On 28 June, we celebrated the most important, if not the most sacred day of the year in this part of the world: Vidovdan. It’s in honour of the Battle of Kosovo back in 1389, when the Serbian kingdom was defeated by the Ottoman Empire. Today Milosevic still raves against the hated Muslims for the defeat at Kosovo six hundred years ago as much as he raves against the hated Croatians for siding with the Nazis just fifty years ago. Those are his twin justifications for all of this, for the siege, the war, the murder and mayhem. It’s revenge, no more, no less.
If there’s a higher interest, a worthwhile cause, can that be made to justify everything? These men hang onto their higher interests like little flags they wave in the air as they head off to slaughter their enemy. But are the people they’re fighting even the enemy? Some of them are attempting to slaughter their friends, some their own families, but if they’re carrying their little flags it doesn’t seem to matter. The slaughter itself is their raison d’être, this higher interest is their excuse.
It was strange to celebrate a defeat, but after endless glasses of Slivovitz, and barbecuing a whole pig over the fire, it did begin to seem sensible, natural, possibly even desirable.
I was also celebrating – without telling the others – the release, after several weeks, of some UN peacekeepers, amongst them some British men, who’d been used as human shields by Radovan Karadzic to prevent further NATO air strikes on Pale and Gorazda. I’m not aware of feeling any allegiance to my country of birth, so was puzzled that I felt any pleasure at their release. I’ll have to try to work that one out.
Despite all the camaraderie, the dancing and singing, the campsite is one of those crowded places that somehow manages to throw into sharp relief the solitariness of man. I’m very aware that just to the north, on the other side of the hill, barely visible against the night sky, is a city, also crowded, silent and black, hiding in the darkness from us, making us feel even more secluded than we do already.
It certainly tends to dampen my feelings of jubilation.