By Charles Fenyvesi and Edward von Kloberg
They were washed out politically for more than 50 years, outcasts from the countries their dynasties once ruled. But now, unexpectedly, they're back. And some of the deposed monarchs of formerly communist Eastern Europe are poised to provide a new twist to an old adage: In the Balkans, it seems, you can't keep a good king down.
Last month, Simeon Saxe-Coburg, the former Czar Simeon II of Bulgaria, stunned political observers when his fledgling political party won a landslide victory in the Bulgarian parliamentary elections. Since then, Simeon has formed a coalition government and become prime minister. And speculation persists that in time he will move to promote a new constitution that would restore him to the throne he lost when the communists forced him into exile as a 9-year-old in 1946.
The once and possibly future king's amazing political rebirth at the age of 64 is a harbinger of what could be a royal revival across the Balkans, where stagnant economies have bred disenchantment with the politicians in charge, and the possibility of reconnecting with a pre-communist past holds great appeal for peoples long denied a historical memory. In addition to Simeon, Crown Prince Alexander of Yugoslavia and King Michael of Romania -- also descendants of Britain's Queen Victoria -- have suggested that they could become active in the political lives of the lands that ousted them and their families after World War II.
From where we sit, it's a royal restoration devoutly to be wished for. That may sound odd considering that we sit in America, but the fact is that the situation in the Balkans cries out for a new kind of leadership -- and these former monarchs are uniquely positioned to provide it. In numerous conversations and interviews over several years, they've convinced us they're far from throwbacks. Instead, they offer their countries the prospect of a dramatic boon, with significant economic and political benefits springing both from their positive international starpower and from the Western-bred democratic convictions they would bring to the governing table.
When the communist dictatorships fell in 1989, there was no reason to believe the Balkan royals -- whose names suddenly began to pop up in the gossip columns -- would ever play any role beyond that of curiosities in the modern history of their former kingdoms. Ruling royalty, after all, has been on the decline for centuries. Governing monarchies are a relic of the past in Asia. Western royals, like the English Windsors, have carved out ceremonial niches for themselves. Only in Spain, where the monarchy was restored in 1975, has a king assumed a significant governing role in a modern democracy.
Over the past few years, the three East European royals, who had spent their exile in Western Europe or the United States, have indeed become bona fid celebrities in their homelands, reinforcing the idea that their chief function would be feeding a star-hungry public. The news media play up their visits to ancestral haunts, and they're greeted by huge and emotional crowds wherever they go. When Alexander, who was born in a suite at Claridge's in London in 1945, first visited Yugoslavia in 1991, tens of thousands of citizens poured into the streets of Belgrade to welcome this scion of the old royal family. They watched approvingly as he shed tears at the grave of his rebel ancestor, Karadjordje Petrovic, who rose up against the Turks in 1804 and founded the ruling dynasty.
But lately, the nature of the interest greeting these former monarchs has extended beyond nostalgia for a regal past and celebrity-viewing hysteria to something politically significant. Politicians, intellectuals and others seek the royals out to solicit their advice and urge them to return home for good. "You won't believe how many people are eager to see my father," King Michael's daughter Margarita told us. The Yugoslav and Romanian royals have also confided that leaders of most of the right-of-center parties in their countries have asked for their endorsements and even approached them to lead their slates. Simeon's decision to form his own party was clearly prompted by a sense that he had enough personal appeal to make a pass at the electoral brass ring on his own.
So what accounts for this appeal? One factor is a profound popular unhappiness with the politicians of the post-communist era. They're widely perceived as incompetent and greedy, devoted only to perpetuating their power. Across the Balkans, corruption is rife; young people charge that career opportunity is open only to those with family ties to the ruling elite or the still-powerful network of the former communist regimes. In Bulgaria, pre-election opinion polls showed that the public believes the country's new democrats are just as corrupt as the old communists.
Secondly, the Balkan economies are all in a dire state. Romania, despite a wealth of natural resources, teeters on the edge of catastrophe. Many Serbs agreed with the decision to deliver ex-dictator Slobodan Milosevic to The Hague tribunal not because they think he's a war criminal but because his extradition will unlock billions of dollars in desperately needed loans and grants from the West.
Against this background, the royals, with their Western know-how and international connections, look really attractive. Bulgarians have good reason to admire Simeon -- he's the most successful Bulgarian in the world. Starting out as a penniless refugee in Spain, he managed to amass a fortune as an international business consultant specializing in commercial banking and investment. This is invaluable expertise and a powerful credential in these struggling post-communist states.
Alexander, 56, has done well as an insurance and oil executive in Chicago and London, and also offers his countrymen multiple Western contacts. The least successful of the royals is Romania's King Michael. Since his banishment by the communists in 1947, he has run a dairy farm in England and worked for an American company selling Lear jets. He also trained as a mechanic, and invented a pre-computer simulation system to train pilots. Now 79, he may be perceived as too old to bring about the radical changes Romania needs, but his daughter Margarita is a strong candidate either to resume the throne -- should it be offered -- or to take up some other top political post. An energetic and high-powered fundraiser, she has won international acclaim for the foundation she established to improve the lives of Romania's tens of thousands of abandoned children.
This kind of activity on behalf of the homeland doesn't go unnoticed and underscores a sense that the royals genuinely have the welfare of their former subjects at heart. In this, they're building on the legacy of the past. Simeon's popular father, King Boris, defied the Nazis, who are suspected of having poisoned him, while his wife, Queen Giovanna, worked to save thousands of Jews from deportation. Alexander's father, King Peter of Yugoslavia, fled the Nazi invaders in 1941 and encouraged the first armed resistance movement in Hitler-occupied Europe. Meanwhile, Romania's Michael is credited personally with a historic act of heroism. In 1944, at the age of 23, he arrested Romania's pro-Nazi dictator Ion Antonescu and declared an armistice with the Allies. The Soviets awarded him their highest decoration, the Order of Victory -- before they forced him to abdicate.
Today's Balkan royals aren't especially regal. They come across as relatively ordinary Joes, which is likely to work in their favor in a region that has seen enough leaders with messianic pretensions. Nevertheless, with their connections to the pre-war, pre-communist past, they embody for many the glories of national histories suppressed under communist rule, and act as mirrors to the feelings of pride in the past that may at long last be expressed. Unlike megalomaniacs such as Milosevic, though, they're not likely to exploit national pride for personal gain. In exile, they've learned the necessity of negotiation and compromise -- rare skills in the Balkans, where partisan and personal hatreds too often rule.
In fact, aside from Simeon, the royals are cautious about acting to reclaim their patrimony as national leaders. Both Michael and Alexander have told old friends that they worry about the dependability of their new supporters, who hail from all parts of society and all kinds of backgrounds. Alexander has not warmed to Serbian monarchists, many of whom are angry with him for his sympathy with Croats and Bosnians. But there's a good argument to be made that no Serb could be a more effective international spokesman for the new, post-Milosevic Serbia than Alexander, who was made a Yugoslav citizen in March. In that light, there's been talk of giving him, as a starter, a high visibility public role, such as ambassador at-large or envoy to a key world capital.
But first he has to set up permanent residence in Serbia, perfect his Serbian and decide to take some risks in local politics. The first of these steps, at least, has just been made a whole lot easier -- 10 days ago, the Serbian parliament officially gave him back the ancestral compound with the Old Palace and White Palace in Belgrade. Similarly, Bulgaria recently gave Simeon back his family's 90-acre Vrana Hunting Lodge, and Romania has promised King Michael 50 percent of the salary of the current head of state, along with the Elizabeth Palace, the Savarsin Castle and other villas taken from the king's family more than 50 years ago.
Simeon has set himself a daunting task with his promise to improve Bulgaria's economy within 800 days, but his willingness to try deserves applause. It would certainly tickle the Balkan sense of irony if the once disinherited royals end up cleaning up the mess left behind by communism. Through a half-century of travails, God saved the kings. Maybe now the kings can help save their homelands.
*For the record: Charles Fenyvesi is a former reporter for U.S. News & World Report and the author of "Splendor in Exile: The Ex-Majesties of Europe" (New Republic Books). Edward von Kloberg is chairman of the international consulting firm Washington World Group.
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