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Thirty years ago, on May the 4th, 1980, Josip Broz Tito, President of the Socialist Federative Republic of Yugoslavia, died. Yugoslav citizens had since 1945 officially celebrated the Marshal’s birthday on the 25th of May, even though according to credible birth records Josip Broz was born in Kumrovec on May the 7th, 1892. In 1956 on Tito’s suggestion a decision was made that the 25th of May should henceforth, aside from his birthday, also be the Day of Yugoslav Youth and Sport. This year in May Serbia evoked its past, even though that was in collision with the official trends. The old, strong Tito cult was replaced with Milosevic’s, and already by the mid nineties amnesia began to be forced from the top down, even though before it there was no objective conclusion reached on Tito and his role. The character of the campaign against Tito which was fueled during the Milosevic regime isn’t all that different from the character of Tito’s cult. In the newly written school books partisans, along with Tito, were moved to the background and instead of them Draza Mihajlovic, a chetnik leader who dreamt of a Great Serbia, came to the foreground. This trend continued after the changes brought about by the end of 2000; it was to such a degree that some members of government applied themselves to the complicated task of finding and uncovering Draza Mihajlovic’s grave. But they have not found it till this day. After 1944 he was accused of cooperating with Hitler and sentenced by the communist people’s court to death, and the place he was buried remained a secret most likely so as not to become a place of secret pilgrimage.
No one is contesting that Draza Mihajlovic fought against the partisans more than against the Germans. He was (also) Hitler’s ally. Those who strive to increase the scale of Draza’s personality explain these circumstances as the general’s timely recognition of the communist threat – meaning, that cooperating with fascists is legitimized through anti-communism. This explanation falls in line with the trend in Serbian cities of renaming main streets that were named after Tito, or Tito’s generals. As a rule they have been changed so as to bear the names of kings or such historic figures for whom at least a part of the public thinks are anti-Semites.
The names of streets bearing the names of Stalin’s marshals and generals were also erased, which ended up being almost grotesque. Namely, at the time of last year’s visit of Russian President Medvedev, the Russian ambassador in Belgrade, Alexander Konuzin, voiced Russia’s disapproval over the removal of names of Russian anti-fascist generals from plaques on which street names are written in Belgrade – to which the government gave a promise that everything possible will be done to fix the situation. And so we find ourselves in the situation that Stalin’s communist generals get streets named after them, while Tito’s generals cannot have the same honor. This grotesque example actually shows that we have yet to honestly face what role Tito played, as well as honestly face the recent war past.
Today in Serbia Tito is considered one of the greatest enemies of Serbs, even though he was franticly mourned on May 4th, 1980 and the following days in the whole country, including Serbia.
It was a Sunday. Citizens of Novi Sad were coming back from the local parks and camping grounds when, before the second (nighttime) News broadcast, all electronic media interrupted their regular programming and broadcast the news of Tito’s death. The preceding days were holidays; the First of May (International Workers’ Day) was being celebrated and people, from the other side of the Danube, flooded the picnic/camping spots on Frushka Gora. In the park in Kamenica the “program” consisted of the traditional ox on a spit and people gave in to enjoying the barbeque decimating kebabs, chevapi (traditional grilled meat) and burgers. Before nightfall the traffic suddenly came back to life, but the city remained silent. For some time I wandered the streets and then went into a bakery. There was not a living soul inside, except for the owner who stood there all alone behind the counter; as it turned out later on, he was of Albanian origin. I ordered coffee and sat at a nearby table. I stared at the TV screen. The TV anchors, in dark suits, talked about the reactions of foreign state officials, the content of their condolence letters. As I learned later on the media had been preparing for this event for months. Very precise instructions were written out. Carefully selected music and documentary material had been prepared. It was known beforehand what kind of program will be shown when this worst of all scenarios happened – who will be the one to appear on the TV screens, etc. For the TV anchors several dark suits were made months in advance – ranging from dark braon to black. What’s more, during the preceding four months, on days off, members of selected (media) headquarters had to report to the editorial staff. They had to leave telephone numbers where they could be reached at any moment.
The baker brought me my coffee and having noticed how attentively I was watching the news he stayed by my table and stared at the screen alongside me. He spoke only after several minutes when he turned his gaze away from the TV. “The old man is gone”, he said quietly, “and now things that had not happened before will happen, we will all come to grief, everything will be torn up.
I raised my head. I hadn’t really been used to such openness. Intellectuals used to praise Tito, but I hadn’t really heard any words of praise from kafana goers. So I asked him – what did he mean by that, since he was full of dark foreboding when it came to our future. He, however, avoided answering and then (when he realized by my accent that I am not a Serb), still suspiciously, directly asked me what nationality I am? “Hungarian”, I said. “Well then, take care because your people will also have a price to pay”, he said with great importance. At this point he stepped back, as if he got scared of his own words. He stepped away with his head bent down, went behind the counter and continued watching the TV from there. He was fixated on coverage of citizens who were in tears.
I left my money on the table and left. Even thirty years after I still think about what should I have said to that Albanian baker? In vain I try to rethink that whole scene – I am never sure whether I could have given him an unambiguous answer.
The following day I was again full of doubts. Maybe I was just being neglectful, or aloof; maybe it was just out of habit, but most certainly not consciously, even less in protest that I went to work wearing jeans and a checkered shirt. However, at the moment I stepped out onto the street I stopped in my tracks. On a boulevard in Novi Sad passersby were mostly dressed in black. On their faces sorrow could be seen. Everyone was unusually quiet. I didn’t know what to do. Should I go back to my flat and put on a dark suit? Are these people in mourning because of a directive from higher up? I had not known of any such directive. I spent the whole night in front of my TV: Yugoslav citizens were crying, what’s more some were wailing, and I, being always suspicious, thought that the whole thing must be a setup since it isn’t possible that the whole country was crying just as the media reporting it was. But out on the streets I could see that the TV stations are broadcasting authentic coverage. Yugoslavia was indeed in deep mourning. Not even thirty years after am I able to say why exactly; maybe it started crying over its future on time?
I stood there in the busy street, wearing a pair of faded jeans and I didn’t know quite what to do. Should I go back to the apartment and dress in something more suitable, and wear that to work – to the drama department of the Novi Sad Television channel? No, this I cannot do – this would be a sure sign of being spineless. I wasn’t an anti-Titoist. During the seventies I didn’t even know any extreme anti-Titoist even though by that time I had taken part in meetings which the government claimed were opposition gatherings. I know reliably that even among those criticizing the system there were not any who would deny Marshal Tito’s statesman format. It was only the Zagreb intellectual, Predrag Matvejevic, who called on Josip Broz Tito to resign, but in his book with the greatest respect he acknowledged Tito’s achievements. I wrote about Matvejevic’s book with great respect, even though I expected this to provoke a scandal. There was no scandal, and I got away with it without any great troubles. I am convinced that this also happened without any directive from higher above, but was the working of some overly-zealous culture bearers who wanted to gain some points this way. Because activities of this sort received privilege – since the regime did not react repressively, didn’t threaten or punish, but rather gave privileges and positions.
I wanted to stay loyal to myself and because of this decided not to go back to the apartment to change, but I also didn’t have enough audacity to show up at work in worn-down jeans. So I decided to stroll around the city and on every corner I could confirm that the peoples’ sadness was true and deep, which strained me in no small degree. Shortly afterward I too fell under the influence of the general atmosphere.
I mourned for the old man in my faded jeans. This is how it happened then that I found myself, a couple of days after his death, at a human distance from the charismatic leader – this leader was greater than the country he created, which was later ruined in a bloody war by his followers, lackeys and servants. The worst thing about Titoism was what followed after Titoism. Those same masses that thirty years ago wailed in the streets only ten years later spoke of the beloved leader with hate. Those who were once his sycophants became hardcore anti-communists, those who used to be left-wing now prided themselves on being right-wing. Those who wanted to build a career fast – and there were many of them – they mainly denounced their past. All of our nationalism was launched into bloody conquering battles precisely by ex-communists. All the poets who wrote him hymns – and almost every poet wrote one for the leader – erased from their collection of works those poems dedicated to Tito. It turned out, as if overnight, that everyone had been an oppositionist. Today even people who were fined by a police officer for crossing the street while the light was red declared themselves to be victims of that regime.
Everything has changed, except the elite.
If we take a look at the situation in Serbia today we have to say that this same paradigm of metamorphosis comes to light. The change of the political system has been achieved, but no real change of elite has happened. It is true that later Milosevic’s opponents had come to power, but soon enough they had found their way to the arms of Milosevic’s supporters. Those who were once against Europe now support European values wholeheartedly, those who used to be communists now are anti-communists, those who used to be left-wing are now right-wing – thanks to all of this the differences had slowly faded away; while the masses have become ever more indifferent. The person on the streets can see the value of the Dinar plummet and then he/she sits in front of the TV, changes the channel quickly as soon as he/she hears politicians preaching, without blinking, about how we are out of the crises. The political dailies are noting a continuous circulation decrease while the cheap and shallow TV shows, soap operas, are becoming more popular. The Balkans are not that dangerous – this is what some foreigners say when they wander to these regions and gladly waste their time on some Balkan exotics. Serbia is tired of grand metamorphosis. It has been a long, and overly hard, journey from Titoism to anti-Titoism. One part of the country is comfortably surrendering to nostalgia, while the other, at the mention of his name, wonders why that guy doesn’t take part in the popular Big Brother reality show aired on what was once an opposition TV station? Or, why hasn’t he been hired by Pink TV station for the Farma show? It could be that the same questions will be asked in several decades about Draza Mihajlovic or Ratko Mladic. For now it seems that this is not likely – today they are national heroes of Serbia’s wild capitalism.
