The last decade of the 20th century was unprecedented for contemporary Montenegro and the region. Years of state collapse, wars, crimes, destruction, refugees, economic breakdown, humiliation, poverty, and queues for basic necessities defined the period. While wars, war crimes, and destruction remain the most vivid part of collective memory, the economic and cultural consequences of that period are equally profound, continuing to shape the lives of millions. Generations born after 1995 or 2000 often unconsciously live within the limits created by that decade.
Perhaps the darkest phase of the 1990s for Montenegro and Serbia, the period of hyperinflation, destroyed citizens’ living standards and savings. Basic goods became luxuries, and UN sanctions almost completely isolated the country. Empty shelves and long lines became everyday scenes. Factories stopped, jobs disappeared or were maintained only on paper, while industries that connected the republics fell into chaos. Millions sought refuge abroad, and the exodu of skilled workers and intellectuals slowed reconstruction and development. The diaspora scattered across the globe, carrying stories, memories, and a culture that were slowly erased from the shared space.
Amid the chaos and the survival struggles, the fact that cultural life suffered severe blows passed largely unnoticed. The sharedYugoslav cultural space fragmented, and media, literature, and art were flooded with nationalist narratives. Funding for universities, theaters, museums, and film production virtually disappeared, while many artists and educators left the country. Libraries, archives, and cultural treasures were destroyed or looted, parts of a shared history vanished… Even symbols like music, festivals, and customs were reinterpreted through ethnic lenses, deepening divisions and mistrust.
Extremism merged with nationalist interpretations of renewed religion, while violence from the front lines quickly spilled onto the streets. Poverty and crime amputated generations from basic human and communal values. Trauma silently infiltrated every aspect of life. Children grew up surrounded by violence, scarcity, and propaganda, creating a “lost decade” in education and social cohesion. Trust among ethnic groups, built over decades, vanished within months, while nationalism and religious fanaticism shaped politics and identity.
Yet even in the darkest periods, some of the brightest examples of courage, resistance, and creativity emerged and the 1990s were no exception. From artistic expression to political movements, numerous forms of resistance opposed the madness and violence. Many segments of today’s societies that still nurture, though as minorities, common-sense politics, stem directly from struggles against the hatred and aggression of that era.
Unfortunately, the lasting legacy of the last decade of the 20th century are the ideas that led six republics, now seven states, into war. These ideas still dominate, keeping societies trapped in a nationalism-induced, anaesthetized transition. A common misconception in Montenegro and the region is that the 1990s are history; the truth could not be further from this.
The same political structures, or their successors, that ruled in the 1990s essentially still govern today. The same policies, populism, and media manipulation remain. The difference is that some of the checks that existed even during the wars are now gone. Populism and extremism have become social norms, while partitocracy and kleptocracy flourish with minimal resistance. This period is the birthplace of the open symbiosis of nationalist propaganda, religious manipulation, and cultural and media stupefaction – tools that for three decades have sustained the plundering of the transition period.
Why should the 1990s be placed in a museum? Because the educational and political systems im most countries have failed to separate their societies from the legacy of the 1990s. Endless “reforms” have led to states of superficial change, denying generations the chance to build a new system. Museums, after all, should be places that preserve and critically examinehistory. In this case, a museum of the 1990s would serve both as a window through which we can see a difficult past and a mirror reflecting its ugly yet occasionally bright legacy.
In the absence of the freedom to portray the 1990s objectively, outside the haze of war trauma and nationalist narratives, and given the complexity of the period itself, the museum is the best medium for its presentation. Contrary to popular belief, a museum is not merely a storage space for objects, but a space for dialogue, education, and new experiences.
The Museum of the 1990s, an independent production, opened in Belgrade on 1 July 2025, after years of work, temporary exhibitions, forums, and interaction with audiences from across the region. Retaining the form of a labyrinth, it succeeded in combining innovation and courage, preserving the provocative complexity of its contents and ideas. It is difficult to describe the exhibition encompassing almost all aspects of life in the 1990s, blending the vibrancy of life and culture with the political, civic, and media heritage, alongside an expert presentation of key historical events, figures, and crimes.
For younger generations, the Museum of the 1990s serves as an introduction to understanding the world they live in. One anecdote exemplifies its purpose: students who have been protesting in Serbia for a year admitted they knew almost nothing about the major student protests of the 1990s. There is hope that at least some Montenegrin school trips to Belgrade will visit the museum, instead of touring the vulgar sites of transitional legacy, such as Ceca’s house.
After Sarajevo, the Montenegrin premiere of this exhibition was organized at the City Museum of Podgorica on 13 May this year, and lasted until 13 September, while smaller versions were displayed in Budva and Cetinje. Each exhibition carries a personal imprint, yet they are curated and presented objectively, without hiding facts, manipulating, or euphemisms that would soften the responsibility of any side.
Organized amid widespread revisionism and, during the preparatory period, anti-Turkish hysteria, the exhibitions created rational “islands” that recognized recurring patterns of the same political actions from the 1990s. They showed that the continuous revival of certain topics, from the rehabilitation of Chetniks to the denial of Srebrenica, keeps society in constant tension, while problems of the destroyed social “safety net,” stability, and living standards remain unresolved. The exhibitions enabled new generations to perceive the comprehensive assault on social progress, even through maintaining a “mainstream” music and cultural scene rooted in the basest impulses.
Placing the 1990s in a museum should symbolize a form of social evolution, that involves breaking ties with the political class and their successors. The ultimate exit from transition cannot be led by those who fail to grasp the destructiveness of that decade’s legacy, and that shadow, as recent events show, still lingers, at least in part, within all of us.
Miloš Vukanović, historian