A conversation with journalist and writer Slavenka Drakulić.

Listen

Subscribe

Apple PodcastsSpotifyStitcherGoogle PodcastsPodcast AddictPocketCastsOvercastCastroCastBoxPodchaserDeezerListen NotesiHeartRadioTuneIn

Support the Podcast

Become a monthly patron on Patreon:

Become a Patron!

Make a one-time contribution via PayPal/credit card:

Episode Transcript (and More)

Disclosure: As an Amazon Associate we earn from qualifying purchases.

[JINGLE]

PETER KORCHNAK: This is Remembering Yugoslavia, the show exploring the memory of a country that no longer exists. I’m your guide Peter Korchnak, back from my travels around the region, energized, inspired, and ready to pick things up where I left off. So the podcast is back from a break too, with an exciting lineup of conversations, stories, and deep dives…all Yugoslavia all the time.

This was my first trip to the former Yugoslavia since the pandemic, basically in more than two years, and thus quite a big deal for me personally and for the project. An even bigger deal was your generosity. Thank you new Patreon supporters Ashley, Chris and Jelena in Drvar, Elizabeth, Filip C, Filip D, Ivana, Maja, Mark, Muamer, Nina, and others, as well as Dušan and Igor who went the PayPal route, for all your generous contributions.

If you wish to join these and many other good people on this journey through Yugoslavia’s memory, visit RememberingYugoslavia.com/Donate and get started there.

In a way, this episode of Remembering Yugoslavia has been nearly thirty years in the making. I’ve been reading my guest’s work since I was in high school, in the 1990s Czechoslovakia, then Slovakia. As I was discovering Slovak and Czech and Hungarian and Polish intellectuals to get my own bearings on the post-communist world, I came across a Yugoslav one. She had traveled around Central and Eastern Europe, including my country, and captured her experiences in a book of essays whose title hooked me immediately: How We Survived Communism and Even Laughed. Moreover, the we in the title was mostly women. It was quite rare then to read a book both by a female author and about the women of the region; needless to say, the book was my first exposure to Yugoslav feminism.

Born in 1949 in Rijeka, Slavenka Drakulić graduated from the University of Zagreb the year I was born, in 1976. She wrote on feminist issues for mainstream Croatian slash Yugoslav weeklies Danas and Start, and broke through internationally in 1991 with How We Survived Communism and Even Laughed.

That same year, Drakulić left the newly independent Croatia for safety reasons. In the ensuing three decades, she wrote seven more books of nonfiction, five novels, and countless articles for European and American publications, from Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung to The Guardian and from The Nation to The New York Times. Her latest, published last year, is Café Europa Revisited: How to Survive Post-Communism, a quarter-century-later sequel to the 1996 volume Café Europa: Life After Communism. A journalist, Drakulić continues to write and publish and tour and comment on the world as only an intellectual can. She now divides her time between Sweden and Croatia, though, as you’ll hear, she considers herself a European.

This was a cross-old-country conversation. I was in Belgrade while Drakulić spoke with me from her summer home in a tiny village in Istria. We experienced some technical difficulties during the remote call, and so I’ve filled in the blanks wherever necessary.

Slavenka Drakulić on War

PETER KORCHNAK: People are finding many parallels between the war in Ukraine–and not just that, but also the rise of populism and nationalism in Europe, around the world, the insurrection at the U.S. Capitol, and other current or recent events–and what happened in the Yugoslavia in the former Yugoslavia in the 80s and the 90s. And so, in many ways, it almost feels like it’s history repeating. How do you feel about that? And what does it say about us as humans and our ability or maybe inability to learn our lessons?

SLAVENKA DRAKULIĆ: That’s really a big question, what does it say as humans, I will leave that question out completely. I mean, if we’re talking about Ukraine, and this recent war, as of February 24th, of course, people are asking, why and how, and are there any parallels, and so on? Many people think this is the first war in Europe after the Second World War, which, of course, is not true.

One of the similarities on the level of politics is going into another country with, occupying another territory with justification, with saying, I am going to save somebody: I am going to save Ukrainians from the Nazi government, and we are going to save Serbs from Croatia because they are suffering there under also [a] nationalist government, or we are going to save Serbs in Kosovo because Kosovars have been attacking them. I will only mention here [the] Martinović case; people from my generation will remember that this is how it pretty much started there.

PETER KORCHNAK: In May 1985 a man named Djordje Martinović sought medical help in Gjilan, Kosovo, with a broken beer bottle stuck in his rectum. He claimed that he, a Serb, had been attacked by two Albanians, which is what the media reported and nationalists picked up on as proof of Serbs being oppressed and persecuted in the province, which was the opposite of the truth. It later turned out the injury was self-inflicted, resulting from an accident during a, let’s say, private moment out in the field. But by then, the damage had spread beyond Martinović’s tenders.

SLAVENKA DRAKULIĆ: So this tactic is very similar. We are going there, we are going to save people. And this is of course, a matter of a big, big propaganda machine saying these kinds of things. Because what I saw in my experience is that you have to justify your moves, you have to tell people that they can go there, that they are allowed to save people even if it requires killing. This cannot be without propaganda and without justification. This is one element.

The other element is, now it looks but I don’t think it’s true, as if former Yugoslavia with its wars was exporting nationalism. That certainly is not true. But it’s also true that many nationalist events happened later on. But we can also think about Basques, we don’t necessarily have to think about Ukraine or Bosnia for that matter. So there are in Europe nationalist movement demands, and so on. And it has, in my opinion, another root, another background, I would say. So I wouldn’t mix the desire of people in former Yugoslavia to have their own independent states when Yugoslavia was already very evident[ly] falling apart with this, because nationalism, I think after 1989, which is after the collapse of communism, it’s I think, a sign of something else: it’s a sign of people feeling insecure in the new world, if I may say so.

But then on the other hand, there are many things that are very different between this war and the previous wars 1991 [to] 1995. And the difference is the whole political context, because for many years at the beginning of the war, the West, the Western Powers, they looked upon what was happening in Yugoslavia like a small fire in a backyard. There is some smoke, there are some victims, nothing big, we can solve it, well, anyway, they’re used to killing each other, so I mean, it’s their tradition for [a] 1,000 years. I even remember, you know, people writing “1,000-years-old confrontation.” So, I think, not much attention was paid. Plus the big powers were divided very much about how to approach it, what to do. For example, for many years, Bosnia was not allowed to import their arms, which, of course, their defense was, in that sense, was desperate, because they had nothing to fight with.

But for Ukraine, it’s an entirely different ballgame. It’s really something completely different. Of course, first of all, because Ukraine is big, but there is Russia here involved, and Russia is one of the very big and dangerous, apparently, world powers and on that level, it cannot be paralleled because the whole world is, not only Europe, but the whole world is trembling.

But then again, there is another which goes back to your question about human nature, another element, which is very similar: I personally think that wars are all the same in that sense, because human being is as it is, and it means is capable of doing both good and evil, to use these religious terms, because nobody came [up] with anything better. And if you take this killing of civilians in Bucha, for example, I got a question from [a] Ukrainian journalist saying, “Oh, but how is it possible that in [the] 21st century, we have war crimes like this?” Why not? Why not? Have we been so civilized, so good, have we learned and improved? Well, we have learned and improved in one sense, and this is the democratic countries are not going to war against each other. But on the other hand, human nature is such–and this I learned through this book, writing this book, They Would Never Hurt a Fly, on trials of war criminals in the Hague.

PETER KORCHNAK: In They Would Never Hurt a Fly, a 2004 book of nonfiction, Drakulić discusses the men in the Hague standing accused or in most cases convicted of serious crimes in the wars of Yugoslavia’s dissolution. She explores how and why nationalism emerged and destroyed Yugoslavia, how and why the wars started, and how and why these individuals did what they did while becoming heroes in their home countries.

SLAVENKA DRAKULIĆ: Yes, they’re capable of both things. Yes, it’s possible, it’s happening, and it’s always for us very hard to face it as human beings because we believe, I think essentially, we are all believing that we can learn, that we can progress, that we can do something about it. And you know, people are nervously saying, “What can we do?”

I think that we are all children of Enlightenment, which was the greatest movement in history of humankind ever, because we think that by learning, by going to school, by education, by all of that we are going somehow to improve ourselves. Perhaps we do but this improvement is so very slow that I am more on the pessimist side.

Slavenka Drakulić: No Nostalgia

PETER KORCHNAK: You mentioned the insecurity in the world, you know, and nationalism [and] populism being one of the responses or one of the reactions to it. The other in the former Yugoslav space, or maybe even all of Central Eastern Europe, is nostalgia–for the times when there was peace, when there was [sic] jobs, when there was security, etcetera. So what’s your take on this whole phenomenon of Yugonostalgia as it’s sometimes called?

SLAVENKA DRAKULIĆ: I don’t believe there is such a thing. Not to nostalgia, generally in Eastern Europe, or nostalgia, Yugonostalgia. I would like to make a difference here between the nostalgia for the political system and nostalgia for your youth, for times past, which are better in the sense, as you mentioned, we have jobs, we get some kind of security, for example, my generation I was born in 1949. So my generation and maybe the younger people who are born in the 50s or even 60s, they remember something so they could feel nostalgia, but it is not political nostalgia. For that I am very sure.

And also, there are some researches that confirm that. For example, in Germany, they did I think, perhaps after, I don’t know, 20th anniversary of unification a big research about nostalgia, and they did establish that there is nostalgia but also not of the kind that we would like to attribute to such countries, that is to the political regime. I don’t think that people are, they might be, and this is interesting, they might be inclining more to authoritarian regime as such, but not to the political structure, as it was called communism but I actually call it socialism.

Because there was recently done a big research all over the world, and I’m quoting it in this, my latest book, Café Europa Revisited, that what countries are more prone to support democracy or autocratic regime? Now, Eastern European countries they all come on the top. Why is it so? I would not say this is because of nostalgia. But this is simply because they are used to it. Still many people are used to it, still many people remember it. And my problem–and this is what I try to explain in that book–is that if you have a regime like communism collapsing in 1989, it could only be [a] political collapse, but many things cannot change overnight. And especially what cannot change in such a short time, I mean 30 years in history is not such a big time, is what I call [the] mentality of people, the way people think, the way people see the world, interpret it, the traditions they have, [the] habits they have. So perhaps this is why they’re supporting totalitarian regimes because they are there. I mean, what else could they, where would any knowledge, any appreciation of democracy for them come from? Even now, I can tell you that the way democracy works in Eastern Europe–I will not generalize because it works differently in different countries–but the way democracy works let’s say in Hungary, you really cannot trust that regime. They call it empty democracy, some, some people who are writing about democracy call it, it’s an empty form, but the way people behave, leaders, political parties, and so on, it is still in [an] authoritarian way.

And also, I would say important, novelty, that came after 1989, corruption became overpowering everything else. And it’s like some kind of a cancer. Yes, of course before it, then within the communist regime, there was also corruption in the sense that if you were not a member of the certain party, that is the Communist Party, you couldn’t achieve any big career, but excuse me, it is exactly the same now.

So we should be thinking about this, I think. Do we really think that when in 1989 such a system collapsed, that everything will change overnight? Of course, not.

PETER KORCHNAK: Of course not. So speaking of your book, Café Europa Revisited, let’s go back to Ukraine one more time, in the 60s, so you build a chapter or an essay that’s in the book about Ukraine, on the photograph of the sulky girl at a 1968 May Day a celebration in Lviv, Soviet Union. If you were to pick one such image for the former Yugoslavia from the socialist era, what would it be and what would it say, and what would you say about it, about what it says?

SLAVENKA DRAKULIĆ: Well, I, no, I wouldn’t pick one single image but I– it makes me remember what happened, how did we celebrated May 1st how we as children were actually taken with the school, with our teacher out in the streets to wave with the little paper flags and to celebrate, not really knowing what we are celebrating, 29th of November, the Republic Day, Tito’s birthday especially. It brings back all these routines that we lived through as children.

What is the point of that essay in the book is that the comments on the social media discussing this little girl’s look[s], they’re mostly talking about how, you know, it’s ‘68, so how shabby she looks or how strange she looks. But what they do not see that behind her in the background, there are these buildings in Lviv, where they hang out these banners with photos of the leaders of the time and all these slogans, I don’t know, Long Live Soviet Republic or Long Live Brezhnev or whoever was then the leader, or a local leader maybe, and did not comment upon that. And this was like a kind of, almost like being blind on purpose.

And Oksana Zabuško, perhaps one of the best known writers in Ukraine, she wrote a comment on that, an essay, which inspired me a lot, because she’s saying I mean, what kind of people we are when we do not talk to our kids about the past. And this is the phenomenon not only there. I was in [the] Czech Republic, in Prague, and I was talking to some people and they also warned me, they said they made a big research among students who are finishing gymnasium and asking them, what do they know about communism. Now, it turned out that these kids, 18-year-old kids, which is perhaps in the year, let’s see, it’s about year 2000, they were still born then, they had learned from their parents nothing. Why? Because the parents do not want to go back, they are happy to get rid of it. So it’s really speaking against nostalgia.

This is the first thing, and the second is they do not want to remember that they, most probably, because the party has [sic] a huge number of members, [the] Communist Party, that they were member[s] of the Party. So then they decide to shut up, not to talk about that, which perhaps is then the source of the anxiety and of not understanding what is then happening today. If you don’t speak about your past, if you are ignorant about your past–it goes for everybody of course–then it means that it is much easier to manipulate with [sic] you as a citizen, which then means that for example, Putin’s propaganda it’s much more efficient, or Milošević propaganda or Tudjman’s propaganda, every propaganda is much more efficient if it’s dealing with half truths or official truths. And if you add a little bit of meat into that and lie, of course, you have to lie, every propaganda lies, then you get some kind of a picture that you can sell to the public, to the people, to the army, to your citizens. And that, I think, is dangerous here.

I like to quote always Timothy Snyder, [an] American historian, who says, “history without memory is impossible but memory without history is dangerous.” And this is what is happening there because the kids have some kind of memory or half memory, but not history. And then they are lost, because they did not say, Why is this happening? What is this happening? How is it possible? So knowledge of the [sic] history is one, in my opinion, one of the very big problems in the former communist countries. And it’s a source of many problems. Why? Because what I learned at school was not history, it was official history, it means history controlled by the Communist Party.

I can give you an example of Jasenovac, which is perhaps the best example. When I started school, we learned some almost impossible numbers of people killed in Jasenovac, which is a concentration camp in the Independent State of Croatia, which was a Nazi puppet state between ‘41 and ‘45. So we were learning the numbers, I don’t know, 700,000. I mean, basically, at the end, all researchers came down to the number very recently, a couple, I don’t know, decades ago, somewhere around 70, maybe 100,000, but let’s say 70,000 people killed, with names and surnames and everything. And I, going to school, never learned about the other side of that Jasenovac and this is Bleiburg. This is where also some 100,000 people were executed by the [sic] Tito’s Army without any kind of mean process or anything. They were withdrawing from Croatia, they were defeated, there were many soldiers, but also many civilians, these people were killed in Austria, in Bleiburg. So this is what happens to you when you don’t know the history. Anybody can pull out, you know, certain images, certain, we used to call it pulling the bones and playing with the bones, how many dead were killed? Yes, there is a huge number of Serbs killed in Jasenovac. And therefore, if you don’t know exactly how many Serbs are killed, you can say 200,000, and perhaps it’s 20, then you can use it as an argument of propaganda. So I think the relation to the past, not only in Croatia or in Slovakia for that matter, or in Ukraine now also, a half truth combined with myth and lie it’s making very efficient propaganda.

PETER KORCHNAK: The cover of the American edition of Café Europa Revisited, by Penguin, features a photograph of another school-aged girl taken at something like a wedding. Dressed up and pigtailed, she is propping up her cheek with her elbow resting on a dining table amidst an assortment of glasses, staring straight at the camera, at the viewer. She looks very bored, borderline annoyed even, as only a child can be at an event like that. Behind her, an old man in a suit is taking a bite of food with a fork. With but a little bit of imagination, this sulky girl could represent Central Eastern European peoples’ attitudes toward post-communist capitalism and democracy, back turned, annoyed, while the fat cats feed in the background.

I’m talking to you from Belgrade, and the city is really quite covered in graffiti stencils glorifying Ratko Mladić, “Ratko Mladić Heroj,” etcetera, and of course, there’s that mural where it kind of all started. In Croatia, you know, you have posters of Ante Gotovina around the country, in Krajina, Dalmatia especially, every city has a Vukovar Memorial–these are becoming commemoration sites, I’m told–there’s a lot of flag waving. So, how does that play into what you were talking about? What’s your take on this, let’s say, looking back at the history, glorifying certain parts or telling certain versions on the ground level often and then how does it relate to the official approvals or consent or at least not erasure?

SLAVENKA DRAKULIĆ: That’s really the key in the sense that I think it’s actually a question of reconciliation, you know. How can we really reconciliate [sic] with these flags waving and all these graffiti around. We can not, it’s very difficult.

But I think tacit approval of every government is the key there. The governments in former Yugoslav republics, they like to have it on, can I say it, on [the] back burner, [on] low burn. This kind of nationalism, because they can always in some crisis, they can point out to the other side, look what they’re doing. Actually they are doing the same thing. This is what I mean by not resolving your past. In Croatia, you can really see that Croatian fascism 1941-45 is not dead.

PETER KORCHNAK: One of the ways this survival of fascism in Croatia manifests is the use by right wingers of the old Ustaša greeting, Za dom spremni, meaning roughly, For the Homeland at the Ready, which Drakulić considers as the Croatian equivalent of Heil Hitler and which is actually banned in the country. The problem, according to Drakulić, is that the rest of society pretends this does not happen, that the problem does not exist.

SLAVENKA DRAKULIĆ: But what exists in this society is tolerance. It’s tolerance to the things that should not be tolerated because it is nothing to be proud of.

However, Tudjman is partly responsible for that because if you would ask him as an old Partisan he probably would like somehow to skip that part of, these five years, if he could somehow bridge them and jump over them but he couldn’t, he couldn’t just skip it.

PETER KORCHNAK: The chief reason for this, according to Drakulić, was the influence of the Croatian diaspora, many of whom returned to their homeland in the 90s along with wads of money they used to finance Tudjman’s party as well as the war effort.

SLAVENKA DRAKULIĆ: So he, what we used to say, and it’s actually an expression for [sic] Feral Tribune from Split–

PETER KORCHNAK: Feral Tribune was a weekly satirical magazine between 1993 and 2008, notorious for its criticism of the government and especially of Franjo Tudjman who–

SLAVENKA DRAKULIĆ: –tried to mix the bones, you know, and somehow reconciliate [sic] Partisan and Ustaša children in a symbolic sense by actually building a proper, a proper monument to that. Of course, this wasn’t done.

But this mixing of bones it’s actually going on because this kind of underlying tendencies to revive that part of history still exist. Although when you look into elections and you look into researches [sic] there is perhaps no more than 15 percent of right wingers who, you know, stand behind it.

But it is that our government does not have [the] guts, doesn’t have enough distance to that. So it’s not very easy to reconcile, it’s not very easy to speak about or to agree without minimum truth from the past. We did not resolve, as you can see, [the] Second World War, we didn’t resolve what happened in NDH during [the] ‘41-‘45 state, and didn’t even come to speak openly and sincerely and persecute the war, our own, each country its own, war criminals.

It’s all going too slow. And the reasons are always, always, always political calculation.

Slavenka Drakulić: Yugoslavia, Europe

PETER KORCHNAK: In A Guided Tour Through the Museum of Communism, you tell the story of Yugoslavia through the eyes and the beak of Koki the parrot that Tito gave to his granddaughter as a gift. And so you touch upon all the things we’ve already talked about. But I want to ask kind of you on a personal level–and this might be again, one of those big, maybe general questions–but what does Yugoslavia mean to you personally?

SLAVENKA DRAKULIĆ: First of all, let me just mention a few words about this book, because this book for me, it’s very important. Many times I have seen in my experience that people in the West and especially in the United States, see, when you say communism or communist countries, they see them really as a bloc, they think everything is everywhere the same. And my aim, my, let’s say, little aim or modest aim in that book was to show that they are different, that Albania is different from Bulgaria, that [the] Czech Republic is different from Poland. So I took one animal to represent a country and tell the story of that country. And it’s in my view, it’s in a way a funny, funny book, because it shows these differences coming from the mouths of animals.

PETER KORCHNAK: It really is an entertaining little book with a great gimmick. A mouse living at the Prague Museum of Communism tells Czechoslovakia’s story, underscoring that, quote, “life under Communism should not be forgotten.” A circus bear named after Todor Živkov tells Bulgaria’s story. A dog tells Romania’s tale through a history of strays. A raven Albania’s. Tito’s parrot Koki tells Yugoslavia’s story, commenting on the man’s love of fancy outfits and uniforms, of beautiful women, and of simple food.

SLAVENKA DRAKULIĆ: Personally, my father was an Army officer, he was fighting in Second World War with Tito. We are from the seaside so he was fighting in this brigade that was fighting in [INAUDIBLE] Rijeka. And they were both working, my parents, we had, I would say, what was considered middle-class standard. When I went to school, I didn’t have a clue who is a Serb, who is a Croat. It wasn’t the topic then.

And the memories are fond because it is my childhood.

PETER KORCHNAK: Here Drakulić referenced George Orwell’s distinction between nationalism and patriotism that he made in his 1945 essay “Notes on Nationalism.”

SLAVENKA DRAKULIĆ: Patriotism is more private, it sounds strange, but it is more private in the sense of remembrance of your childhood, some food, some landscapes, or smells.

And nationalism, in his interpretation that’s also mine, [it] requires [an] enemy, because nationalism is saying, “my nation is better than yours.” And it is, let’s say, more aggressive than patriotism.

I’m more– I really feel like a European person, but I never forget where I’m from. It’s my language, it’s my tool because I also write in Croatian, although there was a period when I was writing mostly in English because it was impossible to publish anything in my own language.

However, not nostalgic for the system, not even nostalgic in any sense. It was quite a good life but of course I’m speaking only about middle-class people who could travel, who could go to Trieste to buy blue jeans, who could go to Graz, who could travel to London to buy records, and so on. So of course I was from that point of view privileged.

PETER KORCHNAK: As a writer myself and someone who actually read your books way back in the 90s and it was just kind of following, have been following your intellectual your publishing journey, I’m curious, where do you draw the motivation and the inspiration and the energy for all this work?

SLAVENKA DRAKULIĆ: Well, I don’t have any special source of energy, it’s just what like to do. I started as a journalist and I still am a journalist and never stopped being journalist. I like to write reportage, comments, analysis, I mixed all of it I think, my books in English it’s called essay but it’s actually [a] mixture of all of all of these, even mixture of fiction and nonfiction, I also write fiction. I am very curious and interested in the certain topics, Eastern Europe is something— But you know, on the other hand, when you think about [it] communist system collapsed–you have to write about that; there is a war–you have to write about that. I mean, things are happening. I think it’s just curiosity, and I cannot see myself doing anything else but what I’m doing.

[BACKGROUND MUSIC – “Changed Tomorrow” by Ketsa]

PETER KORCHNAK: “I cannot see myself doing anything else but what I’m doing.” That’s as aspirational for me as it gets. And honestly, it’s the point where I’ve found myself with this podcast and the Remembering Yugoslavia project overall. To be continued.

I could have talked with Slavenka Drakulić for hours. I had many more questions for her, about her having survived COVID and the anti-vaxx conspiracy theories; about feminism and the status and situation of women in the region today; plenty more about nationalism and Yugoslavia and and and. But the line was bad and the time limited and more writing to be done.

Speaking of writing, when Drakulić said she has to write about all the things she writes about, the Twitter experts came to mind, you know, the people who are experts on every single event or crisis that happens. Republika Srpska’s secession. The Afghanistan withdrawal. The German election. The trans issues. The war in Ukraine. The school shootings. The primaries. The difference I see here is that Drakulić sticks to her themes, to what she knows. A recent piece she has out in the Jutarnji List, for example, deals with the first conviction of a Russian soldier of war crimes in Ukraine, going back to the question of how he, a regular guy, could do such awful things, and using examples from the Yugoslav wars for comparison.

I recommend you follow Drakulić on Facebook, where she posts all of her writings, lectures, interviews, and more. And buy her books, starting with the latest, Café Europa Revisited. I’ve included the links in the blog post of this episode at RememberingYugoslavia.com.

[BACKGROUND MUSIC – “Rainmaker” by Petar Alargić]

PETER KORCHNAK: Next on Remembering Yugoslavia:

JOVANA STOJILJKOVIĆ: But it’s not about the money. The thing that people don’t understand is the commitment you have to put into this car. It’s literally like you’re adopting a child.

PETER KORCHNAK: Zastava 750, commonly known as Fićo or Fića or Fićko, was socialist Yugoslavia’s first car. Over time it took on a life of its own, both acquiring a cult status and becoming a nostalgic symbol for that disappeared country. On the next episode of Remembering Yugoslavia, Fićo goes back to the future.

Tune in wherever you listen to podcasts and subscribe to make sure you don’t miss out.

[OUTRO MUSIC – “Jugoslavijo / Od Vardara pa do Triglava” by Horn Orchestra]

PETER KORCHNAK: That’s all for this episode of Remembering Yugoslavia, thank you for listening. Find additional information, links, and the transcript of this episode at RememberingYugoslavia.com.

And if you wish to support the show and me in making it, please consider making a donation. Go to RememberingYugoslavia.com/Donate and choose from one of the options there to get started. I thank you and Yugoslavia’s memory thanks you.

Outro music courtesy of Robert Petrić. Additional music by Ketsa and Petar Alargić licensed under Creative Commons.

I am Peter Korchňak.

Ćao!