May Day in socialist Yugoslavia

Prvi maj aka May Day, also known as the International Day of Labour or International Workers’ Day, was one of the red-letter days on the socialist Yugoslav calendar. A day full of symbolism – it was not only a day of rest and nature but was also a focal point in the socialist ideology guiding Yugoslavia. May Day was that big that it stretched for two days, the 1st and 2nd May, and that’s still the case in Bosnia and Herzegovina, Serbia and Slovenia – Macedonia cancelled 2nd May as a holiday in 2007, a major sore point with Macedonians. Still, May Day was, and continues to be, one of the most anticipated holidays of the year in the region.

In many ways May Day was the socialist and secular Easter, much like how New Year’s Eve and Day were, and in many countries in the Balkans still are, the socialist-inspired secularised Christmas Eve/Day. May Day, like Easter, after all did start off as a pagan festival celebrating the rebirth of nature and the start of spring/summer. It’s these perennial and underlaying nature- and season-related elements that have survived to this day and give May Day in ex-Yugoslavia its current vibe and look.

May Day in socialist Yugoslavia also adapted and changed with the times. Starting from its copy-paste of the existing Soviet model in the early years of Tito’s rule, by the 1970s and 1980s May Day would eventually eliminate a lot of the Stalinist elements and instead take on more of these synthesised and co-opted pre-socialist practices.

Officially, and much propagated at the time, the celebration of May Day in Yugoslavia had a clear and strong political message – it was the day when the ruling League of Communists (as the Communist Party was known in Yugoslavia), together with trade unions and municipal structures, promoted the role of the worker in building a self-governing socialist society. Official public imagery would often show masses of happy workers, usually with Josip Broz Tito, Yugoslavia’s extremely charismatic paramount leader. Tito would be portrayed as the ultimate symbol of the workers’ struggle – always smiling, and appearing next to said workers, farmers or children in Young Pioneer uniforms.

But let’s first get to its name. May Day in Yugoslavia was officially praznik rada, literally “the holiday of labour”, though more often it was just simply referred to as prvi maj (the first of May) – even the Croats, who otherwise have completely different names for the months of the year, used this term keeping in the spirit of the main official language of Yugoslavia, Serbo-Croatian. Post-1990, and reflecting the polemics of language in the Balkans, which always manages to force its way into all angles of everyday life, the day’s name, lo and behold, changed the most in Croatia. The Serbo-Croatian prvi maj has given way to the Croatian prvi svibanj, though many Croats still use the former; however, the authoritarian government under Croatian nationalist Franjo Tudjman obviously had nothing better to do in 1996 and so they insisted on renaming the day officially from praznik rada to the ‘purer’ Croatian blagdan rada – the former name was promptly returned in 2001 after the change in government.

One of the main features of May Day in the the early decades of Tito’s Yugoslavia was, to use the official media’s term, ‘spontaneous’ parades. A complete paradox as these highly organised parades were not spontaneous at all but carefully choreographed as part of state propaganda emphasising the value of collective labour and solidarity. The slogans that would appear at these parades, such as “Long live the working class!” and “Labour is honour”, were not just rhetoric, according to many, but embedded into everyday Yugoslav discourse, featuring constantly in Yugoslavia’s educational systems, the media and institutional culture at the time.

From liberation starting in 1944 until Tito’s groundbreaking split with Stalin in 1948, socialist Yugoslavia was much like the other “people’s democracies” of Soviet-controlled central and eastern Europe – it simply applied the Stalinist system operating at the time in the USSR in full and with no questions asked. The same went with May Day, as this 1946 report on celebrations in the Croatian capital of Zagreb shows:

“Celebrations for the Day of Labour in Zagreb started at factories, schools and social organisations and institutions, from where processions of people marched on to the centre of Zagreb. The first and honourable place in the procession went to the workers of the Metalworkers’ Union, amongst whom the May Day workers were at the forefront. Immediately behind them were the workers of the Rade Končar manufacturing goods factory. The numerous slogans carried by the participants in the procession highlighted the collective’s successes and what quotas had been exceeded. Odred (Detachment) 16 of the Young Pioneers proudly boasted ‘we collected 55,000 cans!’. Other banners proclaimed ‘since liberation, we’ve built 30 bridges’ and ‘In our May Day contest, we repaired 1,205 telephones’. In Zagreb’s main square, next to the well-decorated stage, from which union leaders and model workers addressed the masses, a monumental anvil was erected, decorated with a large union emblem and the Yugoslav coat of arms, as well as huge, stylised sheaves of wheat, which were tied together with the colours of the Yugoslav flag.” An estimated 150,000 people participated in this parade – an impressive number for Zagreb at the time (the city’s population in the 1948 census was 227,538)

In Macedonia, the main parade used to take place in the capital city Skopje, down ulica Makedonija and across Skopje’s main square then named after Marshal Tito (now named after Macedonia and crowned with a giant statue of Alexander of Macedon). In the 1940s and into the 1960s these parades were major spectacles with banners, flowers, displays of strength and discipline, and columns of happy children and stern-faced workers and peasants expressing their love for Tito, the local communist party leadership, labour, peace and the future. In Macedonia’s provincial cities, local factories would get their workers to proudly parade through their city centre, carrying their own banners with the names of their most prominent and awarded workers. Showcased was how socialist Yugoslavia was advancing rapidly, with floats displaying the signs of industrialisation and progress, and commentators listing detailed figures such as a 39% increase in milk production. Riveting stuff!

Curious as to how it looked like?

Here’s a news reel from 1960 featuring the Skopje May Day parade.

As the above news reel shows, media played a key role in shaping the public image of May Day. On the day before the holiday, newspapers would be full of dedicated articles, profiles of prominent workers, reports from factories, announcements from unions and, of course, the obligatory message from Tito. Radio stations would broadcast programs dedicated to labour and worker pride. The posters on display would be artistic and symbolic: the sun rising behind a factory, a hand holding a tool, a child waving to his factory-worker father, etc. At schools, teachers would organise special May Day performances, and students would have to write essays with titles such as “Why I love labour” or “My father, my hero.”

Of course, these visual and textual representations were part of a broader cultural program teaching generations of Yugoslavs that labour was not just a means to an end but the highest of moral virtues. Even children’s magazines in socialist Yugoslavia well into the 1980s would present workers, farmers and members of the armed forces as people worthy of respect and honour. School parades were part of the upbringing for future “conscious citizens” who were to continue Tito’s socialist project unswervingly. Even I as a 1980s child in the Yugoslav diaspora (on my father’s side) in the decadent west was not immune to this. We’d regularly receive these children’s magazines where, in between articles about rock stars and pictures of children in fancy-dress costumes, there would also be drawings, sent in by readers, of tanks adorned with red stars shooting at fascist invaders, and poems glorifying past revolutionary heroes.

In 2024, Croatia’s Večernji list newspaper published an interesting article after having delved into its archives and reposting what their journalists had reported about May Day over the years in socialist Yugoslav Croatia…

“‘I’ve loved all our lively May Day celebrations, whether it’s now or in the past, but the first, free celebration of the workers’ holiday in my home city of Split remains my favorite of all time. I was young, the city was festively decorated, and my heart was in a flutter.’ That’s how in 1975 Lucija Bilić Luce, a ‘defiant and brave Split resident, wife and mother’ described May Day 1945. She remembered all the details: ‘the wreaths of ivy and cypress branches, the intoxicating scent of freedom, the accordions being played and the young, enthusiastic people of Split who, at the crack of dawn, while singing joyously, rushed out in lorries to nearby villages to pick flowers and branches that they used to decorate all the entrances and shop windows of Split.’ In those first, post-war years, as Luce recounted, the hills around Split were ‘almost overwhelmed by crowds of people; the songs of thousands of early risers echoed through the stone squares and narrow streets of Split, kolo dances were performed on the waterfront, and the entire city was on its feet from early dawn until late at night.’”

What Večernji list found when sifting through its archives is that going by what it was reporting, May Day celebrations in the immediate post-WWII decades heavily involved most people not leaving the cities but rather the provinces coming to them en masse to celebrate May Day. By the 1970s though, May Day was still being touted as a holiday of joy and freedom, being celebrated with almost equal fervour throughout the country with the usual grandiose events – the opening of new factories and plants, the awarding of certificates and medals to workers, etc. However, the bigger story now was that the May Day holiday, since extended to two days, had become one of the key periods of the year for the fast-growing Yugoslav urban population to escape their cities and cramped apartments and head off on holidays to resorts on the Adriatic coast, return to villages to see relatives and pick up on much needed supplies, picnic in areas deep in the interior and, for those with means, holidays abroad, particularly shopping trips for jeans in Trieste, Italy.

On the one hand, the official side still presented May Day as a day for the collective expression of working-class pride and identity through parades, rallies and trade union-related festivities. However, higher on the list for most Yugoslavs, and especially once the official side was over and done with, May Day to your average Yugoslav was a day of family, relaxation and nature, the centrepiece being various forms of izleti – picnics in local parks or outings to the countryside. It’s this side of socialist May Day where the holiday had its continuity from the pre-Socialist past – many of the traditions and practices were similar to those Christians and Muslims in the Balkans would do for spring-related festivals and holidays such as Easter and Hidrellez, and form the bulk of the traditions that have survived the fall of socialist Yugoslavia.

One of these co-opted traditions was, and still remains, the May Day uranak or budnica (lit. “early rising”), a vigil at dawn often accompanied by a bonfire at a location somewhere deep in nature. These vigils post-WWII were infused with a heavy dose of politics, emphasising the link forests and nature had being the main domain of the Yugoslav partisans during the National Liberation War (as World War II within Yugoslavia 1941-45 was known). This would be followed by outings (izleti), barbecues and socialising in nature – and it’s these features that still form what is May Day for most ex-Yugoslavs. Nowadays, these vigils are more like picnics. People will often camp out and sleep in tents the night before to grab themselves an ideal location for the upcoming day full of picnicking, barbequeing, drinking and loud music.

It was these picnics more than anything else that gave the holiday its revelry and festive ambient. The focus away from oficial parades in the 1970s was in keeping with the massive changes that came with the huge rise in living standards in Yugoslavia, as well as mass urbanisation. Yugoslavs had gone from mere workers and peasants to voracious consumers and were more into the latest European fashions and rock music than the proclamations of the League of Communists. This change in outlook and greater general prosperity prompted greater individualism, affecting not only how Yugoslavs celebrated May Day but also how they lived their lives. These May Day picnics would be, and still are, in local parks or nearby places of nature – basically anywhere there was any green patch, sometimes organised by work units but more often they were as units formed of family members or a select group of friends within a wider mass of people. People would bring food, particularly meat for grilling and seasonal salads, drinks and radios or casette players and make a day out of it. Let’s just say, it’s loud!

May Day in essence was when nature, the people and the system intertwined. The original izleti would keep to the socialist theme promoted for the day, so when it came to music, partisan songs would feature heavily. After all, the partisans in World War II were, as it goes in the popular song, po šumama i gorama (through forests and over hills). As it was a holiday for the people, narodna muzika/glasba i.e. the people’s music would be the go-to, and this is the case today – the soundtrack of contemporary May Day celebrations is local music, whether it be folk, turbofolk, pop or rock.

Another feature of these izleti was, and still is, the mass preparation of bean soup (grah/pasulj). Billed as a simple and hearty dish of the proletariat and usually made in a huge cauldron, this soup would be distributed to all present. This was a secularised adaptation for communal food commonly practised in celebrations of religious festivals, whether it be for saints days for Christians (Orthodox or Catholic) or kurban for Muslims. This bean soup is also known as vojni pasulj/vojni grah i.e. “military bean soup”, as it was no different to how the dish was prepared and served to the soldiers in the much revered Yugoslav People’s Army.

Mass izlet celebrations would attract thousands of visitors, and with the bean soup on offer, entertainment would be put on to give the working class a celebration. Večernji list reported how in 1983, the Zagreb trade union council organised the first all-day May Day celebration in the city’s central park Maksimir, a tradition that continues to this day. Zagreb residents who opted to remain in the city for the holiday could enjoy the smorgasbord of entertainment put on featuring well-known actors, singers, and cultural, artistic and folkloric groups. Many people would spend the entire day in the park as entry was free, but not the grah, which in 1987 cost 300 dinars (US$0.66) per serving. Nowadays, which artists will be headlining the event is eagerly anticipated news in Zagreb, with big-name stars bound to draw huge crowds.

Sports were also encouraged as part of May Day celebrations and still are an important part of festivities. Come the afternoon of May Day, nets are set up for social volleyball matches, the nearby basketball court (there are plenty of those throughout the region) will be packed out with people of all ages doing hoops, the jackets every Balkan mother has told their (even adult) children must wear are now off and forming the goal posts for football (soccer) games, and the oldies will be taking their lawn bowl session very seriously.

A regular feature for May Day would be the opening of new factories, facilities, buildings, infrastructure… you name it, to much fanfare and with cheering crowds on hand. The launch of these projects on such a prestigious day would be showcased as symbols of how Yugoslavia’s socialist system was serving its people and particular the working class. However, and as it was becoming quite apparent come the 1980s, it wasn’t clear as to who was paying for all this. The huge loans Yugoslavia took out in the 1970s from western banks needed to be repaid, and that simply wasn’t happening as it should. Soon after Tito’s death in 1980, Yugoslavia started its steady decline into huge economic turmoil that would have catastrophic consequences.

Unlike in previous decades when reports on May Day celebrations were unthinkable without footage or pictures of the local party boss cutting the ribbon for something new and flashy with a large crowd in tow dutifully clapping, by the late 1980s May Day became relatively muted. Večernji list’s 1988 May Day headline said it all: Celebration in the Shadow of Crisis. This foreshadowed the end of an era and the imminent coming of major, and violent, changes. As the Croatian newspaper aptly narrated, even though dark clouds were looming over most of Yugoslavia that year, figuratively and literally, not even the possibility of bad weather prevented hundreds of thousands of Yugoslavs from getting out of their homes and, for at least that one day, udarili brigu na veselje (threw their cares away) and enjoyed their day outdoors.

Even before the breakup of Yugoslavia and the transition to full capitalism and multiparty systems, May Day had shed most of its socialist ideological aspects. Today, the holiday remains a big day in the calendar all throughout ex-Yugoslavia, but all the parades and the stuff about “labour” are all but a distant memory at most. Local media outlets often recall what May Day used to be like (like in that Večernji list article), to the nostalgia of older readers and to the amazement or disbelief of those who’ve grown up post-Yugoslavia. Trade unions in the region still organise protests and parades on May Day to highlight local issues facing working people. These protests bring May Day back to its original modern purpose, but the number of people attending these is very small.

So what’s it been like since the 1990s? Well, it’s still one big picnic. There’s still gatherings in parks or countryside, plenty of eating and drinking, and loud music. Young people in particular get into the day. The photo above pretty much sets the scene. Usually a fun time is had by all.

But it’s not always as planned. Let me tell you about one of my most, erm, memorable May Day experience. Here’s what happened when I did Majo (as Macedonians colloquially call May Day these days) in 2003…

At the time I was living in Macedonia, mainly providing company for my grandfather in his village. His wife (my grandmother) had died suddenly two months earlier, and his only offspring living in Macedonia, his daughter (my auntie), had gone on a three-month trip to visit my father (her brother) and my mother in Australia, so my grandfather was on his own and feeling rather lost. Of course, what didn’t help with everything was that my grandfather, like most of the other old men in the village, was a heavy alcoholic. Actually, his nickname was chelik, Turkish for ‘iron’, given he could outdrink everyone else as he was “tough as iron”. He was also a grumpy old thing – no shocker, really.

I hadn’t done a May Day in Macedonia since I was a child, so I had no idea what was the norm. My grandfather had told me I have to wake up before dawn so that I can get to the May Day izlet site at a nearby monastery. I don’t do the waking-at-dawn thing (well, not then), so my plan was to make my way there a little bit later. In any case, a younger relative of mine woke me up at around 6 am (rude!) and forced me to go with him. I was not a happy camper. When we arrived at the site, quite a few people, particularly teenagers, had already set themselves up for the day with chairs, tables, crates of alcohol, food and barbeques… on what was the side of a very steep hill. The thing is Majo in my grandfather’s village is a day of heavy eating and heavy drinking in the direct sunlight, but the true goal for the day was not to get so drunk that you fall down the hillside. Hardcore! Needless to say, as the day progressed, there was a steady number of casualties, much to the amusement of the many onlookers. One heat-affected guy almost knocked me like a domino as he tumbled down the hillside, beer still in hand no less. To top it all off, I was also punched in front of everyone by a guy I knew from the village. Honestly, I didn’t expect to be part of the day’s entertainment. My opponent had been in a relationship with one of my godsisters from Australia whose mother was from the same village as my father. Our Romeo had fallen head over heals in love with my godsister… and her passport, and his parents were already talking in earnest about wedding plans and their son’s rosy future life in Australia. Just one problem though – she was just not that into him. It took a while for him to figure that one out, especially when she had returned to Australia and was not answering his emails or calls. He had been heartbroken for some time, with his dreams all shattered. Wanting to get a clear answer from someone about what had happened, he asked me a few times whether I knew if my godsister still loved him. I didn’t have the heart, or guts, to tell him at first that their relationship was a non-starter to begin with, but after his constant questionning turned into nagging, I just suggested to him that he forget her. That’s first love, and ticket out of the poverty of the village, gone. Still, the rage was building within him, and so in a fit of rage, the switch flipped and Romeo decided at May Day, in front of everyone, to take it out on me, the only Australian-Macedonian in the village at the time. Now I’m a lover not a fighter (wow… I went there) but still, this guy’s right hook was pretty dismal. He was, after all, so drunk that he practically knocked himself out, but he almost took out the cauldron full of the bean soup being doled out to everyone, so kudos to him for (inadvertently) going for such a tough target. But this being Macedonia, such public brawling is frowned upon, and it’s criminal to threaten bean soup like that, so the guys nearby immediately grabbed hold of him and basically told our young lover to get lost and sober up. Hey, that really shook me up, not to mention ruin my day. As I ended up complaining to my great aunt who, true to her role as the lead gossip in the village, just happened to be in pole position to witness it all, it’s not my fault that I’m from Australia.

So yeah, happy May Day!

Though May Day izleti, uranaci and budnice are done in public areas and with a collective spirit, most May Day celebrations now for people in ex-Yugoslavia are generally personal and private affairs. While on May Day it still seems that every bit of greenery from Vardar to Triglav has been taken over by people grilling meat and listening to loud music, it’s becoming less of a phenomenon as the years pass. Some municipalities throughout ex-Yugoslavia have been starting to ban barbequeing in public parks, the amount of rubbish left behind from lazy people always makes the news every year, and many people in the region, who are living from paycheck to paycheck, simply can’t afford the expense of the day. On the flipside, those with the means and can add a few extra days off use the opportunity to cross the border for holidays – Greece being the most popular destination. Border crossings are packed on both sides of the holiday, with news bulletins regularly reporting wait times (sometimes of several hours) at the major points.

Nevertheless, for many, especially those who grew up with the image of May Day as a day of worker pride – this holiday remains an important symbol. It recalls a time when labour was a core merit, and average Yugoslavs had some sort of safety net and certainty in their lives. In today’s context of flexible contracts, low or no wages, mass emigration and an uncertain future in the region and beyond, it’s time to bring May Day back to its roots as a day of struggle, not only for respect for workers, but also for better conditions, security and a dignified life for all.