The photograph of a family gathering, taken in the summer of 1981 in a small garden behind a row house on the edge of Maribor, appears entirely ordinary. It shows two older generations of relatives, their expressions confirming that two younger generations are moving around them. Leopoldina’s daughter Poldika with her husband Maks, and her son Hansi with his wife Käthe, sit on the right side of the table. On the left sit Leopoldina’s brother‑in‑law from her first marriage, Franz Scherag, with his wife, and his niece Mara Pavešič (married Duh) with her husband.
The most intriguing pair in the photograph are Mara, seated second from the left, and Franz, third from the left. Seventy‑eight‑year‑old Franz, born in Kamnica as Žerak, had been among the first members of the Kulturbund in the village. UDBA files describe him as “a dangerous oppressor of Slovenes and a dangerous informant … who fled in April 1945 …” The same description appears for his wife Hermina (fourth from the left in the photo). Fifty‑five‑year‑old Mara, on the other hand, was confirmed to have been among the first female members of the resistance movement in Kamnica and was arrested in 1944 and taken to Ravensbrück concentration camp. After the war she briefly served as chair of the local National Committee, then was arrested on charges of belonging to the Blue Guard. After serving her sentence, she remained under surveillance by state security and district police for years. It seems impossible that they would not have noticed the visit of the “dangerous” Franz. But a year after Tito’s death in Maribor, who still cared who had been on which side during the war? Even then, it was far from clear.
I was twenty‑one at the time of the garden gathering and remember the event quite well. I noticed nothing unusual—everyone was smiling and friendly. As Styrians do, they drank špricer (wine mixed with mineral water) and behaved with the appropriate coolness. Today I know that the remarkable thing was precisely what was absent. No one recalled memories, no one spoke of their youth, no one criticized politics. Perhaps the old people were simply happy to be alive and to watch us—the children of socialism—who wanted nothing more than to be young.
