His first name, Namik, comes from the Arabic language and means ’one who writes beautifully’. But this means beautiful in the calligraphic sense and not necessarily in terms of content. As our interlocutor explains himself, “I actually write terribly, if you’re refer to my handwriting. With me, it’s not pretty cursive, but rather ugly cursive. I nevertheless write some books that are read, so that’s a bit of a saving grace.” The surname Kabil is said to have originated in the Kabylia region, located between Tunisia and Algeria. At some point in history, part of the population of Kabyle and the Berber tribes moved to Spain, then relocated to the Montenegrin town of Risan with the Sephardic Jews, and later moved from Risan to the city of Trebinje in Bosnia & Herzegovina.

Namik’s father, Faruk Kabil, was a renowned doctor in Trebinje and across Eastern Herzegovina, while his mother, Suada, was a teacher who gave up her job to take care of the house and their daughter Lamia and son Namik, because her husband spent most of his time with his patients. Namik’s wife, Sanja, is originally from Zenica and works for UNICEF in Sarajevo. Together they have an 11-year-old daughter, Esma. Namik says that he was spoiled as a child, both at home and in the city.

“But I luckily wasn’t a delinquent; I didn’t crash the car or get into fights, but I was sufficiently indulged at every turn, as male children used to be indulged in a patriarchal upbringing. It was only later, when I went to America, that I realised that spoiling had done me a disservice, because I subsequently saw how unprepared for more serious life challenges I really was. I grew up in a house where people sang, ate well, drank and laughed a lot. And that very warmth that I carried with me from home is one of the most important things in life generally for me. It seems to me that it created the emotional stability that enabled me to endure and survive life’s challenges, which I sometimes found scary and very demanding.”

His father, Faruk, moved from Trebinje to Sarajevo to study, completed medical studies and landed a job in Tuzla, only to return to Trebinje with his family in 1975, when Namik enrolled in the first year of primary school.

“My early memories from Tuzla are foggy, but I refreshed some of them when I returned to that city in 1990. I had gone there to study medicine, but unsuccessfully, as it would later turn out. Some element of unconscious identification certainly prevailed in me making such a decision. Specifically, my father was the only specialist ear, nose and throat doctor in Eastern Herzegovina. He was a very powerful man in that microcosm, and I probably wanted to be like that too. But medicine is difficult and demanding to study, and I struggled with my inner artistic demons throughout the entire time that I was studying. Then came the war. Everything stopped and I left for America.”

He attended Santa Monica College, Los Angeles City College, UCLA Extension, all of which were based in Los Angeles. And to that he adds:

“That’s why, from today’s perspective, I also consider myself a ‘war profiteer’ because without the war I’d probably have ended up in some more dubious situation and my life would be a tapestry of indecision. I had already wasted years and money attempting to study medicine, without anyone really forcing me to do so. On the contrary, my father would say that I wouldn’t succeed because medicine “demands that you sit and cram for fifteen hours, while you prefer to talk like some lawyer”. He was ultimately satisfied when I dropped out of medical studies, because he was also an artistic soul who played music, sang and loved books. In the end, he said that he was happy that I dealt with such refined things as literature and film, as opposed to examining people and having to look at blood. He forgave me for both the money and time I spent stumbling around Tuzla.”

I’m a provincial child, a troubadour and a fisherman, who just happened to find himself in Los Angeles

Namik says that he inherited his father’s obsession for his work. If he dedicates himself to something, then he does so with all his power, until he reaches that which will satisfy him as a result. And just as his mother was once a top cook, so he enjoys himself in the kitchen today, making various specialities. His parents weren’t formally religious people, but they observed the holidays. They would sometimes spend the days of Ramadan fasting, but Eid al-Fitr was celebrated regularly.

“That was more of a celebration that provided an occasion for a family gathering. What I have left of that identity today, which is more atavistic, is that I don’t eat pork. But that’s more of a legacy than something I really understand, because I’m ultimately quite a sinful man in that formal sense.”

Namik wrote his first poem – about Tito – in the third year of primary school in Trebinje! And he continued to write, or rather to scribble, as he says, which was childish frivolity and abstraction. He felt that he had creative energy early on, but it was neither channelled nor articulated.

“I later had a band, wrote songs, while I only started writing my first serious prose in America, publishing them in some non-commercial magazines. I then wrote the screenplay for the feature film Days and Hours [original title Kod amidže Idriza], which furthered my career, while it was simultaneously a reason for me to return… This time to Sarajevo.”

The film Days and Hours, directed by Pjer Žalica, quickly gained a large audience, and for Namik it marked the start of the work that he wanted to do. He entered the world of art in a big way and was happy that his film was so well received by the public and is still being screened today. Namik’s books represent a kind of inventory of a life that was determined by war as a turning point. The war destroyed, changed and determined the lives of the people about whom he writes, and primarily presents to readers his life from Tuzla, via Trebinje, Dubrovnik, Sarajevo and Los Angeles, then back to Sarajevo. With remnants in Trebinje in the form of the family home that marks the start of his latest novel, Beskućnik [Vagabond].

He fled to America with the outbreak of war in 1993, only to return nine years later.

“I am a deserter in my soul, I mean that I’m primarily a selfish coward. I couldn’t see myself fighting in any army, on any side. I simply ran from the war with my head, regardless of everything. I found America difficult and demanding, particularly since I hadn’t previously prepared for that kind of challenge. That’s because I’m a provincial child, a troubadour and a fisherman, who just happened to find himself in Los Angeles. To be clear, I didn’t go there to work on films; I didn’t have any kinds of visions or concepts, I just fled.

“I first fled from Trebinje in 1991, due to the military mobilisation. When the Yugoslav People’s Army started buying people, grouping them to head towards Dubrovnik, for something that was called an ‘exercise’, it was immediately clear that they wouldn’t stop there. They had yet to send me an invitation to join, but my father told me that the situation certainly wouldn’t end quickly and that I should flee. And that’s how it was. As soon as I left Trebinje, they came looking for me twice. I went to Tuzla, where they weren’t able to mobilise me because I wasn’t registered. I fled from there to Zagreb, where I had no source of income to live from, and it was there that I realised I had to start all over again. And that’s how I ended up going to America.”

The political elite very consciously retain the trauma of war “at a working temperature”, because that forms the basis of their rule

The cover photo for Beskućnik, published by Novi Sad publishing company Akademska knjiga, is signed with the name of his father – Faruk Kabil.

“I selected it instinctively. That photo was taken by my father in the early 1980s. The picture was taken in the village of Pridvorci near Trebinje. I’m the boy pictured from behind and I’m looking at the man holding the horse, whose name is Isak Bračković, and he was the one who saved the photo. I remember only that we were at his parents’ farm and he was holding a horse that was being groomed, and I watched it all as my father took the picture. He also dealt with amateur photography and developed the film and made the picture himself, and I only discovered it a year ago and decided to put it on the cover page. My friend and professional photographer Amer Kapetanović, who lives in Sweden, said when he saw the photo in the book: ‘You are watching this man tell the horse where it belongs, and the horse doesn’t agree. It’s as if he wants to tell the man where he belongs.’ That sounded like a precise explanation to me, because the book is about where we belong, among other things; about where we should and shouldn’t be, where we’ve been, where we no longer are, what we’re nostalgic about and what we aren’t, while we’re either happy or bitter about everything. However, as usually happens in life, everything is mixed together in some proportions that aren’t so clear.

Two of Namik’s books are named after famous films: Amarcord and The Shining, while one is named after the famous Beatles song Yesterday… He explains why.

“Amarcord is one of my favourite films, and Fellini is one of the dearest directors. In the book I dealt with memory and the film Amarcord was the first association for the title of the book. It might have initially sounded a bit pretentious, but I decided it was the right choice. I’m generally very interested in cover versions of songs, or when one covers a well-known topic, such that it both is and isn’t what it once was. When U2 singer Bono was asked about Johnny Cash’s cover version of the song One, he replied: “If Johnny Cash covers one of your songs, it’s no longer yours; it’s a new song”. There’s also that urge to take something that’s well known, that has a general place in the collective memory, and to make it into something that’s your own. That was the case with me in Amarcord and The Shining, while Yesterday is based on that song title thematically. As Miljenko Jergović said about this novel, these are yesterday’s people, people from yesterday who simply can’t accept that time has passed. I have long been addressing a traumatised time, through various books, and the way people always look back and think it was better before, which is naturally always very personal and subjective. But that isn’t linked only to these lands of ours, as people have always had an urge to look back, because – when it’s fully stripped bare – we certainly won’t die in the past, while in the future we will.”

He recalls Yugoslavia and living an intense life growing up in that country, while he also served in the Yugoslav People’s Army.

“In my recollections, completely privately and subjectively, that Yugoslavia was a better place to live than these countries are today. Of course, there’s some truth to the statement that people don’t remember Yugoslavia, but rather they remember their youth. We were young and everything seemed rosy. However, I think that there was more order, more systems that functioned, we were at a higher civilisational level than we are now. And when I say that I’m referring to the whole region.

“There’s a very good and useful book written by Snježana Kordić, called Language and Nationalism. Through the story of language, she provided a broader picture of things. Say, for example, the fact that nationalists, as a rule, underline the differences in our language varieties doesn’t mean that there aren’t many more similarities. But they deliberately ignore them.”

In the book Amarcord, Namik mentions Slobodan Milošević from the period of his rule in Serbia, and that seems to have been the author’s first encounter with politics from the late 1980s and the very start of the ‘90s.

“I felt that as a young man in Trebinje. I wasn’t able to articulate it, but you know that sense that something’s rumbling over the hill, that some tensions are building. That was my first personal encounter with nationalism. Milošević called those years the ‘Years of Unravelling’ in his own book, and I would say that those were years of both unravelling and entanglement. Now, after everything has passed, we see that it was much easier to enter into misdeeds and crimes, and much more difficult to overcome them politically and especially spiritually. In order to overcome them, you have to have an academic and social format, while the engagement of the entire social community and confrontation must be implied, and we know how far we are from that. In order to become a criminal, it is enough just to be inhumane. To go to your neighbour’s house and set it on fire. I personally – and I would say as a layman – don’t think that the Hague Tribunal is a real court, but God forbid it didn’t exist. What alternative could we offer after the crimes committed in these lands? And would we ever even offer such an alternative? Unlikely.”

Namik has the habit of saying that a man doesn’t know rock bottom until he hits it, after his life in LA collapsed completely. But the good thing is that nothing else is difficult after such an experience. Working on the streets was a dangerous job that he certainly would never have chosen if he hadn’t been forced into it. He adapted his taxi driving to his studies. He endured difficult days and years, feeling intimidated and insecure. After his American experience, he says: “Today, as a sailor, I try to use every wind that blows to head in the direction I desire”.

I have long been addressing a traumatised time, through various books

The war, which he experienced for ten months before leaving for America, is still an indescribable experience for him. “Those are the kinds of situations when you go to a kiosk, buy cigarettes and walk on, then a grenade falls and kills the man who sold you cigarettes. When that fear builds up within you, then you know the difference between the benign fears you had as a child, and the much harsher fear I discovered when the war began. You can live with a benign fear, while the other fear messes with your head.”

Since 2009, Namik has been employed as the editor of Documentary Programming at Federal Television in Sarajevo:

“If I hadn’t had that period of squirming at the bottom in America, I perhaps wouldn’t value the job I do today as much. After America, nothing is difficult for me anymore, and I’m very happy that I do this job. Setting aside the crazy fact that I live in a country like Bosnia and Herzegovina, which has three public services. That’s like imagining England with three BBCs! One can often hear the metaphor that the Dayton Agreement is a straitjacket that stopped the war in Bosnia and Herzegovina and should never have been brought to life as a peacetime constitution.

But since 1995, when the war formally ended, this country hasn’t come to life as a normal society. We are still plagued by relapses towards the tragic war. And it’s certainly no coincidence that war themes are still current in literature, cinematography and art in general. In Mostar, for example, within a radius of 300 metres, you have no consensus on what happened in that city, and that’s just one obvious example. The political elite, or the political cabal that rules, knows very well that people are traumatised and very consciously retain the trauma of war “at a working temperature”, because it is on that basis that they rule. The people watch and listen to the news, we also apathetically allow politicians to intimidate us all these years, as if we really believe that everything is the way they say it is.”

The post Relapses Towards the Tragic War Still Plague Us appeared first on CorD Magazine.

She was born in the Kosovo city of Peć and spent the first six years of her life there. The colours and scents of the city of her birth live on inside her to this day, as if she can still hear the voice of the hodja from the mosque that she could see from the balcony of her house; as if she can see her friend Mahija-Shqiptar in front of her; as if she can hear the cooing of doves from the garden. Leaving Kosovo was the first time she experienced suffering, while the other two times were when she left Belgrade to go abroad with her parents and husband. After a marriage that’s lasted more than four decades so far, Marina Rajević Savić (63) feels the same as she always has: love and devotion, joy and commitment, a close attachment to her husband, the only man with whom she wanted to have children, the one with whom she will remain until the end of her life.

Marina is in many ways unique on the small screen. When she first appeared on our TVs, she was a very young and refined beauty with subtle mannerisms. She captivated audiences with her charm, serenity and intelligence, while she avoided overemphasising her modest appearance with either excessive make-up or loud outfits. Television Belgrade utilised her skills as a journalist and presenter to the extent that Marina accepted.

She took hiatuses from her work – when heading abroad with her husband, giving birth and raising her sons, Uroš and Vujadin – only returning when she felt the desire to do so.

Her remarkable career endures with the success that she first established with While Angels Sleep, which can rightly be said to be an iconic show. Initially broadcast on the Third Channel of Television Belgrade, then subsequently on BK Television and later also on Studio B, where she’d first launched her career (on the radio) as a secondary school pupil, and on Television Hram. Over recent years, we’ve been watching this cult show on Sputnik.

Marina is a descendant of the Rajevićs, one of the most respected Serbian families from Kosovo. Her ancestors hailed from Peć and she was herself born close to the famous Patriarchate of Peć. She is a child of the Golden Garden of the Rajevićs. That was the name of one of the most beautiful parks in the Balkans, which was under state protection and had been created as a work of her great-grandfather, Živko. He had brought plants and trees from around the world and planted and cultivated them. A Television Belgrade documentary was even made about the Rajević garden and its famous black rose. In an effort to ensure it resembled Versailles or Schönbrunn, the garden was later cared for by Marina’s grandparents, and then by other members of the Rajević family. Her grandmother Vera was a famous French language professor who is still discussed throughout the former Yugoslavia as a unique lady, while her grandfather Milorad was a banker.

Privately, Patriarch Pavle was a jolly, sparkling and incredibly witty man

“My great-grandfather Živko was a wealthy merchant who fell in love with botany, travelled the world and brought back the most varied plant life. Over the course of his lifetime, that garden was maintained by 14 gardeners. I still remember that, while playing as a child, I had to be careful around the flowers and boxwood shrubs, and to avoid spilling gravel on the paths.

The water in the pool was spotlessly clean, lanterns shone and illuminated the entire garden. I was six when we moved to Belgrade, but I perfectly recall everything I experienced until that time. I also took it very hard when my parents informed me that we would be moving to Belgrade. I would return to Peć each year to stay with my grandparents during the summer and winter holidays, and later – following the death of my grandfather in 1984 – to visit my grandmother, who lived until 1994. I had a wonderful social circle and a very good Shqiptar friend. I would feel excited when I heard the voice of the hodja from the mosque. Everything seemed somehow idyllic.”

All that remains of that idyll today is the fact that Peć, or Peja as it is known to the Kosovo Albanians, is no longer home to a single Serb (with the exception of the nuns of the Patriarchate of Peć), while in the Golden Garden of the Rajevićs – prior to its complete destruction – some 37 Kosovo Albanians were known to have been felling trees and carrying them home for firewood.

“My most beautiful childhood memories are linked to Peć. I would feel a special sense of excitement when approaching my city. Just the thought of it gives me palpitations today. I remember Mount Čakor, the river Bistrica, the Patriarchate of Peć, all those magical colours and aromas, tastes and sounds, and it’s as if those times come to life within me – those people, those magical places that are unique to me, exalted, mine. I felt a similar sense of excitement in Herzegovina. Bishop Atanasije Jevtić told me that this is because both Kosovo and Herzegovina are holy lands, saturated in the blood of martyrs and the tears of prayer.”

Dušan never hampered my career and actually, on the contrary, supported and helped me in everything

Marina was 12 years old when she moved to Paris with her parents, where her father was a representative of Yugoslav company Centrotextil.

“That departure was also difficult for me. As was the case ten years later, when I again went to France for a longer period, that time with Dušan. I actually always find it hard to leave and grieve for my country whenever I go somewhere. When I was 12, I lamented the loss of my classmates, so I refused to skip a year, which I could have done as an excellent pupil, because I wanted to be in the same grade as them when I returned. After a year residing in Paris, I had the best grades. I also attended ballet classes at the famous Salle Pleyel ballet school, under Mrs Vera Krylova, who was very strict, but who liked me and did extra work with me after regular classes. She begged my parents to allow me to stay at the ballet school in Paris after they returned to Belgrade.” One of Marina’s good friends in high school was Maja Sabljić, who would go on to become a famous actress. They shared the same fate in that Branislav Rajević and Steva Sabljić were fathers who only allowed their daughters to go out only until 9pm.

“There was no point in begging; all we could do was cry because they didn’t back down. My parents were both gentle and strict. I was more rambunctious than my brother and sometimes a cane was deployed, which my mother was prone to use when I didn’t work hard at school. I don’t think that was a bad thing, nor did I receive any serious beatings. It was just a little reminder to get my act together. Dad kept a watchful eye on what I was doing, worrying about me in the way patriarchal families show concern for female children, and on top of all that, I started working at an early age on the radio at Studio B. He would drive me to and from work at the Beograđanka building.”

When she later raised her own sons, she attempted to act strict and failed. It was a good thing that Dušan was always there.

“Dušan was the real authority for our children. And it’s good that he didn’t change at all with the later arrival of our grandchildren – Andrej, Lena, Adrijana, Mihajlo and Anika. He treated them with the same authoritative approach. I wasn’t capable of being strict with my children like my parents had been with me, but I’m satisfied with the kind of people they’ve grown up to become.”

She was soon invited to work at Television Belgrade, just prior to turning 18, and that’s how her successful television career began.

“Everything happened somehow spontaneously, and in spite of my wish to become a ballerina or a doctor. My curiosity prevailed; the need to explore and study people and phenomena, to immortalise events with a photo or film camera, to convey my experiences to others.”

When she took the first hiatus of her career, she was 22 years old and working very successfully on the Television Belgrade Weekend Programme, a show that was broadcast live and that she took to like a duck to water.

“It was tough for me to drop everything and head to France with Dušan. I was sorry to be parted from my parents, my friends, I simply never felt a need to leave Belgrade. That world was beautiful and like a fairytale for me, but I constantly felt a need to return home.”

Life is much better if there’s no inflated ego implying that everything starts from oneself and only “I” is the priority

When she gave birth to Uroš, peace and contentment reigned supreme in her life. And Vujadin came into the world three years later. She had wanted more, but she lost a third child when she was five months pregnant. She dreamt that there were five of them. She was increasingly a mothlever and the wife of red & whites football legend Dule Savić.

“It would bother me slightly back then when someone would present me as the wife of Dušan Savić, instead of saying what I do for a living. If I could turn back the clock today, I wouldn’t object in the slightest to being presented as only Dule Savić’s wife.”

She says that her husband is so authentic and true to himself that he is capable of defending his position in such a way that she finds it cute even when she thinks the complete opposite.

“Dušan’s life views are fixed and immovable. On the other hand, he never hampered my career and actually, on the contrary, supported and helped me in everything. Of course, circumstances proved decisive in us heading abroad, but it was natural for me to support Dušan’s career at that juncture.”

For many television viewers, Marina was the first presenter to interview church dignitaries on the small screen, firstly discussing life, and then faith. It was thanks to her that Patriarch Pavle became more beloved by many believers and closer to atheists. Dušan was initially helpful to her when she wanted to address some religious topics or interview some officials of the Serbian Orthodox Church. He was on personal terms with Patriarch German and many bishops. Her interest in this area also implied studying spiritual literature, socialising with people from the Church and constant learning.

“It isn’t easy to live a proper Christian life, to be conscious of yourself and your origins, of your faith and tradition; having understanding and respect for those who aren’t Christians, for members of other faiths; to love people, both friends and enemies, and to be ready to make sacrifices for the sake of love, to have humility and to be patient and courageous. To be a Christian – that is the goal and mission.”

Marina’s speech is ennobled by her faith in God, while her conversations with patriarchs Pavle, Irinej and Porfirije represent the most precious testimonies and legacies of these church dignitaries. She did her first show with the future Patriarch Porfirije back in 1996, when he was the abbot of Kovilj Monastery, and they have since spoken many times on various occasions. She describes him as gentle, caring and sensitive.

“That’s how I experienced him the first time and he remains the same today. I’ve followed his gradual development – from abbot, via metropolitan bishop of Zagreb, to Patriarch. His residency in Zagreb was a serious school and provided a huge contribution to improving relations between the two churches and the two nations. I’m certain that he was our best diplomat in Zagreb, as a man who knows how to deal with people due to having learned that while he was the abbot of a monastery. He transferred all the good things he’d done in his diocese when he went to Zagreb, only doing so at a higher lever el. And he continued from then until today.”

I’m certain that Patriarch Porfirije was our best diplomat in Zagreb

Marina preserves her most beautiful memories from her meeting with Patriarch Pavle, the much-loved head of the Serbian Orthodox Church. Marina’s grandmother, Vera, had sung in the choir of the Patriarchate of Peć. Patriarch Pavle had known her and it was the best recommendation for him to accept to be interviewed by her granddaughter.

“Privately, Patriarch Pavle was a jolly, sparkling and incredibly witty man. I knew that he sang well and had heard that he played the guitar well, so I begged him to play something, but he didn’t accept. The Patriarch was also loved by those who didn’t believe in God, but did believe in the Patriarch. That was demonstrated at his funeral, which is remembered as an outpouring of immense love from the people. Even in the worst among us, a grain of goodness worked within them to be there that day, in that silence. Dobrica Ćosić dubbed that event a triumph of virtue.”

Marina has the rare ability to be able to talk with people on television even during times of strain and woe. And to present them to the viewers quite laid bare, but not hurt. When asked who she would confess to in the way her interlocutors confided in her, she answers categorically.

“Nobody. I know no such person. Maybe, possibly, Dragan Babić, if he had asked me during his lifetime. You know, I always recall my wonderful colleague Svetolik Skale Mitić, a legend of television and one of the first journalists and hosts of Television Belgrade’s Dnevnik [daily news bulletin], who would say that the most attractive interview with me would be done by Marina Rajević Savić. That would present the genuine contrast between the two Marinas that exist within me, with one Marina immediately cancelling out the other. Although I don’t believe in horoscopes, everyone attributes this quality to the sign of Gemini, under which I was born.”

Few people have been able to emulate what Marina managed to do in her shows. One of her anthological interviews was with the poet Mira Alečković (1924-2008), who spoke publicly for the first time about her decades-long love affair with Slovenian novelist and translator Ciril Kosmač (1910-1980), which lasted throughout all the years that she was married to painter Sava Nikolić (1920-1981), with whom she had three children. One of her children, journalist Neda Nikolić, testified to this fact in front of the cameras.

“How she spoke fascinated me. It’s as if I’m now listening to her describe her mother as being modest, calm and measured, but when Ciril would appear she would become excited, happy, red-faced… That daughter, who unfortunately died early, was a witness to her mother’s love and the layers of her personality. That really was a story worthy of a novel.”

Marina has been airing While Angels Sleep on Sputnik in recent years. She has equally interesting guests and great viewing figures, and she finds it particularly satisfying to talk with young people who marry early and are big champions of marriage. She says that Serbia is full of such young people and that they serve as evidence of the normal state of a nation that has a future. Marina admires them in the same way that she admires her own daughter-in-law, actress Mirka Vasiljević, who is a mother of four children, because she had more feminine wisdom and life wisdom at the age of 21 than Marina had herself had at her age:

“We all know that no marriage is ideal. None of us are ideal, but life is much better if there’s no inflated ego implying that everything starts from oneself and only “I” is the priority. What would it be like if we turned to the one who is beside us and gave ourselves and bowed down to him? If we view life as a couple in that way, we receive more than we expect. And we can instil as sense of security and confidence in our children.

“Our sons established their own families at a very young age. Dušan and I are today alone in our apartment and enjoying each other’s company. We receive our children and grandchildren, relatives and friends, and look forward to each new day. Does the meaning of life not reside in those little things?”

The post To be a Christian That’s the Goal and Mission appeared first on CorD Magazine.

His wit is seductive and sharp, while his multiple talents helped him achieve great popularity at a very tender age. And that has remained the case to this day. He never met Tito, but he did come faceto- face four times with one of the planet’s all-time most famous footballers: Diego Armando Maradona (1960 – 2020). He viewed Maradona as a symbol of ‘third world’ rebellion, describing him as a warm man who turns into a boy when he speaks and says everything with great passion.

Today, at the age of 62, Nele is a veritable musical classic. His real name is Nenad Janković, though he’s long been better known and renowned as Dr Nele Karajlić. Born 11th December 1962 in Sarajevo, his parents were professors called Srđan and Vera.

“I completed primary school with all As and finished the Second Sarajevo Gymnasium high school in 1981 with just one A, only to repeat my primary school success of all top marks at the Faculty of Philosophy, Department of Oriental Studies. I never graduated from university, but people nonetheless call me doctor.”

“When you grow up in a family of educators, that implies receiving a broad education and strict moral principles. Apart from that, our parents raised us two sons in the spirit of socialist self-management, in which material possessions didn’t represent some great virtue. On the contrary, back then, people who were materially wealthy were viewed as shameful.”

The turmoil resulting from the change in the social system was particularly stressful for his family. “I struggled to handle it, but I’m proud of the way I was raised by my parents.”

Bosnia was officially a bastion of the communist party, due to reasons of national security and preserving the sense of brotherhood and unity among Serbs, Muslims and Croats

Socialism and self-management provided a positive framework for Nele’s personal development in Sarajevo, because, as he himself says, there was no social stratification and his childhood was absolutely carefree. He was simultaneously infected by music and football. Actually, he explains, “I started taking an interest in football, intensively and analytically, from the age of six, and in music from the age of ten.” And he never abandoned those loves of his. To this very day, he has a tendency to watch every possible sport on television, “including bocce” [Italian bowling]. The only thing is that there’s no time for that today.

The period of his youth was completely idyllic until he became intrigued by the first ideas of injustice, and when asked if Sarajevo was enough for him or if he had considered leaving it to head out into the world, Nele gives a definitive answer without hesitation.

“No, nor did any of us in our area have such an idea. We had the idea that someone would play some good music in London or Paris. We generally heard about music from our elders, and each of us had an older brother, apart from poor me. And that older brother would also bring vinyl records from England or somewhere else, but the idea that life was elsewhere didn’t exist among us. Our idea was that life exists there where it is. And when we were just high school pupils, we had the idea of fixing it; of fixing the place where we live.”

The ‘70s were very exciting in musical terms. In Sarajevo, but also beyond, the rock band Bijelo Dugme was sacrosanct. Nele was an ‘alternative guy’. He preferred the bands Buldožer and Smak. His music worldview shifted when he discovered punk at the age of 15/16, and it was also then that Nele and his friends began developing their social and political awareness.

As high school pupils, our idea was that life exists there where it is and that we had to fix it, to fix the place where we live

“The older brother of my friend, who was around my age, arrived from London in 1977 and played us the Sex Pistols’ first single – God Save the Queen. Incidentally, that single ended up at my place right before the outbreak of the war in Bosnia and was left in the house. And I read somewhere in a newspaper, about fifteen years ago, that everyone who had a copy of that single could sell it for 10,000 pounds! So, I missed out.” Janković’s rebellious period resulted in one of the most popular TV shows of the 1980s: Top lista nadrealista [The Surrealists’ Chart Toppers]. It is also very interesting that this brand of satire emerged in Sarajevo, a city that for decades, and for good reason, held the infamous title of the bastion of the most rigid communism in the former Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia.

“Two parallel worlds existed there. The first was the official world that upheld Bosnia as a bastion of the communist party, due to reasons of national security, in order to preserve the sense of brotherhood and unity among Serbs, Muslims and Croats. The key that then existed in Bosnia was also copied by the international community when it came to the coconundrum of organising the current country, with nothing cleverer having been thought up in the meantime. On the other side, beneath that suffocating plastic bag of communism that existed in Bosnia, a generation of kids emerged and showed in their own way, through various media and arts, that they were more or less politically aware. The contradiction of that relationship in Bosnia was also precisely in the fact that the firm hand of the Party and the strictest possible form of dark administration gave birth to an entire generation of children of military personnel and educators who formed their own rageful front, primarily in music and film. That’s a phenomenon that will surely one day be rationalised better by someone else.”

When it comes to music, our interlocutor doesn’t forget the valuable position of poet Duško Trifunović. As editor of Television Sarajevo, under the pressure of serious control from above, he came up with the ingenious idea that singers should perform in the Serbian language on television, which compelled entire generations of talented kids to produce local songs instead of copying foreign ones.

Emir Kusturica and Dr Nele Karajlić met for the first time after the release of Kusturica’s film Do You Remember Dolly Bell?

“That could have been 1981. We performed an episode of the Surrealists’ Chart Toppers on the radio, and afterwards made an advert for his new film that he was scheduled to shoot: When Father Was Away on Business. For me, Emir was an authority, just like anyone who is superior in their work. I can say that we were really close. We worked and socialised together. And in a way he was also my professor. We managed to tour the whole world with our music. That had been unimaginable prior to us. We left behind a deep mark. Bands from all over Europe copied our style. That really was the most exciting part of my career. For now… We aren’t in contact today, but I view those times with nostalgia and pride.”

Kusturica and I left behind a deep mark… We aren’t in contact today, but I view those times with nostalgia and pride

Nele’s wife, Sanja (née Jovanović) is an architect who calls her husband Neško. She doesn’t really favour any kind of public promotion. As a refugee from Sarajevo and an architect left jobless, Sanja turned to work that then brought her joy and gave her very positive affirmation – she decoratively painted wooden furniture in the home, especially items located in children’s rooms. Sanja has been the curator of Gallery Sanjaj over the past few years, with which her love for fine art has finally received some of its own functionality. She had always wanted to have her own gallery. That was her dream. And that’s also why the gallery is called Sanjaj [meaning dream on in Serbian]. It is a name comprising her first name and the first letter of her surname. “We somehow ended up with the opportunity to create the Sanjaj gallery in the very centre of the city, on Dositejeva Street. I was practically born in Dositejeva Street, but the one in Sarajevo. The gallery has totally enriched our lives.”

Nele and Sanja have been together since their high school days and got married on the eve of the outbreak of war. And prior to that they’d enjoyed ten interesting years. They are the parents of two grown up children, so we asked how they raised them and how similar that was to the upbringing they’d received themselves.

“There are no special recipes for raising children, so neither my wife Sanja nor I stuck to any strict instructions. Every child is a world of their own. It seems to me that what was most important was to show them the world around them and define some boundaries that they would have to cross over the course of their lives. As Bishop Grigorije says, the biggest step for man is that step over the threshold of their house.”

Their daughter, Jana, is a veterinarian working in Switzerland at the Small Animal Clinic of the University of Bern. Their son, Srđan, who was born following the death of the grandfather after whom he is named, is a director and screenwriter. He completed marketing studies in the U.S. and the MetFilm School in Berlin, before returning to Belgrade, where he intends to build a career.

Nele has the habit of saying that everything he participated in came more or less by accident.

“The stable family that I have is a logical development in my life, because I was never a typical rock musician, especially when it comes to those that we know from films or books. In my case there was none of the typical sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll, probably because I had no intention of dealing with that business seriously. And when I look back from this distance on what I was involved in and what I did, I realise that it mostly came by coincidence. We formed the band Zabranjeno Pušenje [the No Smoking Band] in 1980, so that we would have something to do until we finished university, and we treated the gigs like an interesting adventure. I even declared in newspapers back then that nobody older than 25 can perform rock. I completed two years of Oriental Studies in the first wave, then completed my third year after the scandal with the song Crk’o Maršal [the marshal has croaked], but I had to return to music when Emir Kustirica came to support the band, only to later return to complete university thinking that was the end of everything. And then war erupted. And when we fled to Belgrade, I realised that the only way to support my family and myself was to do freelance work. And when in 1997 we released the album Ja Nisam Odavle [I’m Not From Around Here], and when Vukota did everything that Zenica Blues had done ten years previously, I realised that there was no going back for me.”

He gained international fame thanks to music, but the moment came for him to bid farewell to it. He began writing prose and says that he feels the best when doing so. He first published the book Closing Time in Sarajevo [Fajront u Sarajevu], which is a sort of encyclopaedia of Yugoslav rock that sold more than 100,000 copies. Next came the extremely popular novel 28 Thessaloniki Street [Solunska 28], for which he received the award that bears the name of Momo Kapor. That novel is a trilogy that addresses one of the most exciting centuries in the history of Belgrade: the 20th century, when Belgrade was bombed five times in two world wars.

“I must admit that I was pretty surprised when I discovered that I’d received the Momo Kapor Award. I was convinced that I would miss out on all the awards, because I’m neither a typical writer nor do many consider me a writer. But Momo Kapor wasn’t a typical writer either, and I took comfort in that. I was genuinely happy when they informed me that I’d won the award. And that wasn’t only because of the award itself, but also because of its name. Momo Kapor was held in high regard in my family and I consider him as the writer with the most beautiful style.”

The firm hand of the Party and the strictest possible form of dark administration gave birth to an entire generation of children of military personnel and educators who formed their own rageful front in music and film

Witty, interesting and cynical, mostly at his own expense, Nele explains in detail how he had very poor grades in school for everything that he does today. He dropped out of music school because he was incapable of singing and always received a strained D in solfeggio and a B in piano, which wasn’t high enough to encourage him to persevere. He earned a C in Serbian language studies at school, only to make a living from writing poems and finding enjoyment in writing books. Even for English, a language he’s written in for many years, he only received a grade of D or C.

“I don’t know what to conclude. Either the school was bad and evaluated me poorly, or I must have learnt it all in the meantime.”

Sarajevo is a painful subject for a man who fled his hometown on the eve of the outbreak of war in Bosnia with just a toothbrush and toothpaste in his pocket. And when the journalist conducting this interview once asked him to bring some photos from his youth, he said that he no longer has any. Everything that he has was saved by Sanja’s mother. And his own mother, Vera, provides the reason behind a touching account.

“My mother was born in Sarajevo and lived in a house at 14 Dositejeva Street. She was born during the time of the Kingdom of Yugoslavia, lived there during Tito’s Yugoslavia, and ultimately abandoned Bosnia. Her mother had been born in the same house during the time of Austria-Hungary, lived during the Kingdom of Yugoslavia and died in Tito’s Yugoslavia. Her mother, so my great-grandmother, was born in the same house during the time of Turkish rule, lived during the period of the Austro-Hungarian Empire and died in the Kingdom of Yugoslavia. Four generations on my mother’s side lived in the same house, in the same kitchen…and each of them went through the reorganising of three countries. That is the most succinct picture of Sarajevo.”

There was also the Sarajevo that he recalled last winter, when the 40th anniversary of the 1984 Sarajevo Winter Olympics was commemorated.

“The Olympics looked like some special form of heaven to us, in which we all temporarily live for 15 days. We were young, but we weren’t naïve, and we were aware that everything happening around us represented an unrealistic utopia with a limited life. However, no matter how consciously and with how much reason you observe such a great event, it still makes a deep impression on you and leaves you breathless. One would hardly exchange it for any other experience. That’s a period that’s deeply etched in your memory and you wouldn’t change it for anything.”

Nele has been working constantly in recent years. And he reveals interesting news for CorD’s readers.

“I’ve been stretched on multiple sides. The musician in me woke up this year, so I intend to release the odd new song. On the other hand, I’ve started writing a new novel that should be published in 2025. The quiz show I love Serbia, in which I’m the captain of the blue team, has entered its ninth season, which none of us expected. At the end of April, our Gallery Sanjaj, together with the Monolog Gallery, is exhibiting at a large multimedia art festival in Istanbul with an installation entitled ‘In the beginning was the word’. Apart from me, the credit for that installation also belongs to the curators: my wife Sanja and Denis Hegić, owner of Monolog Gallery. Our plan is to present this installation, which was met with great interest at last year’s Art Budapest, at a number of other art fairs in Europe. Of course, my greatest wish is to make a screen adaptation of the first edition of Solunska 28, for which I received the Momo Kapor Award.”

It seems to us that this screen adaptation would best be conceived and implemented by Srđan Janković.

Photo: Laguna

The post Bosnia of Two Parallel Worlds appeared first on CorD Magazine.

It is unavoidable for any presentation of art historian Irina Subotić (1941) to begin with the saga of her family, because her origins and upbringing determined her life choices to a large extent. Born in central Belgrade just as World War II was reaching the country, she was baptised at the famous ‘Saborna Crkva’, the Cathedral Church of Saint Michael the Archangel, attended the King Petar I Primary School, resided in the Vračar neighbourhood for a while, then on Banovo Brdo, only to arrange with her husband Dr Gojko Subotić, who she married in the Municipality of Stari city, the penthouse apartment in which they still live. It can thus be said that her life’s journey has unfolded within the boundaries of old Belgrade.

Her half-Polish, half-Russian mother, Tatjana Lukašević, arrived in Belgrade in 1939 and married Irina’s father, Milivoje Jovanović, in 1940.

“Mum didn’t know Serbian, so she communicated with my dad in French. When I was little, my mother spoke Russian with me, but she stopped in 1948, due to well-known events [the Tito-Stalin split]. She carried multiculturalism within her and instilled it in me in various ways. When they were young, her mother and aunt formed a musical duo that was famous in Saint Petersburg during those years, and it was also said that Mayakovsky [Russian poet and playwright Vladimir Mayakovsky] visited their home to attend their artistic evenings.”

The sister of Irina’s mother, after whom she is named, was a ballerina and actress. She played the female lead, opposite Vittorio De Sica, in the 1933 Italian film Bad Subject [Un Cattivo Soggetto].

“My mother studied opera singing, but she abandoned her studies when she came to Belgrade to visit her parents, who had fled here because the city had a large colony of Russians. She met my father, they wed and I was born the following year, only for my sister Jelena to be born three and a half years later. My mother remained eternally stateless. She lost her nationality and, apart from falling in love with my father, she also fell in love with Serbia and all its traditions. That’s how we came to live with all Serbian and Russian customs.”

Milivoje Jovanović originally hailed from Krupanj in the Rađevina area. He graduated in law and worked for the City Administration. Advancing in his career, just before the outbreak of World War II he had been in charge of the civilian aides and security of Prince Pavle. And he advanced from that position to become chief of police for the City of Belgrade.

Only 30 per cent of what previously existed can be changed in a single generation, in order to preserve the spirit of a city and for it to have layers that make it valuable

“He saw what was about to happen and he had a large number of friends among Jews and leftists. He remained in the City Administration, but not in a leadership position, and until 1943 was responsible for many good deeds that I only learned about in the middle of the last decade. He never spoke about that, but thanks to the documentation of his good friend Miodrag Popović, the father of lawyer Srđa Popović [famous as a political activist and leader of the student movement Otpor (Resistance) in the ‘90s], I found out that he compiled lists of people who had been accused of wrongdoing under the regime and threatened with arrest and even death. Those lists reached members of SKOJ [The League of Communist Youth of Yugoslavia] who rescued the suspects. The Germans grew suspicious of my father and the Gestapo ultimately arrested him. He was tortured in an electric chair and then transferred to the Banjica concentration camp, which had actually been established while he was chief of police! He was arrested several times after the war – the last time in 1948. We thought that was linked to Infombiro [the period of purges within the Communist Party of Yugoslavia], but we never discovered the truth. He knew how to keep his mouth shut. When I asked him how he survived the Gestapo, the Banjica camp and subsequent imprisonment, he would constantly repeat that the most important thing had been to say that he didn’t know anything: that’s how he saved the lives of hundreds of other people, but also his own.”

Irina’s father had socialised with famous painters of the time: Lubarda, Gvozdenović, Šerban, Peđa, Milunović et al. He had a nice collection of paintings that was split between Irina and Jelena after their parents passed away.

“And at the time he was in prison, everything in the house that could be sold was. Carpets, silver, even books… the pictures were last because they were my father’s greatest love. They both departed this world in a symbolic way: Mum died on Good Friday, 6th May, 1983. Dad couldn’t endure that loss and departed himself just a year later, on Friday, 18th May, on Saint Irina’s Day. That was the name day of both me and their granddaughter Irina Ljubić, Jelena’s daughter. Mum wasn’t even 70 when she died, while dad made it past his 70th birthday. She had been in very poor health in her last years, and the diagnosis we heard from one doctor was ‘Your mother has worn out her life!’.”

Irina’s younger sister was famous ballerina Jelena Šantić (1944-2000). Having succeeded professionally, she devoted the last decade of her life to the continuous struggle for peace on the territory of the country at war that was then still called Yugoslavia, but those wars took many victims and changed the faces of yesterday’s republics. She said: “I poured my despair and horror into concrete work against hatred, nationalism, chauvinism, para-fascism and violence… I experienced the outbreak of the war as the collapse of culture and our civilisation.”

Speaking about her sister, Irina says that she had known from her primary school days that she would be a ballerina.

“She had enormous energy while she danced, but also enormous life energy with which she fought and which, unfortunately, she also depleted with the illness that took her life at the age of 55. She left behind her daughter Irina, an art historian who had attempted to work in a state institution, but that didn’t suit the libertarian spirit that had been instilled in her by her mother. And then she did something great and important. She separated the fund established by Professor Vojin Dimitrijević in the organisation Group 484, which had been founded by my sister, and thus the Jelena Šantić Foundation was born. That Foundation now operates successfully and Irina holds on to the idea that the Foundation’s work will help to really improve things when it comes to young people and women, and to culture more broadly penetrating small communities… Irina has two wonderful daughters, our granddaughters, who are 18 and 11.”

I asked my father how he survived the Gestapo, the Banjica camp and subsequent imprisonment, and he said that the most important thing had been to say that he knew nothing

Irina’s husband is Dr Gojko Subotić. A historian of medieval art and full member of the Serbian Academy of Sciences and Arts (SANU), he is one of the most important and respected experts in the field of protecting monuments of culture. She says that she was ‘tricked’ into meeting him. In her third year of high school, for the final exam of the School for Tour Guides, she was tasked with walking through Belgrade to Avala and presenting all the monuments created by famous sculptor and architect Ivan Meštrović. Meštrović had previously published a memoir in which he criticised Tito, resulting in all books about him being withdrawn and hidden from the public eye. She searched for anything about Meštrović in various places without success, ending up at SANU, where she was offered a doctoral dissertation that was of hardly any use to her. Upon returning it, she didn’t know who had lent it to her, so she placed the business card that her father had made for her in the book. The young man to whom she returned the book with the business card was Gojko Subotić, and within a year and a half the two of them were married. They spent the most beautiful year and a half living in Greece, when Gojko was learning the Greek language, before returning to Belgrade and sharing an apartment with his parents.

They have two daughters, both of whom abandoned Belgrade during the 1999 bombing of Serbia.

“We weren’t aware that that would be permanent, but they quickly found their way and established their own families. Our elder daughter, Jelena, received a scholarship for postgraduate studies in America, earned her doctorate and is now a professor of political science at Georgia State University in Atlanta. She is married and has a wonderful seventeen-year-old son. Our younger daughter, Ivana, graduated in Italian Studies and lives in Rome with her husband. After numerous different jobs, she’s been working as a manager of apartments over recent years and is very satisfied with her work. Their son is a student of modern gastronomy and hotel management.”

There’s no doubt that the upbringing Irina received at home also determined her profession. She grew up surrounded by paintings, serious music, books… She read a lot and attended exhibitions and concerts. She was very close to her father.

“He was a gentle, wonderful father. It was from him that I received knowledge and a joy of life, but I also remember the sadness he carried within him. We lived at 2 Braće Jugovića Street, opposite Glavnjača [the colloquial term for a political prison in Belgrade city centre]. When he was in prison in 1948 and would go out for a walk with all the other prisoners on Fridays, I would watch him from the roof of our building, together with my mother and sister. I was seven at the time. When they later relocated us to Beogradska Street, the din of the tram would wake me up at night and I would fear that something had happened to my father… His imprisonment was terribly traumatic for me. Fortunately, my parents didn’t ‘poison’ me or my sister with what dad had gone through.”

The issue of culture has failed the test in all fields in our country, and perhaps most of all in museology, because we don’t keep abreast of what the civilised world is doing

Milivoje attempted to convey everything he knew to Irina. They would walk around Belgrade so he could explain to her how the city had looked prior to the bombing of 1941 and 1944.

“My mother instilled in me a different kind of love for art, and thanks to my knowledge of her language, I earned money as a translator and tour guide when I was a third-year high school pupil. I used the first money I ever earned to buy the Herbert Read book The Meaning of Art. I read it all night and realised that I wanted to study modern art, because there were many more meanings hidden behind the appearance of beautiful colours that I wanted to discover.”

Over the last 25 years, or more specifically since the death of her sister Jelena, Irina has been recording the genealogy of the Lukašević and Jovanović families, but also the Subotićs. Her work has today evolved into a huge book of nearly 800 pages that’s intended for children who aren’t in Belgrade, as a recollection of memories they don’t have.

Irina’s professional life implied constant work and study. She was ultimately awarded an Emeritus Professor title, while life taught her to be strict.

“It was only in my later years that I learnt to dismiss that seriousness a little; to be a little more lenient towards myself and others. I learnt from the great art historians and the good artists in my surroundings that, when it comes to art, the testimony of an authentic creator is very important in our profession. I left behind many traces of their words; I wasn’t a so-called ‘first-person critic’. I started writing early on, thanks to Stojan Ćelić, who established the magazine Umetnost, together with a group of other intelligent people, and invited me to contribute. I didn’t include my own theory in the articles, nor did I rely on aesthetics and citing greats. I learnt from what I discovered by socialising with people from the art world; I wanted to be cognisant of how authentic and variegated they are in their poetics; I wanted to get better acquainted with their work and then better acquaint others with it. That’s why I wrote numerous articles about great artists who have remained great and inimitable to this day, such as Leonid Šejka, Cuca Sokić, Vladimir Veličković, Milenko Šerban, Stojan Ćelić and others. Of course, I also wrote about many artists who were just emerging on the scene and who invited me to write about them. I didn’t hesitate to use my words for the sake of artists who didn’t have a major biography or a prominent place in the art world. These weren’t about praise; I wasn’t dealing in epithets, but rather the meaning of their work, in the case that I found such meaning. And there were many articles that I had no desire to write…”

When the Museum of Contemporary Art opened on Ušće in 1965, it represented a new wonder of the world in terms of architecture and the museology concept provided by its founder and first director, Miodrag B. Protić. And CorD’s interlocutor explains that this was no accident, but rather a consequence of state cultural policy. On the other hand, today, unfortunately, even following the National Museum’s restoration just a few years ago, this national institution still isn’t capable of hosting a single globally-relevant exhibition, because it lacks the required technical conditions that are a given for major museums. Irina is the best possible witness to the good and bad times of these museums, having worked as a curator at both of them.

We can no longer have major exhibitions at the National Museum like we used to. Conditions have changed around the world and we haven’t adapted to them

“Yugoslavia firstly wanted to be relevant in international circles at the cultural level, and not only in the policies of nonalignment. It also wanted to carve out a more stable place among the countries of the developed world, to which it wanted to belong. Then there was Miodrag B. Protić – who was extremely influential with his vision, despite not being a member of the Party. Those were years when culture was deemed important and necessary. That’s how, even during the 1980s, the National Museum still inherited that which Lazar Trifunović had established back in the 1960s as the vision of a great Museum. He was the first to bring us works by Van Gogh, to make agreements with the most important Dutch and German institutions etc. With his considered policy, the National Museum stimulated a high level of expertise and brought proven treasures. And then came the ‘90s – disastrous in every sense: not only because of the countless dead and displaced persons, because of the destruction of Yugoslavia, but also because all values dropped, such that an inconsequential painter could be the director of the Museum of Contemporary Art for an entire decade and sweep away almost everything that Protić had done. When the need was felt in the early 2000s to transform the National Museum into a museum of worldwide relevance, which it deserves to be thanks to its priceless collections, and it was realised that this would entail major reconstruction works, digging underground spaces and building extensions, animosity and our mentality let to that being abandoned, so we ended up with only painted rooms. That’s why we can no longer have major exhibitions like we used to. The truth is that conditions have changed around the world and we have been left behind, having failed to adapt to those changes. The issue of culture has failed the test in all fields in our country, and perhaps most of all in museology, because we don’t keep abreast of what the civilised world is doing.”

When asked, in her capacity as an art historian, if it’s normal for a city to undergo so much demolition to make way for large apartment blocks, as we see happening in Belgrade city centre, Irina explains: “Only 30 per cent of what previously existed can be changed in a single generation, in order to preserve the spirit of a city and for it to have layers that make it valuable. That’s how it was done in Lisbon and Buenos Aires, and those are referred to as preserved cities. There are derelict buildings in our country that need to be demolished, but the problem is that investors, rich people, are building at a hitherto unseen speed as if they’re just laundering money, paying no attention to the entirety, to the residents, to history, tradition, everything that comprises the spirit of a city. All that matters to them is to build whatever they want, in locations with the highest rents. And the institutions that should take care of this and prevent destruction – from the National Assembly to the Institute for the Protection of Cultural Monuments – don’t function properly.”

It was thanks to Irina that the valuable art collection of Zenitist Ljubomir Micić was saved from oblivion. That marked the start of the broader recognition of Zenitism as an authentic avant-garde movement, thanks once again to this exceptionally capable and charming woman.

The post Culture Culture has Failed the Test appeared first on CorD Magazine.

Slobodan Šnajder (born 1948) has been in the spotlight once again in recent months, with his latest novel, Anđeo nestajanja [The Angel of Disappearence] having attracted a lot of attention. He spent a full eight years working on it and it was published by Croatian publishing house Fraktura, while Novi Sad’s Akademska knjika is responsible for the Serbian language edition, just as it published his previous novel Doba mjedi [The Brass Age], which had four editions in Croatia. Translated into fifteen languages, critics described it in the newspapers of Italy, Germany, the Netherlands and elsewhere as an epic novel that can undoubtedly be considered a masterpiece of European literature. The first reviews of The Angel of Disappearence also suggest that Šnajder has “once again tailored a wonderful novel and obviously shown and proven that his literary prowess doesn’t know or acknowledge any boundaries” (Jaroslav Pecnik).

During his many decades of writing, this distinguished intellectual was also a columnist for Rijeka’s Novi list newspaper, right up until the point at which the people in power no longer wanted to endure his stinging remarks. He hasn’t generally been in love with any government. He spent just a short time – while social democrat Ivica Račan was prime minister – a director of the renowned Zagreb Youth Theater, but he had to leave due to the repertoire policy for which he advocated. He is praised across Europe as a top-class playwright, while his plays aren’t generally staged in Croatia, with a few rare exceptions. He doesn’t complain about that, and as a rule he swiftly, and often cynically, interprets and explains individual moves of the government, after which everything is clear to all.

Šnajder is the biological offspring of father Đura Šnajder, a poet and writer, and mother Zdenka, who in 1942, as a member of the Yugoslav National Liberation Movement, and having barely turned 18, suffered atrocities at the Ustasha concentration camp in Nova Gradiška. Šnajder has also previously described himself as the “wild son” of Croatian writer Miroslav Krleža (1893-1981), as he explains in this CorD Magazine interview.

“An illegitimate son is that unpleasant surprise that turns up when a father dies, particularly if he is famous and rich, and such a son announces his inheritance aspirations. There is, however, no such scramble over Krleža’s inheritance. One anecdote suggests that one of the most persistent and vocal on the matter of inheritance after Krleža’s death was his chauffeur.

“The wild son in this case would be one that the father wouldn’t acknowledge, as is often the case. But when Krleža could do no more about this issue, the chauffeurs turned up, of course.

“Specifically, we today live in a country, in its literature, as if Miroslav Krleža had never written a single word.

“In truth, and as you’re alluding to, I once stated that I’d be happy to be just such a ‘wild son’. That calculation turned out to be mistaken: there’s nothing to inherit there. We have to do it all ourselves. Time and again. With great respect to the bard, but time and again. Well aware that we won’t leave anything behind either. I also have wild grandchildren, in addition to three real ones.”

His parents divorced early on and he grew up alongside his mother.

If the criterion of a state’s worthiness is the happiness of its citizens, then there was still more of that happiness in Yugoslavia than there is today

“My mother and father fought difficult legal battles over their children, my sister and me, which is strongly reminiscent of some contemporary battles, for example with regard to Severina. My mother took the victory in that tough litigation, that is to say that she took the children. But my father then disappeared almost entirely. You can read about that in the concluding chapters of the novel The Brass Age. I inherited the traces of their battle in correspondences, when they were ripping each other’s guts out, and I’d rather I hadn’t.”

And yet, despite everything, he had a happy childhood.

“I went to primary school with rural kids because we lived on the outskirts of the city, in a settlement that wasn’t yet a city, but was ceasing to be a village. I was raised in a female family, with my mother and grandmother, an extremely intelligent matriarch to whom life really hadn’t been kind. Her son, my uncle, had never returned from Mauthausen concentration camp, where he’d been sent after Jasenovac.

He was literally killed on the last day of the war, in May 1945. A candle always burned for him in front of the Partisan memorial (in fact a piece of paper). My grandmother received compensation for her son, worth about 30 euros by today’s standards.”

When I ask him what he inherited from his parents and how his upbringing looked, he responds as follows.

“Genetics, which we of course don’t choose. In this sense, I received a Greek gift from my father: I have a gene that always concerns cardiologists. In black and white terms, it tells me that I have an elevated risk of heart failure. My father died of a myocardial infarction when he was precisely the age I am now.

“So, he disappeared from my childhood, only to reappear in my life sometime during my high school days. I must state immediately that I attended a gymnasium high school that was incomparably better than what is referred to by the same name today. The teaching faculty was incredible and I still have fond memories of many of my teachers. The teacher of Croatian instilled in me respect and love for Crnjanski, and subsequently also for Krleža. I really enjoyed reading my early works to the class. I was always vain and needed an audience.

“Surprisingly, when it came to what should have been the male component in my upbringing, I settled for myself. I really liked football. I went to matches, and naturally cheered for Dinamo. Entering the stadium was a problem, of course. It was necessary to find any adult fan to get me in for free. And that’s how I was adopted by many; I was a wild son of many. Krleža didn’t attend football matches.”

What remains today of that leftist who came to Belgrade to support the students back in 1968, as a delegate of the University of Zagreb?

“I will first tell you something about that ’68; that generation that strove with all its might to be born politically and culturally. A man usually grows up by resisting authority. The Yugoslavia of that time was led by a man with huge political instinct – even Đilas admitted that to Tito – and great credit for the success of the only authentic revolution on our territory. The Ustasha fascists also called their movement a revolution, and they christened it as openly totalitarian, because for them that term didn’t have the horrid connotations that it does today, on the contrary. But the totalitarian revolution is a revolution against the very concept. Like calling Tuđman’s conservative.

“So, on the one hand, we had as leader a man who was indisputably worthy of credit for the relatively peaceful childhood and youth we’d had up until then. But we saw that the matter of his revolution had stalled, that the revolution – as Krleža said (but certainly not to Tito, particularly not face to face) – was maneuvering like a locomotive at a secondary shunting station. The regime appeared old to us, incapable of the changes that were on everyone’s lips declaratively, while in reality nothing changed.

We today live in a country, in its literature, as if Miroslav Krleža had never written a single word

At that juncture, the revolution pusswas scared of its own youth. Don’t forget that Edvard Kardelj, despite being one of the most intelligent in Tito’s close circle, pleaded with the Central Committee to deploy tanks against the Belgrade students.

We then took to the streets, and it could easily have been a bloodbath in our country like the one in Beijing’s Tiananmen Square.

Today, after the collapse of his project, I think better of Tito than I did back then. But the objections to him that are raised by my Anđa Berilo in the novel The Angel of Disappearence, as a person devoted to the cause of his revolution, are in essence the objections that my generation raised against Tito’s regime in 1968.

“The 1968 rebellion coincided precisely with events at European universities, especially French and German ones. We had links with them, and many of us were long under suspicion by the ‘Services’ due to those links. The files on us were simply passed from one hand to another in the 1990s. The Services have since pursued different and even opposite ends, protecting countries hostile to one another, but they are basically the same people. That’s what it was like with the Gestapo in France. The West didn’t only need people who knew how to draw and fire rockets, rather first and foremost it needed policemen. All told, this is an as yet unwritten chapter. I also owe something to my generation.

“The way things stand today, the recent Croatian history begins in 1971. In your country, that would mean from Tito’s showdown with Serbian liberals. However, the recent Croatian history begins in 1968.

Still, as I say, I think better of Tito today than I did back then. This is explained in particular by my studying of Tito’s resistance to Stalin. If there had been no such resistance, we would have spent our youth in the grey environment of the countries of the so-called people’s democracy, i.e., in the lands of the Soviet labour camp.”

Is it today possible to be a publicly declared leftist in Croatia or anywhere on the territory of the former Yugoslavia without being professionally sanctioned? How acceptable, unpleasant or dangerous is that today?

“I’ve never thought about it in that way. Even when I received threats that included descriptions of my physical elimination that would be executed with such expertise that I’d be able to experience it to the full for an hour, I didn’t immediately rush to the police. And I said that there are highly rated experts. However, I don’t know what a declared leftist would be? It looks like an apricot compote on which it is stated what’s in the jar. I NEVER decided to be declared as an apricot compote. I never thought about the risk. I thought for myself, only being sure not to be adopted by someone crooked.”

Can you make a living from writing?

“I’m a Croatian pensioner, and that category is more or less social. My foreign publishers don’t like that, so they occasionally send me some money. I certainly have more than most of those who do what I do. If they really aren’t academics.”

How much are you impacted by daily politics today?

“Napoleon’s famous remark on the subject crosses my mind: everyone talks about destiny. Politics is today destiny. So much for Bonaparte. By the way, he was the first to create a secret service, a very effective one. And previously in this interview I said that destiny is genetics. All I can say is that, in getting old, I’ve developed a disdain for such a political class. It seems that this class in our lands, in the former Yugoslavia, is outgrowing its framework by some necessity into what Đilas calls a new class, i.e., a nomenclature. What is actually something of a novelty in this sense, and has been happening recently in Croatia, is that the political class has been directly transferring public money in dizzying amounts to their companies, under their own ownership. For example, one minister transferred millions of euros to his own company. Nothing is hidden anymore, even though it’s nefarious. This has somehow unfolded in a roundabout way so far, though the result is the same. Now they no longer pussyfoot around. The political class promotes itself into the high bourgeoisie. So far without any risk!”

Is there any positive heritage from the former country left to us?

“It exists in such a way that it no longer exists. There are memories. If the criterion of a state’s worthiness is the happiness of its citizens, then there was still more of that happiness in Yugoslavia than there is today. But let’s admittedly be under no illusions. Yugoslavia was far from an ideal country, but if we look back on it today, what I said seems true to most of those who were born in these lands.”

What is the greatest success of the Croatian authorities since the creation of the independent state?

“Well, that would imply that many successes exist, and then one that is the biggest. Dajte-najte [Don’t leas us on], as we Kajkavian people say. My masochism also has limits.”

Šnajder’s theatre drama Croatian Faust has to this day remained a “dark object of desire of the Croatian petty bourgeoisie”, never performed at the Croatian National Theatre. If it had ever been performed there – as it was in 1982 at the Yugoslav Drama Theatre, becoming that theatre’s most popular play for the subsequent ten years – would anything have changed regarding the perception of this play and its rating when it comes to contemporary Croatian drama?

“I’m reluctant to talk about it because I’m already sick of that topic. I keep raising two fingers, and as if to pray, Lord, I’m here, the wild son of this one or that one, give me, for God’s sake, take notice! But I basically don’t care about that. There is a chapter in the novel The Angel of Disappearence entitled ‘Le Danse macabre croate’, i.e., ‘The Croatian Dance of Death’, in which I stated something conclusive about that unhappy topic, with the wish that I never have to speak publicly about it again.

All I can say is that, in getting old, I’ve developed a disdain for the political class as it is

“And here you are asking. It boils down to something that survived the disintegration of the country as a taboo and continued to endure in another that was created according to the opposite ‘user manual’. So, how come? There is something curious in all of this, something scurrilously- comical. It scurrilously points to grinning skulls.

“Well, may they all rest in peace!”

Snježana Banović had wanted to stage Croatian Faust at the Croatian National Theatre when she was that theatre’s director of drama, but?

“Mladen Tarbuk, the intendant of the Croatian National Theatre in the period when Snježana Banović was its director of Drama – forming, by the way, by far the most informed duo to date – indeed mentioned in one interview that he intended to stage that play. But a repertoire proposal was never formed. The two of them certainly thought about it, especially Snježana Banović, but she was very quickly fired from the position of drama director, and that was precisely because of a guest appearance in Belgrade that she had planned. And then, unfortunately, Mladen Tarbuk was also hung out to dry. Banović developed great distress, not only for that play, but also for thirteen others that had never been performed, in many places, including in her book about the crazy ‘80s, which you have in Serbia in the very good edition of Geopoetika.”

Your new novel, The Angel of Disappearence, is a kind of ode to a Zagreb that no longer exists. What is Zagreb today for Slobodan Šnajder?

“Well, just as you exposed who my biological father was, and to whom I offered myself for adoption, Zagreb is forever my birthplace, is it not? Only Homer was born in as many as seven Greek cities. The Angel of Disappearence is dedicated to Zagreb; it is a novel about the city, just like Döblin’s Alexandarplatz is a novel about Berlin, if a small one can be compared to a large one. I live on a small island in central Dalmatia. My sources are there, and one shelf is already full of my books. Terrible.”

What does this writer read; does he have his own favourite writers?

“I’m a reading machine. One anecdote states that my father, old Kempf from The Brass Age, read the entire literary production of Croatia in his time as a critic. I don’t deal with critiques, but I’m interested in what my colleagues write.

“I’ve been reading a lot of Kiš recently. My great literary role model is Roger Martin du Gard, a forgotten French Nobel laureate, and his Thibault family. That’s how I would like to write. I don’t think I’ll succeed.”

The post I Think Better of Tito Today Than I Did Back Then appeared first on CorD Magazine.

The Viminacium site is located close to the modern city of Požarevac. The major city of Viminacium originally emerged in the first century AD, during the reign of Emperor Hadrian, and remained inhabited until the early 7th century. More than 14,000 Roman tombs have been excavated at the site over recent decades, containing more than 200,000 objects, almost 2,000 of which were made of gold and silver. More than a dozen of them have been deemed priceless and declared as belonging to world cultural heritage. And the greatest credit for this belongs to Dr Miomir Korać (born 1952) and his team of associates.

This interesting scientist gained the nickname of Indiana Jones long ago, in response to which he admits: “I like Indiana Jones, but he is just nice fiction. Archaeology is a science that moves in a different direction. It is an expensive science, time-consuming, and it is very important where you place so-called probes, in order for them to be as close as possible to the object being sought.”

Anyone who has ever toured Viminacium and been hosted and guided by Miško, as he is known to everyone, has been truly fortunate. And the author of this article is among those lucky ones. In a desire to present him as accurately as possible to CorD readers, I took him back to his earliest childhood memories.

Viminacium was bigger than Pompeii by a third. However, unlike us, the Italians have already been excavating that city for 300 years

“My childhood is one that everyone would desire. In a Montenegrin family, after three girls, I was the fourth child and the first boy. Alongside my three sisters, my feet never touched the ground. And my parents only asked one thing of me: to study!”

And his parents were Montenegrins – his father hailed from the area around the town of Berane, from the mountainous part, but he was atypical because he didn’t nurture the cult of a male successor, but rather gave all his children equal attention. As a military economist, he changed 39 garrisons, which is how his son Miomir ended up being born in the Kosovo town of Gjilan. He wasn’t even six months old when they moved to Kragujevac, and subsequently to Belgrade. He has never returned to Gjilan, which he remembers only through stories, but he believes that he’ll visit it again one day. His mother was originally from the tranquil Zeta valley, and Miško thinks that he’s reconciled that which was impetuous and serene in his parents.

“I was a good pupil; I studied diligently throughout my schooling. After completing the Second Belgrade Gymnasium High School, I was supposed to fulfil their expectations. And they, like the majority of parents, wanted their son to be a doctor, to be able to treat them when they became elderly. However, they instilled in me a love for art, for architecture, for antiquities. That’s because they took us to visit cultural monuments when we were children, they had all the publications of the Serbian Literary Cooperative in the house and, in a way, they channelled me towards the other side. I remained indebted to them because I didn’t fulfil their wishes, but that debt was repaid by my daughter, Nina, who has completed medical studies and is a doctor. Her and my son Vanja each gifted me a grandchild: Pavle and Sara. I’m really a lucky man to have them all.”

He has spent more than 40 years married to Ana, a librarian who moved from Belgrade’s Professor’s Colony to New Belgrade.

“We were students when we met, wed and received our son, Vanya, who earned his doctorate and works at the Mathematical Institute. Those student days were also the first years of our married life, the years of our biggest sacrifices. In the evenings, when you put the child to bed and your heart sleeps, you have to study. It’s only today that I have time to head down to the neighbourhood café with Ana each morning, and to start our day in the most beautiful way by enjoying a cappuccino.”

He was a good student, with a grade point average of 9.10. That average could have been even higher if his results hadn’t been spoiled by a seven Valtroin Marxism, or some similar subject that no longer exists. It was after his studies that Nina was born, who is today a doctor working at the Institute of Blood Transfusion. They deliberately gave their children short names, so that they wouldn’t be shortened however anyone saw fit, and so that they wouldn’t be mumbled.

He knew what he wanted to do from the moment he enrolled in archaeology. “I wanted to deal with research, provided I could go to the Archaeological Institute, and I didn’t want to remain at the university. My then professors didn’t forgive me for that, but I nonetheless have fond memories of them. I was fortunate that my professors were Milutin Garašanin and Dragoslav Srejović, two professional and intellectual rocks. I didn’t even go to an excavation with Professor Srejović, but he made an immeasurable contribution to our archaeology. I can say: Professor Dragoslav Srejović, then three spears, and then all the rest of us. Those professors taught me that archaeology isn’t a science of sensationalism. It is perhaps only a sensation at the finale, but prior to that finale there must be years of work on fragments – literally on fragments of vessels to fragments of knowledge. That might ultimately be a sensation for others, but for me it’s just a road that I’ve traversed.”

We confirmed 21 structures under the ground. The feeling is fantastic when you observe objects in the ground and then dig exactly where you need to

He might be celebrated for his work at Viminacium, but his first encounter with this archaeological site wasn’t a memorable one.

“As a student, I was in a group that went to Đerdap, while another group went to Viminacium and was the envy of everyone, which hinted at the future importance of this locality. And Đerdap, as a locality, was pure magic for me. After spending several years at Đerdap, at the moment when I landed a job at the Archaeological Institute, I was invited by my colleague, Dr Ljubica Zotović, to join the archaeological team at Viminacium. That was an honour and I quickly adapted to this place that wasn’t as magical as Djerdap. It is primarily a huge field job.”

Miomir has remained at Viminacium since first arriving back in 1981, and his dedicated and continuous work has led to him being celebrated both in the country and around the world. There is no data on any other great archaeologist in Serbia having remained in one location for more than 40 years as he has done. And he doesn’t fail to make mention of those who preceded him there: Professor Mihailo Valtrović, founder of the Belgrade School of Archaeology, who carried out the first research work at Viminacium back in 1882. Two decades after Valtrović, research at this site was resumed by Professor Miloje Vasić.

Over a full 15 years, Viminacium won over Miško, only for him to take over the management of Viminacium in 1997. Prior to that, most of his work related to researching the necropolis. The team excavated 14,000 graves, representing the largest number of Roman Empire graves ever excavated. This work yielded valuable data and brought important results.

“I’ll explain that to you with examples. For instance, we find a doctor’s tomb containing two boxes. In one of them are medicines, while in the other are the instruments with which he performed interventions – scalpels, hooks, needles and various other things that indicate that he was a military doctor, an ophthalmologist. You continue to study and receive information about how developed health services were at that time. We later discovered that Viminacium had been divided into quarters and that each quarter had had a doctor. Let’s not forget that Viminacium was the capital of Upper Moesia, representing an urban area that was inhabited by around thirty thousand people, which is equivalent to today’s Belgrade. It had plumbing, sewers, running water coming in, thermal baths etc., everything characterising urban life. Every change in the way they buried their dead testifies to a shift in the way the people lived.”

Under the ground are plazas, temples, amphitheatres, theatres, thermal baths, a hippodrome, the imperial palace, coin mint… an entire city

The graves always contain a Roman coin to pay Charon the ferryman for passage to the other world; a ceramic or metal oil lamp to light the way; three vessels containing water, wine, and oil for the journey to the other side of the river Acheron. After exploring everything related to the underworld, Korać had a desire to explore the city where the people had lived.

“After the year 2000, I formed a multidisciplinary team comprising mathematicians, geophysicists, electrical engineers etc. We procured certain devices, such as a ground penetrating radar, magnetometer, GPS with sub-centimetre accuracy… Our aim was to use these instruments to detect ancient objects underground as quickly as possible. We achieved this with the help of satellite, aerial and geographic imagery and began exploring. We confirmed 21 structures under the ground. The feeling is fantastic when you observe objects in the ground and don’t dig to the left or the right, but rather save time and money by digging exactly where required. When we discovered these monuments, we immediately covered and presented them, and that’s how the first Archaeological Park in Southeast Europe was established in 2006. In 2011 we constructed the Domus scientific research centre, covering an area of over 5,000m2. We also built the LIMES park – a children’s educational and sports camp – in 2018.”

Everything boils and bubbles just 20 centimetres beneath the ploughed fields. There are plazas, temples, amphitheatres, theatres, thermal baths, a hippodrome, the imperial palace, coin mint… an entire city. The broader territory of the city covers an area of 450 hectares, while the narrower urban hub covers 220 hectares. In order to form a more accurate picture of the size of Viminacium, it is sufficient to note that it was bigger than Pompeii by a third. However, unlike us, the Italians have already been excavating that city for 300 years.”

There are several objects that have been discovered, covered and are currently accessible to visitors. One of them is a mausoleum with dimensions of 20 by 20 metres, which probably contains the remains of emperor Hostilian from the mid-3rd century. One feels a special thrill when entering tombs at a depth of five metres that have been decorated with paintings, the discovery of which is explained by CorD’s interlocutor.

“It was one balmy afternoon in 1983 when we began investigating the third level of the Viminacium site. An image of a young woman began to be revealed in front of our eyes, which represented a frescoed tomb. It was a masterpiece of the art of late antiquity that we discovered after 1,700 years. The fresco presents a young woman from the top social strata (her brocade dress is trimmed with gold) and in terms of artistic value represents the highest level of the fine art of late antiquity.”

Alongside his own children, Miško also mentions that he has around 30 ‘adopted’ children: 17 of them are science PhDs and 12 are doctoral students, and he has invested a lot in them professionally, with a desire for them to continue their joint work and to do so better than him. Some of them were included in last summer’s team that worked to uncover the triumphal arch, representing the latest major discovery in Viminacium.

“Explorations of the city’s urban core have been ongoing since the beginning of August. Behind the gate through which the city was entered, we discovered a street that was ten metres wide, and in it you can see the tracks of cart wheels used to travel to the city. That street even had curbs, and we were particularly surprised to discover four foundation slabs made from massive blocks of limestone. It was clear that it was the structure of a triumphal arch, with dimensions that correspond to the triumphal arches discovered in Algiers and Verona. Confirmation then came when we spotted preserved carved letters with the text CAES/ANTO. This meant that the gate had been constructed in honour of Roman emperor Caracalla. Of course, we found columns, pedestals, everything that will be installed and reconstructed. And it will open and become accessible to the public next year. You should also know that, since 2006, we’ve had an Archaeological Park that’s open year-round, with the exception of 1st January. Five or six guides, fluent in several languages, lead the groups and provide indepth information.”

Archaeology, as a science, proves that it isn’t at all important to retain some territories, but it is important to preserve material and human resources

Many people suggest that, in addition to his great love for archaeology, Dr Korać also has good luck. When an archaeologist excavates 50 graves over the course of their career, they are considered as being successful, but he excavated 50 graves a day. Together with his associates, he has found more gold than Ali Baba and his 40 thieves could even imagine. And then, in 2009, he also came across a mammoth. On the site of the Drmno surface coal mine, 27 metres underground, the fantastically preserved skeleton of a mammoth was found. It was later named Vicky, due to the assumption that it was a female. No reliable evidence has so far confirmed that it was female, but scientists have determined that it was more than 60 years old upon death, halfway through its expected life. A large team of experts with the most diverse profiles were engaged, while huge machinery was deployed to move the skeleton to the Viminacium site, in a cave located 30 metres underground. The cave in which Viki has been placed is supported by nine wooden arches and illuminated by sunlight via a special solar system. It should be noted that this mammoth is a million years old, and that only three mammoths with completely preserved skeletons were found worldwide over the course of the 20th century.

“I’ve spent so many years at Viminacium and we’ve done so much, but the whole world flocked here when the mammoth skeleton was found. With that already being the case, we endeavoured to turn it into a good tourist attraction, and we also created a children’s park, because that kind of unexpected guest also suits the view of tourism that we’re striving towards. Since 2011, in cooperation with the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of Serbia, finds made at Viminacium have been included in the ‘Journey to the Past’ world tour.”

CorD’s interlocutor has received a large number of the most prestigious exdomestic and foreign awards and accolades, while he is a member of the German Archaeological Institute, DAI, the world’s oldest and most important archaeological institute. His vast knowledge and rich experience enable him to conclude this interview by noting the following:

“The area between the Alps and the Carpathians is one of the planet’s most creative territories. Lots of evidence exists to support that claim: the first European monumental sculpture in Lepenski vir; the first metallurgists from seven thousand years ago; 18 Roman emperors born on the territory of Serbia etc. That’s why one has to be very careful with that area. Archaeology, as a science, proves that it isn’t at all important to retain some territories, but it is important to preserve material and human resources.

“What fascinates me the most personally, as an archaeologist, is the following: from the Neolithic Revolution of 4000 to 5000 BC until the present day, nothing has changed. It was during the Neolithic era that the family became the basic nucleus around which everything is based. And beginning now is a period that will last several hundreds or thousands of years, in which cloning will perhaps bring a new age of civilisation. When a person is without parents, without a family, he will start changing his way of thinking significantly. And that will be the emergence of a new man on the planet.”

The post Archaeology Isn’t a Science of Sensationalism appeared first on CorD Magazine.

Dubljanska Street is located in the Belgrade neighbourhood known as Čubura. The street is named after the small Mačva village of Dublja, which is known as the site of the 1815 battle of the Second Serbian Uprising that saw the Serbs defeat the Turks. This street is also known for its inclusion in the title of Miodrag Zupanc’s play White Rose for Dubljanska Street. And it was in this very street, on the eve of the outbreak of World War II, that CorD’s interlocutor, architect Toma Garevski, was born.

His father Dragan, a Macedonian, was a representative of Macedonian companies in Belgrade. His Jewish Mother Ružica Liper survived World War II thanks to being married to an Orthodox Christian. And her sister Dragica also managed to save her life by marrying a Slovenian man.

“With the experience of the horrors of war and mixed marriages, they raised me to love Yugoslavia, primarily because of the inter-ethnic tolerance that really existed back then.”

Toma completed his basic schooling at all the schools of the Neimar and Pašina Brdo neighbourhoods, but he also attended Knez Mihailova Street’s Dr Vojislav Vučković Music School, accordion department.

“I remember my childhood for the fact that family order was respected in the house, while the street was where we children played freely. I thus fell in love with Čubura. We planted trees in the park on Neimar that are still there today. We lived for football and played with a rag ball. A relative from America came once and before departing asked us what we would like him to send us when he returned to the States. Without thinking, me and my younger brother Boris told him to send us a football. We spent the next two months dreaming of the ball arriving from America. And when the package finally arrived, the family and all the children from the street gathered. Opening that package was the greatest ceremony that I can recall. And the greatest sadness. Instead of a standard football, the relative had sent a ball for American football. We didn’t even know what that sport was, nor could we play football with that ball. There wasn’t a friend who didn’t cry.”

Čubura is a holy place for all lovers, but Toma went further: he claims that Čubura is also a way of thinking, a code according to which a thug must be an educated person, sufficiently courageous and ready to succeed in life. I know that this opinion was shared by his fellow Čubura native and immortal actor Dragan ‘Gaga’ Nikolić, but also by the Zupanc brothers, director Dragomir and the aforementioned Miodrag, who were born and continue to live in Čubura.

Čubura is a way of thinking, a code according to which a thug must be an educated person, sufficiently courageous and ready to succeed in life

After completing his architecture studies in Belgrade, Garevski headed to Paris.

“I also completed my military service and went to Paris to buy a synthesizer. I already played the accordion in the Mile Lojpur Orchestra and needed to have a synthesizer for the summer stages on the coast. After three months working in the office of great French architect Jean Balladur, I bought a synthesizer, but the work took off and was too enticing for me to leave. That’s how I ended up staying.

“You should keep in mind that in high school I was the worst student of the French language. Throughout the entire period of my schooling, I ‘earned’ by drawing and playing the accordion. Instead of knowledge, those were the aces up my sleeve, and it was because of those skills that the teachers turned a blind eye to everything that I didn’t know. When I came to Belgrade to attend the celebration marking the 20th anniversary of graduating high school, my French teacher, Professor Nikačević, was still alive. I told him that I lived and worked in Paris, and he was so taken aback that he almost had a stroke.”

Toma spent five years working in the atelier of Jean Balladur and was a member of the team that worked on the project for a hotel in Vichy. He was told in confidence that his work was the best, but he wasn’t rewarded for his efforts because the name behind the project was more important than anything else to the president of the municipality in Vichy.

“It was then that I realised that it would be more profitable for me to work abroad as a French architect, as opposed to being a foreigner in France. I firstly had to graduate in architecture studies in Paris, because they only acknowledged two years of my studies at the Belgrade faculty. I thus formally became a French architect, though that didn’t help me a lot – because you can’t succeed in Paris if you don’t have family ties or influential connections. And heading out into the world meant that I initially worked in Lebanon and the Middle East.

“Those first experiences of mine were also interesting. I’d learnt in Belgrade that it was a great success if you create the best possible project in a small space, say by packing a three-room apartment into an area of 70 square metres. In contrast, in Beirut, I had orders to design a three- or four-room apartment on an area of 300-400 square metres. That’s called a clash of worlds in architecture.”

Very strict architectural rules exist for all large buildings… For me it has always been important for my projects to fit into the ambience and philosophy of the surrounding area

This architect worked wonders in Saudi Arabia. And he was assisted in doing so by a certain Rafic Hariri, a key man for capital projects in that country who happened to like Toma’s works and ideas. That’s how he ended up building a residence and hotel that had been commissioned by Saudi King Khalid and had to be completed in eight months. And to be the most luxurious edifice the world had ever seen.

“From foundation to roof, the Intercontinental Hotel was built in eight months, in the desert, in the middle of nowhere. When I returned there 10 years later, I couldn’t even find the hotel. A large city had been built around it. After King Khalid, his successor, King Fahd, also wanted to work with ‘the fastest architect in the world’. We built a Sheraton hotel and many other projects near Mecca: palaces, hotels, residences etc. Invitations followed from other countries. I implemented the Presidential Palace in Djibouti and have remained friends with the President of Djibouti to this day, having worked there for about fifteen years. All these projects opened doors for me in Paris and on the French Riviera. And the Automobile Museum in Paris was among the first.”

He describes himself as being like a general practitioner, because architects constantly ask him to do this or that, convinced that he can design a hospital, hotel or luxury palace, as well as an ordinary residential building. Once in Skopje, after an earthquake, he participated in a design contest for a cemetery! In stark contrast, he had the great pleasure of receiving the opportunity to contribute to the luxury monograph ‘Ces belles mairies de France’ [The Beautiful Town Halls of France], detailing the most beautiful municipal buildings where people most like to get married in France.

When fashion house Louis Vuitton decided to construct its business palace in Paris’s Avenue Montaigne, at the very entrance to Champs-Élysées Square, the job was given to Toma. He offers an interesting explanation regarding this extremely prestigious endeavour.

“Very strict architectural rules exist for all large buildings. Apart from that, for me it has always been important for the projects that I do to fit into the ambience and philosophy of the surrounding area. If I design Hilton and Sheraton hotels in Saudi Arabia, I utilise their history and the local architecture. I draw inspiration from their legacy. The territory on which I built the Louis Vuitton palace, otherwise situated in the most exclusive part of Paris, generated enormous interest. And it was terribly expensive, costing around 35 million francs at the time. Then Vuitton came and bought it for 70 million! Why the company had done so wasn’t clear to anyone, but an answer came quickly: it was important for Vuitton to have an address on the Avenue Montaigne, because of the prestige the company had in Japan and around the world. As such, the Palace had to have a highly representative look. The investor was Boussac, and we built a penthouse apartment for Mr Marcel Boussac and everyone was very satisfied.”

I quickly realised that it would be more profitable for me to work abroad as a French architect, rather than being a foreigner in France

Famous Serbian architect and university professor Mihajlo Mitrović (1922- 2018) reviewed this building in his capacity as a critic in 1990.

“This latest work of architect Garevski, in the heart of Paris, largely compensates for missed opportunities and represents his architecture in the best way, showing the success of gradually replacing old buildings with new edifices, larger spaces and new functionality. Installed on the new, modern building is the complete Florentine portal that previously adorned the demolished building, shaped with marble squares in an aluminium grid. With this approach, Garevski has brought back to Parisian architecture, and affirmed in a new way, the controversial idea of Violletle- Duc that a deliberate and purposeful reconstruction in architecture should mean establishing a finished structure that never previously existed. And indeed, the new Vuitton store today shimmers with rich new spaces and exclusive interiors, while at the same time supporting, tranquilly and in a refined way, and enriching, in a modern way, the atmosphere of the boulevards of the Champs-Elysée, the world’s most beautiful boulevards.”

After Toma, his younger brother and fellow architect, Boris, also came to Paris, and the two of them have for decades had a joint company, AXE, based in Paris and on the French Riviera in Antibes. Toma has long been married to Anđelka, his high school sweetheart who hails originally from Kruševac and graduated in technology studies. One event in which the main actors were Toma Garevski and his wife remains as a historical anecdote and film script story. Namely, he granted himself the right to bring his wife to the reception commemorating the opening of that hotel and residence in Saudi Arabia, which he had completed just a few days ahead of that famous eight-month deadline. The king had invited several thousand guests to the reception, but the only woman in attendance was Anđelka Đeka Garevski. That was because only men had been invited, and Toma didn’t want to attend the reception without his wife. In a country where, at the time, women were deprived of even the most basic rights, where they were not allowed to even touch the steering wheel of a car, let alone attend a reception with men, Toma was a hero who’d completed a magnificent building in the middle of nowhere ahead of the deadline, so for him everything was permitted.

Toma and Anđelka are the proud parents of two successful daughters. Gorana is communications director for Channel 1 of French television company TF1. Sabina is the director of a real estate company. Gorana has a daughter, Gaia, who just turned 17 and attended her birthday celebration with a boyfriend for the first time. Apart from his family and work, Toma has also spent time with friends from Belgrade and Yugoslavia who’ve come to Paris, stayed, left, and returned once again. He became friends with famous ballet dancer Milorad Mišković and would visit him at his place in Nice, together with Politika newspaper’s Paris correspondent Aleksandar ‘Saša’ Prlja. Toma’s office has a gallery section that includes pictures by his painter friends – from Vladimir Veličković, Ljubomir Popović and Petar Omčikus, to Milorad ‘Bata’ Mihajlović and Miloš Šobajić – and sculptures by Nikola ‘Kolja’ Milunović.

“My first friend among painters was Đoka Ivačković, who was actually an architect by education, just like Veličković. That’s also how I very quickly made friendships with our other painters. We often socialised at my office. Ljuba Popović lived around 200 metres away and always came on foot. Veličković made it a practice of parking his car and visiting my office on the way to his studio. Bata Mihailović was my fellow Čubura native and I had a special way of communicating with him. Kosa and Petar Omčikus really liked us to visit them. I remained friends with Miloš Šobajić until his last day. We were all inseparable at celebrations, at the Cultural Centre, at the exhibitions of all of them. We did everything we could for each other, without a moment’s thought or interest. A proper gallery of their works, which I received as friends’ gifts, has remained in my office as a reminder of that time. It could thus be said that we still hang out today.

Vlada, Ljuba, Kosa and Petar, Bata, Miloš… We were all inseparable at celebrations, at the Cultural Centre, at the exhibitions of all of them

“We rejoiced in every arrival in Paris of our friends from Belgrade. And that was particularly so during the years when Dragan Nikolić was performing here. And he, like me, initially spoke French disastrously, but learned extremely quickly and forged a successful career in Paris. His wife Milena also came often and those were unforgettable gatherings.”

Toma also spent his summers with his friends from Belgrade. He spent his summer holidays in Cavtat [a town on Croatia’s Adriatic coast], but used his boat to visit his Parisian and Serbian friends holidaying everywhere from Istria, via the islands, to Dubrovnik.

“We often went to Dubrovnik to see our [Yugoslav] artist Jagoda Buić, while it was obligator for us to go to Ljuba’s place on Korčula. I would drink coffee every morning with Zoran Radmilović, who had a house in Cavtat. Many dear people were there, including Ružica Sokić, the married couple Milka Stojanović and Živan Saramandić, famous cardiologist Ninoslav Radovanović. Us friends from Belgrade who had addresses all over the world would have a nice time socialising once a year in Cavtat and on the Adriatic.”

This architect was always ready to help when he was asked to do so in Paris by “someone among ours”, which is how he still refers to all people from the territory of the former Yugoslavia.

“I’m always ready to help the Embassy, the Church and the Cultural Centre. We renovated the entire Serbian church in Paris, but also the Cultural Centre of Serbia; at the Serbian ambassadorial residence we arranged the balcony and roof, installed gas etc. There is still a lot of work to be done at the ambassadorial residence, which is one of the most beautiful buildings in Paris and is unbelievably well positioned opposite the Eiffel Tower. I hope to continue what I’ve started with the new ambassador, Ana Hrustanović.”

And how is it possible that Toma Garevski from Čubura has never done any work in Belgrade? Responding to that question, CorD’s interlocutor offers the following answer.

“I haven’t managed to implement anything concrete, but I have proposed many projects. First and foremost were several offices next to the building of Politika, where to this day there is still an empty space, or rather a parking lot. I proposed an office building opposite the Assembly, on the site where the Three Leaves of Tobacco tavern used to stand. I provided a project for the expansion of the hotel on Avala. I brought Mr Eric Hilton to Belgrade to explore the possibility of building a hotel. I’m currently working on a project for a hotel that will be located next to Nikola Tesla Airport in Surčin. I have a great desire to also leave a mark in my hometown.”

The post From Čubura to Paris and international Success appeared first on CorD Magazine.

Public attention is currently focused on a particularly interesting and highly attractive book entitled Sa Cvejom [With Cveja], which represents an unprecedented undertaking in the field of biographical literature in Serbian practises. Delving into the life and work of actor and highly successful director of the Yugoslav Drama Theatre, Branko Cvejić (1946 – 2022), the book is co-published by CLIO and My Balkan. Unusually for the esteemed publishing house’s founder and chief editor, Zoran easily and persuasively explains: “It is extremely important that fragile arts like acting gain lasting insight in the public eye and a longer life. This book is conceived as a testimony. It was written by those who worked with Branko Cvejić, primarily on the stage. However, Cveja, with the diversity of his public activities, ‘called out’ other collaborators to write about him. For me, he is a cultural creator in the fullest sense of the word; a symbol of what we aspire to and what a serious society must have.”

This book came to fruition thanks to Beka Vučo, who did a tremendous job – from initial idea to full realisation. “There are few who can give so much for an artist like her and her organisation, My Balkan. I am very pleased with the excellent collaboration we’ve had,” explains our interlocutor. Zoran (66) was born in Belgrade’s Filmski Grad neighbourhood and spent his early days there. His father, Nikola, a military man originally from Herzegovina, had been waiting to receive an apartment, so they lived with relatives in a hangar in Filmski Grad. It was there that his mother, Dušanka, raised her newborn baby Zoran, who didn’t have a crib and slept on two stools.

“I was an only child and I constantly asked my mother to give me a brother or sister, but my wish was never fulfilled.”

They moved to a new apartment in Voždovac in 1960, when Zoran was just three years old. Something seemingly contained in the dust of Filmski Grad inevitably stuck with him. As a child, he worked as an extra in several domestic films shot in Košutnjak and Pionirski Grad, though he can’t recall exactly which films they were. He only remembers that it was a lot of fun for him as a child. He started school at the Bora Stanković Primary School and was an excellent pupil, but failure to grant his request to be in the class that was learning English prompted his parents to transfer him to the Karađorđe Primary School. Interestingly, these two primary schools are located on the same street – Jove Ilića. One street, two schools, but also two civilisations!

Our task was to address those who think for themselves and move forward, and we have never stopped doing that

He still recalls a situation that illustrates the time in which they lived vividly. He resided in a building that housed a large community of military personnel from across Yugoslavia. Back then, neighbours would congratulate one another on 1st May and 29th November, which was Republic Day. He had a neighbour, an officer, for whom it was essential to prove his loyalty to the new government because he had also been an officer of the royal army in the Kingdom of Yugoslavia.

“He was a simple and loyal man who wanted to wish Jovanka Broz, the wife of President Josip Broz Tito, well on 8th March [International Women’s Day]. He wrote everything as he thought best, but instead of signing himself, he signed me, a pioneer, a first-year school pupil, and sent the letter. After some time, a long white envelope arrived at the school, written in beautiful handwriting with the signature of Jovanka Broz. The letter said: Dear Zoran, thank you for your congratulations, and I wish you all the best in school. It’s clear that this letter first arrived at the school director’s office, and he asked the teacher to gather all the students in the hallway to read the letter that our comrade Jovanka Broz had sent to me. So, I undeservedly became a hero that day. I received congratulations for no reason. During school events, when I recited or played the violin, that was an additional factor of ‘fame’.”

He completed the 12th Belgrade Gymnasium high school in Voždovac, and everyone knew that he was a talented painter. Half of the school was adorned with his paintings, and it was expected that he would enrol in the Academy of Fine Arts. Apart from playing the violin, he also played the bassoon, making it clear that he had an artistically inclined soul.

Over these thirty years, we have been publishing the kind of literature that is motivating in formal and informal learning conditions

“I was also an extra in the theatre, jumped into the choir, always wanted to do more because being ‘just’ a high school pupil didn’t fulfil me. The art teacher praised my work and instilled in me the feeling that I was meant to be a painter. That boosted my pride, not my work and talent, for which she wasn’t responsible! I never even considered enrolling in art studies.” The fact that he was born in Filmski Grad still seemed to define him. He applied to the Faculty of Dramatic Arts, majoring in acting. He didn’t pass the second round of the entrance exam because he hadn’t properly memorised something that was mandatory. Many years later, Professor Ognjenka Milićević told him, “I liked you, but you didn’t complete the tasks”.

“I had the idea to simultaneously study acting and literature! I enrolled in Yugoslav literature and spent four dynamic and creative years at the Faculty of Philology. I directed my attention towards writing for ‘Student’, which was my first significant creative challenge. We revived the literary magazine ‘Znak’ [Sign] at the college and its main editor later became Vesna Bjelogrlić, now known as Goldsworthy. During my postgraduate studies, I started collaborating with the magazine ‘Književna kritika’ [Literary Critiques], where I became a member of the editorial board and learned what it was like to work at a publishing house.”

Prior to devoting himself entirely to publishing, Hamović spent four years as a professor at the Institute for Foreign Languages. He taught Serbian to foreigners, an experience that meant a lot to him. Through ‘Književna kritika,’ he then ventured into publishing house Rad, which was then becoming attractive to young people. Its ‘Reč i misao’ [Word and Meaning] series was popular throughout Yugoslavia, because the then country had a large book market. In his four years at Rad, Hamović managed to master all the publishing processes. And so it was that in his 20s he introduced the concept of marketing to Rad. Of course, back then marketing was a newly discovered and foreign word that was often used inappropriately. The formal job title was ‘Head of Propaganda Department’ and something else, which he can’t remember today.

I am interested in the improvement and modernisation of the Book Fair, and its return to the global map of festivals and book fairs

“We wanted to create a modern-conceived publishing house; we had great ambitions and created several fantastic series – ‘Svedočanstva,’ ‘Dijalog,’ ‘Pečat,’ ‘Zmaj’… We also launched a series for young writers called ‘Znakovi pored puta’ [a reference to Ivo Andrić’s famous book Signs by the Roadside], and at the beginning of their careers, authors like Dragan Velikić, Radoslav Vava Petković, David Albahari, Novica Tadić and others were published there. In the end, we modernised Rad, strengthened its identity, changed its image and improved communication throughout Yugoslavia. But the social crisis was getting stronger, the country was approaching the year 1991, when the war essentially began, and the communication systems with Slovenia and Croatia were breaking down. Rad had branches and bookshops throughout Yugoslavia. We had branches in Zagreb and Sarajevo, bookshops in Slavonski Brod, Pula and other cities, not to mention other republics and provinces.

We realised that the time had come to sell all the bookshops located outside of Serbia and Montenegro, to salvage what we could. The editorial board and management consisted of fewer than twenty people, but there were over three hundred employees. At some point, I had to become the commercial director! Almost overnight, Rad, which had been a very successful company until then, sank into confusion. Disagreements, strikes, resignations… It was a time of general upheaval, a period in which shrewd people launched and successfully implemented the transformation of state capital into private capital. Rad was attractive because of its real estate ownership. It rented most of its space, but also owned a significant part of it. The looting of state institutions began and people were displaying their worst side.”

One fateful day, he abandoned Rad to venture into a risky and uncertain entrepreneurial future. He registered his company in December 1990 under the name CLIO, named after the muse who is the patroness of history and writing. That was his idea, a guiding light for what he wanted to do. The journey to official recognition was neither fast nor easy. The first boost came from Intel, a company for which he did some promotional work. In return, he received his first computer, a 386, as the first asset of his future company. CLIO is today probably the oldest private publishing house that continuously publishes books and actively operates on the Serbian publishing scene. With a great reputation and respectable publications, it guarantees quality.

“The first book I published was called ‘Yutlantida,’ a collection of texts by Dragan Velikić published in weekly news magazine Vreme. It was sort of my ID card at the time. Another thing I started and that proved valuable to me as an experience was cooperation with the University of Arts. We needed to reprint Odelo i oružje by Pavle Vasić (1907-1993), a renowned painter, art historian and art critic. And there CLIO was co-signed with the University of Arts. My first dream – to work on books that attracted me and from which I wanted to learn – thus came true.”

The most terrible and enduring consequences for our society are the collapse of the education system and the disdain for education

The CLIO Publishing House, which occupies a beautiful location at the corner of Gospodar Jovanova and Kneginje Ljubice streets, has eight employees and around a hundred regular collaborators. All of this is in the service of hundreds of published books, which mostly reflect Hamović’s refined taste and good knowledge of the market. “For me, the most important question over these thirty-plus years has been: what is the purpose of all this work and all these books? Precisely to gain power, but over knowledge! What are books for if they don’t make us better? I set and, together with my colleagues, fulfilled that task before us, and did so ahead of others. Over these thirty years, we have been publishing the kind of literature that is motivating in formal and informal learning conditions.

From world literature, via history, psychology, sociology, media and culture studies, to art history and theory, marketing and management… Our task was to address – as our motto goes – those who think for themselves and move forward, and we have never stopped thinking and working in this way. CLIO also created a non-governmental organisation called ‘Biblioteka Plus’, which dealt with transfers of knowledge through seminars, conferences and lectures, activities that encouraged informal learning. ‘Biblioteka Plus’ fostered communication not only with the public, but primarily with school libraries, enhancing media literacy among pupils and teachers through a project called ‘Internest’. I would say that the most important task of our house is not just publishing books, but also exchanging ideas. And if we’ve put something on the market, we’ve tried to make it new ideas.”

Through its translations, CLIO Publishing has also contributed to expanding the list of required reading literature and refreshing the curricula in academic communities and universities, including the Faculty of Political Sciences, the Faculty of Philosophy, partly the Faculty of Philology, the University of Arts and many other higher education institutions.

Hamović didn’t shy away from his responsibilities or professional challenges that extended beyond the tasks and duties of CLIO Publishing. He served as the Artistic Director of the Belgrade Book Fair for four years and advised two ministers of culture, Branislav Lečić and Nebojša Bradić. He was well aware of the implications of such an engagement.

“I knew all the consequences of such an engagement, even more, I anticipated them, but I was determined to make the greatest possible contribution to our profession. One achievement that was undoubtedly significant was Serbia’s participation as a guest of honour at the Leipzig Book Fair in 2011, as well as numerous other fairs from Frankfurt, Paris and Vienna, where we didn’t only present Serbian authors, culture and literature, but also established important individual and institutional connections. Books are important when they bring people together, provide them with creative impetus and a more inspiring life, make them free. If they only serve cheap entertainment, then they are not books, but tabloids in hardcovers…”

He is President of the Association of Professional Publishers of Serbia and has been unwavering in his opposition to the planned relocation of the Book Fair from its current location. “I will never agree to the Book Fair being moved. I am interested in its improvement and modernisation, its return to the world map of festivals and book fairs, and in that sense relieving it of content that does not contribute to that. I have nothing against various exhibitors participating in the planned EXPO 2027 exhibition in Surčin, but the publishers I know and respect will not go there. We will advocate for the tradition not to be interrupted and for professional publishers to gather in the place where they belong.”

He is also Chairman of the Political Council of the Movement of Free Citizens of Serbia and briefly summarises the current positions of the government and the opposition.

“We have learned from history that there is a ‘civilisational manuscript,’ and there is someone who is politically stronger, socially more active and materially superior at any given moment. The opposition is mostly made up of experts, educated people who are trying to prevent the damage caused by irresponsible moves and the abuse of people in power; people who have found themselves in responsible positions without the required knowledge and experience. Therefore, let’s conclude with something related to books and education. The most terrible and enduring consequences for our society are the collapse of the education system and the disdain for education, nurturing the impression among younger generations that diplomas and people can be bought, and books are thrown away; that corruption and prostitution are the only ways to ‘progress’.

The post The Power of the Book is in Advancing Mind! appeared first on CorD Magazine.

Danica Grujičić (64) owes her greatest debt of gratitude for having made the right life choices to her parents: her father Milo, an economist, and mother Cveta, a teacher of literature, who gave her unlimited support. She says that she’s grateful to her father for her self-confidence, which is one of her core qualities. Her parents gave her a basic upbringing in the home, which implied:

“You must work hard; you must achieve everything through your own efforts and not count on anyone else. You must respect the family, immediate and extended; you must respect your elders and help those who are younger. I was an only child, but my first cousin was born seven days before me, so I was lucky that we grew up together like twins.”

What remains today of that value system in which CorD’s amiable interlocutor was raised and grew up?

“My natural surroundings are such that I stick to the principles on which I was raised. Here I’m referring to the environment of my family and friends, and the older professors who taught me. When I was in the infirmary, I would stand up when an elderly person entered for me to examine. That’s remained from the way I was raised and is normal for me. And when I happen to enter a room and a younger colleague remains sitting with their feet on the desk, they receive a lecture on good manners from me.”

Born in Užice, she lived in that city on the river Đetinja for 11 years and today recalls her teacher Nadežda Petronijević and her schoolfriends. She remained in the same department for the first four years of school, only for her mother to later transfer her to one in which English was taught. She enjoyed excursions in the area around Užice, trips to the Old Town, to Zlatibor mountain.

“That was a carefree childhood without any kind of turmoil, alongside a strict mother who ran a tight ship and knew how to administer punishment, but also how to reward. Dad was often away. I was his sweetie and he was more of a pal and friend to me. Mum was the one who had to be respected, who was always slightly stricter, but always fair. She was much gentler to me once I grew up, and explained that she’d had to be strict to keep me under control because I’d been a very over-exuberant child. And I thank her for making me, primarily, a good person.”

Danica started playing the accordion as a child. She had a wonderful teacher, Dragan Vasiljević, who developed within her a desire to constantly improve, to be increasingly better. She practiced for three or four hours daily, playing Bach concertos. Later, while at university, her accordion proved indispensable at social gatherings. Wherever they went, her colleagues would carry an accordion to be able to sing along with Dana.

I was raised to work hard, to achieve everything through my own efforts, to respect the family, respect my elders and help those who are younger

Danica’s father worked in Russia when she was 15 years old. She was then in the first year of the 5th Belgrade Gymnasium High School, and it was her that proved decisive in them all moving to Moscow.

“In those years, I didn’t have idols among singers, actors or artists, which perhaps wasn’t a good thing, but rather my idol was my dad, who was always right. Dad proposed that we move, mum was hesitant, while I was clever enough to realise that it was a chance to get acquainted with another culture, that I would learn to speak a new language, as I already spoke English. All that could be a genuine wealth of experience and tipped the scales in favour of us going.”

And so it was that Danica went from the 5th Belgrade Gymnasium High School to the 28th Secondary School of the October Okrug of the City of Moscow. Her mother once stated during a television show that she’d completed the tenth grade of that school as valedictorian. Danica herself didn’t like to boast about that, because she’d considered it would have been shameful to brag in front of the other kids.

“We spent two and a half years in Moscow. I graduated from high school at the age of 17 and enrolled in university. The Russians accepted me really wonderfully, and apart for my first and last names, I didn’t differ from them at all. I sat my high school diploma in both a Russian and a Yugoslav school, got up at three in the morning to study, played the accordion. I was especially delighted that there were primary schools teaching in 198 languages in the then USSR. That was a powerful show of respect for minorities.”

When asked why she opted for medicine, which she enrolled in while in Moscow and continued and completed in Belgrade, Danica provides an interesting answer.

“I had always been fascinated by that which is infinite. I’d wanted to be a designer of rockets and aircraft, but I wasn’t able to enrol to do so because back then only Soviet citizens could study at that particular university. My next choice was medicine, in the knowledge that I would deal with neurosurgery, because your human brain is actually like a miniature universe. The brain remains unfathomable to this day, and the possibilities of the human brain are probably infinite. The fact that we don’t know how to exploit all these possibilities in the best way is another problem. I became fully self-realised in my work.”

The brain remains unfathomable to this day, and the possibilities of the human brain are probably infinite. We just don’t know how to exploit all those possibilities in the best way

The continuation of her medical studies in Belgrade showed how eager for knowledge she really was. She began volunteering in the Neurosurgery department during her final year studies. She was employed a year and a half after passing the professional examination, and doing so with a GPA of 9.6. One has to believe her when she says today that she would have gone a very different way if she hadn’t ended up on the path she took.

“It seems to me that, if I hadn’t completed neurosurgery studies, I would have enrolled to study history or something else, completed that, and dealt with that professionally. And I feel sorry for the children who have an idea about where they could give the most, but don’t get the opportunity to do so. Not everyone can get what they want. I think that non-medical courses at the Faculty of Medicine need to address ethics much more. Perhaps a psychological test for medical school should be introduced. You must meet certain ethical standards and possess a certain level of empathy to be a good doctor. It’s worthless being a top surgeon if the patient can’t place their trust in you.”

When someone so loves her job as a neurosurgeon and is so into the brain, it’s interesting to hear about her first ever encounter with a brain.

“When I first saw that it pulsates with life, I was of course delighted. I observed several surgeries that weren’t technically complicated. And then I observed a very ugly operation. And that’s when you have to remove part of a brain that’s in trauma in order to save someone. This was done by my senior colleague, profeswho performed it with perfect technique. His every move made sense. I watched and complained about how I’d never learn to work like that. But I learned that, regardless of the urgency of an operation, order must always exist. Because if you lose that order, you lose the patient. That was a great school for me. By the way, I used to say to my general surgeon colleagues who are convinced that only their surgery is proper surgery: When I open the skull and see the brain, I say ‘good day, your majesty’.

“You’d be surprised what the brain can take, what size of tumour it can contain while you think that the person is completely normal. It all depends on whether the process develops very rapidly, in which case the patient quickly falls into a coma, or very slowly. Some benign tumours can grow for 25 years. The brain slowly adapts, and it’s usually at that moment when all possibilities for adaptation have been exhausted that the patient contacts us.”

She recognised early on that, as a woman, she would have to work harder than her male colleagues, and to know more than them, in order for patients to want her to perform surgery on them. That huge work and effort, but also her exceptional talent in the vocation that she devoted herself to, led to her becoming renowned as an excellent surgeon by the age of 35, and by 40 she was a big name in the world of neurosurgery. She doesn’t forget to express personal gratitude to all the professors and colleagues with whom she’s worked and from whom she learned. And she never accepts that she deserves the credit for the procurement of the gamma knife, but rather insists that it was procured by the state.

Dana was 25 when she gained employment at the Institute of Neurosurgery of the Clinical Centre of Serbia. She later became head of the Neuro-oncology Department of the CCS Neurosurgery Clinic, then director of the Institute of Oncology and Radiology of Serbia, while she has been serving as the Minister of Health of Serbia for the last year. And we should also add to this impressive list her work as a professor at the Faculty of Medicine and the other responsibilities that she hasn’t shied away from. Her motto is that she must be available to her patients at every moment, and that this is the duty of every top doctor. She considers the establishing of the daily hospital of the Neurosurgery Clinic as being her great success.

It seems to me that, if I hadn’t completed neurosurgery studies, I would have enrolled to study history or something else, completed that, and dealt with that professionally

Wherever she has worked, her working days have always begun with her rising at six in the morning. She would already start with an operation by half past seven, and if she had two surgeries to do that day, and if they were harder and longer, she would only finish at seven in the evening. In the case that they were simpler procedures, she would do three operations per day, but if there were any complications, she would remain at the Clinic until ten o’clock at night. She always succeeded in forming a good team to work with.

“It’s very important that you also have good associates for an area that you don’t understand. I learned to ask those who know what I don’t. When you administer an institution, the most important thing is to consult good scholars.”

With her proposals, and their implementation with the help of the team with which she worked, she managed to improve the work of the Institute significantly in an organisational sense. And all those who’ve continued to work for the welfare of patients are aware of this.

“The older generations inherited from their elder teachers this cold attitude towards patients, and a desire to avoid a dying patient. That’s unacceptable.”

Since being appointed Serbian health minister a year ago, she has found all the meetings the toughest aspect, given that she sometimes has six or seven per day. Although she attempts to complete everything by six or half past six, and then devote herself to her father, her meetings often go on until late into the evenings. Her main objective is to work in cooperation with the Ministry of Finance to provide as much money as possible for healthcare, to launch initiatives for changes to working practises and conduct that should improve the functioning of the Serbian healthcare system. And all her reasoning has demonstrated that she cares greatly for patients, but also for medical workers preserving their dignity in their work. Given that not everything is progressing easily, we asked her what she is finding the toughest.

“As someone who comes from the operating theatre and the most demanding area of healthcare, I need time to grow accustomed to “non-surgical procedures” in the functioning of state bodies. We surgeons are used to making split second decisions and “cutting”. This often isn’t possible in the functioning of the state, which in certain cases isn’t actually a bad thing, because it gives you time to overview all aspects of a problem and make the right decisions. Frankly, the slowness of the system sometimes irritates me, but that’s also a problem in many other countries. We are getting used to one another – the system to me and I to the system.

“On the other hand, we have to work to improve and amend the Law on Healthcare. I tour the whole of Serbia, conversing with my colleagues and with patient associations, and I try to look over all the proposals in order for us to pass the best possible law. For me, Serbia extends from Subotica to Prizren, and as the country’s health minister I will strive, together with my colleagues, to secure equally good healthcare for all citizens of Serbia. In this area there must be no differences regardless of where our citizens live: in Vojvodina, Kosovo or Belgrade.”

You must meet certain ethical standards and possess a certain level of empathy to be a good doctor. It’s worthless being a top surgeon if the patient has no trust in you

She considers the fact that the Clinical Centre of Serbia is slowly entering the Second A phase as being her greatest success in this position, with works advancing quickly on the capital and perhaps biggest project that is the new building of the Institute of Oncology and Radiology of Serbia, and she hopes that part of the new Clinical Centre of Vojvodina will be opened by this time next year.

“We succeeded in resolving the years-long, not to say multidecade, problems over the issues of the identity of the investor and that of the founder. After several years of stagnation, design work is underway for the Clinical Centre in Kragujevac, while the reconstruction of hospitals needs to be completed in Smederevska Palanka, Valjevo and other cities… However, wherever I go, I’m impressed first and foremost by the self-sacrifice of my colleagues.

“I’m satisfied that, after 30 years, we’ve adopted the Rulebook on increasing the availability of medicines (so-called off-label). This is a major step for Serbian healthcare that will provide a significant relief for our patients. Until now, a medicine that was registered for one purpose couldn’t be used for another even if it was effective, just because it wasn’t on the list. I expect great assistance from the RFZO [National Health Insurance Fund] on the practical implementation of this rulebook.”

The minister is also satisfied by the fact that the Rulebook on unregistered medicines has been adopted, because it means that, in the case that shortages emerge, medicines can be imported from Russia, China, India or South Korea. She says that announcements are coming from Western Europe on possible restrictions on the delivery of medicines, so she doesn’t want to wait until the moment when we won’t have anywhere to import medicines from. “This is a great shift that we have taken together with the Government of the Republic of Serbia and I’m convinced that it will ensure the safety of all our citizens.” She is equally satisfied that the Torlak Institute of Virology, Vaccines and Sera is being renovated and believes that we will produce all our own vaccines in five to six years, and that the Health Insurance Act has been amended in the area of sick leave.

“We were the only country of the region in which a general practitioner could prescribe 60 days of sick leave. That has now been reduced to 30 days, as is the case everywhere else in the region. We are working to remedy a great injustice towards our war veterans, towards people who defended this country and could have died for it, many of whom suffer from post-traumatic stress disorder and lacked health insurance. I was very pleased to be able to propose an amendment to the part of the law that allows them to now use their veteran’s ID card to receive complete health insurance, but also for their family members if they have no other basis.”

Extremely important work has also been carried out and agreed thanks to negotiations with the World Bank on the approving of a 75-million-dollar loan for the project ‘100 clinics around the villages’.

“We will procure all the necessary equipment, while we will also have mobile clinics that will tour villages where it isn’t viable umestu doesn’t pay off off to have a permanent clinic, with a doctor from the nearest health centre visiting regularly.”

An agile doctor whose empathy is the stuff of patients’ fairy tales, it is also tough for Minister Grujičić to see young doctors leaving the country to work abroad. And she is doing everything she can to ensure that as many of them as possible remain in Serbia, considering everyone that she retains as her greatest success.

Danica isn’t a member of any political party, but she has given her support to SNS because of all the good that the party in power has done in the field of healthcare.

The post Dedicated to the Majesty of the Brain appeared first on CorD Magazine.

Undoubtedly the greatest living screenwriter of television shows that have occupied our small screens for decades – Better Life, Hot Wind, Happy People etc. – is Siniša Pavić, who is today still with us at the age of 90. He remains sharp witted and is an interesting interlocutor. He recently told the author of this article that he no longer really watches television because there’s nothing to watch, but he never misses the shows of Jovan Memedović, because they present the only ’normal life’ that can be found on the box today.

I’ve chosen this Sinisa Pavić statement to introduce this interview with Jovan Memedović (63), the only television journalist in the country to have long since outgrown that role and become a kind of national treasure, because he’s placed his knowledge, work and efforts in the service of preserving nature and healthy living in Serbia. He has been explaining and demonstrating for years, or more precisely decades, that there can be no strong Serbia without strong rural communities, because Serbia dies when its villages die. His most beloved comments are those that come from viewers, because he is equally good at conversing with everyone.

“I’m only incapable of conversing with politicians. I encounter them, they want to tell me something, they sometimes insist that we meet up for a chat. However, I realised long ago that they come from a completely different world and that I don’t even know how to talk with them. It is similar with civic structures in smaller towns. Fortunately, I collaborate very well with everyone else. With the villagers I’m instantly a brother, a first cousin. And I try to help them in every way I can. The common man has been sadly neglected.”

Our eye no longer recognises the wilderness as an environment, but rather sees it as a danger. For city folk, the wilderness is already a potential danger

When he cruises around the country, he notices the negative consequences of our poor conduct in the natural world. And he loudly tries to draw attention to that, often going far beyond the producing of a TV natestimonial. Around a year ago, for example, he brought together volunteers to clean Lake Perućac. They packed bags with tons of rubbish and leftovers that had been dumped in and around this gem of the Drina river canyon.

He recently quit his job after a 30- year career at national public broadcaster Radio-Television of Serbia, but RTS continues to air his shows – the top-rated Sasvim Prirodno [Completely Natural] and the franchised game show The Chase. Apart from being widely renowned for his work, Memedović is also a favourite among the country’s ladies, just like the former most famous presenter of TV Belgrade, Miloje Mića Orlović (1934-2013). He is also loved by animals, which I witnessed myself when watching him pet his white husky in the garden of Vračar’s Monks Bar, where we sat and talked. Of everyone sitting in the garden, the dog only approached his master.

Jovan’s early career interests were largely determined by his Montenegrin origins, with his father hailing from the Drobnjak area of mount Durmitor and his mother originally from Cetinje. They both died relatively young, but they first prepared him well enough to handle life. He says that he first fell in love with nature as a child.

“As my parents are both from Montenegrin regions, I spent my summer holidays mostly by the sea, with my mother’s relatives in the Bay of Kotor, or on Durmitor. At the seaside I fished, while on the mountain I helped my relatives with all the household chores and their livestock. Those two interests later followed me throughout my entire life.”

He completed the 4th Belgrade Gymnasium grammar school and lower music school, competed in judo for many years, and graduated from the University of Belgrade Faculty of Sport and Physical Education. During his studies, he had a mandatory course that included spending ten days camping in nature, and it was then that he experienced his self-discovery. He discovered the life that he belongs to.

Television isn’t used in the function of serving an ordinary person who needs to find out something… it is overburdened by politics that literally pulverises everything in front of it

He classifies the upbringing he received at home as being in the ‘Montenegrin paternal style’, which means that his father was a natural man who was inclined to view life in a simplistic way. His father an economist and his mother was a psychologist, and together they attempted to ensure that he and his sister acquired and developed what would be referred to as ‘good taste for life’. His sister, Olga, spent more than 20 years working as head of the UN’s developing countries department in Vienna. A top expert, she earned her doctorate in economics in the Netherlands.

His father relocated from Montenegro to Belgrade in 1957 and bought a piece of land in the Dedinje neighbourhood that was being used to cultivate corn. There he built his house, and despite spending the next 30+ years living there, his strong accent didn’t change until his dying day.

“He didn’t devote much time to me; he wasn’t overly interested in my desires and didn’t respect them much. I got used to listening to him and not arguing with him much. We didn’t socialise. My father was much closer to my sister, and I was closer to my mother. I guess that’s how it goes. They were both quite conservative and led a patriarchal lifestyle. My mother insisted that I attend music school, that I learn English, but I wasn’t a particularly good pupil because I couldn’t calm myself in class; I could hardly wait for the class to end so I could run outside. In a practical sense, my childhood was very closely connected to nature, but under the great and strong influence of my mother – for which I’m very grateful to her.”

There isn’t a single job at TV Belgrade, or RTS, that he hasn’t done.

“For the first six years, I was a freelance journalist and even worked without being paid a dinar. As I began transferring from one job to another, my love for the work also grew. I initially wrote news, then presented shows of various profiles – informative, entertaining, sports – and was constantly considering ways to do things even better and with more quality. The only thing that I ignored was the fact that it was very difficult to live on a television salary. Television is an underutilised medium in our country. It is mainly used in the function of something that serves the government – regardless of whether it’s this or that government. Ordinary folk are completely neglected in terms of what they can hear and get from watching television. Television isn’t used in the function of serving an ordinary person who needs to find out something, to be useful to them in their life. Television isn’t capable of doing that. And I’m not referring only to the television programming of today, but rather going back 20-odd years, because it is overburdened by politics that literally pulverises everything in front of it. Unfortunately, television is most often in the hands of people who don’t know the work they need to do; they usually don’t even know what television is capable of, and then the programming largely boils down to banality and cheering something on. In our country we have cheerleader television.”

His dedication and addiction to creating something good on television has not abated for three full decades. He has received invitations from numerous individual political figures to join this or that party, which he has always declined.

We aren’t much of a quiz nation; we don’t make good quizzes and all our game shows are made by someone else and we then transpose and adapt them

“I nevertheless persevered because I dedicated myself to life issues, to human issues, because I gave my word to some other people, and not just politicians. My life and professional motto is to present people who deserve to be heard and seen by as many people as possible because of what they do and what they’ve dedicated themselves to doing; to work together with them to demonstrate concern for preserving the natural wealth and beauty of Serbia, but also to show how much we’re incapable of preserving and how ready we are to destroy what we’ve been gifted.”

He has had to expose himself to numerous hardships in order to present profound events and landscapes. For instance, in order to shoot a chamois goat in the Tara River Canyon, he spent five days freezing, hiking and climbing like a goat before managing to film it from a distance of 50 metres. Elsewhere in the world, these kinds of reports are created with an incomparably larger team and over incomparably longer periods. And only willing enthusiasts like Jovan are able to work ‘tooth and nail’ and create something with four days of shooting that requires a month’s worth of footage elsewhere in the world. And when events haven’t allowed him to hesitate, he has always been the first to react.

“While the floods of 2014 were happening, I spent more time on the ground than the rescue services. Not to anger them, they were obviously there too, but here’s an illustration. It was a forbidden zone; you couldn’t get through because everything was inundated. I was considering how to get to a village that had been submerged. We took a canoe and headed around the Sava to get to the other side, only to return to the Sava and head downstream to enter the village. And we saw what it looked like. We returned to the riverbank, where my fellow journalists were standing in colourful ankle boots with microphones in hand, announcing that the floodwaters were high and returning to their newsrooms. And we went by canoe, saw how it looked, filmed the situation and brought information back directly from the scene.”

The places where he’s been for his shows sometimes seem dangerous to the viewer, but he doesn’t see it that way.

“Our eye no longer recognises the wilderness as an environment, but rather sees it as a danger. For city folk, the wilderness is already a potential danger. Going somewhere where people still live like they did a hundred years ago isn’t dangerous – it’s just far away. There were some risky situations, but I always thought of that as being part of my duties. If I hadn’t considered that a given, would I have done this job for so many years?”

This interview revealed to me that TV shows about hunting and fishing are slowly losing their appeal, because hunters and trappers are being stamped out by environmentalists. When he did a show about hunting and fishing, he became synonymous with fishermen for millions of viewers, and he was the first to make a show about fishing in the half-century history of Television Belgrade, then RTS. It was also watched by those who don’t distinguish a rod and a hook from a bow and arrow.

“While working on the show The World of Hunting and Fishing, I realised that it is a very narrow topic and that, while I was catching fish, I was missing out on life stories that are much more useful to a wider audience. That’s why I decided on a new concept that enabled me to address different topics and provided an opportunity to travel through nature and peer into the very soul of places and the people who live there. That’s how the documentary-travel series Completely Natural emerged, which is still running today. While working on this project, I once again visited Siberia, the Far East, the Kola Peninsula, Norway, Tajikistan, Kyrgyzstan, Svalbard, and most European countries. Of course, most of the documentary stories I shot were in Serbia.”

Unfortunately, television is most often in the hands of people who don’t know the work they need to do and the programming largely boils down to banality and cheering something on. In our country we have cheerleader television

Jovan rides around on a bicycle or a motorcycle, spent a long time driving a pickup truck that was a gift from a sponsor, while a sponsor has now given his team a comfortable Subaru. However, in the show we often see him with a wooden staff, conquering areas that ‘even God forgot’, making it unavoidable to ask how many pairs of boots this travel writer has. What followed was a detailed description of various ‘exotic’ footwear without which he wouldn’t be able to hit the road.

“I have around a dozen, maybe more, with different ones for different occasions. Rubber boots are a must. I have waders up to the knee, two that reach the hip, and two that actually extend into waterproof overalls in which you can enter the water. I could open a shop not only because of the number of boots I have, but also because of their purpose. I’m great friends with people who sell equipment for the kind of exploring and travel that I do. And they call me whenever new items appear. If you’re not suitably dressed, if you don’t have appropriate footwear, the journey turns into a nightmare. The most important thing is what I wear as a first layer in contact with the body. It is obligatory for that to be wool – the most compact, finest, thinnest. Because it is thin, it naturally wears out quickly. The jackets I wear on my travels represent a special story. If they are too thick, you can’t get into the car with them on, you can’t walk in them because they soon become a heavy weight on your back and you start to sweat. There are now various heating aids – put a special insole in a shoe and it retains heat for ten hours.”

Prior to receiving an offer to host the popular game show The Chase, which is broadcast on RTS, this journalist already believed that he could do the job. He knew that a large part of the success of any quiz show depends on everyone who appears being true to themselves.

“I love The Chase, because in that game show I don’t pretend for a moment, I don’t play, but rather I’m just myself. And the most important thing for me is to relax the competitor, to approach them in the best possible way, to relieve them of any stage fright. We aren’t much of a quiz nation; we don’t make good quizzes and all our game shows are made by someone else and we then transpose and adapt them. Our people aren’t as fun in front of the camera as some other nations. Our people are careful not to do anything embarrassing and think only about what others will say. A knowledgeable interlocutor once explained to me that this is because we are mostly a depressed people. I didn’t verify that.”

When we were making arrangements for this interview, Jovan told me that he would be on holiday until 5th September. It is interesting to know what he means by a holiday.

“I even took a computer on my holiday and wrote. I realised after three days that I wouldn’t be able to rest. I closed the laptop and forgot about it. And I have a lot of work waiting for me.”

There is a funny story about a person who was under hypnosis as part of an experimental project to determine how much hypnosis can help people overcome addiction. The project was led by Dr Tihomir Kojić, while Jovan’s mother also participated in it as a psychologist. The project ran for several years, and at one point Dr Kojić permitted each member of the team to ask the patient under hypnosis whatever interested them. Jovan’s mother asked what would happen to her children, who were then still in school, and the hypnotised girl answered: ‘Your daughter will be a scientist, and your son will be very famous and popular’.

Everyone laughed at the time, and Jovan still smiles today as he recounts what was foretold by the hypnotised girl.

And he concludes this interview, with a great dose of satisfaction, by stating the following:

“The essence of the work I’ve done to date, and that I believe I’ll continue to do, is that it only differs slightly, or almost not at all, from how I live. Fate brought me to this job and I realised that I can always do it, because I would live like this even without a camera. I love this job and everything I do is a great pleasure for me. Who would go to Vienna to film garbage collectors otherwise? I’ve shot three shows at rubbish dumps this year alone, and I’ve never seen any other journalist doing that.”

Unlike all other previous My Life articles for CorD Magazine, this one was – at the request of Jovan Memedović himself – dedicated exclusively to the work of this television personality, without any mention of his private life.

The post Television Mainly Serves the Authorities appeared first on CorD Magazine.

Nikita Milivojević (62) was born in Vojvodina, in Inđija, which he describes as his own Ithaca, his personal Yasnaya Polyana, or Bergman’s Island of Fårö. His ancestors hailed originally from Montenegro, which they departed bound for Dalmatia. Nikita believes that he has forever imprinted within him, like two strongly contrasting elements, the wintry scenes of the Srem plain and the baking stone of Dalmatia. As Andrić stated: ‘every man is indebted to his homeland’.

“In my case, ‘homeland’ refers to two locations: Inđija, where I was born; and Dalmatia, or more precisely the village of Polača near Knin, form where my parents hailed and where I spent most of my summer and winter school holidays. When I recently found myself back in those parts of Dalmatia after many years, I was surprised by how many of the different sights, smells and sounds have lived on in my memory. To me, my parents’ village was something like Macondo for Márquez: a place filled with mythical, unbelievable stories, events, characters… The story of my roots has always been important to me. The first documentary film that I made was inspired by an event linked to life in those lands.”

A happy childhood in a small town implies, first and foremost, unbridled freedom. As a child, Nikita would spend all day on the street, playing, only heading home when he felt hungry.

“Spreading in front of my house, like some sort of huge carpet, were gardens (they are still there today) that were always full of people, who were planting something, digging, watering plants etc. Through the middle of those gardens ran a stream, and everything was somewhat reminiscent of an idyllic landscape created by a painter. As I’m a ‘winter child’, winter and snow hold a special place in my memory. That’s probably why snow often falls in my plays.” Fleeing from the Turks who’d invaded Montenegro, Nikita’s ancestors settled in Dalmatia, in the lea of Dinara mountain.

“That’s why my mother’s maiden name was Crnogorac [Montenegrin]. When listening to countless stories about life in those lands, I always wondered how people could live in that rocky, harsh environment. Due to their life being a struggle in the true sense of the word, many of them naturally departed in search of better living conditions, and that’s how my father ended up in Vojvodina. The Dalmatian folk were known as good builders, who were particularly renowned for their ability to work with stone. And with lots of construction going on in Belgrade and the surrounding area at the time, they very quickly managed to cope. My mother went to Pula to attend school very early on, with her oldest brother having lived there, and to this day she still remembers how to speak a little Italian. It was from her that I inherited my kind of ‘artistic streak’, curiosity, energy, tenacity… and particularly the passion for reading. I find it amazing that she’s still constantly reading something, has an interest in various things, is constantly planning something…”

When the son of a friend of mine, who was then 12 years old, told me that he’d never been to a cinema, I decided to reopen the cinema in Inđija… I consider that one of the best things I’ve done in my life

His father was often away from home due to his work. Nikita was 11 when his brother was born, and he spent most of his time with his mother. As a very hardworking and curious woman, she determined some of the most important life principles that formed his character. He summarises the essence of his upbringing with the phrase ‘less is more’. Cinema left an indelible mark on Nikita’s childhood.

“My friend received a small children’s film projector as a New Year’s present, and that’s how, at his place, I first discovered film. That’s among the strongest and most important experiences of my childhood. A white sheet was spread out in a darkened room and, when the projector was turned on, a magical line of light appeared, which turned into moving images projected on the whiteness of the canvas… Miraculous! Returning from a trip later, my uncle brought me as a gift a small ‘optical box’ [slide viewer light box], in which I could place photo slides, which enlarged in the box thanks to the ‘lens’, which was actually a magnifying glass, creating a kind of ‘magic lantern’ illusion for me. That was one of those experiences that remains imprinted in the deepest part of our unconscious. 

Bergman devoted an autobiographical book to that and even made a film. I belong to the generation for which cinema represented one of the most important institutions in life. Later on, during the time of my studies, my ‘best man’ Živko Popović and I literally went to the cinema every night, which was a special experience for me. And then, in the 1990s, the cinema in Inđija closed down, like so many others across the country. During one of my ever-rarer visits home, the son of a friend of mine, who was then 12 years old, told me that he’d never been to a cinema!? That was totally unbelievable to me. That’s why I decided to reopen the cinema of my childhood in Inđija. I named it Stalker, after the film by Tarkovsky. I consider that one of the best things I’ve done in my life.”

He’d wanted to study literature, but it was more for the sake of socialising that he sat the entrance exam for directing, which he completed at the Academy of Arts in Novi Sad. Although he’d spent that summer preparing well, he thought it unlikely that he’d pass, and that he’d subsequently enrol in what he’d planned: literature.

What I remember in particular about that entrance exam was the smell of the stage. I could say that I actually fell in love with the theatre because of that smell! The stage has a special aroma: the curtains, costumes, lights… incredibly exciting

“What I remember in particular about that entrance exam was the smell of the stage. I could say that I actually fell in love with the theatre because of that smell! The stage has a special aroma: the curtains, costumes, lights… For someone who was feeling all that for the first time, it was something incredibly exciting. The only other things that had smelt like that to me were new books for obligatory reading when I received them at the start of the school year.”

A story exists about how Nikita prepared for his first directing exam at an army barracks with soldiers, and how his professor, Boro Drašković, had come to the barracks in Niš for that exam.

“It just so happened that I had to do my military service after the entrance exam at the Academy, and then a law was introduced that meant 18-year-olds had to go to the army immediately after finishing high school. In my case, this meant that, by the time I returned from the army, my peers with whom I’d been admitted to study directing would already be in the second year of their studies, while I would have to start with the first-year students and the professor who was taking the class that year. In order for me to remain in his class, Boro Drašković set an almost impossible precedent. He suggested that I take my first-year exam from the army. And so it was that I didn’t attend the first year of directing studies, but rather I ‘served’ it and entered the second year of directing studies directly. I carried out a dramatic adaptation of Chekhov’s short story The Chameleon, dividing the roles among my fellow soldiers. We snatched time for rehearsals during various breaks and somehow succeeded in creating a play that we performed in the empty auditorium of the military club in Niš, exclusively for professor Boro Drašković. That’s how I passed, and the stage of the Niš barracks’ military club was my first theatre.”

Nikita’s first direction job was on Eugène Ionesco’s play ‘Jack, or The Submission’, in the Salon of the Yugoslav Drama Theatre, and it became famous for the beans that were served to the audience. The audience had actually been invited to a wedding, which is how they were seated, at wedding tables that had been placed along the walls of the Salon. And then, at one point in the proceedings, real homemade beans were served, which arrived for each performance from a tavern located across the street from the theatre, together with live music. It appeared as though reality was entering the play, directly from the street.

“What I will certainly remember forever is the first criticism that I then received, in NIN. Vlada Stamenković praised the play exceptionally, under the headline ‘Victorious Imagination’.

During the 1990s, Nikita’s plays – In the Hold, Banović Strahinja, A Midsummer Night’s Dream etc. – found themselves at the centre of the attention of the domestic theatre scene. At that juncture, Yannis Houvardas, director and owner of Amore, the most prestigious off-Athens theatre, was on the hunt for a young director from Serbia and got in touch with Nikita. When he staged his first play, Chekhov’s Ivanov, which proved to be a huge success, Nikita was invited to direct the following season at Yannis’s theatre. That had been the play Crime and Punishment, and – together with an exhibition of Goya’s paintings – it was declared the cultural event of the year in Athens! From that moment, the doors of many theatres were opened to him.

There were more than 100 theatres in Athens when I arrived, while today there are nearly 200! At that time, for me, Greece meant, among other things, a new maturing. My horizons broadened and I discovered many new things

“I’d arrived in an environment that was much richer than ours in every sense. There were more than 100 theatres in Athens at that time, while today there are nearly 200! One of the first big surprises for me was the very well-developed and interesting alternative scene. The Amore Theatre, for example, was a famous summer cinema, with a wonderful open rooftop terrace. At that time for me, Greece meant, among other things, a new maturing. My horizons broadened, I discovered many new things, met numerous interesting people. Unfortunately, in our country so much has been changing for the worse for many years, and so it was that the theatre hasn’t been spared either. Time and concentration are required for serious work… It is impossible to create a serious play without discipline, dedication, research, normal time for rehearsals. Whenever I talk about this, I know that I prompt indignation among many of my colleagues, while I simultaneously know that many of them share my opinion. The essential problem is our theatre system. One director recently told me that he didn’t have all the actors together for a single rehearsal, not even for the pre-premiere rehearsal!?” Since 2014, when he established the Shakespeare Festival in Čortanovci, this summer theatre event has become an inextricable part of this director’s life.

“The notion that a Shakespeare festival would be born in Čortanovci, and that it would even be opened by Shakespeare’s own Globe Theatre from London (with nothing less than Hamlet itself!?) – I don’t believe anyone could have imagined that even in their wildest dreams. Over the course of ten years, Villa Stanković has become an incredibly positive and exciting place, a genuine world stage. Our guests have included theatres from Iran, the U.S., Finland, Georgia, the UK, Belarus, Turkey, Germany, Armenia, India, China, Greece, Slovenia, North Macedonia, Croatia… Approximately 25,000 people have attended the Shakespeare Festival throughout all these years. and have to date watched more than 60 plays.”

At this year’s edition of the festival, we watched the great play Twelfth Night, directed by Nikita’s student Ivan Vanja Alač. We asked Professor Milivojević if he finds it easy to recognise the talent of a future artist during their studies.

“There is that saying in Bosnia that coughing and poverty can’t be hidden. I also believe that talent can’t be hidden. Of course, talent is something that must be developed; if it doesn’t progress – it regresses. Vanja Alač is precisely one of those talented people whose talent is developing continuously. When I see that they are talented and diligent, I feel an obligation to support them. As a rule, my students always perform in my plays, and the directors are regularly my assistants on plays. If you are teaching them something, you should somehow also show that you believe in them, in what we’ve gone through together during the studies.”

Nikita was this year appointed artistic director of the Bitef festival. When asked how much that is a source of joy for him, but also a source of fear, he responses by noting that Bitef is one of our country’s most important cultural institutions, firmly entrenched in the identity of Belgrade and Serbia.

The essential problem is our theatre system. One director recently told me that he didn’t have all the actors together for a single rehearsal, not even for the pre-premiere rehearsal!?

“That is, of course, a source of serious motivation for any person of the theatre; to be part of such a great story. However, considering that this is a kind of ‘return’ to Bitef for me, a very special, personal reason also exists. Specifically, I consider the four years – between 2005 and 2009 – that I spent at Bitef as being a very important and creative period of my theatre life, so I now view my arrival in the position of artistic director of Bitef as a kind of return home. I once spoke about the fact that one of the most beautiful things that’s ever happened to me in all the years that I’ve been in the theatre is connected to that time specifically, or more precisely to the moment when I was leaving Bitef, in 2009, and the entire collective signed a petition for me to stay for another four years. Of course, that shouldn’t have any special meaning to anyone but me, but it’s still worth mentioning because it isn’t commonplace in our country. This invitation to return to Bitef, given that it came from Bitef itself, could represent a kind of continuation of that story. Regardless, it’s always nice to go where you know you’re welcome.”

When it comes to the history of Bitef, Nikita recalls in particular – apart from numerous plays – his meeting with Otomar Krejča (1921-2009) following the premiere performance of his play In The Hold. Krejča was a big name of European theatre and many still fondly remember his adaptation of the play Three Sisters, for which he also won the main prize at Bitef.

“That meeting and conversation with Otomar Krejča was something important for me. Then there was everything that he said the next day at the Roundtable; the way he spoke. That all left a powerful impression on me at the time. In his assessment of the Festival following the culmination of that edition of Bitef, the critic from Politika [newspaper] wrote that the greatest event for him was ‘what Krejča said about the play In The Holdʻ. Apart from commending the play, that was also an interesting consideration of the great director regarding contemporary theatre and how he saw it.”

In his capacity as artistic director, Nikita believes that this year’s Bitef will, first and foremost, be extremely diverse, with an abundance of varying forms.

Photos: Jelena Ivanović

The post The Stage Has a Special Aroma appeared first on CorD Magazine.

Dušan Otašević (83) explains simply and succinctly why he chose the motif of a grain of wheat and developed it in various techniques – from collage, via terracotta, to paintings in a combined technique of three-dimensional installations. “A grain of wheat carries within it both dying and the shifting of life cycles. A seed dies when it is sown, but from it emerges new life.”

The imagination and originality of this artist in his works is only equalled by his appeal as a precious interlocutor and reliable witness to events that have shaped the cultural map of Serbia. He was born in Belgrade just a few months prior to World War II reaching these lands, which condemned his parents to great struggles raising him. Fear of bombing compelled them to flee the city with the infant Dušan and find shelter in the surrounding villages, struggling to survive. Dušan’s mother was born, as Ana Krunoslava, in the Croatian city of Slavonski Brod.

“When she married my father, Milan, in 1938, the wedding took place in a church, as was the custom in the then Kingdom of Yugoslavia, and – as a Catholic – she’d had to convert. She also changed her first name and was married as Slavka. Never in my hood was a question posed as to who belonged to which religion or nationality. Right up until the 1990s, I didn’t know the national identities of some of my friends. And we all know what happened in the ‘90s and the results of all that counting of blood cells.”

Dušan was an only child for ten years, until the arrival of his brother. He had a harmonious, pleasant and happy childhood. His parents got on well until the end of their lives and the family functioned well. He remembers socialising meaningfully with his parents, playing a kind of game that brought them pleasure.

Never in my childhood was a question posed as to who belonged to which religion or nationality

“We liked to draw and we drew each other, drew animals… My mother drew beautifully, but father not so much. I remember the two of us laughing at his drawings. I saw the first reproductions in the magazine Graphic Review that my father used to bring home. For the possibilities of that time, they were extremely high-quality reproductions. Mother was a tailor for women’s lingerie  childwho had a great sense for art. She stopped working after I was born, but she continued using her skills throughout her life. I remember how, in the miserable years after the war, she would turn over the collars and cuffs of mine and my father’s shirts. That was a special ability to turn over the frayed edges of the collar and cuffs, place them on the inside and you end up with a shirt looking like new that you can continue to wear. She had a ‘singer’ sewing machine that she did that on, and I later used that same machine for one of my works. She also had tailoring patterns, and many years later I found on one of them one of the sketches I’d done as a child, which I exhibited at an exhibition as my first work.

My father was also a craftsman, a typographer, which today is also a forgotten profession. His job was oriented towards the printing of books and our house was full of books. There are valuable examples from the library of the Serbian Literary Association that I still have today, because he brought home every book he worked on. That was a time when books were read and I grew up on books. If there hadn’t been books, I don’t know what I would have done as a boy and a young man during the summer holidays. I still use literature in my work to this day.”

In order to develop an understanding for Otašević’s work, it is necessary to know that he ventured into the waters of painting while he was still a student of the Academy of Fine Arts, during the years when the world scene was dominated by a movement with a somewhat forgotten name: pop-art.

“It was a new outlook with new expressive possibilities and I leaned into it somehow naturally. It was dear to me as a liberated form of expression, in contrast to what museum exhibits then represented. Pop-art was similar to what I’d loved as a child. They were wonderful works by typographers in numerous shops, particularly in Balkanska Street, advertisements for craft workshops, barbershops, hairdressers, when these advertisements were painted by anonymous… let’s call them artists. There were scenes linked to the profession and I always found that interesting. Just like the ‘cookbooks’ hanging in kitchens. When I started to paint, I tried, as far as I could, to connect that naïve expression with the realisation of a top artist. My artistic preoccupation was represented by that combination of something that wasn’t even acknowledged as an art form, but that nonetheless existed, and the recognised art of those years.”

Dušan’s father was tolerant in his relations with people, tolerant in his relationship towards faith, nation, everything different, and this artist’s entire life and all his actions show that he inherited that tolerance to a great extent.

“The understanding that he had is clear to me in my memory, particularly today, when everything is moving more towards closing up, towards some narrowing, which is calamitous for an artist, but also for the life of man as a whole. I said long ago that it is very important for a person to open the windows and doors of their studio, because something must enter from the outside. If you just close yourself off in your own world, that’s not good. It’s useful up to a level, but it doesn’t have a great future. My father had another good quality – he wasn’t bitter over injustices or adversity that would befall him. Let’s just say that prior to the war, he’d had a house that served for renting out. When the new government confiscated that house after the war, he took it relatively calmly and that never caused him to instil either hatred or rage in me, as a child.”

That breadth of perspective and sense of freedom formed the basis of Dušan’s upbringing in the home. After completing his sixth year of ‘gymnasium’ high school, he knew that he would deal with painting, and his father, who recalled the poor bohemian painters, thought that it would be a better idea for him to enrol in an academy of applied arts instead of an art school. He calculated that it would provide him with a more secure occupation. Dušan heeded his advice, but failed to pass the entrance exam. It was a year later that he applied for the Academy of Fine Arts, and did so with the great support of his mother, who was full of understanding for his choice, and was accepted.

Recall just how much of a percentage had been allocated for culture when Nada Popović Perišić was minister? If I’m not mistaken, it was four per cent of the total budget, while today it isn’t even one per cent

During his studies, and even subsequently, Dušan hung out with his colleagues, but mostly socialised with people from other professions, especially writers and directors. They shared a common language. He had his first solo exhibition while he was still a student, in 1965, at Atelje 212. He graduated a year later. It was also while he was a student that he met famous artist Leonid Šejka (1932-1970), one of the founders of the art group Mediala. 

“We met in the reading room of the Academy of Fine Arts. He spoke about his views on art, about the idea behind Mediala, and he later also wrote the book A Treatise on Painting. That was very interesting and important to me at the time. It was also during my studies that I met the interesting Peđa Ristić, an architect who we called Peđa Jesus and who built a tree house on the Sava. I also had precious acquaintances with writer Boro Ćosić and his wife Lola Vlatković, film director Ljubomir ‘Muci’ Draškić and his wife Maja Čučković, painter Stojan Ćelić and his wife Ivana Simeunović Ćelić, and later we also socialised as families. I was delighted, but also slightly scared, when Muca offered me my first chance to work on set design for Bora Ćosić’s play My Family’s Role in the World Revolution, which he directed at Atelje 212. He was easy to develop an understanding with because he knew exactly what he wanted and what it was possible to implement on stage.”

Interestingly, it was back then, in early 1971, that Otašević first made a model representing the apartment that was the setting for Ćosić’s play. And that model served to shape the  afscenography for the stage. Many years later, Muci’s daughter, Iva Draškić Vićanovič, today’s dean of the Faculty of Philology in Belgrade, testified that at some point that model had been found in the apartment of her parents, with her mother having played one of the nasty characters in that play. “It was my most favourite toy,” admitted Iva.

CorD’s interlocuter explains that friends were recognised according to the structure of their personality, in the way they understood one another without many words. He had friendships that lasted decades and only ended when that friend died.

“I have never been a member of any party. Throughout my life, I’ve tried to avoid succumbing to any ideology, because a person is limited by every ideology. By accepting one ideology, a person condemns those who ascribe to another, because they think it’s worse than their own ideology. I would say that was my lack of interest in the ruling ideology, but also among most of my friends. We were united by our artistic work, by the desire for each of us to achieve something in our work, or more precisely to show the best of our ability. I today recall pleasant socialising, content rich and meaningful.”

The current president of Serbia hasn’t visited SANU once. And that is a kind of sign and signal from that side. Restraint – I would say that it is mutual

The time of the single-party system of the former country is today often spoken of as a time of the “firm hand”, in which the League of Communists decided on everything and questioned everything. As aware as he was about the mistakes and bad moves of Tito’s government, Otašević insists that “uneducated and unprofessional people didn’t reach leadership positions”. And he cites an example:

“Even after Broz, during the time of Slobodan Milošević, more care was taken over culture than is the case today. Recall just how much of a percentage had been allocated for culture when Nada Popović Perišić was minister? If I’m not mistaken, it was four per cent of the total budget, while today it isn’t even one per cent. I have no doubt that this high percentage was also a result of the knowledge and skills of Minister Popović-Perišić herself, who was capable of fighting for a better position for culture, much more than the ministers that came after her. And it didn’t cross anyone’s mind to contest her for being part of the then ruling party.”

On the other hand, many artists didn’t fear showing a kind of deviation from the ruling ideology with their works during the time of the socialist Yugoslavia. And our interlocutor was among them.

“I had several works, one of which spent a long time in the exhibition of the Museum of Contemporary Art and it’s called Druže Tito ljubičice bela… [Comrade Tito white violet]. Of course, it clearly wasn’t in honour of Broz. But back then, in the second half of the 1960s, it wasn’t advisable to make fun of ruling attitudes and personalities. That work was large, 5×3 metres, and I created it for the first solo exhibition of the newly admitted members of ULUS [The Association of Fine Artists of Serbia], which was held at the Cvijeta Zuzorić Art Pavilion. They rejected me, the explanation being that the work was abnormally large, which is not collegial with regard to other exhibitors. I think that was an incomprehensible justification. Two or three years later, I exhibited that work at the university’s Kolarac Gallery. It all went without any consequences, but also without any reactions. I had other similar works with the figure of Lenin or ‘Mao Tse-Tung Swims in Communism’, and I was never called in for talks or reprimanded for those works. However, on the other hand, I never received a studio, unlike the majority of my colleagues, and I never went on a single study trip; and I didn’t get a job that I was more qualified for than the colleague who got it, but he had a party membership card and I didn’t.”

Dušan’s status was, and remains, that of a ‘free artist’, which implied great freedom and even greater financial insecurity. He created his own studio, in the attic of his father’s house, where he still resides to this day. He didn’t belong to any institution until 20 years ago, when he became a member of the most significant national institution: the Serbian Academy of Sciences and Arts, SANU. He has been successfully serving as the administrator of the SANU Gallery for more than ten years. He is among those academics whose word is highly respected, although he rarely advertises that fact. Tactical and restrained, he supported the positive changes initiated by Vladimir Kostić in his capacity as SANU president until recently, but he has a hard time understanding the fact that nearly four decades after the Memorandum marked the work of this house, its shadow still looms over SANU.

“Meetings and discussions on this topic were organised at the Academy, and I’d thought that it was a topic that had long since been dealt with. For some reason, that topic is still rolled out today. I never understood the actual aim of those manipulations and always appeal for the need to be restrained, not to allow the use of the Memorandum for the purposes of everyday politics. The Academy is an institution that’s comprised of individuals who have their own views. Simultaneously, the Academy is an institution in which new members are chosen according to clearly established rules, and here it isn’t possible for some godfather to get you into SANU – at least I know of no such case. But I do know that the ceremonial sessions commemorating SANU Day, which numerous guests and the state leadership, headed by the President of Serbia, are invited to attend, have only been attended by presidents Boris Tadić and Tomislav Nikolić since I’ve been at SANU. The current president of Serbia hasn’t been once. And that is a kind of sign and signal from that side. Restraint – I would say that it is mutual.

Even after Broz, during the time of Slobodan Milošević, more care was taken over culture than is the case today

“The Academy is a conservative institution in accordance with its organisational structure, but in recent years it has been taking steps towards opening up. I don’t think it should be avant-garde, but it must have an appreciation for reality. If film has existed as an art form for 100 years, isn’t it time to open up the possibility for a top film director to become a SANU academic?”

Dušan Otašević spent almost half a century married to Mira Otašević, who departed in 2019. An exceptionally interesting and talented individual, she graduated in literature and dramaturgy and worked as an editor at Television Belgrade. With her novel Gorgone [The Gorgons], Mira Otašević, who went by the nickname of Miruška, was shortlisted for the 2017 NIN Award. Together they have a son, Uroš, and a grandson.

“We didn’t succeed in celebrating our 50th wedding anniversary because Mira passed away that year. She left suddenly; there was no illness to prepare me for it. We had a good life together, and it’s very fortunate to live with someone all your life and to have understanding for one another and to be able to discuss what you do for a living. I created the exhibition that’s currently running at the Zepter Gallery in loving memory of Mira. I promised her during her lifetime that I would make it, but I never got around to it. When Mira went to that better place, as they say, I prescribed working therapy for myself and I think she would be happy with what I did.”

The post Man is Limited By Every Ideology appeared first on CorD Magazine.

Together with his then colleagues at the Ministry of Culture, he succeeded in finalising the reconstruction of the National Library of Serbia and the Yugoslav Cinematheque Film Archives. As a personal challenge, he arranged a marathon television broadcast of Belgian playwright Jan Fabre’s famous play Mount Olympus, which opened the 2017 Bitef and lasted as long as the play itself: 24 hours! And so it was that the theatre of antiquity, recounted in the most modern way, entered 220,000 homes throughout Serbia. It was a feat previously unrecorded in the history of Yugoslav and Serbian television, and an endeavour that wowed the world’s theatre public. He staged the musical Les Misérables at Madlenianum Opera & Theatre, which went on to be performed for 15 years as this theatre’s most successful production, while the version of the musical Fiddler on the Roof that he directed for Sofia’s Muzikalen Theatre was declared 2021’s best play in Bulgaria!

Whatever he’s done, Nebojša Bradić (1956) has done as a man of culture; culture represents his most enduring point of reference. For him, culture is ’standing on the shoulders of previous generations, continuity and the establishing of public awareness’. He knows how the system of funding culture works, has high criteria when it comes to artistic scope, and is precise when locating the right address to resolve problems in this area.

“As long as prime ministers and finance ministers view culture as an expense, and not as an opportunity to provide the basis for the country’s success and good reputation, this trend that’s leading to the country’s decline will not change. Culture is not and can never be degraded. The degradation of culture can only be a projection of powerful people who are unworthy of that culture.”

The premiere performance of his interpretation of the opera Falstaff was recently staged at the National Theatre in Belgrade. This work by Giuseppe Verdi, which is again being performed in Belgrade after a break of 45 years, enjoyed unprecedented success at its early June premiere. And Bradić is today already rehearsBeling at Terazije Theatre for the musical Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown, based on Spanish filmmaker Pedro Almodóvar’s 1998 film of the same name.

The position of minister is always a challenge, it’s like being Vuk’s monument. You are raised on a pedestal and actually become the best target for pigeons

When they do have free time, Nebojša and his wife Zaga, a renowned psychiatrist and psychoanalytic psychotherapist, plan holidays, but also tours of some important museums and exhibitions, in order to watch shows in some European countries. They have been married for more than 30 years.

“Zaga and I provide each other with unquestionable support when it comes to the work we do. Our life is serene in these years, and oriented towards our shared interests. Our jobs are each inspiring in their own way. Her work is particularly interesting to me in that part in which she offers complex understanding of the human soul and the human situation today. But we have a clear agreement not to discuss topics that are strictly professional. Her patients are her problem, my ‘patients’ are my problem. Zaga loves the theatre and art, and particularly literature.”

CorD’s interlocutor had an exciting upbringing in the house of his father Momir, an actor and theatre manager in Kruševac, and his mother Milica, a teacher of mathematics who accompanied her husband on his journey. He was often left alone in the company of books and his own fantasies, and he believes that this was a good way to form the basis of what would be his future steps.

“I was nevertheless most profoundly determined by the close proximity of art and people who belonged to that world. On the other hand, I was interested in sport, music and literature, but also the natural sciences. In line with my mathematical mind, I defended my graduation thesis in the field of atomic physics.”

Divided in such a way, after completing high school he moved to Belgrade and enrolled in three colleges: one in the field of technical sciences, a second covering the subject of language, and a third in theatre direction at the Faculty of Dramatic Arts.

“Compared to all my previous interests, I made the decision to deal with the theatre rather late and slightly unexpectedly, because I’d never previously been involved in the theatre and wasn’t even a member of the drama club. And it was because I wasn’t sure if I would pass the entrance exam for directing that I also enrolled in two other colleges.”

He succeeded at the first attempt and enrolled in the class of Professor Borjana Prodanović, the granddaughter of famous Serbian politician, writer and academic Jaša Prodanović (1867- 1948), who was a special character in her own right.

“Interestingly, one of her students in the generation before me was my colleague and longtime friend Branislav ‘Žaga’ Mićunović, who also served as minister of culture of Montenegro, while Jagoš Marković was later also a student in her class. Three people with totally different sensibilities who were all her students.”

For Nebojša the student, socialising with Belgrade actually meant socialising with the theatre.

“It was as a student that I saw the best plays at Bitef; it was then that I watched the directing work of Robert Wilson, Grotowski, Eugenio Barba, Peter Brook and others. Belgrade was a centre of world theatre, and I unfortunately never again had an opportunity to experience that in Serbia. However, thanks to that initiation, I continued my personal and professional development in London, the theatrical magic of which still motivates me.”

The success of the opera Cinderella in 1998 was all the greater because the very process of working on it was marred by threats that we were to be bombed

Nebojša still remembers the fascination he felt when he watched his first play in Belgrade, Radovan III, starring Zoran Radmilović in the title role. He also recalls theatre director Jovan Bata Putnik (1914-1983), who just happens to be one of those deserving of the credit for Nebojša having entered the world of theatre in the first place, and whose plays impacted on him viewing theatre as art. As a second-year student of theatre direction, he was an assistant to Dejan Mijač (1934-2022) on the Yugoslav Drama Theatre’s adaptation of the play Pučina [The High Sea], which remains remembered as being ‘revolutionary’ because of the way Mijač interpreted Nušić’s melodrama. Just as he interpreted other Serbian classics, which is why Nebojša rated him so highly.

Another great of Serbian culture, writer Borislav Pekić (1930-1992), had a deep impact on Bradić’s memory. When he decided to stage an adaptation of Pekić’s book The Golden Fleece, Nebojša approached the writer in the club of the National Theatre on one occasion in 1979.

“After that first meeting, we had several ‘sessions’ at the then City Tavern, where we discussed his work. He listened carefully to what I intended to do with the Fleece. That instilled a sense of self-confidence in me and I believe it influenced my future attitude towards art and artists. Pekić was then already a successful writer, and he spoke so seriously with a student of theatre direction. And did so totally openly, filled with understanding. We later saw each other occasionally; he invited me to be his guest when I came to London. I directed his plays and was impugned for that, but also rewarded. I am proud that I was one of his friends.”

Nebojša had his first independent directing assignment while he was still a student, while he graduated with the Henrik Ibsen play Nora at the National Theatre in Niš. He has since gone on to put his name to around a hundred plays, musicals and operas that he’s staged in the theatre and opera houses of Serbia, Bosnia-Herzegovina, Croatia, Greece, Turkey, Bulgaria and elsewhere. He’s received positive and even outstanding reviews, won the Sterija Award and numerous others, but he approaches his work on each new play as if it were the most important, or, as he says, ‘every play is the last’.

Encompassing a significant and successful part of this artist’s work have been his terms as an administrator of several theatres. His first such management role was at the Kruševac Theatre, where he spent 15 years as a theatre director, artistic director and manager. It was under his tenure, during the late 1980s and the first half of the ‘90s, that it became the most respected theatre in the Serbian provinces.

“I was 30 years old when, based on the incentive of the actors, I first became acting manager and then administrator of the theatre. I accepted that duty with the precondition that the first job be the reconstruction of the theatre. The new theatre was open to guest actors, who included the likes of Đuza Stojiljković, Branislav ‘Ciga’ Jerinić, Tanja Bošković and many others. That was the impetus to launch the theatre and create successful and authentic plays.”

The triumph of the play The Damned Yard [based on Ivo Andrić’s book] at the Sterijino Pozorje festival in the year 2000 marked the crowning of Bradić’s ‘Kruševac cycle’. He both dramatically adapted and directed this famous Andrić novel, receiving the Sterija Award for his efforts, with the play declared the best of the entire festival. The cast comprised the then young Vojin Ćetković, Sergej Trifunović, Nebojša Milovanović, Nebojša Dugalić et al.

Nebojša would subsequently spend a short period as manager of Belgrade’s Atelje 212 theatre, a position he took on at the suggestion of fellow director and then outgoing manager Ljubomir Muci Draškić (1937-2004). It was from there, based on the suggestion of then Minister of Culture Nada Popović Perišić, that he moved to the helm of the National Theatre, where during the following two and a half years of isolation he would break the blockades by realising international cooperation at this theatre. It will remain recorded that in the building of the National Theatre on Republic Square, on the eve of the launch of the 1999 bombing campaign, he succeeded in staging the premiere performance of a Jagoš Marković directed version Rossini’s opera La Cenerentola, aka Cinderella. The costumes for the play were created by famous Italian fashion designer Renato Balestra.

Culture doesn’t belong exclusively to any one party or convocation of the Ministry; it should not be preyed on by political interest groups

“Cinderella signalled the return of our theatre scene to the world. Its premiere came in the time following the signing of the Dayton Agreement, after the lifting of sanctions. It was a stride forward for the theatre in difficult years. The staging was supported by the Serbian Ministry of Culture and the Italian Embassy in Belgrade. You should know that this success was all the greater because the very process of working on it was marred by threats that we were to be bombed. We ignored that a little, but that kind of uncertainty and tension was present.”

The Belgrade Drama Theatre also recorded years of great success during the two mandates when Nebojša was at the helm. He also founded the international Dance Festival, which today – after Bitef and Bemus – is undoubtedly a top national cultural treasure. He arrived at the BDT at the invitation of its actors. And he once again began his tenure time by seeking that the building undergo reconstruction.

“We quickly reached agreement that it was first necessary to work on the infrastructure, then to deal with the programme, followed by the ensemble, and in the meantime to work on bringing back the audience. We had to come up with a code for the way we could attract the audience and re-establish the theatre on the map of Serbia’s important institutions of culture. There were successful plays, but also those others. Successful plays can be soothing, but you can draw better conclusions when a play fails than when you achieve success. Our artists and theatres are mistaken when they try to create success. Success isn’t created! Rather one creates a good repertoire, a good division of duties and a good show.”

His successes led to him being qualified to be nominated for the position of Serbian culture minister by then political party G17 Plus, and he subsequently spent three years in that ministerial role (2008-2011) and showed how it could be possible to start solving some problems. However, political games took other turns. He described the situation well, saying: “The position of minister is always a challenge, it’s like being Vuk’s monument. You are raised on a pedestal and actually become the best target for pigeons.”

He had a lot of ideas that would have proved useful during the times that we were then in, but that wasn’t to be.

“That was the moment of the world economic crisis and that was the biggest handicap for the then Government, and for the Ministry of Culture in particular. It wasn’t possible to implement many of the ideas that we had. One of the things we finalised was Serbia’s presentation at the Book Fair in Leipzig, where we were the guest of honour.”

Bradić showed what he was capable of doing in his time as minister. Famous actor Velimir Bata Živojinović (1933- 2016), a long-time MP of the then ruling Socialist Party of Serbia, praised their exceptional collaboration during the years when he was in opposition and Nebojša was minister. And the author of this article once testified about him in an interview for NIN.

“I was in all government bodies, and film bodies, in all film funds, where I could influence things for the better, to solve problems. Of course, without the help of some minister, especially Minister Nebojša Bradić, who did plenty to resurrect the film industry, while we film workers wouldn’t have been able to do much either. He deserves credit for the fact that Serbian cinematography is in a much better situation today than it was yesterday, though he didn’t have the understanding of many relevant people. If there were any stoppages, they weren’t his fault. Serbian film progressed so strongly that it began very successfully presenting our cinematography worldwide. It’s a shame that Bradić left.”

Today, when people from the domain of culture are dissatisfied with the government’s attitude towards them, Nebojša’s stance during his time as minister represents a rare, bright example of desirable conduct.

“Both back then and today, I considered cultural clashes as not being needed by culture, that they are not good for culture, no matter how ‘attractive’ they sometimes seem to the media sphere. Someone in the position of a minister shouldn’t be someone who judges or adjudicates in a way that belittles someone or assassinates their character. The decisions made at the Ministry actually determine the policy that will be led by that Ministry. It is beyond my sense of civilised conduct when a minister clashes with a writer, director or actor. Culture doesn’t belong exclusively to any one party or convocation of the Ministry; it should not be preyed on by interest groups. The tone and manner in which individuals are discussed in the National Assembly, whether actors or someone else, is particularly insulting. This only causes the further escalation of violence in society, fear and insecurity. I’m proud of the dialogue I had with people who don’t belong to the same aggregation of political ideas or stances, because in that way we were able to collaborate with the aim of developing culture and the arts.”

The post Culture Is Standing On The Shoulders Of Previous Generations appeared first on CorD Magazine.

Predrag J. Marković (1965) was born and raised in Belgrade, where he grew up as the middle child of three (he has an older sister, Danica, a professor at the Faculty of Veterinary Medicine in Belgrade, and a younger sister, Milena, a playwright who lectures at the Faculty of Dramatic Arts and won the NIN award for the novel Children, which the jury declared as being the best novel in Serbia in 2021).

Predrag J. Marković (1965) was born and raised in Belgrade, where he grew up as the middle child of three (he has an older sister, Danica, a professor at the Faculty of Veterinary Medicine in Belgrade, and a younger sister, Milena, a playwright who lectures at the Faculty of Dramatic Arts and won the NIN award for the novel Children, which the jury declared as being the best novel in Serbia in 2021).

“My family and childhood are among the best known imaginable. That’s because my sister Milena described our childhood in painful detail. She exposed the life of my family so much with that unusual novel that she wrote that I don’t know what I would add.”

He describes his family as having belonged to the new socialist middle class. His father, Jovan, hails from a rural family, while his mother, Milka, was born into ‘the most terrible Lumpenproletariat family’, as he describes himself. His mother had a career as a Russian language teacher, while his father was, and remains, a devoted cinephile, screenwriter and the first private producer in Yugoslavia.

“I grew up in New Belgrade. None of my friends’ parents were from Belgrade. They were mostly lower ranked officers or employees in culture and various federal institutions… New Belgrade was no ghetto, which is also a lie. New Belgrade was a fortress of the socialist middle class. I only met upper echelon urban families for the first time when I married in old Belgrade, and they were really something different. There were several different types of middle class at that time, and I would divide them into at least two: the old middle class, as remnants of the pre-World War II period; and the new middle class raised under socialism.”

I went through the best course in modesty, because I was in big cities where nobody knew me. All budding youngsters should go to some bigger city to slightly temper their selfadoration

This historian cites numerous examples and scientific knowledge to show how much socialism created opportunities for education. He also exposes some misconceptions that still exist today when people talk about ‘old Belgrade families.’

“Only the elites leave tracks behind. What we know about those families we know from the books of Stevan Jakovljević, Svetlana Velmar Janković or Slobodan Selenić, and that is the very cream of the crop of several hundred families of the society of that time. And yet we know nothing about those families that lived in hovels, with an outdoor squat toilet behind their house. Most Belgraders lived in courtyard houses, with a drinking fountain in the yard and a squat toilet in the middle. And alongside it was obligatory to plant geraniums that would neutralise the stench.”

When it comes to the great fortunes made in the interwar period, and generally after every war, Marković says that they are war profiteers and that there hadn’t been many very wealthy people in the Kingdom of Serbia, as can be seen in the buildings erected at that time.

“Belgrade only ‘exploded’ in the 1920s and ‘30s, when a lot of money came into the city and many people got rich. And it seems that the most common investment was in buildings that yielded a return on the investment in five or six years, which was an incredible opportunity to generate wealth. The real boom began in 1918, with people constructing building after building, and Belgrade grew much more in the interwar period than it did after World War II.”

Predrag lectures in several subjects at Singidunum University’s Faculty of Media and Communications, and the ‘History of Family’ subject is one that also implies students talk to their grandmothers about their youth and life. And, according to him, grandmothers mostly lie. They describe what was not. They create an idyll that people want to believe in retroactively. Of course, there are families that raise children with better manners than others.

I increasingly believe that stupidity is one of the greatest forces in history; stupidity that is greater than any conspiracy. The problem with drawing lessons from history is that you don’t know which lesson to draw

“You also have that which psychologists call resilience, hardiness. Some children are like kittens – no matter how you throw them, they will land on their feet. Some children can survive any trauma and remain decent people. And some end up broken, like this demon child at Ribnikar” [in reference to the recent mass school shooting at Belgrade’s Vladislav Ribnikar Primary School].

He describes himself as having been an unhappy, frustrated teenager who resorted to the useful tactic of ‘fleeing upwards’. And that meant enrolling in college at the tender age of 15, after completing just the first year of high school. He insists that it wasn’t difficult. He figured that Lenin and some guy from Kopaonik who tended sheep had enrolled in university without having completed secondary school. He explains that it’s easy to pass entrance exams, but you have to try, which people don’t tend to do. He took seven subjects, which he found much easier than if he’d had to spent three more years sitting around in secondary school. He doesn’t see that as being something special, but rather considers himself as representing a continuation of the Marković family tradition.

“My father, like every rural child, was left to his own devices, so he wandered around the village and sat down at a school desk at the age of five. Sitting in the classroom together were children from the first to the fourth grades, and he knew the answers to every question. He is thus the initiator of that schooling ahead of schedule, because he was a year and a half younger than his generation. And I perfected that method.”

Predrag is nine years older than his younger sister Milena, while Danica is 12 years her senior. The two elder siblings were thus like Milena’s second parents, even attending her school parents’ meetings and taking care of her.

“It seems that we underestimated her somewhat, as she was the youngest. When that great talent of hers manifested itself, things changed. My older sister and I now believe in Milena’s authority. She is actually the wisest of us. You see how a dynamic system it is; how relationships between people change constantly.”

Yugoslavia was an incredibly complicated country. More complicated than the Soviet Union. Not to mention Czechoslovakia. In Yugoslavia there were many similar sized nations, with terrible shared wounds. The Soviets didn’t have a tradition of fratricidal war like us

Women were the key to everything in the Marković family. Predrag was born as the lightest baby to survive at the time. He weighed just 900 grams. And he had hemiparesis, the partial loss of movement in one part of the body. His cousin, famous writer Dobrica Ćosić, managed to get hold of an incubator that wasn’t in Belgrade at the time and had to be brought from Zagreb. The doctors told his mother: ‘let go, you are a young woman, you’ll bear another child’. But Milka ignored them all, deciding that her son wouldn’t only survive, but that all his functions would also restore themselves. She was helped by Cvetko Brajović, a former Goli Otok inmate and one of the first speech therapists. It was Cvetko that gave him the name Predrag. The long and often torturous exercises that his mother took him for every day helped.

“I pulled through. Some consequences remained, but I lived a more or less normal life thanks to my mother’s fierce efforts. My mother was like a Šarplaninac [a devoted and stubborn mountain dog]. She would have jumped out of the window at a nod from my father. And she might even have asked if she was allowed to open it first. When you look at the stories of various successful people, you see the great importance of the role of mothers. Those were mothers in staunchly patriarchal societies who sacrificed everything for their children. Many successful children were raised on the sacrifice of their mothers.

“Fathers are today much better for their children than they once were. That was also noted, for example, by my favourite writer, Norwegian Karl Ove Knausgård, who – just like my sister Milena – described his life down to the most unpleasant details. He is a true Scandinavian father, looking after the children, feeding them, preparing their lunch and dinner. When he comes across Japanese tourists they take pictures of him, because that kind of emancipation has yet to arrive in Japan. You have that witty remark about Scandinavian crime shows, when the inspector comes home in the evening exhausted and has a glass of wine, while her husband has prepared dinner. Fortunately, that trend of caring fathers is expanding and today’s fathers are much more dedicated than father used to be. For instance, today you don’t have the model of a father who relaxes after work, after lunch, but rather one that takes care equal of the children as the mother.”

Vukan and Miona are the son and daughter of Predrag and Sara, and they are rightly proud of their children. Miona is a successful 27-year-old actress who is due to get married in a few months. Vukan is 29 and is completing his Ph.D. at Cambridge University. He didn’t want to be his daddy’s boy, so instead took the more difficult route of making his own way in a world where no one could help him in any way. And he succeeded in being true to himself, in dealing with what could be called the philosophy of history, something between philosophy and history. He works at the Institute for Philosophy and Social Theory.

“My children grew up in a patriarchal cooperative. I was a lodger residing with my in-laws, and that turned out well for the children. If anyone suffered, that was my wife. I lived like a student; my mother-in-law was a strict teacher of maths and my father-in-law was an extremely industrious man. They helped in raising the children to an incredible extent. The grandparents took them to school and waited for them afterwards, prepared lunch for them, and what was a frustrating situation turned out to be very good. When you are lucky enough to have grandparents who are interested in learning and are ambitious, that extended family doesn’t have to be a miserable solution. Thanks to some circumstances that were initially unfortunate, my family was more efficient in terms of educating the children than it would have been if I’d had a better living standard.

“Many cultures have shown extended families to be pretty effective. The middle generation goes to work and the older generation looks after the children. It can be seen in many cases that this network of grandparents doesn’t have a negative impact. You have the Chinese and the Vietnamese, among whom this principle of raising children functions well, and they are known as being the most successful people on the planet. In America, many of them are even more successful than the Jews!”

It was around a year ago that actress Miona Marković wrote a social media post dedicated to her mother Vladislava, who goes by the nickname of Sara, has been married to her father for three decades, works at the Belgrade City Library and successfully avoids the limelight. Her statements are touching: “My mum is a better parent to her parents than they ever were, and I won’t even mention us. My mother’s greatest success is us, her children, but she was never an ambitious parent. The success of her children was never a primary priority for her, and I guess that’s precisely why we wanted it. So, young parents, be like my mum, don’t pressure yourself or your children, they will find their own way to that which interests them.”

German diplomatic documents that have now been published show that Germany actually only broke when the war spread to the areas around Vukovar and Dubrovnik. Prior to that, both Germany and America were actually in favour of somehow preserving Yugoslavia. Attacking Dubrovnik and Vukovar was an unbelievably stupid decision

Our interlocutor says that its fortunate that everyone close to him does what they love.

“We are privileged people, several generations in the family do what they love. That is a combination of fortunate circumstances. Of course, in that there is also some work, talent, energy…”

There is one interesting detail from the biography of CorD’s interlocutor that is remembered by multiple generations. As a student, he was a winner in the most successful and popular Yugoslav TV quiz, “Kviskoteka”, which was broadcast by Television Zagreb. Speaking in 2017, the man who came up with that show concept and some other television quizzes, the late Lazo Goluža (1936-2020) said in 2017: “The greatest class in Kviskoteka was Belgrade history student Predrag Marković. May none of our people get angry, but that is the truth. He was phenomenal.”

Predrag gained enormous popularity across Yugoslavia during his time participating in this quiz, proving more popular even than the most famous stars of film and music of that time. He today talks about that time as a fond memory of Mr Goluža and presenter Oliver Mlakar (1935), with an explanation that’s seemingly inherent in him to provide justification whenever his successes are mentioned.

“That was in 1990, on the very eve of the war, and everything that happened prior to the war acquired an aura of nostalgia. You should know that that was a big country with just two television channels and so few programmes that everyone watched everything that was broadcast. The prize for Kviskoteka was a language course in Washington. And I also received a scholarship for England and was in London. So, I basically disappeared at the peak of my media popularity, spending more than six months in countries where I was nothing and nobody. I went through the best course in modesty, because I was in big cities where nobody knew me. All budding youngsters should go to some bigger city to temper their self-adoration.”

He recalls where he was when war broke out in Yugoslavia, and responds in the affirmative when asked if Yugoslavia really had to disintegrate.

“It probably did have to, but it didn’t have to happen like that. Yugoslavia was an incredibly complicated country. More complicated than the Soviet Union. Not to mention Czechoslovakia. In Yugoslavia there were many similar sized nations, with terrible shared wounds. The Soviets didn’t have a tradition of fratricidal war like us. As a Srbijanac [meaning a Serb from Serbia], I knew nothing of the traumas that the Bosnian Serbs have. I saw that when the war erupted, because they couldn’t bear to live in a new NDH [a reference to the WWII Nazi puppet state of the Independent State of Croatia]. And that was obvious. Slavko Goldstein wrote about that in his book 1941: The Year That Keeps Returning. They restored the former name of the currency, restored the name of the army from the era of the Ustaše [WWII Croatian fascist and ultranationalist organisation], and the Croatian regime did nothing to appease the Serbs. Their ideal was obviously ‘Croatia without Serbs’, and that’s what they ultimately achieved.”

Many experts are of the opinion that Germany undoubtedly played a role in the collapse of the then Yugoslavia, which Marković explains in his capacity as a historian.

“That doesn’t seem to be entirely true. German diplomatic documents that have now been published show that Germany actually only broke when the war spread to the areas around Vukovar and Dubrovnik. Prior to that, both Germany and America were actually in favour of somehow preserving Yugoslavia. Attacking Dubrovnik and Vukovar was an unbelievably stupid decision. So many stupid moves were made that only the attack on Ukraine is stupider. You attack Dubrovnik, one of the world’s most beautiful cities, for no reason and that is unfortunately attributed to the Serbs, although it was assaulted by Montenegrins and the future darling of the Americans and the European Union, Milo Đukanović. And then you also attack Vukovar, that’s like Mariupol in Ukraine. You destroy a city with a national composition that’s actually predominantly Serbian.

Computer-based writing has made writing easier for various scribomaniacs. That is a worldwide trend. Something that was once mandatory isn’t any longer. You can now complete literature studies without reading Chekhov

“I increasingly believe that stupidity is one of the greatest forces in history; stupidity that is greater than any conspiracy. The problem with drawing lessons from history is that you don’t know which lesson to draw.”

As a professor at the Faculty of Media and Communications, he has the rare privilege and satisfaction of receiving the highest ratings among students year after year, and they enjoy attending his classes. He lectures on Media History, the History of Family, the History of Propaganda and Intercultural Communication. He says that he makes an effort around his students, because students love enthusiasts.

“I’ve had various experiences in teaching. I spent a long time going to Petnica [the Petnica Science Centre], which is attended by the best possible students, and I taught at the Teacher Education Faculty when the dean was Aleksandar Jovanović, a wonderful man. It was delightful to lecture at Petnica. Those are inquisitive children who write papers better than the majority of much older researchers. The most important pedagogical experience for me was represented by the lady teachers. Those are girls who don’t really have much love for history, because history is still preferred by men. I taught them in the evening slot, when they could hardly wait to go home, or to the dormitory, because most of them are from the heartlands. There I practiced all my skills to arouse interest among an audience that was completely indifferent to the subject.

“The practise is very different at the Faculty of Media and Communications. There is an overabundance of information on offer today and there are multiple canons. On the other hand, some canons that were valid for a long time have since been destroyed. For instance, the literary canon has been destroyed, the hierarchy of writers, and the fact is that more books are being sold than ever before. Today there are more copies in circulations and more titles. You could say that this is scribomania, as is the case in historiography. Computer-based writing has made writing easier for various scribomaniacs. That is a worldwide trend. Something that was once mandatory isn’t any longer. You can now complete literature studies without reading Chekhov.”

When it comes to his position as a vice president of the Socialist Party of Serbia, he says that party president Ivica Dačić utilised him very intelligently.

“He is a very wise man who allowed me to be a more or less independent intellectual, because it is better for people to simultaneously recognise the socialist and independent intellectual in me than for me to be some party soldier. And that gives me ample opportunity to primarily speak and interpret as a historian.

“My son taught me that, in history, the best story wins; the best told story leaves the strongest mark. The only problem is that there are a lot of stories.”

The post In History, The Best Told Story Wins appeared first on CorD Magazine.