Milosevic (20 page)

In his exploitation of mob violence and his deft manipulation of national grievances, Milosevic was reminiscent of Mussolini, the Italian
Fascist leader. There were some historical and cultural similarities between Italy and Serbia. Both states were comparatively young, the result of nineteenth-century unification of culturally very different provinces. Milan, like Novi Sad, had been part of the Habsburg empire. Italy's southernmost province of Sicily had, like Kosovo and indeed most of Serbia, once been under Islamic rule. Mussolini and Milosevic had both started their political careers as left-wingers: Mussolini was at one time editor of
Avanti
, the Socialist Party newspaper. Both leaders understood the importance of controlling the streets. Mussolini deployed his Black-shirted
Fasci di Combattimento
(Fighting Leagues), and while Milosevic did not have Blackshirts, he did have Miroslav Solevic and his Organising Committee for Participation of Kosovo Serbs and Montenegrins in Protest Rallies Outside of the Region (to give his group its full title).

The Blackshirts did not hesitate to use violence against left-wing and liberal opponents. The cult of violence was an essential part of the Fascist creed. Fascism was modern, dynamic, focused and swept all opponents from its path. Like the Blackshirts, Solevic's ‘lads' were also ready to provoke a riot at a moment's notice, and operated through fear and intimidation. Mussolini and Milosevic both understood that before they could take power nationally, they needed a local and regional base. Milosevic had his ‘rallies for truth' taking place all over Serbia. As well as breaking up strikes, and attacking socialists, Mussolini's fascists also overthrew elected local councils.

However, Milosevic was subtler than Mussolini in the way he deployed his nationalist crowds. His aim was not to overthrow the regime but to control it. The anti-bureaucratic revolutions were presented as the will of the people, which would no longer be obstructed by enemies of Serbia. This was classic populism. But backed up by Solevic, and his ‘lads', the ‘crowd crystals' of Elias Canetti's study of mob power, it worked. Solevic recalled: ‘To say we put him in power is wrong. But that we made a real leader out of him, sure!'
¹¹

All through the episode of the anti-bureaucratic revolutions, Milosevic presented an entirely different persona to the West, especially diplomats of the United States. To them he exuded charm and sophistication. It was a continual bravura performance for a select audience of diplomats and foreign correspondents.

On 29 November 1987, two months after the Eighth Session, Dessa Trevisan, the London
Times
Balkan correspondent, attended a Belgrade
reception to celebrate the Day of the Yugoslav Republic. This was a federal, not national, holiday. The first person Trevisan saw was Draza Markovic. She walked over to greet the former partisan. Unaware that Markovic was the uncle of Milosevic's wife, Trevisan told him that the political situation after the Eighth Session was ‘very interesting'. Markovic replied: ‘Interesting. This is a catastrophe for Serbia. This is the worst person who could have been chosen to lead Serbia at this moment and I am afraid for the future. I warned Stambolic that Milosevic was the wrong person. He has no patience, he has all the qualities that will lead us to disaster.' Trevisan looked on in amazement as Markovic continued. ‘I know this because he is our son-in-law. We call him “Rumenko” [ruddy-faced].'
¹²

Trevisan, now better informed, left Markovic to talk to Stambolic, but he told her, ‘Now is not the time.' Trevisan then approached Milosevic who did have time. ‘He was in the corner of the room, standing all alone and being ignored. I introduced myself to him. I said, “Well, Mr Milosevic, I would like to meet you and talk.” He said: “Sure. Let's have lunch.” This was such a difference from ordinary officials. He didn't say to call his secretary, but he gave me his home number.' More surprises followed. ‘Jack Scanlan, the American ambassador, came up and embraced Milosevic. I thought, this is the end of the world, to see an American ambassador kissing the head of the Serbian Communist Party. Jack Scanlan said to me that they were old friends, and so was Larry Eagleburger [former US ambassador].'

Over the next two years Trevisan had five lunches and one dinner with Milosevic, usually at the Intercontinental Hotel in New Belgrade, the post-war suburbs on the other side of the Danube. Milosevic was always pleasant company, easy-going and agreeable over the food and wine. ‘He would listen, and make it sound as if he agreed with us. To me the most interesting thing was that he did not seem to be a nationalist. He was very pro-American, he knew the United States very well, and he knew all the bankers.' The affection was mutual, it seemed. ‘In 1988 Milosevic told me that Larry Eagleburger had been in Belgrade and had gone to see him. Eagleburger had stayed four hours, according to Milosevic. He had told Milosevic that, whichever way the elections go, Republicans or Democrats, it will be all right for Serbia because he would get the job at State. I was amazed that Milosevic was so indiscreet as to tell me this.'

Even as Solevic's mobs toured the country, Milosevic maintained
his connection with Trevisan. Like many Balkan politicians, used to operating in a political culture where the press is an arm of government policy, Milosevic doubtless believed that as a correspondent for
The Times
, Trevisan had the ear of important diplomats and politicians. Curiously enough, she had his ear, and tried to influence him. In 1988 Milosevic invited her to meet him in Dubrovnik, where he was staying at Tito's villa. The doughty Trevisan confronted the Serb leader. ‘I said to him: “Mr Milosevic, you have so much power, you have the whole nation behind you. You have to make a speech of reconciliation.” He listened to me, and he said, “You mean a conciliatory speech.” I said, “No, no, one of reconciliation.” He said it was a good idea. He would always agree with you. Whether it was Lord Owen, or Cyrus Vance, or Richard Holbrooke, he would agree, and do nothing. He is like an eel, he would look at you with those piggy eyes, he would flatter you and make it seem like he is listening, that what you say is going in, and then he would do the opposite.'

But the flattery and politeness was reserved for those who could help him. Those who placed themselves outside the charmed circle were treated with less diplomacy. Around this time Milosevic had announced plans for a customs-free zone on one of Belgrade's river islands. As a former mayor of Belgrade, Zivorad Kovacevic believed he could contribute his expertise to the project, but he believed it was being discussed in too grandiose terms. Milosevic had announced that a billion dollars would be invested in the scheme, but a very modest pilot project in Novi Sad had proved successful and was a better model, Kovacevic told Milosevic on a short visit to Belgrade from Washington, D.C. Milosevic was not used to getting advice. ‘I said to him, “Slobo are you serious? You are a banker and you know how much money this is. Why not follow the Novi Sad idea, start with a modest project and enlarge it.” He was so angry. He said, “You came from the West to tell me what I am going to do?” I told him that it was just well-intended advice. He asked me crossly if there was anything else.'

There was. The director of Belgrade airport, a good friend of Kovacevic's, was being vilified in the Serbian press. Kovacevic accused Milosevic of running a dirty campaign to oust him. ‘I told him that the newspapers were full of innuendos and insinuations. I told him that he knew this man was doing his job well, and that Milosevic was doing this just because he had said in a restaurant that he would do something if his friend Ivan Stambolic was touched. Milosevic denied it. I said to him,
“Don't tell me that anything can be done without you. You can stop this with your little finger.” He said he would not meddle in the affair, but doesn't believe that the man can keep his position.'
¹³
The airport director was fired a few days later.

Kovacevic was a veteran of Yugoslav politics, someone whose achievements had been recognised by his appointment as the country's ambassador to the United States. He was both efficient and popular among Washington diplomatic circles. Yet he admits that he failed to grasp what kind of man Milosevic was. Schooled in a softer, more humane politics, Kovacevic was not the only figure of his generation to underestimate Milosevic's ruthlessness.

‘These episodes showed me that Milosevic was a different kind of man, and I had misjudged him. I had been frank, and it was not necessary to tell him what I thought about the Eighth Session. I gave him a piece of advice, and he did not need advice and I dared to question some of his moves.'

In 1989 Kovacevic was recalled to Belgrade. He retired from the diplomatic service and became a lexicographer. ‘I was Yugoslav ambassador, but I could not have been Milosevic's ambassador, and defend a policy I was against. It was better that it happened sooner than later. When I published my first dictionary, I said in an interview that I should probably have included Milosevic in the acknowledgements, for giving me the necessary free time.' Kovacevic received a gesture of support from a surprising quarter. ‘I was walking down the street and I saw Milosevic's brother Bora on the other side. I didn't want to embarrass him, so I looked the other way. But he came over, and said, “Ziko, I just have to tell you that I was against you being recalled from Washington, but my crazy brother insisted on it.”'

Six centuries later we are again involved in battles, and facing battles. They are not battles with arms, but these battles cannot be excluded.

Slobodan Milosevic, speaking to a rally of over half a million
Serbs at Kosovo Polje on 28 June 1989.
¹

Dessa Trevisan planned a soirée on a riverboat restaurant for herself, Slobodan and Mira, but nobody told her that Mira liked meatballs. The
Times
correspondent had hoped for a sophisticated touch of pre-war Belgrade, dining on the river Sava, enjoying the cool breeze and the twinkling lights of the city's panorama. This was the world that the writer Rebecca West had described in the 1930s, in her book
Black Lamb, Grey Falcon
, a city of terraced cafés under chestnut tree awnings, grandiose sculptures in the landscaped gardens of Kalemegdan fortress, and fine restaurants.

But Trevisan's evening had got off to a shaky start. ‘I told Mira that I went to great trouble to get some caviar. She said she didn't eat caviar. I told her the restaurant specialised in fish. She said she didn't eat fish.'
²
Even so, the evening was certainly fascinating. Mira rarely appeared at social occasions, and she made quite an entrance. ‘I was amazed that she accepted. She wore a black dress, black stockings and high heels and her hair was black. She had a plastic flower in her hair, and she wore a yellow winter coat. Throughout the evening she kept talking, talking and talking. She said things like “there is no more private ownership in the West anymore”. I watched Slobodan all through this. He did eat fish, but he said very little. He just kept nodding and nodding.'

In later years, Mira was mocked as the ‘Red Witch of Belgrade'. She was portrayed as a dark manipulator, pulling the strings of the hapless Slobo, at least over domestic issues. Her girlish voice, black clothes and frumpy demeanour were satirised in newspaper cartoons and in skits
and plays. One cartoon showed Mira zipping herself into a Milosevic body suit.

Those who have known the family for a long time, such as Milosevic's university era friend Nebojsa Popov, saw Mira as a ‘Pygmalion' figure, working behind the scenes to turn Milosevic into a malleable political leader. According to Mihailo Crnobrnja, Mira was the driving force behind Milosevic's triumph at the Eighth Session. ‘She was the triggering mechanism. She wanted Ivan Stambolic out, and Milosevic in. The only instrument available to do that was Serbian nationalism. It might sound simple, but I feel that is how it was.'
³

Unlike his wife, Milosevic has never presented himself as an intellectual, or a thinker. Many believe that he is somewhat in awe of Mira's intellectual pretensions. Milosevic has always taken immense pride in her books. Asked about her influence on her husband, Mira replied:

I do have an influence and he has an influence on me. But what does that mean, ‘having influence'? Communication between people means having influence. If we had lunch three times you would have some influence on me, and I would have some influence on you. This is communication. If I tell you about the books I have been reading, and you keep that in mind, that is an influence.
⁴

Certainly the devotion Milosevic displayed at university had not lessened. At this time senior Yugoslav officials had a special, private telephone line that bypassed their secretaries. It was known as the ‘girlfriend line'. Whenever Milosevic's ‘girlfriend line' rang, it was his wife or children calling.
⁵

Although her academic work was moored firmly in a Marxist tradition all but abandoned in the rest of eastern Europe, Mira Markovic is a rare creature in the Balkans: an outspoken supporter of women's liberation. It is unusual for a Serbian woman to insist on keeping her maiden name, and Mira refuses to open letters addressed to ‘Mrs Milosevic'. In the Balkans the word ‘feminist' has decidedly negative connotations of militant harpies who threaten the supremacy of the male. Many of Mira's thoughts would have sat quite happily on the
Guardian
women's page. ‘I want women's position in society to be changed. I am always on the side of women. Even more, I am against equality of gender. I think that women should be more than equal for the next few centuries. They
should be superior. Then they can settle the account,' she has said.
⁶