The physical collapse of the Biblioteka Ulqin - Ulcinj, marked by a leaking roof, water-damaged collections, and a padlocked door, is not an isolated incident of infrastructural failure. It is the direct and predictable outcome of a protracted crisis of governance, institutional paralysis, and systemic neglect. The library's dire condition is a symptom of a deeper malady affecting its parent body, the JU Centar za kulturu (Public Institution Center for Culture), an organization operating in a state of legal and administrative limbo for over a decade. This report argues that the library's decay is the result of a catastrophic failure at the municipal level to align the Center for Culture with national law, a failure that has rendered the institution incapable of functioning, securing adequate funding, or fulfilling its basic mandate to preserve cultural heritage.
This analysis dissects the layers of this failure, tracing the problem from its roots in an outdated and legally non-compliant institutional statute to its manifestation in a crumbling building and an endangered book collection. The library's ruin stands in stark, poignant contrast to Ulcinj's celebrated multicultural legacy—a history spanning two and a half millennia that is actively promoted for tourism yet fundamentally unsupported at its institutional core. The situation serves as a potent symbol of the chasm between the city's historical identity and its present-day civic priorities. By examining the legal, financial, political, and cultural dimensions of this crisis, this report provides a definitive answer to the question of why one of the most historically significant towns on the Adriatic is allowing its repository of memory and knowledge to dissolve.
To comprehend the gravity of the library's neglect, one must first appreciate the immense cultural value of the heritage it is meant to safeguard. The story of Ulcinj (Ulqin in Albanian) is not merely local history; it is a narrative of the Adriatic, a palimpsest written over 2,500 years by a succession of the great civilizations of Europe and the Mediterranean. The failure to maintain this institution is an affront to a unique and irreplaceable historical legacy, one that has been officially recognized as a "cultural asset of national importance" since 1961 and is currently on the UNESCO World Heritage Tentative List.1
Ulcinj is one of the oldest urban settlements on the Adriatic coast, with a history that stretches back to the Bronze Age, evidenced by Illyrian tombs found in the vicinity.2 The town itself is believed to have been founded in the 5th century BC by colonists from Colchis, a claim mentioned by ancient writers such as Apollonius of Rhodes.2 Its antiquity is further cemented by references from the Roman historian Livy and the naturalist Pliny the Elder, who knew it as Olcinium, and the geographer Ptolemy, who recorded its Greek name, Oulkinion.2 The remnants of immense "Cyclops walls," immense polygonal stone structures characteristic of the pre-classical era, are still visible within the old Citadel, a tangible link to its Illyrian and Greek origins.1
Captured by the Romans from the Illyrians in 163 BC, the city, then known as Colchinium, was granted special privileges and later the status of a Municipium, a town with a degree of self-governance.3 With the division of the Roman Empire, it fell within the orbit of Byzantium. Its strategic importance persisted through the medieval period; it was part of the Byzantine military governorate known as the Dyrrhachium theme in the 9th century and successfully resisted a siege by Tsar Samuel of Bulgaria in 1010.2 In 1183, the Serbian Grand Prince Stefan Nemanja conquered the city, ushering in a period where it became one of the most significant coastal towns in the Nemanjić kingdom, a thriving center of trade and naval activity with a mixed Slavic, Albanian, and Roman population.3
The city's defining characteristic is its unique synthesis of Western and Eastern Mediterranean cultures, an identity forged primarily during the Venetian and Ottoman periods. In 1405, following the decline of the local Balšić dynasty who had made Ulcinj their residence, the Republic of Venice captured the city and held it for a century and a half.2 During this time, Ulcinj served as the southernmost bastion of the Venetian Republic, a critical commercial and military outpost.4 The Venetians reinforced its defenses, erecting and renewing ramparts, city gates, and the iconic Balšić Tower, leaving an indelible mark of East Adriatic and Venetian urbanism with Gothic and Renaissance palaces and squares.1
This Venetian chapter came to an end in 1571 when, in the aftermath of the Battle of Lepanto, the Ottoman Empire conquered Ulcinj with the aid of North African corsairs.2 For the next 300 years, the city was transformed. It gradually became a Muslim-majority settlement, and its architectural landscape was reshaped with the construction of numerous mosques, hammams (Turkish baths), and a clock tower.2 This layered history created what UNESCO describes as a "unique example of the interweaving of the oriental and mediterranean urban and architectural concepts".1 The Old Town today is a living testament to this fusion, where Venetian fortifications coexist with Ottoman-era edifices, and where the narrow, curved streets typical of a medieval European town are punctuated by the architectural styles of the East.5
Adding to its rich tapestry is Ulcinj's notorious history as a pirate den. From the 14th century onwards, and particularly during the 17th and 18th centuries, the city became a haven for pirates from Malta, Tunis, and Algeria.3 These corsairs, including the infamous Ulcinj native Liko Cena, represented a formidable power on the Adriatic, attacking merchant ships and bringing both wealth and captives to the city.3 This activity contributed significantly to Ulcinj's cosmopolitan and multi-ethnic character. The main square in the Old Town was once a slave market, where captives from Italy and Dalmatia were held for ransom.5 This history also led to the establishment of a small but significant Black community in Ulcinj, descendants of Africans brought to the city during this period.6
The city's role as a place of refuge and intrigue is further highlighted by the exile of Sabbatai Zevi, the self-proclaimed Jewish Messiah, who was banished here from Istanbul by the Ottoman Sultan in 1673.2 This complex history—as a fortified outpost, a pirate's nest, and a place of exile—imbues Ulcinj with a unique cultural resonance that makes the contemporary neglect of its heritage all the more jarring.
In the modern era, Ulcinj's identity is inextricably linked to its status as the cultural and political center of the Albanian community in Montenegro. After being ceded to the Principality of Montenegro in 1878 by the Ottoman Empire, the city has retained its distinct character.2 Today, it is a majority-Albanian municipality where both Montenegrin and Albanian are official languages.8 The public library itself reflects this, with collections in both languages, and its staff and leadership are deeply embedded in the local Albanian community.8 This demographic and cultural context is crucial; the decay of the city's primary cultural institutions cannot be divorced from the fact that they serve a national minority population.
The profound disconnect between this celebrated past and the city's present-day stewardship of its heritage is glaring. The rich history of Ulcinj is a key asset, heavily leveraged in tourism materials that promote its ancient walls, multicultural harmony, and unique atmosphere.3 Yet, the very institution tasked with preserving and providing access to the literary and historical records of this legacy is in a state of advanced decay. This reveals a fundamental paradox: the city's heritage is treated as a marketable commodity, while the civic responsibility to maintain the institutions that give this heritage substance is abdicated. The crumbling library is the most potent and tragic symbol of this contradiction.
The root cause of the Biblioteka Ulqin - Ulcinj's deterioration is not a simple lack of funds or a single faulty roof. It is a profound and protracted institutional crisis stemming from the dysfunctional governance of its parent body, the JU Centar za kulturu (Center for Culture). For over a decade, this organization has operated in a state of legal and administrative paralysis, rendering it—and by extension, the library—incapable of functioning properly, accessing funding, or undertaking the necessary steps for its own preservation.
The Center for Culture is, in legal terms, a relic. It continues to operate under a founding decision established in 1992 and a statute dating back to 1994.13 Crucially, it remains structured as a "Public Enterprise" (Ndërmarrjes Publike), a form of organization that is no longer compliant with Montenegro's national Law on Culture. According to a public statement by the Center's director, Adriana Hoxha, a 2012 proposal from the Government of Montenegro mandated the transformation of such enterprises into "Public Institutions" (Institucion Publik) to align with modern standards of cultural governance.14 Ulcinj is now the only municipality in Montenegro that has failed to make this transition, leaving its primary cultural body in a state of legal non-compliance.13
This is not a new or undiscovered problem. The failure of the Ulcinj municipality to act was officially documented as far back as 2014. In a report on the implementation of the Law on Culture, Montenegro's Ministry of Culture explicitly noted the situation in Ulcinj, stating that there was a "complete non-compliance of the acts with the Law on Culture," which meant that "all actions that result from the implementation of these acts are in non-compliance with the law".14
The fact that, more than a decade after this official warning, the Center for Culture remains in the exact same legal predicament demonstrates a catastrophic and sustained failure of municipal governance. The institution continues to operate with the same outdated founding decision and statute, unharmonized with national legislation, and fundamentally disorganized.14 This prolonged inaction is not passive neglect; it is a consistent choice by successive local administrations to ignore legal requirements and allow the city's central cultural institution to atrophy.
The practical consequences of this legal limbo are severe and far-reaching. Because the Center for Culture has not been properly registered or re-constituted since 2012, its leadership operates in a gray area. According to Director Hoxha, three directors and six governing councils have been appointed since the last valid registration, meaning all of them are "unregistered and effectively non-existent" in a legal sense.14
This state of illegitimacy cripples the institution's ability to function. It complicates legal and financial transactions, undermines administrative authority, and, most critically, renders the Center ineligible for many streams of state and international funding that are contingent on proper legal status and transparent governance. As the director herself noted, the Center cannot cover the costs of a "bigger and more serious investment" like the library renovation on its own, yet its legal status prevents it from effectively seeking the external funds it desperately needs.15
The institutional decay is also felt internally. The organization lacks essential administrative, legal, and economic staff.14 The work environment is precarious, with infrastructure in some areas posing a risk to employees' safety.14 This dysfunction has led to severe financial distress, including five months of unpaid salaries for staff and a litany of lawsuits from retired employees over years of unpaid pension contributions.14 This paints a picture of a demoralized and non-functional organization, trapped in a cycle of crisis perpetuated by its own unresolved legal status. The outdated statute is not merely a piece of paper; it has become a cage, preventing the institution from accessing the resources essential for its survival and turning the very framework of its governance into the primary agent of its decay.
The physical deterioration of the Ulcinj library is a story of acute crisis followed by an inadequate and arguably performative official response. A detailed chronology of events from late 2022 to late 2024 reveals a pattern of public promises that failed to translate into a sustainable solution, leaving the institution and its valuable collection in a state of persistent peril.
On November 25, 2022, the Biblioteka "Mirko Srzentić" was forced to close its doors to the public.10 The immediate cause was severe water infiltration from a dilapidated roof, which was described as porous over an area of more than a thousand square meters.10 The situation was critical. Water was not only threatening to destroy the library's rich book collection—a significant cultural asset containing titles in Montenegrin, Albanian, German, English, and other languages—but was also reportedly submerging electrical installations, creating a serious risk of fire.10 The director of the parent Center for Culture, Adrian Hodža, stated that the closure was a forced move, primarily for the safety of the five employees, who were sent on an "unplanned vacation".10 The library was, quite literally, under water and under padlock.
In mid-January 2023, nearly two months after the closure, the Municipality of Ulcinj announced that a solution was underway. The municipal Secretariat for Investments confirmed that works had begun on the renovation of the roof structure and the installation of new gutters on the Center for Culture building.17 A local contractor, "Tula Company," had been selected through a tender process to perform the work.
The stated value of the contract was €36,200, including VAT.17 The Acting Secretary for Investments, Minir Karamanaga, provided a clear timeline, stating that the works would be "completed within 20 days, weather permitting".17 He further assured the public that once the roof repair was finished, the Municipality would "start renovating the damaged premises" inside the building.17 This announcement created a public narrative of decisive action and imminent resolution.
For over a year and a half, the public record on the library's condition went quiet. The assumption, based on the January 2023 announcement, was that the issue had been resolved. This assumption was shattered in September 2024.
On September 11, 2024, a delegation from the National Library of Montenegro "Đurđe Crnojević"—the parent institution for all libraries in the country—conducted an official visit to Ulcinj to assess the situation.18 Their findings were a damning indictment of the municipality's efforts. A public statement released after the visit, following a meeting with the Mayor of Ulcinj and the director of the Center for Culture, concluded that even after the supposed repairs, "the conditions in which the written cultural heritage is kept are still inadequate, which could result in permanent damage to the material".18
This official assessment from the nation's highest library authority confirmed that the 2023 renovation had failed to solve the problem. The threat to the collection was not historical; it was ongoing. The National Library's delegation analyzed the "current difficulties" and discussed plans on "how to start overcoming them," indicating that the crisis was far from over.18 They specifically noted that a "revision of the library materials" would be necessary, a clear sign that the extent of the water damage to the books needed to be professionally assessed, a task that could only begin after the building was finally made secure.18
The sequence of events suggests that the €36,200 renovation was either insufficient to address the scale of the structural problems or was poorly executed. It served as an act of performative governance—creating the public appearance of a solution while failing to deliver a lasting one. The timeline, laid out below, starkly illustrates the cycle of crisis, promise, and persistent failure.
| Date | Event/Observation | Source(s) | Stated Action/Cost | Outcome/Assessment |
|---|---|---|---|---|
| Nov 25, 2022 | Library "Mirko Srzentić" is closed to the public. | 10 | N/A | Water from a leaking roof threatens the book collection and electrical systems. Staff sent on "unplanned vacation." |
| Jan 14, 2023 | Ulcinj Municipality announces the start of renovation works. | 17 | Renovation of the roof structure by "Tula Company" for €36,200 (inc. VAT). Promised completion in 20 days. | The municipality promises to renovate the interior premises after the roof is fixed. |
| Sep 11, 2024 | A delegation from the National Library of Montenegro visits Ulcinj. | 18 | Meeting with municipal officials to analyze the current situation and plan for recovery. | N/A |
| Sep 12-13, 2024 | Official reports on the National Library's visit are published. | 18 | N/A | The National Library concludes that conditions remain "inadequate" and pose a risk of "permanent damage" to the collection. A full revision of library materials is needed. |
The chronic neglect of the Ulcinj library cannot be attributed solely to a lack of resources. While the Center for Culture operates with a minimal budget, a broader analysis of the municipality's finances, its access to external funding, and its administrative priorities reveals that the library's decay is a consequence of choice and mismanagement, not inescapable poverty. The institutional paralysis described in Part II has created a state of self-inflicted financial isolation, cutting the library off from potential lifelines that are successfully utilized by other municipalities in Montenegro.
The total budget for the Municipality of Ulcinj for 2024 was planned at €16.1 million, with an operating budget of €11.5 million and a capital budget of €4.6 million.20 While the detailed allocation for the Center for Culture is not specified in the available documents, the overall figure provides a crucial context. The €36,200 allocated for the roof repair in 2023 represents a mere 0.22% of the total planned budget for the following year. The director of the Center for Culture, Adriana Hoxha, confirmed the financial constraints, stating that "considering our annual budget, possible investments are minimal" and that a full renovation of the library is a "bigger and more serious investment, which the Center cannot cover on its own".15 This points to a systemic underfunding of culture at the local level, where the institution's budget is insufficient for anything beyond basic operations, let alone capital maintenance.
The most compelling evidence that Ulcinj's failure is a matter of local management rather than a nationwide problem comes from the National Library's visit in September 2024. On the same day the delegation found the Ulcinj library in an "inadequate" state, they also visited the Public Library "Ivo Vučković" in the neighboring coastal city of Bar.18 The contrast could not be more stark.
The report from that visit states that the library in Bar "achieves excellent results in all fields".18 It specifically commends the fact that "the procurement of materials follows all the needs and demands of the users, because the budget allocated for that purpose can satisfy this important segment of library activity".18 While the Bar library also faces challenges with space, its core functions—collection development and service delivery—are soundly funded by its municipality. This direct, side-by-side comparison demonstrates that other Montenegrin municipalities are capable of adequately supporting their public libraries. The crisis in Ulcinj is therefore not a reflection of a national inability to fund culture, but a specific failure of the Ulcinj municipality.
The municipality's failure extends beyond its direct budgetary allocations. Its prolonged inaction on the legal status of the Center for Culture has effectively severed the institution's access to a wide array of national and international funding opportunities. Numerous programs exist to support cultural heritage in Montenegro, but applying for them requires a legally compliant and administratively sound organization.
The inability to tap into these resources is a direct consequence of the governance crisis. The municipality has not only failed to provide sufficient direct funding for the library, but its administrative negligence has also prevented the library from seeking funding for itself. This constitutes a profound, multi-layered failure of stewardship.
This financial and administrative mismanagement is enabled by a lack of transparency. A 2018 report by the Institute Alternative, an NGO, analyzed the openness of local budgets in Montenegro and found Ulcinj to be among the worst performers. At the time of the research, the municipality's website had published only one budgetary document (the 2018 budget decision), depriving citizens and civil society organizations of the information needed to scrutinize public spending and hold officials accountable.26 Local NGOs, such as New Horizon, have been active in advocating for fair and transparent processes for the allocation of municipal funds, but they face an opaque system.27 This lack of transparency creates an environment where neglecting key public services like the library can occur with little public oversight or political consequence.
The case of the Biblioteka Ulqin - Ulcinj is a powerful story of institutional decay, where the tangible ruin of a building is a direct reflection of an intangible collapse in governance. The evidence points not to a single cause, but to a confluence of systemic failures: a decade of legal non-compliance, chronic underfunding, performative and insufficient repairs, and a profound lack of political will at the municipal level. For the purpose of an artistic intervention, this complex tragedy offers several potent themes that can be translated into a compelling public narrative.