propulsion

I love meetings in big companies.

Usually, I go to share ideas with someone important, to give a decision-maker insight into how my team and I think about corporate social responsibility—what we know, what we could do together. Everything about it excites me: I relish planning the ingredients for the verbal cocktail I’ll serve, fine-tuning the perfect mix of humor, seriousness, business proposals, and casual chatter. It thrills me to remember what they mentioned was important last time we met, what was supposed to deliver results by now, so I can ask about it—people really appreciate that. The most satisfying little details, though, are the business manners that go with it—what I’ll wear, which pen to bring, whether I’ll drive, get a ride, or just walk. (A Balzacian description of my simple trade: I sell. The numbers say I’m good at it.)

Eight times out of ten, I’m meeting a powerful, highly capable woman at the peak of her career—mid-thirties, in charge of communications, sometimes marketing and innovation for the company or even the entire group. That’s just how it is in my line of work: social responsibility, CSR, almost always falls under communications.

But in conversations with these impressive women, I learn that their job titles are just the tip of the iceberg. Without fail, they’re also heading the corporate foundation (if the company has one), juggling internal and external comms, putting out every business fire that flares up, staying in constant contact with top management, wrangling a chaotic flock of agencies, consultants, and subcontractors, and overseeing million-dollar (or dinar) PR and marketing budgets. On top of all that, they’re the ones deciding where to invest in the community, all while under insane pressure to deliver both a positive social impact and an impeccable corporate image—oh, and, if possible, double-digit sales growth this quarter. As if that weren’t enough, here’s the kicker: these powerhouse women usually hold the title of Communications Director, but with no team to direct, no one to delegate to—they carry the weight of the company (and the world) on their shoulders alone. And they do it so well that the rest of us in the business (read: men) should be ashamed. It’s even more obvious when you look at their personal achievements: one of the most successful women I know in this league is also a decorated triathlete, another runs an organic orchard and farm outside Belgrade, and a third (when, for God’s sake?!) walks fashion runways in her free time. Their family lives are rich, complex, and mostly on their shoulders.

The other day, I listened to Jovana Tufegdžić, External Communications Manager at Coca-Cola HBC, at a summer gathering by Represent Communications. With effortless cool, she explained how there has to be a clear link between a company’s core business and its good-cause initiatives—“so there’s always time and people to make a CSR project happen, the budget, everything falls into place when the idea is good.” I listened and thought: “Yeah, sure, it all magically falls into place—after she’s already planned and set it all in motion while juggling a hundred other things, like all her colleagues do!” Then it hits me: while I’m out here picking out fountain pens and ties, telling myself these little details spark new ideas, the truth is—they have nothing to do with making a real impact. It’s just vanity.

Without Jovana, and so many other women who create real value—without those who are both the boss and the powerhouse, the ones who get it all done—without them, we (our companies, these articles you’re reading, society itself) would’ve gone straight to hell.

So, did you pick out a pocket square this morning? Me too. But let’s be real—we all know who’s here to pose, and who’s here to work.

A funeral in some village on Zlatibor. They know me here—”Cica and Miloš’s boy”—so everyone’s asking, “Where are you, what are you up to, have you made something of yourself?” I answer politely but keep it vague—how am I supposed to explain that I’m self-employed, that it’s a daily struggle, that I influence the careers of almost 30 people, that I’d never go for a “safe job” unlike 60% of my peers? And if I added that “my business” is almost entirely about social responsibility, they’d probably bury me right next to the deceased!

Small and medium-sized enterprises (SMEs) make up 99.8% of all businesses in the country and employ two-thirds of the workforce. If SMEs are Serbia, does that mean the contributions of the big corporations we’ve written about so far are actually irrelevant? Unlike the giants, small businesses are deeply connected to their local communities—everyone knows them, everyone relies on them, and their impact is tangible and valued, often because of the owner’s moral code. The economy’s in rough shape, so this sector often struggles just to meet basic responsibilities to employees. Though, there are exceptions.

Take “Sunce Marinković,” a PVC window manufacturer in Kragujevac, with one of the most progressive approaches—programs for employing people with disabilities, environmental protection, apprenticeships, empowering young girls, and more. Then there’s Pančevo’s “Božić i sinovi,” an e-waste management company ensuring their work has long-term, sustainable effects by promoting responsible practices. And finally, “Obuća Pavle” from Bačka Palanka stands shoulder to shoulder with the biggest companies in town when it comes to community responsibility.

While many in Serbia have some business idea (44%, to be exact), few actually act on it. And that’s fine, let’s be real. Plenty would love to have “Works at Sam svoj gazda” (Own Boss) on their profile, but not everyone’s cut out for entrepreneurship. The road to the top is tempting, but it’s also dangerous and unpredictable.

After the funeral, a dignified older woman takes my hand:
—”Maca, nice to meet you. I knew your mother—a businesswoman, a real force of nature! And what do you do, son?”
—”I run an agency that helps the most successful companies direct nearly a million euros a year toward brilliant young people and their ideas.”
Maca stays quiet, listens, smokes. She nods toward the crowd gathered to grab a bite after the burial.
—”My husband and I have been self-employed for 40 years now. We’ve hired thousands, trained hundreds. Not a single dinar do I regret! Times are tough, no lies. But you? You, son, are an emperor. Forget these folks.”

I head home a little embarrassed but also deeply proud. That’s all of us, really: if, despite all the Scyllas and Charybdises you have to navigate just to keep your bakery, café, workshop, or small production alive… you still find the strength to make your business give back to the community and lift it up, not just profit from it—then you’re already a hero.

Immediately updating my Facebook: “Works at Sama svoja carica” (Queen of Her Own Destiny). Signed, Maca and me.