Janša should come to Koseze to learn how to run a serious political drama

In a small residential block in Koseze, residents have grown accustomed to navigating the complexities of shared living spaces, where governance is fragmented among property managers, tenants, two hyperactive neighbors, and a homeowners' association that meets just twice a year, often with many attendees conveniently forgetting they have more pressing matters, such as elections. The situation has led one resident to suggest that Prime Minister Janez Janša might benefit from visiting their block to learn how to manage a serious political drama. Here, everything from infrastructure projects to foreign policy unfolds within the confines of a single building. While President of the Republic Nataša Pirc Musar defends herself over a traffic accident, residents can defend their decision to place three basil pots on their balcony. She governs a country, while they manage a block. The resident, who has lived in this plant-concrete kingdom for two decades, recalls a time when she was a rural dweller, where opening the door meant stepping outside without needing approval from a supervisory board. If someone wanted to plant a tree, they simply did it. No records were required, no votes taken, no committees formed for tree-related issues. Dogs, cats, and chickens ran freely around, and nobody raised a fuss. Now, however, everything seems to be scrutinized. Adaptability is key in this environment. One learns to accept that replacing a radiator is an organizational project requiring more coordination than an EU budget. When calling a plumber, the property manager explains that water must be turned off, not just for oneself, but for everyone. And one discovers that water is shut off twice a year, in the presence of three witnesses and a property manager who sometimes appears to be there because of them, rather than the other way around. Above and below are neighbors. Through one's apartment run pipes connected to others, somewhere beneath lies shared electricity, above is a roof about which all decide. This is the fundamental law of block life: your apartment is yours, but not entirely. And then there is the property manager, a peculiar kind of political animal, as described by Žan Mahnič. The previous one was excellent until two residents drained him so thoroughly he left. That is the law of the block: two dissatisfied individuals possess more energy than forty satisfied ones. Democracy in practice! The current one quickly dismisses complaints. He is correct, though as cold as Antarctica. Then there are the homeowners' associations, the parliament of the block. Generally, decisions are made regarding urgent renovations. It becomes clear that it is easier to agree on new handrails on the staircase than, say, a new electrical installation. Handrails are visible. Electricity isn't. Until it burns out, or until someone buys an electric car and the property manager warns: check before buying such a car. And he is right. In the garage corridor, there are a hundred garages. Charging stations, however, are approximately as numerous as water springs in the Sahara. None. Some have set them up before the ban, others more like partisans. Systemic solutions are lacking. Perhaps they will come before the elections. Then suddenly everything changes: asphalt roads are laid, sidewalks installed, bridges built that previously could not even be drawn. Perhaps Mayor Zoran Janković will remember us, the electric poor. Nevertheless, we have already adapted to many things in Koseza. Parking? Sometimes we parked one after another! But Mayor Janković sorted it out. Parking is charged. Sixty euros per year. However, this does not mean you will park. It’s like a theater ticket, where the seat goes to whoever arrives first. But we have adapted. We are not like the “Štepanjci.” We didn’t protest much, we grumbled slightly, and moved forward. Likewise, when our neighborhood was closed to cars. Previously, one went once a week to the store, now one goes three times because one can carry only as much as hands allow. Fitness is no longer necessary. Peace, however, is gone. We have cyclists, scooters, and electric skateboards zooming past with self-confidence that makes traffic signs feel like decoration. The block also has softer sides. Balconies are botanical gardens. Some have so much greenery that I fear some concrete gutter might one day go on its own path toward the ground. Cats, meanwhile, are a special story. Owners have them, landowners have them, and sometimes they seem to have minds of their own.