The cult of the personality of Titus still persists

The campaign to designate the inscription “Tito” on Sabotin as a local cultural monument continues to gain traction among local media and civil society groups. Over the past three weeks, reports have emerged suggesting that the name of Marshal Tito, carved into a hillside near Sabotin, could soon be officially recognized as a cultural landmark of local significance. The initiative, spearheaded by the civic group Naš Tito, has drawn attention from regional newspapers, which highlight the process through which such status can be granted. According to these accounts, the decision would require expert assessments and approval from the municipal council. However, questions remain about whether the inscription truly qualifies as an unchallenged symbol of local heritage. For many members of the older generation in Novogorič, the inscription has been a constant presence since their youth. Born in the 1970s, they recall learning to read while gazing at the letters etched into the hillside. At times, they say, the inscription was altered with whimsical changes, but these were fleeting. A more lasting shift occurred in the early years of the new millennium, when the word “naš” (“our”) disappeared from the inscription. It wasn’t until recent investigations that the reason behind this change became clear, namely, that the land had been purchased by former parliamentarian Ivo Hvalica, who did not agree with the inscription’s continued existence. The term “cult of personality” evokes vivid memories for many. For much of the population, Tito was a familiar figure, often depicted in framed photographs hanging in public buildings and classrooms. He appeared in white uniforms, smiling broadly, waving to crowds, an image frequently broadcast on television. His death was marked by a siren sounding at three in the afternoon, a moment that stirred deep emotions even among children. Though young at the time, many remember feeling sorrow when school activities were abruptly halted, such as jumping on elastic bands or playing games known as “gumitvista” in central Slovenia. They also recall a train decorated with flowers, supposedly carrying Tito on his final journey from Ljubljana to Belgrade. Some later learned that this was merely a staged performance for the public. Despite these performances, the image of Tito as a benevolent leader persisted. He was portrayed as a man who inspired trust in a brighter future, one that promised prosperity and unity. As a leader, he was credited with building new cities, including Nova Gorica and Velenje (then called Titovo Velenje), and was celebrated for returning the Primorska region to its homeland. He was also seen as a bridge between Slovenian and Croatian identities, fostering brotherhood among Yugoslav nations. This idealized portrayal fueled a sense of hope and belonging, which endured long after his death. In the first year following Tito’s passing, teachers still greeted students with the phrase “Za domovino!” (“For the homeland!”), expecting them to respond with “S Titom naprej!” (“With Tito forward!”). This tradition lasted for over a year before mysteriously fading away, replaced by a simple “Zdravo.” By the time Slovenia gained independence, images of Tito had largely vanished from schools and public spaces. Yet, despite this erasure, the cult of Tito’s persona persists, continuing to shape collective memory. Tito never had a political rival. In 1974, he was awarded a lifetime mandate, a move that reinforced his position as an unchallengeable leader. While some argue that this system reflected an authoritarian structure, others see it as a form of democratic consensus, given that the parliamentary representatives endorsed him through raised hands. The legacy of Tito remains complex, shaped by both admiration and critique, yet his influence endures in the hearts and minds of those who grew up under his rule.