Where East meets West

What does a Western European see in the eastern part of the continent? What would a satiated Austrian see if, changing his own habits, he decided to turn his attention to the East rather than the West? Or if, for some reason, he put aside his own minor, everyday concerns and contemplated the region, incorrectly called Eastern Europe? Let’s put it differently: What do Western Europeans expect from these countries? What can they find there?

This is a legitimate question, as there is always a gap between image and reality. We become convinced that we see things and have certain knowledge. We contrive our own opinions. And yet all these are simply conjectures, predetermined opinions, prejudices which would not pass a reality test. Rarely do we consider such a confrontation. It would not even cross our minds to make an attempt to break stereotypes, which, in many cases, have been passed down to us for generations. Hence, our attitude towards Eastern Europe has been shaped by such ungrounded judgements, fake images and clichés.

Eastern Europe – where is it?

Problems already arise with an attempt to precisely define the term “Eastern Europe”. Where is it? What are its eastern and western borders? Which countries does it include? Is it still politically correct to use this term? Isn’t it more correct to say “Central and Eastern Europe”, “South-Eastern Europe” and “North-Eastern Europe”? Not that long ago, the common belief was that Eastern Europe was the area inhabited by the Slavs. This image still haunts us and many people believe in this absurd idea. Just think: how Slavic are the Hungarians, the Albanians, the Romanians, the Moldovans, the Lithuanians, the Latvians, or the Estonians? Maybe they should be considered Western Europeans?

The problem doesn’t end there. In geographical terms, at least from Austria’s perspective, Eastern Europe is almost impossible to be captured in one definition. A glimpse at a map and we see that Prague is more to the West than Vienna and the same goes for Ljubljana, Rijeka or Szczecin. All these cities would be assigned the label Eastern Europe, without much thought, although their residents really feel that they live in Central Europe.

My point here is that the idea of Eastern Europe is more a political than geographical concept. Its borders were drawn after 1945 and fell under the influence of the Soviet Union. For decades, we, in the West (and of course in this context the term West is just as imprecise as Eastern Europe) were content referring to the countries of the Eastern bloc or just simply the Eastern bloc. We looked at this region as if it was one uniform territory deprived of differences or borders. For us, Eastern Europe was an area in which everything was more or less the same: politics, economy, lifestyles, people’s mentality and even the cities and countryside. We had a vague idea that the landscape was slightly different, but we had no first-hand knowledge of it because we had never travelled east.

And when it comes to travelling east, not much has really changed. Even today a trip to Ukraine or Moldova is regarded, just like it was years ago, as a risk. Many of us simply prefer not to go there: sicher ist sicher.

Rich, proud and overconfident

This period has affected our mentality and behaviour. The thought that our home is in the better part of Europe gave us pride. It made us feel quite confident towards our eastern neighbours whom we regarded as our underprivileged relatives. Yes, the unfortunate souls, who once in a while could count on our generosity and charity. Even at such moments we preferred to maintain our distance. These are the emotions they generate; they are more tolerable than loveable.

A sense of superiority with a degree of pity, which at any moment could turn into intolerance, allowed us to treat the Czechs, the Slovaks, the Poles, not to mention the Ukrainians or Belarusians (about whose existence we barely knew), with such arrogant attitudes. We would never allow ourselves to treat the British, the French or the Italians in such a way. Our neighbours in the East were simply inferior, in many aspects. They were poor, they had no luck, and we knew how to remind them of their misery. As it often is in relations with poorer relatives, we did not think it was inappropriate to show them our superiority. Let alone the fact that we were able to give them good advice, without even knowing what their lives were like. When they ignored our words of wisdom, we treated it as a sign of a lack of gratitude. Ultimately, we were proud of our success. We were the West who they were supposed to listen to.

With time we started believing that maybe our neighbours from the other side of the Iron Curtain were actually deserving of their fate. Maybe, at least partially, they shared the responsibility for their fate. In the end, we, or maybe our parents and grandparents, were capable of rebuilding our ruined country after the war and put our efforts into establishing “the good life”. Surely there had to be a reason why those living behind the Iron Curtain were not so successful and that their countries suffered crisis after crisis. Was it really only the political system? Or maybe they, the Eastern Europeans, were less ambitious, less diligent and less hard-working than us.

That Eastern Europe, a creature of the Cold War, disappeared from the maps along with the collapse of the Soviet Union and the demise of communism. It all happened so fast, much faster than even the biggest optimist could predict. Soon after, at a similar pace and with unexpected courage, the process of Eastern enlargement of the European Union took place.

The fearsome East

The once alluring enthusiasm towards a united Europe without borders has been replaced, at best, by troubling doubt or, worse, by national egoisms, petty and self-centred thinking. In many countries, also in Eastern and Central Europe, there is a visible popularity of nationalistic thinking and hostility towards minorities. For many people in the West this has become a pretext to yet again turn away from the East. For them this region is once again starting to look unpredictable and threatening.

However, the same tendencies can be seen in Western democracies, in countries which for years have served as an example of liberalism and openness to the world. Hence, there is no reason for us in the West to look with pity at the East and warn it against the danger of nationalist movements, something that is all too familiar to us. We should rather reflect on similar tendencies in our own countries.

I live in the southern part of Burgenland in Austria, near the border with Hungary and Slovenia. Today, when both countries are members of the European Union, the border has no meaning. And yet, it seems as if it has never disappeared. It exists, at least, in our heads. Between the southern part of Burgenland and the border regions of Hungary and Slovenia there is no significant interaction. People from my area are usually quite reserved and sceptical when it comes to the other side. Old fears and distrust thrive and are propagated.

Ironically, before 1918 Burgenland belonged to the Hungarian, and not Austrian, part of the dualist Habsburg monarchy. Yet, not much remains from the ties that historically glued us together. These ties have long been cut. New ones are being established slowly and with many difficulties. Today, any attempt to reopen the old doors, which before 1989 were sealed by the Iron Curtain, is met with resistance on the Austrian side; many Austrians living near the old border are still against its reopening.

This visible distance reveals ignorance towards our neighbours’ languages. This would not be so surprising, if not for the fact that, some time ago, many residents of Burgenland spoke Hungarian, or even Croatian (Burgenland is also inhabited by a Croat minority). Today multilingualism is regarded as being something unusual. This is true, at least, for our side of the border. On the other side, meaning in the East, it is quite different. There, many young people speak German.

This seems to be the characteristic of all these unique parts of Europe where East meets West. Much patience is still needed to dismantle existing prejudice, overcome fears, and undertake a real dialogue with our neighbours. And by real dialogue I do not mean the teary speeches uttered in shaky voices during anniversary ceremonies in which participants embrace each other, exchanging kisses. By real dialogue I mean simple, everyday conversation.

Oh those difficult names

In culture, much endurance and patience are needed to overcome the old thinking patterns and achieve change. Quite often it appears that indifference and lack of interest emerge from small details. Let’s take the example of the spelling of names. Someone could say that this is my personal whim to fret about such a minor thing. And yet I believe that there is a reason behind a carefree attitude towards the spelling of foreign last names, especially when they are of Eastern European origin. For example it is a norm among Austrian journalists to misspell Polish, Czech and Hungarian last names. Something nobody seems to be bothered about. Even mainstream newspapers are not certain on how to correctly write the last name of a well-known Polish politician. Is it Kaczinski, Kaczinsky, Kacsinsky or maybe Kaczyński? For many years, I personally fought for the proper spelling (let’s forget about the pronunciation) of the name Kapuściński (late Polish reporter and writer – editor’s note), which was a quixotic fight. At the same time, the last names of French politicians or writers, for instance, also not easy for Austrians, are given special attention, making sure they are written correctly, up to the last accent mark.

Sloppiness in this area, which is also a sign of ignorance and/or a sense of superiority, has a long tradition. I have talked about this on many occasions. The first time I brought up this issue was in 1985 in an essay with the provocative title – A Call to Easternise Vienna. Back then I wrote: “It is common knowledge that a large part of Vienna’s telephone directory consists of Slavic or Hungarian last names. What is irritating, however, is the fact that not many Viennese are able or show enough effort to spell them, not to mention pronounce them, correctly… And this is not because the Viennese are somewhat hostile towards foreign names: French or English last names are loved here. The situation is completely different when it comes to the names of politicians or other dignitaries from Hungary or other Slavic countries. Here, the languages are mixed, here cultural imperialism is joyfully rising: who, on earth, cares whether the last names of the Polish workers’ leader or a Hungarian composer are properly pronounced?”

The same old story

The Iron Curtain has long since been raised. The barbed wire and land mines are history. The borders are open. Even the nations, once closed in the Soviet Union, have been states for 20 years now and can be freely visited. They have their own good hotels, restaurants and just as sophisticated intellectual life as the one in the West. And yet the curtain still exists, as if nothing has changed.

How is it possible? How can we explain it? Why is it so difficult to fill this ignorance towards Eastern and Central Europe?

I believe that the reasons are mainly of a historical nature. Prejudice which is revealed in our attitude towards our Eastern neighbours goes deep into history reaching back to the 19th century or even deeper. As is commonly known, such prejudices are most vivid and the hardest to root out. Again, I am referring to Austria, although it is quite similar in other Western countries. But let’s stay with Austria. Here the lack of understanding towards the history and tradition of Eastern European nations is very deeply rooted. Already before the Habsburg Empire collapsed, in the Austrian part, the orientation was predominantly pro-West, even though Vienna was also a city of Poles, Ukrainians, Czechs, and Slovenians.

However, even back then, the German-speaking Austrians were irritated, and carried a certain level of distrust towards the easterners. Anybody who could afford it then, would choose a vacation in the Austrian mountains, at the Austrian sea or at least the Austrian lakes but not in Böhmen (this is what the Czech Republic was called back then) or in the flatland of today’s Hungary. And God forbid a journey to Galicia.

If anybody decided to make a journey in these remote regions, he would return with stories of dissatisfaction and stereotypical complaints. Franz Grillparzer (1791–1872), Austria’s national poet, a well-known grouch and misanthrope left such a description of his trip throughout the Czech country, “The moment you cross the Czech border, everything slows down and gets worse. Is this only my conviction or maybe it is the area, all in all probably not that bad, in its essence – how to say? – more boring, bitter, wilder than in Austria. And the beggars on the side roads are more numerous and more shameless”.

Until today, this is, or at least similar to, the reaction of many Austrians (and not only Austrians) looking East. Negative from the beginning, they are distrustful and always convinced that by them, meaning in the West, things are much better. In this sense, Grillparzer is quite up-to-date. The fact that this great Austrian national poet, without many qualms, would write “Takatsch” instead of “Takács” is not surprising; it’s the same old story.

Martin Pollack was an Austrian writer, journalist and translator of Polish literature. He was the author of many books including: Der Tote im Bunker. Bericht über meinen Vater (Death in the bunker. The story of my father) (2004), and Kaiser von Amerika. Die große Flucht aus Galizien (Emperor of America. The great escape from Galicia) (2010). He passed in 2025.