Milosevic

by Adam LeBor

  In the attack on Zvornik, Seselj’s Chetniks and another paramilitary group known as the White Eagles were under the command of two JNA officers. Seselj’s men were recognisable by their characteristic beards, fur caps and bandoliers of ammunition worn across their chest in a cross shape. Members of these two paramilitary groups looted and murdered at will. In contrast to the shambolic, ill-disciplined Chetniks and White Eagles, Arkan’s Tigers (a.k.a. ‘Arkanovci’) had close-cropped hair, woollen caps and military uniforms. ‘The Arkanovci, and in particular Arkan himself, are unanimously described as the key figures in the attack. During the attack operation, Arkan’s standing was reportedly above that of the commanders of the JNA, as well as that of the leading figures of the local SDS [Serbian Democratic Party],’ records the UN Commission of Experts report.24

  Arkan arrived in Zvornik on 8 April, but some of his fighters had been in position since the end of March. By this time many Serbs had left Zvornik, especially women and children, often warning their Muslim friends and neighbours that they should leave as well. After Arkan’s arrival ‘negotiations’ were opened with the Muslim leadership on the future of the town, in effect a demand for instant surrender. Snipers located in Mali Zvornik on the other side of the Drina opened fire, and a mortar barrage began. Negotiations continued the next day in Mali Zvornik. This was a local version of Milosevic’s overall Bosnian strategy to keep the Muslim leadership talking, even as the Serbs took the safety catches off their weapons. The lightly-armed Muslim fighters did not stand a chance against the JNA and the paramilitaries. By 11 April Zvornik had fallen, although a group of Muslim fighters held out at the fortress of Kulagrad for another fortnight. The dates are important because the Bosnian Serb army was not officially founded until early May. The attack on Zvornik was carried out by JNA troops that were legally part of the Yugoslav armed forces. By this time, the only republics left in Yugoslavia were Serbia and Montenegro.

  The same day that Zvornik’s Muslims were fleeing in terror, Jose Maria Mendiluce, the most senior official of the United Nations High Commission for Refugees in former Yugoslavia, was in a meeting with Milosevic in Belgrade. Milosevic sat and lied straight-faced to Mendiluce as the UN official asked him to rein in his Bosnian Serb protégés. ‘Milosevic told me, as he did throughout the conflict, that he didn’t have any control over the Bosnian Serbs, but he would try to use his moral authority.’25

  The actual result of Milosevic’s ‘moral authority’ was the blood all over the road on which Mendiluce’s jeep skidded when he arrived at the outskirts of Zvornik on his way back to Sarajevo, and the smoke and flashes from the guns positioned on the Serbian side of the river Drina. Mendiluce was detained for two hours by the Bosnian Serbs as they finished their work. ‘I could see trucks full of dead bodies. I could see militiamen taking more corpses of children, women and old people from their houses and putting them on trucks. I saw at least four or five trucks full of corpses.’26

  The capture of Zvornik had been planned in Belgrade, the paramilitary leader Vojislav Seselj said. ‘The operation had been planned for a long time. It was not carried out in any kind of nervous fashion. Everything was well organised and implemented.’27 Seselj and the paramilitaries, like virtually every one of Milosevic’s allies, soon found themselves abandoned when they had outlived their usefulness. In 1993 Milosevic’s Socialist Party attacked Seselj for abetting war profiteers and war criminals. Even Belgrade cynics looked on in amazement at the campaign Milosevic organised against his former ally, whose rampaging paramilitaries had been under the command of either the Serbian intelligence service, or the JNA. Those who had volunteered to fight for a Greater Serbia were also unceremoniously dumped by Milosevic. The War Veterans Association complained that it had no response to the three letters it had sent to Milosevic complaining about the poor treatment of both JNA soldiers and ‘volunteers’.

  One of the last serious interviews Milosevic gave the western press was in 1993 with Peter Maass, a former correspondent of the Washington Post, and author of the book Love Thy Neighbour. Maass asked Milosevic about Bosnian Serb ethnic cleansing. Milosevic sounded concerned, and said: ‘I was discussing that problem with them and they said to me there was absolutely not any policy to press any Muslim to leave their cities. For example in Banja Luka there are a lot of Muslims living equally, equally treated to the others.’28

  The Bosnian Serb leadership instituted a reign of terror in Banja Luka and its surrounding villages. The thousands of Muslim and Croat refugees expelled into nearby Croatia were comparatively lucky, escaping the horrors of northern Bosnia’s network of concentration camps. In Banja Luka the Bosnian Serbs had also committed a cultural war crime: they systematically demolished sixteen mosques, many dating back to the sixteenth century. The stone blocks once hewed by Ottoman masons were used to build a car park, or dumped outside the city. If Milosevic had wanted to know what was happening in Banja Luka, he need only have asked his wife.

  On 24 May 1993 Mira Markovic wrote in Duga magazine:

  The mosques in Banja Luka have been torn down. Banja Luka falls within the territory of the [Bosnian] Serbian Republic . . . In the middle of the 1980s, cases of vandalism and desecration of Serbian cemeteries, monuments and monasteries in Kosovo perpetrated by ethnic Albanian extremists from Kosovo shocked Yugoslavia . . . And now it is very hard for me to understand how, just a few years later, a segment of that selfsame Serbian nation is doing to another nation the selfsame things that were considered dishonourable and barbaric when happening to them.29

  An autocrat who was not used to being questioned by well-informed outsiders, Milosevic was rattled by Maass’s questions about the contradiction between the reality of his policies and Mira’s writings:

  Maass: I’ve notice that your wife in her articles in Duga has expressed opinions that are quite different from your own.

  Milosevic: How do you know that?

  Maass: Because I have had translations and people have told me about it.

  Milosevic: But how do you know that she is expressing different opinions?

  Maass: Because she seems to be very critical of Mr Karadzic and critical of the way that the Bosnian Serbs have conducted themselves.

  Milosevic: Are you critical of something which is happening in the United States?

  Maass: Yes.

  Milosevic: Of course. Any civilised intellectual has to be critical of life as it is. Do you think that I am not critical of many things which are happening here and all around Yugoslavia and Serbia. We have a lot of problems.

  With his Croatian confidant, Tudjman’s envoy Hrvoje Sarinic, Milosevic was more relaxed. When Sarinic met Milosevic in Belgrade on 12 November 1993 he asked the Serbian leader about Arkan. Milosevic laughed loudly, and said: ‘I too must have someone to do certain kinds of dirty work for me.’30

  16

  Milan Panic

  The Two Republics of Federal Yugoslavia

  1992–3

  Shut up.

  Yugoslav prime minister Milan Panic, to Serbian president

  Slobodan Milosevic at the London Conference on Bosnia,

  August 1992.1

  And then there were two. After Slovenia, Croatia, Bosnia and Macedonia declared independence and departed from Yugoslavia, only Serbia and Montenegro were left. In April 1992, these two republics formed a new state, formally known as the Federal Republic of Yugoslavia. This time Milosevic did not call for the word ‘Socialist’ to be moved to the front. Here finally was, in effect, ‘Serboslavia’, a Yugoslavia controlled by Serbia, subordinate to Serbian interests, as decided by one man. Montenegro was little more than a pliant puppet, at least at this time. Its president was Momir Bulatovic, the man dubbed ‘the waiter’ for his servile obedience to Milosevic. Unconstrained by troublesome republics seeking independence, the Serbian president was able to totally dominate the new mini-Yugoslav state.

  Milosevic ensured that the old federal structures and ministries remained in place. He argued that this Yug
oslavia was the legitimate inheritor of its predecessors, and so could keep the assets of the old Yugoslavia, and the Yugoslav seat in the United Nations. Perhaps most importantly, Milosevic also used this opportunity to cement his control over the military. Supreme command of the army now rested in the new Supreme Defence Council. This had three members: Milosevic, President of Serbia; Momir Bulatovic, President of Montenegro, and the next President of Yugoslavia.

  The question was, who should that be? A new country demanded a fresh face at its head. Milosevic turned to Dusan Mitevic. Although Mitevic had been sacked from his position at Belgrade Television a year earlier, behind the scenes he remained a key Milosevic adviser. ‘Milosevic asked me who we should have as president. I said nobody from the Socialist Party. He said, then who should we have, if not one of us? I said let’s take someone from the opposition. I suggested Dobrica Cosic.’2

  It was an imaginative idea. At this time there was talk of Otto Habsburg becoming president of neighbouring Slovenia. Within Serbia the nationalist revival had reawakened interest in the country’s own royal family. History, and tradition – these would coat the third Yugoslavia with a veneer of legitimacy. Still Milosevic had doubts. Cosic was the intellectual godfather of Serbian nationalism. What would Mira say when he went home and told her this? And would Cosic accept? After a brief honeymoon in 1990 the intellectuals had fallen out with Milosevic, realising that at heart Milosevic was an autocrat motivated by power, not a Serb who believed in patriotism and the glories of the ‘heavenly people’. Mitevic recalled: ‘I told Milosevic that difficult times were coming, that we were a country in transition, we should think democratically, and get someone who will not put us in prison later. Apart from Milovan Djilas, we only had one dissident in the last thirty years, and that was Cosic.’

  Milosevic considered his position. He knew that he was in trouble on both the diplomatic and home fronts. With two wars on its borders, its economy collapsing under sanctions, its nascent democratic institutions wrecked, this third version of Yugoslavia was not a very mighty construct. Its citizens were tired, confused and weary of war. International outrage about the brutality of Serb ethnic cleansing was turning Yugoslavia into a leper state. Germany, in particular the foreign minister Hans-Dietrich Genscher, had forced through the diplomatic recognition of Croatia and Slovenia, over the heads of other EU countries. Croatia was eternally grateful to its former wartime ally. Croats sang along to a new popular song, ‘Danke Deutschland’. The Café Genscher opened in the Adriatic port of Split. Clearly, the world was changing, and perhaps Serbia should change with it.

  Increasingly, Serbs were simply not willing to fight in Milosevic’s wars. The JNA had been wracked by desertions. One soldier drove his armoured personnel carrier back to Belgrade and parked it in front of the parliament. Another shot himself in the head in front of his commanding officer. Others stripped off their uniforms and escaped through the borderland woods into Hungary. In March 1992 the Serbian patriarch, seen as the country’s spiritual father, held a mass at Belgrade’s St Sava church for the victims of the street protests a year before. When the service was broadcast live on Belgrade Television, Milosevic ordered the programme taken off air.

  Angry and ashamed, many Serbs began to turn against their leader. Protestors took to the streets, pitching tents in downtown Belgrade. Milosevic was unnerved, fearing a rerun of the street protests of March 1991. Crowds were one of Milosevic’s favourite political weapons, but he knew that a mob could be a two-edged sword. Like a pack of wolves, crowds sensed weakness in their prey. ‘Just you wait, Slobodan, Ceausescu awaits you,’ the protesters chanted in Belgrade. Students and young people used imaginative agit-prop to get their message across: the parliament was wrapped in a giant black ribbon to protest against the siege of Sarajevo. Parents joined the demonstrations, calling for the return of their sons from the frontlines in Bosnia. Milosevic even appeared on television to try and calm the situation and proclaimed that Serbia was not at war, and no Serbian soldiers were serving outside the republic. Perhaps a part of Milosevic even believed it. In Belgrade, some began to question his grip.

  Confronted with the disastrous reality of his policies, Milosevic reverted to denial, outright mendacity and fantastical talk of wonderful economic opportunities. Warren Zimmerman’s last meeting with Milosevic, on 19 April 1992, was a vintage encounter. The US ambassador came to dinner with a carrot as well as a stick. Washington was prepared to consider ‘potential’ international acceptance for Yugoslavia if Serbia reversed ethnic cleansing, and withdrew the JNA from Bosnia. The meeting started at 7.30 p.m. Meanwhile servants laid out dinner in the adjacent room – grilled lamb, plates of vegetables and bottles of wine and fruit brandy.

  Just ten days before, the Bosnian city of Zvornik had fallen to a combined force of JNA troops and paramilitaries. Milosevic, initially conciliatory, listened carefully to Zimmerman’s arguments of Serb and JNA involvement in the ethnic cleansing of Bosnia. He then claimed: ‘No armed Serb irregulars have crossed into Bosnia.’ Eventually Milosevic admitted that Arkan was indeed in Bosnia, but only as a ‘bodyguard’ for one of the Bosnian Serb leaders. And so it went on. Milosevic claimed that: ‘Violence in Bosnia is not in Serbia’s interest; we have no territorial pretensions in Bosnia. We favour the European Community negotiations. Those shelling Sarajevo – if the shelling is really happening – are criminals.’3

  It is hard to know what Milosevic was thinking. Did he really believe that the ambassador of the most powerful country in the world, with extensive intelligence services, and spy satellites that could read a car numberplate, did not know what was happening in Bosnia and who was responsible? Perhaps Milosevic, like many Serbian politicians, was suffering from ‘a concept deficit.’4 At one press conference in Geneva a journalist had asked the Bosnian Serb leader Radovan Karadzic about the first priority to rebuild the country. ‘We will need a lot of glass,’ replied Karadzic. ‘We have many broken windows.’ At a previous meeting with Zimmerman, on 6 April, Milosevic had also flatly denied that a single Serb was serving in Bosnia. He had described Arkan – among whose many business interests was an upmarket patisserie – as a ‘simple sweetshop owner’. Little wonder that Zimmerman dubbed Milosevic the ‘Teflon dictator’.

  After three and a half hours of hard talking, Zimmerman, Milosevic and their officials retired to eat. The lamb was now coated with cold fat, and the vegetables had wilted. Still, Milosevic waxed lyrical about Yugoslavia’s economic potential. ‘With its efficient agriculture, energy resources, and key location for transportation – plus a free market – it will be in a strong position to attract foreign investment. Why only this week we were approached by French businessmen about a project for building a high-speed train.’ At the end of the meal, Milosevic, perhaps made sentimental by his memories of New York, made a plea for friendship with the Americans. ‘I’m not so bad, am I? Am I such a black sheep?’5 Zimmerman was speechless.

  Milosevic had a sentimental attachment to the United States. Fuelled by Viljamovka pear brandy, he often recalled his days as a banker in New York and his shopping trips on Fifth Avenue. Although Milosevic was a Balkan bully, part of him craved the respect of the most powerful country in the world, and its envoys as well. Not long after their dinner, Zimmerman was recalled to Washington, D.C., in protest at Milosevic’s policies in Bosnia. Perhaps that snub brought back the anger Milosevic had felt in 1989 when no western ambassadors attended the Gazimestan spectacle. Zimmerman’s leaving party was marred by an unpleasant incident: his garden was invaded by a gang of sinister hoodlums who began spraying insecticide all around.

  * * *

  Meanwhile, the more Milosevic thought about Dusan Mitevic’s suggestion, the more it made sense. His natural instinct was to exclude everyone outside his immediate circle from any position of power or influence. But co-opting Cosic would be more subtle. Cosic was second in stature perhaps only to the Serbian Patriarch. His appointment would legitimise the third Yugoslavia, and help defus
e domestic opposition. Persuaded by Milosevic’s arguments that he would be doing his Serbian patriotic duty, Dobrica Cosic accepted.

  As Serbian president, Milosevic controlled the Serbian government and the Serbian parliament. He also controlled the Yugoslav parliament through his loyalist MPs, who would ratify his choice of Yugoslav president and prime minister. Milosevic asked Dusan Mitevic if he had any ideas for suitable prime ministerial candidates. Mitevic suggested Milan Panic, an émigré Yugoslav cycling champion who had defected in 1955. Arriving in the United States a penniless immigrant. Panic had built up a successful pharmaceutical business, ICN, based in California. Panic had invested heavily in Serbia, buying up the Galenika pharmaceutical factory.

  Mitevic introduced the two men to each other. ‘It was love at first sight. Panic is an open and good-hearted man. Milosevic was a banker who understood business. Milosevic was telling Panic how important privatisation was.’6 Mitevic saw Panic’s appointment as a chance for Serbia to democratise and move away from one-party control. ‘I thought we should work peacefully with the opposition parties. That’s why I brought in Panic. My idea was that instead of presenting ourselves as a Communist country, we would have a rich American imperialist as prime minister.’ After a long drunken dinner, Milosevic offered Panic the prime ministership of Yugoslavia. After ensuring that he could keep his US citizenship, Panic accepted.

  Milosevic’s plan was that Panic, with his contacts in Washington and the business world, would be the modern, western, face of Yugoslavia. The sun-tanned capitalist would be Milosevic’s front-man, whom he could use to defuse the growing international outcry over Serbia’s actions in Bosnia. Milosevic was wrong. Before Panic was even officially inaugurated as Yugoslav prime minister he demanded that Milosevic resign. He proposed that the Milosevic family move to California, where Milosevic would take up his old profession of banker, on a fat salary with plenty of perks. For a while, Milosevic appeared, or more likely pretended, to consider this. This proposal was not well received at home. Mira was not willing to sacrifice her Balkan intrigues for Baywatch.