He was, heart and soul, bound to Vojvodina. However, those who ingratiated themselves with politicians, receiving authority and promotion to influence the cultural development of the province, saw his dedication as intrusive.
To be honest, I was surprised when I found his letters from 1935–1936, written to Vasa Stajić, the president of Matica Srpska, in the manuscript department of Matica Srpska. In these letters, Bogdan sharply protests the actions of the Literary Committee toward the young, progressive writers of Vojvodina. The tone of these letters was a revelation to me – a testament to his courage and determination. Even then, he recognized the presence of envy and, more so, the clan-based partiality – against which it was difficult to fight with mere work and deeds. He understood these obstacles but was too powerless to overcome them, just as he was not strong enough to break his sincere and burdensome understanding of integrity.
Bogdan was kind-hearted – though this may not fully capture the essence of his character. He was no coward. His personality was largely shaped by his caring mother, to whom he was deeply attached. Although she had three sons, he was her favorite. He returned this love genuinely, and she, as he told me, passed away in his arms, surrounded by his care and attention.
This deep maternal love, along with her constant concern for his health, instilled a sense of fear in his otherwise brave nature. Evidence of his courage is also found in his decision to leave the security of state service – whether as a high school professor, a functionary in the Serbian National Theater, or other institutions. Choosing a life of independent work in the fields of journalism and literature, in such conditions, required a level of boldness beyond ordinary courage.
He published his own newspaper and, in various ways, struggled to remain independent, free from the influence of any clans or individuals. His life was a constant battle – not just for survival, but for a life of dignity. Finding the right publishers for his many books in such an environment was something only a truly persistent and determined man could achieve. He himself said that many of his manuscripts remained in the drawers of responsible individuals at the Serbian National Theater in Novi Sad, far more than ever got published or performed.
He endured this life until the end, proving that, at his core, he was a proud, hardworking, and courageous man. Perhaps he wasn’t even fully aware of it, but he was truly an exceptionally brave individual.
He was also unique in his willingness to write about topics that were not entirely within his immediate focus. Through hard work and perseverance, he managed to master these subjects to such an extent that even the most knowledgeable critics could never seriously fault him. There were occasional gaps or oversights, but they were always on the margins of the main content of his works, and even when criticism was negative, it mostly remained focused on the peripheral parts of his books or articles.
It is perhaps natural for every person to be made up of numerous contradictions, which also reflect in their character. I never really thought about this until I found myself analyzing – if it’s not too pretentious to say – certain actions of Bogdan Čiplić.
Under the strong influence of his parents, especially his mother, he remained with them in Novi Sad during World War II. He held the position of not only a professor but also the assistant director of the Gymnasium. Knowing how deeply he was influenced by his younger brother Miloje, I believe he saw this decision as a sacrifice he made for the sake of his parents, rather than acting according to his conscience.
I remember our meeting in November 1944, just a few days after the liberation of Novi Sad. It was our first encounter after the war. When I asked him about Miloje, his response was:
– He was executed in Belgrade, and I, as someone less needed by society, survived.
These words were spoken with a certain degree of pathos, as he seemed somewhat ashamed that he had not followed his brother’s path. This is, of course, my judgment made in the moment of reflecting on that conversation, as I write these lines.
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