Summer Nights Fever

It happened not so long ago, in the middle of the particularly hot summer of 2025.

As usual, millions of tourists were rushing towards the coast, sweat pouring down their faces, with not the slightest idea that a particular kind of summer nights fever was spreading among their host country: a strange virus whose scope, contagiousness and consequences nobody could yet fathom. Despite the harsh working conditions, the self-sacrificing scientists at the Croatian Institute for the Study of Infectious Diseases (CISID) were doing their utmost to swiftly identify the cause of the disease and, if possible, halt its progress. While it did not appear to be fatal, the sheer number of infections made isolation impossible. The question was how much longer the infection could be contained and what the consequences might be, including the political ones.

The disease appeared to be benign, or so it seemed at the beginning, at least.

In any case, it came across to be a short-lived phenomenon, not worthy of much attention. However, scientists were well aware that HIV infections and the more recent spread of the coronavirus had started in much the same way. The key to finding a solution was careful monitoring.

At first, it seemed like a common flu, with symptoms such as fever, sweating and tremors. However, at a certain point, patients started acting as if they were drunk! Visibly agitated, they cried out at the top of their voices, sang, shouted incomprehensible gibberish, giggled, hugged one another and raised their right hands—all with happy expressions on their faces. One of the younger scientists even joked that their behaviour looked more like a group psychosis than a group infection, but his older colleagues, gathered at a crisis meeting, only gave him scolding looks.

The scholars concluded that the specific symptoms needed to be identified. More precisely, they needed to distinguish those that caused the patients to behave differently from those infected by other viruses, such as HIV or coronavirus, which primarily cause general weakness in the body.

Thus, they quickly determined that the infection starts when 1) a certain song triggers excitement and creates a sense of community. This is followed by 2) the donning of black clothing bearing the specific historical—and now forbidden—insignia of the Independent State of Croatia (NDH, 1941–1945), combined with religious symbols such as the cross, sword, shield and flaming torch, as well as depictions of various historical figures and religious icons. All of this culminates in 3) the loud shouting of the Za dom spremni salute, which is the equivalent of Sieg Heil and means ‘Ready for the homeland’. Some scientists, especially the less experienced ones at CISID, were fascinated by the fact that the chants, salutes and songs were in fact celebrating World War II.

On top of all this, perhaps the most prominent feature of the disease was 4) the compulsion to shout and salute as a group—never alone. The symptoms of those suffering from this strange virus seemed to be at their worst when they were in a group. It was as if it were easier to demonstrate yet another unusual characteristic of the disease collectively, rather than individually: an extremely agitated emotional state.

Slavenka Drakulić (Photo: Andraž Gombač)

They concluded that this was important, as the most visible manifestation of the infection seemed to elicit an emotional trance, which could be either temporary or, in some cases, long-lasting.

These conclusions were, of course, reached through careful observation of certain events that took place over the summer.

The turning point in the spread of the disease was apparently a concert by a singer named Marko Perković (nicknamed ‘Thompson’ after a type of gun) at the Zagreb Hippodrome on 5 July. Experts carefully examined recordings of the event, for which there was no shortage of testimonies as it was huge, drawing an enormous crowd of mostly young people dressed in black and adorned with prohibited symbols. In the sweltering heat of that afternoon, those people fell into a trance, embraced each other and shouted ‘Za dom spremni’, thus displaying all the typical symptoms of the infection.

At a certain point during their examination, however, the scientists began to suspect that it might have been a religious phenomenon, because a Catholic priest appeared on stage and said a prayer, while images of the Mother of God, a cross and a crown appeared in the sky, created by a fleet of lit-up drones. Could this have been an outbreak of religious frenzy, reminiscent of those common in the Middle Ages?

These were legitimate questions, especially once it became clear that the concert was not the only mass manifestation of the fever, but merely the beginning. A second concert was held in Sinj, drawing hundreds of thousands of spectators clad in black, just as in Zagreb. Then, a couple of days later, the same thing happened in a football stadium in Split, where thousands of fans chanted the forbidden ‘Za dom spremni’ in unison.

Just as the scientists had feared, it seemed that the virus had already spread to other parts of the country. Yet a few weeks later, they finally understood what the disease was really about. The virus made people conflate their sympathies for the past—more precisely, for the Independent State of Croatia and the Ustasha—with their love for their homeland, or domoljublje as it is called in the ‘newly coined’ Croatian language.

Thus, the new virus was given the name ‘Croatian Ustasha Virus’, or CUV for short.

When some of the scientific findings were leaked to the public, people at home and abroad were shocked and tried to make sense of what it all meant. When concert-goers and football fans wear fascist symbols at a time when the rest of the world is celebrating the 80th anniversary of victory over fascism, the situation is clearly disturbing. Some opposition commentators even suggested that this type of disturbance represents an extremely rare mass phenomenon of so-called retro-consciousness. By way of illustration, one commentator wrote in a German newspaper: “Imagine a few million people gathering at a concert in Berlin and shouting Sieg Heil. Not only would the police have a lot of work to do, but psychiatric institutions would too. However, in a small tourist state, this is not considered cause for alarm. Locals are either afraid of being infected or remain silent out of shock, while foreigners, naturally, neither see nor recognise what is going on.”

Why did this virus emerge right now, was the question widely circulated on social media. Many explanations followed and they could all be summed up in the claim that Ustasha-like behaviour is considered a sign of an anti-Yugoslav and anti-Communist stance. The internet battle between the Ustashas and the Partisans, as this squabble is popularly known, is nothing new; it has been ongoing for decades and has now gained new momentum. Even Franjo Tuđman, the first president of the new Croatia, struggled with the dilemma of how to found the new state on the basis of the only one the Croats had ever had—and it was, alas, fascist. This is especially significant given that the Croats were the initiators and most numerous members of the anti-fascist partisan movement, Tuđman himself among them. For this reason, antifascism is enshrined in the Constitution as the foundation of the new state! Yet at the same time, people were forced for various reasons to renounce socialism and the red star overnight.

For Croatia, it so happened that World War II was never truly over. It continued during the war in the 1990s, when some volunteer brigades named themselves after criminals from the Independent State of Croatia and ‘Za dom spremni’ became their greeting, later partially legalised with the introduction of the so-called dual interpretation, and the participation of the radical right in the current government showed that the darkest aspects of Croatia’s past were being resurrected.

Weeks passed, the summer heat persisted and more and more tourists arrived in Croatia. However, to the despair of the scientists, the wave of CUV symptoms kept spreading in various directions. For example, it reached right-wing politicians in the so-called centrist government. Just a few days after the concert, a couple of radical right-wing politicians raised their hands in a fascist salute in Parliament. With impunity. Surprisingly, the apparently rational and balanced Prime Minister explained to the media that the forbidden salute was nothing more but a part of Thompson’s song and therefore unimportant. He even referred to the famous double interpretation. While the scientists monitored the extent to which the virus might infect the political elite and whether there was any medicine to stop it (some people were wondering whether it should be treated at all), the oppositional public sphere was well aware that the Prime Minister was downplaying the situation because he believed he had it under control.

The next logical step for the scientists was to ask themselves: If the disease spread so widely that it affected a large proportion of the population, and if the symptoms became mild enough to be tolerated by both the resistant and the uninfected, could it still be considered a disease? Or could it be normalised when transformed, as they suggested to the authorities, into a state similar to certain types of cancer? They finally reached a conclusion of special significance for visitors, foreign tourists and neighbouring countries: CUV is an infection that originates from specific historical and political circumstances, and thus affects only Croats. It would be extremely unusual for a Swede, Serb or Slovenian to contract it. In this sense, the disease is localised to Croatia, as well as to the territories in neighbouring countries where Croats live, and to the diaspora.

The authorities readily embraced the suggestion that a widespread disease could be considered just a state. The normalisation, or more precisely the spread of mild manifestations of CUV, occurred much sooner than the CISID staff and some members of the public had anticipated.

Contributing to this were the almost prophetic words uttered by the Minister of Defence in the aftermath of Marko Perković Thompson’s concert. He admitted to making the forbidden ‘Za dom spremni’ salute at the event and said: “This wasn’t a regular concert; it was much more than that. From this moment on, things will irreversibly start to change in politics and among the public in general, throughout the Republic of Croatia, and within Croatian awareness and the Croatian nation.”

The segment of the public (greater? smaller?) that oppose equating patriotism with glorifying the NDH did not agree with him. Of course, not all of them are patriots and lovers of the Ustasha, but what can one do when, during the scorching summer months, the virus-induced love of the Ustasha has become the measure of ‘Croatedness’, or rather, of patriotism?

Some citizens are wondering how serious the situation might be. Is it possible that the politicians and people of this small country, who love concerts, football matches and military parades, want to reinstate some form of the NDH?

Frankly speaking, many openly admit that they want a ‘clean’ state, free of dark-skinned immigrants, whether legal or illegal, not to mention Serbs. However, it would be an exaggeration to suggest that the CUV could result in the scenario described in the editorial (signed by ‘Poglavnik’, i.e. Ante Pavelić) in the first edition of Ustaše in February 1932: “In the fight for holy causes, all means are permissible, even the most terrible ones”; “knife, revolver, machine gun and infernal machine: these are the idols; these are the bells that will announce the dawn and the rising of the Independent State of Croatia.”

Although an independent state has now been achieved, a sharp ideological rift remains among citizens. Fortunately, tourists (who provide the country’s main source of income) remain completely unaware of this division.

The scientists from the beginning of this story are reluctant to speak about the prognosis for the infection, saying that making forecasts would be irresponsible and that it is enough to know that the virus might mutate or lie dormant until more favourable circumstances arise.

These infectious disease specialists do not concern themselves with the political and other consequences of the infection.

However, for many experts and observes from outside the country, the disease is yet another sign that many citizens of this small tourist state continue to live in the past, and that the old and new wars live on in some form in Croatia.

Translated from the Croatian by Lili Potpara

Language editing by Fiona Thompson

The project On the Balcony of the Balkans, hosted on the AirBeletrina portal, seeks to foster intercultural dialogue and strengthen cooperation among artists, institutions, and countries of the former Yugoslavia. It is not rooted in nostalgia or focused on the past, but is instead centered on present realities and, above all, aimed at reflecting on the future, as it seeks to contribute to the most successful possible development of the region. It is carried out with the support of the Ministry of Foreign and European Affairs of the Republic of Slovenia.

The article in English, in collaboration with the AirBeletrina portal, is published on Versopolis, but you can also read it in Slovenian or Croatian by clicking on the AirBeletrina website.