By: Gašper Blažič
First, a simple quiz question: what are state symbols? These are symbols used in Slovenia and abroad to represent the Republic of Slovenia, and, more broadly, the Slovenian nation as a whole. The official state symbols (the flag, the coat of arms, the anthem) are defined by the Constitution. There are also other symbols with which Slovenians can, at least partly, identify historically: the linden leaf, the Carniolan coat of arms, the Carantanian panther, the Carantanian hat, the Prince’s Stone, etc. We also have other types of symbols: for example, car licence plates, which in Slovenia share certain common features (the blue field with the SLO designation, which in neighbouring countries also serves as a traffic sign directing drivers toward our country).
The word “symbol” is of Greek origin. “Sýmbolon” (σύμβολον) comes from the verb “symballein”, meaning “to put together”. Symbols are therefore meant to unite us, regardless of political, ideological, or other preferences. Although it is true that some Slovenians prefer to identify with flags from before 1991 (for example, the Yugoslav flag). I will leave the discussion of why this happens aside for now.
Now to the main question: can the president of the republic be a state symbol? It is true that Slovenians can also identify with historical figures who shaped our identity over the centuries and who once appeared on the banknotes of our national currency, for example Primož Trubar, France Prešeren, Jože Plečnik, Rihard Jakopič, etc. It is also true that the president of the republic is often perceived as a personal or institutional symbol of the state. The President of the Republic of Slovenia, who has nowhere near the political power of, for example, the president of the United States or France, is elected every five years in direct elections using a two‑round majority system. Each president may serve a maximum of two consecutive terms. A similar system is used in neighbouring Austria. In Germany and Italy, the president is elected by parliament, and their status is similar to that in Slovenia. The president is meant to be a symbolic bearer of statehood, embodying the unity of the nation and the state.
That is how it should be in theory. But what about in practice? Let us recall that we have never had a president from the right‑wing political camp. However, there have been significant differences among past presidents. Borut Pahor, for example, tried during his two terms to maintain his symbolic status by seeking compromise. He did not always succeed, but he earned a considerable amount of respect even from right‑leaning Slovenians. On the other hand, he was attacked by left‑wing extremists, especially when he successfully negotiated with Italy for the return of the National Hall in Trieste. At least during the first part of his only term, Dr Janez Drnovšek adopted a similar approach.
On the other hand, we have had two figures who more or less polarised the public: Milan Kučan and Danilo Türk. Kučan first rose to the position of President of the Presidency, following the example of leaders in the southern republics of the former Yugoslavia, where party chiefs quickly shifted into presidential roles to secure their influence. In Slovenia, he was elected to this office in direct elections, in the second round, where he faced Dr Jože Pučnik, regarded as the father of the Slovenian Spring. Yet the regime‑aligned media attributed to Pučnik everything he was not. Given that Kučan also had behind him the January 1990 Congress of the League of Communists of Yugoslavia (from which the Slovenian delegation walked out early, on the initiative of Dr Ciril Ribičič), it was clear that he enjoyed a built‑in advantage over a dissident who, due to the suffocating conditions in communist Yugoslavia, had been forced to emigrate to Germany – where he began as a dockworker, studied again while working, and eventually became a doctor of science and professor.
Kučan thus formally ruled for a good twelve years. After the adoption of the new constitution, which abolished the collective presidency (Croatia did this almost immediately after its first multi‑party elections, renaming the members of the presidency as vice‑presidents), Kučan successfully ran twice more for president. For a man who retained informal power, this was not unusual; his status in most media outlets was almost Tito‑like. He was highly skilled, both in words and actions, so people could hardly hold it against him that he had not been on the right side of the independence process, because this was barely known. Anyone who questioned his role was quickly silenced and marginalised. His supposedly epic popularity was still a shade less gaudy than Milošević’s “one hundred‑plus percent”. A good example of his cunning was the 2000 incident when he used, or rather, exploited, the populist thunder of Carinthian governor Jörg Haider, who demanded that Slovenia abolish the AVNOJ decrees or forget about EU membership. Kučan immediately posed a public question to the Bajuk government, demanding that it take a position on the AVNOJ decrees. It was a trap similar to the one set for Jesus when they brought him the adulteress to be stoned, while he wrote on the ground with his finger…
Dr Danilo Türk was a similar case of a president. He too had not been on the pro‑independence side during Slovenia’s statehood process, although he initially offered himself as a candidate to the right, until Dr Peter Jambrek pointed out his problematic positions from that period. Despite his diplomatic career, he was far less skilful than Kučan and considerably more abrasive. His controversial statements about “second‑rate topics”, his extravagance, and questionable staffing decisions ultimately cost him his presidency, especially because he faced a strong opponent in Borut Pahor. Perhaps the core of the former UN ambassador’s failure lies in the fact that he did not have advisers of the calibre of, for example, Janez Kocijančič, Janez Zemljarič, Zdenko Roter, Niko Toš, and others.
May the president of the republic be criticised? When we posted the cover of the new issue of Demokracija on social media for the first time yesterday, the issue that came out today, a wave of negative comments followed, claiming that we were attacking a person who, by virtue of her status, should be untouchable. In other words, the office itself supposedly guarantees mandatory respect. But this is the kind of logic practised in totalitarian states, for example, in North Korea. And according to this logic, we should remain strictly silent about the actions of Nataša Pirc Musar, the current president of the republic.
But we all know such an approach is wrong. It enables the abuse of office. In Nataša Pirc Musar’s term so far, we have seen several controversial moves. Appointing her own client, Katarina Bervar Sternad, as head of the Commission for the Prevention of Corruption is only the tip of the iceberg. The same goes for her resignation of responsibility during the selection of the prime minister‑designate, when, through an almost forced admission, it became clear that she was prepared to give the mandate only to Robert Golob. But since he refused it, the next in line should have been Janez Janša. Yet, in line with her earlier statement that she would not give the mandate to someone allegedly burdened by a “stigma” of ties to foreign intelligence services, she simply declared that there was no one to whom she could give the mandate. In other words: let the MPs sort it out among themselves.
And that is not all. Recently, Pirc Musar loudly and clearly defended the existence of the RTV licence fee as essential for ensuring an independent public broadcaster. Yes, on paper RTV Slovenia is independent – if you choose to believe it. We live in a time when we are expected to take the words of established officials at face value – even if they claim that snow is black. Presenting the RTV fee as a magic wand for preserving independence, at a time when the institution is shaped according to the standards of Stane Dolanc (and I do not mean physical measurements!), is a perversion of a special kind.
It is worth recalling that the untouchability of Nataša Pirc Musar is now defended by the very same people who, only a few years ago, furiously and irrationally attacked Borut Pahor, for far smaller missteps. Back then, the symbolic nature of the presidential office meant nothing to them. Now it suddenly means everything. And all of this only because the top of the institutional pyramid is occupied by someone whose authority must be artificially “cemented”, as the transitional left will desperately need it in its opposition to the next government. Pathetic.
So, let’s be honest: Nataša Pirc Musar is not an untouchable person. She is not automatically a representative symbol. In a democracy, we must accept the fact that once someone becomes a public official, they also come under the scrutiny of the people. No special philosophy is needed here. This is why Demokracija will continue to closely monitor the actions of the president of the republic and respond to them whenever necessary.