Two Congresses

In Slovenia, we like congress tourism. In principle, at least. This year marks two hundred years since a whole bunch of European despots, absolutists, ministers, diplomats, and their servants gathered in Ljubljana under the brand of the Holy Alliance. Today, reminders of this grand event remain in the names of Congress Square, Two Emperors Street, and The Russian Tsar Inn. For our distinguished guests, we paved streets and squares, renovated facades, and upgraded the sewage and lighting systems. During their months-long stay, the crowned heads of Europe managed to suppress several uprisings and revolutions. The Holy Alliance’s main goal was to crush nationalist-revolutionary movements, which—according to kings, emperors, and czars—threatened Europe’s political order. They met in Ljubljana to agree on more effective ways of preventing unrest, which in various parts of Europe was stirred up primarily by intellectuals and urbanites inspired by the French Revolution and the Enlightenment, demanding democracy, human rights, and personal freedom.

But charmed by the pomp and profits left behind by Europe’s despots and their court entourages, Slovenians clearly didn’t hold a grudge against the reactionary goals of the Holy Alliance. The Philharmonic Society ensured their cultural comfort, and hospitality and various trades flourished.

More than 160 years later, once again it was people inspired by the legacy of the French Revolution and the Enlightenment—those demanding democracy, human rights, and personal liberty—who stirred unrest in Slovenia. In the 1980s, it was mainly civil society that paved the way for democratic reforms and an independent Slovenian state: peace activists, environmentalists, feminists, and also the LGBTIQ+ community, which initially organized through the Magnus Association for the Socialization of Homosexuality, and later also Lilith, both operating within Ljubljana’s students cultural center ŠKUC.

To be fair, the Slovenian authorities at the time weren’t particularly repressive toward these movements—but that doesn’t mean they weren’t concerned. A 1986 report by the State Security Service concluded that the emergence of new social movements “requires timely and ideologically comprehensive and multi-faceted responses to ideological deviations within these movements, which are incompatible with the idea of self-managed and delegate-based political organization of citizens—especially regarding ideas such as the establishment of mechanisms for democratic opposition.”

One such “ideological deviation” that provoked a timely and multi-faceted response was the Congress of European Homosexuals, scheduled in Ljubljana by the Magnus Association for Youth Day in 1987. The authorities’ main concern wasn’t so much the event itself, but rather the fear of backlash from other parts of Yugoslavia, where political elites were far more aligned with the reactionary mindset of the Holy Alliance.

Roman Kuhar’s 2002 research on Media Representations of Homosexuality—an analysis of Slovenian print media from 1970 to 2000—offers insight into the aggression and hatred that flared up as Slovenia’s public space became more open. For instance, the Sarajevo magazine As suggested that “all properly oriented Yugoslavs” should wear a badge reading “Fags, no thanks.”

Alarmed by the intensity of these reactions, Slovenian authorities tried to reduce political demands for freedom and human dignity into a matter of sex—framing homosexuality as promiscuity and a public health threat. In March 1987, the Council for Social and Health Policy at the presidency of the RK SZDL recommended that the Republic Committee for Health and Social Welfare and relevant authorities ban the congress to “protect the population from an AIDS epidemic.” History, it seems, has a cruel way of repeating itself.

The repressive stance on homosexuality in the authoritarian atmosphere of the former regime was neither exceptional nor surprising. Homophobia is part of the standard repertoire of all authoritarian ideologies and regimes.

Although Lenin decriminalized homosexuality after the October Revolution, Stalin reversed that in 1934, adding Article 121 to the Soviet criminal code, which punished male homosexual acts with five years of forced labour. Between 500 and 1,000 men were convicted under this law every year. At the same time, Soviet propaganda began portraying homosexuality as a fascist trait, and Article 121 was used to persecute political dissidents as well.

The tragic absurdity of this Soviet equation of homosexuality with fascism lies in the fact that around the same time, Hitler also dramatically increased penalties under Article 175 of the German Penal Code, which had banned homosexuality since 1872. Nearly 100,000 men were arrested under this law over a few decades—not only in Germany, but also in annexed parts of the Third Reich. About 50,000 were convicted, and between 5,000 and 15,000 were sent to concentration camps. Exact numbers are unclear, partly because many survivors never spoke about why they had been imprisoned—and for good reason. Many were forced to complete their sentences even after liberation or were re-convicted under the same Article 175, which remained in the German legal code until 1994. Nazi persecution victims waited until 2002 for official amnesty, and Angela Merkel later issued a formal apology on behalf of the German government.

Tito’s Yugoslavia was part of the Allied forces that defeated Nazism and broke ties with Stalin in 1948, but when it came to homosexuality, it chose continuity over progress. Historian Franko Dota, who earned his PhD with a dissertation on the public and political history of male homosexuality in socialist Croatia, wrote that in socialist Yugoslavia, homosexuality was seen as something "bourgeois and deviant"—a trait of decadent intellectuals, priests, and non-working classes, deemed a threat to healthy working youth. The criminal code punished “unnatural acts between men” with up to two years in prison.

Partial decriminalization came only in 1977, and only in some parts of Yugoslavia—including Slovenia. But social stigma and repression against the LGBTIQ+ community continued throughout the country—and seem to have outlived the country itself.

The LGBTIQ+ community was an essential part of the social movements that in the 1980s opened, expanded, and defended spaces of freedom in Slovenia. These movements helped pave the way for independence. On the 30th anniversary of the Slovenian state, during this time of medal ceremonies and credit-taking, we should remember and recognize all who contributed to its birth. Sadly, reality is quite different. Not all legitimate expectations have been fulfilled—some have even regressed. Instead of understanding, equality, and solidarity, we face growing intolerance toward LGBTIQ+ people and other marginalized groups. We face orchestrated and politically manipulated hate.

In the name of a newly concocted conservatism, new “Holy Alliances” are forming, complete with wannabe despots and their entourages, who repackage old prejudices and repressive policies into new containers—exactly the kind of repression authoritarian regimes throughout history have practiced. Politicians retweet, recycle, and import foreign “successes” in the discrimination and repression of LGBTIQ+ individuals and other minorities.

In the name of patriotism for our shared country, they spread hatred toward those who helped build it and fight for the democratic freedoms we (still) enjoy.

Enough is enough.

The fight for LGBTIQ+ rights cannot and must not be theirs alone. Freedom and solidarity cannot be sliced like sausage—reserved only for some. If a society lacks freedom, solidarity, and respect for everyone’s human dignity, then eventually there will be no freedom for anyone.