I had gone to the United States on a college scholarship in Yet I found myself returning each summer to my family in Greece, in Macedonia, in Thessaloniki, my place of birth and sense of home. As a doctoral candidate in anthropology at Columbia University, I therefore welcomed an invitation by members of the Archaeology Department of the University of Thessaloniki in to participate in an ethnoarchaeological survey of the Langadhas basin.
I arrived in the middle of May of that year, funded by a predissertation summer grant from the MacArthur Foundation, in the hopes of finding an appropriate site for my fieldwork.
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The colors of the Macedonian hills in late spring were still green, as the heat of summer had not yet begun to ripen the wheat crop in preparation for harvest. For several reasons, following an initial survey of the basin, I selected the township kinotita of Assiros as the focus of my study of interaction between "locals" and "refugees. As an administrative unit, the township was a source of local archives township, school, and church for its three component villages: Assiros, Examili, and Mavrorahi.
Assiros, by far the wealthiest of the three settlements, was also the township seat. Examili was a smaller village situated on the semiperiphery of the township plain, at the foot of rising hills. Mavrorahi, by contrast, was a largely depopulated hamlet situated in the hills to the north, where husbandry was the principal source of livelihood for the five families that remained. Each settlement, moreover, offered what appeared to be different demographic and ethnic aspects. Assiros was inhabited predominantly by locals and refugees and their descendants from East Thrace referred to as Thrakiotes , as well as a small group of settled Sarakatsan pastoralists.
Examili, too, was populated by Thrakiotes.
Rite of passage
During that summer of , I spent my first month in Mavrorahi before moving to Assiros village on the basin plain below. It proved to be a far more challenging experience than I had anticipated, for I soon realized that despite my native fluency in Greek there was nevertheless much that I was missing because of my inability to speak the Pontic dialect. Moreover, now as I reread my field notes from Mavrorahi, I realize that I had been also hampered, although unconsciously, by a frame of mind that led me to relate to the Pontics there as one Greek to another.
There are many unstated assumptions in my diaries from that first month of fieldwork, as well as many loopholes and questions that I now beg to answer. Some of this may no doubt be attributable to lack of experience, but there is a consistent pattern in those notes to suggest that my own sense of Greek identity had, at the time, hampered a critical investigation of how local notions of identity had been constructed and transformed over time. After a month in Mavrorahi, I spent the next ten weeks in Assiros village on the basin plain, engaging in informal interviews, examining the new township family registry established in , and collecting life histories from dopyi locals and Thrakiotes refugee families alike.
I also recorded census data from the township secretary's office and participated in formal and informal community events. It was in Assiros that I began to appreciate the complex and puzzling relationship between locals and refugees. These were ascriptive labels of identity that village residents themselves used, but they were also obfuscating categories that masked much diversity. Similarly, "locals" had presented themselves as the indigenous population of the area, yet were by no means a homogeneous group either.
Assiros, I never stopped learning, was a mazemata: a collection of people and social groups from different places, many of whom had arrived and settled in the area since the second half of the nineteenth century. Elsewhere in Greek Macedonia, the term [enJdopyi 'local' is used to refer to Slavic-speakers who had inhabited the region prior to its incorporation into Greece in ; in the Edessa and Florina prefectures, for example, the phrase dopyos Makedhonas 'local Macedonian' is used by many to signify a Slavic-speaker and his descendants.
In Assiros, by contrast, the term dopyi designated anyone who had been present in the area before the arrival of the refugees, regardless of natal language or other differences. With these new insights, I returned to the township in April for a full year of field research, supported through grants from the MacArthur Foundation and the Wenner-Gren Foundation for Anthropological Research. This time, I shifted my focus to the establishment and early history of the Assiros village and its once thriving market.
Over the next thirteen months, I devoted myself to an ethnographic history of the transformations involved in the construction of a common Greek national identity among both the various peoples or groups that m. This second session of fieldwork was joyfully interrupted by the birth of my son, Nikos, and I spent most of those days researching Greek historiography on the region and on the Macedonian issue in general at the library of the Institute for Balkan Studies in Thessaloniki.
When I returned to Assiros in April , I began reading the local township archives, located in the basement of the township office building. Most of these documents consisted of loosely bundled papers that were unorganized, uncatalogued, and soiled with dirt, dust, and mice droppings. No one, I was told, had looked at them since they were moved into the basement, and the township office staff was preparing to burn them in order to free up storage space for other purposes.
As such, their diversity deserves special mention, having included: the minutes and decisions of the township council; various township registries i. There were also local records pertaining to property transfers, land redistributions, and agricultural subsidies.
In addition, the local church office maintained a small historical archive. The Assiros village school and school board likewise had extensive records pertaining to student enrollments as well as occupational and educational information on each student's father.
With the exception of the church archives to which the village priest permitted me only partial access , I was given free and unrestricted access to all these records. My last session of fieldwork in Assiros took place in the summer of We had just come from China, where my husband had been conducting his own doctoral field research.
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Returning to Greece, I began to appreciate more fully the importance of open public narratives about local history. In China, interviews and conversations had often been sedate, frequently falling into whispers lest someone overhear what was being said to the foreign ethnographer; access to virtually all written records had been tightly restricted. In Assiros, on the other hand, discussions in the kafenia coffeeshops were usually lively.