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The Shattered Memory of Goli Otok

io-admin — Tue, 27 Jul 2021 09:00:58 +0000

Reportage / War 27.07.2021

The Shattered Memory of Goli Otok

At dawn, Goli Otok is pale. Grey. A featureless island against which break the oily waves of the Kvarner Gulf. Viewed from the mainland, no vegetation appears, neither trees nor shrubs. Only an expanse of livid and sterile rock emerges from the water. In the summer the sun dries everything, in the winter the wind freezes what remains. In the eternal pursuit between life and death, it is always the latter that wins on Goli Otok. Looking at it, people began to give it many names. Some called it “bald”, others “naked”. But the most suitable adjective, perhaps, is “secret”. The ridge of the island, a cliff over two hundred meters high, prevents you from seeing anything that happens there. It’s like a cloak that conceals and effaces everything. Goli Otok is a perfect natural prison, which is why Josip Broz Tito chose it as a place to isolate those who remained loyal to Joseph Stalin after the break between Yugoslavia and the Soviet Union. So it was that, starting in 1949, Goli Otok became a re-education camp where dissidents were reduced to the orthodoxy of Yugoslav communism. Those who ended up in the crosshairs of Tito’s secret police, the fearsome UDBA, were loaded onto a ship called “Punat” and, finally, left on the west side of the island.

The first forty steps were the longest. As soon as you disembarked, you ended up running the gauntlet of the kroz stroj, in which you were beaten bloody by the other inmates and then, battered, left to fend for yourself. That screaming crowd – made up of men who were both victims and the executioners of themselves (the camp was self-managed) – is no longer there. In its place is a tall black cross that contrasts terribly with the red and yellow train that tourists use to tour the island and with the restaurant called, with terrible irony, “Przun” (prison).

There are three streets on Goli, but everything revolves around the central one, with the numerous workshops where the internees worked wood, marble or iron. It was here that the inmates wore out their strength. The machines were only driven by manpower, as the survivor Gino Kmet recalls: “The rudimentary machines were operated by muscle power, with four people, usually the ones singled out for boycotting, the toughest ones who had failed to tell the the version of the truth that was expected of them. With a large crank and special pulleys, they worked the lathe, the drill and the grinding wheel” (Luciano Giuricin, La Memoria di Goli Otok – Isola Calva).

Those machines today are all rusty, worn out by time and bad weather. The camp is derelict and we can only imagine how the over 30,000 prisoners who were sent to the island lived from 1949 to 1956.

There are only few plaques commemorating those years and they make no attempt to describe life on Goli Otok. To find out what a typical day was like, we need to retrieve the memories of those who survived from the archives, such as Gino Kmet, mentioned above. “We had to wake up at five in the morning, even in winter when it was pitch black, at the signal from the hut leader who would yell like a madman, “Ustaj.” We immediately had to put on clogs which we left outside the hut, because inside we had to walk barefooted. Our outfit was brown in colour, a kind of military fatigue uniform, always with a military cap. There was nowhere to wash. Breakfast was a kind of ersatz coffee with a sort of liquid porridge . Then we went straight to work. You had to leave through the camp fence, passing in front of the soldier on duty, taking off your cap to him with your eyes to the ground and not looking up at him. You had to learn these rules at once, otherwise you would get a thrashing.”

Then the real work began, intended solely to wear out the body and spirit of these damned souls. “Everything had to be done at the double,” recalls Kmet, “with the famous ziviere.” A punishment similar to something out of the Inferno, like the outcasts described by Dante, forced to race after a white banner while the ground covered with worms receives their blood.

The memory of Goli Otok is made up of rubble, doors torn off their hinges, abandoned machinery and even old ice cream refrigerators thrown into a corner. The memory takes the form of a chair that can no longer accommodate anyone and was abandoned in the middle of a room goodness knows how many years ago. Or in peeling useless sinks, with no water to cool the thirst brought on by the scorching sun. Or even beds without springs no longer providing rest.

But it was in the “pit” that everything became unbearable. This was where the toughest dissidents were sent, those who refused to ever give in. In this hole the heat clung to you together with insects. Every movement became difficult. Every step heavy. Like life. Its official name was “Radilište 101” (Department 101), but no one called it that. The prisoners gave it other names, such as the “Monastery” or “Peter’s hole”, in honour of Peter Komnenic, one of the earliest deportees who had some political weight. This pit, eight metres deep by twenty-five wide, is where the highest party officials ended up: soldiers, politicians and intellectuals. Or those who had the misfortune of having visited the Soviet Union. It was in this infernal pit that Goli Otok’s highest death rate was recorded.

Today, the abandoned mattresses are reminiscent of the many bodies that this island, greedy for blood, has devoured under the weight of physical and psychological torture. The worst was undoubtedly that of the tragacs, or “boycotts”. These were sometimes very long periods when an inmate could be mistreated by everyone. Insulted, beaten and forced to work the night shifts, where his only job was to stand guard and carry out the containers in which the other inmates urinated. The goal was to reduce the tragacs to shadows. Bodies without a soul. Without a will.

On the walls of the island seventy years of history are tangled together. There were the lovers who swore eternal love, the thugs who smeared the walls with obscene writings and, finally, the prisoners who found the strength to leave a memorial of themselves. Someone, probably during his imprisonment, painted a hammer and sickle, perhaps to record loyalty to the Soviet Union. Someone else covered a wall with small vertical strokes in an attempt to keep track of time. Always the same. Always eternal. Four vertical lines. One oblique. End.

Where there are no writings, it’s the plaster that speaks – or shrieks. Or what’s left of it and that draws screaming faces that still seem to ask for mercy today. An act of pity that had no place at Goli, as the inmate Sergio Borme recalls. Here it was replaced by suspicion: “After a while you no longer trusted anyone. If someone told you something, you had to report it immediately, otherwise they would go and report it themselves, often operating as agents provocateurs. A surreal system that unfortunately was practised by almost everyone.”

The plants on this island are dying. In the past the inmates were forced to shade them with their bodies as soon as they were sown. It was a form of retaliation. A way of re-educating them. To reduce them to vegetables.

L'articolo The Shattered Memory of Goli Otok proviene da InsideOver.

The New Geopolitics of the Balkans

Luka Ivan Jukic — Mon, 20 Jul 2020 05:44:39 +0000

They thought the pandemic had ended. Then, a second wave. Not just a second wave, but one much stronger than the first. Rather than being instructed to hunker down in their homes, the people of Croatia and Serbia were asked to do something else by their respective governments: go to the polls.

In both cases the deeply entrenched ruling parties won huge victories. Beyond the fates of these two small but regionally important countries, many were left wondering, what do these results mean for the future of the Balkans?

Political Stability in the Balkans?

Political stability certainly sounded like the answer after the ruling Serbian Progressive Party (SNS) won over sixty percent of the vote on the June 21. That overwhelming victory gave the party 188 seats in the 250 seat Parliament, with close to fifty more being won by its allies. The man giving the victory speech on election night – Aleksandar Vučić. Serbia’s most personally powerful President since notorious dictator Slobodan Milošević, and the SNS’ unchallenged leader.

At 1.99 m, Vučić towers over anyone else in the room. He also towers over the opposition, but that has nothing to do with his height. With heavily controlled print and TV showering the country’s weary citizens with endless positive coverage of the President and his party, many are sick of his personalized rule. So sick of it, they have turned their backs on Serbia’s stillborn democracy.

Serbia’s Opposition Parties Shut Out of Power

This year’s election saw a boycott by the country’s main opposition parties. Of the few that participated, only one entered Parliament. Shut out of the political process yet again, many have taken to the streets. The entire region has watched with shock at chaotic scenes unfolding in Belgrade as those taking to the streets have been met with a brutal police response.

In a strange twist, Vučić deflected blame for the protests not onto NATO or America – Serbia’s classic bogeymen – but rather on its popular “ally” Russia. A shocking betrayal? Not exactly. Vučić’s greatest success as Serbian President has been his ability to manipulate opinions not just at home, but abroad as well. That is how, despite ever-growing accusations of authoritarianism as well as open public discontent with his rule, he receives glowing praise and support from European leaders.

The European People’s Party

This is mostly thanks to his party’s membership in European People’s Party (EPP) – by far the most powerful political group in the EU. EPP politicians head the European Council, the European Commission, and the EU’s most powerful country – Germany. Beyond that, it is by far the most powerful trans-national political force in central and eastern Europe. When it comes to European enlargement and integration of the Balkans, the EPP may be Europe’s most important institution.

In the run-up to Croatia’s Parliamentary election, held a couple weeks after the Serbian one, a campaign spot was released in which EPP leaders read out “Sigurna Hrvatska” (Safe Croatia), the ruling HDZ’s campaign slogan. The figures giving their personal support included the head of Germany’s ruling CDU, Austria’s Chancellor Kurz, European Council President Donald Tusk, and the PMs and Presidents of numerous other countries. But the real controversy came from the presence in the video of President of the European Commission Ursula von der Leyen, accused of meddling in Croatia’s election through the advert.

Croatia’s Future Entry into the Schengen Area

But it is easy to understand von der Leyen’s giddy support of Croatian PM Andrej Plenković and his HDZ when you consider that within a week of the HDZ’s strong victory Croatia entered ERM II, the “waiting room” for adoption of the Euro. This means within the next 5 years Croatia is likely to enter the Euro as well as finally joining the Schengen Area. While Hungary and Poland cause headaches in Brussels, Croatia under the HDZ happily pushes for European integration so long as it is free to act as a local mafia within Croatia’s borders.

The same implicit deal is being offered to Vučić by his European colleagues, and it is a deal he is happy to take. As he strangles his political opposition and establishes dictator-like control over the country EPP politicians either stay silent or cheer him on. The political calculation is clear, EU leaders give Vučić support and legitimacy in exchange for the assurance that Serbia will enter the EU. With that the added assurance that somehow the most important prerequisite will be resolved – recognition of Kosovo.

The Importance of the Balkans for the EU

The EU is bad at geopolitics, but the EPP may not be.

Without the currently non-EU Balkan states of Serbia, Bosnia, Montenegro, Albania, Macedonia, and Kosovo integrated into the European Union, the Balkans are for Europe a political and geopolitical vortex. In 2015 that vortex produced one of the EU’s most polarizing crises to date as millions of migrants and refugees arrived on Germany’s borders seemingly overnight though they had been moving through the Balkans for months beforehand.

Besides the geopolitical black hole in the form of uncontrolled external borders too close for comfort to the EU’s core, there is the issue of malicious foreign influence as well. Russian, Chinese, and Arab investors have found in Serbia, Montenegro, and elsewhere in the Balkans a highly welcoming atmosphere for trading in both economic and political influence. A situation tolerated for now, but not one that could comfortably last forever.

Vučić: European Solidarity is a ‘Fairytale’

In a prominent show at the start of the Coronavirus pandemic Vučić received a planeload of Chinese medical equipment at the airport to much fanfare. He called European solidarity a “fairytale” that “does not exist” while praising China and the Chinese government as the only ones that can save Serbia. It is concerning for EU leaders to hear, but they are in many ways backed into a corner. They have already decided they want Serbia in the EU, and they see Vučić as the one to realize that membership.

For Serbia and others it is a simple choice because there is nothing else on offer. The fates of those small Balkan countries are already so tied up with decisions made in Brussels that they have nothing to lose by being inside the club rather than outside it. Russia and China can offer symbolic victories. By treating countries like Serbia as equals they give them some pride, but little else. For now at least.

Can Serbian and Croatian Leaders Follow Through on Their Promises?

With ruling parties in both Serbia and Croatia thoroughly dominating their respective countries with the approval of Europe, the question will be whether those leaders can deliver on their promises. Another question remains as to whether Russia, China, Turkey, or others see an opening in the Balkans for their own European ambitions. With their power seemingly rising, and the power of Europe supposedly on the decline, it will be a race to the finish line for Brussels.

Friendly and familiar politicians at the heads of the former Yugoslavia’s two most important nations make political conditions brighter than ever for the region’s European future. That may seem cynical given the questionable democratic credentials of the parties at the heads of those two countries, but geopolitical considerations are hardly about democracy.

The US not only tolerated but supported more than a few dictatorships in its Cold War. How many will Europe be willing to support to play at geopolitics in the Balkans?

The answer will be the difference between a “European” Balkans, and something else entirely.

L'articolo The New Geopolitics of the Balkans proviene da InsideOver.

Police on my back

io-admin — Mon, 30 Mar 2020 10:16:27 +0000

Between Bosnia and Croatia, from Bihac to Velika Kladusa, about 8,000 migrants from war zones such as Syria, Afghanistan, Iraq, Pakistan are stranded. Everyone is trying to escape to Europe with the hope of building a better future for themselves. Crossing the border, what they call “The Game” is anything but a game: the weather conditions are harsh because the area is surrounded by snow-capped mountains and minefields from the Balkan war, the walk to Italy is 10 to 15 days long, and is often done without food and water. The most difficult thing, however, is not the weather conditions: the real challenge is to get past the Croatian police and survive them in case it ends up in their hands. Watch the full report: Police on my back

L'articolo Police on my back proviene da InsideOver.

The Violence of the Croatian Police

io-admin — Sat, 21 Mar 2020 09:34:17 +0000

Reportage / Migration 21.03.2020

The Violence of the Croatian Police

Juliane Thiere

Pierpaolo Mittica

Eight thousand migrants are currently being held up at the border between Bosnia and Croatia, a strip of Bosnian territory which runs from Bihac to Velika Kladusa. Approximately half of them live in refugee camps — of which there are very few — and another 4000 migrants have been forced to camp in run-down buildings such as old houses and disused factories, with no water or heating in the freezing Bosnian winter. One example is an old abandoned factory on the outskirts of Bihac, Krajina Metal, an enormous ironworks complex closed at the end of the war and now for the most part falling to bits. Some 50 refugees live and survive here. Most of them are fleeing from war zones, Afghanistan, Syria, Iraq, Pakistan, and are trying to reach Europe in an attempt to build a new future for themselves. However, crossing the border here in what they call “the Game,” is tough, and not only due to the freezing climatic conditions.

A migrant inside the abandoned factory Krajina Metal, Bihac, Bosnia

Crossing the border is not simple. The area is surrounded by snow-covered mountains and camps riddled with landmines, the deadly hidden residue of a Balkan war now forgotten. And the journey to Italy, across Croatia and Slovenia, lasts between 10 to 15 days on foot, often with no food or water. Yet in the end, paradoxically, the major difficulty is another one: getting past the Croatian police and surviving capture.

A warning sign indicates the presence of landmines near where migrants pass on the border between Bosnia and Croatia.

Anas, Ali, Raz and many other refugees have been confined to the old Krajina Metal metalworks factory for over two months. The cold here makes their bones numb, so they warm themselves using the wood from the factory’s collapsed roof. They have attempted “the Game” several times, but have always been caught and sent back by the Croatian police. Being turned back however — which is illegal, as Croatia should give migrants the possibility of asking for asylum — is the lesser evil. Migrants are also forced to endure frequent beatings and abuse which the Croatian police have systematically been perpetrating on them for over two years. Between 2017 and 2019 NGOs such as “Border Violence Monitoring Network”, “Human Right Watch”, “No Name Kitchen” and ”Amnesty International” received over 6,200 reports — all documented and detailed — of abuse on the part of Croatian police against migrants.

The abuse does not just consist in turning the migrants back; the Croatian police’s systematic response is an ongoing crime bordering on the limits of torture. Once the migrants have been caught the police regularly make them undress, humiliate them psychologically, steal what few possessions they have — money, mobile phones — and beat them violently using a baton and kicking them and punching them. After such abuses the migrants are sent naked into the snow or thrown into the freezing waters of the Korana River separating Bosnia from Croatia, no matter what age or sex they are. Indeed, women and minors have also been through this inferno. Many of them have been permanently maimed or crippled and some have even died due to the beatings.

Ali Muhammad, 16 years old, showing his arm broken by the Croatian police, Bihac, Bosnia

“When they caught us on highway 71 they arrested us and beat us violently, then locked us up in a small room,“ recounts Raz Mohmmad, sitting in the freezing and desolate Krajina Metal factory. “It was very cold, they kept us there for one night. To this day the cold still makes my legs hurt. When they took us near to the border they asked us to get out of the car one by one and they asked how many of us were Muslims and how many Christians. We told them we were Muslims and they didn’t care whether we were adults or minors. They beat us because we are Muslims. They beat me on the legs with a stick and even now if I stand or sit my knees hurt. Raz Mohmmad is from Afghanistan. He fled the war two years ago when he was just 14. It is obvious from his appearance he is a minor, but not for the Croatian police, who turned him back. Things were worse for Ali Muhammad, who is also a minor (16 years):

19-year-old Anas Poyan from Afghanistan lives in one of the abandoned houses near the Croatian border that serves as a refuge for migrants before they leave for “the Game.”

“The second time I tried, the Croatian police caught me in the town of Delic and they took me to Delic police station. They wrote my name and they asked me my age and I told them my real age. But on their documents they didn’t write my real age, they increased it. On the documents they wrote aged 18 and they sent me back. During deportation they called us one at a time and they beat us. When they called me there were six police officers waiting for me on the street, all holding a baton, and they beat me so hard they broke my arm. To this day I still can’t stretch my arm out.”

Migrants cooking lunch inside the abandoned factory Krajina Metal, Bihac, Bosnia

Their stories are all the same, one after the other. All the refugees we met and interviewed tell the same stories of violence and inhumanity, cruelty and brutality. The Bosnian-Croatian border is not a simple frontier, or a “Game” as it is defined, it is utter defeat. Only a few are successful in reaching Italy.

On January 27, 2020 at the European Parliament’s commission for civil liberties, justice and home affairs, a number of European members of parliament including Clare Daly, Dietmar Koster, Cornelia Ernst and Malin Bjork showed the Croatian Minister of the Interior Davor Bozinovic irrefutable proof, through photos, dates, places and names, of the crimes regularly carried out by the police on migrants. They asked for an explanation and above all requested that the Croatian government — which currently heads the Presidency of the European Union and should therefore be giving a good example — to stop this conduct that is on par with torture. The Minister’s awkward and confused answer in the end was a refusal of the accusations and denial of the facts and proof. The Croatian government, in 2019 alone, received 7 million Euros from Europe to patrol its borders. Of these, 300,000 Euros were to be used to set up an independent commission to investigate cases of abuse on the part of the police, a commission which Croatia never established.

L'articolo The Violence of the Croatian Police proviene da InsideOver.

The End of Kitarovic’s Croatian Fairytale

Umar Tasleem — Wed, 15 Jan 2020 13:00:45 +0000

Croatia, a country with a population of almost 4.2 million, well-known for its scenic Adriatic coast went to the polls on the 22nd of December, 2019 to elect a new President. However, with no clear winner in sight, the elections went to a second round on the 5th of January where Zoran Milanovic defeated incumbent President Kolinda Grabar-Kitarovic.

Many around the world can instantly recognize Kitarovic for her fancy appearances at the 2018 FIFA World Cup in Russia, draped in her country’s flag, showing her passion and support for the national football team. A former ambassador to the United States and a George Washington University graduate, Kitarovic was also the country’s first post-independence female President.

In her way stood Zoran Milanovic, the country’s former Prime Minister from 2011 to 2015 from the Social Democratic Party of Croatia. Similar to Kitarovic, Milanovic also worked at the Croatian foreign ministry, was an advisor to the European Union and NATO in Brussels and has a master’s degree in European Union law. He joined the SDP in 1999.

The elections which have been viewed in the country as a form of renewal, were to the expectations of many, a success. The exit polls showed that Milanovic won the second round with 54% of votes, whereas, Kitarovic gained 46% of the votes. During the first round, the results looked like this: Milanovic with 29.6% of votes while Kitarovic took home 26.7% of votes.

Even though the role of the President in the small Mediterranean nation holds no concrete significance, the President does have a say in the running of the foreign policy and crucial defense matters.

The Social Democrats and the Croatian Democratic Union have been dominating the political scene in Croatia ever since its separation from Yugoslavia in 1991. Fast forward to 2020, Croatia is revelling in its role as the President of the European Union but major tasks remain ahead; the United Kingdom’s exit from the bloc, the accession of Albania and North Macedonia and the important decision on the seven-year budget for the European Union.

Even though Kitarovic’s defeat could be seen as inevitable, one must ask whether the new changes that the former Prime Minister and now President Milanovic will bring, will be acceptable or not? The social democrat says he has many new ideas and a vision that would help in resolving the problems that Croatia is currently embroiled in. However, leading experts believe that although this may come as a sign of victory, the changes would take time to implement. Croatians voted for progress and the results would give Brussels the idea that it’s not backtracking on its commitment of pursuing liberal democratic principles.

Milanovic’s main election promise was to fight corruption but the problems don’t just end there. Croatia is also facing the core issue of a stagnant economy and an influx of refugees from neighboring Serbia. Many Croatians are leaving the country due to the lack of employment opportunities. They’re finding jobs elsewhere in countries which have a comparatively better status and are more economically stable. Throughout his election rallies, Milanovic vowed to unite the country together and seek the return of the youth who have headed for newer pastures.

Milanovic has also promised to focus on the health and education sectors of Croatia, saying that he will reform institutions which have failed to produce the best outcome for citizens. He says the country will become more progressive by fighting for the rights of same-sex couples who have been left obscured under the tenure of conservative catholic Kitarovic. He says these trends are technically ‘unstoppable’ as they have a human element attached to them.

Croatia joined the European union in 2013 and also happens to be the bloc’s newest member. The European Union just recently gave Croatia the green signal for Schengen despite facing numerous security and migratory challenges in the region.

Zoran Milanovic will take office on the 19^th of February but this time around the President will have a more solid profile due to Croatia’s EU Presidency.

Milanovic differs in many ways from Kitarovic whom he says is corrupt, overlooks the problems of Croatians and someone who can’t differentiate between ‘public and private property.’ During the highly-anticipated presidential debates, Milanovic left no stone unturned by elaborating his manifesto and also lashing out at Kitarovic.

The elimination of corruption, overseeing a growing economy, no preferential treatment for politicians, uniting the divided nation and turning incompetency into progression are some of the values that Milanovic claims. How successful they will be, only time will tell.

The former Croatian PM also believes that the European Union is the country’s biggest ally rather than the United States. He will be on the offensive in mending lost relations with neighboring states.

The experience of Milanovic could play an important role in determining the future of Croatia. By tackling fiscal policy problems and allowing more businesses to operate in Croatia, the idea might sound safe but its effectiveness will only be determined by the moves Milanovic makes. Hit or miss, they could be costly.

L'articolo The End of Kitarovic’s Croatian Fairytale proviene da InsideOver.

At dawn, the long night

io-admin — Mon, 24 Jun 2019 05:00:31 +0000

Bosnia, spring 1992.

The thunder of cannon and mortar shots could not be heard yet. Voices, that’s what you could hear. The voices of Serbs getting ready to flee, building trenches. And then the roaring laughter of Muslim Bosnians. At the dawn of conflict, it seemed like there could be nothing more ridiculous. And yet, on the eastern border, delineated by the green waters of the Drina, darkness had already engulfed humanity.

It was not by chance.

Borders are like bridges; they mark a territory and connect it to another. For centuries, the Drina valley had cradled that fascinating mix of people narrated by the Nobel laureate Ivo Andric:

It was on these paths, which the wind sweeps and the rain washes, which the sun infects and disinfects, where you meet only exhausted livestock and silent people with hard faces, it was on these paths that I founded my dream about the riches and beauty of the world (Ivo Andric, Paths)

In order to destroy the Other, the connection needed to be blown up. And so it was that the Drina was tainted red. Around it, Bosnia continued to dance to the flagrant rhythm of the fanfares, unknowing that it was about to be shrouded in a long night.

Twenty-six years later, that frontier no longer exists. There is a threshold; a line of attack which transforms the Other into the enemy, whom one needs to defend oneself from. And along the threshold lie the shreds of a past that everyone ignores. Out of convenience and of fear, out of resentment and of shame. A ghostly land, cleansed by fire and sword, under the Serbian fist, through rape and massacres. A land, black as death, and white as a stele. Nothing smells of life any longer.

A white inscription stands out over a field in Mravinjac. Tito. Four letters which hide ten more behind them: Yugoslavia. The hybrid monster created by the unaligned Marshal reduced to ashes upon his death.

Ivo Saglietti, Bosnia, Border with Croatia, 2018

Foča, Zelengora Hotel. “You will give birth only to Serbian children, There will no longer be any trace of Muslims.” Dragoljub Kunarac, Serbian general, to witness number 48 after having raped her in a hotel room together with a comrade. Houses, gyms, hotels were set up as camps for sexual violence against women and girls. Some were killed, others committed suicide. For the first time in history, the International Tribunal for Former Yugoslavia recognized systematic rape as a crime against humanity. When the sentence was read, the accused shook their heads, incredulous.

Visegrad. Mehmed Paša Solokovic bridge looms majestically over the Drina as it has done for almost 500 years. It used to be the most powerful image of Bosnia, the point of conjunction between East and West. From the bridge which Andric wrote about, thousands of men were thrown, guilty of being Muslims. So many were thrown all together, that the director of the Bajna Bašta dam begged those responsible to “slow down the flow of bodies floating along the river as they jam the dam turbines.”

Stretches of white steles are reflected in that water cemetery by the name of Drina. Men, women, children. All belonging to the same religion: Muslims. The same year of death: 1992.

Along the road leading to Zvornik. Orthodox churches and the carcasses of hanging pigs. The war was won by them, those who marked the Serbian territory with the blood of the Others.

Bijeljina, a city in north-eastern Bosnia, on the border with Serbia. At the outbreak of the conflict, it fell into the hands of the Tigers of Arkan. They put up no resistance. Nearby, in Batkovic, the first concentration camp of that long war was built. Now, the Serbian flag is hoisted triumphantly over Bijeljina.

Last stop Velika Kladusa

Twenty-seven years later, another border becomes a threshold. It is the one between north-western Bosnia and Croatia, between migrants and Europe. In this shred of earth, migrants swarm like bees to every corner of the city. Syrians, Kurds, Afghans. Pakistanis. It is impossible to enter Croatia from Serbia, even more so from Hungary. So, in just a few months, thousands of migrants trapped in the Balkans have poured in here. Flight is an unwitting dance across a carpet of land mines, a challenge to wolves, the cold, and police violence.

At Dom Borici in Bihac, the tragedies of the past are entwined with those of the present. The former student residence, damaged during the war in the nineties, shelters hundreds of refugees. Inside, amassed tents, clothes hanging, no electricity, no running water. Outside, volunteers and Red Cross workers distribute food, clothes, sleeping bags. The days go by slowly, between one escape attempt and another. They call it the game. Go, try, return to the starting point. Keep trying until you reach the other side.

In their shoes. Rain and sun, snow and wind. Trails, roads, woods, plains. And hope and despair. Suffering and illusions. The journey of migrants towards the promised land, a Europe that sees nothing and does not listen.

Ivo Saglietti, Drina River, Bosnia, Border with Serbia, 2018

The story of the wolf-rat comes to mind. Marina Abramovic recounted it in Balkan Baroque. Rats protect each other, a Belgrade rat-catcher told her, so in order to get rid of them you have to create a wolf-rat. Take some rats and put them in a cage, without food. Out of hunger they will start tearing each other apart until there is only one left. Let him go hungry for a while and before he dies, gouge out his eyes and release him. Only then will the wolf-rat tear apart all the other rats it encounters on its path.

Velika Kladusa, the new jungle of Europe. The smell of mud, dust and latrines. On rainy days, the tent city looks like an immense, inhuman puddle. Just a couple of kilometres from the border. It is the last, violent mile. The Croatian police are before their eyes: abuse, theft, broken cell phones, indiscriminate rejections.

Ivo Saglietti, 2018

Yet sometimes, the human lives on amid the inhuman. The human has the face of Ona, a young woman from Luxembourg who, armed with a broom, tries to restore dignity to the refugee camp. Or the faces of Hasan, a Bosnian, and Petra, an Austrian, who heal small wounds in a makeshift emergency room. And again the face of Vlatan, the owner of a restaurant at Velika Kladusa who provides hot meals – three hundred, four hundred a day – to the refugees. Blankets and clothing, hot tea and canned food to survive the long march to Europe.

When there is suffering and war in a country, the refugees flock to its borders, sleep in wagons and live by their wits, temporary beings who can be sent back or who dream of going elsewhere, though their destiny is to remain border refugees for the rest of their lives (Franco Cassano – Il pensiero meridiano)

L'articolo At dawn, the long night proviene da InsideOver.