A View of His Own

         There was finally a break in the snowy weather and the early morning of February 27, 1998 found me walking around the quaint, drowsy town of Valjevo, 90 kilometers south of Belgrade. During the cold months in Valjevo, you can taste wood with every breath because the air is so full of smoke from fireplaces. It was less so this day, the air was fresher and sweeter than usual, and it was clear that spring was near. I had arrived by bus the evening before, at dusk, and from my seat I could still faintly see the outline of the Filipovic statue on Vidrak Hill. The size if the statue is such that it is very hard to miss. Valjevo is nestled away in a shallow valley and Vidrak is the most prominent hill within sight. It is no wonder, then, that the sight was chosen as Filipovic's post.

         The statue can be seen from most parts of the town, and I decided I would not need a map. The day was azure blue and, though there was still snow on the ground, it was too warm for a coat. Perfect hiking weather! I started in the center of town (which is not very far from the outskirts) and worked my way toward the statue. I finally hit the side of the hill, and I skirted the hill until I found a path upward. It was not a difficult feat; with a turn here and an ascent there, I wound my way up through a picturesque neighborhood. Filipovic's arms would poke out at me sporadically, teasingly, as I continued my walk. The terrain began to level out and Filipovic had been out of sight for a few minutes. Then I turned a corner and I was standing only a few yards away from him. It was very exhilarating. The grounds were extensive, a blend of latent emerald and snowy ivory. The park was littered with picnic tables and other signs that it was one of the main meeting places in the city. Many people were out and about that afternoon, strolling. I had waited so long to see Filipovic. I had read so much about him. I was not prepared for the sheer size of the monument, nor for the sharp angles of his statue, made even crisper by the lovely azure Serbian sky.⁵¹ My only complaint in regard to the statue itself: I was annoyed to find that his base had become a popular easel for graffiti, but I always enjoyed the challenge of trying to understand the Serbo-Croatian graffiti. This small amusement placated my ruffled spirits a little.

         There was a little shack with a walk-up window from which you could buy chips, snacks, or shoestrings, but no one was inside. Looking through the window, I was dismayed to see that they did not have any Filipovic souvenirs! The only Filipovic morsel that was on display was a postcard from the seventies with a picture of a basketball team in the foreground, Filipovic proudly waving his metal arms in the sky in the backdrop. I had hoped for a miniature statue but I settled for the postcard, basketball team and all. I now cherish it, it is one of my most unusual souvenirs from Yugoslavia.

         While I was appraising the merchandise, a little man came running from across a field and, breathless, he asked if he could help me. I inquire about a museum. No. An informational plaque? I had walked around the monument and I had not seen anything. No, sorry, he says. This is just a park. Is there anything you can tell me about the monument? Well, there is a little stone over there, under the bush and the snow. I was here when they dedicated this monument, he offers freely. I ask him about it. Stevan Filipovic is my personal hero, he retorts, almost defensively, as if I would challenge him. I admire him too, I say. I came a long way to visit him. I ask how he feels about the monument; for him, does the statue commemorate all the fallen Partisans who died in the war or just Filipovic himself and his defiant death? He answers me quickly, with a grave look on his face: Stevan deserves his own monument.

         Although Filipovic was a Croat, and thus his name is properly spelled using the Croatian version of his name, Stjepan, many Serbs insist on using the Serbian version of his name: Stevan. All of the signs in Valjevo advertising the park and its main attraction use the Serbian version. All of the sources I found in Serbo-Croatian about Filipovic, not counting Enciklopedija Jugoslavije and Vojna Enciklopedija, used "Stevan," and all were printed in Valjevo.⁵² It is as if Valjevo has adopted him as a native. There was another commemorative monument to Filipovic in Croatia, near his hometown, and it was torn down during the most recent civil war because it had come to symbolize Partisan heroism and Communism. There was no consideration given to the fact that he was a Croat. Conversely, people told me that during the war with Croatia, there was a lot of discussion in the town about tearing down the Valjevo monument of Filipovic. To some, Valjevo had outgrown Filipovic in two ways since the statue was dedicated on October 23, 1960.⁵³ Stjepan Filipovic was a Croat and a Communist. In the 1990s, the star of Communism did not have the same mesmerizing glow to the Serbian people that it had had. Tito had been dead over 10 years and a wave of nationalism had overrun Serbia during the transitional late 1980s. Though the government had changed character, the Partisan twist was still to be found in almost all museums and monument sites that I visited. However, that fact was not the reason for the survival of the Filipovic monument in Valjevo. I think that Filipovic's historical memory had merged with Valjevo's historical concept of itself.