Around the Balkans in 20 Days – Part 6

I arose in an excited and over zealous mood. Yes, I was partially still drunk from the night before, questioning how I got home alongside why I was awake so soon after having gone to sleep. 5 or so hours were enough for sleep, surely?

Anyway, John, who was not eager to leave the apartment anytime soon, did not receive my mood well at all. He worked around it as best he could. I was very keen to visit Tito’s resting place, given that I missed out on that the last time I was in Belgrade. Through the miracle of washing away the vestiges of last night’s debauchery with a shower, and John now more carried by his need for food, we left the apartment around 11am. We descended the communal staircase, admiring the art deco style windows and peered nosily into the courtyard that was the heart of the square block of buildings. A space of serenity in the middle of the city.

We ventured up to Trg Republika, getting a coffee and a pastry on our way as we found our bearings. I managed to look up the bus route to get to the House of Flowers, the formal name for Tito’s resting place, which said to go to a bus stop near the Federal Parliament. So we crossed to Makedonska, and turned immediately right onto Decanska that led to Trg Nikole Pasica. The municipal buildings that dominated this stretch were built at the turn of the century, and had early Modernist styles with minimal ornamentation. This would have been Serbia’s own attempt at emulating the capitals of Western Europe, and in putting distance between them and their Ottoman heritage. Upon approaching the square, the opulent green dome of the Federal Parliament came into view. You would have imagined the Skupstina to be larger, but in fact it stood out from the buildings that surrounded it by being smaller than they. The dark behemoth that was the main post office loomed behind the pale Skupstina.

We walked in front of the parliament to look at the banners that were laid out in front of it. We deciphered the Serbo-Croatian to understand the thrust of the message was the plight of the Serbs in Kosovo. A denunciation of NATO was also thrown into the mix. However, no people accompanied the banners. They had been put up and left by their owners, and evidently in no way to the annoyance of the parliamentary authorities. We didn’t want to linger in case we looked interested in the subject matter and guilty by association, so continued to our bus stop.

After only a short wait in the sunshine next to a rather busy road, our trolleybus greeted us. John soon perked up at the immanent experience he was about to have on his first trolleybus ride. We boarded at the front, behind two people we presumed were local to the city. Once our turn arrived, I asked the driver for two tickets to the Tito Mausoleum. Not initially catching what I was saying as English, the driver motioned to repeat my request. I changed tack and asked if the bus went to the Tito Mausoleum. He said yes, but by the time I offered him some Denars through the small opening in his driver’s booth, he waved both my money away and the two of us into the bus. I suppose the double complication of having to explain the cost and the evident need to depart meant he would save time and effort just to let us on - perhaps with some knowledge that no ticket inspectors were patrolling today.

We went all the way to the back of the bus, where two seats were located behind the final set of bus doors and presumably perched on top of the engine. Straightaway, we were heading downhill on a long and straight road heading in a southerly direction, which soon flattened out. I had looked up the route to get there; to verify that the bus route went as intended, and indeed to check our bus was corresponding to that. We passed a number of prominent buildings, some smaller but displaying flags of different countries. We assumed this must be the government quarter with a smattering of embassies. We sped over a bridge that passed the intersection of the main motorway on which we arrived to Belgrade on the previous day. We then bared left on to a leafier thoroughfare that ran alongside Hajd Park – yes, eponymous with London’s own city lungs.

Although I knew our stop was close by, prepared by my pressing the bell and standing up, when the bus came to a full stop the driver peered through his window to beckon us off. How very helpful and friendly of him. I disembarked, still fuzzy in my head with the last ebbs of being drunk now merging into a hangover.  This was not how I imagined turning up to the mausoleum that I was always intrigued to visit.

The grand façade of the main building of the complex was upon us as soon as we began the walk uphill from the bus stop. Its large, wing-like expanse was typical of the theme of brutalist architecture we seemed to be pursuing, but was less severe than its contemporaries of the 1960s. This building, the 25 May Museum, was the main complex that was opened in 1962 to house gifts Tito had received up to that date. This was to be the last of the three buildings we were to visit. We approached a small building on the left that contained the ticket office and shop. For a small fee, we could access the aforementioned museum, the House of Flowers, and the Old Museum. We walked up the path, flanked by the odd statue here and there, and came around to the entrance to the House of Flowers, water fountain trickling in the background as we entered.

Whether the interior had been refurbished or not, the décor was very 1970s conservatory chic. Concrete and glass, with magnolia washed walls, meant that the odd pieces of 1970’s Danish furniture stuck out prominently. The marble tomb of the late dictator lay it the centre, sun shining from up on high, but secluded from us periodically by Mediterranean foliage acting as guards. In one wing of the room there were displays of Tito’s personal belongings. In the other there was a hoard of what looked like 1980s darts trophies. It threw me to try and recall why I had not picked up during my studies on Tito that he was a keen darts player. It turns out that they were in fact batons. Originally, these were symbols of youth in Socialist Yugoslavia, that were carried around the country to arrive in Belgrade on Tito’s birthday, which he shared with the Day of Youth national holiday. But then the idea expanded, so that all of the formal socialist and communist organisations – national through to local – would present them to Tito when he visited.

Onwards then to the Old Museum, that contained oddities from Yugoslavia’s past, particularly from the founding of Socialist Yugoslavia in the 1940s. My favourite was a wall mounted geographical relief map of Yugoslavia. I really wanted it. We then visited the final building, but not before my buying a coffee cup and saucer and Yugoslavia tote bag from the gift shop as souvenirs. The last building had less content, and what there was of it was in Serbo-Croatian. However, what I did enjoy was a minimalist map that was painted onto the wall. I bizarrely find fascination in different language scripts, and the names of the major cities on this map I really appreciated. I was mystified what this map could possibly represent. By process of elimination I gathered the names of some of the cities that weren’t capitals, and noted Jasenovac. I also noted that one of the words said ‘Revolution’ – so perhaps it indicated sites of monuments to the revolution that I knew dotted the former Yugoslavia. I took a picture so I could study it later on.

Nearby was the Partisan Football stadium and I suggested we pop by there, knowing John was a football fan, and that his dad may appreciate a visit to something non-politics/history orientated. In the fragile state he was in, and knowing the violent history of the fans of the team based there, he decided we shouldn’t go. Yet we also decided to walk back to the city, despite our sorry state, as we wanted to get a closer look at the buildings we saw on our journey over. It was definitely not the case that we were put off from having to negotiate a bus ride back.

So off we walked towards the motorway intersection. A new railway station was being built to our right, perhaps to replace or complement the old one what will sit next to the newly regenerate riverside development. Over the motorway we returned, and the avenue of the government quarter began with a harsh reminder of recent history. After consultation by John of Wikimapia, the bombed out building before us was the former Ministry of Internal Affairs. It was the target of NATO bombing in 1999 in order to get Milosevic to submit to demands for his regime to withdraw from Kosovo. This placed the somewhat visible resentment towards NATO through graffiti in context, but was not acted out through resentment towards nationals from those countries that made up NATO, as evidenced by our bus driver earlier. It was eerie witnessing my first example of a missile attack and the scale of the destruction that it can cause.

We walked along the traffic-jammed artery towards the Parliament ahead, commenting on the architecture and using our new found friend in Wikimapia to feed us details of buildings that intrigued us. Many of the buildings were built after the Second World War, so were modernist in design and emblazoned with images of communist warriors or socialist stars. As we started to incline again back to the city proper, another bombed out building bookended this segment of the avenue. This time it was the Armed Forces building. A few hundred yards on, we decided to take a left and walk amongst the tight-knit buildings towards the Kalemegdan, as it would provide much needed shade from the sun and not have as steep a walk to get to the main high street. We meandered through blocks of housing and offices, noting a few al fresco-dining establishments for future reference. We then appeared alongside Hotel Moscow again. Its vibrantly coloured and glazed tile façade stood out from the brutalist monotony surrounding it.

Back at the fortress, we took a bit more time to do some exploring. After rounding the fortress wall as before, we wondered within the grounds to look at some of the buildings and monuments. One was a small hexagonal building, topped with terracotta roof tiles, with a plaque in Serbo-Croatian and Arabic above a caged wooden door. It was a mausoleum for a Grand Vizier of the Ottoman Empire and two other muhafiz (Belgrade Governors). It was nice to see one of the few historical reminders that the Ottoman Empire had a presence here. As we continued our walk around, we came across a roof terrace bar built into the ramparts. The negative side of having a tourist attraction is the rampant commercialisation that accompanies it. We avoided it.

After a while, we unconsciously found ourselves heading back to the apartment. Before departing for another late dinner, we played a few games of cards again, drinking the remains of our alcohol. We picked another restaurant on the Skardalija to eat, deciding on a bottle of Tikves white wine to accompany our food. Towards the end of our meal, the house band that was doing the rounds came nearby to serenade the table behind us. They added to the jovial mood that the diners were in, including us. On a roll from last night’s ability to locate a gay bar, we decided to try and find another. However, we were not so lucky this time. We wondered through and around a block of buildings that had the Parliament building, Hotel Moscow and Trg Republika surrounding it. At times I thought we stood out a mile, looking for a place we couldn’t locate but passersby would know our secret mission and destination. After circulating 3 times, we abandoned our search and went home. But not before stopping by a hole in the wall that was a small pizzeria, selling only capricciosa pizza with a handful of choices for toppings. It was delicious.

Thoughts on Saviours of the Nation by Jasna Dragovic-Soso

Essentialist views accounting for the rise of nationalism in the Former Yugoslavia have taken a myriad of paths. Whether they be the return of ‘ancient hatreds’ ingrained in the people, the economic decline during the 1980s fuelling social discontent, the fall of communism more generally in the east, the actions of political actors wishing to consolidate power and using any tool at their disposal, or others.

However, if we are to understand how nationalism forms as an ideology, as opposed to a movement as it often becomes, then there have been few analyses of the role of academics in Yugoslavia, and Serbia specifically, in how they (re)constructed and projected Serbian nationalism during the 1980s. Jasna Dragović-Soso goes further than the usual sign posting of events, such as the leaking of the Memorandum of the Serbian Academy of Sciences and Arts. She describes how nationalism developed among the intelligentsia, and traces its origins from the 1950s when they originally formed as an opposition movement to the regime that subsequently called for human rights and democracy in the immediate post-Tito era. She observes how many of these opposition intellectuals, a potential political alternative championing the human rights causes of Serbs in Kosovo, mutated into nationalists and became neutered as the ‘opposition’ when their cause received acceptance and promotion in the social and political realm. It was this capitulation that allowed Milosević to gain a tighter grip on power during the 1990s, and suffocate any building of a political alternative.

Miroslav Hroch’s Social Preconditions of National Revival in Europe is clearly an influence in Dragović-Soso’s work. Although his empirically backed theory is indicative of novel nationalist movements, his three-stage process of nationalist mobilisation is evident in this book as its accounts for the re-emergence of Serbian nationalism in the 1980s. It is the first stage, the 'heightened cultural awareness of national distinctiveness among intellectuals and the literati' that Dragović-Soso captures superbly.

The example of Serbia in the 1980s must be viewed in the context of the history of Serbian nationalism. It had existed and thrived before, and had been a leading element in the struggles of the first Yugoslav state. The inability to challenge official historical thought during the Tito era meant that Serbian history was both petrified and silenced. It sat alongside other nationalisms, historic and new, that bubbled under the surface in a similar manner during the second Yugoslavia. The Croatian Spring that ended the liberal period in academia in the 1960s, was followed by a liberal period in Serbia, whilst the crackdown ensued in Croatia. Slovenia gradually liberalised and reached its zenith in the 1980s. These environments set the scene for how the republican intelligentsia’s interacted and began to diverge in their outlook. Dragović-Soso’s hones in on the situation in Kosovo and the subsequent split between the Serbian and Slovene intellectuals as the two occurrences that allowed the intelligentsia in Serbia to move from being a political alternative to one in the keeping of Milosević.

Kosovo came to the fore in the early 1980s following years of disgruntlement regarding the now majority-Albanian’s demand for republican status. Violence and civil disobedience resulted in a brutal crackdown. The Serbian intelligentsia championed the desire for human rights to take precedence in Kosovo, which rested mostly on the situation experienced by the Kosovan Serb population. But Dragović-Soso emphasises that the key issue was about human rights, and had the support from other republican intelligentsias. This was also a manoeuvre by the Serbian intelligentsia to show that they could critique the existing regime and pose alternatives. Prior to this, the intelligentsia debated the revision of official Partisan history, therefore rocking the foundations of the myths of the establishment of Socialist Yugoslavia in 1944. In tandem with this, the wider demand for democratisation emerged, whether that would result in internal party pluralism or multi-party pluralism.

It was following this that certain individuals within the formal institutions of the intelligentsia – the Writers Association or the Academy of Sciences and Arts – began to bring forth arguments that put Serbian history and identity as a solution to the demise of the Socialist Yugoslav regime. Past events such as the Serbs being eternal victims of others and renegotiating the numbers of Serbs killed during WWII struck a nerve during the topical issue of Kosovo and the plight of the Serbs there. The infamous ‘Memorandum’ was seen as the fusion of these ideas with the wider alternative programme sought in opposition to the current regime.

But how did this Memorandum make the leap to the political sphere? Dragović-Soso plays down the direct link to the growing power of Milosević, and critiques the timing of events. She points out that Milosević had no part in the Memorandum’s writing or leaking, and actually dismissed it as ‘Serb chauvinism’. It wasn’t until a year later that he espoused themes from it. So the intelligentsia were still acting independently of party politics in 1986. Moving from the document itself, the authors themselves provided the link. Dobrica Ćosić and Mihailo Marković were two of the main writers who would eventually go on to become political leaders in the 1990s under Milosević’s newly created Socialist Party of Serbia. The document itself caused a public sensation and fed into public discourse on the issue. I do not share the same view that Milosević could not have known about it, as he socialised in similar elite circles in Belgrade. Instead I feel he allowed it to play out in the public arena first to test the waters, and then come in with his own version of it sometime later.

Parallel to these events were the relationships between the republican intelligentsias. The one relationship singled out is that between the Serbs and the Slovenes. Slovenians were at one with the Serbs on the issue of Kosovo at the beginning and, separately, both moved towards developing their own renewed sense of national identity and history. However, in Slovenia this also went in tandem with democratisation in society (for example youth organisations being able to criticise the regime), but this did not occur in Serbia. It got to a point where Slovenians began to criticise the situation in Kosovo in opposition to the claims of their Serbian counterparts. Slovenes stuck to human rights and democratisation as fundamental ideals. The Serbs stuck to them only in the context of protecting the Kosovan Serbs.

The Slovenes experienced their national renewal coming about through democracy. Serbs saw theirs coming about through Milosević. Dragović-Soso concludes that the Serb intelligentsia for the most part chose the nation over democracy after Milosević sang a similar tune to the Academy’s Memorandum.

One question that Dragović-Soso fails to account for is how the regime in Serbia allowed the proliferation of dissent to occur in regime-controlled institutions. Although partially explained under the general ‘liberal’ period that followed Tito’s death, it is not explained why the regime acted leniently towards these individuals and their work. Did personal relationships exist between middle and top ranking regime officials and the intelligentsia, particularly on the Belgrade scene, which meant rebukes were mild ‘slaps on the wrist’? Or was the weakness of the regime so much so that they did not have the ability to instil conformity as they had done in the past? It is plausible that some in the regime wanted this dissent grow to in order to bolster their hand in the wider political games being played during the period to consolidate personal power.

What Dragović-Soso delivers is an in-depth account of the leading players in the intelligentsia and their institutional bodies in Serbia, and how their critical thinking in the 1980s turned from human rights and democracy to nationalism by the 1990s. Once this project was taken up by leaders wishing to direct the future of Yugoslavia, the dissident intellectuals who would have been natural alternatives to the regime, instead made a choice and became co-conspirators in promoting Serb nationalism they originally, perhaps naively, articulated.