By: Andrej Sekulović
Whoever has visited the mass graves in the Kočevski Rog area at a time when no commemorative ceremonies are taking place will have noticed that birdsong and other forest sounds are almost entirely absent from the site. The area is shrouded in a gloomy silence, and the air feels heavier. From the depths of the past echo only bloodthirsty gunshots and the dull thuds of falling bodies.
There, the earth is both sacred and cursed. Sacred, because it became the final resting place for the bones of martyrs; and cursed, because – though through no fault of its own – it drank the blood of so many of its sons. For years, long forgotten, lay side by side members of various anti-communist forces who fought a bitter struggle against the ideology of the mob in the former common state. Today, communism belongs on the ash heap of history, but its spirit still haunts Slovenia, albeit in new disguises. Just recently, we witnessed a bout of Yugonostalgic worship of gangs and murderers – something that recurs every year around this time. While the blood-red stars of death flutter over Slovenian cities, historical symbols are being banned – symbols under which national and anti-communist forces once fought, among others.
More than three decades after independence, new generations are still being taught that the executioners were heroes. Our history bears a large red stain – a stain that refuses to fade, maintained by the idolisers of the demons of an ideology that sought to subjugate all nations in the name of equality. We remain prisoners of a lie, the legacy of Yugoslavia’s prison of nations. And at the same time, we are also our own jailers, carefully watching ourselves lest we dare question the official historical narrative too deeply. But if we want to wash away the bloody stain of the past, more than doubt will be required. Only a complete reckoning with the lies and banditry can cleanse the stain of the Bloody Spring of 1945.