In a smoke-filled coffee shop on a steep, cobble-stoned street of Zagreb's baroque Upper Town—the oldest part of this city, situated on a hill overlooking the rest of Croatia's capital city—I am sipping a cappuccino and listening to Zvonimir Dobrovic talk about revolution.
As a part of the former communist Yugoslavia, and as a Balkan state with a long history of war—the last one in the region still fresh in people's minds—this is a country where the notion of revolution is often met with eye-rolling suspicion.
But there is no doubt that the slender, auburn-headed 24-year-old in front of me is a revolutionary. In between gulps of his Coke, the fashionably unkempt firebrand with a red stubble beard gesticulates energetically as he talks about the radical act he's been plotting for about a year now: For five days this coming April, Dobrovic is set to stage the city's first gay and lesbian cultural festival. The event will be complete with guest lecturers from as far away as Australia and the United States, theater acts that include such well-known gay names as Tim Miller and David Drake, exhibits of gay and lesbian artists and dancers, and a selection of movies that alone could constitute a film festival.
The scope of the festival, called Queer Zagreb, would be impressive even in America or other parts of Europe, where gay and lesbian events of this size are a matter of course. But considering it will happen in a country with precious little history of organized gay life, and just as sparse awareness or support of it, a cultural festival of this magnitude is historic.
To help put it in perspective, consider that in Zagreb, a sophisticated city of approximately 800,000 people, with an opera and some of the world's greatest art treasures, there is just one gay bar (called Global) and a small gay sauna (called David). Sure, there are a few other 'gay-friendly' bars and cafes, as well as a gay and lesbian political-rights group. There was even the first gay parade last year (though it was marred by violence from skinheads). But in general, gay life here is, as one guidebook describes it, 'so far underground, it's practically invisible.'
Combating that invisibility is perhaps the No. 1 goal of Queer Zagreb, says Dobrovic, who not only conceived of the idea, but who organized it by taking three months off his regular job, procured funding by writing grants and proposals to the Croatian government as well as international gay and lesbian organizations, and arm-twisted a small core of progressive, mostly straight friends to volunteer their time and energy.
'In Croatia, you just don't see gay people at all,' he says. 'There's nothing to challenge the heterosexual world. Zagreb is bad that way, but outside, in the country, it's even worse. I really think in some places people would get killed [if they came out]. There is such a strong traditional sense of what it means to be a man.' In addition, the sense of family shame can be overwhelming, he explains.
Furthermore, the Church, which works against gay rights in Croatia, is very influential here—largely because it was such a taboo under Communism.
Westerners often like to attribute Croatia's laggard attitude towards gays solely to its Communist history. Dobrovic cautions against such a simplistic view, but agrees the socialist legacy continues to influence current attitudes. 'For 50 years, we were living in a society where everything was uniform. It will take time to break that mold.'
Perhaps not surprisingly, Dobrovic himself began breaking the mold early. At 16 years old, while still in high school, 'I changed all my clothes to bright yellows and reds,' he giggles. 'I wanted people to know!' The entire school found out he was gay after he won an essay contest, and got to read his work to the student body during assembly. His essay, of course, dealt with homosexuality.
Dobrovic says a large part of his passion for activism stems from the fact that 'you grow up here not knowing any gay people or anything about it. I think Queer Zagreb will help young people who are in school who know they are gay but can't tell anyone about it. You can go through high school and not talk anything about being gay except as a scandal.'
He was luckier than most, he says, because each summer since he was 10 years old, he had the opportunity to travel to England, which is where he was first exposed to gay culture. He still counts himself as one of the most fortunate gay men in the country, because as the director of a well-known national theater festival, he can be out in his regular job.
But sadly, he says, he is the rare exception to the rule. 'Most are completely closeted.'
Legally, there are no laws that protect gays and lesbians from discrimination in Croatia. But neither is homosexuality illegal. And Croatia's desire to become part of the European Union—tentatively scheduled for 2007—may well give a push to gay and lesbian rights. Banishing all archaic anti-gay laws is a requirement of EU membership, and providing basic protections and partner benefits is strongly encouraged.
Changing the hearts and minds of average Croatians may well be harder than changing laws, believes Dobrovic. That places even greater importance on events like Queer Zagreb, he feels, and that's why Queer Zagreb isn't just aimed at gays.
'I want to get under the skin of the entire culture.'
E-mail QueerZagreb@email.hinet.hr
