Dimi Panitza - Bulgaria's Trust and Faith

A mass was served on August 2, 2011 at the Saint Sofia Church in memory of prominent Bulgarian journalist and patriot Dimi Panitza, who died on Friday. Photo by BGNES

by Blaga Dimitrova*

October 03, 1991

This happened in Sofia in spring.

A neatly-dressed, energetic, open-faced man ran circles around the fence of the Chinese Embassy, lifting himself upon his toes every now and then to take a peek into the garden. When he finally summoned the courage to go inside, he was greeted at the entrance by the "How can we help the gentleman?" of a handful of agile Chinese.

This man had a peculiar request - he wanted to look around the house. The puzzled Chinese let him in, quietly pacing behind him. He slowly stepped over the threshold, as if entering a sanctuary, and headed for the spacious, sun-lit parlors. He was silently caressing the walls with his eyes, the warm wood paneling, the ceilings, as if he could see something hidden in them. He stopped in front of the living room, a former drawing room, and suddenly threw himself onto an antique high-back chair, covered his head with his arms and burst into tears. The Chinese were dumbfounded.

They rushed in from all sides- one fetched a glass of water, another one offered a cup of tea. The Ambassador himself arrived, staring blankly at the broad shaking shoulders of the solid man. The guest wept long over the chair. Then he lifted his head, brushed away his tears with an elegant white handkerchief and explained between sobs that it was his grandfather's chair around which he used to play when he was a child.

The Chinese nodded politely, looking at each other through the thin slits of their eyelids. What could this piece of furniture hide? Could it be one of the 12 chairs with treasure sown on the inside? Or was it a hereditary relic, one of those selling for pretty penny at auctions on global exchanges?

They, as well as their Bulgarian colleagues from the nomenclature, did not know and could not comprehend that this worn-out grandfather's chair concealed the most precious treasure in the world – childhood memories, the scent of the house of birth, an embodiment of the homeland. The strange guest had suffered one of the most excruciating trials of the century - being forcefully torn from the native land to be able to come back there only in his dreams and memories.

Finally, after half a century, he had lived to set foot on the soil again. The nostalgia had grown with every year, the heart had shrunk from the pain but this had not weakened the will of this remarkable Bulgarian. Abroad, among foreign mores and customs, he had made outstanding achievements in the hardly accessible sphere of culture. How? Through persistent work, through capabilities and initiative.

I was lucky enough to visit him in his office in Paris - a brilliantly ordered and smoothly-running branch of his publishing business specialized in printing digests in a wide range of languages. The walls were lined with bookshelves stacked full of bright, multi-colored books in one format- pocket-sized, exquisite, to read while traveling, or from the couch or while in bed. I could not, unfortunately, visit the head office in New York, but I can very well picture it.

I feel consumed by fury when I think about it- why such an entrepreneurial compatriot should not have a publishing branch here, in downtown Sofia, in his house of birth even, so as to satisfy our curiosity for the modern world, to incite the thirst for knowledge of our young readers...

Be still my heart! Dimi Panitza has never been torn from Bulgaria. He has generously supported and continues to support a number of patriotic enterprises. And it used to be dangerous to know him! What a disgrace for our wretched country! That it should give up its most honorable scions! Nevena Stefanova and I often talked about him on our return from Paris. But we were not supposed to utter his name. Our homes were being tapped. Nevena used to go into the kitchen, bring a plate, and show that she means our Panitza by gently knocking on it. (*panitza is the Bulgarian for plate, dish; editor's note).

I have never met another person who suffers through and empathizes with all twists and turns experienced by the Bulgarian society from abroad. He calls on the phone, at times from New York, at times from Paris, and his voice trembles: "What is going on?". He, who endured such unjust insults, losses and suffering, begs and implores: "There should be no revenge! No blood! We must not repeat the horrendous past! Everything should be forgiven!"

What is going on? Today I feel like answering all of his past and future worried questions:

- Dear Dimi, brother of mine, you see, we have tough times ahead. But I have one hope. Bulgaria will not die as long as it has such devoted, strong, humane, open-faced sons like you! ...Be blessed!

 

*Novinite.com is publishing a reminiscence of Dimi Panitza by the late poetess and vice president of Bulgaria Blaga Dimitrova in commemoration of the memory of the great Bulgarian, who passed away on Friday. The text first appeared on Facebook, published by Dimitrova's husband Yordan Vassilev, former editor-in-chief of the right-wing mouthpiece Democracy newspaper

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