Montenegro Independent?!

gogu wrote:
This is not true.
The (slavic) people residing in the area of the former Yugoslavia are
referred as "southern slavs" which in the Serb language is translated
as
"yugo slavs" hence the name of the (artificial- country....

You are correct. I know full well the etymology of the word Yugoslavia
and the history of the Kingdom of the Serbs, Croats and Slovenes.
However, "jugo" is a pan-Slavic word, so you cannot say that is derives
from the Serbian language only. I dare say that all Slavs use the
prefix jugo- to mean southern.


As many other countries in the 20th century, Czechoslovakia coming
first in
mind.

True.


Maybe I should have used lower case: they are "yugo slavs", meaning
"southern slavs".
Is this OK with you now?

Ok. My quibble (and I think I may have argued with Dik on this same
point a while ago) is that in former Yugoslavia, one was a "Yugoslav"
by citizenship only, not by nationality, not culturally, and certainly
not linguistically. Each of the Slavic languages spoken in former
Yugoslavia was/is unique, so much so, that the artificial (there's that
word again) Serbo-Croatian language has reverted back to its original
components, Serbian and Croatian.

Montenegrin is considered by some to be a dialect, by others, a
language. While the official language of Montenegro shifted between
Montenegrin and Crnogorski-Srpski, the country's literary language is
the former. The controversy will continue, especially now with
Montenegro on the brink of independence.

What is a Montenegrin, you ask? Ask someone who speaks the language,
sings the songs, adheres to its customs... For me, that's the litmus
test of ethnicity.


~Anka

? "Anka" ?????? ??? ??????
oups.com...

gogu wrote:
This is not true.
The (slavic) people residing in the area of the former Yugoslavia are
referred as "southern slavs" which in the Serb language is translated
as
"yugo slavs" hence the name of the (artificial- country....


You are correct. I know full well the etymology of the word Yugoslavia
and the history of the Kingdom of the Serbs, Croats and Slovenes.
However, "jugo" is a pan-Slavic word, so you cannot say that is derives
from the Serbian language only. I dare say that all Slavs use the
prefix jugo- to mean southern

Sure but I said that the slav inhabitants of the territory of the former
Yugoslavia are referred by the scientist as "southern slavs" aka "yugo
slavs".
And this in contrast to other slavs like Bulgarians who have a proper ethnic
name.


Maybe I should have used lower case: they are "yugo slavs", meaning
"southern slavs".
Is this OK with you now?


Ok. My quibble (and I think I may have argued with Dik on this same
point a while ago) is that in former Yugoslavia, one was a "Yugoslav"
by citizenship only,

True.

not by nationality,

True.

not culturally, and certainly
not linguistically.

Mostly true.

Each of the Slavic languages spoken in former
Yugoslavia was/is unique, so much so, that the artificial (there's that
word again) Serbo-Croatian language has reverted back to its original
components, Serbian and Croatian.

But fact is that almost every Yugoslavian could understand the 5 (?...)
official languages.
I had many Yugoslavian friends when I was young and they could understand
(with a certain difficulty though) all of the Yugoslavian languages.

Montenegrin is considered by some to be a dialect, by others, a
language. While the official language of Montenegro shifted between
Montenegrin and Crnogorski-Srpski, the country's literary language is
the former.

Is it related with the Serbian language?
The name certainly points to that (Srpski=Serbian)
Can a Serb understand a person speaking this language/idiom?

The controversy will continue, especially now with
Montenegro on the brink of independence.

Aren't there any serious linguistic studies on that matter?

What is a Montenegrin, you ask? Ask someone who speaks the language,
sings the songs, adheres to its customs...

Someone said Serb another said ... Montenegrin;-)

For me, that's the litmus
test of ethnicity.

Well, I was not asking for a political answer or an answer based on
someone's beliefs, I was asking if someone knows a *scientific* answer!
To me Montenegrins seem to be Serbs, they always fought with the Serbs
against common enemies, I've always thought of them as a kind of a separate
province of Serbia or something like that but ethnically of the same stock
as Serbs. My question is if this is correct or not.


--

E' mai possibile, oh porco di un cane, che le avventure
in codesto reame debban risolversi tutte con grandi
puttane! F.d.A

Coins, travels and mo http://pg.photos.yahoo.com/ph/golanule/my_photos
http://gogu.enosi.org/index.html

~Anka

gogu wrote:
But fact is that almost every Yugoslavian could understand the 5 (?...)
official languages.
I had many Yugoslavian friends when I was young and they could understand
(with a certain difficulty though) all of the Yugoslavian languages.

Yes, all of the languages are similar in vocabulary and grammar, but
they are different enough to be considered separate languages. I
believe that each of them has certain distinct letters, not to mention
the Latin-Cyrillic difference.


Is it related with the Serbian language?
The name certainly points to that (Srpski=Serbian)
Can a Serb understand a person speaking this language/idiom?

Of course they are related. They are both Slavic languages! But yes,
you are right. They are very similar, but -distinct- in some
vocabulary, grammar and idiomatic expressions The main difference is
that Serbian uses the Cyrillic alphabet and Montenegrin uses the Latin
alphabet.


Aren't there any serious linguistic studies on that matter?

There is a Montenegrin Language Institute which is trying to resurrect
and promote the use of Montenegrin as the official language. More
power to them!


Someone said Serb another said ... Montenegrin;-)

I believe it!


Well, I was not asking for a political answer or an answer based on
someone's beliefs, I was asking if someone knows a *scientific* answer!
To me Montenegrins seem to be Serbs, they always fought with the Serbs
against common enemies, I've always thought of them as a kind of a separate
province of Serbia or something like that but ethnically of the same stock
as Serbs. My question is if this is correct or not.

No, Montenegro was not a province of Serbia, but an separate,
independent state. If you're interested, I have attached (an edited)
travelog of my visit to Montenegro. It includes some history and
touches on the language, so I hope that including it here is apropos.
Happy reading!

Wednesday, October 12, 2005: Montenegro

If one were to take a poll, most people would say they've never heard
of Montenegro. Those who have probably think it's a country in South
America or an Italian resort. It is neither. Montenegro was the
name given to this area of the Balkans by Venetian conquerors who came
upon its densely forested mountains. In earlier times, the country
was called Duklja (the Roman Doclea) and then Zeta. Its modern name,
Crna Gora, is a direct translation of the Venetian Montenegro, which
means "black mountain."

Montenegro was one of the six republics of former Yugoslavia.
Mercifully, it was spared much of the devastation wrought during
Yugoslavia's civil war. After the disintegration of Yugoslavia in
1992, Montenegro and Serbia formed the Federal Republic of Yugoslavia,
an unpopular alliance for Montenegro whose citizens are looking forward
to a referendum on its autonomy and petitioning for acceptance into the
European Union. About the size of Connecticut, Montenegro is situated
in the southern Balkan peninsula and is bordered by the Adriatic Sea,
Albania, Croatia, Bosnia-Herzegovina, Serbia and Kosovo. Its seacoast
is a narrow strip of land 293 kilometers long with the Dinaric mountain
range rising steeply behind it. The formidable mountains present
quite an obstacle today as they did in the past to the communication
between the lowland region and the hinterland. The Mediterranean
climate here is as enticing as the white beaches and clear blue
waters.

Early Wednesday morning the Dalmacija slowly and silently glided into
the Bay of Kotor (Boka Kotorska), Europe's southernmost fjord. The
steep mountain backdrop and the towns dotting the shore were reflected
in a perfect mirror image on the glasslike surface of the bay. Our
ship's wake was barely a ripple. A small, flat, manmade island set
with a tiny monastery seemed to float by as a chapel bell called the
monks to morning prayer. How serene. Many of the passengers were on
deck enjoying the scenery as we approached yet another coastal
village. The Dalmacija burped a friendly hello to some people
ashore. Several of the ship's kitchen staff were hanging over the
railings shouting to the villagers who promptly returned their greeting
by waving towels and tablecloths. "A' so vasi? Are they your
(family)?" I asked the cooks, to which they nodded an exuberant yes.
Apparently, this was a weekly ritual for them as the Dalmacija made its
way toward the town of Kotor, the Queen of the Adriatic.

We docked in a neat little port with a slip barely large enough to
berth our ship. Kotor lay at the foot of an enormous range of
mountains strung with a chain of turreted fortifications, a mini Wall
of China that went up, up as far as you could see. As in the other
Adriatic ports, the old town was just a couple of minutes' walk from
the ship, so Milena and I went on our own little walking tour of Kotor
before embarking on the official all-day excursion.

After a devastating earthquake in 1979, UNESCO came to the rescue of
Kotor and helped rebuild much of the old town. Today, it is on
UNESCO's world cultural heritage list. Kotor has retained its
original asymmetrical form and is considered one of the best preserved
medieval towns in the Adriatic. We approached the encircling wall and
the southern gate decorated with a relief of the Lion of Venice, an
image we'd seen all along our itinerary. Inside the Sea Gate the old
town was a monochrome of gray and grayer, its tiny square dominated by
a 6th century Romanesque clock tower. The bistros surrounding the
forum were filled with young men drinking Turkish coffee and talking on
cell phones. Groups of tourists were milling around here and there.
Dobrodosli u Kotoru!

Our first stop was the Cathedral of St. Tryphon (Katedrala Sv. Tripuna)
dedicated to Kotor's patron saint, a 3rd century Christian youth
martyred during the reign of Nero. I was surprised to find out that
Kotor's and Montenegro's religious heritage is rooted in Catholicism.
Even after the Great Schism of 1045, Kotor remained part of the Roman
(Western) patriarchate. By the late eighteenth century there were
thirty Catholic churches in Kotor, four monasteries and three
convents. The area also produced many bishops and clergy, including
Pope Sixtus V who was born in Kotor. A cute young man at the
cathedral's entrance sold us admission tickets and answered, in
excellent English, our questions couched in a kind of generic Slavic
patois. (Hey...whatever works.) Once inside, we marveled at the
stark beauty of this Gothic-Romanesque masterpiece built on the remains
of the original 9th century church. The cathedral was destroyed and
rebuilt several times, most extensively after the area-wide earthquakes
of 1667 and 1979. Nothing remains of the original church, but
Byzantine-Gothic frescos painted by Greek artists (pictores Graeci,
according to an extant contract dated 1331) can still be seen in the
main apse of the church. The cathedral houses a great number of works
of art, among them a lacy white stone ciborium (12th c.) above the main
altar, the only completely preserved silver-gilt altarpiece in the
eastern Adriatic, and a 14th century reliquary chapel containing
exquisite objects fashioned by local gold- and silversmiths. Kotorci
are very proud of their cathedral, the oldest on the eastern Adriatic
shore.

With a couple of hours at our disposal, Milena and I investigated the
old town's nooks and crannies, following the maze-like alleys,
suspecting that in a small place like Kotor it was impossible to get
lost. At this hour of the morning, most of the restaurants were not
yet open for business, but from what we saw, they were charming and
inviting. Every so often, we came upon a splash of color against the
drab gray of the buildings. We captured the scenes with our cameras:
vivid clothing suspended between shuttered windows, greenery cascading
down the stairs of an atrium, vibrant paintings on the walls of an
open-air art gallery tucked into the folds of a loggia. Kotor is a
photographer's dream.

After lunch aboard ship, we met our Kompas tour guide on the dock. He
introduced himself as Mili, a strange name, I thought, even for a
Crnogorec. As it turned out, he was also called Vili.
Mili...Vili...both short for his given name, Milivoj. Ahhh...I get
it. As we boarded the modern air-conditioned bus, we were greeted by
our driver Sasha and whew he was not the swarthy,
rough-around-the-edges I had imagined. Sasha was a tall man,
fair-skinned, pleasant and handsome. So much for my totally
inaccurate preconceptions. Our excursion was to take us to the
mountain village of Njegosi, a picnic lunch at a local farm, the old
royal capital of Cetinje and finally to the coastal resorts of Sveti
Stefan and Budva. First, though, we had to climb the Black
Mountain.

No words can fully describe the terror-filled drama of our ascent up
Mt. Lovcen that day. You had to be there. On the map, the mountain
road is a squiggly line, barely a couple of S's drawn between the base
below and the plateau above. In reality, it's a narrow, gravel
strewn, one-lane road clinging desperately to the side of the 3,000
foot high mountain, its thirty-some hairpin turns "guarded" by a
foot-high stone wall in various stages of dilapidation. Slowly,
steadily, Sasha maneuvered the bus up the mountain road. At every
curve of the serpentines he cantilevered the front of the bus over the
edge of the precipice in order to accommodate its length, then deftly
swung it back toward the mountain wall, completing the turn. Milena
and I sat right behind Sasha and had the dubious benefit of the best
view in the house. I found myself clutching my chest and gritting my
teeth as we approached a curve, then exhaling in relief as Sasha
negotiated it successfully. The woman sitting across the aisle from
us was sleeping, or so I thought, but every so often opened her eyes to
see if the ordeal was over and then buried her face in her husband's
chest. All the while, totally oblivious to the gasps of his charges,
Mili regaled us with colorful stories of the history of Montenegro.
We hadn't quite reached the top when I asked Mili if we were coming
back this same way. It was an eight hour tour, which meant returning
to the ship in the dark. He assured us that we would be taking the
coastal road back to Kotor. "Hvala Bogu! Thank God!" I said. Both
Mili and Sasha laughed. I think they enjoyed the Slovenian
commentary.

We exited the bus at a lookout point at the 25th serpentine. As we
breathed in the rarefied air, we aimed our cameras at the breathtaking
vista a thousand meters below us. Kotor and its neighboring towns
were confetti strewn on the shore of the Boka. The Dalmacija, the
flagship of the Croatian fleet, looked like a little paper boat
floating at the edge of a blue-green puddle. To the south could be
seen a landing strip, a narrow straight line scored into the floor of
the valley. We were all standing on terra firma, but we could just as
likely have been looking out the window of an airplane. I took a
picture of Milena with the serpentines as a backdrop, making sure to
include the portion of road fashioned into the shape of an M,
Montenegrin King Nikola's tribute to his wife, Queen Milena.

Back on the bus, we realized that there were still a few serpentines to
go before reaching the summit's plateau, an area described by Mili as
the poorest in Europe. His comments on the local economic conditions
were quite matter-of-fact as we motored past several ramshackle
settlements. "Ahhh...more gypsy kings," he would say
unapologetically. Much of the topography here is karst: limestone
formations of underground rivers, gorges, and caves, a geological
phenomenon duplicated to a lesser degree in southwestern Slovenia.
The karst region is swept by the dry bura wind which gives the local
ham, prsut, its distinctive flavor. This bleak and inhospitable
terrain certainly qualifies as one of the most desolate in Europe.

Mili returned to his history lesson with a biography of Petar II
Petrovic Njegos. Njegos was a name I had seen a number of times on
signs in front of St. Sava Serbian Orthodox Church in North Royalton.
Njegos Days, it advertised. But who was he? Petar II Petrovic
Njegos (1830-1851) was the greatest of the Vladikas or Bishop-Princes,
popularly elected theocratic sovereigns who ruled from the 16th to the
mid-19th centuries. Like his predecessors, Njegos maintained his
country's traditional ideals of independence and national unity against
the ever-threatening Ottoman Turks, ruling his people not by force but
by moral influence and persuasion. A reformer in domestic affairs,
Njegos created a strong centralized government, initiated taxation, and
established a national police force and judicial system. He is
credited with laying the foundation for the modern Montenegrin state
and kingdom. Njegos was also a poet-philosopher, a genius whose ideas
and writings are considered the epitome of Montenegro's literary
culture. Not only is he venerated by the Montenegrins, but also by
the Serbs who have adopted him as their patriarch. According to his
wishes, Njegos was buried on the site of his private chapel atop Mt.
Lovcen. His remains are in a marble sarcophagus in a mausoleum made
of black granite designed by Croatia's Ivan Mestrovic. Njegos' humble
birthplace, a low-to-the-ground nondescript building at the side of the
road in the little village of (you guessed it) Njegosi, was a blur as
we zoomed by.

From all indications, Montenegro's kmecki turizem, or farm tourism, is
a popular draw. We stopped at a prosperous farm where the owner and
his family welcomed us with a variety of homemade goodies: prsut,
bread, cheese, honey, miske (little lumps of deep-fried dough
resembling mice, but tasting much better) and an assortment of
spirits. What a feast! Sitting on a low wall surrounding a patio,
Milena and I sampled the yummy food and enjoyed the company of DM and
JT (aka, "The General") whom we first met atop Marko Polo's tower in
Korcula Town. Meanwhile, the farmer's young daughter was doing a
brisk business selling wine, cherry visnjak and grape brandy while her
little brother Luka spent his time giving away wildflowers and looking
cute. As I dropped a euro into his palm, he got bug-eyed and
immediately ran off to show his dad. I hope the kid made a killing
that morning.

It began to drizzle as we made our way to Montenegro's royal capital.
Through the windows of the bus, our first glimpse of a wet and somber
Cetinje was disappointing. All around us were communist-era edifices
with that typical utilitarian look, concrete slabs bleeding in the
rain, utterly plain and unreservedly ugly. Dingy buildings with
broken windows and peeling surfaces covered with graffiti looked like
they were slated for the wrecking ball. At the rear of a municipal
building a pack of emaciated dogs attacked pieces of garbage that had
fallen out of an overflowing dumpster. No one said a word.

Our walking tour began at the Monastery of Saint Peter of Cetinje
(Sveti Petar Cetinjski), the center of the Montenegrin Orthodox Church
and seat of the theocratic government. During its long history, the
monastery served as an elementary and secondary school, a print shop
for Southern Europe's first printing press, a munitions workshop and a
royal mausoleum. Compared to what we had just seen, this building was
grand and impressive. Nearby, seemingly deserted and in a state of
disrepair, was the Biljarda, built by Njegos in 1838 to house the state
administrative offices.

Next, we visited an unassuming two-story building painted a brick
red. Once the royal palace, it is now the King Nikola Museum. Here
we viewed a huge display of weapons and captured Turkish flags
bo-ring and then processed through room after room of royal artifacts
and family portraits. The paintings were positively stunning,
rivaling those of the Romanovs and Hapsburgs. This was the highlight
of my visit to Cetinje. The museum shop had little to offer in the
way of mementos and no books on Montenegro's history except a huge tome
entitled Nikola and Milena, King and Queen of the Black Mountain. I
wasn't in the position to pay the exorbitant price of 100 euros for it,
but I did buy it recently on amazon.com for less than half the price!
Reading this book reinforced Mili's excellent narratives and helped me
to appreciate the significance of Montenegro's past and its role in
European history.

Montenegro's thousand year old history is complex and inextricably
linked to its neighbors, present-day Serbia, Albania,
Bosnia-Herzegovina and Kosovo. Add to this mixture some indigenous
feuding clans, rule by Byzantium, rivalry with Venice, and the constant
threat from the Turks and you have the ingredients of a Barbara Tuchman
novel. I will not attempt a synopsis of Montenegro's history, but if
you're really interested, I can lend you my book.

Montenegro's last monarch was Nikola I Petrovic. Educated in Paris,
young Prince Nikola returned to the royal court in Cetinje with ideas
on political, economic and social reform. After his accession to the
throne in 1860, Prince Nikola initiated reforms that sparked a cultural
and political renaissance, transforming backwater Montenegro into a
modern 20th century state. Seventy-two schools were established,
including a teachers' seminary, an agricultural high school and an
institute for girls. Elementary education was mandatory and free.
Cetinje got its first telegraph and post office and experienced a
housing boom in private, religious and civic buildings. Embassies
were built to accommodate diplomats from around the world. The famous
serpentine road between Kotor and Cetinje was completed and railroad
lines sprang up between the capital and points beyond. Nikola
initiated new property and criminal laws patterned on those of Western
Europe. Over a period of years, Nikola and his army were victorious
in several crucial battles against the Ottoman Turks, thus doubling the
size of Montenegro's territory and literally putting the country on the
map. During the Congress of Berlin in 1878 Montenegro was recognized
as an independent state and in 1905 Nikola drafted the country's first
formal constitution. In 1910 Montenegro's parliament proclaimed the
country a constitutional monarchy with Nikola as king. For
fifty-eight years Nikola ruled Montenegro as a benevolent despot.

Nikola also managed to have a personal life. He and his wife Milena
(of the Vukotic family, friends and political allies of the Petrovic
clan) produced twelve children: three sons and nine daughters. The
royal couple married off most of their children to the scions of
Russian, German and Serbian royalty and aristocracy, strengthening the
ties between Montenegro and much of Europe. The most famous member of
their extended family was daughter Elena's husband, King Victor
Emmanuel of Italy. Nikola's successful matchmaking efforts earned him
the epithet "Father-in-law of Europe."

World War I was the beginning of the end for Montenegro as an
independent state. First betrayed, then annexed by Serbia in 1918,
Montenegro witnessed a failed uprising in 1919 and was eventually
coerced into joining five other "republics" to form the artificial
country of Yugoslavia. A short walk from the museum is the Chapel if
Cipur, a solitary building made of gray granite blocks. It is the
final resting place of King Nikola, Queen Milena and their daughters,
Ksenija and Vjera. All of them died in exile, but their remains were
returned to Cetinje in 1989.

Our bus tour resumed with a long drive down to Montenegro's seacoast.
Beginning in the 1930's many of the beaches here became the summer
destinations for Yugoslavia's citizens. One resort area near the town
of Becici is even named Slovenska Plaza, or Slovenian Beach.
Depending on whom you believe, it was named either after the Slovenians
who frequented it (according to Mili) or the Bohemians (according to a
..cg website). Take your pick. In Europe, the term "Slovenska" means
different things to different people.

The day was slowly disappearing into dusk as we approached an overlook
above the Adriatic. Below us was Sveti Stefan, a tiny jewel of an
island just a stone's throw from the coast with a narrow causeway
connecting it to the mainland. The old Yugoslav tourist board often
used this image as an enticement to visit, but Sveti Stefan was never
truly a part of a generic Yugoslavia. Rather, it was and is
quintessential Montenegro. Once a small fishing village fortified as
protection against pirates, Sveti Stefan and its eighty private homes
were transformed into the luxury Hotel Milocer in the 1960's. For
decades it was the exclusive retreat for many of Hollywood's
glitterati, including Sophia Loren, Doris Day, Liz Taylor, and
Sylvester Stallone. In the 90's the Balkan War intervened and Sveti
Stefan found itself inhabited not by jet setters, but by Yugoslav
soldiers on R&R. Like most of the resorts on this Adriatic coast,
Sveti Stefan fell on hard times. Recently, however, the resort hotel
has been given a promise of new ownership reflecting the tremendous
economic growth and revitalization of the coastal area. Things are
looking up, especially now that Montenegro's independence referendum
looms on the horizon. Sveti Stefan is on the verge of becoming an
exclusive resort again. I had the feeling there on that overlook that
this was as close to Sveti Stefan as I'll ever get.

Our last stop was the resort town of Budva. While Sveti Stefan was
unapproachable, tidy little Budva beckoned us to enter its medieval
city walls now glowing in the faint light of the setting sun. Budva's
history goes back 2,500 years to its legendary founding by the
Phoenicians. It was settled by ancient Greeks and Romans, after which
it saw domination by the Byzantines, Slavs, Avars, Serbia, Russia,
France, Austria-Hungary and Venice. On Budva's main square is the
Cathedral of St. John (Sveti Ivan), its bell tower exhibiting the
typical Venetian style ubiquitous in this part of the Adriatic. We
meandered down the narrow cobblestone alleys radiating from the
square. Fashionable shops, outdoor restaurants and jewelry stores
were everywhere, although many were closed. It was, after all, late
in the day in early October, way past prime-time tourist season. The
churches, however, were still open and we visited one just in time for
vespers. The minuscule Orthodox Church of St. Sava perched
precariously on the edge of the city wall. Inside, before a golden
ikonostasis, two bearded monks took turns in chanting somber evening
prayers.

Montenegro proved to be the most pleasant surprise of our cruise, due
in great part to our guide's encyclopedic knowledge and his
engaging sense of humor. Mili showed great class by thanking Sasha
and acknowledging him as the best bus driver in Montenegro. Safe and
sound, we pulled into the dock in Kotor and gave them both a round of
applause.

In article .com "Anka" writes:
....
Ok. My quibble (and I think I may have argued with Dik on this same
point a while ago) is that in former Yugoslavia, one was a "Yugoslav"
by citizenship only, not by nationality, not culturally, and certainly
not linguistically.

Not by nationality? I agree: not culturally and not linguistically. As
a simpler example, take either Belgium or Switzerland.

Each of the Slavic languages spoken in former
Yugoslavia was/is unique, so much so, that the artificial (there's that
word again) Serbo-Croatian language has reverted back to its original
components, Serbian and Croatian.

This is only true in part. In Croatia they are actively changing words
that were known for years to newly coined words, so that it will differ
sufficiently from Serbian. This has the strange side-effect that the
books of the national writer of Croatia have to be translated to the
new form of Croatian because the originals were too much Serbian.

Montenegrin is considered by some to be a dialect, by others, a
language.

The distinction between dialect and language is not clearly defined, even
linguists make no such distinction. It is in many cases political. A case:
under the CEC program for minorities languages, the Netherlands have
recognised Frisian, Limburgian and Achterhoeks as minority languages. On
the other hand, Belgium has not recognised minority language for the Dutch
speaking part. On the other hand, while Frisian is indeed distinctive,
Limburgian can be viewed as a dialect of the German as spoken just across
the border and Achterhoeks as a dialect of Saxonian. But in Belgium there
are "dialects" that are much more different from Dutch than either Limburgian
or Achterhoeks. For political reasons Belgium has elected not to recognise
minority languages (in addition to the three official languages), but
Netherland did (where Frisian had already a semi-official status together
with Dutch).

While the official language of Montenegro shifted between
Montenegrin and Crnogorski-Srpski, the country's literary language is
the former. The controversy will continue, especially now with
Montenegro on the brink of independence.

The controversy is purely of political and nationalistic nature. There
are no linguistic reasons to classify Montenegrin as either separate
language or dialect of something else. By many linguists, Dutch is
considered a dialect of the similar Platt-Deutsch. But Platt-Deutsch is
not considered a minorities language in Germany (while about 25% of the
inhabitants speak it), on the other hand, Sorbian is (how many Sorbian
speakers are there in Germany?). The reason for the latter was that it
was recognised as such in the DDR. (I think there is even a recognised
distinction between lower-Sorbian and upper-Sorbian.)

But there is (I think) more to this than you think. Think about FYROM
and that the Greek maintain that they speak a dialect of Bulgarian (and
even required at some point that all documents from that state were in
Bulgarian).

The Balkan is not yet out of the troubles. (Kosovo is again thinking
about separation.)

Yugoslavia, as a country, did pretty well with respect to the languages.
There was Serbo-Croatian as a lingua franca, and there was recognition
for at least four different languages (at least, bank notes from that
time show four different languages (Serbian, Croatian, Slovenian and
Macedonian if I remember well enough)). This can work well enough, as
Belgium and Switzerland show (but both without lingua franca). Spain
has gone the same way (Galician, Catalan, Basque and Andalucian in
addition to Castillian). France is reluctantly following suit (Breton
and Dutch are now recognised). What it will end up with (linguistically)
nobody knows.
--
dik t. winter, cwi, kruislaan 413, 1098 sj amsterdam, nederland, +31205924131
home: bovenover 215, 1025 jn amsterdam, nederland; http://www.cwi.nl/~dik/

In article "gogu" writes:
....
Sure but I said that the slav inhabitants of the territory of the former
Yugoslavia are referred by the scientist as "southern slavs" aka "yugo
slavs".
And this in contrast to other slavs like Bulgarians who have a proper ethnic
name.

According to the scientists the Bulgarians are also southern slavs.

But fact is that almost every Yugoslavian could understand the 5 (?...)
official languages.
I had many Yugoslavian friends when I was young and they could understand
(with a certain difficulty though) all of the Yugoslavian languages.

This is completely irrelevant.

Montenegrin is considered by some to be a dialect, by others, a
language. While the official language of Montenegro shifted between
Montenegrin and Crnogorski-Srpski, the country's literary language is
the former.

Is it related with the Serbian language?

Of course it is related. It is also related to Polish and any other Slavic
language. And when you dig deep enough it is also related to Greek.

The name certainly points to that (Srpski=Serbian)
Can a Serb understand a person speaking this language/idiom?

This is not entirely relevant. In Germany, around Cottbus, a language is
spoken with the name Sorbian (also called Wendisch). Do you see the
similarity? But I am quite sure that somebody from Cottbus will not
easily speak with somebody from Beograd. And I am very sure that I do
not understand the (what is called "dialect") form of Dutch spoken about
20 km from where I live in Volendam. On the other hand, somebody in
Rostock who is speaking Platt-Deutsch I *do* understand. It is a legend
that a farmer from Groningen (in the Netherlands) would easily understand
a farmer from Moscow, and the reverse when they speak their "dialects".
I have a tendency to believe it. I have heard such things occur in
practice.

The controversy will continue, especially now with
Montenegro on the brink of independence.

Aren't there any serious linguistic studies on that matter?

The serious linguist will state that whether something is a dialect or
a separate language is undecidible, because there are no good criteria
to distinguish the two (and being mutually understandable is certainly
*not* the answer).

Well, I was not asking for a political answer or an answer based on
someone's beliefs, I was asking if someone knows a *scientific* answer!
To me Montenegrins seem to be Serbs, they always fought with the Serbs
against common enemies, I've always thought of them as a kind of a separate
province of Serbia or something like that but ethnically of the same stock
as Serbs. My question is if this is correct or not.

But the latter requires a political answer, which you do not ask for.
The bottom-line is that there is not a non-political answer. And
certainly not a scientific answer. On the other hand, your statement
is quite strange. When you have a common enemy it occurs fairly often
that you fight together. And once you have defeated the common enemy
the mutual animosity will catch up again. Consider the wars against
France under Napoleon. Germany and Great Britain had a common enemy,
so they fought together. When Napoleon was defeated their mutual
struggles started again.
--
dik t. winter, cwi, kruislaan 413, 1098 sj amsterdam, nederland, +31205924131
home: bovenover 215, 1025 jn amsterdam, nederland; http://www.cwi.nl/~dik/

Dik T. Winter wrote:

Not by nationality? I agree: not culturally and not linguistically.

It may not be correct (or legalese), but I equate nationality with
ethnicity,
not citizenship. If someone asks me my nationality, I answer
"Slovenian"
even though I am a US citizen. Maybe it's a Cleveland thing...


This is only true in part. In Croatia they are actively changing words
that were known for years to newly coined words, so that it will differ
sufficiently from Serbian. This has the strange side-effect that the
books of the national writer of Croatia have to be translated to the
new form of Croatian because the originals were too much Serbian.

I wonder... are these newly coined words derived from English?
I've seen much evidence of this in the evolving Slovenian language.


The controversy is purely of political and nationalistic nature.

And where is nationalism more firmly rooted than in a language?
The Romantic movement in Slovenia in the 19th century was linked to
a surge of nationalism that advocated a return to Slovenian as the
literary language. Although Slovenian writers were educated primarily
in Vienna
and Graz, German was cast aside as the language of choice by the
literati.


Yugoslavia, as a country, did pretty well with respect to the languages.
There was Serbo-Croatian as a lingua franca, and there was recognition
for at least four different languages (at least, bank notes from that
time show four different languages (Serbian, Croatian, Slovenian and
Macedonian if I remember well enough)).

Pretty well, yes... There's the anecdote of the Slovenian lad who's
drafted
into the Yugoslav army. Leaving home, he bids his father farewell
with,
"Zbogom, ocka." (Slovenian for "Be with God, Dad.") Upon his return
several years later, he raps on the door and yells, "Otvori duri,
otac!"
(Serbian for "Open the door, Father!")

;-)


~Anka

In article . com "Anka" writes:
gogu wrote:
But fact is that almost every Yugoslavian could understand the 5 (?...)
official languages.
I had many Yugoslavian friends when I was young and they could understand
(with a certain difficulty though) all of the Yugoslavian languages.

Yes, all of the languages are similar in vocabulary and grammar, but
they are different enough to be considered separate languages. I
believe that each of them has certain distinct letters, not to mention
the Latin-Cyrillic difference.

In Latin script there are not many differences. There are many differences
in the Cyrillic script. One of the reasons is that palatalisation (a 'j'
like sound after a consonant) is indicated by the letter 'j' in the Latin
script, while in Cyrillic a new letter is formed. Ljubljana in cyrillic
requires only seven letters (the combination "lj" is a single letter in
cyrillic). In the Latin script for the Yugoslavian languages you can
find the acute accent on the 'c' (and perhaps on other consonants) and
the hacek on a few consonants, but that is common to most Slavic languages.
In principle all Yugoslavian languages can be written with the 26 standard
Latin letters with diacritics (hacek and acute accent). For Cyrillic there
is no such thing. Most languages that use the Cyrillic alphabet have their
own additional letters beyond what Russian Cyrillic supplies. Anyhow,
orthography does not distinguish languages.
--
dik t. winter, cwi, kruislaan 413, 1098 sj amsterdam, nederland, +31205924131
home: bovenover 215, 1025 jn amsterdam, nederland; http://www.cwi.nl/~dik/

Anka wrote:
If someone asks me my nationality, I answer
"Slovenian"
even though I am a US citizen. Maybe it's a Cleveland thing...

Anka, I don't know if you were born in Slovenia or not, but if you
were, then you can claim to be Slovenian-American. If you were born in
the US, then you are an American. One of my biggest pet peeves is when
someone claims to be Irish, Italian, Polish, German,
English...whatever, when they were born in the USA. Yes, you can claim
an Irish or Italian heritage, but you are not Irish or Italian, or even
Irish-American or any other hyphenated American. No problem being proud
of your ancestry, but if you were born in America, you should be proud
to be an American. This country is made up of "mutts", where we can
claim ancestry through many nations, one of the things that we, as
Americans should be proud of. Me? Both of my parents were born in
America and I consider myself to be an American, first and foremost. My
maternal grandfather came from Austria and that is the closest relation
I have to the "old country". I also have Scottish/Irish/English/French
blood. I also have ancestors who came to America on the Mayflower, but
that doesn't define me, that was many, many years ago.
My favorite, and Dik, you should appreciate this too, is a guy I know
who is a WHITE AFRICAN-AMERICAN!! He was born in South Africa to Dutch
parents, and moved to the USA. He is fully entitled to the name
African-American, more so than the many black Americans who claim the
name. Let me get off my soap-box, and I will sit back and wait for the
flames!

(Not that my reply has much to do with Montenegro but I thought I'd put
my two cents in here g. I agree, the question whether two "languages"
are basically two varieties of the same language or actually two
different languages is also if not primarily a political one.)

Dik T. Winter wrote:

But Platt-Deutsch is not considered a minorities language in Germany
(while about 25% of the inhabitants speak it),

In Germany several "Regional or Minority Languages" (according to the
Charter of the Council of Europe) are officially acknowledged, and
Plattdeutsch is indeed not listed as a minority language but as a
regional language. The "degree" of protection and promotion varies from
state to state; in Schleswig-Holstein, for example, written
communication with authorities may well be in Plattdeutsch, and they are
required to answer in Plattdeutsch.

on the other hand, Sorbian is (how many Sorbian speakers
are there in Germany?).

Sorbian is an officially recognized language in Brandenburg and Saxony,
and there are about 50,000 Sorbs in these two states. But as far as I
know, they all speak German too, so it is difficult to determine a more
or less precise number of people who speak Obersorbisch or
Niedersorbisch ...

Christian

A consequence is that Serbia is now landlocked, and
their admirals are wondering what to do with their Navy!!


--
Tony Clayton
Coins of the UK : http://www.coinsoftheuk.info
Sent using RISCOS on an Acorn Strong Arm RiscPC
.... "Bother", said Pooh, as he deleted his root directory.