and narration. Thus within narratives of Croatian resilience and territorial reclamation we can recognize deep dependence on physical acts, not just as sources of histories/stories, but also as a means of producing actors and spectators. In this oscillation between discursive and physical endeavors, musicians and audiences heightened and blocked in aggregate one another’s divinely guided affective resilience (spirit) as they reterritorialized themselves on the Croatian state.
FORMERLY OCCUPIED TERRITORIES AND CROATIA’S INTIMATES AT THE FESTIVAL
Building a resilient population and state demanded new spectators and agents, and the widening of participation in tambura music within Croatia also extended to involving Croatia’s intimates. Starting in 1993, the CFU provided general sponsorship for the festival. For the 1994 festival, which officially convened “under the auspices of the Republic of Croatia’s president Dr. Franjo Tuđman,” CFU president Bernard Luketich wrote: “We are especially honored that this year’s Festival theme is ‘all for one, one for all’ because it has also been the slogan of our Union for one hundred straight years” (STD “Pajo Kolarić” 1994, 69; my translation). Luketich specifically mentioned Osijek as an important guardian of the Croatian tambura tradition, and he had a close personal connection to its festival; Željko Čiki, assistant to the festival’s president (later its president, and executive director of the HKUD “Osijek 1862”), was also godfather to Luketich’s grandson, Derek Luketich Hohn, who became a well-known semiprofessional tambura musician and instructor in Pittsburgh.
The war was not over in 1994. The Yugoslavian Army would shell Zagreb in 1995 in retaliation for Croatia’s Operation Flash offensive, which retook lands held by the Republika Srpska Krajina (Republic of Serbian Krajina, or Borderland). Battles were renewed over parts of the Krajina along the Bosnian border, which significant Serbian populations had assisted in temporarily seceding from Croatia; these eventually terminated with the signing of peace agreements in Erdut, Croatia, and Dayton, Ohio. Osijek’s troops participated in these efforts, but the violence was now no longer close to their own homes.
As Osijek’s own wartime suffering subsided, songwriters and festival publications refocused their attention on nearby territories recently occupied by the Yugoslavian army and subsequently (until 1998) controlled by the United Nations Transitional Authority in Eastern Slavonia, Baranja and Western Sirmium (UNTAES). As Baker notes, during the siege of Vukovar, Zlatni Dukati and its manager/arranger Josip Ivanković began releasing new songs about this severely damaged East Croatian city, which was close to their hometowns. They declared in the magazine Arena: “We will be the first to enter Vukovar with tamburas! We played in that holy Croatian city last and that power does not exist that can impede us in this intention” (Stažić 1995; also cited in Baker 2010, 41; my translation). The description of Vukovar as “holy” is significant, as the reestablishment of religious practice was closely associated with Croatian independence and tambura music and resembles Frano Dragun’s earlier statement about the tambura reentering Osijek’s “sacral building.” Using music to reclaim occupied territories, make these achievements audible on Croatian media, and hail a public of spectators/auditors to validate these feats through their narration became a common and religiously charged endeavor in the mid-1990s.
The 1996 festival booklet discusses the organizers’ desire to move the festival into occupied territories. Frano Dragun noted that they were holding the festival under
complicated socio-political and economic conditions. A part of Lijepa naša that is situated immediately alongside us still is not free. Consequently we cannot also present part of our Festival’s program in our Croatian and once beautiful [city of] Vukovar, the picturesque Ilok or the rich Beli Manastir.
But, we firmly believe that we will realize our idea […] in 1997. (STD “Pajo Kolarić” 1996, 9; my translation)
To support this idea and tambura music’s further spread throughout Croatia, the organizers of the festival decided to reinstate the Croatian Tambura Alliance (CTA) in Osijek. They emphasized renewing rather than creating the 1937 Alliance, which had ceased to exist after World War II “due to well-known reasons”—a reference to the abolition of specifically Croatian institutions in postwar Yugoslavia, whose coded nonrecognition (non-narration) resembles the non-naming of well-known enemies in 1990s Croatian songs (STD “Pajo Kolarić” 1996, 8). Plans for the upcoming festival’s move into occupied territories were foremost among the renewed CTA’s concerns.
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