THE STORY
It’s a warm October afternoon in the port town of Tivat, Montenegro. The waves of the Kotor Bay lap against the harbour walls as locals sit around playing cards and enjoying an afternoon coffee.
Suddenly the serenity of the scene is broken: ‘Smrt fašizmu, sloboda narodu!’ a voice loudly bellows across the kafana terrace, drawing eyes from across the marina. The phrase, meaning ‘Death to facism, freedom to the people’ were famously the last words of partisan fighter Stjepan Filipovic, shouted as he was summarily executed by the Nazi’s back in WWII. Today’s audience however, is just a group of tourists trying to enjoy their cevapi and chips.
The voice belongs to a portly man in his early sixties. He stands upright and at full attention as he salutes one of the kafana’s waiters. This man is Marko Perkovic, the self-appointed Consular of Yugoslavia. He is the Consul for a nation that technically, no longer exists.
In the early 1990s, the Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia imploded, leading to one of Europe’s bloodiest conflicts since the World Wars. Some thirty years later, a generation born into a nation that no longer exists have been forced to re-examine their own identities. For Marko, and many like him, they still consider themselves proudly Yugoslav.
Sitting down to eat with Marko, it’s evident that the High Consular is an esteemed guest of this restaurant. The waiter returns to the table wearing a crisp white pair of gloves and brandishing a set of fine silverware with which to serve the Consul. Throughout the meal generous extra helpings flow out of the kitchen to the table. It’s not the typical service you experience at a laid-back Tivat taverna. This is a service fit for a King, or in this case, the Consular of a nation that no longer exists.
Marko is something of a local celebrity around these parts. Everyone seems to know of him and many are appreciative as to what he and his organisation stand for.
‘Sixteen ambassadors in Montenegro respect me. They address me as High Consul or Your Excellency.’ Marko explains in between mouthfuls of calamari. ‘Many of Montenegro’s high-ranking officials are in fact jealous of me, I have more staff than many ambassadors.’ Although the Consulate of the SFRY (Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia) is a non-governmental organisation, Marko claims to have sway with many of Montenegro’s top elected officials. Whilst the Consul is never one to let the truth get in the way of a good story, it’s true that he is both well-connected and respected: in this town at least.
Marko lives in a duplex flat that borders the old town and Tivat’s newly developed luxury Marina. Things have changed in Tivat since the war. Money has flooded into the country as wealthy Russians look for ways to park their money on foreign soil, safe from the Kremlin’s gaze. Some estimates put Russian real estate ownership in Montenegro as high as 40% and it’s evident in the port’s marina, packed with pristine polished white marble floors and multi-million dollar superyachts. There’s even a five star hotel (which Marko remarks is so grand it should really be awarded a sixth star). This newly developed side of Tivat is markedly different from the older part of town and the building in which the Consular lives.
Marko’s flat is on the ground floor of a typical Balkan apartment block next to the municipality park and the grounds of the town’s local football team: Arsenal Tivat. On match days Marko says you can hear the entire game from his balcony, but today all you can hear is the hum of cicadas.
The Consul’s home is filled with treasures from Yugoslavia’s ‘golden years’. Trophies, posters, flags and even a spinning globe where the entire surface is dominated by Yugoslavia’s landmass. Many of these artefacts, he explains, were once kept in the official embassy, but as of last year they were moved into storage after the embassy building, which sits above a print shop Marko used to own, was seized by the police.
Marko never fully gets to the crux of exactly why his embassy was taken, but as he brews a coffee in his dimly-lit kitchen, he proudly exclaims that he didn’t give the keys up easily. It’s alleged that Marko brought a gun to the embassy as police tried to remove his belongings, resulting in his Excellency The High Consul Of Yugoslavia spending a few hours in a local jail cell. As with most stories about Marko, it’s hard to pinpoint where fact ends and fiction begins.
Marko’s day-to-day business as High Consul consists of taking calls, making semi-regular appearances on local TV channels, as well as conducting his own news conferences. The Consulate itself also provides the normal services you would expect, including the printing of Yugoslav passports which Marko assures grant the bearer free and unrestricted travel within the borders of ex-Yugo states (but you’ll have to take his word for that).
A large proportion of Marko’s time as of late appears to be directed at fighting the lengthy legal case to regain control of his embassy. ‘You must return next summer and we will talk in my real office’ - Marko remarks as we sit out on his balcony next to an old treadmill.
When asked what makes Yugoslavia so special, Marko is quick to reply: ‘Yugoslavia is a synonym for the good life. Six republics, without borders. Brotherhood and unity.’ As he speaks he sits next to a portrait that once hung in many Ex-Yugo households: it’s a picture of Josip Broz Tito, the long standing leader and Patriarch of the Yugoslav project. ‘Tito’s best work was helping us learn to work together’. It was indeed some of Tito’s best work. The motto ‘brotherhood and unity’ was an attempt to create a completely new Yugoslav identity, one that could unite the many disparate balkan tribes under one banner, and it worked…well at least for Marko and a generation of others like him.
It’s clear that Marko is a well-educated man, especially when it comes to his specialist subject: world history and politics. His ability to quote famous US diplomats off the cuff gives the impression he’s told these stories and anecdotes many times before.
He speaks with great knowledge and intricate detail about world leaders, ambassadors and local politicians, recalling dates, quotes and moments with ease. Marko recalls with glee an infamous stateside visit where Josip Broz Tito smoked a Cuban cigar inside the White House in front of Richard Nixon and the world’s press. When Nixon exclaimed: ‘Mr President, we do not smoke here in the White House’ Tito simply retorted: ‘Lucky you’.
When conversation turns to the modern-day political landscape in Ex-Yugoslavia, Marko’s smile turns to a scowl as he recalls a relatively recent run-in the Montenegrin president had with Donald Trump. In news footage, Trump appeared to shove the president out of the way during a press photocall. ‘Why…’ Marko asks, ‘Why did our president not slap Donald Trump?’. It’s clear Marko, inspired by leaders like Tito, isn’t impressed with the way politics is conducted today.
Marko feels it necessary to put on the record that he is ‘not an enemy of the United States’, in fact he speaks very highly of certain ex-presidents including Jimmy Carter, who famously sent his mother to Tito’s funeral, as well as JFK who Marko firmly believes was assassinated by the CIA. The Consular’s feelings about the United States are probably best summarised in a quote he delivers from the late US Diplomat Henry kissinger: ‘To be an enemy of America is dangerous, but to be a friend is fatal’.
His views on Russia are less clearcut. ‘It’s not necessary to import the politics of Russia into Yugoslavia’, Marko explains. ‘I like Russia, but not in my house’.
It’s this political wall-sitting that Tito himself was well-known for and undoubtedly helped Yugoslavia prosper during the cold war as it chose to befriend both East and West.
Over a beer in the Consular’s favourite bar, Marko loosens up as he begins to speak more freely about the realpolitik in the region. He speaks of his interactions with many infamous Yugoslavs, as well as aspects of the corruption he sees within the modern Montenegrin state. At one point Marko mentions past interactions with paramilitary leaders in Belgrade as well as his time working as a driver in the Yugoslav army. Marko seemingly has a connection to many characters from Yugoslav history, but he is keen to distance himself from many of the less-than-savoury ones.
As the early hours approach it’s time to say our farewells. Before we depart the Consular thrusts a small document into our hands. ‘You are a true Yugoslavs now’ he smirks before shuffling off into the darkness. In our hands is a Yugoslav passport, bound in blue, signed and printed.
There’s a question about just how much of what was said this week was real, and how much of it was for show and bravado. Would the Consular ever get his consulate back, did Marko really have sway and influence on Balkans politics and, most importantly, could this passport really be used to get us out the country?
Before we could contemplate an answer, the silence of the night is shattered as Marko throws up a salute and bellows across the street: ‘Smrt fašizmu, sloboda narodu!’ before disappearing once again into the night.
Six months after our meeting, we received word that The High Consular had passed away. On social media there was an outpouring of messages left by those that had in some way connected with Marko over the decades.
Until the bitter end, Marko refused to let others dictate his identity. He was born a proud Yugoslav and he died a proud Yugoslav. Many will say that the Consular was a product of a bygone era, a rose-tinted historian stuck in the past and unable to accept the present, but across the Balkans, there are many looking inwardly at their own identity and the future of the region. In the last Serbian census, the number of people choosing to identify as Yugoslav rose by 3000, not an insignificant number in a nation with a falling population.
In a world, where capitalism seems to be failing an increasing number of people, tales of life in Yugoslavia’s socialist state are perhaps being listened to more keenly by the youth of today. It’s unlikely that the former Yugoslav states will ever reform - even Marko himself understood this - but his fervent dedication to the embassy and lifelong work to preserve the Yugoslav identity will hopefully inspire the next generation to carry his legacy forward.