A beginning is the time for taking the most delicate care that the balances are correct.

The Wyrd and Eldritch Transcendence of Eirwyn Óskar Sleipnir

Volume One – The Ylivaltakuningas

The Roma Holocaust: Lessons from History

Contents

Porajmos: The Forgotten Genocide of the Roma

The Roma Holocaust, a harrowing chapter in the history of the Second World War, remains a shadowed story, often eclipsed by the broader discourse surrounding the atrocities of World War II. In the wake of the war, Yugoslav criminal courts were tasked with the monumental undertaking of judging the myriads of war crimes, yet the systematic persecution of the Roma—known as the Porajmos—seldom found its way into the indictments or the collective consciousness of post-war justice. This oversight is not an isolated phenomenon; across the European landscape, the recognition of the Roma’s suffering has been a protracted struggle, one that has only recently begun to pierce the public’s awareness.

Activists and scholars have laboured tirelessly to bring to light the extent of the genocide that decimated the Roma population. Their efforts have seen incremental success, as evidenced by the increasing number of European states that have begun to officially recognise the Roma genocide. Commemorative practices, such as the Samudaripen Memorial Day on August 2nd, mark the date when thousands of Roma were annihilated in the gas chambers of Auschwitz, serving as a poignant reminder of the atrocities they endured.

Yet, the path to recognition is fraught with challenges. The genocide of the Roma, often overshadowed by the Jewish Holocaust, struggles for its place in the historical narrative. The term “victims of fascist terror” was once a blanket categorisation that subsumed the distinct experiences of the Roma under a generalised umbrella, diluting the specificities of their persecution. The fight for acknowledgment is not merely about securing a rightful place in history books; it is about restoring dignity to the memories of those who perished and affirming the identity of those who survive.

The Roma Holocaust is a testament to the perils of marginalisation and the resilience of a community that, despite enduring one of the darkest periods of human history, continues to strive for recognition and justice. As the world moves forward, it is imperative that the lessons gleaned from this sombre chapter are not relegated to the footnotes of history but are integrated into the collective understanding of humanity’s capacity for both cruelty and compassion. The recognition of the Roma Holocaust by the Yugoslav post-WWII courts may have been absent, but the pursuit of justice, however delayed, remains a beacon of hope for a future where all narratives of suffering are acknowledged and honoured.

The persecution of the Roma people under the Nazi regime is a serious chapter in history, marked by grave injustices and the violation of human rights. The Nazis’ pseudoscientific beliefs and racial ideologies led to the systemic targeting and marginalisation of the Roma, alongside many other groups. They were subjected to dehumanising treatment, including forced sterilisation, as part of the regime’s eugenics policies. This was underpinned by the “Law for the Prevention of Hereditarily Diseased Offspring,” which sought to prevent the transmission of what were considered to be undesirable genetic traits. The Roma, labelled as “asocials” by the Nazis, faced severe discrimination and violence. Their suffering is a stark reminder of the dangers of racism and the importance of remembering history to prevent such atrocities from occurring again. It is crucial to acknowledge and learn from the past to build a more inclusive and compassionate society.

The persecution of the Roma under the Nazi regime began to intensify in May 1941. This escalation marked a period where the Roma, alongside the Jewish community, found themselves subjected to a systematic and brutal set of regulations that sought to ostracise them from society. They were forced to wear identifying armbands, a stark symbol of the segregation and the stripping away of their identities and rights. Employment opportunities dwindled to nothing as they were barred from holding any significant positions, effectively erasing their contributions and presence from the public sphere. But the restrictions were not merely economic or symbolic; they were precursors to the more sinister acts that would follow. The Roma became targets of mass shootings, a horrifyingly direct form of violence that sought to eliminate them with ruthless efficiency. Moreover, they were rounded up and sent to concentration camps, where the conditions were inhumane, and survival was a daily battle against the direst circumstances. These camps, designed to be the epitome of the regime’s cruel ideology, were places where dignity, hope, and life itself were systematically extinguished. The suffering of the Roma, often overshadowed by the sheer scale of the Holocaust, remains a poignant reminder of the depths of inhumanity that can arise from prejudice and hatred. It is a reminder that history’s darkest moments must be remembered and acknowledged, to honour the victims and to ensure that such atrocities are never repeated. The resilience of the Roma community, their strength in the face of such adversity, and their ongoing struggle for recognition and justice, are testament to the enduring human spirit that no regime could fully extinguish.

The plight of the Roma people during the Holocaust often overshadowed by the broader narrative of the atrocities committed during World War II. In Bulgaria, a nation allied with Nazi Germany, the Roma faced systemic oppression and were subjected to a series of draconian measures aimed at their marginalisation and dehumanisation. The Bulgarian government, seeking to align with the racial policies of its Axis partner, enacted laws that restricted the Roma’s freedom of movement, access to resources, and even personal relationships, as intermarriage with ethnic Bulgarians was prohibited.

The Roma was relegated to the peripheries of society, both figuratively and, as they were denied access to certain parts of cities like Sofia and barred from using public transportation. This segregation was compounded by the allocation of meagre food rations, further exacerbating their struggle for survival. In some regions, the forced conversion of Roma from Islam to Christianity was an egregious violation of religious freedom, reflecting the state’s attempt to erase Roma cultural identity.

Despite these severe conditions, the Roma in Bulgaria were not deported to extermination camps in Germany, unlike the fate of many Jews and Roma from territories occupied by Bulgaria. The estimated death toll of 5,000 Roma in Bulgaria during the Holocaust, while tragic, is noted as one of the lower rates in Eastern Europe. This fact does not diminish the suffering endured but rather highlights the complex and varied experiences of different Roma communities across the continent during this dark period.

The recognition of the Roma genocide, or Porajmos, remains inconsistent, with some countries acknowledging the atrocities committed against the Roma, while others have yet to formally recognise their suffering. In Bulgaria, March 10th is designated as the Day of the Holocaust and Rescue of the Bulgarian Jews, commemorating the prevention of the deportation of 50,000 Bulgarian Jews to Nazi concentration camps. However, the recognition of the Roma as victims of genocide is not explicitly mentioned, leaving a gap in the collective memory, and understanding of the Holocaust’s full scope.

The legacy of the Roma during the Holocaust serves as a heartbreaking reminder of the consequences of hatred and intolerance. It underscores the importance of remembrance and education to ensure that such injustices are neither forgotten nor repeated. As we reflect on the past, it is our collective responsibility to honour the memory of all victims and to strive for a future where the dignity and rights of every individual are respected and protected.

The Romani Diaspora: Tracing the Roots and Routes

Human history is rich with the threads of myriad peoples, each weaving their own path through the march of time. Among these, the Romani people emerge as a vibrant and distinct strand, their origins shrouded in the mists of antiquity, their journey a testament to the indomitable spirit of humankind. You see, the Romani, also known as Roma, Sinti, or Kale, are not merely an ethnic group; they are the carriers of a legacy that spans continents and centuries.

Your understanding begins in the arid landscapes of Rajasthan, a place where the roots of the Romani might be traced. Picture the caravans that once stirred the dust of this ancient land, setting forth on a migration that would carry them into the annals of history. They moved northwest, towards the fertile crescents of the Punjab, around 250 BCE, a time when the world was a vastly different place, a time that predates the common era by centuries.

As the wheel of time turned, around 500 CE, the Romani continued their westward odyssey. Imagine the courage it took to embark on such a journey, the determination to seek a new life under foreign stars. This migration, occurring in waves, speaks of a people in constant motion, a people for whom the horizon was always beckoning.

The narrative of the Romani is intertwined with the broader historical tapestry, including the tumultuous period marked by the raids of Mahmud of Ghazni. It is within this context that some suggest another exodus from India might have occurred. Envision the chaos of battle, the aftermath of defeat, and the forced migration of these soldiers and their families into the vast expanses of the Byzantine Empire.

This movement west is not merely a geographical shift; it is a cultural odyssey, a journey that saw the Romani people adapting, surviving, and thriving in the diverse tapestry of European society. Their story is one of resilience, a narrative that echoes the broader human quest for identity and belonging.

The Romani people, a mosaic of cultures and experiences, have traversed the tick of time and geography without the anchor of a claimed homeland. Their narrative is not rooted in the soil of a specific region but woven through the threads of freedom and mobility. The absence of a written chronicle has shrouded their origins in mystery, a puzzle pieced together through linguistic ties that whisper of connections to the Indian subcontinent. It was in the waning years of the 18th century that scholars first proposed this link, a hypothesis that has since gained traction through meticulous academic inquiry. The Romani have carved out a unique identity, one that defies the conventional bonds of nationhood and territorial claims, instead finding unity in shared traditions and the collective memory of perpetual journey. This nomadic essence, this spirit of unbound movement, has been both a shield and a sword, protecting their distinct way of life while also cutting through the barriers of nationalistic confines. The Romani culture, rich in its diversity, has been a chameleon of adaptation, absorbing and reflecting the myriad hues of the societies amongst which they dwell. Yet, despite this cultural assimilation, they have maintained a steadfast grip on the core elements that define their community, a testament to the resilience and enduring nature of their identity. The ideal of freedom, so central to the Romani ethos, is not merely a concept but a lived experience, manifesting in the fluidity of their existence and the liberty of their path. It is a freedom that has been both a gift and a burden, offering a sense of limitless possibility while also bearing the weight of historical marginalization. The Romani journey, marked by both celebration and sorrow, is a narrative of human endurance, a story that continues to unfold across continents and generations. It is a tale that challenges the very notions of belonging and nationality, prompting a deeper contemplation of what it means to be tethered to a land or to the boundless expanse of possibility. In the absence of a written history, the oral traditions of the Romani have served as the vessel for their legacy, carrying the essence of their ancestry forward through the spoken word. This reliance on oral history has imbued their narrative with a certain fluidity, allowing it to evolve and adapt, much like the people themselves. The linguistic clues that hint at an Indian origin are but one piece of the intricate puzzle that is the Romani heritage, a lineage that is as complex as it is captivating. As the world continues to grapple with questions of identity and place, the Romani stand as a poignant reminder of the myriad ways in which a people can define themselves, not by the land beneath their feet, but by the shared experiences and values that bind them together. Their story is a testament to the indomitable human spirit, a narrative that transcends borders and defies the constraints of conventional geography. It is a chronicle of adaptability, resilience, and the enduring quest for freedom that resonates with the core of what it means to be human. The Romani, with their rich tapestry of history and culture, continue to navigate the currents of time, their legacy a beacon of diversity and the power of an unfettered existence.

The etymology of the Romani language, a linguistic evolution, reveals the profound connection between language and identity. The word “rom,” signifying a man or husband, and “romňi,” denoting a woman or wife, collectively paint a broader picture of “roma” as people or husbands, a term that encapsulates the essence of community and belonging. This linguistic construct is not merely a means of communication but a reflection of the Romani people’s self-perception and societal structure. The roots of these words are deeply entrenched in the Indo-Aryan linguistic family, tracing back to the northern regions of the Indian subcontinent, where a vibrant tapestry of cultures and languages has thrived for millennia. Historical linguistics, a field that meticulously peels back the layers of language evolution, points to the possibility that the ancestors of the Romani people were once part of a formidable military presence in ancient India. Theories postulate that these ancestors could have been associated with the Rajputs, a warrior class known for their valour and martial skills, suggesting a lineage of protectors and guardians of their kin and culture. The journey of the Romani from the Indian subcontinent to the Byzantine Empire is an account of resilience and adaptation, marked by the migration of defeated soldiers and their families during the invasions of Mahmud of Ghazni between AD 1000 and 1030. This exodus from their ancestral lands set the stage for a diaspora that would see the Romani people weave their rich cultural tapestry across continents and through the corridors of time. The Romani language, with its diverse dialects and variants, stands as a testament to the enduring spirit of a people who have navigated the tides of history while preserving their unique linguistic heritage. As scholars continue to unravel the mysteries of the Romani language and its origins, each discovery adds a new dimension to our understanding of this enigmatic and resilient community. The language serves not only as a vessel for daily communication but also as an anchor for cultural identity, a compass guiding the Romani people through the ever-changing landscapes of time and geography. The etymological journey from “rom” to “roma” is more than a linguistic curiosity; it is a narrative of survival, identity, and the unbreakable bonds of community that have sustained the Romani people through centuries of change and challenge. The language, with its echoes of ancient Indian military lexicon, continues to resonate with the strength and solidarity of its speakers, a reminder of the indomitable human spirit that endures against all odds. The Romani language, therefore, is not just a means of communication; it is a living chronicle of a people’s journey through history, a journey that speaks of courage, community, and the ceaseless quest for a place to call home.

Tracing the intricate epic of the Roma people’s history, one finds a journey that is as complex as it is compelling. Originating from the northern regions of India, the Roma embarked on an odyssey that spanned centuries, leading them through the rugged terrains of Persia by the 11th century and into the mosaic of southeastern Europe by the dawn of the 14th century. By the time the 15th century unfurled its timeline, the Roma had etched their presence into the very fabric of western Europe. This diaspora, a testament to the enduring spirit of the Roma, saw them disperse to every inhabited continent by the latter half of the 20th century, painting their culture in broad strokes across a global canvas. The language they carried with them, Romany, serves as a linguistic bridge back to their Indo-European roots, while also absorbing the linguistic hues of their adopted homelands. Yet, the Roma are known by a constellation of names across the globe, reflecting the diverse societies they inhabit—from the Sinti in Germany to the Gitans in France, and the Cigány in Hungary, each name carries with it a narrative of the Roma’s interaction with the world. Despite the romanticised image of a nomadic lifestyle, the reality is that many Roma communities have transitioned to a more sedentary existence, though this remains a subject of debate and varies widely among different Roma groups. The population estimates of the Roma people are as varied as their history, ranging from two to five million worldwide, a reflection of the challenges in capturing the full scope of their demographic spread. The largest concentrations remain in Europe, particularly within the Slavic-speaking nations of the central region and the Balkans, with significant numbers in Romania, Bulgaria, and Hungary. The Roma narrative is not without its shadows, marred by discrimination and social exclusion, yet it is also a narrative of resilience, adaptation, and the unyielding pursuit of freedom—a freedom that is encapsulated not in ties to a singular homeland but in the very essence of their cultural identity.

The Roma, a people with a rich culture and history, have traversed the vast landscapes of Europe, weaving their way through the Iberian Peninsula as the Calé or Caló. Their journey, marked by resilience and adaptability, saw the first Roma set foot on the shores of the United States in the 1500’s, finding new paths in Virginia, Georgia, New Jersey, and Louisiana. The narrative of the Romani people is intertwined with the voyages of Columbus, who, in 1498, brought the first Romani slaves to the burgeoning Americas. The Spanish crown, in its colonial pursuits, transported Romani slaves to fortify their Louisiana territory between 1762 and 1800. Amidst the verdant landscapes of St. Martin Parish, an Afro-Romani community blossomed, a testament to the intermarriage between freed African American and Romani slaves. Today, the Roma in the United States are a vibrant community, with estimates suggesting a population exceeding one million souls.

Brazil’s cultural heritage is rich and diverse, with threads that span across continents and centuries. Among these threads, the Romani people, or ciganos as they are known in Brazil, weave a vibrant part of the nation’s social fabric. The Calés, a subgroup with roots in the Iberian Peninsula, have contributed to the cultural mosaic of Brazil in myriad ways. Their presence is a testament to the complex migrations and intermingling of peoples that have shaped Brazilian society.

The influence of the Romani is not confined to cultural and societal contributions; it extends into the very corridors of power. Juscelino Kubitschek, who helmed the presidency from 1956 to 1961, bore the legacy of the Czech Romani through his mother’s lineage. His tenure, marked by the launch of the ambitious construction of Brasília, the new capital, was a period of significant transformation and modernization for Brazil. Kubitschek’s vision, influenced by the nomadic spirit and resilience of the Romani people, propelled the country towards a future of progress and innovation.

Washington Luís, another figure of historical significance, carried the heritage of the Portuguese Kale. His presidency, which concluded the era of the First Brazilian Republic, was a bridge between the old and the new, much like the Romani themselves, who have historically been mediators between different worlds, bringing with them knowledge, traditions, and a spirit of adaptability.

The stories of these leaders underscore a broader narrative about the Romani: their ability to integrate yet retain a distinct identity, their contributions to the nations they inhabit, and their enduring spirit. The Romani in Brazil serve as a reminder of the nation’s multifaceted identity, a blend of Indigenous, European, African, and Romani influences that defy simple categorisation.

The Sinti, a vibrant subgroup of the Romani people, weave a rich ambience of culture and history across the European landscape. In Germany, France, Italy, and the broader Central European region, their presence is a testament to a resilient and adaptive community, numbering approximately 200,000 individuals. Historically, the Sinti were known for their itinerant lifestyle, a tradition of fluid movement and freedom that has transitioned to a more settled existence in modern times. Yet, a fraction of the Sinti population continues to embrace the nomadic heritage, a poignant reminder of the past that shapes their identity.

In the pages of history, the Sinti often found themselves on the peripheries of society, both geographically and socially. Their settlements on the outskirts of towns and cities were not just a matter of spatial arrangement but also a reflection of the societal boundaries that they navigated. Despite these challenges, the Sinti have maintained a distinct cultural identity, marked by their language, traditions, and community bonds.

The linguistic heritage of the Sinti is particularly fascinating, as it mirrors the journey of a people through the corridors of time and geography. The Sinti-Manouche variant of the Romani language, spoken by the Sinti, is imbued with the cadences and syntax of German—a linguistic confluence that speaks to centuries of coexistence and interaction. This dialect serves as a bridge between the Sinti and the Manouche of France, highlighting a shared lineage that transcends national borders.

The Sinti’s story is one of perseverance and adaptability. It is a narrative that encompasses the struggle for recognition and the celebration of a unique cultural heritage. As the world evolves, so too does the Sinti community, navigating the complexities of modernity while holding steadfast to the threads of tradition that have long defined them. Their journey is not just a chronicle of movement from place to place, but a deeper odyssey of the human spirit, seeking connection, understanding, and a place to call home in a world that is constantly changing. In this way, the Sinti are not just a subgroup of the Romani; they are a living mosaic of history, culture, and enduring spirit.

The Ustaše’s Pursuit of an Ethnically Pure Croatia

The Ustaše, a Croatian fascist and ultranationalist organisation, emerged in the interwar period, a time of great political upheaval and social unrest. Formed in 1929, the Ustaša – Croatian Revolutionary Movement, as it was formally known, carved a dark niche in history with its radical ideology and actions during World War II. The movement’s roots can be traced back to the complex geopolitical shifts following the collapse of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, which left a power vacuum and a mosaic of ethnic tensions in the Balkans. The Ustaše capitalised on these tensions, promoting a Croatian nationalist agenda that was exclusionary and violently opposed to Serbs, Jews, and Roma, among others. Under the leadership of Ante Pavelić, the Ustaše sought to create an ethnically “pure” Croatian state, leading to the perpetration of heinous acts of violence and the establishment of concentration camps such as Jasenovac, where countless atrocities were committed. The regime’s brutality was extreme, even by the standards of its Nazi allies, to the point where it drew criticism from them. The legacy of the Ustaše is a stark reminder of the dangers of extremist nationalist ideologies and the importance of historical memory in preventing the recurrence of such ideologies. In contemporary times, the resurgence of nationalist sentiments in various parts of the world, including some instances in Croatia, has sparked debates and concerns about the revival of such dark chapters of history.

In the turbulent world of 20th-century European history, the emergence of the Ustaše movement stands as a stark reminder of the potent forces of nationalism and the far-reaching consequences of political upheaval. It was in the crucible of interwar former Yugoslavia, a montage of ethnicities and national aspirations, that the seeds of the Ustaše were sown. The year 1929 marked a pivotal moment; King Alexander 1st, in a bid to quell the rising tide of separatist sentiments, abolished the parliamentary system and centralised power under a royal dictatorship. This act, intended to forge unity, instead fanned the flames of discord among the disparate peoples of former Yugoslavia.

Ante Pavelić, a prominent figure in Croatian politics, responded to this authoritarian shift by laying the foundations of the Ustaše movement. It was a response not just to a single decree, but to a history of perceived injustices and the suppression of Croatian autonomy. The Ustaše, driven by a fervent Croatian nationalism, envisioned a radically different former Yugoslavia — one where Croatian interest was paramount, often at the expense of other ethnic groups within the state.

The movement’s ideology was steeped in the belief that a strong, independent Croatia was the only means of preserving the nation’s identity and interests. This belief propelled the Ustaše to seek support beyond Yugoslavia’s borders, forging alliances that would later prove controversial in the unfolding drama of World War Two. The Ustaše’s narrative was one of liberation and self-determination, but it was also marked by an exclusionary and, at times, violently oppressive vision of nationhood.

As the clouds of war gathered over Europe, the Ustaše’s activities intensified, their methods and goals becoming more radical. The movement’s alignment with the Axis powers during the war revealed the darker aspects of its nationalist agenda, leading to acts that would cast a long shadow over the region’s history. The legacy of the Ustaše, complex and contentious, continues to evoke strong emotions and debate, serving as a cautionary tale of the perils of extremism and the enduring impact of historical grievances.

In examining the origins and trajectory of the Ustaše, one is confronted with the multifaceted nature of nationalism and the volatile interplay between power, identity, and ideology. The story of the Ustaše is not just a chapter in Croatian history; it is a thread in the broader narrative of a Europe grappling with the challenges of diversity, governance, and coexistence. It is a narrative that compels us to reflect on the past and consider the lessons it holds for the future of nations and the international order. The Ustaše’s rise from a response to political tensions to a movement that shaped the course of history underscores the profound impact that a confluence of historical forces can have on the destiny of a nation and its people.

The Independent State of Croatia, a puppet state forged in the crucible of World War II, emerged as a dark demonstration to the destructive ideologies that swept across Europe during that tumultuous era. Established by the Axis powers, Nazi Germany, and Fascist Italy, on April 10th, 1941, this regime was steered by the Ustaše, a fascist organization that wielded power with a merciless grip. Under the leadership of Ante Pavelić, the Ustaše promulgated a campaign of terror, marked by the systematic genocide of Serbs, Jews, Roma, and other groups deemed undesirable. The Ustaše’s reign was characterised by its brutal policies, which were not only inhumane but also meticulously calculated to instil fear and suppress any semblance of dissent. The concentration camps, the most notorious being Jasenovac, became symbols of the regime’s cruelty, where countless innocent lives were extinguished in the pursuit of a perverse ideological purity. The state’s existence, from its proclamation to its dissolution, was brief yet devastatingly impactful, leaving a scar on the region that would take generations to heal. The aftermath of the Ustaše’s rule saw the emergence of a new former Yugoslavia, but the memories of the atrocities committed lingered, serving as a grim reminder of the depths of depravity to which humanity can descend when swayed by extremist beliefs. The legacy of the Independent State of Croatia and the Ustaše is a complex one, intertwined with the broader narrative of World War II and the global struggle against fascism and totalitarianism. It stands as a cautionary tale, a historical episode that underscores the importance of vigilance against the forces of hatred and intolerance that, even today, threaten to undermine the fabric of civilized society.

Their ideology was rooted in Croatian irredentism, aiming to annex territories they considered historically Croatian, regardless of the ethnic composition of the population. This irredentism was coupled with a fierce ultranationalism that not only promoted Croatian interests but also denigrated and dehumanised other ethnic groups, particularly Serbs. The Ustaše’s anti-Serb sentiment was not merely a political stance but a call to action that led to the persecution and mass murder of Serbs during their rule of the Independent State of Croatia in World War II.

Antisemitism was another pillar of the Ustaše ideology, mirroring the racial laws and genocidal policies of their Nazi allies. Jews in the Ustaše-controlled territories were subjected to systematic discrimination, dispossession, and violence, culminating in their deportation to concentration camps where many perished. The Ustaše’s collaboration with the Catholic Church has been a subject of extensive debate and research, with some historians highlighting the role of certain members of the clergy in supporting Ustaše policies, while others emphasize the Church’s complex position during the war.

The Ustaše, a name that echoes with the chilling resonance of a past that refuses to be forgotten, have left an indelible mark on history, one that is fraught with the weight of atrocities and the sorrow of ethnic persecution. Their slogan, “Za dom spremni” (“For the home—Ready!”), once a rallying cry, now serves as a haunting reminder of the ideology that fuelled a regime’s brutal actions during a time when the world was engulfed in the flames of war. The legacy of the Ustaše is indeed a sensitive and complex topic in modern-day Croatia, where the shadows of the past loom large over the collective memory of the nation.

In the aftermath of World War II, the Ustaše movement fragmented into various organisations, with no single entity laying claim to its contentious heritage. Today, the term “Ustaše” is often employed pejoratively, denoting Croatian ultranationalism, a testament to the lasting stigma associated with the movement. The genocide of Serbs in the Independent State of Croatia, a horrific chapter of this legacy, remains a poignant subject of study and reflection, as it exemplifies the catastrophic consequences of unchecked hatred and xenophobia.

The ideological roots of the Ustaše can be traced back to the 19th century, where theories of ethnic superiority and inferiority began to take hold, setting the stage for future conflicts. The interwar period and the policies of the Kingdom of former Yugoslavia further exacerbated ethnic tensions, eventually contributing to the rise of the Ustaše as an ultranationalist, terrorist organisation. Financially and ideologically supported by external forces, the movement’s ascendancy was marked by the assassination of King Alexander 1st and the establishment of the Independent State of Croatia during the Axis invasion of former Yugoslavia.

The Ustaše’s rule was characterised by its ruthless pursuit of an ethnically pure Greater Croatia, a pursuit that manifested in the systematic extermination of Serbs, Jews, and Roma. The use of concentration camps, mass murder, ethnic cleansing, deportations, forced conversions, and other inhumane acts were tools wielded by the regime to achieve its nefarious goals. The Jasenovac death camp stands as one of the most notorious symbols of this dark era, a place where untold numbers of innocent lives were extinguished.

In contemporary Croatia, the discourse surrounding the Ustaše is fraught with controversy and emotion. Debates rage over the interpretation of history, the commemoration of certain figures and events, and the use of symbols associated with the Ustaše. The complexities of reconciling a nation’s history with its present identity are evident in the ongoing struggle to navigate the delicate balance between remembrance and moving forward.

As the world continues to grapple with the repercussions of past atrocities, the story of the Ustaše serves as a sobering reminder of the depths to which humanity can sink when driven by extremist ideologies. It underscores the importance of historical awareness, critical examination of the past, and the vigilant safeguarding of human rights to prevent the recurrence of such tragedies. The legacy of the Ustaše, while a dark chapter in history, also offers an opportunity for reflection, education, and the promotion of peace and tolerance in the face of divisive forces. It is a chapter that must be approached with both sensitivity and a steadfast commitment to ensuring that the lessons of history are not merely remembered but heeded.

The Unseen Genocide: Roma and Sinti in Nazi Europe

The tragedy that befell the Roma and Sinti communities during World War II is a dismal chapter in history, often overshadowed by the broader narrative of the conflict. The estimated figures of 2,000 to 3,000 Roma and Sinti victims from North Macedonia only scratch the surface of the true extent of the suffering endured. The Institute for Policy Research and Analysis “Romalitiko” underscores a critical issue in historical documentation — the absence of comprehensive records that has led to an underestimation of the actual number of victims. This lack of documentation not only obscures the scale of the atrocities but also hinders the acknowledgment and commemoration of the lives lost. The Roma and Sinti people faced systemic persecution and genocide, a fact that is only now beginning to receive the recognition it deserves. The broader context of the genocide against the Roma and Sinti, often referred to as the Porajmos or the forgotten Holocaust, reveals a concerted effort by the Nazis to eradicate entire communities, with estimates suggesting that as many as 500,000 Roma and Sinti were murdered across Europe. This figure is a stark reminder of the destructive impact of racial ideologies that targeted various ethnic groups deemed undesirable by the Nazi regime. The struggle for recognition and remembrance of the Roma and Sinti genocide continues to this day, as historians and activists work to bring these stories to light and ensure they hold a rightful place in the collective memory of humanity’s darkest hours. It is through the tireless efforts of researchers and the surviving descendants of the victims that we begin to understand the magnitude of the losses and the resilience of those who survived. The path to acknowledging the full scope of the atrocities against the Roma and Sinti is fraught with challenges, yet it is a necessary journey to honour the memory of those who perished and to educate future generations about the perils of intolerance and hatred.

The census records from 1931, which suggest a Roma population of approximately 9,855, indeed serve as a stark reminder of the potential manipulation of ethnic identities for political ends. It is a cautionary tale of how numbers and labels can be wielded to diminish the presence of an entire culture, casting a shadow over the true diversity within a nation’s demographic fabric.

The Roma, with their rich cultural diversity and resilient spirit, have navigated the turbulent waters of European history, often finding themselves the silent notes in a discordant symphony of national narratives. The misregistration of their ethnicity as Turkish in official documents was not merely a clerical error but a deliberate act of erasure, a denial of their rightful place in the societal mosaic. This historical sleight of hand has repercussions that echo into the present, complicating efforts to address the socio-economic challenges faced by the Roma community today.

As we sift through the registers of history, it becomes evident that the Roma have been perennially perched on the precipice of recognition, their numbers fluctuating in the whims of census takers. The variance in reported figures across different censuses is not just a numerical discrepancy; it reflects the systemic biases that have long plagued data collection processes. The underreporting or misreporting of Roma populations serves as a grim testament to the pervasive nature of discrimination, a silent sentinel to the injustices that have been meted out over the decades.

In the contemporary context, the Roma continue to grapple with the legacy of these historical injustices. While North Macedonia has made strides in acknowledging the rights of the Roma, as evidenced by the 2021 census that counted 46,433 Roma individuals, the journey towards true equality is fraught with the inertia of the past. The disparities between the official figures and the estimates provided by various sources, which suggest a population ranging from 80,000 to 260,000, underscore the ongoing struggle for visibility and representation.

The Roma is not to be relegated to the footnotes of history; they are a living people that demand our attention and respect. It is a story of resilience in the face of adversity, of a people’s unwavering quest for recognition and dignity. As we look to the future, it is requisite upon us to ensure that the Roma are not merely counted, but that they count; that their voices are heard, their culture celebrated, and their rights unequivocally upheld. Only then can the historical ledger be balanced, and the Roma take their rightful place in the annals of European history, not as misrepresented figures in a flawed census, but as vibrant contributors to the continent’s rich cultural mosaic.

The organisation Romalitiko, a lookout of memory and justice, stands at the forefront of a campaign to etch into the collective consciousness of North Macedonia the indelible suffering of the Roma people. It is a call for recognition, a plea for remembrance, as Romalitiko demands the government to officially acknowledge the atrocities by marking 2nd August as the International Roma Genocide Remembrance Day. This date holds a weighty significance, as it commemorates the night of 2nd 3rd August 1944, when thousands of Roma were mercilessly killed in the Auschwitz concentration camp, a night that stands as a stark reminder of the depths of human cruelty.

The call does not end with remembrance alone; it extends to the adoption of the working definition of antigypsyism. This definition, an inspiration of understanding in the fight against discrimination, provides a framework to recognise and address the specific racism faced by Roma, Sinti, Travellers, and others stigmatised as ‘gypsies’ in the public imagination. It is a definition that seeks to encapsulate the multifaceted nature of antigypsyism, from overt acts of hate to the subtle undercurrents of institutional bias. By adopting this definition, North Macedonia would not only be acknowledging the historical injustices but also taking a definitive step towards rectifying the prejudices that continue to marginalize the Roma community.

Romalitiko’s demands resonate with a broader movement across nations and institutions, a movement that seeks to bring to light the often-overlooked chapters of history. The International Holocaust Remembrance Alliance (IHRA), for instance, has been instrumental in developing resources to support education, remembrance, and research on the genocide of the Roma, thereby countering antigypsyism and fostering a more inclusive historical narrative. The establishment of memorials and the observance of remembrance days across various countries serve as a testament to the international commitment to never forget the horrors inflicted upon the Roma people.

In the context of North Macedonia, the acknowledgment of 2nd August as the International Roma Genocide Remembrance Day would serve as a powerful symbol of the nation’s dedication to confronting its past and shaping a future free from the shackles of discrimination. It would be an affirmation of the Roma’s rightful place in the historical tapestry of the nation, ensuring that their stories are heard, and their experiences are learned from. Such recognition would also align with the efforts of the Holocaust Memorial Centre for the Jews of Macedonia, which stands as a monument to the Holocaust’s victims and a reminder of the need for eternal vigilance against the forces of hatred and bigotry.

The introduction of the working definition of antigypsyism at the institutional level among all relevant state institutions would further solidify North Macedonia’s commitment to combating racism and discrimination. It would provide a clear and actionable guideline for policymakers, educators, and civil servants, enabling them to identify and address instances of antigypsyism effectively. This proactive approach would not only honour the memory of those who suffered during the Holocaust but also safeguard the rights and dignity of the Roma community today.

The actions taken by a nation to acknowledge the wrongs of the past and to prevent their recurrence are a measure of its moral compass. For North Macedonia, the adoption of these measures proposed by Romalitiko would be a significant stride towards healing historical wounds and fostering a society that upholds the values of equality, respect, and human dignity for all its citizens. It is a path that leads towards a future where the lessons of history are not merely remembered but are actively used as a foundation for building a more just and compassionate world.

The genocide of the Roma during World War II is a stark reminder of the depths of human cruelty and the destructive power of hatred and bigotry. The events that unfolded in places like Marinkova Bara, Topovske Šupe, and Sajmište camps in Belgrade, as well as the broader genocidal campaign across Europe, highlight the systematic annihilation faced by the Roma community. The lack of public awareness and recognition of these atrocities, often referred to as a “silent genocide,” underscores the ongoing challenges in preserving the memory of marginalised groups.

It is our collective responsibility to remember and honour the victims, ensuring that such atrocities are never repeated. By acknowledging and addressing past injustices, we reaffirm our commitment to upholding the principles of human rights and dignity for all, regardless of ethnicity or background. The resilience and enduring spirit of the Roma people serve as a testament to their strength and a call to action for a more just and compassionate world. Let the stories of the past guide us towards a future where respect for life is paramount, and the darkness of intolerance finds no quarter.

Topovske Šupe and Sajmište: Camps of Despair

In the autumn of 1941, a tragedy unfolded in the Marinkova Bara neighbourhoods of Belgrade, where the Roma community found themselves encircled by the ominous presence of German officers and Serbian police collaborators. The night air, once filled with the vibrant sounds of life, was pierced by the chilling silence of a raid that saw all the men detained and vanished into the abyss of the Topovske Šupe concentration camp—a place from which echoes of their fate failed to return. As the leaves fell and December’s cold grip took hold, another wave of terror swept through Belgrade. This time, Roma women and children were the targets, ruthlessly abducted and taken to the Sajmište camp, where the grim reaper awaited, and their lives were extinguished with the brutal finality of execution.

The Topovske Šupe camp, a site that bore witness to the darkest of human deeds, was a cog in the machinery of the Holocaust, operating with a chilling efficiency that snuffed out approximately 4,300 souls during its brief existence from August to December 1941. It was a place where the value of life was reduced to nothing, where the innocent was punished for the mere fact of their existence. The Sajmište camp, on the other hand, became an extermination ground for those who had already lost everything but their lives, and even that was taken from them in the most inhumane of ways.

The plight of the Roma in Belgrade during this period is a stark reminder of the depths to which humanity can sink. It is a call to remember not just the events, but the individuals—each with their own story, their own dreams, and their own right to life, which was so callously denied. As history looks back on these harrowing times, it is our collective responsibility to ensure that such atrocities are never repeated, to stand vigilant against the forces of hatred and discrimination that once led to the horrors of the Holocaust. The memories of those lost in the Marinkova Bara raids, the Topovske Šupe, and the Sajmište camp must be preserved as a witness to the resilience of the human spirit and as a solemn vow to uphold the dignity of all people, regardless of their background or heritage. Let the stories of the past be the guiding lights for a future where respect for life is paramount, and the darkness of intolerance finds no quarter.

The term “silent genocide” aptly captures the tragedy that befell the Roma population during World War Two, particularly in the territories of the then German-occupied Serbia. The Roma, along with the Jews, were subjected to the brutal policies of extermination by the Nazi regime and its collaborators. The estimated number of Roma who perished, which ranges from 12,000 to 20,000 in Serbia alone, represents a sizeable portion of the 60,000 Roma living in Serbia at the time. This systematic annihilation was part of a broader genocidal campaign across Europe, where tens of thousands of Roma were killed in concentration camps and through mass executions.

The lack of public awareness and the scarcity of information contribute to the characterisation of these events as a “silent genocide.” Unlike the Holocaust of the Jewish people, which has been extensively documented and studied, the genocide of the Roma has not received comparable attention in historical narratives. This disparity in recognition is a stark reminder of the challenges in preserving the memory of marginalised groups and the importance of bringing their stories to light. The silence surrounding the Roma genocide is not just a matter of historical record but also reflects ongoing issues of discrimination and prejudice that the Roma face to this day.

In Serbia, as in other parts of German-occupied Europe, the Roma were targeted for extermination due to racial prejudice and social biases. The German authorities, with the assistance of local collaborators, established concentration camps such as Banjica, Crveni Krst, and Topovske Šupe, where thousands of Roma were imprisoned and killed alongside Jewish victims. The fate of the Roma in Serbia mirrored the horrific experiences of Roma communities throughout Nazi-occupied territories, where they were subjected to arbitrary internment, forced labour, and mass murder.

The genocide of the Roma is an appalling chapter in human history that underscores the destructive power of hatred and bigotry. It is a call to action for societies to acknowledge and address the past injustices inflicted upon the Roma and other persecuted groups. By doing so, we respect the memory of those who suffered and perished and reaffirm our commitment to preventing such atrocities from occurring again. The recognition of the Roma genocide is not only about correcting historical oversight; it is about ensuring that the principles of human rights and dignity are upheld for all, regardless of ethnicity or background.

The harrowing chapter of the Romani people during World War II, under the regime of Marshal Ion Antonescu in Romania, is a reminder of the atrocities of ethnic persecution. The deportation of the Roma to Transnistria was not merely a relocation; it was a calculated move towards ethnic cleansing, a grim facet of the broader Romani genocide. The Romanian government, swayed by the prevailing prejudices and the tumultuous politics of the time, deemed the Romani population as a societal burden and a threat to public order, thus justifying their heinous actions under the guise of wartime exigencies.

The process was systematic and cruel: surveys were conducted to identify those of Romani ethnicity, particularly targeting individuals without fixed residence or those labelled as ‘dangerous’—a term ambiguously applied to anyone from previous convicts to the jobless. Over 30,000 Roma met these arbitrary criteria for deportation. The journey to Transnistria was evidence of human suffering, with many succumbing to starvation and exhaustion. The conditions upon arrival were no less brutal; the deportees were stripped of their dignity, deprived of food, clothing, and shelter, and many perished in the harsh winter that followed, from typhus.

This tragic episode is not just a footnote in history, but a reflection of the systemic oppression faced by the Romani people. It underscores the need for remembrance and education to prevent the recurrence of such inhumanity. The Romani Holocaust, part of the larger canvas of the World War II atrocities, demands recognition and understanding. It is a call to acknowledge the suffering of the marginalized and to ensure that the lessons gleaned from this dark period guide our actions towards creating a more just and compassionate world. The memory of those who suffered and the resilience of those who survived must continue to inform our collective conscience and our resolve to stand against prejudice and discrimination in all its forms.

The deportations that began on 1 July 1942, a date etched in the pall of injustice, saw 11,441 souls wrenched from their lives, catapulted into the abyss of suffering with no promise of return. This dark chapter, a fragment of the larger mosaic of the Romani genocide, remains a sombre testimony to the depths of human cruelty. The aftermath, a landscape marred by the scars of those who endured, has been met with a silence that echoes through the decades, a silence punctuated only by the faint whispers of belated attempts at restitution.

The 1970s bore witness to the stirrings of advocacy, as Ion Cioba and Nicolae Gheorghe, two Roma citizens, stepped into the arena of justice, making the proposal of special pensions as a shield against the onslaught of historical neglect. Their voices, though resolute, were but ripples against the formidable tide of bureaucracy and societal indifference. It was not until the twilight of the 20th century that the Romanian government, in a gesture of delayed recognition, enacted Law 189/2000, decreeing pensions for those ethnic groups ensnared in the torment of the 1940-1945 regime. Yet, this legislative milestone, while significant, could not retroactively soothe the wounds nor fully honour the endurance of the survivors.

The persistence of anti-Roma attitudes, a virulent undercurrent in the societal fabric, continues to undermine the gravity of the Roma’s historical suffering. In Romania, as in Serbia, the narrative of the Roma remains muted, stifled by the pervasive hum of discrimination that seeks to overshadow their plight. The absence of a comprehensive database of victims serves as a barrier to collective memory, a void where the names and stories of the deported should reside. This lack of awareness, a smog that clouds the national consciousness, perpetuates the cycle of silence and marginalisation.

The atrocities committed against the Roma people during the era of the Independent State of Croatia (NDH) represent a harrowing chapter in history, one that is often overshadowed by the broader narrative of World War Two. The Roma was ensnared in a genocidal policy that sought to erase their very existence. The NDH, under the Ustaše regime, perpetrated acts of unspeakable cruelty, where the Roma were not merely victims of war but targets of an ideology that denied them their humanity. The concentration camp at Jasenovac stands as a reminder to this dark time, a place where the industrial scale of brutality met the individual stories of those who suffered there.

Historians like Ivo Goldstein have worked to bring these stories to light, piecing together the fragments of a past that the Roma, and indeed the world, must not forget. Goldstein’s accounts paint a vivid picture of the systemic violence that was inflicted upon the Roma, whose nomadic lifestyle and lack of formal records made them particularly vulnerable to the Ustaše’s campaign of extermination. The numbers, though imprecise, are staggering, with estimates of Roma deaths in the NDH ranging from 16,000 to 40,000. At Jasenovac, known grimly as the ‘Auschwitz of the Balkans’, it is believed that at least 20,000 Roma perished alongside Jews, Serbs, and political dissidents.

The legacy of the Roma in the NDH is one of resilience in the face of annihilation. Despite the efforts to dehumanize and destroy them, the Roma people endure, their stories and traditions continuing to be passed down through generations. It is through the work of historians, the remembrance of survivors, and the acknowledgment of the international community that the memories of those lost can be honoured. As we reflect on the past, it is crucial to recognise the Roma’s place in history, not just as victims of a regime’s cruelty, but as a people with a profound and enduring spirit.

The recognition of the genocide against the Sinti and Roma in Germany, is often overshadowed by the enormity of the regime’s other crimes against humanity. For decades, the systematic persecution and annihilation faced by these communities under the Nazi regime were relegated to the peripheries of the collective memory of World War Two atrocities. It was not until March 1982 that the German government officially acknowledged this dark period, marking a significant moment for the survivors and descendants of the victims. The term “Porajmos,” which translates to “devouring” or “destruction” in the Romani language, poignantly encapsulates the depth of the tragedy that befell the Sinti and Roma people. This term, introduced by Ian Hancock in the early 1990s, was chosen from several suggestions during an informal conversation, reflecting the community’s own perspective on the horrors they endured.

The path to recognition was arduous and fraught with the complexities of post-war politics and societal denial. The genocide, which claimed the lives of hundreds of thousands of Sinti and Roma, was a manifestation of the extreme racial ideologies that underpinned the National Socialist agenda. The victims were subjected to the same motive of racial purity, the same intent, and the same methodical plan for extermination as the Jewish population.

Additional Resources

The most effective way to destroy people is to deny and obliterate their own understanding of their history

George Orwell

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