; the people killed there, and their relatives, however, would have called the place Reçak.This book has many authors but is intended—and designed—to be read as a single, coherent text. This note explains how to read the book, and introduces its particular features, such as the special chronological index. It also provides a guide to the book’s usage of names from the former Yugoslavia—a topic nearly as contested as the events at trial themselves.
This book’s approach is intensively cross-disciplinary, engaging the range of implications for law, politics, and society that modern war crimes trials create. It places the Milošević trial and its impact in a broad context relevant to thinkers and policy makers interested not only in this trial or the wars in Yugoslavia, but their practical lessons for other conflicts and other courts.
To this end, The Milošević Trial—An Autopsy brings together three distinct groups of authors: leading scholars of ICL, practitioners who worked on the case itself or at the Tribunal, and scholars or area studies specialists with expertise in the former Yugoslavia.* A key component is the inclusion of voices from the former Yugoslavia—many authors are from the former Yugoslavia, and many others have close personal and professional ties to the region.
The book has been developed through an intensive process of collaboration among the authors, guided by close and engaged editing. As the editor, I have exercised considerable control over the chapters on questions of internal coherence, cross-referencing, and authorial voice in the interest of producing a complete, integrated text with the qualities of a single-author work. Although each author advances his own perspective, all are engaged with a common set of questions in an agreed framework, deploying similar terminology, avoiding redundant review, and addressing a consistent set of themes.
The book is organized into six main sections, with chapters in each section organized in pairs—a main chapter followed by a response from another author, which introduces interdisciplinary dialogue into each topic. (“Response” is a term of convenience, for each is a freestanding chapter. Some responses hew closely to the themes of the main chapter; others take the main chapter as a starting point for a separate argument.)
Part I, Vital Signs, provides an introduction to the trial and its context, providing a foundation and common vocabulary for the chapters that follow. Many basic facts about, or interpretations of, general events are discussed here, rather than in the chapters. Chapter 4 in particular surveys the core events and controversies of the Milošević trial, which are explored in detail in the rest of the book.
Part II, Causes of Death, examines the course of the trial itself, from the initial decision to indict through the confrontations in the courtroom over Milošević’s self-representation, as well as the implications of the Prosecution’s strategic decision to present a unified theory of liability covering the entire Yugoslav crisis.
Part III, Reporting the Demise, examines popular, political, and media reaction to the trial in Bosnia, Kosovo, and Croatia—among the victim populations—as well as in the corps of international journalists covering the trial. How did these populations and communities receive and perceive the trial? What role has the trial played in their own efforts at reconciliation?
Part IV, Final Examination, focuses specifically on the problem of the trial’s premature termination. How are we to evaluate the Milošević trial—as process, as documentary exercise, or adjudicative act—in the absence of a final verdict? Do we have a sufficient view, from the evidence and the trial process, to evaluate Milošević’s responsibility—and should we even try? Rather than simply trying to give a substitute verdict, however, the chapters in this section principally dissect claims about the uses to which the trial can or should be put.
Part V, Disposing of the Body, returns the discussion to the social and political impact of the Milošević trial and the Tribunal, here with a focus on Serbia. The crimes with which Milošević was charged mostly occurred in other areas, yet Serbia was his political base, and curiously, those hoping that the ICTY’s trials—not only Milošević, but also Karadžić and Mladić—might lead to reform and reconciliation have often assumed its greatest effects would be in Serbia. How has Serbia been affected by the trial of its long-dominant leader?
Finally, Part VI, Reanimation, considers the broader effects of the Milošević trial on the jurisprudence of the ICTY and on other courts, such as the International Court of Justice. These final chapters open a discussion of what the evidence amassed by the ICTY could be used for, and what the obstacles to its use are, now that the ICTY’s own demise is imminent. A coda—Part VII, Biopsy—concludes the book with a brief consideration of the trial’s legacy.
These sections are not hermetically sealed; Dominant themes in one section appear in others, and indeed the reader will find all the chapters extensively cross-referenced.
The chapters of this book each address a particular issue or theme; they do not present a direct chronological account of the trial. To assist the reader with an interest in following the course of the trial, this book includes features that locate the elements of its various chapters in temporal sequence.
In addition to the standard index, a special topical index allows the reader to find sections of the book that address a given subject. This index, found at xi, notes which chapters, or parts of chapters, relate to a given event. Thus, for example, several chapters discuss the introduction of the Škorpijoni video—a significant piece of evidence—and these mentions are noted together in the topical index. (Not every passing mention of an event is included in this index, only significant discussion. The regular alphabetical index includes more detailed references.)
In addition, a set of four timelines of significant events mentioned in the chapters is included at 491. These timelines include cross-references to places in the book that refer to the events. Finally, cross-references are included within the chapters themselves to alert the reader to other parts of the book that relate to the same issue. Cross-references directing the reader to another chapter generally give only the other author’s last name and relevant page numbers.
No effort has been made to achieve consensus among the many authors about the meaning of the trial—but every effort has been made to achieve consistency in voice and usage. Each author’s argument is his own, but the common issues they engage require a common vocabulary.
Several problems present themselves in this effort. Many of the places discussed have acquired new names over time—during the period of the conflict and trial, the country ruled from Belgrade changed its borders and its name several times—and those names have often reflected differing ideological perspectives or the dominance of different groups.
This would be complicated enough, but the violence with which the Milošević trial was concerned was not only a juridical matter—it was, and is, deeply emotional and political. The naming of places and events is often seen as a signal, meant to assert, defend, or wound. For victims in particular, the use of an oppressor’s or persecutor’s language can be a painful denial of victimhood and identity. Thus the massacre in January 1999 that formed the basis for the first events for which Milošević was charged in the Kosovo conflict took place at a village known, in Serbian, as Račak—or really ; the people killed there, and their relatives, however, would have called the place Reçak.
The guiding principles this book adopts are local and temporal fidelity: We use political and geographical terms corresponding with the dominant or legally recognized regime prevailing in the place at the time being discussed, not the time of writing.
Such a model presents different challenges for different parts of our subject. Whatever their other disagreements, the various parties in Bosnia, Croatia, and Serbia generally used quite similar names, differing mostly on certain orthographic conventions. But in Kosovo—Kosova—the problem is more complex. For place names there, we generally use the Serbo-Croatian name,* with the Albanian after in parentheses. Only if a later time frame is intended—for example, reference to an opinion survey conducted in a Kosovar settlement after the 2008 declaration of independence—do we use the Albanian name first, with the Serbo-Croatian after in parentheses.
These choices will not satisfy everyone, either on political or aesthetic grounds. But no political position is indicated or implied by the use of one or the other language; the reader who is looking for politics should refer to the authors’ arguments.
Indeed, some of the authors specifically criticize the ICTY’s decision to rely on Serbian usages—a model similar to the one this book adopts—arguing it had regrettable effects on the course of the trial and its reception in the former Yugoslavia. Obviously, as the editor who adopted this model (and who also contributed to its adoption in the initial Kosovo indictment in 1999†), I do not think this danger is so serious; accusing Milošević of responsibility for a massacre at Račak—rather than Reçak—still asserts that he was responsible for a massacre.
But in any event, the issue is unavoidable—some words must be used—and the solution has been to be consistent and transparent; indeed, it is an indication of this book’s dual commitment to argumentative diversity and to coherence of usage that these arguments about language are made in chapters that, nonetheless, conform to the very same common vocabulary they contest.‡
Following are some of the principles deployed in this book to ensure a common, consistent usage—the extensive list (which is only partial) itself suggests some of the fraught questions that arise merely in speaking about the conflicts that the Tribunal undertook to adjudicate, in English, through translators.
• Usage is continuous throughout the book. Terms are defined or translated at the first appearance in the book, not in each chapter. If a term is of particular importance or has not been used in a while, it may be reintroduced. Terms are defined in the glossary.
• We preserve original usage in quotations and citation to texts—if a newspaper article referred to “Milosevic” without diacritics, it appears this way. The only exception is the names of cases on ICTY documents, where use of diacritics was inconsistent; we have added them.
• We otherwise rely on the usage of the ICTY—if the ICTY referred to a place by a certain name, we generally use the same.
• We use names and abbreviations derived from local languages, with all diacritics. Although sometimes intimidating, diacritics are in fact helpful guides to pronunciation.
• Terms that have passed into common usage in English or are treated differently by convention are given in English. Thus we refer to Belgrade, not Beograd; SFRY, not the SFRJ; and the KLA, not the UÇK. Official titles that have ready equivalents in English are rendered in English: thus “President,” not “Predsednik.”
• We use “nation” to refer to an ethno-national group (narod in Serbo-Croatian), not a state.
• We use “Serb” and “Croat” to refer to the ethno-national group, “Serbian” and “Croatian” to refer to the political unit. We say “Serbian nationalism,” as by definition nationalism refers to the conjoining of a nation and a state.
• We generally use “Bosnia,” not “Bosnia and Herzegovina.”
• We generally use “Bosniak.” We use “Muslim” or “Bosnian Muslim” when context requires, as when referring to the group in earlier periods in history or if a specific distinction on religious grounds recommends it.
• For wartime Bosnian government-related entities, we use “Bosnian government,” “Bosniak” or “Bosnian Muslim,” as context suggests; we use “Muslim” only if the sense absolutely recommends it, say if ethno-religious identity is at issue.
• We use “Kosovo” as an adjective for Serbs, “Kosovar” for Albanians. “Kosovar” on its own refers to Albanians, not Serbs or “members of the population of Kosovo as a whole.”
• We distinguish between federal and republican governments in Belgrade: The federal government is never “the Serbian government,” and the Serbian government is not “Yugoslavia.” We use “Belgrade” to mean “the collective governments and informal powers centered in Belgrade,” but do so consciously when there is reason (for example, to avoid excessively long lists of entities) and when there is no risk of conflating institutions with different agendas or perspectives.
• “Serbia proper” is used when discussing its autonomous provinces, or when a direct contradistinction with Greater Serbia or other Serbian territories is required.
• “ICTY” and “Tribunal” are used interchangeably; we do not refer to the ICTY as “the Court,” which we reserve for the International Court of Justice or for municipal courts.
• Names in italics refer to a trial or trial phase. Thus “Milošević” refers to the man, “Milošević” to the trial. “Kosovo” refers to the province, but “Kosovo” refers to that phase of the trial.
• For cases with more than one accused, the names are joined with an ampersand—thus Stanišić & Simatović.
• The Milošević trial had several case numbers assigned to it. One, IT-02-54-T, was by far the most common, and when this appears on a cited document, we use the abbreviation “Milošević case;” otherwise, we use “Pros. v. Milošević,” with the specific case number appearing in the index. The case is the same.
• Notes with only citation information illustrative quotations, or brief parenthetical clarifications are found in the endnotes; if a note includes further substantive comment, it appears as a footnote.
• We generally avoid the common academic practice of using the names of scholars as the subject of sentences—as in “Prof. Jones argues.…”—instead making the content of their arguments the subject. If an article is about an academic debate, participants’ names appear. Occasionally in the response chapters, other authors are referred to directly where the sense of the argument requires this.
• Unless a chapter is about the author’s own personal involvement in the trial, we have refrained from using “I” in the text. (Authors occasionally use the first person in notes, to discuss methodological issues.)