Milosevic (57 page)

If one purpose of the ICTY is to promote eventual reconciliation, then the former Bosnian Serb leader Biljana Plavsic made some small amends for the crimes committed by the Bosnian Serb army. Plavsic had initially pleaded not guilty to war crimes, crimes against humanity and genocide. But she later pleaded guilty to one count of persecution, and the other charges were dropped. Shortly before the end of her hearing in December 2002 she made a dramatic courtroom confession, a
mea culpa
that resounded across the former Yugoslavia. ‘The knowledge that I am responsible for such human suffering and for soiling the character of my people will always be with me,' she said. Serbs had committed crimes out of ‘a blinding fear that led to an obsession, especially among those of us for whom the Second World War was living memory, that Serbs would never again allow themselves to become victims,' she told the court. ‘In this obsession of ours to never again become victims, we had allowed ourselves to become victimisers.'
¹⁹

While some dismissed it as empty words, others saw the first glimmerings of the process of a public coming to terms with the bloody events that had torn the country apart. On February 28 she was sentenced to eleven years in prison, which at the age of seventy-two
was, in effect, a life sentence. ‘This is nothing compared to what misery I have seen in my life,' she said in Belgrade before returning to The Hague for sentencing. ‘This is the end of a road which I started a long time ago.'
²⁰

Yugoslavia too has come to the end of the road. In February 2003 the country officially changed its name to Serbia-Montenegro. Laconic Belgraders have already dubbed the country S&M, or ‘Solania', in honour of the EU's foreign policy chief Javier Solana who brokered the deal. One of the first acts of the new parliament was to amend a law to allow more extraditions to the ICTY. But the union of the two republics is unlikely to last long, and it seems likely that both Serbia and Montenegro will within the near future become independent states, the final stage in the process of dissolution that began in 1991.

Historians may debate for decades whether Yugoslavia was a viable entity, but when the forces seeking to break it apart became stronger than those holding it together, it was clear the centre could not hold. War, however, was never inevitable, despite the fact that Serbs – and other nationalities – were spread outside the borders of their home republics. By the end of the twentieth century the craft of statehood was flexible enough to assuage the fears of some Serbs that they were about to be stranded under a unfriendly flag. National autonomy, cultural autonomy, confederation, joint or multiple-citizenship across free and open borders, the list of possible solutions for national and ethnic questions is endless – if the political will is there. Czechoslovakia separated in a smooth and peaceful disassociation, so did – more or less – the Soviet Union, which was potentially far more explosive than Yugoslavia.

Would Yugoslavia have broken apart without Milosevic? Despite his central role, it is too simplistic to blame one man for the destruction of the federation. Perhaps if Ivan Stambolic had triumphed in 1987 at the Eighth Session, Balkan history may have taken a different and more peaceful course. But Milosevic was not a strange aberration in Serbian history. He was part of its continuum and dynamic, a heroic figure around whom a fractious and beleaguered people united, well rooted in Serbian national mythology.

With hindsight it is not surprising that Milosevic should have found such ready support in the late 1980s and early 1990s. These were troubled and frightening times for the Serbs, for all Yugoslavs. The multi-national state in which many Serbs had believed was revealed
as a Balkan Potemkin village, with no foundation. It was natural for them to seek a protector. The Slovenes had Milan Kucan, ready to lead the northern republic into a bright new European dawn, no matter what the cost of the chain reaction this would trigger. The Croats were hero-worshipping Franjo Tudjman, a man determined to rehabilitate the symbols of the Ustasha regime. The Bosnian Muslims had Alija Izetbegovic, a former Islamic dissident. In that sense, Milosevic was an obvious leader, especially after he visited Kosovo and declared that Serbs there would be beaten no longer. As Mira Markovic noted, ‘It is very simple, if I protect you, you begin to love me.'
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The break up of Yugoslavia was not peaceful. War was a deliberate choice, supported by enough of the Serbian military and political elite to ensure that Milosevic remained in power. Slovenia, Croatia and Bosnia also all prepared for conflict. As Mira Markovic argued:

The most efficient means of ruining a multi-ethnic country was using nationalism and nationalist hatred. The love among Czechs and Slovaks was not so strong, but the love between the peoples of Yugoslavia was very strong, and that is why the disintegration was so painful. I think the Yugoslav nations loved each other very much. Our relations were strong, and that is why our separation was bloody and hard. Yugoslavia died for a long time, and I think it is because we really wanted to be together. Maybe I am wrong, but I think that big loves break up in a difficult manner, while weaker ones are easier to separate.'
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The Serbs' love for Milosevic brought them nothing but disaster. Kosovo Serbs are no longer being beaten, because they are no longer there. A few struggle on in isolated enclaves, surrounded by vengeful Albanians and protected by the United Nations, but most have fled, and are unlikely ever to return. Homes, jobs, businesses and land have all been abandoned for a meagre welcome in mother Serbia. There they may struggle to build new lives in competition with their brethren from Croatia and Bosnia. The historic Serb communities of Krajina, brought north by the Habsburgs to protect Europe from Ottoman incursions, have also vanished for ever. As for Bosnia, Republika Srpska is a wasteland, its economy and society as wrecked as the minarets of the mosques blown up by Serb demolition squads.

Yet the ICTY, and the efforts of Serbs themselves are finally shining
a spotlight on the darkest stains on the country's history, such as the Srebrenica massacre. ‘People know as much as they want to,' said Aleksandar Nenadovic, former editor of
Politika
newspaper.

Even during the war we had foreign papers on sale in the centre of Belgrade, and you could listen to the BBC or watch satellite television. But the average man would have only about heard of the ugly things being done to the Serbs. The simplest truth is to say that ‘We are victims, look what they have done to us'. When you believe that, it's so easy to get rid of any curiosity to find out more. That the Serbs were shooting at Sarajevo for years, shooting at innocent people; that some of our writers went there with a machine gun, the average Serb doesn't know.'
²³

In Belgrade, across Serbia, there is a stuttering attempt to come to terms with the legacy of the Milosevic era and its tragic human cost. But high on the slopes of Sarajevo's Lions Cemetery, where the rows of grave markers stand in silent vigil, and in the killing fields of Srebrenica, where shards of bone poke through the earth, there is only silence.

Milosevic at school in Pozarevac during the 1950s. For many young people these were times of great hope and idealism.

Milosevic and Ivan Stambolic (
left
), his closest friend and former mentor, shake hands in 1986. Just one year later Milosevic would oust him in a ruthless act of betrayal.

Milosevic addresses a crowd of over half a million at Gazimestan in Kosovo on 28 June 1989 to mark the six hundredth anniversary of Serbia's defeat by the Turks at the battle of Kosovo Polje. The event crowned Milosevic as the unrivalled leader if the Serbs.

Croatian President Franjo Tudjman together with Milosevic in Belgrade in April 1991. The two men's nations were descending into war, but they readily agreed on the need to divide Bosnia between them.

A Bosnian man mourns the loss of his wife and daughter at the Lion Cemetery, Sarajevo, June 1993.

Two boys rummage through the remains of the Bosnian state library, destroyed by Bosnian Serb artillery, Serb gunners deliberately targeted cultural and religious institutions as they laid siege to the city.