9. Belgrade
First a guide, Djina Dostanic, making the Serbian case, or slipping it in, as she took us to the largest Orthodox Church in the world and then to Tito's tomb. "It’s not true that only military targets were hit in the bombing. A hospital was bombed, a moving train was hit."
"How do you feel about Americans?" (Asked off to the side.)
"At the time of the bombing I was very angry. But that's past now. You are not guilty but you were badly informed, as we were" — presumably by Milosevic.
About the start of the war: "The Croats (I guess the Ustashe) used the Nazi symbol." She said Serbs were deathly afraid of that. "250,000 Serbs fled Croatia in one night, fearing for their lives. I know. I was teaching near the border. I saw their children in school the next day."
"Is that the reason the Serbs invaded?"
"Yes. The Yugoslav Army invaded."
"To protect them?"
"Yes. The Yugoslav Army was made up of all Yugoslavs. The Croatian Army was just Croatians."
She said nothing about leaving the bombed buildings in Belgrade as memorials (Julia's story). Her explanation was that no buyer could meet the conditions set by the government: that they be restored to their original condition. They were left unrepaired because repair was too expensive.
Then to lunch at the Dorian Gray restaurant with, at our table, two recent graduates of the University of Belgrade, Sonia (major in "technical translation") and Tanja (liberal arts). Both very open and friendly and (I think Mary Anne would agree) beautiful women.
How about dislike of Americans for the bombing?
"That's the older generation. I [Sonia] remember being very frightened as a child. But that's past. We think it's not people, it's politicians." Sonia admitted that the Kosovo invasion had to be stopped but was unwilling to see bombing as the only way to stop it. What was the alternative? I couldn't bring myself to ask. Their hearts were for peace and good will, and their minds were set against the "politicians" who had to find the means.
They had some questions for us. "I understand that you can put people in jail indefinitely on suspicion of being a terrorist. Nobody will know."
"Ah, I think they will. Our press will find out."
"You think you can trust your press?"
We tried very hard to get across our reasons for trusting our press but I'm not sure we succeeded. They had the ingrained suspicion of media and government that we have noticed in so many, including Shura, who have come from Communist countries. Mary Anne explained, as best she could, the Freedom of Information Act. They came to the table assuming that the obvious could never be true. "That belief is what's behind most conspiracy theories," I said. They laughed in agreement. "Oh, conspiracy theories. You should live in Serbia!"
"Were your families involved in the war?"
"My father hid from the draft," Sonia said, "but he couldn't get a job. My mother worked as a nurse." Like the young women we met in Pskov they were working hard toward careers they had little hope of ever entering. Jobs are so scarce. Sonia, with a specialty, has the better chance; Tanja's humanities can lead only to teaching, where the outlook is bleak. "But," she said, "the learning is good in itself." (I thought of Zoran's complaint about Serbia's attachment to the humanities: "We educate our people to be unemployable.")
It was great to meet such young people after seeing so much that made us despair. We loved them, and will remember them every time we get down on the Balkans, or (as people in their eighties do) get down on the human race.
Tonight it was dinner in a dark-wood restaurant in the Bohemian quarter with Serbian plum brandy, phylo-dough pastries, and a six-man string band playing eclectic jump tunes, including a German one and "Oh Susanna" (for our benefit), though it was the native Serb stuff they riffed on. They came to our table and played leaning over the ladies and we loved them.
Tomorrow it's back to Croatia, the heart of it, where, being among them, we'll probably love the Croatians too.
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