By: Vančo K. Tegov
A few days ago, the Commission for the Prevention of Corruption found that Prime Minister Golob, with two messages in which he expressed concern to former Interior Minister Tatjana Bobnar about staffing in the police, acted contrary to expectations and responsibility, thereby violating integrity. Full stop. Final full stop.
The content of the SMS messages sent by the then‑prime minister (still fresh, green, and, unfortunately even today, rather conceited) to the former interior minister about her poorly executed “clean‑up” of the police reads as follows: “Morning. I must admit I am becoming seriously concerned about the staffing situation in the police. I do not like any of it. Because none of the agreement has been carried out. Full stop. Final full stop.”
The media and the rest of the subordinate machinery were caught off guard. They did not know, or did not dare, to react, not on the first try nor the second. They stood there as if buried in their own doubt – afraid they might receive the same assessment as the former minister and end up with the final sentence: “Full stop, final full stop.”
Lo and behold, soon a media operation begins to rescue the “fool” – pardon, the “soldier” – Golob. (Unsuccessfully.) First they drag him into the “meat grinder” of the Svet24 show, where they pull out a recording of his statement: if it is found that he violated the law on integrity and ethics, he will – definitely – resign. Later, when asked by a POP TV journalist about the same matter four years ago, he said: “I imagined integrity completely differently.” What does that mean? That the prime minister is exempt? Or that his imagination and arrogance allow him anything, as long as he manages to carry out the orders of his sponsors – or, in mafia terms, his padroni – so that they survive, and therefore he survives as well?
The second pillar of his temporary “non‑fall” are his parties, the government’s “handmaidens,” the disintegrating Levica and the disoriented SD, which allowed him boundless absolutism to a pathological degree. In doing so, they dragged themselves down and have certainly secured themselves quite a few fewer votes in the upcoming parliamentary elections. This is confirmed by the naïve (or perhaps not) statement by Matjaž Han (occasionally and almost publicly “put on”): “As a minister, I know that we somehow made decisions about the police, we approved things without any discussion, and later I find out – although I had nothing to do with it – that the government (the prime minister himself) replaced 76 senior officials in the police.” That is roughly how Golob operated.
The unmasking of the once “sun king,” now the deceitful “mule” from Kromberk, is complete. What follows is polite avoidance and distancing from this once curly‑haired and promising politician who “promised” so much. The old principle of the “old boys” or “the networks” that oversee the behaviour of their appointees is clear: if any deviation from the instructions and expectations for which he was inaugurated is detected, he is dispatched to a distant location with the possibility of return equal to zero.
Once the “prince” of Kromberk, now a mule, or, in their dialect, simply a mona. Or as their local comedian and singer‑songwriter says: “You don’t become a mona, you’re born a mona.” There is no doubt about that. The pity is that this character‑flawed mona spent nearly four years destroying Slovenia because of his character.
Citizens, if they are willing to use their own judgment, will know how to act wisely to avoid similar behaviour and conduct from him and from others who assisted him.
