Thirty years have passed since theDayton Agreement that ended the Balkan War of the early 1990s. Precisely in that conflict, the arts played a fundamental role both in spreading the ideology of aggression and in opposing it; music and the visual arts, in fact, became vehicles of national, ethnic and religious identities that the warmongers used to emphasise the differences between ‘us’ and ‘them’. For the inhabitants of Sarajevo trapped in a very long siege (1992-96) , on the other hand, the arts represented a vehicle of protest, a uniting factor in an anti-nationalist function, and a means of active resistance.

To understand more, let us go back to the late 1980s.

The USSR is collapsing, Tito is long gone and there is a desire for autonomy in the Balkans, but Serbian President Slobodan Milošević, the last remnant of the old communist apparatus in the region, is pushing for the formation of a Greater Serbia from the Yugoslav ashes with the support of the Orthodox Church.

While Slovenia defiles under the German aegis, Croatia and Bosnia Herzegovina – the former with a Catholic majority, the latter Muslim – find themselves in a more critical situation because they both have Serbian minorities on their territory. They both opt for independence by referendum, but doing so attracts the wrath of Serbia, which wages war against them; international sanctions and isolation for Belgrade follow. At that point, Milošević and the orthodox church hierarchies have good game in portraying the Serbs as mistreated by history and subjugated over the centuries; the people, they both say, must find their own redemption.

The hint had already been heard in June 1989, at the public commemoration of the Battle of Kosovo Polje/Gazimestan six hundred years earlier. The defeat that followed Ottoman domination of the Balkans, says Milošević, was caused by internal discord and betrayal that weakened our defence struggle. Today, with the potential break-up of the Yugoslav federation, new battles – perhaps even armed ones – appear on the horizon and to face them we must remain united because we risk annihilation.

“There will therefore be a need for unity, for the courage and heroism that characterised the heroes of the Battle of Kosovo” Now, to some, these phrases will seem harmless, but they are uttered at a time when the autonomy of Kosovo has just been reduced by authority , with violent clashes between the Albanians and the police forces; the entire region is returning to the mercy of nationalism.

Moreover, during the 1980s, the myth of the Serbian-Christian sacrifice for Kosovo had resurfaced strongly in the literature: Milošević had no choice but to take advantage of it in a political-ideological key. It is in this light that his words should be considered explosive, and indeed galvanise the hundreds of thousands of Serbian participants while being perceived as a threat by everyone else. In short, with this speech Milošević piles up and leaves uncovered a pile of fissile fuel, certain that a neutron will hit it shortly thereafter.

The Myth of ‘Battered Serbia

More generally, the theme of the Serbs as a people in distress had been known and shared for centuries: the poetic tradition born of the defeat in Kosovo had made it a constant in the national imagination, with its own heroes and legends.

These Balkanchanson de geste sang of the death in battle of Duke Lazar, who had preferred spiritual to earthly rule, thus turning defeat against the Ottomans into an eternal victory; and that of Miloš Obilić, the fighter who, according to legend, infiltrated the opposing camp to kill the sultan. All this had formed the basis of popular culture for centuries, village after village, through the voices of the storytellers. The use of songs and ballads to keep the identity of the people alive came back into vogue again during the 19th century, when the struggle for liberation from the empires took shape: it empowered illiterate peasants and urban masses alike, as well as raising the morale of the fighters and supporting their sacrifice.

Moreover, it provided inspiration for more complex works: Petar Petrović-Njegoš’s Seret of the Mountain , considered the poetic and theatrical masterpiece of Montenegrin literature, reworks the theme of the reconquest of Kosovo from Muslim hands precisely on the basis of that repertoire; conditioning national liberation on the ethnic cleansing of the adversary, pivoting on an ideal of a closed and anti-modern society. It is clear, then, that Milošević ‘s speech has several levels of interpretation: to Serbian ears of the time, it recalls familiar themes, with tones of revanchism .

Serbian nationalist turbo-folk

In short, the nationalist movement of the early 1990s needed nothing more than to facilitate the transposition of these beliefs, myths and symbols through a contemporary grammar . Hence, in addition to the purely economic needs of the record market, comes the explosion of turbo-folk, i.e. ditties that are musically simple but extremely popular because they repeat the same refrains of death to the enemy and fire to his villages that everyone knows by heart. They are heard everywhere and their performers are sent to perform at the front to boost troop morale, as in the case of Simonida Stanković, singer and daughter of the ultra-nationalist painter Milić od Mačve.

When another performer, ‘Tsetsa’ Veličković, marries the leader of a state-funded Serbian paramilitary formation that massacres defenceless civilians, Arkan, the regime media speak of adivine union symbolising the Orthodox reconquest of the Balkans. But they do not only sing of burning mosques and slaughtered or driven out Muslims: each ethnic group has its own. On the frequencies of Bosnian radio stations, their equivalents of opposite political colours pass by, with songs glorifying local warlords and dreaming of minarets everywhere; Louise Branson of the San Francisco Gate recalls the hit about‘Aunt Fairy’, a Muslim from Sarajevo, who, in order to defend her neighbourhood, throws grenades bequeathed to her by her dead son.

In short, turbo-folk had an important sociological value because it served to keep society tribalised through easy-to-grasp forms and languages: it was perfect for the people to be sent to fight in voluntary or supposedly voluntary formations. Moreover, by latching onto the ballad tradition, it reinforced and spread the extremist ideologies developed by the political elites. It served the Serbian politicians to spread their message, namely ‘let us exterminate the enemy before we are killed ourselves as we have been in the past’, and all others to counterattack.

Folk as an element of traditional Serbian poetry

If the aforementioned music is artistically shoddy, folk is part of the Serbian visual arts with a much more intellectual bent. To the international currents of contemporary art, a group of painters of chauvinist extraction and close to the political elite contrasts a poetics of tradition based on the aforementioned legends and myths, but embedded in a mixture of Christianity, esotericism, fantasy and eroticism with a few doses ofanti-Semitic rhetoric. This reinforces and expands a vein that had already appeared on the surface in the 1960s through the work of Milić od Mačve, an exponent of a rural and Manichean symbolism that portrayed the Serbian people as guarantors of Europe’s destiny in their role as guardians of its borders.

In the group is Dragoš Kalajić, a writer and ideologue as well as an artist, who later became a senator of the Serbian Republic of BH and co-founder of an important geopolitical magazine in the country. In his 1993 series ‘Portraits of European Nations’, he proposes a contrast between Aryan warriors ready for conquest and the agnostic and submissive nihilism of our continent, which he sees as in danger of decay.

Another one suspended between neo-futurist archetypes and faith is Željko Tonšić, a Catholic but interested in occultism, and a popular follower of the Pre-Raphaelites. In one of his paintings from 1994, he reworks the myth of Marko – a legendary prince abandoned in swaddling clothes in the forest who becomes a knight and protector of the Serbs – and the nymph Raviolja in an erotic key: he is strong and powerful, she is naked and ready to give herself away in a science fiction film setting.

By contrasting the mystical and the emotional side of Serbian popular culture, these and other works by authors of the same ilk divide the public and also attract irony and criticism; but they represent the mainstream of those years. As Erić Zoran explained, the actualisation of these discourses reinforces the Serbian ideological apparatus of those who want conflict; those who join in, one might say, do so for mere political rather than aesthetic reasons.

The artistic expression of national identity is not to be investigated in modernity

What these painters and their givers want to imply is that the artistic expression of national identity is not to be investigated in modernity: instead, it finds its basis in the past, more legendary than historical, and in a popular, earthy version. It is pure reaction.

But how to interpret the combination of tradition and sensuality?

Art historian Branislav Dimitrijević has explained that the combining of myth with the alleged spiritual and physical predispositions of the Serbian people in the same discourse should be seen in a preparatory sense to warlike action. The equally allegedly powerful sexuality of the Serbs emerges as a reflection of the theme of blut und boden, i.e. of a national unity symbolised by blood with the land to which it belongs. This is an extreme right-wing divisive and anti-democratic vision; and indeed, the artists of this strand are inspired by Ernst Junger, Rene’ Guenon, Alexander Dugin and Julius Evola, whose writings and ideas they disseminate and interpret.

Whether this ideological shambles is done and mediatised at the table is hard to say. It should be noted, however, that the combination of ultranationalist ditties, art on steroids and ideologues-patriots-cum-populist-presenters revolves around a TV station, TV Palma, which, moreover, has them followed by porn movies in the late evening: what could be better, after all, to awaken viewers’ sexual urges? (The station, by the way, disappeared after the fall of Milošević; another similar one, TV Pink, is still on air).

And those who do not conform have to find alternative spaces: the Škartcollective, for example, opposes it by means of performances on the independent radio station B92, posters put up on the streets even outside Belgrade. Others opt for so-called ‘active escapism‘, i.e. polemically distancing themselves from public discourse and the mass media.

Art proliferating in war

While ethnonationalism is very much present in the public discourse in Belgrade, something surprising happens during the siege of Sarajevo: amidst explosions, destruction, food shortages and essential services, hundreds of performances, concerts and exhibitions are organised. Art centres such as the Obala organised film screenings and exhibitions; radio ZID broadcast cosmopolitan-inspired intelligent entertainment shows, hosting artists and filmmakers; the Kamerni 55 theatre remained open while a new institution, SARTR, opened its doors; and an attempt was even made to create a contemporary art museum, theArs Aevi – in short, not exactly what one would expect from a war-torn city.

Looking back, many say that it was the arts that psychologically supported the citizens of Sarajevo during a tragic time, uniting those who remained in spite of their origins.

The only antidote to tribalisation is strong self-awareness

In conclusion, in conflicts that also have an ethnic character, regimes and the pressure groups that instigate them use catalysts. The arts lend themselves to the purpose in that they are a constant presence in people’s lives and appeal to both their rational and emotional spheres; and when the themes they convey are taken from shared legends, stories and myths, their attractiveness increases exponentially.

The boundary between the credible and the unbelievable is thinning, and even the most obvious falsehoods are solidifying: they drive to uncritical credulity, to subservience and consequently to tribalisation. The antidote to all this is a cohesive society that is aware of its collective identity: the case of Sarajevo has taught us that this is possible. We should take this into account, especially these days.