In The Jaws Of Peace

Trained to adapt to each shift of the political gear, television employees first discarded cartridge belts and uniforms, slipped into plain clothes, decorated themselves with flowers and since Sunday (July 31) embarked on unprecedented perestroika. Dragan Tomic, the Serbian Parliament Speaker, opened the ceremony with an impressive speech where he expressed surprise why the people on Mount Ozren fear staying in that confederation ``since there'll be peace so it won't make any difference where one lives.''

Then the viewers from Leskovac, Varvarin, Smederevo, Krusevac, Sombor, etc. appeared in front of the cameras. All of them collectively and individually lent their full support to comrade Slobodan Milosevic. The sentence, ``It's the time for peace, enough of war,'' was repeated over and over again all until all citizens of Serbia whom the cameras and microphones had reached confessed in a live broadcast that they had waited and dreamed about such a statement all their lives. (``The statement is a great comfort,'' an anonymous viewer from the vicinity of Belgrade said.)

What happened on Tuesday evening: It was the same like in the good, old days. The prime time TV news lasted for 67 minutes two-thirds of which were dedicated to spontaneous & accidental public opinion polls in the fight for the spontaneous & deliberate peace. The same cameraman filmed the following persons with the same camera:

1. Dusan Matkovic, who addressed the elderly crowd infatuated with Slobo at the rally on Usce in March 1991 urging them to crush the students' demonstrations, now the Director of the Smederevo Steelworks (whatever this may mean), giving an exclusive statement stared straight into the camera lens and demanded that ``the sanctions must be immediately lifted'' because ``peace is necessary'' & ``essential to all,'' so the plan must be accepted right now & immediately.

2. Zika Mihailovic called ``The Cigarette Holder,'' the Head of the ``Stankom'' Corporation, warned that the plan has to be endorsed right now & immediately since it is ``in the interest of all businessmen'' i.e. the entire people.

3. The Director of Serbia's PTT (Post Office, Telephone and Telegraph) explained that the time is running out; that the plan must be accepted right now & immediately, or else...

4. Zika Petrovic, the General Manager of the Yugoslav Airlines Company (JAT), made a safe landing with his intimate confession that the plan must be accepted right now & immediately.

5. Milivoje Stamantovic, the Director of the Clinical Center, patiently supported Milosevic's decision and spontaneously explained that the Bosnian Serbs have achieved all goals and that ``it does not make any sense to fight on'' which is why the plan should be approved right now & immediately.

6. Vasa Antunovic, the Director of the Neurosurgical Clinic, said from the perspective of his profession that all this does not make sense any more so that the plan has to be signed right now & immediately.

7. Dusan Kanazir, the President of the Serbian Academy of Arts and Sciences (SANU), said that ``the Academy has always been for peace.''

8. Antonije Isakovic, the writer, first explained that ``he believes in Slobodan Milosevic'' and that ``all this is has to be brought to an end when Slobodan Milosevic said he believes in the Contact Group,'' i.e. that the plan is to be signed now & immediately.

9. Ljiljana Sedlar, the Director of the National Theater, explained without experiencing stage fright that we (Serbia, the regime, the political parties, the individuals, the collective) have always been for peace which is why we should sign right now & immediately the plan that satisfies all our national interests and everything else.

Then the refugees stormed the cameras yearning to say that their are against war and for peace and Slobodan Milosevic. All this didn't cut it, so the citizens caught in the streets and shops of former Belgrade were activated. All 104 per cent of them confirmed that the war stands no chance & that the peace is on the horizon & that the lifting of sanction is a matter of minutes & that nothing can ever separate us from peace to which (naturally, peace) we've been so inclined that we had to go to war because of it (peace, of course) in order to preserve the same peace.

What happened on Wednesday: The same thing. I woke up in the morning. It wasn't eight o'clock yet. The crack of dawn, and the vox pop is in full swing on TV. Tram drivers in dirty dark blue uniforms precisely define the Serb national interest which Radovan Karadzic and that Plavsic woman failed to understand, secretaries in insurance companies in fake silk blouses elaborate why the so-called war represents an unreliable branch of industry; randomly picked female students deliberately talk about the future they planned for themselves that includes peace and nothing else but peace.

Editors-in-chief of major newspapers turned their coats overnight; all of a sudden and out of the blue the Bosnian Serbs must sign something because of which we refuse to bend and fall down on our knees.

Milja Vujanovic, the official Serbian witch, also got confused on Tuesday evening. Instead of gloating over the wretched destiny of the European Union (12 stars represented by 12 snakes each biting the tail of the one in front, which is supposed to be symbolically enlightening & symbolically indicative, of course), Milja dealt with numerology & the Etruscans & the mystery of the number 533 that enables the communication with the dead regardless of the fact that they are still alive i.e. mobile and talkative.

Some sort of union of some sort of two and four wheel drivers immediately announced that all its members (some 650,000 people, they say) support the statement of Slobodan Milosevic both its details and its entirety especially its contents and form.

And then: I turned off my TV set and radio, tore up the papers in which one of the Petrovic twins (or both of them) from the Democratic Party of Serbia (DSS) claims that what is currently happening on Television Serbia is ``the twilight of Serbian journalism.'' Is it really? I wonder what they would call all those twilights of warmongering joy and propaganda?

Eternally paranoid of ``the primal fear of the enemy environment'' I decide to escape from the Television and head for Sumadija, the central Serbia. I am perversely interested to find out whether Serbia is the sum of TV screens or whether the public opinion has turned into Orwell's giant tray from which everyone helps himself in accordance with his ideological obligation. Besides, is there a better way to check this one out than by visiting the event whose title, ``Miss Donja Jasenica Pageant,'' directly implies that it will be of crucial political importance for Smederevska Palanka and its surroundings. Who knows how this event will affect Radovan Karadzic and Momcilo Krajisnik. It was worth to check.

The Trip: We take the ``Renault 5'' (``We loved French cars as much as they loved us'') and head southwards.

We pass by low forests and fields, a mass of weekend cottages, small and not so small green hills. The patriotic heart notes that Serbia, fuck it, is not ugly at all; on the contrary. There is something in that ghastly architecture and clumsy attempts at building the so-called suburbs in the middle of nowhere.

Every 27 minutes a sun-tanned bus returning from Greeces speeds by us on the highway. All of a sudden: Azanja. The birth place of Radmila Milentijevic is a reminder that comrade Slobodan Milosevic is never alone & and that there'll always be some decent people who'll help him to end the war in which they, de facto, never took part.

Considerably excited, I watch Bata and Goranka. Bata is driving with his eyes closed since he knows every curve by heart. Goranka is taking pictures of Azanja, where I remembered some monument dedicated to the partisans with their arms open wide as if someone gave them the CD of the band Hindu Loves Gods for free (It costs 25 DM on the local market in Belgrade).

Bata informs us in a cold tone that our infomative-propaganda adventure isn't over yet. We hit Glibovac that is right beside Smederevska Palanka. Those who are not properly informed will discover that Slobodan Ignjatovic, the Federal Information Minister, was born and, no kidding, raised in this picturesque valley.

Frightened to death, I pass through Glibovac without accreditations. It is difficult to describe the feeling of happiness that Smederevska Palanka is round the corner.

The Referendum: Miss Donja Jasenica Pageant (Note: Jasenica is the river that runs through Smederevska Palanka) takes place in the garden of the local cinema. Everything reminds of partisan action movies from 1947. A tiny band is on the stage, the hostess (the host didn't show up), lots of light from two (most likely) military reflectors; the audience is mixed: the young and the elderly; the prominent and the anonymous.

There is no war here tonight; the war does not exist nor has ever existed. There are only girls whose years of birth (between 1976 and 1980) speak more about the peace plan than about the candidates in short dresses, afterwards in scanty bathing suits, all for the sake of the reliable information that tonight with us are three Danijelas, one Sanja, two different Aleksandras, two Suzanas, Sladjana, two Marinas, Jelena, Ivana, Ljiljana, Daliborka, two Draganas and one Marija.

One of the two Aleksandras gets the loudest applause; real Aleksandra is not dark but blonde, she is only sixteen and she looks like no other Aleksandra I have ever met. Beautiful.

Then a music break while the candidates are selected. Fortunately, it isn't turbo-folk. But the accordion Sumadija style.

And, finally, the finals. Aleksandra, my favourite, loses, as usual. She is the first runner-up. Suzana, whom the audience boos fiercely, is better by one point. ``I could swear this was rigged,'' says a policemen, nervously squeezing his hat in his hands.

The candidates are not talkative. They would not talk about the war (``We are not interested in politics'') or about the peace (``What could we possibly change?'') or about the points (``The jury should decide.''). Two out of three heard about VREME. During the break I talk with the singer about the national interests. We agree that everything should be signed right now & immediately, but are interrupted by the news that Pale decided to hold a referendum.

``Great, they have got guts,'' the waiter whispers, rubbing his hands in referendum excitement.

The candidates surrounded with flowers and fans ignore 96 hours of the fight for peace. Aleksandra looks as if she has won; still, the second place is not a trophy. She knows it, just like the people on both sides of the Drina River do.

The trip home: It's late. About 2.30 a.m. Leaving the Miss behind, the locals go home to hear from their TV sets whether they are supposed to want peace right now & immediately. They don't want peace since there is some natural order: first the referendum, then the decision, the counting of ballots, and, only then, the conditions.

We listen about it on the radio that covers bad news with good music. Some madman on MTV plays The Beatles and All You Need is Love after Love Is Strong by Rolling Stones.

I know what Lennon would change in the title if he were alive; the song would be called All You Need Is Referendum & maybe my Aleksandra would have won as well.

I arrive home. There is no water in my apartment block. The lifts are out of order. The doors are bent and the glass so viciously broken that it seeks to slaughter with its sharp edges some tenant who fell asleep while watching the vox pop on the prime time news.

It's four o'clock in the morning. It's too early for peace & too late for war.At this moment I want to believe that those candidates for Miss Donja Jasenica are fast asleep dreaming about something beautiful.