ohrohrThe Oral History Review1533-85920094-0798Oxford University Press10.1093/ohr/ohn058ARTICLESSerbian Gypsy Narrative: Between Preferred and True IdentityČvorovićJelenaJelena Čvorović (Ph.D., 2001, Anthropology, Arizona State University, AZ, US) is a long-time student of Gypsies in Serbia. During the past several years, she has authored many articles dealing with various aspects of Gypsies and their traditions. Jelena's strong interests lie in the area of human evolution and behaviorWinter-Spring200917320093614570© The Author 2009. Published by Oxford University Press on behalf of the Oral History Association. All rights reserved. For permissions, Please e-mail: journals.permissions@oxfordjournals.org2009This paper discusses the narration of a Serbian Gypsy who adopted Serbian ethnic identity. Still today in Serbia, Gypsy culture remains in the oral form. Their narratives tell as much about their present as about their past. Several themes underlying the discussion about Gypsy ethnic flexibility are explored: their position in relation to non-Gypsies, the way they perceive it; varying attitudes about ethnicity within Gypsy communities in contrast with personal experiences of a Gypsy who adopted Serbian identity; and the evolving nature of Gypsy identities.ethnicitycommunitiesoral historypreferred ethnic identitySerbian GypsiesIntroductionThis paper presents the voice of a Romanian Gypsy who declares himself to be “a true Serb.” The oral history presented comes from a Gypsy community in the village of Drenovac, in western Serbia's county of Mačva, and makes a contribution to understanding the flexibility of Gypsy ethnic identity. The account reveals that many Gypsy behaviors can be better appreciated by placing together the narration of local people with anthropological objective data.Gypsy communities in Serbia still rely on oral tradition as a source of obtaining knowledge and information on the history of their ancestors, proper kin behavior, economic life, the societies in which Gypsies live, relationships with non-Gypsies, and the everyday world.1 Many times, there are no written documents or historical records that enlarge our understanding of the Gypsy past and the choices they made. Even today, many Gypsies in Serbia are illiterate or semi-literate, but their oral tradition remains transmitted, as a form of cultural heritage, from one generation of kin to the next. Recording their oral histories provides one way of breaking this silence and allows Gypsies, otherwise marginalized on all levels, to speak for themselves about issues important to them.The following interview with a Romanian Gypsy, narratives, and interview quotes I collected in several Mačva villages provide an opportunity to explore several themes related to Gypsy ethnic flexibility: (1) the position of Gypsies in relation to non-Gypsies, and how they perceive this relationship; 2) varying attitudes about ethnicity within Gypsy communities in contrast to the personal experiences of a Gypsy who adopted a Serbian identity; and 3) the evolving nature of Gypsy identity.BackgroundRoma/Gypsies are a diverse ethnic group probably of northern Indian origin, scattered throughout Europe since arriving west of the Balkans in the fifteenth century.2 It is unclear why they left India, and there are no explanatory written documents. From linguistic influences preserved in all Romani dialects, it is most probable that the major Gypsy migration routes passed through Persia, Armenia, Greece, and the Slavic-speaking parts of the Balkans.3 A number of early European historical sources refer to the Gypsies as Egyptians, and the term “Gypsy” is thought to mirror that assumption. According to historical sources, the Gypsies themselves spread the legend about their Egyptian origin; they represented themselves as dukes, kings, and princes from Egypt.4 The inventive process of Gypsy traditions and favored identity in Europe had begun. Roma/Gypsies had begun their sojourn in Europe by taking advantage of the Christian piety of the age. Since it was a Christian obligation to help pilgrims, especially the ones with documents of recommendation from rulers, the Gypsies created letters of passage from high government officials such as King Sigismund of Hungary, representing themselves as penitents for the sins of their ancestors who had rejected Christian teachings in Egypt. As a result of the sins of their ancestors, they were required to wander the earth as pilgrims seeking charity from others.5Today linguistic and historical data, supported by new genetic studies, suggest that the European Gypsies, embracing a large number of socially different endogamous groups, may be a complex conglomerate of founder populations that originated in India.6 Genetic results suggest a limited number of related founders, compatible with a small group of migrants splitting from a distinct caste or tribal group. Individual Gypsy groups can be classified into major metagroups: the Gypsies of East European origin; the Sinti in Germany and Manouches in France and Catalonia; the Kaló in Spain, Ciganos in Portugal and Gitans of southern France; and the Romanichals of Britain.7 Out of these, the greatest variety is found in the Balkans, where numerous groups with well-defined social boundaries exist.8The present study of favored ethnic identity cannot be separated from the wider study of the history of society. In spite of their presence in Europe for centuries, Gypsy integration into European society is poor, and their history is a true story of exclusion and discrimination. Gypsy hunting and other such persecutions have occurred almost from the beginning of the Gypsy presence in Europe, with a peak during World War II.9Today the position of Gypsies in Central and Eastern Europe is more or less the same.10 In Central and Eastern Europe, the policy of socialist governments was to assimilate Gypsies and for decades they were targeted for low-skilled employment within a centrally planned economy.11 Efforts were made to help Gypsies to settle down and to improve their economic and cultural position in the postwar years. This resulted in the banning of nomadism in most of the countries in the region and the destruction of traditional Gypsy occupations.The collapse of the Eastern European socialist system in 1989 was followed by a long and still incomplete period of transition in Serbia. In Serbia, the transition started at a time when the economy was near or at the point of collapse, and as a result impoverishment and unemployment rose significantly.12 Protected to some extent by the socialist regime, Gypsies have been perhaps the most affected by the transition to a market economy because of their lack of a qualified labor force. Thus they have high levels of unemployment, substandard housing, a lack of education and skills, and a deepening dependence on state benefits and services.13 The general situation in Serbia contributed to the present day Gypsy condition. Serbia's economy has been degraded by a decade of war, isolations, and sanctions. On the other hand, due to the assimilation processes and manipulation of their ethnicity by the Roma themselves, many Roma today deny their Roma ancestry.Firstly, not all Roma people refer to themselves as Roma. Some prefer the European term cigani or zigeuner. Secondly, some European groups/tribes of Roma reject altogether the connection with Roma people in general, like the Sinti and Manouches.14 This is perhaps particularly true for Serbian Roma, where many Roma refer to themselves as “smoked Serbs” or simply “Serbs.”Today, Gypsies are perhaps the most segregated ethnic group in Europe. The same is probably true for Serbia.15 The first written document referring to Gypsies in Serbia dates from 1348.16 In Serbia, as in other South Slavic countries under Turkish rule, Gypsies constituted a separate ethnic group; they lived apart in mahalas, in towns or in isolated village areas. In the Balkans, through centuries of Turkish rule, Gypsies were strictly endogamous: even the best men at their weddings were always fellow Gypsies. In the past the Gypsy social unit was the extended family and the occupational niches they filled contributed to the Serbian economy. The traditional Gypsy occupations include making crafts such as troughs, baskets, spoons, blacksmithing, ironsmithing, and music. Despite their contribution to the agriculture-based Serbian economy, Gypsies were despised by the rural Serbian population.17 In Serbia, Gypsies form a complex mixture of groups.18 In fact, there are quite a few subgroups of Gypsies in Serbia.Some of them lost the Romani language and their mother tongue is now Serbian. There are different forms of Romani depending on which group the Gypsy belongs to. Interaction between different groups is limited, and the form of Romani spoken has become an important means of distinguishing between groups. Furthermore, Gypsies have always come under several appellations and names. Each group represents a historical and, for the most part, originally localized entity. Many times Gypsies adopted their hosts’ culture in response to the different requirements of their social and environmental surroundings. The result is a great diversity of Gypsy tribes and a lack of identity as an integrated ethnic group. Therefore, Gypsy culture in general is extremely diverse and difficult to pinpoint. Their ethnicity is also a disputed and complex issue due to the fact that most Gypsies do not consider themselves members of a unified group but identify instead with the subgroup to which they belong.19 Within these subgroups, language and religion also remain diverse; the religion which a Gypsy tribe or ethnicity might hold on to depends on location and circumstances: they adopt whatever religion is prevalent in the local area. A characteristic of Gypsies as a group is their adaptability to religious and political changes. Their religious and political standings depended always on the current political climate. For example, some contemporary Christian Gypsies are ex-Muslims. Until very recently, the characteristic of all groups was that they did not mix with each other—there appeared to be a strongly emphasized antagonism among the groups. A system that divides these groups, much like a caste system, still exists in some parts of Serbia today. In the past, with respect to other Gypsies, allowable marriage choices were largely restricted. Females in particular were expected to marry someone within their particular tribe and most obeyed the rule by marrying within their group.Another characteristic of Gypsy ethnic identity in Serbia is the so-called “ethnic mimicry” or “favored identity” by which Gypsies declare themselves to be members of a majority community. According to a 2005 census, there were 114 000 Roma/Gypsy in Serbia, which is less than 1.4%. However, an official estimate of Serbia's true Gypsies range between 360 000 and 500 000 compared to 7 478 820 Serbs.20Yet another variant of the Gypsy “favored identity” is the construction of the new ethnic identities and new traditions. Among Gypsies, these new identities and traditions assume to restore an ancient origin in spite of the complexity to attest its legality and even obvious contradictions to historical records. A notorious example of the invented tradition and change in the identity of the ethnic group usually called Gypsies is the emergence of the Egyptian community in Serbia and Kosovo.21Alternatively, some Gypsies always retained a strong ethnic attitude. For example, the president of one local Gypsy party in the village of Macvanski Pricinovici claims, “We just got a status of national minority … Some asked for it, and got it. I haven't. We were Cigani before here, now we are Roma. I don't care. I'm a Serbian Ciganin and I'll stay Ciganin forever …”22 One informant from the same village, who declares himself as Roma, argues, “The word Rom means a man, but for me it actually means that you should not be ashamed to say that you are a Rom/cigani. On the other hand, we say that we are Roma, but we live together without peasants [Serbs], we have the same customs and the same religion, and the only thing that differentiates us is our face color!” Another male informant expressed it this way: “What makes us the Roma here? We still have our tradition, that we are Roma, and our name. It's our blood that makes us Roma: if my mother and father are Roma, I'm Roma too. We've stayed ethnically pure because we've held on to our tradition and managed to maintain it and we still stick to it.” These varying attitudes about ethnicity within Gypsy communities themselves reveal distinctions between the groups.FieldworkFieldwork and the interview were conducted in the village of Drenovac, the second largest village in Mačva. Approximately 10 000 Gypsies inhabit Mačva, an agricultural area in western Serbia. There are at least seven tribes/subgroups of Gypsies in Mačva; most tribes were Muslims in the past, except for Christian Romanian Gypsies.23 The Gypsy permanent settlement in Mačva was established in two stages, during the late nineteenth century and the ‘50s, when their sedentarism was enforced by the Serbian government. Usually Gypsy villages in Mačva are relatively poor, and typically there is no running water or a sewage system. The majority of the Gypsy population in Mačva is semieducated, averaging 5.36 years of schooling; few own land and most make a living as hired field workers. Many also work in a black-market economy, engaging in trades of various sorts. Marriages are made at an early age, and having a large number of children is desirable.Drenovac is inhabited by Karavlax Gypsies (Black Vlax), or Romanian Gypsies, who arrived in Serbia during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries.24 These Gypsies consider themselves to be “natives” of Serbia, rationalizing this statement by the fact that their ancestors were born and raised in Drenovac. They identify themselves as Lejaši, from the Romanian word laiesi. The majority of Gypsies in Romania had been slaves in the middle ages25 and were divided into groups, serving the Crown, noblemen, or households. The laiesi were the slave group, comprised mostly of musicians. After the abolition of slavery in 1864, many migrated to Serbia.Approximately 10% of the houses in Drenovac are occupied by Gypsies who are bilingual. They speak Serbian as their mother tongue, and Romanian as a second language, and Romani, or Gypsy language, is not spoken at all. They belong to the Orthodox Christian Church and all celebrate ancient, traditional Serbian family holidays. Music is their traditional occupation and they were never employed, as were other Gypsy groups, as craftsmen. Although they came from Romania to Serbia as part of the larger Karavlax Gypsies tribe, they deny any connection with Karavlaxs, based on the difference in occupation: Karavlax Gypsies in the area used to be spoon makers. They have a somewhat darker skin color than the rest of the Gypsies.26 During the 1970s and 1980s, the Lejaši traveled throughout former Yugoslavia playing their music. Today they cannot travel so easily due to the political isolation of Serbia born out of the postwar (1991–99) consequences and a strict visa regime. At present, most males work in a village factory owned by native Serbs, while the majority of females labor as housewives.The Lejaši regard themselves as more sophisticated than other Gypsies in the area due to the fact that they do not marry or form social relationships with other groups. Lasting social relationships are created with Serbs of their village. All enter into mutual godparenting relationships with Serbs, and all have traditional Serbian names which indicate Serbian ethnic origin. Most consider themselves to be “true Serbs.” Census data from 1948 to 1991 reveals that no Gypsy in Drenovac has ever declared that he/she was a Roma/Gypsy.Dragan Vasiljkovic, the president of the Roma Association of Western Serbia and a member of the National Roma Council, is a native of Drenovac and exceptional in many ways. He is one of the rare Gypsies who managed to finish his university education (only 2% of Gypsies in Serbia have higher education according to Statistics of Serbia, 2002). He lives in Sabac, the main town in Mačva, with his wife and two children who are both college students. Mr. Vasiljkovic works in a general hospital as a dentist and also operates a successful private practice. He credits his success to his wife's efforts and his upbringing, which was no different than “any Serbian child.” On the other hand, he fully accepts his Gypsy/Roma background and sees the Gypsy ethnic mimicry as a separatism that weakens the already loose unity of their national minority:This is a calculated manipulation in order to avoid and deny their Roma roots, combined with the personal interests. Even today, the Roma from Drenovac don't mix with other Roma groups. They never marry Roma from other groups and this is common to all Roma here, on Mačva territory. The data indicate that the first Roma in Drenovac were Roma immigrants from Romania. In the beginning, in the nineteenth century, there were only a few tribes living in the territory of Drenovac; they were named Jankovic, Vasiljkovic, Stankovic, and Jovanovic. They spoke only Romanian, not Gypsy Romany and they had strong solidarity and cooperation within the group. The solidarity was reflected in helping each other and they got along well. Their main characteristic was that they didn't mix with the other Roma tribes which surrounded the village of Drenovac, such as the Gypsies from Priciniovici, Sevarice and so on. It appears that language was the barrier which prevented them from mixing; and we also know that the other Roma groups didn't accept them as their own. However, there is no proof that they represented a different ethnic entity.27A totally different opinion is expressed by Dragan Buric, a 46-year-old musician, who states that he is a “true” Serb. Dragan Buric remained one of few who managed to engage in the Lejaši's traditional occupation as a source of living. Dragan has a band in which he plays with his son, while his wife sings. Hence, music remains their primary source of income. He has a comfortable house, a car, and a small bar that he operates with his wife, all of which separates him from the rest of his community. The family speaks Serbian as their first language, and Dragan does not know Romanian, or Romani, the Gypsy language. He says that he always felt as a Serb and has declared himself as such. Dragan's interview was conducted in his home during the summer months of 2002. His family was present most of the time and occasionally they would perform some of their music. Interviewer and interviewee engaged in “sharing food”—“social eating” and drinking local brandy, with frequent toasting. The story that Dragan tells testifies to the difficulty of establishing Gypsy identity and his attempt to rationalize the present social order. It provides important data for our understanding of the flexibility of Gypsy ethnic identity. Dragan's account is presented in four parts: childhood; occupation/music; ethnicity; and marriage and family. Through his narrative we can trace how he pursued a strategy worked out by his ancestors to negotiate ethnic and social identity.This is his story:ChildhoodI was born in Skela, near Obrenovac. We lived there until 1978; then we came here, to Drenovac, and we live here since then. My mom was born and raised in Drenovac; she was only married in Skela, to my father Sreten. My childhood was a happy one although our family was very poor. My mom and dad had three children: my sister, my brother and me. We are all approximately two years apart. My parents got along very well; they stayed together until death took them apart. They had what I called “an ideal” marriage; although, I have to say, if it weren't for my mom we wouldn't do anything with our lives. My mom, Nadezda, stayed with us most of the time and taught us how to behave and taught us to love school. My father was away most of the day, working. At night, he performed music. My old man was a musician, he played violin, and actually, my grandfather and his brothers were musicians, too. It runs in the family—I am a musician; I play violin, and my son inherited the talent for music, too. This is our tradition, and not only that, but we all have a good ear for music. At that time, when I was born, playing music didn't pay very well. I remember that we used to live in a poor house made of mud, 4x4m. We had only two beds. I slept with my mom because I was her youngest and her favorite child.My mom was a great mother to us and a hard worker. She used to go around the village and do all kinds of jobs—cleaning, washing, cooking. She would also go out to the fields from time to time. But she never begged, ever. Gypsy women do that—beg for food or money, but my mom never did that. She earned every dinar. She would go out into the fields to work for a whole day. Landlords usually gave workers some food, a breakfast, or something, a piece of meat … but my mom would never eat that. No, she brought home every piece of food for us kids to share. That's how she was. She also never allowed me to accompany her when she worked in the fields—I remember that I cried every time she would go out, but she never let me, for it was too hot for a child to sit in the sun on the open field the whole day.My father, also, used to take every job he could find, for he couldn't support us only with his violin. He was a strong, big, healthy man, and knew how to do a lot of things. He died two years ago, and my mom passed away in 1995. I am very glad that I was able to give them a different life—they sacrificed their whole lives for us kids, and when we moved here and I started to play around Yugoslavia and the neighboring countries—I provided for them, took care of them financially. Both of my parents deserved that, after what they'd been through, when we were little kids.I was born in 1957. The late ‘50s and 1960s were very difficult times. There was never enough food no matter how hard you worked or tried. Both of my parents worked, but I still remember the poverty around us, and that little house where we used to live. On the other hand, maybe those difficult life conditions made us all very attached to each other. My brother and sister and myself, we were always very close. We still can't live without each other: my brother lives in this same house, just has the entrance on the other side, and my sister is married into a house only a 100 meters away from us.We respected our parents—that's how we are brought up, not like the kids today. You give them one little finger, and that's not enough, no, they want the whole hand! We, the kids, all went to school, even if we were so poor. My mom insisted on our education. The nearest school was about 7 kilometers away from the place where we lived, and I had to take a bus every day to get to school. There was one part of the road that I needed to travel by foot, by some forest, and my mom would always wait for me there—during winter especially, to make sure I was safe. We also didn't have appropriate clothes—no winter shoes or gloves. But we were very fortunate, we had the best schoolteachers. My schoolteacher was especially fond of me. She didn't make any distinction between me and other kids—like I'm a Gypsy kid or something. On the contrary, she did all she could so we could enroll in school like every other kid. I'm still very grateful to her. I was a very good student, always. I never needed any special help to learn school things. I know there is a huge problem with Roma children today, in schools, but that's due to the Roma mentality; a lot depends on parents, on their attitudes, and how they advise their children. That's a real pity, a shame, for all those Roma children today, but that's the irresponsibility of their parents, nothing else. I realize that we are not the same, and we don't have the same capabilities. I know now that I have Roma origin, but I have always tried to behave properly. I raised my children, especially my daughter, like God said we all should. I tried to give my kids everything and to bring them up to be good people. I thank God that they didn't have to follow my footsteps and suffer.I have the primary education, I think it's like eight grades of elementary school. I am very sorry, even today, that I couldn't continue my schooling further. I still regret that today. But, after my eighth grade, I started to play with my father. When I was ten years old, he bought me my first harmonica; after six months, I mastered it completely, that's how talented I was for music and playing. That was a very different time than it is today. It was expected from me and my brother to learn how to play and to become musicians. After all, that's what our family, our grandfathers used to do. I have to say that I loved music from a very early age. My father taught me how to play, and I loved it. I was particularly good in playing kolo, our national [Serb] dance: I would play it and the whole room would get up to dance! That was exciting, especially since I was just a little boy. Some guests at weddings used to lift me up on their shoulders and I would play like that. I loved the attention I was getting and I knew I was good. On the other hand, I should have pursued schooling, but the circumstances were the way they were, and I neglected further schooling and became a musician. Who knows what could have happened if I continued my school? I was very good in school, always good with numbers and especially drawing. I could have been an architect if I had different life circumstances. Later on, when I grew up, I bought myself some private music lessons in Belgrade, in a music school, to specialize. I learned a lot, and today there is no melody or a song that I cannot pick up and play. Music is still what I make a living off today. Maybe I'm lucky in that sense—I did and still do what I like the most. There is something about the rhythm that can carry you away, and that's what has happened to me. My brother also dropped out of school, to play, although he wasn't such a talent as I was. My sister, on the other hand, sang like a nightingale; it was such a joy to listen to her! Well, the saddest story of my childhood is connected with her. I was always very attached to her; even though I was her younger brother, I felt a need to protect her, always, for she was the only girl in our family. That's how brothers are toward their sisters. And she was a good person, too. I remember this as if it happened yesterday. It was 1968. I was ten and a half years old, my sister was around thirteen. My father's brother took her with him to a shitty little place called Potoci, in Bosnia, to sing with his band. That place was behind God's back [remote, far away and forgotten by people], with one little furniture factory and a train that goes around once a week. And nothing else. When my uncle took her away, that broke my heart. I can still feel the pain of that separation today. She was just a little girl at the time; she even looked younger than her age. I was a kind of a sensation at ten, playing harmonica so good, and with my sister it was the same. I guess that's why my uncle took her. People would pay you more. He is my uncle, but I dislike what he did—he was using her. I don't know why my parents allowed that, maybe because we were always short on money, don't know. I think we were very good kids, respecting our parents and school and our schoolteacher. We had to obey, that's the key. I think that everything depends on where you were born; if I was born in Belgrade, who knows what I would become. I felt always that I could do whatever I wanted—no trouble in school at all, so talented and how, for music … it was just the life's conditions that determined which path to take, nothing else.My sister came home after three months; she didn't say much about the place, and the restaurant where she had a job, but she told us that she managed to arrange a job for all of us—my father, my brother and me, to come back with her and perform in that same place. It turned out that the landlady, the owner of that restaurant, came to like my sister very much, and when she heard that her whole family was into music she made the arrangement for all of us to come. That meant we were all going to make some money, thanks to my little sister! My father decided we should go, and bought us two new harmonicas, one for me, and one for my brother. Actually now when we were all back together, I was very excited about this trip. This was supposed to be my first trip, my first visit anywhere outside my village, and God knows what I expected. I had great expectations. I was just a ten-year-old kid with a harmonica, but also a musician who's going to make some serious money! I have to admit that it felt good, especially that my sister was back with us.So we left. We only had money to get to that damned place, nothing more, not even for a piece of bread. We traveled by train the whole day and my god it was slow! It had those old-fashioned narrow rail tracks and I thought we would never get to our destination. We had to take a connecting train in Mliniste, around 100 kilometers away from our final destination. It was already dark and getting cold. I remember I was very hungry and I started asking for some food, at least some bread. But my father explained that we would have to wait until we got to that restaurant where we were supposed to play—maybe the landlady would give us some food. He didn't have any money, not even a dinar. So, we were sitting in a waiting room at the station and it felt like we were beggars or something, and I couldn't handle that. I cried loud, asking for my mom and some food. That railway station was a horrible place: dirty, with some dim lights, and somehow everything looked old and beat up. Then my poor darling sister took off her sock, and there, in her elastics, she had two dinars that she had saved for “rainy days”, just like this one was. She bought us one kilogram of bread and I was very grateful; her gesture touched the bottom of my soul. She used that coin to tie/twist the elastics of her sock, and without it her sock kept falling down. My darling sis! I tell this story to my kids all the time. They can learn a lot from my life experience; don't know if they will ever use it.Finally we reached the place. I didn't like it. Who knows what I had expected to find, but this was one lousy, dirty place to be. At least our family was together. I have to say, the owner, the lady who liked my sister, she was nice. She was really nice to us. Her little restaurant was very primitive—no electric power, no heating, very modest all in all. She had put one little kerosene light on each table, and polyvinyl tablecloths. The guests were mostly factory workers; at that time, people were still uncivilized, and a restaurant with a live band was not a good place to be. But we were there and we started to perform every night. I also accompanied my sister and sang with her—my voice still hadn't changed so I had a voice like a little girl and our duets became, so to say, famous. People gathered to listen to us—and my old man was also very good. The thing that I didn't like at all was that my sister was exposed to all kinds of indecency. All female singers go through that sooner or later. Some guests like to touch them or to call them names or to behave too familiar with them. And my sister was just a little girl and very embarrassed. The first time a male guest touched her—I think he placed his hand on her—I started to cry from anger and shame. And I was supposed to be a “real musician”, but this was my sister and it was too difficult to handle. Later on I learned to deal with all kinds of situations and with people; that's what this profession is all about. We managed to earn some money and after a month we got back home, to our mother.Until the day he died, my father was always working on something. Even when he was old he wanted to help. He died in my son's arms, literally. He died from throat cancer, in a hospital. He was 67 years old when he died. I used to tell him that he should slow down, and enjoy his retirement days, but he couldn't stop. He was just very diligent and couldn't sit still. Always a fighter—that's what he was. He fought for us, to provide for us the best he could. I think he passed that down to me because I'm the same with my kids. I would do anything for them.MusicThe life of a musician can be very difficult. For the past 30 years, I go to bed in the morning, around five or seven in the morning, for I play the whole night. I sleep during the day—I get up around noon or so. The basic thing is, you depend on other people, your audience. Whatever they say or want, you learn that they have the right, always. That's the only way to survive in this profession. It took me a while to get that, but I mastered it and now I'm fine. I first played with my father, for years. Then I got a band of my own, something more modern. The band is called “Demons”; don't ask me why, my son named it. We had to adjust to current fashion, or to learn fashionable songs, always. My career was mostly good, in the sense that I don't remember that people harassed me because of my color—because I look like Roma. Maybe just a couple of times but it wasn't personal … people would say cigani to us or something. It was a different time than it is today, people didn't pay so much attention to nationalities then. Now it's different. Luckily, even when there was a potential conflict, like guests would get drunk and offend our female singer or us, I always managed to calm things down. I know how to behave and how to soothe things. But sometimes I would get personally offended when guests called me ciganin/Gypsy—then my soul hurt and I would think: Why am I not a Hungarian? Why call me a Gypsy? People love to say: “Play, Gypsies!” Or they would curse our Gypsy mother. That always hurt me the most. I don't know if there is such a thing as a “Gypsy man”—for me it looks like just one bad, ugly word. I don't like that word, and I don't like to be called one. It's a pejorative term—anybody, even an American or a German could be called a Gypsy if that person behaves bad. I feel very bad when I hear that word. I managed to stay calm, always, and learn to put up with different people, even if they are mafia. If I had behaved differently I would have never survived as a musician.I've played for politicians, for mafia, and for the greatest gentlemen. For one job, I would make around 15,000 German marks. I used to fish in Plitvicka Jezera [Lakes].My music took me to Austria, Linc, in 1989. We had a very good job over there. That was still a very good time for making money, for all of us. However, when the war started in 1991 I came back home. I still don't know why I came back, why I brought my family here. Now we can't travel—if we go to Belgrade to play, that's something. I wish that I could go around the country and play the way I used to. But that's impossible now. I was in Bosnia last year, for two months, to play. They also got it bad. Today it is very difficult to survive from playing music. It's especially difficult for me since my children are used to a good life, and now I can't give them everything the way they are used to. This is a great burden for me. I still feel responsible for them—even though my son is 21 years old; my daughter is 15 now. I don't know what will happen, I'm very concerned for the future. I have some 20 years of service as a musician; I paid for my retirement fund always, but that's not going to come up with very much when I retire. I am a member of the Independent Artists Organization of Serbia, but that's still no help. Before the war this organization used to arrange jobs for us, musicians, in Yugoslavia and abroad. Now they won't do anything; they just ask for more money and more money and we don't have an audience to play anymore. I think that our profession is dying out and I'm sad because of it. This was a nice tradition and a good life, especially when you are young.I keep a few chickens and a pig today so my children won't be hungry. After all, I live in a village and it is normal to have animals.EthnicityI am a Serb. I am a 100% original Serb. My father and his father and my great-grand father were all born in Serbia. They always behaved like Serbs. I'm the same way. I love my country very much. This is where I was born. I don't know where my ancestors came from, but I feel I belong here. Never in my life have I felt like a Gypsy, not even for a moment. I have the same soul [like the Serbs], the same blood, the same upbringing, the same everything. That's how I was raised. We were always Orthodox, always. My saint day, my slava is my Saint Arhandjel Mihajlo, we celebrate that. We have an icon, too. I always declared myself as a Serb, on all censuses. The same is true for my family; we all feel the same. My son, for example, he is a Serb too. We don't speak the Gypsy language, we don't even know one word of it. We only speak Serbian, and we know some Romanian, but it's a dialect with around 30% of Serbian words. We are different than the people in Macvancki Pricinovic, for example. They all speak the Gypsy language and we don't understand them. They are Roma, Gurbeti. The others are Roma, not us. They say they are Gypsies, always did. I'm always afraid that I will offend someone by calling him Gurbet or Roma; I almost apologize every time I have to say, “You, from Gurbeti or Roma tribe.” That's funny; they apologize to me sometimes, too, when they address me.We always had very good relations with our neighbors; my next door neighbor [a Serb] is my godparent. The godparenting runs in our families for about 60 years. His grandfather baptized my mother, and his son did the same with me, and now his children are godparents to my kids. My son now started a new godparenting, with his best friend [a Serb], but I respected our family tradition—my godfather is over 70 years old today. My godfather is very important to me; he is like my father, in the sense that I always respected him and he took care of me the best he could. His wife recently died and he's very old, but he managed to be at my grandson's baptism, and he was the most welcomed person there. That's just our tradition. It is a great honor to be a godfather. The funny thing is, they are all named the same. My godfather is named Sreten, just like my father and my son, and his wife's name was Natasa, or Nadezda, just like my mom's and my daughter's. They gave us their family name and we accepted it. My children are named after our godparents, but sometimes a confusion arises when there is something official to sing or to do since we live next to each other and they are all named the same.My family has very good relations with almost everybody in this village. On the other hand, I can see today some difficulties arising—these modern kids are different than we were. Kids in the village are a little insolent today. Before, we never had any trouble at all. My mom and her family are from Drenovac—that's why we all came back here. When I first moved here, some 25 years ago, everybody greeted me very warmly. There was no difference between me and my next door neighbor at all. I think we all had a different upbringing in those times. My first neighbor is my closest family, and we love each other still. Sometimes he was closer to me than my own brother or a father. I respect my neighbor very much; he is the first one to help me when I need help, and I'm the same way to him and his whole family. As kids, when I used to come to visit my grandparents here in Drenovac we played Cowboys and Indians—I was of course, the Indian. We go a long way back, like a true family. My son grew up with his [the neighbor's] kids; they are still best friends today, and tied with godparenting.On the other hand, there is a kind of trouble in the air lately. This all started with the beginning of the war [1991]—people became nervous or something, started paying attention to nationalities. And we had a lot of refugees coming here from Bosnia. They stayed in my village, in some empty houses, or people just took them in. Anyway, a year and a half ago the worst incident happened: one Gypsy boy got severely beaten by ten or more villagers [Serbs]. I'm very sorry that such a thing could have happened here. It happened in our village center, where young people go out. In situations like this, I always think “Why am I not a Hungarian; why they call me a Gypsy when I'm not?” Then my soul hurts; from where did they get that I'm a Gypsy? Why call me that? I'm not a Gypsy. I never stole anything. I would help everybody. I'm brought up that way; my kids are the same. We all act like our dear God told us to—by God's laws. We don't steal, we don't kill. We just play our music, that's all. That poor Gypsy boy didn't deserve what happened to him. My son, on the other hand, never had any trouble, ever. That is because he behaves well. My son was involved in only one incident. He was out with his girlfriend, now his wife, and some female friends in a restaurant here in the village. They were still teenagers. And a couple of older men started to say things to them, to the girls. They even threatened that they will move out all Gypsies from this village. They cursed them: “I'll screw your Gypsy mother.” When I think of it, it was always like that. Most arguments and fights were about girls. Usually everything ended up with some bad words and humiliation. But before it was I against that one person; now it's like we are taking opposite sides, the whole village. I don't see anything good coming out of it.These bad events, humiliations I had to take, didn't prevent me from feeling like a true Serb. I love my country; this is where I was born. If I was born in Zanzibar, I would feel the same. I don't hate anybody. I don't like to be humiliated. Why me? So what if I have dark skin? I have the same soul as anybody. Maybe I have greater Serbian soul than some Serbs. My kids were always an example in school: good students, always dressed well, better maybe than some people's kids who had more money. My children always had good pocket-money. They were clean; their mother always looked after that. I've always tried hard. My son is a Serb too; he is born here. I don't want to see him humiliated, ever, because someone calls him names. I sent him to high school in Sabac; he was a good student always. He wanted to become an economist. His third day, kids tried to harm him with a screwdriver because he is like a Gypsy. They tried to take his leather jacket. We came to visit him, my wife and daughter and myself, to see his school and how he's doing. I was very proud of him. We waited for him in the school yard. Some kids were near us, saying very bad, vulgar things about us. My daughter was there; I didn't want her to hear any more of that crap. I pulled my son out of that school.Maybe it's a mistake that we are here, in Drenovac; so nonviolent, but that's our characteristic. Roma, in Macvancki Pricinovic, or even worse, in Draginje, they don't get humiliated or beaten up. No, they fight back. If something like the event with that poor boy had happened over there, only an ambulance crew could pick up parts from Serbs. They are Gurbeti, much more violent. On the other hand, we do the only way we know. We have a different mentality than the Roma. We are much more softer, and we never sold our girls. This is maybe not a nice thing to say, but we do have more culture. We don't have differences with peasants, not at all. Whatever they do, we do it, whatever they have, we have it. Actually, we understand ourselves as Serbs. Gypsies in Macvancki Pricinovic, they declare themselves to be Roma, always; we never do. That's because we feel and see ourselves as Serbs. Gurbeti would speak their Gypsy language even in front of Tito. We all speak Serbian. I can understand some Romanian, but I can't speak it. We never used Romanian in this house. Not even in the village.I was never into politics. However, I think that it would have been much better for all of us from ex-Yugoslavia if we made a split right at the beginning. Serbia is Serbia, and it should stand alone. But God didn't let us split without any incident. In 1991, many males [Gypsy] from this village got drafted, and sent to the Croatian war line. I could have stayed in Austria; we were there just at the outset of war. At that time it was still relatively easy to get “papers” to stay and work there. But I couldn't do it; I could have applied to get an asylum status, but I just couldn't do it; that was kind of shameful for me. Maybe I made a huge mistake; if we did that, my children would be much better off today. Instead, I packed my family and we went home, to Serbia. We traveled by car and passed nearby Karlovci just one day before the Croatian's HDZ slaughtered those 12 poor soldiers. This story followed us on our way home. But we were heading back home and I thought that if it is my destiny to die then I will. If God decided that we shall all be killed, that's it. Now I think I did the foolish thing. I regret the most because of my kids; if we stayed, both of my kids would have a secure future. I'm very emotional when it comes to my home and my hearth. I never approved of Milosevic's politics. In school I was taught to love Tito and partisans, and to hate cetnik formations. Maybe that was wrong too. I'm not afraid in front of God. If only God would give us another Tito! If only God gave us another politician of that caliber, so my son can build his life! People say this and that about Tito, but that's beside the point—whatever he was, he was a master of politics, and I respect him for that. Although I was never a member of a Communist Party. I didn't care about politics. We lived like in paradise when he ruled. He was the authority for the whole world, in those black African countries, everybody [foreign politicians] kneeled before him—I don't care if he was a hooligan. When he was alive I was free to travel everywhere, to stop my car in the middle of the night, in the middle of nowhere, in Bosnia's mountains, among Muslims, and I was safe. I only wish that my son can live through a time like that—to be and feel safe in his own country. In Tito's time, and with our Yugoslav passport, there were no restrictions or visas for all of us. I was so proud to have a Yugoslav passport. That is so totally different than today. In 1990, I took a job in Austria; I was in front of one gas station, loading my car, when an elderly gentleman asked me where was I from. When I said, “Serbia, Yugoslavia” he made a facial expression and said “Serbische Dreck” [Serbian shit/worthless Serb]. That was terrible; it made me feel ashamed. I was also very much ashamed and humiliated when Milosevic surrendered Kosovo. My son served in the Army, in Prizren. We used to go and visit him many times. I'm very sorry about Kosovo; that's the old Serbia, our land. But I think that we should blame not only our politicians, but America, the most. If it weren't for the Americans we would still live together, side by side, in our beautiful Yugoslavia. I'm sorry that my children won't be able to live and travel the way we used to. Whatever happens in the future, it will never be the same.Marriage and familyWe didn't have mixed marriages with Roma. In the past it was a big deal. Now things are mixed up all together. Lately, a few peasant women got married to Romanians. They are all young couples, got married during the war years. Actually it's still a big deal, not among young people so much but their parents don't approve most of the time. They always looked at us like we are at some low position. I never minded. I would approve my son's marriage to any girl, as long as she is nice and from a good family. Also, a few males married Muslim women, the refugees from Bosnia. There are now six or seven sisters, all Muslims that are married into this village. After 1991, when the war started, many young people got married, including my son. I thought that he was too young, and he was; he was 17 at that time. But that was a special time, a war, a crisis. When the refugees started to come, first from Petrinje, Croatia, then from Bosnia, it was scary. Then I thought, “These people [the refugees] lost everything; many of their relatives are killed. Who knows what will happen tomorrow?” My son got married in 1999, during the bombing. We had his wedding while the bombs were falling. He actually got married because his girlfriend got pregnant. And in a time like that a baby seemed like a blessing. We didn't know where the war zone would end, and if we would survive.In this village, people marry late—I got married when I was 25 years of age. I'm married to Biljana. She's a great wife and a good mother to my kids. She was my first true love. My wife is from Tabanovic, another Romanian village. My aunt is married there. I met my future wife when she was just a kid. I'm older than she is, five years. I dated many girls from her village and she knew about it. I remember her—she had nice braids, and I used to pull her by her hair. She was very beautiful; even today she has the most wonderful green eyes. But she was too young for me at that time. We had some kind of a sympathy for each other, but I didn't want to get serious until I served in the Army. I was 20 when I went into the Army, in 1977. After that, when I came to visit my aunt and saw Biljana, I knew she was the one. However I was still not good financially at that time and I didn't want to drag her with me into poverty. I first wanted to create something so I could provide a decent life for my wife. Also, I wanted to become known as a good musician, as a good, respectable and stable man before I got married. So we dated for about five years. Finally, I was able to marry her. We got married on January 8th. She had a good voice, and we started to perform together. I took her to Italy on our honeymoon. We played there at some Roma wedding. Those were the Cergari Roma who escaped from Yugoslavia before 1941 to Italy. They were very rich. I don't know what they did, but they had a lot of money. These Gypsies were from the old kind—even their tzar appeared. He was their judge and their tzar. That old man, he was around 70 years of age, was so respected; I've never seen something like that before. He was really the authority for all of them. That's their Roma tradition. We earned so much money then. I remember I bought a car in Italy. Those were the days! Actually, I ended up in an Italian hospital after that wedding. I played for three consecutive days; harmonica can be heavy after a while, and my foot capillary broke. The hospital was great—they gave us a menu every day to choose from like five meals! I enjoyed their pasta very much. We traveled to Italy, Germany, Austria and all over former Yugoslavia. I used to make 4000-5000 Germans marks per night! In 1980, I bought my first Mercedes. But those days are gone now.Now we all live here in Drenovac. My son is married and recently got a little baby boy. I'm very proud to be a grandfather. My daughter is still in school. My brother is still in Austria; he used to work with his two sons in a plaster shop. Actually, my godparent employed him at first. But he got very sick: a brain cancer, but he is doing better now, thank God. My brother and I were like twins, never apart, always there for each other. Our godparent lent us money, 500 German marks, but I don't have to give it back to him. That's how close we are. So my brother and I succeeded in getting out of the poverty of our childhood and built a nice life. Most important, we managed to raise our children well and to keep our family together. The only thing I'm sorry about is that my mother died. I wish she could see us today; she would enjoy her grandchildren and great-grandson. She would enjoy a better life.DiscussionDragan's account tells us about his personal experience. Often he mentions historical events and particular crises in either his life or the life of his community. Mostly, his story is not about how things really were but about how he preferred to remember the past. Jay Ruby28 has argued that what people say about themselves is data to be interpreted, not a simple factual truth. Dragan favors “the old days” of former Yugoslavia because Gypsies, among other things, were able to benefit from Tito's communism in full: guaranteed income in spite of there being little or no work. These are typical Gypsy feelings in Serbia today, as one Gypsy informant explained: “In other countries, if you don't work, you don't have anything to eat, but in [former] Yugoslavia, you can eat and drink and don't have to work at all!”29 Even under communism, Gypsy circumstances were not bright: those employed Gypsy workers were in unskilled jobs that required no, or minimal, skills. In the former Yugoslavia, in 1986, 80% of Gypsy children did not complete primary school and the employment rate among Gypsy workers stood at 80%;30 in 2000, just 20% of the Gypsy labor force held regular jobs, and only 5% of these workers were employed in state companies. Some 58% of Gypsy men and 89% of women have no profession, either traditional or modern.31 The low education rates are a result of both the apathy of the Gypsy community and parents’ disinterest in the education of their children.32 Also, the two main reasons for the high unemployment rate are the Gypsies’ lack of interest in long-term, institutional employment combined with their traditional distrust of authority and their lack of professional skills.33At the same time, the former communist regime in Yugoslavia propagated the idea of a “classless” and ethnicity-less society for the past 60 years, which supposedly promoted general acceptance of all ethnic groups. With his Yugoslav passport, Dragan, like so many Gypsies at that time, was able to travel without restrictions in search for work. One of the preferred destinations for many Mačva Gypsies was Austria, where they have established some sort of residence and benefited from the Austrian welfare system.34Although Dragan has tried hard to trade his “gypsyness” for success in life, unlike some other Gypsies with a strong sense of ethnicity, his account implies a sense of acceptance of the Gypsy low social position and even stereotypes, no matter how much he dislikes it. In fact, it appears that Dragan himself associates Gypsy identity with theft and dubious honesty when he says: “… I'm not a Gypsy. I never stole anything. I would help everybody …” Throughout Europe, the common stereotypes associated Gypsies with tricks and deceiving non-Gypsies: theft, lock-picking, purse-stealing, horse-stealing, casting spells, general witchcraft, and trickery.35 Because of these stereotypes, Dragan seems to be engaged in the task of creating a space of exception for himself and his family, constantly defining himself in explicit opposition to anything with Gypsy connotations. Due to their distinctive phenotype and widespread stereotypes Gypsies often have less agency in choosing/creating identity than other ethnic groups. It is a great irony then, that Dragan, in all of his efforts to define himself in opposition to Gypsy ethnic stereotypes, is faced by another common ethnic stereotype, “Serbian shit,” aimed as a slur for Serbs.In Dragan's oral account, the recurring theme is one of connection—to his family, his “people,” including his neighbors, the Serbs, and his village. These connections are explored through ties of kinship and his attachment to land/place emphasizes his sense of belonging. Both kinship and land offer more than a mere background for Dragan's narrative. They actually structure and shape his story. Like so many Gypsies, Dragan married endogamously, within his own tribe, just as his parents did and, recently, his son. In Serbia, Gypsies traditionally encouraged endogamy: so cooperative in trade, they restrained from marriage with outsiders and even with different Gypsy groups, so maintaining their group identity and separation.36 The Gypsy endogamy has helped their sons get wives—it was always difficult for a Gypsy to marry into a Serbian family—so it was self-maintained as much as it was imposed. In a case of a mixed marriage, not only would a Gypsy's status improve, but his or her potential children would acquire wider kinship ties and better cooperation with Serbs. Especially in Serbian rural areas kinship still remains a very important foundation for cooperation and a lot of what passes for ethnicity at the local, micro level is, in fact, kinship. In the absence of marriage kinship ties, Dragan emphasizes instead traditional godparenting that created good cooperation with the Serbs from his village for generations.When Dragan uses traditional elements of his culture to speak about the past, his life history becomes visible cultural practice and behavior rather than merely a complementary ethnographic account.37 The social stratification and limited marriage choices of rural Gypsies in Serbia preserved their local, village traditions, including their occupations. A key socializing mechanism for Gypsies that promoted their survival and reproduction in the past was an emphasis on the particular occupations employed by various Gypsy tribes. Like his ancestors before him, Dragan chose music/entertainment as his life occupation, and his son followed the family tradition. The behavior Dragan and his family employed for many decades, and the “preferred ethnicity” is better understood by comparing his narration to available historical and anthropological data. Throughout their history, Gypsies have chosen only particular occupations in which they were self-employed and which did not require education.38 Even with modernization, when they abandoned old occupations in favor of new, they did not compromise their freedom. In light of local history and the social environment, Dragan's specific life course and decisions become more recognizable.At the time when Dragan's ancestors first appeared in Serbia, during the second half of the nineteenth century, Mačva was largely uninhabited territory due to the centuries of wars, famine, and disease. Serbia was liberated from the Turkish rule but its territories were almost deserted. At that time, the village of Drenovac had only a few inhabitants, and later on a few villages fused into the present day village.39 Since the Serbian government supported immigrants from Herzegovina, the majority of inhabitants in present day Drenovac are descendants of those immigrants. Reports relate that the natives, especially in the beginning, refused to accept the newcomers even though Mačva was largely uninhabited. Conflict was mitigated not only by various orders of the Serbian government but by the fact that the newcomers from Herzegovina belonged to the same ethnic entity. They were Orthodox Serbs who carried the same cultural models. The government also supported the colonization of various Gypsies. Workers and craftsmen were needed in rural Serbia, and the demand for their goods led to their acceptance in the villages. There are documents noting Gypsy presence in Mačva in 1718 and 1834, but the majority of Romanian Gypsies came after the abolition of slavery in Romania, after 1864. The Lejaši Gypsies, Dragan's ancestors, however, were never craftsmen like other Gypsies. They were musicians, and musicians were never needed by the rural Serbian economy. Certainly, the Lejaši music was very much prized,40 and they were the only group to perform professionally, but they could make a living from their music only occasionally, at weddings, village fairs, and special events. Their payment was in the form of a tip, which made them dependant on the kindness and mood of their audience. Unlike the Serbs from Herzegovina, Gypsies also had highly visible and diverse phenotypes like skin color, hair texture, dress, and a way of life which surely made them appear as outsiders and intruders by the natives. All these factors probably posed a potential danger of ethnic conflict in the form of territorial defense. Gypsy success in surviving has always depended on a favorable social climate. In their effort to survive and become more accepted, many Lejaši must have made a calculated decision to adopt Serbian identity and culture, as did Dragan's family. This required losing their own traditions, language, dress, and wider kinship ties to other Roma in the area. Through godparenting ties, they encouraged behavior that usually occurs between close relatives to be directed towards non-kin. The nineteenth-century Serbian government was interested in forming larger villages that would have more stability, and cooperation was greatly encouraged among ethnic groups. Therefore, the decision of Dragan's ancestors to become “true Serbs” seems justified, especially so since the Lejaši were not liked by other Gypsy groups in the area due to the different language and religion. By transmitting a particular successful behavior to their own descendants, Dragan's ancestors may not have only increased their number of descendants but also sanctified particular behavior.41 These behavioral models influenced the choices that individual Gypsies were forced to make in the context of external circumstances. The preferred identity so became the end product of their life experience, producing patterns of emotional and behavioral traits.ConclusionFor narrators from marginalized groups, oral history presents a chance to tell their own story, in their own words. Their narrative can deepen our understanding of the cultural behavior of individuals by revealing personal versions of events and individuals’ understanding of the past.Dragan's oral history reveals his love of his family and his nostalgia for the past, when he was able to travel freely and enjoy the fruits of Tito's communism, especially acceptance of all ethnic groups. From his account, we learn about his personal experiences, hopes, setbacks, and his family tradition. He remains proud of himself and of his family heritage. They managed to succeed in life despite many obstacles, including their initial poverty and background. Dragan is especially pleased by his godparenting and friendship ties with the Serbs in his village and emphasizes many times that there are no true differences between them. At the same time, he is also aware of his background and the position of Gypsies in the society. Yet, throughout his life, like his parents before him and their parents before them, he has consciously traded his ethnicity for social success in life. The local life-strategy of “the preferred ethnic” identity adopted by his ancestors has created an ongoing dialogue with the social environment and political circumstances.When I came back to the village, in the winter of 2006, many things had changed: many of the Karavlax “true Serbs” now declared themselves “true Roma,” emphasizing their “ethnic revival” and the distinctiveness of the Roma culture. This change was brought about by the general rise of nationalism in Serbia and, among other things relevant for Roma in the area, by the presence of several non-governmental, humanitarian organizations that operate at the territory of western Serbia, and whose main task is to provide humanitarian and material help for the Mačva Roma. The brick factory where the Lejaši males used to work has been sold as part of the privatization process in the transition to a market economy. For most villagers of Drenovac, the only source of income today is social help/welfare and humanitarian help. In order to become recipients of humanitarian help, these “true” Serbs had to declare themselves as Roma. The Gypsies with whom I spoke said that they had to “convert” in order to survive, but also, according to their own words, they finally see their chance to obtain their own “culture and identity,” and the fact that they are sponsored and paid in order to do so helps a lot. With the help of these organizations, the Roma from Drenovac have opened a “Gypsy club” in the village where they gather daily to discuss local news, politics, and their activities. Many of these Roma are now members of the local Roma political parties, financed by the same sources, and they claim to fight for Roma rights and social dignity.Dragan's life changed too: his wife got sick and is unable to perform in the band so he stays home most of the time trying to breed pigs and chickens. He complains that he cannot make enough money for his family anymore. On the other hand, he stays committed to his “preferred ethnicity,” although he clearly sees the need of the Roma people to “finally do something for themselves” as he says, even if that means to reject the previous identity. He supports his fellow villagers in their efforts, but warns that this change has already provoked many sparks among the local villagers and that verbal and sometimes even physical conflicts with the local Serbs are on the rise. He did not apply for any sort of humanitarian or social help.It is too early to conclude how this ethnicity change will affect the Roma from Drenovac. Gypsies always depended on the needs and contacts with their host countries as a source of their livelihood. The Lejaši may possibly lose their relatively good cooperation with their Serbian neighbors but gain more on the other side, in their alliances with the other Roma and political parties from the area. In Serbia, Gypsy ethnic flexibility comes from their readiness to adjust their behavior in order to create the most favorable strategy for making ends meet. Gypsy culture, as well as identity, responds in an ongoing dialogue with their social environment, and so far they have managed to survive because of the social strategies they used, trading their objective identity for the preferred one. Humans do not passively accept models of behavior from their social network. They accept the models that work, change those that do not, and share and transmit those changes back into their social group in a continually evolving creative process.42 Such processes are open-ended and able to strategize adaptively in response to novel environmental situations.431Jelena Čvorović, “Gypsies Drown In Shallow Water: Oral Narratives among Mačva Gypsies,” Journal of Folklore Research 43, no. 2 (2006): 129–48.2Angus Fraser, The Gypsies (Cambridge: Blackwell, 1992).3Ian Hancock, The Pariah Syndrome: An Account of Gypsy Slavery (Ann Arbor, MI: Karoma Publishers, 1987).4Fraser, The Gypsies.5Fraser, The Gypsies; Čvorović, “Gypsies Drown In Shallow Water”; Tihomir Djordjevic, Naš narodni zivot I običaji (Beograd: Knjizevna Zadruga, 1932).6Luba Kalaydjieva, Francesc Calafell, Mark A. Jobling, Dora Angelicheva, Peter de Knijff, Zoë H. Rosser, Matthew E. Hurles, Peter Underhill, Ivailo Tournev, Elena Marushiakova, and Vesselin Popov, “Patterns of Inter- and Intra-group Genetic Diversity in the Vlax Roma as Revealed by Y Chromosome and Mitochondrial DNA Lineages,” European Journal of Human Genetics 9 (2001): 97–104.7Fraser, The Gypsies.8Elena Marushiakova and Veselin Popov, Gypsies (Roma) in Bulgaria (Peter Lang: Frankfurt am Main, 1997); Jelena Čvorović, “Caste Behaviors among Serbian Gypsies,” Collection of Papers EI Serbian Academy of Sciences and Arts 23 (2007): 151–68.9Hancock, The Pariah Syndrome.10Anzej Mirga and Mruz Leh, Romi, razlike I tolerancije (Beograd: Akarit, 1997).11David M. Crowe, A History of the Gypsies of Eastern Europe and Russia (New York: St Martin's Press, 1996).12United Nations Development Programme, Srbija I Crna Gora: izvestaj 2002 (Beograd: UNDP, 2002).13Katherine Pinnock, Denied A Future? The Right to Education of Roma/Gypsy and Traveler Children in Europe (United Kingdom: Save the Children Fund, 2001).14Mirga and Leh, Romi, razlike I tolerancije.15Aleksandra Mitrović, Na dnu. Romi na granicama siromaštva (Beograd: Naučna Knjiga, 1990); Jelena Čvorović, “Sexual and Reproductive Strategies among Serbian Gypsies,” Population & Environment 25 (2004): 217–42.16Tatomir Vukanovic, Romi (Cigani) u Jugoslaviji (Vranje: Nova Jugoslavija, 1983).17Tihomir Djordjevic, Iz Srbije Kneza Miloša. Stanovništvo-naselja (Beograd: Geca Kon, 1924).18Vukanovic, Romi (Cigani) u Jugoslaviji; Čvorović, “Caste Behaviors among Serbian Gypsies.”19Jelena Čvorović, “The Making of Gypsies: Invention of Tradition,” Issues of Ethnology and Anthropology 1, no. 1 (2006): 47–59.20Pinnock, Denied A Future?21Čvorović, “The Making of Gypsies.”22Jelena Čvorović, Gypsy Narratives: From Poverty to Culture (Belgrade: The Institute of Ethnography, Serbian Academy of Sciences and Arts, 2004).23Čvorović, “Gypsies Drown In Shallow Water.”24Čvorović, “Sexual and Reproductive Strategies among Serbian Gypsies.”25Hancock, The Pariah Syndrome.26Čvorović, “Sexual and Reproductive Strategies among Serbian Gypsies.”27Dragan Vasiljkovic, interviewed by Jelena Čvorović, May 10, 2003.28Jay Ruby, “Speaking for, Speaking about, Speaking with, or Speaking Alongside: An Anthropological and Documentary Dilemma,” Visual Anthropology Review 7, no. 2 (1991): 50–67.29Jelena Čvorović, “Gypsy Oral History in Serbia,” Oral History Journal 33, no. 1 (2005): 57–68.30Children of Minorities: Gypsies, ed. Sandro Costarelli (Florence: United Nations Children's Fund, International Child Development Centre, 1993).31Pinnock, Denied A Future?32Jelena Čvorović, “Gypsy Ethnic Socialization in Serbia,” Bulletin of the Institute of Ethnography Serbian Academy of Sciences and Arts 53 (2005): 35–48.33Children of Minorities: Gypsies, 44–7.34Čvorović, Gypsy Narratives.35Fraser, The Gypsies, 62.36Čvorović, “Caste Behaviors among Serbian Gypsies.”37Julie Cruikshank, Life Lived Like a Story (Lincoln and London: University of Nebraska Press, 1992).38Fraser, The Gypsies, 62; Jelena Čvorović, “A Gypsy, Butterfly and Gadje: Narrative as Instruction for Behaviour,” Folklore 119, no. 1 (2008): 29–44.39Tihomir Djordjevic, Iz Srbije Kneza Miloša. Stanovništvo-naselja (Beograd: Geca Kon, 1924).40Djordjevic, Naš narodni zivot I običaji.41Lyle Steadman and Craig Palmer, “Myths as Instructions from Ancestors: The Example of Oedipus,” Zygon 32 (1997): 341–50.42Paul Di Maggio, “Culture and Cognition,” Annual Review of Sociology 23 (1997): 263–87.43Kevin B. MacDonald, Preface to the First Paperback Edition, Separation and Its Discontents: Toward an Evolutionary Theory of Anti-Semitism (Bloomington, IN: Firstbooks Library, 1998/2003).