Any reader of a biography is entitled to know the relationship between author and subject. This is not an authorised work; I have neither sought, nor received Slobodan Milosevic’s consent. Nor has he seen the manuscript before publication. However, I thought it right that he know about my project. The former Serbian leader is forbidden from speaking to journalists and writers but he authorised his wife Mira Markovic to grant me a lengthy interview in Belgrade, for which I am grateful. So to some extent, Milosevic’s voice, or at least his opinions, may be heard throughout the book in his wife’s words.
The Milosevic era was a time of great destruction; many lives were lost and others damaged for ever. The fate of the former Yugoslavia, understandably, can arouse furious passions. I offer here some ground rules for readers. The reference to any named person, or the inclusion of their words, does not imply their agreement with the book’s overall contents. (Neither, of course, does it exclude that possibility.) Regarding spellings and terminology: I have used anglicised versions of place names, such as Belgrade rather than Beograd. I have also used terms commonly accepted in the West to describe disputed places and regions. There is no political sub-text here of approval for one or another nation’s competing claims. To write of Krajina for example, is not to belittle Croatian sovereignty, just as using the word Kosovo, rather than the Albanian term Kosova, brings with it no judgement. Referring to Bosnia, rather than Bosnia-Herzegovina, is merely a convenience.
I have also adopted a political shorthand, reducing such titles as ‘Chairman of the Presidium of the Central Committee of the League of Communists of Serbia’ to ‘head of the Serbian Communist Party’. I refer to the Serbian or Yugoslav ‘Communist Party’, rather than its actual title of the ‘League of Communists’. My only aim is to ease the comprehension of the reader, many of whom will not be Balkan experts.
On a different note, I was fortunate to find in the library of my great friend Erwin Tuil an enthralling book called The Balkans from Within, written at the turn of the century by Reginald Wyon, a British foreign correspondent. Like all of us who reported on that captivating and infuriating region, he was dazzled by its physical beauty, rich cultural heritage and boundless hospitality of its peoples. Puzzled too, at the concurrent ease with which they could set about each other with weapons. Reading The Balkans from Within, it sometimes seemed only dates and names change. (Which is not to support the weary claim that the Yugoslav wars of the 1990s were the inevitable result of ‘ancient ethnic hatreds’. They were not, as this book attempts to make clear.)
Wyon gives several accounts of meetings with a man called Hilmi Pacha. Pacha was a sly and wily Ottoman functionary in today’s Macedonia, charged with implementing reforms, a task he carried out with only enough enthusiasm to maintain his own grip on power. As I researched the life of Slobodan Milosevic, Hilmi Pacha became an ever more familiar figure. Wyon’s timeless observations on Balkan power play, I hope, add an extra layer.
In a sense this is a work in progress. The Milosevic trial continues as this book goes to press, and could do so until some time in 2004. As events at The Hague unfold, and more witnesses appear, many episodes here are likely to be further clarified and illuminated. I hope in future editions to make use of such material. The life and times of Slobodan Milosevic make a lengthy and complicated story. I have striven for accuracy, but any mistakes are mine.