Yugoslavia officially ceased to exist on 4 February 2003. On that day, the last two republics of what had been a six-republic federation reorganized as the State Union of Serbia and Montenegro; and after that day, there was no longer such a place as Yugoslavia on the map of Europe. Yet the original Yugoslavia, the one that the world had known from 1945 through the end of the Cold War, had died long before – a bloody and protracted death – and Laura Silber and Allan Little capture the Yugoslav nation’s death throes quite well in their 1996 book Yugoslavia: Death of a Nation.
Authors Silber, from the Financial Times, and Little, from BBC radio and television, bring to their writing of Yugoslavia: Death of a Nation years of on-the-ground reporting on the tragedy of the 1990’s wars in the former Yugoslavia. As they are British, they understand that a large part of their task consists in making the intricate politics of that part of the Balkans accessible to an English-speaking, Western audience. It is helpful, therefore, that Silber and Little include not only a wealth of maps and photographs but also an eight-page “cast of characters” – something that you may find yourself turning to many times as you read this book.
Many who are old enough to remember the outbreak of the Yugoslav wars may have initially found the region's descent into violence surprising. After all, just eight years earlier a viewer of the opening ceremonies of the 1984 Winter Olympic Games in Sarajevo might have seen performers in traditional garb from Bosnia, Croatia, Macedonia, Montenegro, Serbia, and Slovenia – singing in perfect harmony, dancing in graceful circles, while TV journalists remarked happily on how nice it was that these lovely people, who used to quarrel a good bit back in the day, now all got on so wonderfully well.
But there was discord underneath that seemingly perfect harmony. Close observers of the Yugoslav scene would have known that that picture of peaceful multiculturalism masked histories that were strongly different and viewpoints that were potentially opposed, depending on one’s cultural and religious background. Silber and Little aptly point out that the perspectives of a Bosniak Muslim, a Roman Catholic Croat, and an Eastern Orthodox Serb might be quite different, especially when it came to historic events like the Ottoman Empire’s 600-year occupation of all or part of Yugoslavia:
A fundamental difference among the three national groups was the collective perception of their historical experience. The Serbs, for example, regarded the Ottoman period as an age of occupation. For the Muslims it was an era which saw the creation and subsequent prosperity of their own particular élite. For decades, these contradictory perceptions had coexisted, but by 1990, the rise of Serbian nationalism had turned history into the purveyor of hatred. (p. 209)
A key perpetrator of that rise of Serbian nationalism, in those post-Cold War days of the early 1990’s, was Slobodan Milošević. Indeed, it was with dizzying speed that Serb leaders like Milošević, who just a few years earlier had been advocating an international socialist brotherhood that spurned petty nationalism, suddenly morphed into Serb superpatriots. They wept over the Serbian knights’ defeat by the Ottoman forces at the Battle of Kosovo Polje in 1389, and they vowed “revenge.” And since one cannot really take revenge against an empire that went out of existence in 1922, they would take revenge against whatever surrogate enemies could be found.
As separatist movements began in republics like Slovenia and Croatia, Milošević transformed the Yugoslav People’s Army – the Jugoslovenska narodna armija or JNA – from a multicultural national defence force to a de facto Serb militia. Silber and Little point out how “Milošević was to wrench the JNA away from its historic purpose, which was to preserve the Yugoslav state, toward a wholly different goal” – one of “protecting the Serbs outside Serbia and of forging a new territorial entity. Gradually, the Yugoslav Army would become, in its over-riding military objective, and eventually, in its ethnic composition and ideology, the army of Greater Serbia” (p. 114).
Milošević’s goal, his Velika Srbija or “Greater Serbia,” would have involved taking land from neighbouring Yugoslav republics – chiefly from Bosnia and Croatia; and while republics like Slovenia and Macedonia, with no significant Serb minority, could leave Yugoslavia with little or no violence, Bosnia and Croatia, with substantial Serb populations, erupted into war at its most hideous. All of us who were of the age of reason at that time remember the photos of emaciated Bosniak men held in concentration camps run by the Bosnian Serb Army – images that inescapably recalled the Nazi death camps of the Second World War. And with those images, a chilling new phrase entered the global lexicon: etničko čišćenje – “ethnic cleansing.”
To read Yugoslavia: Death of a Nation is to read a long and grotesque litany of monstrous war crimes, as with the July 1995 massacre by Bosnian Serb forces of Muslim men and boys at Srebrenica in eastern Bosnia. Srebrenica, as Silber and Little explain, was supposed to be a “safe area” under protection by United Nations forces; but the number of United Nations Protection Force (UNPROFOR) troops assigned to protect Srebrenica was grossly inadequate, and it had already been decided in Washington that Srebrenica was “unsustainable.” That “lack of international commitment” to protection of a terribly vulnerable community led to one of the most infamous horrors of the Bosnian War:
The fall of Srebrenica was the darkest moment in international involvement in Bosnia. UNPROFOR did nothing to stop the murder of perhaps as many as 8,000 Muslim men. Some were killed after having surrendered, believing the UN would protect them, others were hunted down while trying to escape to Bosnian government-held territory, and others committed suicide, unable to endure the harrowing trek to safe ground. (p. 345)
As the war dragged on, a revitalized Croatian Army successfully drove Serb separatists out of Croatian territory; and eventually, a peace accord was hammered out at a U.S. Air Force base in Dayton, Ohio - one that restored the international boundaries that had existed between and among the Yugoslav republics before the wars. But for a visitor to any of the contemporary republics of the former Yugoslavia, the impression that is likely to come through most clearly is of a region that remains noticeably on edge.
Having visited five of the six former Yugoslav republics, I can tell you that the people are delightful, the landscape wonderful, the culture fascinating. At the same time, sooner or later one sees a poster calling for the release of a general who was convicted of war crimes, or a bumper sticker on which one republic occupies all of the former Yugoslavia, or a photo on a building showing what that building looked like when it was bombarded by the other side’s artillery – or one hears a radio broadcaster explaining earnestly how the whole problem is the result of nationalism on the other side of the border. It feels as if it all happened quite recently – which, in a way, it did – and as if it could all start over again at any time.
Silber and Little’s bleak concluding assessment is that “in the post-Cold War world there is…no international will to protect the weak against the strong”, leaving “the lesson that to win freedom and security for one’s people requires neither a sound argument nor a good cause but a big army. Victory, in former Yugoslavia, will fall not to the just but to the strong” (p. 390). Reading Yugoslavia: Death of a Nation on a visit to Ljubljana, I found myself hoping that I was reading history only, and not an illustration of the shape of things to come in that beautiful and troubled part of the world.