Who’s Afraid of Anne Frank?

In November 2018, I was invited to a panel discussion titled What Do We Need for a True Democracy?, jointly organized in Brussels by the International Bar Association and the European People’s Party group in the European Parliament. The keynote speaker, first among equals, was European Commission Vice President Frans Timmermans. Alongside him, there were around ten more or less significant speakers, with me at the tail end. And since, of course, no one kept to their allotted time, I was called to speak at that awkward moment when half the audience was already scrolling through their phones, the first few were leaving the room, and Timmermans’s staff were frantically tapping their watches to remind him it was time to go.

Just as the moderator was about to wrap things up, he noticed me sitting at the end of the table and said, “Ah, we still have Mr. Gruden from Strasbourg—would you like to say something, but please, if possible, briefly—a minute or two.” I had no choice but to set aside my carefully prepared notes and respond with just a few sentences:

“For true democracy, we need institutions that citizens trust, a society that lives up to its democratic values, and a critical understanding of history.”

Because of the circumstances, the statement was quite condensed, but I believe it still holds true.

A genuine democracy needs three branches of power that consistently adhere to the principles of integrity, competence, transparency, and accountability. It needs effective democratic oversight that highlights and penalizes failures—whether accidental or intentional. Unlike functioning democracies, populist and authoritarian regimes do not seek trust; they are based on obedience. They achieve this through ideological polarization, intimidation, and the stigmatization of political opponents. With utter disregard for democratic norms, they seek full control over all levers of power—including oversight mechanisms like the judiciary, the media, and civil society. When they cannot take control, they discredit and obstruct. Whoever criticizes the authorities is labelled as a traitor of the people, an enemy, and a foreign agent.

Democracy is not value neutral. For it to function, it needs a politics that does not just speak of democratic values but lives them. Without human rights, political freedoms, democratic rule of law, and humanistic values like social justice, dignity, solidarity, and empathy, democracy cannot survive. A democratic society must be open and forward-looking. That doesn’t mean there’s no place for conservatism—just like there’s room for other left- or right-leaning democratic options—but it cannot be closed, unjust, or regressive.

Democratic values cannot be imposed—neither from the outside nor from the top down. If we want democracy to function, citizens must understand, accept, embrace and support its values. The most important path to this is education. The key to active, engaged, thinking citizens lies in civic education—not in the form of an empty patriotism based on loyalty to symbols and obedience to power, but through the transmission of knowledge, behaviour, values, and especially critical thinking. That is what shields democracy from populist and nationalist lies and manipulation.

Successful, creative, and free societies also require investment in a wide range of knowledge and professions. Narrowly focused education can only return us to places we've already been.

Democratic values are also transmitted and protected through culture. I agree that culture should be patriotic and nation-building—but only when it is also a driver of creativity, resourcefulness, innovation, self-reflection, commentary, critique, openness, boldness, curiosity, and freedom. The Slovenian nation would never have survived, let alone become independent, nor would it have a future, if its culture had resigned itself to being merely a service department of those in power.

Finally, a true democracy also needs memory and a critical understanding of history. We cannot understand the European democratic and civilizational model without recalling the experience from which it emerged. This is something we sometimes struggle with in Slovenia. We don’t learn from history—we try to “transcend” it. We believe—perhaps with the best intentions—in the unifying and healing power of intentional amnesia, but that carries the risk of amnesty for evil. Without knowing and understanding history, we cannot grasp what happens when there is no democracy, no human rights, no political freedoms, no respect for human dignity or empathy.

Without historical memory and critical understanding of history, we are defenceless against nationalist myths, populist manipulation, and denial of what really happened. This is especially important for young people. Without historical context, democratic values can seem to them like annoying lectures from boring old boomers—irrelevant and disconnected from their lives. Until the moment those values disappear. And then it might already be too late.

In the Netherlands, the homeland of my interlocutor Frans Timmermans—not exactly a country with shaky democratic foundations—only one third of young people said a few years ago that living in a democracy was important to them. Among older generations, especially those who experienced World War II, that number was close to 90 percent.

“Those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it,” said Winston Churchill. That’s why it’s important that young people read The Diary of Anne Frank. I welcome the fact that President Borut Pahor also advocated for this. Anne Frank, the Dutch teenager, is just one of six million Jewish victims of the greatest crime in world history. But she is also important because her writing reminds us that each of those victims had a name, a family, friends, loves, and plans for the future—just like all of us.

Anne Frank is a name, a face, and a fate that prevents us from wrapping the horrors of the past in the abstraction and anonymity of millions and forgetting them.

Just under three years ago, researchers discovered two pages in Anne’s diary that had been covered with brown paper, where she had written about love troubles, sexuality, menstruation, and even included some rather bawdy jokes. The Anne Frank Foundation chose to honour her wish for privacy—since she had covered them herself—and did not publish them, which was the right decision. But those pages are also another piece of the mosaic that helps us remember a girl painfully similar to today’s teenagers—our children.

If Anne had lived today, she probably wouldn’t have written a diary—she would have posted her thoughts on social media. And sometimes deleted them. She would have written about her daily life, her loves, her worries, and her dreams. Perhaps even about her fear of the hatred returning to society.

The Diary of Anne Frank is a story of what did happen and a warning of what can happen. Not just to others, but to people like us. To us.

Now someone has decided that Slovenian high school students will no longer be required to read Anne Frank’s Diary.

Maybe we should ask ourselves why?