Petra Strahovnik

Petra Strahovnik–in Conversation with Alexey Munipov

Could you tell me the story behind this commission? When and how did it come about, and how did you decide what to compose?

It was an idea to bring composers from the countries of ex-Yugoslavia together, and basically, each of us would reflect on the Yugoslavian War, or its consequences, or however you, as an artist, as a composer, decide to touch that topic

I’m from Slovenia, and the Slovenian war was very short and not that severe for civilians. But I remember, as a five-year-old, the planes flying over our village. Later, during my school years, many refugees arrived in Slovenia, especially from Bosnia. We had one refugee girl as a classmate, and I remember her expression vividly. As a child, you can’t understand why this is happening. Why war exists at all. You simply cannot comprehend the weight of it. No sensitive soul can comprehend what we humans are capable of doing.

When this project came up, I was already living in The Hague. I have many friends and colleagues who worked for the Yugoslav Tribunal–as translators, lawyers, advocates. Through them, I came across the testimonies of victims who experienced horrific things. My piece is based on the text of an anonymous »Victim 87«. She tells her story of being raped during the Yugoslav wars, by officers in Bosnia.

Even before I found the text, I had this sound-image in my mind: one stretched scream of horror–the »I cannot believe this is happening« as a civilian in a war zone. Everything is fragile there. You open the door–and it is happening to you. You can’t believe it, but it is here. I wanted to capture that stretched moment of horror, of rape, of someone entering your privacy, your mind, your emotions, your body. It’s a very violent intrusion. A traumatic experience that leaves deep wounds. To achieve that, I used vocal techniques known from the world of extreme metal vocalists. It’s all about that stretched, horrible time moment that doesn’t go away. That was my focus.

Later I wrote an epilogue to SCREAdoM, »The Voiceless–The Starving Children in War Zones«, which gave voice to the pain of women affected by sexual violence in times of war. UnScream turns our attention to another atrocity: the silent suffering of children facing starvation in conflict zones. At its heart is a gesture of solidarity.

The voices you will hear–screams–were donated by children, teenagers, and students from across Europe. They offer their voices for those who can no longer scream, for those whose hunger is met with silence. It is raw, immediate, and emotionally urgent. It was created in response to the humanitarian catastrophe in Gaza and other war-torn regions. Prompted by the manmade nature of famine today, declared by the WHO and shaped by political choices, and by attempts to silence critical voices such as UN Special Rapporteur Francesca Albanese, this work refuses to look away. It is both a lament and a protest. A sonic plea. A reminder that we, as a global society, are failing our most vulnerable. With deep gratitude to all who lent their voices to speak for the voiceless.

Do you feel that your childhood memories and the experience of the 90s in the Balkans shaped your identity as an artist–even if you didn’t experience the war yourself?

Even though Slovenia wasn’t affected as heavily, I had a classmate who was a real victim of the war. I heard her story–and I couldn’t comprehend how such a thing was possible. As a child, I simply could not understand it. And I still can’t. Just like I couldn’t understand other horrors–like starvation in Africa. Now I’m an adult, and I understand more how the world works. But I still cannot come to terms with what we, as humanity, allow to happen.

Balkan Affairs’ is quite unique in that none of the involved composers has ever worked artistically with the Balkan wars of the 1990s–neither by personal choice nor on commission. Why do you think this subject has remained so untouched by contemporary composers from the region?

Our society, our parents, our community repeat the same thing: »Leave the past alone. Don’t touch this topic.« No one wants to reopen these wounds. There are many horrible stories where justice was never served. People who committed war crimes are still celebrated. And the nation is still deeply divided.

One part of us wants to brush it all off and move on. Another part is still waiting for justice. We need to look in the mirror and admit our collective mistakes. Only then peace can come.

But it is very hard to talk about these things without being immediately understood as taking one political side or another. It still influences what you think and what you do. In the Balkans, a few powerful people can decide whether you will get commissions or work at all. So it’s very difficult to stand your ground and have your own voice when your future as an artist is uncertain. It is simply not »safe« to reflect on conflicts, especially on political topics. Better use a different theme.

Slovenia is part of the European Union and should support freedom of speech and artistic freedom. But in practice it’s different. We still have powerful individuals who can block projects–or block you as an artist.

How did it feel when you all gathered in one room? Was there any tension or unease?

I felt that in the beginning everyone stayed a little reserved. Nobody wanted to show all their cards or their most vulnerable side right away. We have different views and experiences, of course–but at least we listened to each other. In general, there is rarely tension among fellow composers. Our intentions are genuine–to highlight this topic, to choose truth, and to heal.

Did you discuss this piece with your parents–and how did they react?

My parents are from different regions–we talked about their perceptions. But they would not go on record. And I have a family member who was deeply affected by the war–I couldn’t ask him for an interview. It’s very hard to be the one who opens that wound–and you don’t know how the person will react.

In your opinion–how much time needs to pass after a war before artists from the region can start working with it? Is 25 years a realistic minimum–as in the case of ‘Balkan Affairs’?

The conflict is still unresolved. It is far from over. You can still feel the consequences–especially in Bosnia, Serbia, and Kosovo. There are 340,000 minority people, from ex-Yugoslavia as well as Italians and Hungarians living in Slovenia. That’s a lot. The problem is still alive–the tension has not softened. When we premiered this project in 2023, another festival took place in Ljubljana. I believe it was the first time that historians from all the former Yugoslav regions were invited to talk together. So–it takes time. A lot of time.