Written by Jakov Popović
The recent incident in Cetinje reflects the reality that the Montenegrin nation has been facing over the past five years. A group of citizens decided to block the road leading into the city to protest the government’s blatant disregard for the 23 victims who lost their lives there – lives that have been ignored for months.
Two men, apparently frustrated by the traffic caused by the blockade, reacted poorly to the protest. They chose to “solve the problem” according to their ideological worldview. Their response was instinctive – and chauvinistic. They approached the mourners and provocatively raised three fingers.
In their minds, this was perhaps a symbolic victory over what they see as “Ustaša-like hatred” toward everything Serbian, which they believe is prevalent in Cetinje. To them, confronting these “traitors” was acceptable and necessary. They seemed entitled to hate – and that sense of entitlement was hardly unfounded.
No social incident occurs in isolation; every action has context and provokes a reaction. In this case, the chauvinistic provocation aimed at the families of Cetinje’s deceased was not a response to any prior hostility from the Montenegrins. The roots of this animosity run much deeper, fueled by a deliberate campaign led by certain media outlets, those in power, and the Serbian Orthodox Church. Their goal: to demonize anything connected to Montenegrin identity. That’s why Cetinje – and its people, as symbolic representatives of that identity – are prime targets.
The objective is to dehumanize Montenegrins so they can be treated without empathy or remorse. Their national identity is discredited by associating it with so-called “ancestral curses”, as if Cetinje brought its tragedy upon itself by daring to separate from its Serbian roots.
The two men involved are not exceptions. They are products of a wider Chetnik-inspired ideology. Following the Cetinje tragedy earlier this year, social media and online forums were flooded with comments from like-minded individuals, many openly celebrating the suffering of others.
This raises an important, if rhetorical, question: How much has today’s social climate, carefully shaped by certain media outlets, the current government, and the Serbian Orthodox Church, contributed to such expressions of hate? The answer is clear. A government led by a man who proudly holds the title of “Chetnik duke” – and that passively endorses Joanikije’s praise of Pavle Đurišić – is, in essence, the institutional embodiment of the very chauvinism Cetinje has had to endure.
It is precisely under this administration’s watch–and with its implicit approval–that a defeated and discredited Chetnik ideology is being revived. The subsequent arrests of those responsible are not a genuine effort to curb this behavior, which is being fostered and normalized by the current climate. They amount to little more than damage control–a superficial fix addressing symptoms of a far deeper problem. A problem so glaring that even the most naïve citizens cannot be distracted from it by talk of higher wages or the alleged misdeeds of previous governments.
The real purpose of these arrests is to keep the Montenegrin public numbed, so that the slow boiling of the proverbial frog can continue without interruption.
Essentially, the government is trying to offer Montenegrins an alibi for yet another failure to respond, and to free them from the guilt that comes with it. It’s important to preserve the illusion that things in Montenegro are normal, that institutions are functioning as they should. But the darkness overshadowing the country is loud, aggressive, and increasingly difficult to ignore. It has become so blatant that even those whose professional role is to downplay such incidents are left speechless.
While the Prime Minister focuses on economic matters, and some NGOs defend Velika Plaža (but not Montenegro’s sacred heritage), the cultural erasure of the Montenegrin people, the country’s largest national community, is progressing step by step, by design. Our right to exist, our language, and our church are under attack. Even our sovereignty is threatened through attempts to introduce dual citizenship. Affirming a Montenegrin identity is increasingly portrayed as inherently negative, something to be condemned. At times, it feels as if merely acknowledging our existence makes some people uncomfortable.
We are expected to be citizens first, then antifascists, then Europeans–and only perhaps, as an afterthought, Montenegrins. It’s as if we are meant to fit into someone’s folkloric idea of what a Montenegrin should be–stripped of any real substance. But without us, there can be no Montenegro at all–let alone an antifascist or European one.
A false equivalence is being drawn between our right to fight for survival and the Chetniks’ right to erase anything they see as “betraying Serbian heritage.” This is where the “two nationalisms” narrative comes in–equating the struggle of victims with the aggression of their oppressors. As monuments are erected to Amfilohije and 18 new Serbian Orthodox churches are built, Montenegrins are told that resisting this clerical colonization of Montenegro is the real problem. In the name of “reconciliation,” we are expected to forget everything Amfilohije ever said about Montenegrins–to forgive harsh words from people who never once took them back. Or perhaps we are just supposed to grow numb to the voices calling for a “little Ukraine” in Montenegro–voices that will echo from every new church built in Podgorica.
Are we supposed to keep ignoring the editorials on websites whose editors, despite years of poisoning the public sphere, remain largely anonymous, and who now claim that “we are all Pavle Đurišić”? Are we expected to accept Joanikije’s predictions, where he envisions Montenegrins “disappearing like mushrooms after the rain” (sic!)?
And if we accept all of this, will we finally reconcile? Will we find common ground with the followers of Chetnik warlords and Pavle Đurišić? Are we aiming for a compromise where Montenegro is part Chetnik, part antifascist? Will we be Montenegrins only halfway, just enough not to make anyone uncomfortable with our existence? Should we start singing Chetnik songs–quietly, under our breath?
Of course not–because there can be no compromise with evil. The only reconciliation they will accept is one where Montenegrin national identity ceases to exist. That is not peace–and it is not a path we will take.
But creating this kind of atmosphere is not solely the work of those who openly mean us harm. The greatest contribution to encouraging this evil has come from us. We are the ones who, through our muted, restrained contempt for what’s happening, are bargaining with the very survival of Montenegrin identity. Our silence has given others the green light to mock the pain of families in Cetinje. We, too, will bear responsibility for every future outburst of hatred–because in our struggle to survive, we didn’t want to upset anyone or make them uncomfortable.
As long as we refuse to call things by their real names, as long as we avoid saying out loud that what’s happening in Montenegro today is a calculated attempt to erase the Montenegrin nation, we remain complicit in this criminal, anti-civilizational project.
The moment we shatter the carefully constructed illusion that this kind of hatred can be normalized or justified, we will have taken the first step toward Montenegro’s recovery.
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