|
Beyond The Speeches And Newsreels, Historians And Journalists Try To Shed Light On The Causes Of Violence In Kosovo.
By Gregory McNamee
Hearts Grown Brutal: Sagas of Sarajevo, by Roger
Cohen (Random House). Cloth, $27.95.
Kosovo: A Short History, by Noel Malcolm (New York
University Press). Cloth, $28.95.
Between Serb and Albanian: A Short History of Kosovo,
by Miranda Vickers (Columbia University Press). Paper, $18.50.
THE YUGOSLAV nation lasted for a mere 73 years, about the
life span of an average person in the developed world, roughly
coinciding with what historians have called "the short 20th
century" from the onset of World War I to the end of the
Cold War. And when the tenuously constructed nation of Yugoslavia
finally did die with the collapse of communism, giving rise to
the splintered state of Serbia, it took with it the lives of untold
average persons; according to Roger Cohen, at least 200,000 of
them.
Cohen, a New York Times correspondent and bureau chief,
observed the fall of Yugoslavia first hand, dutifully filing newspaper
reports of ethnicide and civil war. Given greater narrative liberty
at book length, Cohen unleashes a fury of his own in the pages
of Hearts Grown Brutal. The West, he writes, allowed "Europe's
worst war since Hitler's war" to unfold unchecked, allowed
Serbian aggression in the neighboring confederate states of Bosnia
and Croatia to proceed with only half-hearted challenges until
nearly a quarter of a million innocents had died and 2.7 million
civilians had been driven from their homes.
Cohen, like many other Western analysts of the Yugoslav civil
war, observes that the clash between Muslim Bosnians, Catholic
Croats and Orthodox Serbs had been in the making for hundreds
of years. But he locates the origins of the recent "collective
madness"--as one Serbian leader called it--in World War II,
when Croatia sided with the Nazis and Serbia took the opportunity
of the German invasion, which it resisted valiantly, to settle
old scores against Croats, Muslims, Jews and Gypsies. (Not all
Serbs succumbed to the madness, of course, and many were exemplary
in, for instance, hiding Jewish refugees from the advancing Nazis.)
Cohen centers his narrative largely on survivors of World War
II, the ordinary men and women of Yugoslavia who committed extraordinary
acts of inhumanity against one another during the war against
Hitler. They recapitulated those actions when civil war gave them
license to hate one another anew: when Serbia struck out at Bosnia
and Croatia, all three nations fell into a frenzy of slaughter,
for which the repercussions will be felt for generations to come.
The failure of the West to react decisively against Serbian
aggression and genocide, Cohen writes, puts the lie to any notion
of a "new world order," the rule of law over the rule
of terror. Hearts Grown Brutal is a somber, horrifying
indictment of all involved, and it stands as an essential work
of contemporary history.
Kosovo, a little corner of southern Serbia bordering Albania
and Macedonia, should by all rights be a historical and political
backwater. The 55-mile-long plateau lies far from world centers
of government and commerce, and not much has happened there of
major international significance since the Ottoman Empire fell
at the beginning of the present century; a Bulgarian geographer
who visited Kosovo during World War I remarked that it was "almost
as unknown and inaccessible as a stretch of land in Central Africa."
The geographer would not have known it, but the comparison would
prove apt, for Central Africa and Kosovo have lately been killing
fields, scenes of ethnic hatred and genocide of the deepest international
significance. Noel Malcolm, a British historian and journalist
who has written extensively about the Balkans, provides an overview
of Kosovo's long-standing cultural divisions in his "short
history" (at more than 500 pages, a not-so-short book). His
major concern--and one that will be of most pressing interest
to readers following the unfolding war in Kosovo through newspaper
and television coverage--is to explore the reasons ethnic Albanians
and Serbs are struggling so violently to command the small region.
Kosovo, Malcolm writes, is the birthplace of Serbian nationalism,
the scene in 1389 of a great defeat of Serbian forces by Turkish
troops. That defeat would eventually lead to Turkish domination
of the Balkans, and with it the conversion of the ethnic Albanians
(who make up 90 percent of Kosovo's population) to Islam. Kosovo
remains emblematic, for the Serbs, of the loss of their medieval
empire, and the contemporary warriors of Serbia are, in Malcolm's
eyes, evidently attempting to reverse the course of history by
reclaiming the land from its Turkish conquerors--that is to say,
the Muslim Albanians who, then as now, make up the vast majority
of the region's inhabitants.
Malcolm's lucid text shows again and again that the ethnic conflict
in Kosovo is less a battle over bloodlines and religion and more
a result of differing conceptions of national origins and history.
"When ordinary Serbs learn to think more rationally and humanely
about Kosovo, and more critically about some of their national
myths," he concludes, "all the people of Kosovo and
Serbia will benefit--not least the Serbs themselves."
Miranda Vickers, the leading English-language student of Albanian
history, also does much to clarify the situation in Kosovo with
her account of the tiny region, which is a fertile, mountain-ringed
plateau whose name means "place of the blackbirds."
That bucolic place name does not speak to the violence that's
been visited on the land for centuries, however. Kosovo, as Vickers
writes, has long been the site of inter-ethnic warfare, a place
where different cultures--Slavic, Albanian, Jewish, Turkish and
Central Asian in origin--have met and, at times, either peacefully
coexisted or battled bitterly. The lines of division, Vickers
proves again and again, have never been clearly drawn.
At issue in the Middle Ages, and now, is which group has the
clearest ancestral claim to ownership of Kosovo: the Muslim Albanians,
who trace their heritage to the ancient Illyrians, hold that it
is theirs; the Orthodox Serbs similarly claim that their long
presence in the region gives them dominion over it--a claim that,
Vickers writes, "derives purely from history and emotion."
History and emotion are powerful engines of human behavior, and
the Serbian nationalists who now seek to thwart ethnic Albanian
attempts to unite Kosovo with Albania itself are driven by them.
(Many of those Serb fighters are not native to the region, but
are instead displaced, fortune-seeking veterans of the now-dormant
civil war in neighboring Bosnia.) Long inhabiting parallel worlds,
in Vickers' useful metaphor, these two groups are now drawing
on the memories of centuries of conflict to shape the present.
The result is a continuing legacy of bloodshed and hatred that,
at least for a while, has captured the attention of the world.
|
|