By: Vančo K. Tegov
This time, the cultural day, the day of Slovenian culture and language – also known as Prešeren Day, the Slovenian Cultural Holiday – falls on a Saturday. It marks the anniversary of the death of France Prešeren, who passed away on February 8th, 156 years ago. He achieved a great feat by elevating the Slovenian language – an essential element of the Slovenian nation’s identity – to a pedestal. There, high where it belongs, it should remain forever.
A deep bow of respect to all those who, in such distant times and in such a way, helped the Slovenian nation, leaving a significant mark on its language and culture and contributing to the nation’s growth, being, conscience, and self-awareness. Especially, and above all, to Prešeren. France Prešeren is one of the greatest Slovenian poets and national symbols. We have taken the seventh stanza of his Zdravljica as our national anthem.
And yet!
Prešeren certainly did not wish for a Slovenian culture and language where people would meet and “mangle” their words with foreign ones, nor for a country governed by someone who has never even visited Vrba.
Prešeren certainly did not wish for a Slovenia where, day after day, from taverns and their gardens, music could be heard that does not caress the ear of a true connoisseur of local melodies but merely “cheers up” the face of a weary worker with a grim expression – people who do not look like they are rushing home.
One hears Dalmatian, Mediterranean, and mountain music, and at celebrations or traditional events, openings are marked by tunes that are not even real music. They sing of a foreign “warlord’s” widow – songs that do not come from just a few mountains away, but from lands far beyond – meant to console soft souls and the feelings of people who are not exactly close to us. Or, even worse, those from our own homeland who deny their roots and worship foreign “cigule-migule”, while neglecting their own. No, this is not right.
Our local musician struggles to stand before Prešeren’s face because the forced and overly loud “foreign-sounding and foreign-worded” voices and noises drown him out – emerging from furrowed brows and beneath bristly eyebrows. They do not belong to us; they only frighten us and our grandchildren. No one wishes for this – except their imposed compatriot, sitting in the mayor’s chair, shaping the fate of true Slovenians while offering them tainted water.
Prešeren did not wish for a Minister of Culture like the one we still have – someone who does not care for culture or for her own nation. How can she care for the people, for culture, and for language when she forcefully shuts down institutions and cultural sanctuaries – places that bear witness to history and where the nation should learn about the birth of its own state, even if it was not created according to her design or the mold of her close ones? And when she is denied the opportunity to speak in his honour, she still insists on lecturing people about the importance of the wrong things. He would not have wished for such a high-ranking official, who exploits his name merely to preserve her position, a role she is not even fit for. In the end, she arrives in her own municipality and practically forces the organisers to let her speak – despite their disagreement – trampling on the will of those who genuinely cherish and respect him and other great nation-builders of the past. Just as they now seek to give even more money to those who write worthless poetry, attempting to turn our cultural heritage into something it must never become.
Prešeren would never, ever have allowed such disgrace on a day meant to honour his memory. He would never have accepted that someone – whose surname resembles ham more than anything else – would mock him, distort his words, and twist them like a muzzle, desecrating the purity and significance of this holiday and the beauty of the Slovenian language. This so-called new elite does not even truly feel Slovenian; instead, they cultivate a sentiment that is anything but. They allow someone to impose something foreign, pretending it is ours, while those under the stage smirk artificially, feigning amusement. Yet deep down, they know it is not right – but still, they act self-important. And all of this, in the grandest cultural hall in Slovenia, where the mockery is even greater – an act so utterly uncultured as to be offensive. This is not what Prešeren truly wished for.
Prešeren dreamed of seeing Slovenians, his Kranjci, rejoicing, singing, sharing a good drink – feeling inwardly and outwardly as if it were spring.
Let culture be the spiritual nourishment of a cultured nation, for all who know how to create and live it as truly and authentically Slovenian!