On its billboard, the renowned Croatian restaurant Marjan Grill in Berlin includes a checkerboard design in its name. This isn't as innocuous as it appears.
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| Restaurant Marjan Grill in Berlin |
It was already dark, yet there was this inn with a light blazing on the pavement. "Croatian delicacies. "It's a charcoal grill." Conveniently positioned exactly beneath Berlin's Bellevue station, where S-Bahn trains thunder straight over the restaurant every five minutes. Yet, because this is Berlin, there are occasionally lengthier breaks.
A little table at the entryway is still available, and the world of Croatian delicacies opens out before you. Naturally, evapii. Or try "Funny Bosniake," a steak packed with ham and cheese that hasn't been seen on a German restaurant since the 1990s. The Bosniak chuckles. The turkey liver is made from Turkey, and the gypsy liver is made from beef. In addition to the gypsy skewer and, without a hyphen, the gypsy plate. The easiest method to find out what's in meals like "Räuberfleisch" and "Schindelbraten" is to study the fine print on the menu.
The "Puszta plate" and the "genuine Hungarian goulash soup," which has always been superior to all imitations, pay homage to the days when Croatia was still part of Hungary. Purists could regard prebranac (cooked beans with pig) to be an original or even Greater Serbian cuisine, while the Balkan liver with garlic, according to genuine Central European principles, would have no place in a Croatian restaurant. The pork medallion "Matuschka" (or was it Bratuschka?) is a bold name for a Croatian dish in these times, whether you believe in Pan-Slavism or Mother Russia. Yet, the menu includes traditional Croatian dishes that make up for everything: currywurst, pig knuckle with sauerkraut, and pasta Bolognese. Then there's free range eggnog, and all is well with the world.
The first diamond makes a significant difference
What distinguishes the "Holzkohlen Grill" is neither the food (against which nothing should be stated here), nor the quick-witted, fast, and pleasant servers of the house. The name of the restaurant promotes the restaurant with a massive white-red-white checkerboard design, exactly in the centre between the words "Croatian" and "specialties". After Croatia finished second in the 2018 World Cup wearing chessboard-patterned jerseys and third last year, almost everyone has recognized what it means: chessboard = Croatia, Croatia equals chessboard. Like Bavaria's white-and-blue diamond flag, it's a recognizable hallmark.
Yet, there is a subtle difference between the jerseys worn by Luka Modri and his teammates footballers and the neon sign for the "Holzkohlen Grill" on Berlin's Flensburger Strasse. The motif on football jerseys and the official coat of arms of the Republic of Croatia begins with a red field at the top left. In contrast, the upper left square of the restaurant chessboard is white. What's the big deal? What does it make a difference?
In fact, those unfamiliar with the intricacies of south-eastern European heraldry and history will see no difference. But the deviation in the color arrangement is by no means coincidental, and it is not meaningless either, on the contrary: A hidden code is presented here in the middle of Berlin, which can make even the funniest Bosniak have a gypsy liver stuck in his throat. Because a chessboard pattern is not always the same as a chessboard pattern. At least not in the Croatian case. Rather, it is a question of ideology.
The state-supporting pattern, known in Croatian as the "ahovnica," has been present for generations. Legend has it that it originated with the medieval Croatian monarch Drislav, who, like his people, lacked vowels but was a skilled chess player. He is claimed to have ended himself in Venetian captivity and earned his freedom by defeating the then-Doge of Venice three times at chess. The king is claimed to have incorporated a chessboard in the national coat of arms as a token of appreciation.
Because the pattern was not standardized for centuries, there was no official version. The Croatian "Ustascha," a fascist organisation that only came to power with Hitler's support and created a reign of terror in the so-called "Independent State of Croatia" until 1945 based on the National Socialist model, first established a binding order in April 1941. Precise estimates are unavailable, however it is known that hundreds of thousands of people were slain or displaced on this state's territory.
This is demonstrably false, because Držislav lived in the pre-Aldic period when there were no coats of arms. But centuries-old evidence of the Croatian coat of arms does exist. In the center of Innsbruck, the capital of Tyrol, it is adorned with a vault dating back to 1495, starting in white at the top left. On the roof of a church in Zagreb there is a checkerboard pattern from the late 19th century that also begins with a white field. Other historical accounts begin in red.
Over all, Serbs, Muslims, and Jews were persecuted, although Croats were also persecuted. In Croatia's Jasenovac concentration camp, the largest non-German-run death camp of WWII, over 70,000 people were slaughtered. In the lack of gas chambers, this was frequently done by the guards directly. When pestilence and sickness proved ineffective, hatchets, axes, and knives were used. All of this occurred in the form of a checkerboard design, with a white field in the top left, bordered by a huge U in the case of the Ustasha.
Since 2018, it has been prohibited in Austria
When Tito's partisans created their own rule in 1945 and unleashed horror on tens of thousands of their erstwhile adversaries, they did not hold the ahovnica jointly accountable. It served as the coat of arms of Croatia or the Croatian republic within Yugoslavia even during communist times. Currently, though, there is no deadly U and nearly usually begins with a red field. The football team Dinamo Zagreb wore the symbol on their jerseys, initially with a red square and then, just to be safe, with a red star. Nobody was offended by it.
As Yugoslavia split and Croatia battled for independence, Franjo Tudjman, a former partisan warrior turned Croatian nationalist, made a point of preserving the socialist-era system. Tudjman designated Croatia's ancient coat of arms as a checkerboard pattern in December 1990, such that "the first square in the upper left corner of the shield is red," as the legislation stipulates. Tudjman obviously separated himself from the Ustasha administration in this affair.
The color sequence with a white square at the beginning is therefore not official - and in Austria, where many Croatians live, it has even been illegal for several years. In 2018, the then government of Chancellor Sebastian Kurz and his Interior Minister Herbert Kickl from the FPÖ imposed a ban. The chessboard pattern in a white-red-white arrangement was classified by Vienna as a symbol of an ideology "that contradicts basic democratic values". Symbols of terrorist groups such as "Islamic State" or Al-Qaeda, the Turkish "Grey Wolves", Hamas and Hizbullah were also banned.
So if today someone still uses the old checkerboard pattern in white-red-white execution, what does that mean? Leicester University historian Alexander Korb has researched and written a book on the history of the fascist Croatian state. He says: "The use of the symbolism is primarily a signal that the 'Independent State of Croatia' from 1941 to 1945 is considered a historically legitimate project." Although the coat of arms with a white start signals approval of a fascist state, "the indexing of flags and coats of arms with the wrong color at the top left would take on ridiculous features - the authorities and the advocates of a ban would inevitably embarrass themselves".
Florian Bieber, head of the Center for Southeast European Studies in Graz, is stricter. "Such a symbol should not be acceptable in public space, especially in Germany and Austria," he says. The coat of arms with a white field at the beginning "signals support for the Ustascha regime or for right-wing extremist groups that refer to it. The use of the chessboard pattern with the white field is clearly associated with a right-wing extremist meaning.” The symbol is much older than fascist ideology, but in this color arrangement since 1945 “can no longer be separated from fascism, collaboration and genocide”.
Petar Vujčić, the owner of the restaurant, did not respond to written questions about his coat of arms, but was extremely friendly during a phone call on Thursday. Mr. Vujčić explains that Bosnians and Serbs also work for him, so there can be no question of nationalism. Incidentally, he has had his restaurant since 1981. “That has nothing to do with the Ustascha, for God’s sake!” he says of his coat of arms, albeit with a curious explanation: “The Ustascha existed in World War II, and that that's it." "The Ustasha were a gang of criminals"
Is it all over, or is it not? Given this rationale, swastikas might be used again. After all, they've been discovered on Minoan vases, and the Nazis are no longer in power. "The checkerboard pattern is one of the emblems in the fight between the extreme Croatian right and the liberal, democratic society," says Ivo Goldstein, a professor at the University of Zagreb and one of Croatia's best-known historians. Anybody who utilizes a checkerboard design that begins with a white field now is unquestionably a Neo-Ustasha."
For Goldstein, the subject is not just history, but also family history. His Jewish grandparents was killed in a concentration camp by the Ustascha. Slavko, his father, survived the Holocaust by joining the partisans. Slavko Goldstein, who died in 2017, put down his life story under the title "1941. The year that does not pass," which has been translated into numerous languages.
"These folks want to argue that they are not Ustaa, but just nice Croatian nationalists," son Ivo says of those who still wear the original white checkerboard design today. People should be aware that this sign has nothing to do with Croatian patriotism; in fact, it is the polar opposite. The Ustasha were a group of thieves and traitors to Croatia. They handed up half of Croatia's coast to Italy. "Can you picture Croatia without its shoreline and the majority of its islands?"
But, Ivo Goldstein does not support a ban based on the Austrian model. "The greatest answer is to educate people about the meaning of this emblem," he argues. After all, no one is compelled to eat at a restaurant. "If someone asked me to this restaurant, I would say, 'Let's go find another one."
The author Michael Martens is a senior journalist from Hamburg, Germany.