Red nostalgia: Souvenirs from the ruins of communism

Looking for a glimpse into the past? Do you prefer megalomania, or domestic intrigue? Want to experience the everyday life of another era… some dark episodes, perhaps?

In Romania, there are plenty of options. You can visit communist leader Nicolae Ceausescu’s mansion, the Palace of Parliament, or even the prisons that were used to crush dissent. However, if you travel to Serbia, Croatia, or Bosnia, the experience will be paradoxical: in contrast to the places where the Cold War left behind some of the worst images of the late-20th-century, the era of Yugoslavian leader Josip Broz Tito is viewed with a certain benevolence.

These are different cases, but the shadow of totalitarianism still looms over these Eastern European nations today. And communism continues to generate revenue through tourism, in yet another twist on capitalism. According to Katherine Verdery, an American anthropologist specializing in post-socialist memory, there has only been a change in tone: “[Socialism in Eastern Europe] went from being an ideology to an emotional repertoire, one that expresses both loss and belonging.”

“Nostalgia isn’t so much a desire to return to that system, but rather an attempt to make sense of the lack of stability, community and purpose that followed its collapse,” the expert writes via email, in a response to EL PAÍS. She is referring to the themes that she discussed in her book, The Political Lives of Dead Bodies: Reburial and Postsocialist Change.

This phenomenon encompasses a reality with many nuances. The Romanian communist regime (1947-1989) — where thousands were imprisoned or killed, torture was widespread in detention centers, and the Securitate (secret police) maintained massive surveillance — cannot be compared to Tito’s regime (1943-1980) in the former Yugoslavia, which dissolved between 1990 and 1992.

Certainly, in this conglomeration of countries, struggles and episodes of repression have been documented. However, its break with Stalin and the Soviet Union led to a more decentralized structure and greater cultural richness. “We must distinguish between different types of nostalgia, as well as between different generations,” warns British sociologist Paul Stubbs, a specialist in the Balkans. “For those who lived through socialist Yugoslavia, political memory — anti-fascism, self-management, or the Non-Aligned Movement — is intertwined with emotional [memory]. It’s not just about Tito, but about the memory of an era that isn’t perceived as a disaster.” The House of Flowers in Belgrade — the mausoleum where the leader rests — is the heart of the Museum of Yugoslavia, the most-visited museum in the country.

Nowadays, one can experience a neoliberal immersion into an era of absolute control. “People miss the rhythm of collective life, the shared routines, the community spirit. They long for the texture of the ordinary: the queues, the uniforms, the neighborhood friendships,” notes Ana Maria Luca, an Italian anthropologist who specializes in migration.

This yearning she describes is even evident in the bars and establishments that are decorated with Soviet iconography: “People don’t travel just to see history, but to feel it.”

But the line between memory and merchandising is becoming increasingly blurred. And the Instagram era has amplified this aesthetic: brutalist buildings, uniforms, or hammer-and-sickle emblems have gone from being images associated with authority to harmless souvenirs. “Legacy is a kind of visual time machine,” the researcher concludes, “and we can only make things ‘vintage’ if we’ve already accepted them. What still hurts cannot be aesthetically pleasing.” In certain countries, however, it seems that the two feelings can go hand–in-hand.

Communism may no longer promise utopias, but clearly, it continues to generate revenue.

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