Author: Skye Warner-Mackintosh Centrally located on Kneza Miloša Street is the ruins of the former Yugoslav Generalštab building. Coming to the city for the first time in February 2023, it was the first thing I noticed upon arriving at the main train station. The building towers over you, occupying both sides of the street, and you are engulfed in the symbolic history of Yugoslavia and the contemporary struggle for a unanimous Serbian identity. The symbolic meanings of the building are not immediately apparent; you are invited to create your own meaning from the ruins before you. Unlike other remnants of the NATO bombing, such as the RTS bombing site, the Generalštab is impossible to miss; it is not subtle and located right in the heart of Belgrade.  Photo: Gavrilo Andrić Furthermore, the remains of the Generalštab building are a unique example of the maintenance of architectural ruins. Often, post-conflict reconstruction takes place as a prelude to identity reformation and healing (Ortiz and Córdoba, 2023). The question of what to do with buildings in the aftermath of conflict is often dealt with promptly, and buildings are often restored to their original historic design, preserved as ruins (although this is uncommon), or removed completely. The post-war period of reconstruction across Europe saw many German cities rebuild, with historically significant buildings either being preserved (and used as a museum or monument) or removed and rebuilt. Thus, for many places, rebuilding and commemoration are essential aspects of national bonding in post-conflict reconciliation, and this rebuilding is crucial in the healing process (Ejdus, 2017: 25).  Therefore, the Generalštab has “spontaneously grown into an inseparable part of the Belgrade cityscape and a de facto national monument of defiance and victimhood” (Ejdus, 2017: 36). It is laden with unambiguous meaning and, therefore, has been a crucial site of Serbian national-identity formation, specifically for people living in Belgrade, following the dissolution of Yugoslavia and remains to this day a highly controversial and puzzling symbolic urban space. This essay will critically examine the role of victimhood in Serbian national identity formation following the dissolution of Yugoslavia in 1991 and subsequent ethnic-conflicts across the Western Balkans. Using the Generalštab as an example, this essay analyses three central ‘readings’ of the building as advocated by Bădescu (2019): victimhood, injustice and resistance. Here, I make the distinction between state and societal victimhood, ultimately arguing that the building is a key signifier of the Serbian state's geopolitical and mnemonic identity, yet also highlights growing resentment and resistance to this regime.  Historic Background  On the 25th of June 1991, Croatia and Slovenia declared independence from the Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia (SFRJ). This marked the end of a union of South Slavs that had spanned over much of the 20th century. The success of Yugoslavia is widely debated amongst historians, although there is consensus that, throughout the period of 1936-1990, it was relatively stable. The dissolution of Yugoslavia in 1991, therefore, was relatively surprising and, although many authors could have predicted an ‘inevitable’ collapse, the violent and bloody nature of the aftermath of the collapse was quite unpredictable.  As discussed by Jovic (2001), the successive wars across the Western Balkans have numerous explanations, and it is impossible to pinpoint one ‘simple’ reason for the bloodshed that followed the dissolution. Whilst economic, socio-cultural, and political arguments have all been widely debated, it is clear that there was brewing discontent in the region throughout the 70s and 80s and Yugoslavia was largely tied to Tito. Therefore, following his death in 1980, the dissolution was not a matter of ‘if’ but, rather, ‘when’. It is impossible to give nuance to every argument on the dissolution of Yugoslavia when this essay’s purpose is to focus on the contemporary implications of these national dilemmas; however, it is important to understand the historical context that gave rise to different nationalist ideologies that dictated the nature of the breakup. However, for many historians, the question is not why Yugoslavia broke up, but, rather, why Yugoslavia broke up in the way that it did. With years of bloodshed and ethnic conflict, ending in 1999 with the NATO bombing of Belgrade. The brutal aftermath of the dissolution of Yugoslavia has been greatly influential in shaping contemporary national identities in the Western Balkans. With ethnic conflict spreading across the region following the dissolution and 100,000 lives lost, the scars of the 90s remain etched in the memories of people across the region, making it difficult to separate national identity from the collective memories of the 1990s. Thus, understanding the widespread bloodshed and victimhood of every ethnicity in the Western Balkans is important and gives insight into the contemporary geopolitical dynamics of the region.  Theoretical Background  Memory Assmann (2011) explores the relationship between the past and the self, arguing that the self would not exist without memories of the past. Here, “the human self is built from the stuff of time” (ibid.,15); we are products of stories, food, family histories, monuments, buildings and much more. Unlike traditional scholars of memory, Assmann argues that memory can often transgress the individual mind and can be promoted through inanimate objects (ibid.,17). Here, he makes the distinction between communicative and cultural memory. Whilst cultural memory is a collective preservation of the past (often through relics, monuments and symbols), communicative memory is much more subjective, often residing in the mundane tapestry of individual everyday life (ibid.,17). The city, therefore, is a site of both memory functions: in Belgrade, for example, one could walk through the city and reflect on the symbolism of the the Generalštab as a site of national bonding, whilst simultaneously reflecting individual symbolic histories interwoven in the urban fabric of the city.  Bădescu (2019: 183) notes that “cities have long been arenas of political struggle”, Belgrade is no different. It has been at the centre of many historical events and empires, and has often been a city of conquest. Until the dissolution of Yugoslavia, Belgrade was the capital city of the republic and, therefore, a vessel of Yugoslav identity formation and nation-building. As such, Yugoslav territorial bonding was fixed in Belgrade, with Tito residing in the socialist heart of New Belgrade (Abram, 2014).  Bădescu (2016; 2019) emphasises the active role of the city in constructing collective and cultural memories, as such, urban space becomes “a mediator for translating historic events into memory” and, within this, monuments are ‘selective aids’ in this process. Here, memory intersects with political experiences of urban space and a range of different actors are involved in interpreting sites of memory to make national symbolic meaning. Bernhard and Kubik (2014) refer to this as a ‘memory regime’ in which political elites, state institutions and civil society compete in defining historical interpretations as a strategy of legitimisation. As will be discussed later, the Generalštab building is symbolic of this power struggle, where different actors compete to assign a collective meaning to the building, either as a symbol of Western/NATO aggression, Serbian resilience, civil resistance or Yugonostalgia. Since 2014, when Vucic was elected, memory politics are ‘back’ in Serbia (Vukpalaj, 2025), representing a regime shift in how the 90s are commemorated and remembered in communicative and cultural memory.  Victimhood Another central tenet that has anchored Serbian and wider post-Yugoslav national identity formation has been victimhood. Chouliaraki (2020: 8) defines victimhood as “a structure of affective communication that is deeply grounded in the past”. Thus, it marks an intersection of the past and present and requires subjective interpretation alongside political meaning-making to be useful. Hronešová (2025) states that victimhood has a strong unifying function and is often used to consolidate national identities and state narratives. Victimhood is, therefore, ontological and is defined based on a binary opposition of ‘us’ and ‘them’. This relational capacity of victimhood is particularly relevant in the Balkans, where there are different and competing experiences and interpretations of victimhood and history. Vukpalaj (2025) notes that victimhood can be mobilised by the state to achieve political aims and narratives. Specifically, narratives of Serbian victimhood, dating as far back as 1389, are used contempoaraily to justify the non-recognition of Kosovo as an independent state, particularly following Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine.  Moreover, victimhood is often top-down and state-led (Hronešová, 2025). Here, victimhood has a strong unifying function that can be monopolised by so-called memory regimes to serve the political elite. The pain and stories of the vulnerable can, therefore, be manipulated, creating an ‘ontological narrative framework’ that provides a basis for foreign policy, militarisation and the definition of the enemy. Hronešová explores how this has manifested in Serbia through so-called ‘strategic victimhood’.  The concept of ‘strategic victimhood’ illustrates how elites propagate narratives of historical injustice and foreign hostility to mobilise a national identity based on a sense of collective suffering. Here, historical injustice is woven into the consolidation of national identity, particularly in relatively stable post-conflict societies, and the ‘us-them’ divide is solidified in policy. Moreover, elites can specifically harness the character of ‘victim’ through the notion of ‘hijacked victimhood’ (Hronešová and Kreiss, 2024). Hijacked victimhood is defined as a political strategy where already powerful groups or leaders claim victim status. Here, the typical narrative of victimhood is inverted to defend or expand their power, often by portraying themselves as oppressed by marginalised groups they then demonise, using this perceived threat to justify aggression, policies, or violence. However, as will be discussed later, there is a uniquely emancipatory potential within victimhood, which can be used to consolidate grievance against the elite and illuminate top-down memory regimes.  Identity that contrasts Western values As discussed above, victimhood is often something that is ‘hijacked’ by political actors, anchoring national identity and translating history into new ontic narratives. The Generalštab represents a disputed site of national bonding, a site that is “craving unambiguous meaning” (Ejdus, 2017: 36). As a building, it is experienced subjectively by passersby, but it has also been mobilised by politicians and the state as a site of victimhood since Vučić came to power. In the aftermath of the dissolution of Yugoslavia, the topic of the 90s was mostly ignored by politicians, with conversations often dating back to WW2, or even further back to Ottoman and Habsburg occupation. It was only in 2014, when Vučić came to power, that victimhood from the NATO bombing began to reemerge into official state narratives, marking a political decision to mobilise victimhood. As argued by Ejdus (2017: 31), the building remains there in ruin because it is there to satisfy Serbia’s ontological security needs. It represents a “defiant and brave nation” and, through this, becomes a “de facto national monument of defiance and victimhood”.  Thus, the Generalštab not only defines a new Serbian national identity, it also defines what this identity is not. It starkly contrasts Serbian identity with Western values, imbuing a sense of victimhood and struggle, which then determines foreign policy outcomes.  A key way this has been achieved is through the involvement of the Serbian Orthodox church in commemoration. Although viewed as a ‘neutral vessel’ in Serbian politics, the Church has become increasingly influential, enjoying the highest levels of public trust intergenerationally and becoming one of the largest investors in Serbia (Marinović, 2025). As argued by Edina Bećirović, the Serbian Orthodox Church has become an important tool in state-driven narratives of a Greater Serbian project, providing “legitimacy under the guise of spirituality” (Marinović, 2025). Although the influence of the Church is a different conversation, this has had particular implications in the commemoration of the 1999 NATO bombings, and the Church has played a key role in discussions regarding the future of the Generalštab building. As stated by Patriarch Irinej, “those ruins which are located in the centre of Belgrade should never be repaired. Let there be a testimony of our time, a testimony of [the destruction brought by] cultured Europe, testimony of democratic Europe that cared about freedom and democracy” (found in Bădescu, 2019). Thus, the Church deems the existence of the ruins as a crucial component of national identity formation in opposition to Europe. The example of the SOC demonstrates how victimhood has been integrated as part of Serbian religious identity, which is inherently interlinked with new national identities. The existence of the building signifies resistance to Europeanism and represents a new Serbian national identity where historical memory is interpreted by the Church and the state.  However, the framing of historical narratives of victimhood can also be mobilised for political gain. Vukpalaj (2025) argues that memory and victimhood can be used to justify foreign policy goals, and the existence of the Generalštab ruins can be used to negotiate new geopolitical relations for Serbia. In November 2025, the Serbian government passed a ‘lex specialis’ that allowed the redevelopment of the Generalštab building. This was a somewhat surprising shift in official memory rhetoric that has largely promoted the preservation of the ruins to promote a Serbian identity forged in victimhood, as discussed above.  However, the government's lease of the building to Jared Kushner, Trump's son-in-law, who proposed to build luxury hotels and ‘Trump Towers’, showed a political divergence. However, some argue that this lease is geopolitically relevant, mobilising victimhood to improve Serbia’s political relations with a new right-wing administration in the US. Moreover, the framing of the bombing has been useful in developing closer ties with Russia and China, which historically opposed the bombing. Thus, victimhood has been hijacked to re-route Serbia’s political position in the international arena, yet there are areas of contention and resistance within these narratives, which will be discussed below.  Bottom-up  However, the ambiguous meaning of the building has also made it a site of public resistance where victimhood is interpreted differently. Here, the building's ontic meaning shifts from symbolic of European aggression and Serbian might to symbolic of a rich Yugoslav history and, more importantly, of continued government divergence from the desires of Serbian citizens.  The architectural community of Belgrade have been a constant advocate for the reconstruction of the Generalštab to its original design. Importantly, the Generalštab was constructed as an ontic space in the 1960s as a symbol of Yugoslav unity against fascism. It was supposed to represent “features of a defiant and brave nation” (Ejdus, 2017) and is argued to be Serbia’s greatest feat of Socialist modernism, being architect Nikola Dobrović’s ‘magnum opus’. Thus, the alternatives of either destroying the building, leasing it, or keeping it in ruin all oppose the dramatic symbolism of Yugoslav unity that the building represents.  Heritage watchdog DOCOMOMO stated that the destruction and lease of the building would be “erasure of a European masterpiece of modernist architecture and a symbol of Yugoslavia and Serbia’s post-war identity and creativity” (Docomomo, 2025). Furthermore, the decision would damage the relationship between Serbia and the European Union, which goes against 33% of the general public's support for integration. This shows that contemporary critical Serbian national identities often oppose state-led narratives, with parts of the population advocating for the country to embrace the original purpose and design of the building. In response to the government leasing the building to Jared Kushner, there were a series of protests outside the Generalštab building in 2025, led by the Student Blockade, uniting all people opposed to the lease under a ‘We are the Wall Protest’. Here, the argument was that history and memory cannot be erased by administrative measures or special laws passed urgently. Thus, the people stood unified against top-down narratives of victimhood and memory, calling for collective memories to reimagine Serbian identity through the preservation of these ruins.  Finally, the Generalštab is a site of intergenerational resistance and represents resistance against the inequality created by the regime. For many, the symbolism is confusing and upsetting. Victimhood is still deployed here, but in more of a subtle way. As Bădescu (2019) argues, the Generalštab building represents a Western campaign against Belgrade that was paradoxical and unjust because the city also had the highest concentration of opposition to Milošević’s regime. Therefore, the building is symbolic of a historic regime that was somewhat opposed in the 90s, and acts as a reminder of this regime. However, whilst Serbian victimhood is still mostly operationalised in opposition to the West, the younger generation also feel a victimhood towards the regime itself. Hronešová (2025) examined victimhood in Serbian youth who had no experiences/direct memories of the 90s, finding that young people in Serbia feel that they are victims of the system more than they are victims of a concrete period in time. As one student stated: “We are victims of corruption rather than of wars” (Hronešová, 2025: 541). Despite this, they still emphasised the political elements of this. Serbia is seen as both a victim of domestic corruption and unjust international positioning, which is perhaps a legacy of the 90s. However, this example of positive victimhood has been mobilised throughout the student movements where, since 2024, students have become driving forces in fighting against top-down narratives of Serbian national identity, showing an optimism and promise for the future of national-identity where the memories and narratives can be made sense of in a rational way. Here, the Generalštab is representative of a new Serbia, led by a generation that is somewhat detached from the ontic reality of the 90s, that does not exist simply in opposition to the West, but also opposes hijacked narratives of victimhood that seek to exploit national-identity to pursue regimes of corruption.  Generalštab still remains This essay has traced a historical evolution of Serbian national identity in relation to different victimhood narratives in contemporary Serbia. The Generalštab is widely agreed to be an ontic space symbolic of multiple ambiguous meanings, and this has demonstrated how these meanings are mobilised by different actors to achieve different goals. On one hand, it is symbolic of European and Western aggression against Serbia; its existence is a promise to a new Serbian national identity that is defined in opposition to the West, and it is a monument dedicated to defiance and victimhood. On the other hand, it is symbolic of Yugoslav identity and modernism, a European architectural wonder, and the current regime’s decision to collaborate with the American right-wing on a redevelopment of the space marks a betrayal of this past. Thus, it is a site of national re-bonding, where people can be encouraged to imagine different realities, harness creativity and resilience to corruption.  However, one thing is clear: the Generalštab still remains, on Kneza Miloša Street, untouched. Everyday when people walk past new identities are constructed, different ideas of victimhood are projected, and different meanings are assigned to the ruin. It remains an important ontic site for the Serbian state, and the ambiguity of the building makes it somewhat impossible to imagine any future projects. Despite this, it is a crucial example in understanding how victimhood has framed national identity historically and contemporarily. Bibliography  Abram, M. (2014). Building the Capital City of the Peoples of Yugoslavia: Representations of Socialist Yugoslavism in.... Politička misao, [online] 51(5), pp.36–57. Available at: https://www.researchgate.net/publication/349537039_Building_the_Capital_City_of_the_People s_of_Yugoslavia_Representations_of_Socialist_Yugoslavism_in_Belgrade [Accessed 2 Feb. 2026].  Assmann, J. (2008). Communicative and Cultural Memory. 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Author: Janka Júlia Csepregi  A review of the rich scholarly literature on the dissolution of Yugoslavia and the wars of the  1990s published over the past few decades shows that the so-called “Kosovo question” often  appears as a framing element in interpretations that, rightly so, approach the process of  dissolution from a transnational and holistic perspective. Namely, the situation of Kosovo is  typically discussed in the introductory sections where different scholars outline the dire  situation unfolding from the complex crisis of the 1980s in Yugoslavia and the nationalist  mobilization fueled by Milošević, which first escalated in Kosovo. As accounts follow the course of events and the development of armed conflicts and wars in the independent republics,  it is not until 1998 that Kosovo returns to the narrative, as the „last in the line of conflicts” to  be solved following the dissolution (see e.g. Baker 2015; Sundhaussen 2014).  Photo: Unsplash/Xhiliana Nevertheless, the marginalization of the question of Kosovo in the 1990s is not only a  phenomenon in scholarly interpretations. In fact, the situation in Kosovo was sidelined and  largely neglected for a period in contemporary international discourse concerning developments  in Yugoslavia, too. Although the human rights issue in Kosovo was in the center of both  domestic and international attention during the economic and political crisis unfolding in the  1980s in Yugoslavia, armed conflict first escalated in the breakaway republics claiming  independence, and the question of Kosovo remained marginalized until the late 1990s.   Reason for the collapse of Yugoslavia  Scholarly explanations of the dissolution of Yugoslavia can be broadly  grouped into several strands that emerged from the early 1990s onward (Dragović-Soso 2007).  The first body of arguments focused on longue durée causes of ethnic conflict. Be it the  essentialist vision of “ancient hatred” among the “Balkan people,” promoted already during the  Balkan Wars in the West, the highly contested theory of the clash of civilizations, or approaches  of historical geography depicting Yugoslavia as a peripheral space shaped by former  multinational empires, these explanations view the multinational and multiconfessional  character of Yugoslavia as the main source of therefore unavoidable conflict.  Similarly, another  group of historians highlights the failure of the ideology of “Yugoslavism” to integrate  inherently incompatible identities, most notably those of the two biggest state-building nations,  the Serbs and the Croats. Whether attributed to Serbian hegemonism or Croatian and Slovenian  separatism, interpretations focusing on the legacy of the first Yugoslav state portray the  multinational state as an impossible idea doomed to failure.   Shifting the focus from the roots of violence to the process of disintegration, a third body of  scholarship examines the evolution of socialist Yugoslavia, with particular attention to the 1974  Constitution and the confederalization of the constitutional system. These institutionalist  explanations emphasize how deep economic and political crises contested the socialist legacy  and eventually led to state collapse, while leaving unanswered the question of whether political  reinvention could have prevented it. More recent and now widespread approaches reject the  predetermined nature of the collapse and instead stress the responsibility and agency of political  and intellectual elites in promoting tensions and inducing fear, primarily through state controlled media.  Without denying the significance of the systemic crisis that delegitimized  socialism, scholars argue that it was the active dissemination of nationalist ideologies and hatred  by elites that made disintegration inevitable, generating influential debates on elite-led versus  grassroots dynamics and the processes of national mobilization. In contrast with these  perspectives, scholars have also turned toward international factors, such as the role of  international financial institutions or Western recognition policies in the early 1990s, with debates over the timing, extent, and moral value of international intervention continuing to  shape both academic interpretations and the legacy of the 1990s wars.   Methodological nationalism and transitional perspective In the past few years, the academic scholarship on Yugoslavia’s dissolution has increasingly  been accused of essentializing the Yugoslav case and „reading history backwards”. This  phenomenon does not only concern the „nationalizing” historiography of post-Yugoslav nation  states that tendentially relies on a research agenda aimed at normalizing the successor states  „backwards” and projecting its current reality back in history (called methodological  nationalism).  On the contrary, this methodological bias is also characteristic of international  scholarship that until the present day has viewed the country’s dissolution „shaped by its end”,  focusing on developments in Socialist Yugoslavia leading to its failure while neglecting  evidence that suggests the opposite. In fact, this is also reflected in the general direction of this  research, namely in the large number of works that focus on the ethnic nature of the conflict, in  contrast to the common Yugoslav topoi that characterized historiography before the breakup  (Bieber 2016:1–3). This approach therefore suggests a turn in new research directions such as  e.g. a shift from political history to the Yugoslav Lebenswelt or a focus on the ’havenots’ rather  than the ’haves’ of Yugoslav society in order to understand the existing social inequalities that  could play a role in inidividuals’ response to nationalist mobilization (Archer 2016; Galijaš  2016).   By applying a  transnational perspective, the essay understands developments in Kosovo as an integral part of  the broader process of Yugoslavia’s dissolution and the unfolding armed conflicts, which are  treated as neither predetermined nor inevitable. Consequently, in order to avoid the trap of  “reading history backwards,” the discussion concentrates on the initial phase of the conflict  rather than on its more frequently analyzed escalation.   The evolution of the international attitude towards the Kosovo issue  Although Kosovo was initially perceived as a fundamental issue in the context of Yugoslavia’s  dissolution, after the recognition of the Western republics it was excluded from the peace  process and viewed as an internal matter of Serbia by the international community. How can  one explain the neglection of the Kosovo issue in the early 1990s? In the following I will argue  that the international assessment and handling of the Kosovo issue was overshadowed by  the unfolding conflict in the Western republics and was therefore primarily dependent on  the intentions concerning Yugoslavia’s survival.   Firstly, observing the evolution of the international attitude towards the Kosovo question, it  seems that it was only in the foreground of international attention as long as Western powers  were insisting on the preservation of Yugoslavia. Early American and European initiatives,  including sanctions imposed on the entire territory of the former Yugoslavia (such as the arms embargo), formed part of a broader strategy aimed at preserving Yugoslavia and treating  Kosovo as a core issue to be resolved within the framework of the Yugoslav state (Bellamy  2002:18). However, the realisation that Yugoslavia could not be held together eventually led to  the recognition of the member republics that declared their independence and therefore worked  as a self-fulfilling prophecy, giving international legitimation for the breakup. Consequently, as  Kosovo did not gain such recognition, it was no longer treated as a constituent part of  Yugoslavia but an internal matter for Serbia, thus losing legal grounds for international  engagement and what is more, becoming a victim of sanctions imposed at Serbia (Bellamy  2002:13, 16). In this way, with the abandonment of Yugoslavia's survival, the settlement of the  Kosovo issue was also removed from the agenda, which is well symbolized by the fact that  Rugova's 1991 letter to Lord Carrington advocating Kosovo's independence remained  completely unanswered (Bellamy 2002:26).   Secondly, when it comes to the handling of the Kosovo issue, namely the marginalization and  delayed involvement in the resolution of the situation of Kosovo Albanians, was significantly  influenced by the development of conflicts in Croatia and Bosnia and Herzegovina. This can  be observed at different stages of the process of Yugoslavia’s dissolution. First of all, this  interrelation already played a role in the non-recognition of Kosovo.  Delayed escalation of the conflict Even though until 1989 it  was a constituent part of the SFRY with legally defined borders layed down in the constitution,  Kosovo did not gain international recognition together with other republics, one of the main  reason of which was the Western powers’ fear of creating a precedent and thus legitimizing the  claims of Serbs in Croatia and BiH (Bellamy 2002:24–26). However, this was not the only  occasion when the issue in Kosovo was neglected in favor of the resolution of other, seemingly larger-scale conflicts.  After a short period of limited international engagement in Kosovo  characterised by the presence of the CSCE Mission of Long Duration and the ICFY, in their  efforts to win Milosević over to Bosnia's cause, the international powers withdrew even this  low level of their presence from Kosovo, thereby handing it over to Serbian autocracy (Bellamy  2002:65). Although peace in Bosnia was ultimately achieved and appears to have been worth  the cost, it remains uncertain whether “sacrificing” Kosovo—and thereby postponing its  resolution on the international agenda—ultimately contributed to the strengthening of the  radical wing of the Albanian movement and to the delayed escalation of the conflict.   In the context of the Kosovo conflict, both academic literature and public discourse often  mention that a key factor in the involvement of international forces on such a scale (NATO  airstrike) was the ’Bosnia syndrome’, i.e. the ‘never again’ conviction following the traumatic  experience of the Bosnian war (Bellamy 2002:69).  However, as can be seen from the above,  even in the early stages of the conflict, the international handling of the Kosovo issue depended  largely on events in other member states, rather than on internal political power relations and  the extent of Serbian political repression. As we shall see below, this considerably limited the  scope of the Albanian movement and greatly influenced the form and dynamics of the  resistance.   The dynamics of the resistance in Kosovo   The multifaceted crisis that unfolded in Yugoslavia following Tito's death first erupted in  Kosovo, where the malfunctions of the socio-economic system had already led to protests as  early as in 1981. Although the protests can be interpreted as manifestations of the particularly  acute consequences of economic and demographic transformation in Kosovo – then the poorest  and most underdeveloped region in Yugoslavia –, by this time the unequal political and  economic representation of ethnic groups had led to growing tensions and thus the 1981 riots  were framed around the discourse of nationality policy and constitutional reform (Pula  2004:801–803). This trend continued to strengthen throughout the 1980s, so that by the 1989  two completely separate and isolated political blocs had emerged in Kosovo, divided along  ethnic lines at both the institutional and social levels: the Serbian nationalizing regime, which  mobilized against the 'Albanization' of Kosovo, and the Albanian national secessionist  movement organizing against Serbian repression (Pula 2004:807).   In the wake of the dissolution of the federal state, despite the particularly dire political and  economic situation of Kosovo, Kosovo Albanians opted for non-violent resistance and started to build a parallel state rather than opening a new front against Serbia following the example of  the Western republics. Even though the claim to independence was articulated as early as in  1991, it was only after the wars in BiH and Croatia ended that the UÇK and the support for  armed resistance gained momentum in Kosovo, leading to armed conflict and the contested  NATO intervention in 1998–1999. The first half of the 1990s in Kosovo was thus marked by  the formation of a grassroots nonviolent resistance movement and the emergence of a parallel  system, which received less attention in academic literature in light of the bloodshed that  followed.   It is assumed that both the social and institutional frame of the conflict and the emerging  Albanian resistance can be rooted in the institutional structures and political identities inherited  from the Yugoslav system (Pula 2004:797–798, 818). The segregated political and social  frameworks that characterized the relation between Albanians and Serbs in Kosovo throughout  the 1990s were results of the institutionalization of political repression organized by the state,  excluding Albanians from the decision-making process and thereby forcing them to develop  parallel structures.  In addition, the educational and cultural institutions together with the public  service system that was established and coordinated by the Democratic League of Kosovo  (LDK) parallel to the one provided by the state were all in a sense, sucessors of the earlier  existing autonomy-era institutions being resilient to political repression.  Nevertheless, it is clear  that the relative success of the Albanian movement was largely thanks to the political  opportunities created by the international environment, primarily through the liberalization  following the collapse of state socialist systems in Eastern Europe. Accordingly, similarly to  the political transformation in Eastern bloc countries, the dynamics and chances of political  movements were tied to international support, regardless of internal potential and the extent of  popular support. It seems therefore that it was partly the lack of international recognition that  led to the failure of non-violent resistance. In the following I argue that the marginalization of  the Kosovo question by the international community limited the chances of a peaceful  resolution and in the long run contributed to violent escalation.   Parallel state As I argued above, the international recognition of the Western republics led to the  marginalization of the Kosovo issue in the international discourse, treated as an internal matter  of the Serbian republic. However, in the long term, the recognition of the newly independent  republics and Kosovo's marginalization actually strengthened the separatist aspirations  of the Kosovo Albanians rather than consolidating them.  Even though the Albanian  delegates of the provincial assembly in Kosovo already proclamied their claim for sovereignty in July 1990, this was not yet a shared initiative with the leading organization of the Albanian  movement (LDK) at the time. It was only later and due to the growing political opression by  the Serb state that the formal institutions in Kosovo and the Albanian movement joined forces  and set the common goal of independence. In fact, the main demand of the Albanian movement  in Kosovo even as late as May 1991 was only the republician status and the reversal of Serbia’s  constitutional reforms. Yet by the summer of 1991, with the breakup of Yugoslavia becoming a  realistic scenario, the LDK made the independence of Kosovo as its main political objective,  which gained popular legitimation by the referendum held in September 1991 (Pula 2004:806).   The Kosovar Albanians’ claim for self-determination was then engraved in the Kaçanik  constitution amended in October 1991 by the regional Assembly, laying down the groundwork  for the legitimate claim of independence and the basis of the parallel state of the 1990s. This  process was further escalated and in a sense concluded with the EC and later US recognition of  the independent republics, setting off an irreversible domino effect whereby the Albanian  movement, fearing even greater Serbian oppression without the constitutional framework of  Yugoslavia and counting on Western intervention, could no longer back down from its demand  for independence (Pula 2004:816).   Recognising of Kosovo Although the demand for independence was no longer challenged, the non-violent movement  organized under Rugova's leadership in the 1990s nevertheless prevented violent escalation and  maintained the possibility of a peaceful resolution, a chance that was dismissed by the  international community. In other words, the lack of international (both political and  economic) support for the parallel state and the missed opportunity to negotiate with  Rugova eventually undermined the LDK’s legitimacy and reduced the popularity of its  strategy of nonviolent resistance, contributing to the rise of the UÇK. On one hand, the  sanctions imposed on Kosovo through Serbia, along with Kosovo’s exclusion from the  negotiations, further intensified tensions between local Serbian and Albanian communities amid  the ongoing economic and political crisis (Bellamy 2002:24–26).  Furthermore, the region's  economic decline further increased dissatisfaction, thereby boosting support for more radical  forces. On the other hand, it seems that the international community missed a core opportunity  for a peaceful settlement by failing to use their diplomatic leverage to negotiate and reach an  agreement with the more consolidated wing of the Albanian movement led by Rugova.   The nonviolent resistance led by the LDK operated on the basis of the principle of peaceful  coexistence, which, in addition to monitoring and documenting cases of human rights  violations, paid particular attention to preventing and sanctioning radical and violent forms of Albanian resistance, avoiding confrontations with the Serbian police. Even though the early  1990s were marked by public demonstrations, strikes, and guerrilla attacks in Kosovo, by 1992  the parallel state had taken institutional shape and gained broad popular support, marginalizing  the position of clandestine groups and therefore the public support for armed resistance.  In any  case, the earlier disbandment of Kosovo’s Territorial Defense force and the removal of ethnic  Albanians from the police units have heavily hampered the organization of a full-blown armed  resistance, which, even more so in the absence of Rugova's political will to establish a defense  force, remained off the agenda. Although Rugova's system was subject to criticism both within  the LDK and among its opponents, e.g. within the student movement, partly learning from the  political culture of peaceful transitions in Central Eastern Europe and partly in recognition of  the given circumstances, the system of non-violent resistance enjoyed widespread support and  was reinforced by the 1992 elections, completing the institutional framework of the parallel  state (Pula 2004:808–812, 816–817; Hetemi 2020:212–214.)   Although Rugova’s parallel system was firmly institutionalised and rooted in broad popular  support, its credibility was gradually eroded by the absence of progress concerning Kosovo’s  independent status and its international recognition, especially in light of the peace negotiations  in Dayton.  The international society missed the opportunity to engage with or include Rugova  in diplomatic processes, which weakened the appeal of his nonviolent strategy among Kosovo  Albanians and had led to his growing political marginalisation after 1995. This sustained non engagement, coupled with the implicit acceptance of Serbia’s claim over Kosovo, created space  for more radical actors such as the UÇK to gain popular support after Dayton (Bellamy  2002:65–66; Sundhaussen 2014:368–369). Consequently, the emergence of armed resistance  was not simply the result of internal dynamics but was closely linked to international policies  reshaping the political landscape in Kosovo.   Missed opportunity Even though it is clear that the escalation of conflict in Kosovo in 1998–1999 was not solely  determined by international factors, in my essay I attempted to show how the prospects for a  peaceful resolution were profoundly altered by the broader context of Yugoslavia’s dissolution  and the selective recognition policies of the early 1990s. The international community’s  marginalization of the Kosovo issue—its delayed engagement and failure to negotiate with the  more consolidated and nonviolent wing of the Albanian movement led by Rugova—represents  a critical missed opportunity to prevent escalation on the diplomatic level.  By turning away from Kosovo, international powers did not resolve the conflict but merely postponed it,  reducing the likelihood of a peaceful resolution and indirectly contributing to the later rise of  armed resistance.   As shown, the developments in Kosovo were deeply intertwined with both the dynamics of the  Yugoslav wars in Croatia and Bosnia and the international handling of those crises and the  Kosovo issue was subordinated to wider regional calculations rather than addressed on its own  terms. Just as the “Bosnia syndrome” prompted NATO intervention during the escalation in  Kosovo, the hope of securing peace in Dayton had earlier shaped the international approach to  the Kosovo issue, and it was precisely this, i.e. Kosovo’s exclusion from the peace negotiations  that undermined Rugova’s legitimacy and contributed to the radicalization of the Albanian  movement. This interdependence underscores the necessity of analyzing the dissolution of  Yugoslavia and the related conflicts as a single, interrelated process.   Literature Archer, Rory. “Social Inequalities and the Study of Yugoslavia’s Dissolution.” In Debating theEnd of Yugoslavia, edited by Florian Bieber, Armina Galijaš, and Rory Archer, 135–151.Oxton/New York: Routledge, 2016.Baker, Catherine. The Yugoslav Wars of the 1990s. London: Macmillan Education UK, 2015.Bellamy, Alex J. “Kosovo and the Dissolution of Yugoslavia.” In Kosovo and InternationalSociety, edited by Alex J. Bellamy, 16–36. London: Palgrave Macmillan UK, 2002.Bieber, Florian. “Introduction.” In Debating the End of Yugoslavia, edited by Florian Bieber,Armina Galijaš, and Rory Archer, 1–7. Oxton/New York: Routledge, 2016.Dragović-Soso, Jasna. "Why did Yugoslavia disintegrate? An overview of contendingexplanations." In State collapse in South-Eastern Europe: New perspectives on Yugoslavia’sdisintegration, edited by Cohen, Lenard J., and Jasna Dragović-Soso, 1–40. West Lafayette,Indiana: Purdue University Press, 2007.Galijaš, Armina. “What Do We Know about the Lebenswelt of Yugoslavs?” In Debating theEnd of Yugoslavia, edited by Florian Bieber, Armina Galijaš, and Rory Archer, 155–174.Oxton/New York: Routledge, 2016.Hetemi, Atdhe. Student Movements for the Republic of Kosovo: 1968, 1981 and 1997. PalgraveStudies in the History of Social Movements. Cham: Springer International Publishing, 2020.Pula, Besnik. “The Emergence of the Kosovo ‘Parallel State,’ 1988–1992.” NationalitiesPapers 32, no. 4 (2004): 797–826.Sundhaussen, Holm. Jugoslawien und seine Nachfolgestaaten 1943–2011: eine ungewöhnlicheGeschichte des Gewöhnlichen. Wien: Böhlau Verlag, 2014.

Author: Iva Kojić  The collapse of the Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia in the 1990s was far more than a local tragedy; it tore apart an intricately linked society and economy overnight. As new borders rose and political agreements hardened, ordinary people were left stranded within fragile new economies, unable to compete with the wider world. For the truck driver waiting endless hours at the Batrovci border, or the student from Bitola whose diploma is worthless in Belgrade, the breakup replaced old certainties with lost futures. For more than two decades, influential academic and policy voices have described reintegration as a set of assignments dictated by the EU’s Berlin Process, treating the Western Balkans as passive recipients and ignoring the region’s powerful, internal need for a homegrown recovery. Illustration photo. Retrieved from Pexels (www.pexels.com) The Berlin Process offers a clear roadmap, while the Open Balkan Initiative appears, at least on paper, to be a more nimble, practical answer to real-life needs. Of course, both are complicated by local politicians' ambitions. In the end, the best way forward is to blend the strengths of both: keep the high standards of the Berlin Process, but add the local ownership and flexibility of Open Balkan, so that these projects actually make a difference for regular people living under their shadow Theoretical Framework and the Live Reality At the heart of the argument for regional integration lies David Mitrany’s functionalist theory. Mitrany posited that technical and social needs (energy distribution, transport logistics, public health) naturally ignore political borders and force cooperation out of sheer necessity (Alexandrescu, 2007, 29) . In the post-Yugoslav context, this theory suggests that the shared power grids, railways, and supply chains left behind by the common state act as a silent pull, drawing the successor states back into a web of international activities. But the real work of regionalism cannot just be explained by academic theories. Mitrany's ideas help set the stage, but when you look at what is actually happening in the Balkans, things are much messier. While functionalism suggests cooperation emerges from practical necessity, critics argue that it overlooks complex socio-political realities and power dynamics. The Open Balkan initiative, for example, is not just a response to practical needs. It is also shaped by the ambitions of political leaders. Many of these same leaders have, at home, let the rule of law slide and often put showmanship ahead of actually solving problems. Similarly, other integration theories, such as neofunctionalism or intergovernmentalism, might offer insights into how political actors and state interests play crucial roles in integration efforts. Thus, although theories hold that working together on practical issues should lead to political peace, in reality, these efforts are often hijacked for political gain. There is a real grassroots desire for reintegration, but the tools used to get there are often twisted to serve political survival. To truly judge these efforts, we must examine how political leaders use (and sometimes misuse) these theories, sometimes helping people, sometimes just helping themselves. Academic models are helpful, but right now, it is the politicians at the wheel, steering through a landscape full of old tensions and personal power plays. The Berlin Process: The Outsourced Assignment Launched in 2014, the Berlin Process was intended to revitalize regional cooperation through high-level summits and the creation of a Common Regional Market. Its greatest strength and its most significant contribution to the lives of regular people is its inclusivity. It involves all six regional partners, ensuring regional integration remains aligned with the EU's strict standards and legal principles. This inclusivity is a vital democratic safeguard, as it prevents the “island” effect where certain states are left behind due to political exclusion. In practical terms, the Berlin Process has produced tangible, humanized successes that improve daily life, such as the “Roam Like at Home” agreement, which has significantly lowered communication costs for millions of people traveling for work or family across the divided region. By eliminating roaming charges, the process has moved the region one step closer to the standards of the EU’s internal market (Mitrovic 2025, 10). However, a deeper critique reveals that the Berlin Process often feels like an outsourced project managed by a distant bureaucracy. For the regular citizen, its results are often trapped in administrative stagnation or slowed by complex ratification processes across six different parliaments. As Kamberi (2021, 60) notes, the prospect of the EU joining now seems “too distant and uncertain”, leading to a loss of faith in reforms that feel like a never-ending series of homework assignments given by Brussels. The Open Balkan Initiative: Agility, Ego, and the Practical Reality In contrast, the Open Balkan initiative is a locally led project born of a perceived revolt against the status quo. Its greatest strength is its agility. By focusing on low-hanging fruit, it has achieved practical successes where the Berlin Process has historically struggled (Xhoxhaj 2024, 7). The 2024 Labor Market Access Agreement is the primary example of this practical work: it allows a citizen of North Macedonia to work in Serbia or Albania without the humiliating and expensive ordeal of obtaining a work permit (Mitrovic 2025, 8). This is a direct response to the brain drain crisis hollowing out the region. However, the Open Balkan initiative is also flawed, mainly because it excludes Kosovo, Montenegro, and Bosnia and Herzegovina, which risks further splitting the region. And, just like with other regional efforts, we cannot remain blind to the politicians in charge. Citizens worry that this initiative is a front, giving political leaders a bigger stage and more power, even as the rule of law back home deteriorates. Some critics even warn that it could end up putting Serbia at the forefront, mainly benefiting big companies and politicians instead of everyday people trying to get by. However, proponents of Open Balkan argue that the initiative prioritizes regional economic collaboration, aiming to bring tangible benefits quickly to those who need it the most. They assert that by simplifying labor mobility and reducing trade barriers, the initiative addresses real economic needs and can set a precedent for broader regional inclusion in the future. Bridging the Gap through Practical Reintegration The positive aspects inherent in both the Berlin Process and the Open Balkan initiative must be synthesized to move beyond political spectacle and toward a genuine improvement in the lives of regular people. Within the Berlin Process, the region must preserve the high standards of the EU acquis and ensure total regional inclusivity within the WB6. In the Open Balkan, the synthesis must foster a sense of regional ownership. The bridge between these two models lies in the Staged Accession model. This framework suggests the EU should stop treating the Balkans as a binary “in or out” choice and instead offer early, functional access to the Single Market as a reward for specific regional cooperation successes (Mitrovic 2025, 19). For the citizen, a synthesis of these models would move from grand declaration to practical work. For example, moving beyond simple roaming agreements to a unified regional energy grid and digital market might allow Balkan tech startups to scale regionally before competing globally, thereby fulfilling the need for a shared economic space that remains physically dependent on common infrastructure. Another example could be expanding the labor mobility protocols of the Open Balkan to the entire WB6 within the legitimate framework of the Berlin Process. This would ensure that a nurse from Sarajevo or a programmer from Pristina can move as easily as their counterparts in the Trio, while still benefiting from the legal protections and safety standards guaranteed by EU alignment. This is where the real work happens. It is not found in high-level summits but in regional harmonization that makes the border invisible to the person crossing it. By utilizing the political speed of the Open Balkan to fulfill the institutional promises of the Berlin Process, the region might finally begin to heal in a way that serves the people. Moving Beyond the Homework Assignment The reintegration of the post-Yugoslav space is a structural necessity- a response to the unsustainable fragmentations of the 1990s. While academic theories provide a useful map, they cannot account for the practical difficulty of navigating the political egos and catastrophic track records of regional elites who often use these platforms for domestic promotion. The disintegration of Yugoslavia created a rupture that cannot be healed by an outsourced project alone. It requires a reintegration that is both technically sound and locally owned. Ultimately, the promise of regional stability is in moving beyond the political theater of leaders and toward genuine technical cooperation that serves the citizens. Regionalism is not a homework assignment for Brussels. Rather, it is a survival strategy for the people of the Balkans. The promise of either model is hollow if it does not address the ten-hour wait at the border or the unrecognized diploma. By reclaiming regional ownership and synthesizing the practical successes of both models, the successor states can finally make the borders breathable again. Reintegration should not be a decision for politicians. Instead, it is a mandate dictated by geography and the shared needs of a population that refuses to be defined solely by its borders. Bibliography Alexandrescu, Mihai. 2007. “David Mitrany: From Federalism to Functionalism.” Transylvanian Review 16 (1): 19-33. Popoviciu, Adrian-Claudiu. 2010. “David Mitrany and Functionalism: The Beginnings of Functionalism”. Revista Romana de Geografie Politica 12, (1): 162-172 Jelisavac Trosic, Sanja, and Mitko Arnaudov. 2023. “What are the Realistic Capabilities of the Berlin Process and the Open Balkan Initiative?” Review of International Affairs 74 (1187): 59-85. Kamberi, Donika. 2021. “Open Balkan vs. Berlin Process- Same, Same but Different” Freedom: Journal for Peacebuilding and Transcultural Communication 2 (3/4): 60-71. Jelisavac Trošić, Sanja, and Mitko Arnaudov. "Open Balkans - Between Economic Opportunities and Political Reality." (2023). Mitrovic, Sava. 2025. Regional Cooperation Initiatives in the Western Balkans: Improving Countries’ Preparedness for Staged Accession to the European Union. Belgrade: European Policy Centre (CEP). Xhoxhaj, Veton. 2024. “Assessing Western Balkans Regional Integration Efforts: A Comparative Study of the Berlin Process and the Open Balkan Initiative". Multidisciplinary Science Journal 7: 2025248. Mitrany, David. 1975. The Functional Theory of Politics. London: Martin Robertson for the London School of Economics and Political Science.

Author: Daryna Lynnyk  This article is an attempt to present the image of Josip Broz Tito not in a one-dimensional interpretation, but in a broader context - in addition to Soviet sources, the materials of periodicals published under German occupation, as well as in emigration publications in Germany and Austria, are also analysed here. At the same time, due to limited access to the contemporary Ukrainian press, which is independent of ideological pressure, most of the research sources belong to the opposing propaganda poles of the Soviet and Nazi regimes. The image of Tito in these materials often serves as an ideological marker, which is used to construct ideas about ‘friends’ and ‘foes’ in the context of international politics and domestic legitimation of regimes. Picture taken from the website https://gradskiportal018.rs The figure of Josip Broz Tito vividly illustrates how the media can artificially construct public opinion under the pressure of ideological directives of totalitarian regimes, flexibly adapting narratives to changes in the political situation. The 71 sources analysed from Ukrainian periodicals allow us to trace a clear change in the rhetoric about the Yugoslav leader depending on the time, type of media and their political control.  Given the specifics of political changes and the transformation of propaganda strategies, media coverage of Josip Broz Tito in the Ukrainian press is conditionally divided into four key periods:  1. 1943-1945 – Nazi German-controlled media and Tito’s “gangs”  2. 1945-1947 – Postwar glorification in the Soviet press.  3. 1948-1952 – Ideological rift between Stalin and Tito.  4. 1956-1973 – Rehabilitation of the image and return to moderate approval.  This periodisation demonstrates the direct dependence of rhetorical changes in the media on the foreign policy and ideological course of the regimes that controlled the contemporary press in Ukraine.  Nazi German-controlled media and Tito’s “gangs”  The period of 1943-1945 is represented by 21 publications, exclusively in the media that operated under the supervision of the Nazi authorities. The largest number of references falls on 1944, the period of active hostilities between the Red Army, Bulgarian troops and the Yugoslav People's Liberation Army led by Tito and the German coalition. In these publications, the image of Tito is presented exclusively in a negative light: he is called a ‘Bolshevik bandit leader’, and the official title of Marshal of the Federal People's Republic of Yugoslavia is either put in quotation marks or accompanied by the designation ‘so-called’, which was intended to delegitimise his political status and separate him from representing the interests of the Balkan peoples1.  One of the leading strategies of German propaganda was to portray Tito as a direct leader of Soviet policy, an “Agent” prepared and inspired by Moscow. However, at the same time, they do not consider him to be their puppet, which indirectly indicates his autonomy. The publication ‘Bolshevik Work in the Balkans: Who is the Communist “Marshal” Tito?’ (‘Volya Pokuttya’) notes that his units were ‘organised on the Bolshevik model’ and that he ‘received special training in Moscow’. Interestingly, they were not lying there – Tito’s army structure was heavily inspired by the Soviet, to the extent that Stalin even feared that this could damage his relations with the Western allies2. Stalin, according to the same publication, viewed Tito as “the front line of Bolshevism in Europe”3. This indicates Tito's ideological dependence on the USSR, his subordination to the Soviet secret services, and his desire to imitate the Soviet model. This characterisation shaped the image of Tito as an immediate threat, an ideological enemy, while singling him out, rather than the Balkan peoples, as the main object of confrontation.  German publications systematically shaped the idea of the power of the Wehrmacht, which inflicted devastating blows on Tito's “communist gangs”4. At the same time, the Nazi press clearly demonstrated a tendency to devalue Soviet forces: communist units were labelled as "gangs" and their activities were presented as chaotic and illegitimate. In contrast, the American and British military are seen as equal adversaries, which underscores the Nazi propaganda's attempts not only to humiliate the communists but also to question the legitimacy of Western support for the Yugoslav resistance movement. Another element of the propaganda was the emphasis on the internal discord among Tito's “bandits”, the mass defections of Serbs and Italians to the German army, which was presented as supposed proof of the moral superiority of the Third Reich5. This representation was intended not only to delegitimise Tito, but also to contrast the "chaos" of the communist movement with the "order" of German control, reinforcing the message of Germans as civilizational liberators.  To reinforce the dehumanisation of the Bolshevik forces, statistics were provided on the numerous crimes committed by the "communist robber gang" led by “comrade” Tito against the civilian population - rape, looting of churches, destruction of houses, murder of children, women and the elderly - which he had committed in the ‘Moscow style’ after receiving training there. Such claims were supported by geopolitical pretexts: according to the authors, these brutal methods were part of a broader Soviet strategy to reach the shores of the Adriatic Sea, implemented by Stalin's "agent" Tito6.  “Tito as a conspiracy against the Serbs” A separate propaganda narrative was formed around Tito's ethnicity, a Croat who was portrayed as a fierce opponent of the Serbs. In this discourse, the Serbian people were portrayed as victims of a conspiracy of international forces: it was claimed that “Churchill and Eden betrayed the former Yugoslavia, its government and king”, and the Serbs were credited with a “historic mission” – the destruction of Bolshevism. The Tito government, according to the rhetoric of the publications, was portrayed as a "tool of the red Kremlin" and a "bandit provocation" to which there could be only one response - "the concentration of all Serbian national elements under the banner of Nedić"7. In this context, British policy was condemned as cynical and treacherous: England had first forced Serbs to "shed blood for her benefit", and when General Mihajlović, the leader of the Chetniks, the monarchist partisan resistance movement in Yugoslavia, became unnecessary to her, he was "thrown away like a squeezed citrine" in favour of a new favourite, Tito, a leader "alien to the Serbs"8. This is confirmed by a quote from Captain Jovovic used in another article: "We want to fight against our gravediggers, together with the brave German armed forces, which are not replaced by any territorial aspirations in our country"9. In this way, Tito and his allies are presented as an existential threat to the Serbian nation, which is instead heroised and given a historical role. As an alternative to Tito's "treacherous" course, the support of the pro-regime Serbian leader Milan Nedić, the head of Serbia's puppet government during the Nazi occupation, is offered.  Overall, it can be argued that the Ukrainian media, controlled by the Nazi authorities, systematically denied the legitimacy of Josip Broz Tito as the head of the newly created Yugoslav state. The publications formed a stable image of Tito as a follower of Bolshevik ideology and an instrument of Soviet expansion (or at least its “agent”). Much attention was paid to attempts to oppose him to the Serbian people, presenting the latter as a victim of a conspiracy between the Communists and the Western allies. Instead, the figure of Milan Nedić, the head of the pro-regime government, was glorified as the only nationally acceptable alternative.  Postwar glorification in the Soviet press.  After the victory of the anti-Hitler coalition forces and the consolidation of Soviet influence in Eastern Europe, the media space on the territory of Ukraine came under the control of the USSR. The analysed corpus of materials for this period revealed only 10 publications, nine of which belong to the Soviet "Literary Gazette" [Літературна газета] and one to the émigré publication "Our Life" [Наше життя], published in West Germany.  The rhetoric of heroising Tito and demonstrating him as an equal ally of Stalin became characteristic of the Soviet discourse. Thus, in an article written by the Soviet actor, People's Artist of the USSR Yuri Shumsky, the author shares his impressions of a trip to the Balkans, where, according to him, he had long wanted to go. He describes a Victory Day celebration in Yugoslavia, where the atmosphere was permeated with slogans: "Long live Marshal Stalin!", "Long live Marshal Tito!", "Stalin - Tito!", "Moscow - Belgrade!". This emotional palette is aimed at reinforcing the image of both leaders as equal heroes of the liberation struggle, united by a political union. Further, the text gives preference to the depiction of the Yugoslav partisans as heroic fighters against the Nazi occupiers. Describing the monuments, Shumsky emphasises that “from this impregnable fortress, the heroic Yugoslav partisans drove out their enemies — the German invaders.” Thus, the landscapes of Yugoslavia are intertwined with a pathos story of a common victory10.  The style of this publication is journalistic – a personal, emotionally coloured story written by a popular actor inspires trust within the reader. Vivid epithets, emotional impressions, and images of festive Yugoslavia are intertwined with political slogans that gently but persistently impose the official Soviet political course through the image of culture, brotherhood, and victory.  In another publication published in the “Literary Gazette”, Bulgarian literary critic Lyudmil Stoyanov provides an overview of modern Bulgarian literature, closely linking its development to the collapse of “fascism” in the region. He notes: “In the first days after the overthrow of fascism, poets came up with many poems that glorified the exploits of the Red Army, the wisdom of Stalin, the struggle of the Bulgarian partisans and the people’s army, the heroism of Marshal Tito’s troops, and the brotherhood of Slavic peoples.” Such a hierarchically constructed list of images—from the Red Army to Tito—points to the central motifs of officially approved post-war poetry. The author not only notes their presence but also approves of them, effectively legitimising the cultural orientation toward the Soviet narrative. Thus, Marshal Tito organically fits into the system of ideological symbols, as part of the liberation struggle and Slavic unity, and the article itself performs the function of cultural confirmation of this new political reality11. Ally of Lenin and Stalin  The close connection between the Soviet leadership and the Yugoslav political elite is also evidenced by the article dedicated to the funeral of Mikhail Kalinin – one of the leading figures of the October Revolution and the Soviet Union. From the very first lines, Kalinin appears as a "faithful ally of Lenin and Stalin", which partially levels his own personality as a prominent politician, and instead strengthens the cult of the main Soviet leaders. At the same time, the culminating moment of the article is the description of the appearance of “Marshal Josip Broz Tito, accompanied by members of the Yugoslav government delegation,” who lays a wreath “from the fraternal Yugoslav people, in whose hearts gratitude will forever live to one of the leaders of the Soviet state for his assistance in liberating Yugoslavia from the yoke of the fascist invaders.” Such a gesture symbolises not only official political loyalty, but also demonstrates Yugoslavia’s ideological dependence on the USSR in the post-war period. Formal expressions of gratitude consolidate a hierarchical model of relations, where the USSR appears as a liberator and mentor, and Yugoslavia as a dependent follower12.  The analysis of the materials also indicates the active development of cultural ties between the Soviet Union and Yugoslavia in the post-war period. The publications cover congresses, official meetings, and literary evenings during which creative works with a clear ideological undertone were exchanged. In particular, the report on the meeting with Yugoslav writers in Kyiv emphasizes the common historical struggles of the two peoples and the role of literature as a means of ideological consolidation: “The revolutionary democratic literature of Yugoslavia, like the literature of the Soviet Union, was closely connected with the struggle of its people against a fierce enemy.” At the meeting, Pavlo Tychyna read a translation of an excerpt from “Songs about the Life of Comrade Tito,” emphasising the unity of the experience of both countries: “We fought together and won together. And nothing can break our friendship, which was born in the fight against a mortal enemy.” The material pays special attention to the role of Ukrainian intellectuals, who, through translations and literary initiatives, contributed to the establishment of cultural dialogue. At the same time, the emphasis is placed on the heroization of the common past, emphasizing the “great role of the Russian people in the development of the culture of other Slavic peoples” and on the figure of Tito as a leading leader, thanks to whom, according to the narrative, these ties became possible13.  A striking example of the ideological content of cultural interaction between the USSR and Yugoslavia is the publication of Maksym Rylsky’s translation of the poem by the Yugoslav poet Vladimir Nazor “Friend Tito”. In the poetic text, Tito appears as a multifaceted image — a symbol of national revival, a leader who unites disparate forces, cares for the people and embodies the features of an ideal leader. Thus, the metaphor of revival — “fire under the ashes” — indicates renewal after the destruction of the war, and the image of a river with many streams symbolises the unity of the peoples under his leadership. Tito is depicted as someone who provides prosperity—“sows flour,” “kneades new bread”—and at the same time has authority and power—“stern as a lion,” but with a “father’s heart.” The poem also emphasizes trust in the leader even in an uncertain future: Tito is depicted as a “gift of great fate” for the people14. Another example is Rodovan Zogovich’s poem “Song about the Life of Comrade Tito,” published on the front page and translated by Pavlo Tychyna. It uses the rhetoric of total identification of the leader with the people: “Tito is all of us… And he is a multitude of us.” Such poetics of merging the individual with the collective is characteristic of totalitarian discourses, where the leader personifies the masses. The lines "He was born into the world from the first branch of the CP" directly and inextricably link Tito to the Communist Party of Yugoslavia15. Both works not only testify to the formation of a cult of Tito’s personality in the Yugoslav cultural space, but also demonstrate his full approval by the official Soviet line. Their appearance in the Soviet press, in particular in translations of recognised Ukrainian poets such as Rylsky and Tychyna, testifies to the institutional legitimisation of the positive image of Tito as an “allied and fraternal leader”.  Criticism of Tito’s regime The only mention of Josip Broz Tito found in the émigré press, namely in the newspaper “Nashe Zhyttia”, published in Augsburg (West Germany), is a publication in which Tito is called “marshal” without quotation marks. This form of mention indicates a certain recognition of his official status as the leader of Yugoslavia. At the same time, the general tone of the material is critical. The author of the text draws attention to Tito's silence in public speeches about the role of the international humanitarian organisation United Nations Relief and Rehabilitation Administration (UNRRA) in the post-war reconstruction of the country, in particular, noting that without its help, "half of the people in Yugoslavia would have had to die of hunger". In addition, an ironic attitude is expressed towards the implementation of the Soviet model of the five-year plan ("five-year plan") in Yugoslavia, which is depicted as an ineffective instrument for "making the people happy" according to the model of Moscow's centralised policy16. Thus,the publication combines formal recognition of Tito's political status with criticism of his regime, in particular for concealing information about foreign aid and adopting Soviet models of governance.  As a result, in the Soviet public discourse of 1945–1947, Josip Broz Tito appears as a heroic ally, equal to Stalin in the fight against "fascism". His activities are systematically portrayed as the embodiment of brotherhood, revolutionary devotion and care for the people, which ideologically brings Yugoslavia closer to the USSR. Through artistic images, journalistic materials and translations of Yugoslav poets, a cult of Tito's personality is gradually formed in the Soviet media, approved and supported by the official line. Thus, Yugoslavia is presented not only as a political, but also as a cultural and ideological ally, and its leader is an exemplary leader, legitimised by the Soviet state and sphere.  Ideological rift between Stalin and Tito While reading Soviet publications from 1945 to 1947, it would be hard to imagine that by June 1948, the Cominform would officiallycondemn Yugoslavia for “ideological deviations,” and a sharp political conflict would erupt between Josip Broz Tito and Joseph Stalin. This sudden change in relations, which ended in an effective break, can be explained by Tito’s desire to pursue a more independent domestic and foreign policy, particularly through active participation in the Greek Civil War, the initiative to create a federation with Bulgaria, and increased influence over Albania. These actions contradicted the strategic interests of the USSR and undermined Moscow’s monopoly on setting the political course in the socialist bloc17.  Among 35 analysed publications from 1945 to 1952, about 70% were printed in the émigré newspaper “Promin” (Salzburg, Austria), while the remaining 30% appeared in the “Literary Gazette”. Notably, in 1948–1949, the period immediately after the split, the “Literary Gazette” only featured one article mentioning Tito. In contrast, between 1950 and 1952, the number of such mentions increased, suggesting a shift in the Soviet media’s approach to covering the topic, although the exact reasons remain open to interpretation.  In early June 1948, the “Promin” briefly reported on political purges conducted by Tito, comparing them to Stalinist purges18. This was based on the dismissal and arrest of top Yugoslav ministers, close to Tito and comrades, during the partisan war19. This suggests that Tito employed the Soviet model of political cleansing, but did so to break away from USSR influence and establish sovereign control over his state.  Comparing Yugoslavia and Ukraine In the context of the political split between Stalin and Tito, one article drew a comparison between the situation in Yugoslavia and that in Ukraine, stating: “The accusations made by Moscow against Tito are the same as those once made against Ukrainian communists.” This points to shared repressive mechanisms used by Moscow against independent-minded communist leaders.  Despite a certain sympathy for these “victims,” the author remains critical of Tito and his Ukrainian counterparts, calling them “lackeys” who failed to please their Moscow patrons: “Thus Tito stands as a bankrupt before his people… and a bankrupt before his master.” Still, the author supports Tito’s opposition to broader Russian imperialism, stating: “Moscow, as the centre of imperialism and as the embodiment of brutality and cynicism, must be destroyed.” However, this support does not translate into respect for Tito himself, who, according to the author, remained a follower of Stalin and never fully broke from Soviet influence20.  Another article takes a more sympathetic tone toward Tito, drawing historical parallels between his resistance to Soviet pressure and the efforts of Ukrainian revolutionaries in the 1920s—such as Mykola Skrypnyk, Mykola Khvylovy, and Oleksandr Shumsky—to establish autonomous Ukrainian policies within the USSR. This comparison emphasises the continuity of the struggle for national liberation and highlights the stronger position Tito enjoys. Unlike the Ukrainian national communists, whose influence was limited to intellectuals and students, Tito, the article notes, had much broader support: “Tito enjoys far more advantageous and solid positions compared to Skrypnyk and Khvylovy… He has not only the whole nation behind him but also a fully armed army—even his own NKVD.” The author thus places hope in Tito as a potential symbol of resistance to imperial pressure, where Ukrainian predecessors failed21.  Assumptions about the world war The “Promin” also underscores the significance of the Moscow-Yugoslavia conflict, calling it “the first serious defeat of Moscow in the Balkans” and “the first major crack in Moscow’s offensive front in Europe.” The article highlights that Tito violated the only concrete “principle” — obedience to Moscow — thereby openly defying Kremlin control. In this context, “the foundation of Moscow’s power… is terror,” but “Tito has proven that… Moscow’s terror can be resisted.” Therefore, Tito not only defied the Kremlin’s line but challenged the effectiveness of Stalinist terror as the primary tool of control. The article concludes with a broader implication: “The defeat of Moscow’s expansionism in the Balkans… will reduce the power of terror along the entire front.” The author sees the Yugoslav conflict as the beginning of the weakening of Stalin’s dominance model in other occupied countries22.  In another article featuring commentary by Randolph Churchill, Winston Churchill’s only son, the conflict between Tito and Stalin is seen as a potential precursor to a large-scale armed confrontation, possibly even a world war. The author presents a grim scenario: should the USSR invade Yugoslavia, Western nations—due to alliance obligations—would have to intervene on Tito’s side, potentially sparking a third world war. A comparison of the Kremlin’s tactics to those of Nazi Germany intensifies the threat: “Moscow will follow Hitler’s pre-war strategy.” The article emphasises how swiftly Stalin could overtake Yugoslavia, stating that the Kremlin “needs an easy and cheap victory.” These statements aim to instil a sense of impending catastrophe, fueled by the belief that “Stalin and his criminal gang” could replicate the horrors of World War II. The use of historical analogies, appeals to authority (Churchill), and the framing of a civilized West against an aggressive East helps shape the article’s political message: the conflict with Tito is not local, but a sign of a wider imperialist threat from the USSR23.  A review of a Daily Mail article titled Discord in the Moscow Family shows how the Western press used irony and strategic quotations from communist sources to dismantle the image of a united Soviet front — a tactic that the Ukrainian émigré community leveraged to reinforce its anti-Soviet narrative. The article opens with a telling statement: “The Soviet Union now has trouble not only on the external front but also internally,” portraying the USSR as a crumbling hegemon. Criticism is particularly sharp in examples from allied states: Finnish communists fall out of favour after electoral losses; Polish leader Bolesław Bierut is depicted as a puppet of Moscow’s agents; and Hungarian police are depicted as a terror instrument against “enemies of the people.” In this context, though Tito is not mentioned directly, he serves as a shadow hero of the discourse. The paper implies that Yugoslavia’s independence became a chilling precedent for the Kremlin: “Intended… for those party cadres tempted by Tito’s heresy.” This reflects the Soviet perception of any alternative political line as an existential threat. Thus, Tito becomes a symbol of political courage and independence — a challenge to the centre — used as a “negative example” to discipline other socialist bloc countries24.  Further interpretations of the Belgrade-Moscow split Further confirmation comes in another article analysing Soviet-Chinese relations, where the author poses a striking question: could Mao be “another Tito”? This short yet conceptually significant question shows that by 1949, Tito had become a symbol of the “independent communist”— a leader able to challenge Moscow not from the West, but from within the communist camp. Thus, Tito and Yugoslavia acquired new global meaning as markers of political autonomy inside the “socialist bloc”. In Soviet literary journalism of the USSR-Yugoslavia conflict period, the image of Josip Broz Tito was consistently demonised using extremely aggressive language. In the cited texts, he is depicted as an “executioner” and leader of a “fascist agency” working for the “Anglo-American imperialists.” This rhetoric presents Tito as a traitor to socialism and a servant of Western capitalism, aligned with the “imperialist” anti-Soviet front. This narrative became particularly prominent in 1949, when Albania, under Enver Hoxha, aligned closely with the USSR as its main strategic ally. After the 1948 split between Moscow and Belgrade, Tito was perceived by the Albanian leadership as the embodiment of “betrayal” within the socialist camp. Yugoslavia, which previously had significant influence over Albania, particularly through military and economic aid, came to be seen as the main threat to Albania’s independence and ideological purity. That same year, Albania launched major political purges, including the arrest and execution of Koçi Xoxe, a former deputy premier accused of links to Yugoslavia. His name appears in quotes as a symbol of a conspiracy organised by Tito to destabilise the country. The article’s conclusion about the failure of the “black schemes” of Yugoslav agents serves not only an ideological purpose but also helps consolidate the internal political legitimacy of Hoxha’s regime25. Despite its economic weakness, Albania sought to present itself as an independent and Kremlin-loyal state in a newly divided communist world. Thus, the analysed text demonstrates how publicist writing of the era became a tool for ideological mobilisation, anti-Yugoslav propaganda, and an affirmation of loyalty to the “correct” Soviet line.  In another article, while glorifying the Stalinist army, Tito is described as a “mercenary of American intelligence,” a direct accusation of betrayal and collaboration with the Soviet bloc’s enemies. This branding likens him to spies and hostile agents, emphasising distrust and hostility. Tito’s actions are portrayed as a string of failures—“suffering failure after failure”—creating the image of a weak and unsuccessful opponent, unable to stop the socialist movement. The harsh label “cutthroats” used for Tito’s supporters emphasises their violent and negative portrayal in Soviet propaganda. The overall tone is purely propagandistic, casting Tito as an enemy of peace and progress, a “traitor” and “mercenary” of Western imperialists. Meanwhile, the Soviet Army is depicted as a force of peace, justice, and protector of the working class’s interests, positioning itself as the moral and political counterpoint to the enemy figure of Tito26.  Tito as agent to the West In an important article by Ivan Statyvko titled “Tito’s Clique — The Arch-Enemy of Humanity”, Tito’s achievements in fighting the Nazis, which were once described by the Soviet media as “heroic” are either ignored or outright denied. The author accuses him of collaborating with Anglo-American forces, which Soviet propaganda claimed sought to occupy the Balkans, and asserts that Tito actively assisted in that plan. Particular emphasis is placed on his hostility toward the Red Army, which had “liberated” Yugoslavia, used as evidence of his disloyalty to the Soviet bloc: “…Even during the war, Tito appealed to the American-English cannibals for help in fighting the national liberation movement.” Tito is thus portrayed as a vassal and agent of the West—a classic propaganda tactic used to justify Soviet confrontation with Yugoslavia. The use of the term “Tito’s gangs,” which was widely used by Nazi-controlled media during WWII, adds further negative and demoralising connotations and deliberately associates Tito with terrorist and criminal elements27. This reinforces Tito’s image as an enemy of the people and ideological adversary of the socialist ideal, which, according to Soviet propaganda, was best realised by the USSR.  Thus, in the media of the Ukrainian émigré community in Austria, the image of Tito was initially received—albeit with some scepticism—with hope that he could emerge as an independent, ideologically consistent "only orthodox Marxist"28, capable of standing up to "Russian imperialism" in a broad sense. This image resonated with the legacy of Ukrainian revolutionaries and fighters who had unsuccessfully attempted to challenge Moscow’s dominance. Even in materials where Yugoslavia was not the direct subject of analysis, Tito appeared as a symbol of defiance against Stalinist orthodoxy and a possible form of independence that continued to threaten the “Soviet family” beyond the Balkans. This gave rise to analogies like the “Polish Tito”29 or the “Asian Tito”30, representing deviations from the Soviet political line and dependency. In response, Soviet newspapers aggressively and persistently labelled Tito with emotionally charged accusations of "betrayal," revising and discrediting the heroic narrative of their joint struggle against fascism. His image was transformed into that of a capitalist “imperialist” agent, a view reinforced by comments from Soviet military and party officials, which lent credibility and amplified the propagandistic narrative.  1956–1973 – Rehabilitation of the Image and Return to Moderate Approval.  From 1952 to 1956, based on available sources, there is an almost complete absence of mentions of Tito in the Soviet Literary Gazette. This can be explained by several major political transformations in the USSR that began after Stalin died in 1953. Nikita Khrushchev’s rise to power marked a significant policy shift, including the launch of the de-Stalinization process in 1956, which was accompanied by the "Thaw" and the rehabilitation of Stalin’s victims. As noted by scholar Svetozar Rajak31, for Khrushchev, normalising relations with Yugoslavia was a vital component of successfully implementing de-Stalinization, since without reestablishing dialogue with Tito, the process could not be considered complete or coherent. With the start of the "Thaw," mentions of Tito were scarce and mostly limited to events such as his official visit to Moscow or friendly football matches with Yugoslav teams. At the same time, there were no public statements recognising past slander or acknowledging the mistakes of the Stalinist-era campaign against Tito. Instead, articles began to appear that gradually restored a positive image of Tito as an "outstanding leader of the Yugoslav people", "one of the leading figures in the international workers’ movement", and an honoured guest — especially since his 1956 visit to Moscow marked the beginning of reconciliation between the two socialist countries32.  An example of a notable shift toward positive rhetoric about Tito in the Soviet press is a 1962 publication in the Literary Gazette. The article describes Tito’s official visit to Kyiv, emphasising his status as a "respected and welcome guest." The joint presence of Tito and Chairman of the Soviet Council of Ministers Nikita Khrushchev highlighted the parity of the two leaders and the high diplomatic level of relations between their countries. Of particular symbolic importance is the joint tribute paid to the memory of those fallen in World War II — specifically, Tito’s laying of a wreath at the obelisk on the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier in Kyiv’s Park of Eternal Glory. This gesture illustratesthe Soviet side’s acceptance of a shared narrative of the struggle against fascism, contrasting sharply with the propaganda of the Stalin-Tito conflict period, when Soviet media tried to erase Yugoslavia from the collective "heroic" past33.  Positive image of Tito, again In the 1970s, the image of Josip Broz Tito in the Soviet “Sportyvna Hazeta” was shaped exclusively in a positive, ceremonial, and diplomatically emphasised light. In issues from 1972 and 1973, he is portrayed as a high-ranking allied leader—President of the SFRY and head of the League of Communists of Yugoslavia—whose visits to Moscow or Kyiv were accompanied by official ceremonies, meetings with top Soviet officials such as Brezhnev, Kosygin, Podgorny, and Shcherbytsky, and mass support from the working people. Public displays of welcome, such as applause at airports, flag-decorated streets, national anthems, and the presentation of bread and salt, symbolised not only respect for Tito but also a desire to demonstrate unity between Yugoslavia and the USSR. The entire discourse aimed to showcase restored fraternity after the Stalin-era conflict. Interestingly, even in a sports newspaper—traditionally focused on physical culture—Tito’s image was politicised and integrated into the state’s ideological rhetoric34.  Brezhnev’s rise to power contributed to stabilising Soviet foreign policy, and during this time, official visits became an important tool for demonstrating loyalty, partnership, and ideological convergence. The solemn coverage of such events in the press, including the “Sportyvna Hazeta”, served as a marker of strong intergovernmental relations and proof that Yugoslavia—despite its independent path—remained a desired ally in the socialist camp. Thus, even in media not intended for political analysis, visual and semiotic means were used to form and solidify the image of Tito as an equal and respected "comrade" who reinforced socialist unity.  Accordingly, Soviet propaganda in the 1960s–70s sought to gradually and moderately transition toward normalising relations with Yugoslavia and with Josip Broz Tito personally. Symbolic recognition was returned to him as the leader of a socialist state, albeit without the hyperbolic heroization that characterised the immediate postwar years. At the same time, it’s important to emphasise that this process took place without any public reconsideration or even mention of the earlier Soviet propaganda campaign against Tito, when he was vilified as a “traitor to socialism” and an “agent of imperialism.” The former rhetoric was simply ignored, while a new narrative was constructed, focusing on “friendship,” “cooperation,” and “socialist solidarity.”  The methods used by the Soviet propaganda apparatus remained unchanged: tightly controlled press, centralised message formulation, ritualised coverage of visits (official ceremonies, mass greetings, children with flowers, bread and salt, etc.), and the manipulative creation of a positive image through visual and textual markers. All of this served as a tool for shaping the collective imagination of “unity among socialist nations,” even when this unity was built on past conflict and contradictions. Thus, Soviet media created the illusion of uninterrupted friendship, denying the ideological war of the past, and instead convincing Soviet citizens of the stability and inviolability of international socialist unity, now once again symbolised by Josip Broz Tito. Conclusion: from hero, to traitor, to ally again The Ukrainian community—both under Soviet control, during Nazi occupation, and in emigration—showed significant interest in the geopolitical developments centred around Yugoslav leader Josip Broz Tito. His persona deserves special attention and in-depth study, as he navigated between competing ideologies, both of which exploited his image for their own political goals. Accordingly, his portrayal changed multiple times to suit the rhetoric that was advantageous at any given moment — facts were manipulated, information was withheld, or reality was deliberately distorted.  From the analysis, it becomes clear that the media of the postwar Ukrainian émigré community in Austria are less biased and more reliable sources than all others analysed. These outlets were sceptical of both the Nazis and the Soviets but viewed events through the lens of their primary goal—restoring Ukrainian statehood. During the short but active period of German occupation, Tito was portrayed exclusively as a "follower of Soviet Bolshevik policy," which they perceived as criminal and illegitimate.  In Soviet discourse, Tito’s image underwent dramatic transformations: from glorification—being placed on the same level as Stalin and celebrated in poetry—to complete repudiation, accusations of betrayal, distortion of the recent “heroic” past, and being labelled an "agent of Anglo-American imperialism" and an "enemy of the working people." This turning point was a result of the political split between Stalin and Tito. However, with the rise of a more liberal leadership, and without publicly acknowledging past mistakes or expressing regret, a process of cautious normalisation began—a return to a positive portrayal of Tito, though in a more reserved form.  This example shows how perceptions of historical figures depend less on their actual actions and positions than on how they are portrayed, shaped by personal, ideological, and political biases. Footnotes

Author: Vladimir Stojković Although I am someone who was very small when the breakup of Yugoslavia began, I became aware of the importance of the idea of ​​such a federation. The very idea of ​​such a community was significantly progressive and went beyond the primitive narrow ethnic views of a multicultural society. In the idea of ​​Yugoslavia, I saw at least an attempt at the formation of nations that happened after the French Revolution throughout Europe. It meant connecting people from different regions and different cultures. Like say in France and Italy. People created and adopted their new common identity over time. This is how societies of free people were formed, who voluntarily took part in such a community. However, something like that in the Balkans, i.e. former Yugoslavia was not possible. In other words, Yugoslavia was an attempt to achieve something like this here as well, but the nationalism of the ethnic groups interrupted that good idea. Mostar, city in Bosnia and Herzegovina. Author: Marcel Dominic, pixabay.com This is the climate of societies that base their existence on mythology. This constant need for societies to compete in who has a "richer" national history, etc. they cannot lead to progress and the survival of a social community. The aim of such "histories" is to glorify ethnic virtues and to somehow develop a sense of uniqueness of a certain ethnic group and supremacy in relation to its neighbors in the region. It is especially interesting to see this in the area of ​​the former Yugoslavia, where peoples who speak the same language live and who are much closer to each other in terms of mentality than, say, Italians from southern and northern Italy. The wars of the 1990s on the territory of the former Yugoslavia set a lot of things back. People argue over territories and drawing borders. The dominance of a certain ethnic group and the suppression of minority groups is one of the main characteristics of such societies. That way of functioning of a society has been absolutely surpassed and reminds of some medieval times and the age of feudalism. It is difficult to expect the restoration of Yugoslavia as we knew it in the near future, but the idea of ​​association and federalism certainly exists and that is what we should strive for. Perhaps the peoples of this area can once again be in some form of a common federation. The political and security situation in Europe and the world is such that the entry of all the countries of the former Yugoslavia, and the Balkans as a whole, into the EU would be a rational step forward. In this way, the idea of ​​uniting into one union would be realized. It would be a stimulating injection for the Balkan countries, which would definitely push our societies into much more progressive trends in order to try to cross paths with the ghosts of the past.

This year, on October 20th, Belgrade celebrated the 80th anniversary of its liberation from the fascist regime in World War II. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say, "Belgrade should have celebrated," as the local government of the capital of former Yugoslavia is actively promoting historical revisionism. Belgrade's Mayor Aleksandar Šapić has even discussed relocating the grave of Yugoslav President Josip Broz Tito from the city. His absurd proposals go so far that, ahead of this anniversary, he announced plans to repaint the city’s buses, which are in “socialist red” and “resemble a hot dog stand”, into blue, supposedly "the color of the Serbian Nemanjić dynasty". It's not just the graves and red buses that have come under fire from the city authorities, but also buildings that stand as symbols of this historical era. While factories and public enterprises were systematically privatized immediately after the fall of Yugoslavia, the buildings and bridges weren't demolished right away. They likely awaited some investors with good offers. Now, they are being systematically sold off at hefty discounts. Why "systematically"? Buildings of cultural significance from the Yugoslav era, such as the Beograđanka, the Genex Tower, and the Belgrade Fair, have been deliberately neglected for years. After being left uncared for, the passage of time has caused them to deteriorate, reducing their market value. Combine that with historical revisionism that denies their cultural importance, and these iconic structures are being handed over to investors who will tear them down in a matter of days and erect "fancy" luxury buildings, where apartments will be sold at exorbitant prices. A simple equation, really. Hotel Jugoslavija with a fence, photo by Vasilije Brojčin The latest target of the city authorities is the renowned Hotel Jugoslavija. In September 2024, the city government adopted a detailed regulation plan that anticipates the Hotel's demolition following its sale in March 2024 to Millennium Team, a company close to the ruling party. Although a demolition permit had not been issued at the time of writing, just days after the plan was approved, fences appeared around the Hotel, behind which bulldozers and machinery can be seen. However, one thing disrupted the city government's calculations—local activists. Led by an opposition party, the Green Left Front, they have gathered to resist not only the procedural violations but also the disregard for the Hotel's cultural and historical significance, as well as the potential environmental impact the construction of a new complex could have on residents of the Zemun and New Belgrade municipalities. Today, we speak with Vasilije Brojčin, activist who grew up in the neighborhood and have been actively involved in efforts to prevent the destruction of this landmark. They share their connection to the Hotel, the importance of preserving it, and the ongoing struggle to save it from demolition. Can you tell us about your connection to Hotel Jugoslavija and what that building means to you? Since I spent my whole childhood residing in this part of New Belgrade and Zemun, the Hotel reminds me of walks along the Danube quay with my parents and grandparents as a child, as it is a typical local milestone when going on a walk. "Are you going far? No, just to Jugoslavija and back" We still like to walk there; it's as relaxing as ever, but now, with the plans for demolition, that experience is in danger of being reduced to memories only. How did you first get involved in the fight to prevent the demolition of the Hotel? I began to participate in this cause as soon as the Green-Left Front (GLF) learned that the company that bought the Hotel plans to demolish it. I joined GLF back when it was Ne da(vi)mo Beograd (Do not let Belgrade d(r)own), a movement known for fighting capitalistic urbanism and gentrification, so it is already a niche of activism I have experience in. What is the historical and cultural significance of Hotel Jugoslavija for the local community and beyond? Its historical significance is undisputed, as it is a building that hosted many important people from many different backgrounds, from political figures to Hollywood actors and even astronauts from the Apollo 11 Moon landing mission. In the architectural sense, it's a prime example of socialist modernism. It fits in harmony with the architecture of neighboring housing blocks, so it never looked out of place, probably one of the reasons it was always accepted by the locals. Hotel Jugoslavija is a neighborhood landmark for the local community, including me. It symbolizes returning home after work or school, similar to the sight of Genex Tower when you're returning from a long trip. Photo: From the legacy of Stevan Kragujević (collection of the Museum of Yugoslavia) What are some of the critical arguments that activists have presented against the city's plan to demolish the Hotel? Aside from the building itself being of historical importance, we argue (and expert's opinions support) that its demolition and replacement with a complex consisting of a much bigger central building and the two 155m tall skyscrapers would have devastating consequences on its surroundings from putting additional pressure on traffic and parking infrastructure that would not be able to accommodate the influx of vehicles, to ecological destabilization of Danube river and protected ecosystem of its Great war island, home to many different species of birds. Of course, one of our major issues with this project, as leftists, is that it has precisely zero benefits to the local community and an average person. It includes no public amenities and is just another playground for the rich, one of the many popping up around Belgrade. How have the local authorities and city officials responded to the concerns raised by activists? Activists did not encounter understanding from the local or city officials; their reactions ranged from regularly denying all written complaints to being condescending to activists who attended the public debate at the Bureau of Urbanism. There have been reports of bulldozers arriving at the site despite the demolition permit not yet being issued. How did you and other activists react to this development? Yes, it's true. A fence has been built, and some construction equipment is on standby. We were outraged but not surprised as the company set to carry out the demolition and construction of the luxury complex is known to disregard laws regarding urban planning. What actions has the activist community taken so far to stop the demolition, and have any legal steps been initiated to prevent it? There were multiple campaigns to inform the locals about the plans for demolition, and a warning protest was also held with stands where attendees could sign a complaint form. Those complaints, the only legal procedure available, were labeled by city officials as unreasonable and driven solely by nostalgia, even though the experts in architecture and urbanism wrote those. What challenges have you faced during this campaign, and how do you and other activists stay motivated to continue fighting? The biggest challenge was and still is, to inform the public. Since all the biggest media companies are pro-ruling parties and won't report on any criticism of any of their projects, you have to do everything grassroots: hand out flyers, put up posters, go door to door, and talk to people in person. Previous successful local initiatives against capitalist urbanism and invasive construction projects motivate us to persist in our fight. We strive to replicate examples from New Belgrade's blocks 37 and 63, where the local community got together, defended their public spaces, and sent the investors back to where they came from. Many believe that the companies involved in the project are closely tied to Belgrade's political establishment. How does this influence the dynamics of the fight to save the Hotel? Yes, those same companies are involved in all of the construction projects of the current political establishment, from the notorious Belgrade Waterfront to Expo 2027, so there is no doubt that politicians in power have financial benefits from their operations. That doesn't affect the activists too much, except that disturbing knowledge that you are up against something potentially dangerous and much more significant than yourself, a mafia of sorts. Looking forward, what are your hopes for the future of Hotel Jugoslavija? What would be your ideal outcome for this building and the surrounding area? After the Hotel is defended, the most realistic outcome would be to become a hotel again since it's, unfortunately, private property. But if I'm talking ideally, like a dream outcome in the ideal society, it would be turned into student accommodation, and what a cool one it could be, considering its perfect location for recreational activities and good public transit connection to the rest of the city. Photo: From the legacy of Stevan Kragujević (collection of the Museum of Yugoslavia) For Vasilije and other residents of New Belgrade and Zemun, to continue to create memories within the public spaces surrounding the Hotel Jugoslavija, it is necessary that the local authorities once and for all hear their constituents and act in their best interest instead of only their own. It remains to be seen how much pressure from the activists and interested citizens will have to be directed towards the investors and local authorities in order to stop this kind of urban planning which neglect the public interest.