By: Dr Matevž Tomšič
At the beginning of December, a video appeared on social media which, despite being only a few seconds long, captured the spirit of the Slovenian capital remarkably well under the current government. In the clip, Roma brass musicians are playing their characteristic music on Prešeren Square, while a group of locals dances a Serbian kolo beside them. The video was posted by a Croatian visitor to Ljubljana, who was shocked to witness such a scene during the festive season. He labelled it “Serbianisation,” saying he felt as though he had suddenly found himself somewhere in the middle of Serbia.
The tourist in question is far from the only one with such a feeling. Many residents and visitors of Ljubljana share it. Year after year, this type of musical performer is being pushed to the forefront. But what they play is not quality music, it is unbearable noise that disrupts communication between people, and on top of that, these “musicians” then go on to beg for money from anyone who happens to be standing nearby.
Some confused progressives might try to lecture us that such a music scene is an expression of the city’s openness and multiculturalism. But nothing could be further from the truth. This is not multiculturalism, it is monoculturalism, and the “mono” in question is not local but imported. The type of music itself is not the problem. There would be nothing wrong with hearing performers of various genres from various countries on the city streets, including, why not, some high‑quality brass bands. But what we have witnessed in recent years has had nothing to do with the diversity that the left so proudly celebrates. Instead, a monopoly has been established: performers of one very specific musical style from one very specific region, with little connection to Slovenian tradition.
But the story of the disruptive brass bands is not just about music. It is not a question of its (lack of) quality. Mayor Zoran Janković did eventually ban them, along with all other street musicians, after a flood of complaints, but the entire situation reflects a broader state of mind in the capital and in the country as a whole. And for that, the Ljubljana mayor, his political patrons, and his allies bear the greatest responsibility. These brass bands are merely a symptom.
Ljubljana has become heavily Balkanised over the past two decades, a trend tied to the still‑strong presence of Yugonostalgia. This becomes especially visible in December. All major cities in neighbouring countries have their own Christmas or Advent markets. They offer visitors mostly local food and drink, play local music, and host events rooted in the traditions of their regions. But Ljubljana has no such market, as the words “Christmas” and “Advent” appear to be unwelcome. Just as unwelcome is anything that ties the Slovenian capital to the cultural‑civilisational framework of Central Europe.
Balkanisation is not reflected only in cultural offerings. Even more problematic is that it manifests in political and business practices. The friendly ties between Zoran Janković and Serbian president Aleksandar Vučić did not form by accident, and they are not new. This is why the outrage of left‑wing intellectuals over the support Janković expressed for Vučić during the student protests in Serbia came across as deeply hypocritical. As if they had not known about their close connections all along. Both men are united by an autocratic style of governance and involvement in numerous questionable dealings. Vučić is surrounded by businessmen of dubious reputation, who have recently become increasingly active in Slovenia as well. And these connections do not stop at the level of city politics. Given that Janković is one of the main supporters of the current government, and that he holds a dominant position in relation to Prime Minister Golob (not to mention other members of the government), we can speak of a concrete influence of certain Balkan political‑business circles on the functioning of the Slovenian state.