Krisztián Csaplár-Degovics. <i>“Nekünk nincsenek gyarmataink és hódítási szándékaink”: Magyar részvétel a Monarchia gyarmatosítási törekvéseiben a Balkánon (1867–1914)</i> [“We have neither colonies, nor ambitions to conquer”: Hungarian participation in the colonization efforts of the Monarchy in the Balkans (1867–1914)]

Was Austria-Hungary, the European state without any significant territorial holdings outside Europe and confined to a group of provinces its ruling dynasty had held onto for centuries, a colonial power in 1914? Krisztián Csaplár-Degovics’s answer to this, for many people nonsensical, question is a resounding yes, however paradoxical it might seem. In a book that is undeniably pathbreaking in Hungarian historiography, Csaplár-Degovics mobilizes a broad range of theoretical literature, comparing Austria-Hungary with classic modern colonial empires (mostly Great Britain and Russia). He presents two key figures whom he identifies as exemplary colonialist-imperialists, namely Benjámin Kállay and Ferenc Nopcsa, to prove that not only the Austrian elite of the Dual Monarchy but, in the context of the annexation of Bosnia and Herzegovina (1908), even Hungary accepted a self-perception of being part of Weltpolitik as colonizers. This was the case first in Bosnia and Herzegovina and then before World War I in what was to become Albania.But this is not the end of the book; rather, it is the start. After a thorough discussion of the literature on empires and colonialism, from which the author borrows the definitions of Jürgen Osterhammel and Trutz von Trotha as his guidance to assess Austria-Hungary, his real interest is in why this for him quite self-evident state of affairs might sound as a revelation to most people, including historians. In the first part of the book, devoted to Kállay’s politics in Bosnia and Herzegovina (in his role as the monarchy’s common minister of finance and governor of the province from 1882), Csaplár-Degovics argues that there are basically two reasons for his position. First, Kállay, familiar with the practices of colonialism of all empires, quite consciously developed a specific (Austro-)Hungarian colonialism based on legal emancipation according to liberal principles and built on nation-building in Bosnia, as opposed to submission and radical social engineering in the spirit of a “civilizing mission.” Somewhat surprisingly, the roots of this unique formula were to be found in the first period of Russian colonial rule in Turkestan, Central Asia. Second, Kállay himself coming from this milieu, he was well aware of the opposition of Hungarian liberals to the thought of Hungary being anything other than the champion of liberty in the world. Thus, Kállay first hid his colonialism in Bosnia and Herzegovina behind a rhetorical facade, trying to prepare the Hungarian public mentally, and when after around 1896 he was ready to announce it proudly, he came under a barrage of political attacks decrying his rule as analogous to the infamous neoabsolutist Bach era of the 1850s.In the chapters devoted to Kállay’s endeavors, Csaplár-Degovics considers how he transplanted ideas from other colonial contexts and describes Kállay’s propaganda operation helped by Hungarian and Western intellectuals. (The analysis of how a lesser-known novel of Mór Jókai’s, with a Bosnian main protagonist, was an overblown allegory of Bosnia’s colonial integration into the empire is particularly entertaining.) The book presents the political attacks on Kállay in detail, also their background, invokes scandal as its main analytical concept—using the example of the late eighteenth-century impeachment trial of Warren Hastings, governor of Bengal—and maps the use of the concept of gyarmat (colony) in the Hungarian Parliament. Kállay emerges as a farsighted liberal statesman, who wanted to “civilize,” beyond Bosnia, his Hungarian compatriots, making them understand and accept that the only possible future for Hungarian nationalism was to turn it into a colonialist imperialism toward the Balkans.Csaplár-Degovics’ second hero, the Transylvanian paleontologist and Albanologist Baron Ferenc Nopcsa is a very different figure. A lone wolf, a traveler-adventurer-explorer, in Csaplár-Degovics’s story he is the British-type colonial entrepreneur. With a degree in geography and geology, a reputation within scientific circles in Britain, and a unique first-hand personal knowledge—from his travels—of Albania and Albanians, he was more than once at odds with the official k. u. k. foreign policy, acting often as a rogue soldier. He never shied away from bringing conflicts into the open, advocated for full support of Albanian uprisings, and pretended to be an agent of Austria while on the ground, even when the Ballhausplatz1 was more cautious than he. Yet, it is true that from 1896 Albania was officially considered an area of interest for colonization by Austria-Hungary in the form of a protectorate and through means of informal economic imperialism. But the Albania lobby around key figures of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs (most importantly Lajos Thallóczy), an informal network which brought together scholars and diplomats with first-hand experience, preferred more traditional foreign policy methods to Nopcsa’s impulsive and exhibitionist individualism. They found Nopcsa useful as an agent of this colonial policy, and they welcomed his help in mobilizing much larger social support (in the form of associations and civic committees). But when it came to negotiating with other great powers, Nopcsa’s presence and plans were often more than just a nuisance, sometimes creating unnecessary diplomatic tensions.Still, as the book convincingly shows, Nopcsa’s person and position also reflected a broader social turn in Hungary, later to peak in colonial plans during World War I regarding occupied Serbia and in the public acceptance of a Hungarian imperial mission toward Southeast Europe. The book is certainly a fascinating read, which would have benefited from a stronger editorial hand. For example, a different sequence of the chapters in the first part, providing first the broader social context and politics of colonialism and coming later to Kállay’s efforts to change these social attitudes, would have helped to deliver the argument more effectively and tell the story more efficiently. Although the author places much emphasis on the difference between imperialism and colonialism, it is not entirely clear, even by the end of the book, what exactly this difference entails. A more rigorous definition would have helped to avoid the pitfalls of occasionally overgeneralizing the concept of colonialism, subsuming quite general practices of statehood under its label. Finally, the contrast between the statesmanlike Kállay and the adventurer Nopcsa is very helpful for the narrative, but the recurrent eulogic tone used when describing Kállay sometimes borders on caricature. Could such shortcomings dent the argument? I very much doubt it, and Csaplár-Degovics’s book is hopefully the beginning of a new current in Hungarian historiography.

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