Chapter I: Myth as mandate
In the 2010s, Russia revived the myth of the Great Patriotic War through a wave of high-budget films such as Stalingrad (2013), 28 Panfilov’s Men (2016), and T-34 (2018). These productions glorified Soviet heroism, whitewashed Stalinist crimes, and promoted a moral narrative of Russia as both savior and eternal victim.
In a revealing interview with Tucker Carlson, it became clear that Vladimir Putin had drawn inspiration from Slobodan Milošević’s performance at Gazimestan in 1989, where the myth of the Battle of Kosovo was weaponized for modern political ends.
These films did more than entertain—they laid the ideological foundation for the 2022 invasion of Ukraine, framed as an act of “denazification.” History was transformed into a tool of war; myth became mandate. Ironically, many Russians today are more convinced they are fighting fascism than they were in 1961, when they built the anti-fascist barrier—known in the West as the Berlin Wall.
Chapter II: Slovenia’s surprise turn
In recent months, Slovenia has made a series of radical and unexpected foreign policy moves that have stunned allies and observers alike. President Nataša Pirc Musar, elected as an independent but backed by the post-communist left, surprised many when she adopted the rhetoric of Hamas propaganda, accusing Israel of genocide in Gaza — a narrative closely aligned with Iranian, Russian, and hard-left agendas. While most EU member states sought a cautious and unified response to the Gaza conflict, Slovenia actively joined the group of outliers to unilaterally recognize Palestine in 2024, bypassing broader EU consensus.
Foreign Minister Tanja Fajon went even further, positioning Slovenia as one of the most pro-Hamas and pro-Iran voices in the EU, frequently breaking ranks with Western allies. Her ministry has supported anti-Israel resolutions at the UN and echoed Tehran’s language in official briefings. Fajon’s foreign policy stance has alarmed Western diplomats, especially as it coincides with renewed Russian outreach to non-aligned and destabilized regions—a pattern Slovenia now appears eager to emulate.
A revealing example of how this ideological shift has permeated even public media occurred during the Eurovision Song Contest. After Israeli entries received strong support from Slovenian viewers two years in a row, Slovenia’s state broadcaster RTV publicly called for Israel to be removed from the competition altogether. The move, framed as a protest against the war in Gaza, was widely criticized as politically motivated censorship. It also exposed the growing rift between the government’s ideological stance and the preferences of the broader Slovenian public, which had twice placed Israel among the top entries in the televote.
Most strikingly, Prime Minister Robert Golob—who rose to power in 2022 on promises of depoliticization and reform—raised the possibility of a referendum on Slovenia’s membership in NATO. Though later downplayed, the proposal echoed the kind of strategic ambiguity seen in Serbia’s “neutrality doctrine.” At the same time, Golob’s government has advocated for quiet diplomatic re-engagement with Russia, despite EU sanctions and the ongoing war in Ukraine.
In less than a year, Slovenia has shifted from a predictable mid-sized EU member to a rogue ideological outlier—undermining NATO unity, destabilizing EU foreign policy cohesion, and adopting the language of Iran, Russia, and Hamas. For a country that once helped lead the break from Yugoslav socialism, the pivot is as unexpected as it is revealing.
Chapter III: Not a surprise at all
Slovenia’s recent foreign policy radicalism—from unilaterally recognizing Palestine to floating a NATO referendum—is not an isolated deviation. The surprise lies only in how long the outside world failed to notice. It is the inevitable externalization of an internal ideological project that has been reshaping the country for years. The same actors now adopting the language of Hamas, Iran, and Russia on the global stage have been transforming Slovenia’s institutions at home, slowly but decisively, under the pretense of reform and depoliticization.
Prime Minister Robert Golob’s government, elected in 2022 has overseen one of the most aggressive political and cultural reconsolidations since independence. Beneath the rhetoric of modernization lies an unmistakable pattern: the restoration of a post-communist elite consensus through institutional capture, myth-based legitimacy, and proxy radicalism.
- The judiciary has been systematically co-opted, culminating in the de facto takeover of the Constitutional Court.
- The country’s public broadcaster, RTV Slovenija, has undergone what can only be described as a purge of dissenting journalists.
- NGOs with ideological agendas and foreign funding have infiltrated ministries and policymaking bodies without electoral legitimacy.
- A referendum on privileged cultural pensions seeks to restore Yugoslav-era hierarchies favoring regime-loyal intellectuals.
- The National Day of Remembrance for the Victims of Communism was canceled, erasing inconvenient historical truths.
Each of these measures is part of a consistent strategy: to retake ideological control of the state, not by persuasion or democratic debate, but by reshaping the institutions themselves—their personnel, their functions, and their memory. These developments cannot be understood as pragmatic politics. They reflect a coherent ideological worldview—one that fuses post-socialist nostalgia with anti-Western sentiment, moral relativism, and selective historical memory. The project is neither liberal nor conservative—it is restorationist. Its purpose is to reestablish the ideological dominance of the Partisan myth and the accompanying narrative of benevolent, enlightened communism. Together, these myths serve to legitimize the cultural authority of the old elite and to exclude ideological competitors through administrative means, not open discourse.
Chapter IV: A shared script — myth, memory, and control
What we are witnessing in Slovenia is not an isolated phenomenon, but part of a broader post-authoritarian strategy also seen in Russia and Serbia: the construction of a national identity rooted not in civic democracy or human rights, but in a carefully curated, emotionalized mythology of war and moral victory. These myths are not spontaneous—they are institutionally maintained and used to justify the political status quo.
In Slovenia, the dominant myth is not just the NOB (National Liberation Struggle), but the broader narrative of benevolent communism. This framing allows the events of 1991—the democratic rupture, the rejection of one-party rule, the war of independence—to be pushed to the periphery, recast as a mere continuation of the “liberation” struggle rather than a break with it.
- It legitimizes the continued dominance of the old elite, who portray themselves as guardians of antifascist values rather than former ideologues of a failed regime.
- It delegitimizes 1991 as a foundational moment, stripping it of its trauma, its courage, and its radical departure from dictatorship.
Much like Russia, where WWII is used to justify war and erase Stalinist crimes, and Serbia, where the Kosovo myth and selective Yugoslav nostalgia are mobilized to maintain political ambiguity, Slovenia too has transformed its memory politics into a mechanism of cultural control.
Meanwhile, post-communist states like Poland, the Baltic countries, and Czechia followed a radically different path. They explicitly named both fascist and communist totalitarianism as illegitimate. They introduced lustration, truth commissions, and public education rooted in accountability and transparency. Their founding myth is 1989 or 1991—not 1945. In Slovenia, by contrast, the past is not reckoned with—it is rerun.
Memory politics since 1990: A timeline comparison
| Decade | Russia | Slovenia | Serbia | Poland / Czechia / Baltics |
|---|---|---|---|---|
| 1990s | Shock & fragmentation after USSR collapse. Yeltsin-era chaos. No clear narrative. | Democratic breakthrough (1990–1992). 1991 war of independence is framed as a rupture with communism. | Collapse of Yugoslavia. Wars in Croatia/Bosnia. Conflicting narratives: Chetniks vs. Partisans. | Lustration, truth commissions. Strong emphasis on decommunization. Clear rupture with the past. |
| 2000–2010 | Putin rises (2000). Centralization. WWII reframed as sacred. Stalin rehabilitated. | NOB re-legitimized by left-wing elites. Museums, schoolbooks focus on WWII, not 1991. | Rehabilitation of WWII Chetniks begins under nationalism. Kosovo conflict dominates national trauma. | Public trials of communist crimes. Strong anti-communist education. Genocide museums and archives. |
| 2010–2020 | Big-budget WWII films. "Russkiy mir" ideology. USSR crimes omitted. | Downplaying of 1991 continues. Left resists naming communism as dictatorship. | Continued myth duality. Titoist nostalgia vs. Orthodox nationalism. Little historical reckoning. | EU integration solidifies anti-communist identity. Soviet occupation is central historical frame. |
| 2020–present | Ukraine war justified using WWII symbols. “Denazification” rhetoric. Myth weaponized. | Attempt to merge 1945 and 1991 into one myth. Museum of Independence dismantled in 2023. | Vučić promotes “neutral Serbia” doctrine. Avoids full break with Yugoslav past. | Continued democratic memory culture. Museums, education, and archives reinforce truth and rupture. |
Chapter V: The Thompson concert in Croatia: 1991 vs. 1945 as moral ground zero
On July 5, 2025, singer Marko Perković Thompson held what became the largest single-night concert in Croatian history—over 500,000 people gathered at Zagreb’s Hippodrome, waving flags, singing songs of national pride, and commemorating the Croatian struggle for independence.
Thompson’s music is rooted in the 1991–1995 Homeland War, not in World War II or Ustaša mythology, as detractors often claim. His lyrics speak of loss, sacrifice, and national survival—themes drawn from lived Croatian experience, not historical revisionism.
And yet, international and regional media—particularly those influenced by former Yugoslav-era structures—quickly framed the concert as a revival of World War II fascism, ignoring its actual context. This misrepresentation is not accidental. It reflects a broader effort by the old Yugoslav elite to reinterpret post-communist patriotism through a 1945 lens, where any national sentiment not anchored in the Partisan myth is automatically branded extremist.
In that sense, Thompson is not the myth—he is a victim of it. His popularity illustrates the unresolved tension between two competing visions of history: one that sees 1991 as the foundation of modern sovereignty, and another that clings to 1945 as the sole moral reference point.
In Slovenia, this tension is even more suppressed. Celebrating the 1991 independence movement too loudly often invites suspicion. Expressing pride in the national struggle is easily dismissed as nationalist revisionism. This is why Slovenia lacks cultural equivalents of Thompson—not due to extremism, but because the post-communist elite fears any narrative that might displace the WWII myth as the cornerstone of national identity.
Even as Croatia publicly debates its historical ambiguities, Slovenia enforces a sanitized narrative, suppressing 1991 in favor of a curated image of the Partisan state—repackaged and sold as a liberal democracy.
Chapter VI: Conclusion — Slovenia’s strategic drift
Slovenia’s internal mythmaking and institutional capture are no longer a domestic affair. They are shaping the country’s foreign policy, undermining democratic norms, and placing Slovenia increasingly at odds with its EU partners.
More alarmingly, Slovenia is becoming a test case—a soft target—for Russia’s broader strategy of fragmenting the West from within. By leveraging historical grievances, ideological nostalgia, and captured institutions, Russia is using Slovenia as a tool to seed or initiate more extremist ruptures inside the EU and NATO.
This is not just symbolic. If one EU or NATO country begins to seriously consider withdrawal—especially under the influence of disinformation, media manipulation, and foreign-funded activism—it could open the gates of hell. It would signal that the post-1991 democratic order is reversible, that narrative warfare can succeed where tanks could not.
But the consequences go beyond geopolitics. As Slovenia doubles down on ideological restoration, it is also beginning to lag economically and socially. The country is stagnating in innovation, productivity, and global relevance. In this climate, the greatest enemy is not the political opposition—it is the free market, meritocracy, and openness.
Slovenia does not need condemnation - it is too small and irrelevant for that. It needs attention. From allies, from watchdogs, and from its own democratic opposition. Pressure from the free world, combined with domestic civic resistance, could help Slovenia rediscover the promise of 1991: an open, modern, democratic society built on truth rather than myth.
Rather than drifting toward the ideological orbit of Iran, Russia, and Serbia, Slovenia would benefit enormously from deepening its ties with the liberal, economically open, and strategically sober nations of Central Europe. A closer alignment with the Visegrád Group and the Baltic States — could anchor Slovenia in a reality-based policy framework, helping it move forward rather than backward.