By: Miro Petek
At the state ceremony marking Reformation Day, Dr Ignacija Fridl Jarc raised a question that should remain with us even after the holiday itself: how much is a person’s word worth if it is not followed by action? That question extends far beyond the ceremonial stage. It reaches into newsrooms, parliament, university lecture halls, and to each of us who considers ourselves defenders of free thought, especially those who like to tell others what they are allowed to think.
In her speech, it became clear that she approaches the power of words as a comparativist who earned her doctorate on Plato’s concept of truth from the perspective of beauty and art. Her broad humanistic background enabled her to connect Trubar’s era with contemporary questions of public discourse and personal responsibility. Her address went beyond the usual holiday recitation of great historical names and deserves full recognition. It left listeners with an idea that could not simply be packed away together with the microphones and stage decorations.
I also read last year’s speech by Asta Vrečko, and the comparison is telling. Vrečko quickly moved from Primož Trubar to public services, bodily autonomy, environmental issues, and criticism of capitalism. She appropriated the Reformation as a convenient historical endorsement of her political programme. The importance of contemporary issues does not, by itself, prove that the Reformers can simply be declared their ideological predecessors.
Fridl Jarc brought back to the forefront a question that the political left often pushes aside: what was Trubar’s work actually rooted in? In his faith, his devotion to the Slovene language, and his conviction that actions must follow words. If the two speeches are placed in dialogue Vrečko primarily explains which of today’s political demands Trubar supposedly supports, whereas Fridl Jarc emphasises what Trubar’s legacy demands of us.
I used this comparison to argue that, for Vrečko, Trubar becomes a conveniently adapted ally, stripped of anything that might contradict the programme of her party, The Left. This could be described as an appropriation of history: the past is not allowed to speak for itself because today’s political programme has already been written into it.
From that approach to history, it is only a short step to a similar approach toward the present. When politicians select from history only what confirms their own views, they create convenient predecessors. When editors do the same through their choice of guests and opinions, they create the appearance of public consensus. Anything that would disturb that image is left outside the discussion.
During celebrations of Trubar and the Slovene language, journalists and editors should ask themselves an uncomfortable question: who is given a public voice today, and who is denied one because of differing beliefs? Would they read an opposing viewpoint to the end, or first check which publication carried it? Would they evaluate the argument itself, or look for a reason to exclude the author from the debate?
Today there is no need for banned books or official censors to exclude dissenting opinions. All that is required is a newsroom in which political affiliation determines who is considered credible and who is allowed to speak. Our side is good, their side is bad. We look for good intentions in the former and hidden motives in the latter. If an editor tailors the selection of topics, headlines, and interviewees to the expectations of the political camp they are close to, political direction operates even without a phone call. The newsroom already knows which questions are useful to raise and which should remain unspoken. That is precisely why the public broadcaster RTV must also be prepared to answer an uncomfortable question: by what criteria does it select guests and commentators, and how does it ensure that the microphone does not remain within the circle of the same politically like-minded people?
A public institution funded by people with a wide range of beliefs must also provide space for competent contributors outside the left-wing ideological sphere. When access to a public voice is determined by political proximity to the newsroom, expertise becomes secondary, and the public microphone becomes a privilege reserved for the chosen few. Journalistic autonomy cannot serve as an excuse for excluding differing viewpoints. Paying the licence fee does not oblige us to sit silently, watching the same faces and listening to the same opinions over and over again.