Ratko Mladic is dead. A war criminal. A product of the Yugoslav People’s Army (JNA) and the communist system, later transferred into the Chetnik project. An apparatchik, an average lower-ranking officer who, in wartime, got his fifteen minutes of fame.
From the first recorded conversations with General Uzelac, when they were shelling Dalmatia, to the last ones with Milosevic, one can clearly discern the psychological profile of a village thug and egomaniac who convinced himself that the time had come to take revenge on the “Turks” in Bosnia—by shooting unarmed Bosniaks in Srebrenica and shelling civilians in Sarajevo.
Those bodies at Markale, those hands in Srebrenica—all of that will be on his soul.
But let him answer to God for it now.
I am more interested in how we treat him.
International justice failed in this respect. The prosecution and release of war criminals did not produce any of the cascading moral consequences envisioned by the architects of international criminal law. What Nuremberg produced, together with occupation, denazification, and the profound transformation of German society, never happened in the territory of the former Yugoslavia.
Almost every prominent war criminal who possessed enough charisma was greeted with ovations and grand homecomings. Those still alive, like Dario Kordic or Vojislav Secelj; those barely alive, like Nebojsa Pavkovic; or the dead, like Milosevic and now Mladic.
But there is still a difference.
Serbia under Tadic did not provide state support for such homecomings. Croatia did not sponsor Kordic’s reception. Nor did Kostunica allow Milosevic’s funeral to be turned into a state ceremony; the Radicals had to step in instead.
Vucic changed that relationship as early as with Vladimir Lazarevic, whose homecoming was attended by prominent ministers.
Now Informer is announcing that Mladic will be buried with state and military honours. Vucic, naturally, remains wisely silent, careful not to cross the red line. He talks about humanity, family, illness, and the right to a funeral. But we remember well the man who once pasted stickers reading “Ratko Mladic Boulevard” over the name of Zoran Djindjic.
And Andrija Mandic is no fool either.
There is no more “Serbian hero.” Now it is “condolences to the family.”
The rest of the state remains silent.
They have learned to endure things as long as they think they are feeding from the Podgorica trough. If they are feeding from the Belgrade trough, they can relax and mourn the “hero.” Hence Milan Knezevic’s songs and Vladislav Dajkovic’s obituaries.
We are still waiting for a word from the Church of Serbia.
In the Serb Republic, three days of mourning have been announced. There will not be many who will dwell on the crimes. In Serbia, however, the situation is somewhat different. There is still a small but visible number of people there who understand the gravity of what happened and refuse to turn a convicted war criminal into a national symbol. Mladic was finally sentenced to life imprisonment for genocide, crimes against humanity, and war crimes, including Srebrenica and the siege of Sarajevo.
Here, at home, perhaps things are a shade better than in Serbia.
IN4S is ablaze.
So is Borba.
They are mourning a hero.
All that remains is to see whether the new French ambassador will continue giving them interviews, as the previous one did. And decorating their founders.
Whether Marta Kos and Johann Sattler will continue embracing Mandic as though nothing were happening.
Whether we will continue to turn a blind eye to the fact that Montenegro’s cultural code is changing, and that the revision and relativisation of history—both recent and more distant—is in full swing.
Mladic and his chocolates, concrete weights, and that kitschy cigarette holder are etched into the consciousness of those of us who were children then and are now in our forties and beyond.
Those who come after us have nothing to remember.
They will hear it.
From journalists. From politicians. From senior church figures. In churches, through sermons. In schools, from the cadres shaped by Vesna Bratic’s political project. In cinemas and on stages, from people like Slavisa Curovic.
That is why we should not be surprised by the comments and mourning on Montenegrin social media.
Nor should we be surprised if a whole crowd of people from Montenegro travels to Belgrade for the funeral.
Some perhaps even on foot.
(Columnists’ opinions and views do not necessarily reflect the views of the CdM editorial board)
