"Politics of Repression"
Sibenik, Yugoslavia
June 18, 1984
Dear Folks,
I continue to be astounded at the great differences in lifestyle existing between the European societies, even though their borders are as compacted as those of our states. Italy and Yugoslavia provide a perfect example.
Italy was money and frivolousness, oftentimes carried to their most absurd levels. Venice, the "crown jewel" of my walk in that nation, was perhaps an excellent microcosim of that country's character: There I found a breathtakingly beautiful city of culture and history and, too, a conglomeration of religious architecture so splendidly huge and richly adorned that no modern-day government could afford to recreate such a fairytale setting.
Yet, at the same time, Venice was as much a carnival, a "historic Disneyland," as it was the sophisticated former kingdom it likes to portray itself as. Side by side with its ecstasy and the Peggy Gugenheim museum's art pieces were what seemed to be innumerable vendors of just about anything plastic or sweet imaginable--from MADE IN JAPAN gondola lamps to what is undoubtedly the most scrumptious ice cream this side of the real heaven.
As in most of Italy, the number of visitors (mostly German and American) this time of the year seemed to make the Italians an "endangered species." During the four days I explored Venice's maelstrom of big-headed dieties, clanging church bells, flapping pigeons, delighted laughter, and clicking cameras, I honestly believe I met more twangy-voiced Texans and Okies than I'd ever met at any one time in San Antonio or Oklahoma City.
But, if its basics one wished to explore, then perhaps the "Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia" would be more appropriate. It is a nation that is "officially" not a nation but, instead, six nations: Serbs, Croats, Slovenes, Macedonians, Montenegrins, and Moslems. (Although eight percent of the populace is of that faith, in this case Moslem does not have anything to do with the religion.)
Largely because of the disagreements created as a result of combining so many "independent" states, the general poverty of what is mostly a rural lifestyle, and a long history of invasions by its more powerful neighbors, the Slavs have remained about as basic and simple in make-up as the Italians have advanced financially and technologically. With the typical Yugoslav rural family, for instance, a major home improvement project might be a fresh coat of paint on a pair of old, wooden window shutters. In Italy it would have been something more along the lines of new brass-ringed storm windows and aluminum shutters for every door and window.
On a broader scale, the number of semi trucks has dwindled to a negligible level. Rather than (as many do in Italy) rushing about to replace dwindling stocks of potato chips and panty hose, the trucks in Yugoslavia groan along weighted down by fuel, firewood, cement, and chemicals.
Both the men and the women Slavs are as rugged, long-limbed, and strongly-built as the mountains that tower over their communal farms of potatoes, corn, wheat, and, of course, grapes. Their daily lives are hard, physical, tedious, and with few luxuries such as leisure time. Every day at sunrise, the villagers (of which Yugoslavia is mostly comprised) go, many in horse-drawn wagons, to the fields to stay bent over for much of the day. For most, I have observed, a long-handled sickle and hoe are their primary work tools, and the same horse that brings them to and from the fields must also pull a plow for the good part of the day. The machinery I do see is never more advanced than small tractors. More often they are hand-pushed gasoline engine-powered tillers.
All times I am around such people, hardly a day passes that I'm not invited to join in a hot meal around the kitchen table. The diet of the average family is simple: often potatoes, pork, watered-down wine, and a coarse bread with nothing to spread on it. As for the houses, those are often bare concrete blocks, and the yards are virtually zoos of goats, fowl, sheep, and peacocks.
Persons my age are an uncommon sight, as most have sought to escape such a life by living in the cities or staying longer than necessary in the schools. Each tiny village I pass through is heavily populated with black-garbed elders, still as strong as ever and with craggy faces that leave me wondering if they are closer to 110 years in age than to 80.
Yugoslavia is my second socialist-run country. If I thought its quality of life might be different than in Algeria, because of its European heritage, I now know better. As in Algeria, the grocery stores are pathetically barren. The choice of brands and foods is virtually a bad joke, and as for fresh produce--forget it. Many rural stores (what few there are) have less than half their shelf space stocked. Apparently army rations are a big seller, if their availability in the stores is any indication. I purchased a tinned army meal to see what Yugoslavia's soldiers march on. The contents left me wondering if maybe the poor fellow didn't do more crawling than highstepping. What I found inside was a strip of lard, one inch thick and five inches long, packed in very bitter sauerkraut.
As for such places as nightclubs, cinemas, and libraries, those are found only in the largest cities and towns. They are of such poor quality and in such run-down conditions that the fact that anyone attends them attests to what a human will endure when seeking entertainment. The music in what are supposedly nightclubs for the young is an odd mixture of Frank Sinatra, old Motown, Bavarian polka, and pre-Woodstock acid rock.
Even more perplexing (if that is possible) are the films. As in Algeria, they are usually shown in old gymnasiums with male audiences--which is probably why the local film censor can get away with approving what are mostly grade-B American sex films.
But most disturbing of all has to be the reappearance of the ever-suspicious authorities. Once again I find that walking alone, away from the tourist routes, and talking to the citizens are viewed by those in uniform as something of a criminal act. For the third time in a socialist society (versus never in the non-socialist societies), I have been forced to undergo a humiliating and tiring interrogation for doing something I thought was perfectly innocent.
The incident took place two days ago, in the state of Croatia, in the town of Benkovac. This time my questioners were not the police but the military. What had started as a friendly chat and an exchange of gifts between me and two new army privates was to end in my being made to get into an unmarked car, in which I was taken onto an army base and later made to endure a three-hour-long interrogation. In the end, the interrogation erupted into a shouting match, when I refused to give the names and addresses of every Yugoslavian I'd met since entering the country on June 9.
In my next letter I'll explain why my revealing the names and addresses of those I'd met could have turned the whole ugly affair into a nightmare and even a potential expulsion from the country.
Steven