She spent her career working as a professor at the University of Belgrade Faculty of Political Science, where she taught four courses in journalism. She simultaneously wrote articles for Politika, Duga, Profil and NIN, among others, as well as serving as editor-in-chief of Bazar. She was also a Television Belgrade screenwriter and presenter of the outstanding shows Kino oko (Cine Eye) and Nedeljno popodne (Sunday Afternoon)… She is also an author of numerous books, including an anthology work in the field of mass communications entitled Women’s Press and the Culture of Femininity. She has a daughter called Mia and grandsons Maksim and Miron, and has spent the past two decades as the life partner of film director Zdravko Šotra.
Her graduate students are scattered around newsrooms across the former Yugoslavia. Journalists, copy editors, editors-in-chief… Those of them that are respected and accomplished know how much they owe her and happily invite her to make guest appearances on their shows. The others flee when they see her on the street. They feel momentarily ashamed, because they know what she taught them and what they’re nonetheless doing on behalf of the government.
Alongside her work as a professor at the Faculty of Political Science, she always had two or three other jobs to which she was devoted. Being active in journalism also suited her nature, as she was convinced that journalism could only be taught by someone who constantly practiced the profession alongside their career as a university professor. This was reflected in her work as a journalist, copy editor, editor-in-chief, screenwriter, TV presenter and author of numerous television projects. During the period of the coronavirus pandemic, she authored and published exceptional journal entries as columns for the Nova S portal, which were subsequently collated and published as the book “Dnevnik pod maskom” (Diary under a Mask), representing an extraordinary document testifying to a time when we were wretchedly humiliated as human beings. She established the Journalism department at the Faculty of Philosophy in Banja Luka, while she’s also lectured at the University of Belgrade Faculty of Music.
Who is this exceptional woman who made a massively important contribution to the Yugoslav journalism scene? She says that answering that question provides an opportunity to confront oneself, to once again pose questions to herself about her origins and a heritage that seems to be increasingly imposed on us with the years that pass so dizzyingly.
My mother showed me with her personal example, inherited from her own mother, that women are actually the stronger sex
“I look at old family photos in copper tones of fading sepia with new and more mature eyes today. I have a greater sense of understanding for the characters in those pictures and forgive more easily, with the odd tear. In the photo of my maternal ancestors, I see ten of them, all my closest relatives, all dearly departed. And those are the figures who fill the world of my first memories, the entire universe of my childhood. Mother, grandmother, aunts, uncles, cousin. And all of them have their own story that’s worthy of a novel. That’s a black and white picture from my first seaside holiday, in the summer of 1948, in Kvarner Gulf’s ancient town of Crikvenica. I was three months old, while my brother was four and had already managed to get a plaster cast on his broken arm. My understanding is that it must be from then onwards that those forces began constantly pulling me, a woman from the continental interior, towards the sea, that dancing heart when I see it, whether approaching by land or air. Or is that the call of my paternal ancestors, who came to Serbia from Konavle [on the Croatian coast]? I’m fascinated by Predrag Matvejević’s book Mediterranean Breviary. Its cover even notes that no one admires the sea and the coast any longer more than those from the interior.”
Ever since she’s had a public presence, Todorović has been known as a discerning interlocutor who speaks accurately and precisely, and without raising her voice. She defends her principles and beliefs using the power of knowledge and argumentation. She conceals her firmness with the gentleness of her smile and understanding for her interlocutor. It would be most accurate to describe her as a well-mannered person.
“The upbringing I received in my childhood was harsh, with elements of occasional, inexplicable indulgence. There was the early divorce of my parents, so my mother – a former beauty queen with a sash from Šibenik, where she spent her summers; a character with an unbridled temperament, talented at painting, writing and music; a person who moved in artistic circles – trained in the strictness of her profession as an educator and extracted the splendour of knowledge and good grades as a guarantee of some future success of mine. She simultaneously provided me with the cutting-edge fashion of the first Mary Quant miniskirts, Cannes hats, knee-high boots and bell bottom flares from Carnaby Street; during the first year of my journalism studies, she encouraged me to attend the 1968 protests at the Kapetan Mišina building, where I regularly encountered her; she led me around European metropolises, museums, exhibitions; she showed me that women are actually the stronger sex with her personal example inherited from her own mother, who had been vice president of the Circle of Serbian Sisters in pre-war Sarajevo.
“From today’s perspective, I don’t forgive her excessively harsh discipline and incurable authoritarianism, though it was probably born of her fear, her responsibility. I find myself in the articles written by rebellious writers Vedrana Rudan and Slavenka Drakulić about growing up in the Yugoslavia of our youth, but also in their current texts about the maturity of the third age of life in small states that are saturated with nostalgia for bygone better times. Did I manage to avoid such rigidity in raising my daughter? You should ask her.”
I find myself in the articles written by rebellious writers Vedrana Rudan and Slavenka Drakulić about growing up in the Yugoslavia of our youth
She grew up with her schoolmates and those of her brother from the Starina Novak School and the Fifth Belgrade Gymnasium High School. She socialised with children of all nationalities from the building where she lived in Belgrade’s Professor’s Colony, with the basketball players of OKK Belgrade from Zdravka Čelara Street, where both her and her brother trained from the pioneer grade to the open-age teams.
“Our mother directed us towards sports. She believed in the harmony of a healthy body and a healthy mind. My first coach was the famous Borislav Reba Ćorković, then later I was trained by Miodrag Sija Nikolić and Milorad Erkić. I travelled all around Serbia playing matches, then became a cheerleader for the famous OKK Belgrade men’s team, which had players like Korać, Nikolić, Trajkovič, Gordić et al., who were ten years our senior, but still gradually accepted us into their company on the street corner in front of Jugoexport or at Tašmajdan swimming pool.
I became friends with Korać around a year before his tragic, premature death.
“We actually spent most of our time as children in the company of books. My brother introduced an unachievable tempo of a book a day. We were, and remained, addicted to literature. On more than one occasion I heard the taunt: ‘You haven’t perhaps already read it? I took away from my home a belief in the value of education. I was attracted to writing and literature the most, but I wasted an entire summer preparing for the admission exam for medical studies, despite my graduate dissertation being about Milan Rakić. The school’s director, Zdravko Pecelj, a member of the three-member commission for the defence of works, sought that I recite some poem by Rakić. He stopped me after the first stanza: It is so, there’s no part of you that could be hidden from my eye, no curve of your shimmering body that my kiss hasn’t landed on…
“I headed towards that admission exam at the Faculty of Medicine, then I just continued on towards Voždovac and enrolled in journalism studies at 165 Jove Ilića Street, the Faculty of Political Science. I never regretted it. Those were modern, stimulating studies. We had excellent professors, easily found employment and forged lifelong friendships. I considered my assistant professor Ratko Božović a top intellectual, cultural scientist, brilliant and witty person, courageous figure and best friend. He familiarised us more closely with entire generations of the most important thinkers and top theoreticians, who irradiated us with their ideas and insights into the interpretation of the zeitgeist. I can see how much he is missed today by entire generations of his former students. I turn to him for advice in my mind to this day, whenever I have dilemmas and doubts.”
I can see how much Professor Ratko Božović is missed today by entire generations of his former students
In bidding farewell to her friend and professor Ratko Božović (1934-2023), she wrote one of the most precious essays about him, which includes the resounding sentence: “He taught us how one learns!” And that education never stops if you adopt a culture of reading.
“He used argumentation to demolish stereotypical thinking and adopted prejudices. He forever marked us by showing us live and in person that humour is the highest form of intelligence, that a student is a Personality, that he saw only the best in each of us, that the calling of a lecturer incorporates some almost lovers’ passion, that sweetness made of words is more seductive than any other eroticism. His lectures resembled unforgettable spiritual feasts, games of competition and intellect, charm and knowledge. He preached and lived the antique principle – what is beautiful is good, and what is good is beautiful.”
Neda remains close to her former colleagues from the time of her studies at the Faculty of Political Science. She believes in those lifelong friendships. Just as journalism was her lifelong choice.
“When I became a professor of journalism at the Faculty of Political Science, at the first motivational lecture I would always tell my students – who often wondered if they were in the right place – that each of them can become anything they want under one condition: that they want it strongly enough. I would them offer them my own example. I enrolled in journalism studies with a desire to deal with women’s issues, which were underrepresented in media outlets during the 1970s. I’d wanted to be the editor of a women’s magazine. I remained at the university as an assistant professor, but from 1982 to 1986 – after ten years of collaborating constantly at NIN and several years of contributing to TV Belgrade (in the shows Ona [Her], Nedeljno popodne [Sunday Afternoon], Noćni programme [Nightly Programme], Novinarska radionica [Journalism workshop], Modni magazin [Fashion Warehouse] etc.) – I became editor-in-chief of Bazar. That was a high-circulation magazine for women, with a refined style and language, representing the then pinnacle of graphical aesthetic expression. As editor, I also introduced the spirit of feminism to this publication. And so it was that those dreams of mine were realised. I also told my students that it was extremely important that they experience at least one great love affair during their studies, as the most beautiful period of their lives. I realised much later that one’s first love in life perhaps isn’t always the greatest, rather that’s most likely to be one’s last love. But that’s already another story.”
She had her first article published in NIN, in its old, newspaper format, in the commemorative edition of 29th November 1969. It was a replica of the task given to novice BBC journalists prior to them being hired: what do I think of myself and what do my best friend and worst enemy think about me? She thus learned immediately that she had to cite at least three different sources.
“As only the second female journalist at NIN during that time, I commonly experienced genuine astonishment when interviewing some interlocutor: Is it possible that you’re Neda Todorović? They were expecting some serious older person and not a 22-year-old girl in a miniskirt. It is thanks to my collaboration with NIN that I have since come to know the largest number of personalities from Who’s Who publications. I completed the strictest journalism specialisation at NIN, working alongside greats like Dragan Marković, Đorđe Radenković, Jug Grizelj, Tihomir Lešič, Sergije Lukač, Miloš Mišović, Vasa Popović, Vlada Stojšin, Frane Barbieri, Dušan Simić, Dragoslav Rančić, Steva Stanić, Zvonko Simić and, later, Mirko Klarin, Bogdan Tirnanić, Saša Tijanić (I was an assistant professor when he enrolled at the Faculty)… Those journalists showed how it is possible to win freedom in a one-party system. I had to work alongside them to ensure I wouldn’t disgrace myself. They all shared one characteristic: they were perfectly acquainted with the field they dealt with and were top intellectuals. NIN gathered many such people. Journalism was an elite profession that was fairly well paid. You could travel a lot if you wanted, with no expense spared when you wanted to interview someone or research the topic you were working on. There were also excellent journalists at other media outlets (Politika, Borba, TANJUG, Večernje Novosti, Radio Belgrade). TV Belgrade’s editors were the same kind of intellectuals (Duško Radović, Filip David, Slobodan Stojanović, Vasilije Popović), such that they were dubbed the mini academy of sciences.
Negative changes came when she entered her eighth decade, when nationalism stifled cosmopolitanism and obedience became more important than talent and knowledge
Negative changes came when she entered her eighth decade, when nationalism stifled cosmopolitanism, obedience became more important than talent and knowledge, and cheering on the authorities replaced journalistic courage. Only a small number of high-quality, objective media outlets survive today, the reputation of journalism as a profession has been ruined, while citizens are offered tabloids and reality shows that are maintained by an unbearably high percentage of illiterate and semi-literate people. Such illiteracy is present on the television networks that I have to agree with Umberto Eco when he said that, today, social media gives legions of idiots the right to speak when they once only spoke at a bar after a glass of wine, without harming the community. The general state of mind at the planetary level could be defined as – anti-intellectualism.”
Neda has authored two textbooks in the field of journalism and several anthologies, as well a trilogy about the phenomena of modern life: Spirit of the Nineties, Food as Second Sex and The Year Two Thousand. She is editor and co-author of the books Exceptional Women of Serbia, Exceptional Couples of Serbia and Icons of Serbian Style. When it comes to reading, it’s as though she’s still sticking to her brother’s tempo from childhood: a book a day:
“Books are my lifebelt in this sea of mediocrity that’s drowning us in this 21st century, which had promised so much. This century is the stone age of literacy, as it was defined by Alexander Genis in his book The Kamasutra of the Bookworm. There aren’t as many literary greats today as there were in previous centuries. However, there is huge production that’s been created by some very good writers and excellent books. What pleases me in particular is the massive infiltration into literature of female writers, who have gifted the field their own, specific, refined sensibility. I enjoy their books and rejoice in the fact that they’ve won the right to have their own voice after so many centuries of silence, hiding, secret diaries, signing with men’s names. They have cast light on an entire hidden and unknown history, revealing large parts of reality that remained hidden in the shadows for centuries. They’ve gifted us new insights and the joy of discovering what’s possessed and emitted by the other sex.”
During her marriage to film director Mića Uzelac, who died before his time, Neda gave birth to a daughter Mia, who is today a political scientist and has given her grandchildren Maksim and Miron. She speaks with, listens to and teaches them. Neda has shared the past two decades of her life with director Zdravko Šotra, a man whose films and TV shows have long represented indispensable contributions to the cultural heritage of Yugoslavia. In his biography, Hanging On for Air, Šotra gave one chapter the title Neda, writing: “And then Neda entered my life. She meant the end of my loneliness. And with that my life also changed, unexpectedly enriched and conceived with elementary life values.”
And Šotra entered Neda’s life as the kind of person she’d wished for.
“I constantly repeated to myself that I would like to finally be with someone who has a stronger personality than mine. And it was only when I achieved it that I realised how demanding it is to be with such a person. There’s no relaxing for a moment. I’m of course exaggerating when I say that, as it’s really a lot of fun. And Zdravko often says the same thing in jest, in his own way: ‘If I’d killed a man, I’d already have completed my sentence’. We’re obviously never bored.”