Monuments of Tomorrow
by Miloš Vučićević
Fountain by the road, grave site, stacked stone forms, stećci, patterns down in the meadow, parallel trees in the distance. What does it take to become a monument? I thought about it while I was travelling on the bus line from Užice to Trebinje, crossing some parts of western Serbia and the hilly eastern cliffs of Bosnia and Herzegovina.
Look here, said the woman: look up to the right, do you see those planted flowers?
The inscription said ,,TITO’’. About ten meters wide and 40 meters across. It wasn't more than that. Although it certainly looked massive when viewed from a distance in contrast to the wooded slopes. Someone is taking care of this, I said to myself. I saw mowed grass, the arrangement of flowers in rows across the slope. It was quite interesting.
We meandered further through Goražde and the Drina river canyon. The road was long and tiring. The only break was near Tjentište in a place called Sastavci. Sastavci somehow belongs to the municipality of Medjurečje, or vice versa, I'm not sure now. And the word Medjurečje implies something between words or the space between. Although I never really knew between what. The meaning of Sastavci is simply, ,,joining’’. Where two streams merge into one I guess. Although there was always only one stream that I know of, It goes under the bridge where the bus usually parks. Sometimes I would go down the stream to relieve myself, because the small toilet that everyone rushes to is always dirty. There was simply no option to lock it. I needed to go this time. I didn’t like it, as I mentioned, there is no way to lock it, so basically a person would need to crunch so they could hold their pants with one hand and with another hold the door in front. This type of toilet is called Čučavac (where the person has to squat and where there is no classic toilet bowl to sit on). That's when I first noticed the icon of Ratko Mladic, a round label glued to the door right in front of me, holding a cross in his arms. My hand was just touching the frame of the sticker, which was at the height of my head. I went out and saw two bald figures changing roof tiles on a wooden house right in front of the toilet. A smell of meat and potatoes was coming through the doors, probably a dish that was on the table that day, something between goulash and stew. I was thinking that if I eat now, I'll get a bloated stomach, and I should hold on for another hour at least until Višegrad not to go to the toilet.
In that dark, sleepy bus, we crossed Tjentište and the famous monument to fallen partisan soldiers of the Battle of the Sutjeska. I watched the monument out of the corner of my eye, crossing this distance quite often. Twice a month here and there, times five years, fifty-four times to be exact. Like two huge massive blocks of stone, as if from some sci-fi movie, divided into two by some abstract line in upward directions. Тhat melted stone in the middle, a connection that shapes objects together. A relationship where two of the same materials exist as one supernatural object within the space, in which it holds itself from not falling off, or falling apart. This monument was always heavily immersed in the grey of some canvas, that fog that descends from above, above the hills and deep green forest near that miserable hotel, without any illuminated letters. Still water from that pool over there. Those tiny paths, paved roads, all that seemed so empty and despairing. It looked like an open-air museum stuck in some time in the past. Maybe that was the purpose after all. A big reminder, a massive outcast piece of rock to commemorate a part of history.
So what is important in order to become a monument, I asked myself once again: a landmark, to frame a historical time, the beginning of something great, or the end. I am looking at this sober relationship between monuments of national importance, peculiar collective remembrance, something we can find in every city, huge records of a bygone era, which tell a story and profess values that are envied by many. As if it may have existed to some extent during socialism, to describe the value of being on the right side of history, a final descendant to a throne of uniqueness among other nations. Against the current ones. What dialogue do those writings, labels, graffiti provide in relation to these massive bodies of earth and soil?
Somewhere in the village, when I was visiting the old hut of my brother's wife, we came across those small fountains by the side of the road where an old, exhausted man could simply drink water in the heat of the sun. That refreshment gives you the strength to go on, pure mountain spring water from the depths inside. It's hard to believe that pictures and stickers of warmongers, criminals and war profiteers from the 1990s can appear in such a natural environment and peaceful place. You can sometimes find inscriptions such as In Glory of God, for the King and the Fatherland. Inscription that implies a close connection to the Chetnik movement, and their homogeneous inspirations of a greater Serbia. A completely paradoxical presentation from several sides, historical, political, not to mention moral. I see four S’s on a tree next to the fountain. It is a nationalist slogan used in the daily political turmoil. It was carved in the bark of a pine tree.
Are these inscriptions a small legacy of the ongoing history of events? A pillar of everyday cultural exchange, or maybe even something that will not or will last a long time?
The grass in the village had been cut, and I was left with that bitter taste in my mouth from the various smells and herbs that were being wiped from my face. I also passed by that fountain again. At that moment some hikers were resting next to it and sharing snacks and sandwiches with each other. I thought about it: yes, nationalism is served best with food. After arriving home, I showered and went to sleep. Since I had nothing to do the next morning, I went to the store to buy groceries for my grandmother. There I saw an uncle who had a conversation with the saleswoman. An aggressive attitude towards the situation in Kosovo could be heard, and how the deterioration reflects on the relationship between Serbia and the Western powers. He had salami and bread and a litre of milk in his plastic bag.
I was getting hints of something that could highlight what the monuments I was thinking about were. Structures lined up every day in unusual spirals of various information that someone can see, or repetitive definitions someone could hear: from the bus stop, shop, street, home, friends and relatives.
I got out of my car to buy some roasted hazelnuts at the stall by the market. It was a convenient place to park, not exactly legal, but if one stayed no more than a minute, one should not have any problems. On that hurried walk to the store and the hazelnuts, sweat dripped from my forehead. I had been a bit unconscious for the last seven days, which were preoccupied with thinking and researching the topic of Identity Paradox during the residential stay in Užice, and a bit sceptical about that topic which, apparently represented a real problem for me in framing the mission and goals of this year's research. I entered the store and recklessly looked for hazelnuts on the shelves. I looked behind the cash register to find them among the sweets and smoki, but I came across something, a moment, which seemed to me, at least, magnificent. All the collected questions I had, during the last seven days, which were unconsciously passing through my thoughts, now appeared so clearly and unambiguously.
A small icon of Saint Marko holding a cross in his hand and baptizing in a golden aureola, the inscription "Kosovo is Serbia", four S’s, Only Serb Saves the Serb an image of Putin in front of a golden door, walking forward.
There is something with patterns, a repetitive echo that resounds with both image and sound. Sometimes it's on TV, radio, sometimes in a clearing on a slope, hills far ahead, sometimes next to a monument, small repetitive movements, by nature or by humans. It is when you often pass by a certain place, where someone once upon a time left a mark, to remind you of something. A unique combination of architectural strength and historical significance. These massive structures, built during the socialist era, symbolize the aspirations and dreams of a nation striving for progress and unity. From the abstract forms of the Kozara monument to the patterns of the Kadinjaca monument. Each object tells a story of resilience and hope. Despite their current state of neglect, these monuments serve as a reminder of Yugoslavia's rich cultural heritage and deserve preservation for future generations. But we must never forget the monuments that seem to go unnoticed, but resonate in their silence perhaps even more than all the others. It is precisely these imperceptible remains, subconscious traps and symbols that actually vibrate stronger than all others that we nurture and keep.