Requiem on the Main Square

"I don't want to hear anything more about the Serbs. I've seen everything", said an American in the full cafe Ruski car in the heart of the city. Some fifty meters away, a meeting of solidarity with the refugees from Krajina was taking place, rain was starting and the Beatles blared from the cafe amplifiers. Asked whether he could turn down the music so we could hear what the people at the rally were saying, a guy, who introduced himself as the owner, calmly answered: "I can't do anything about it". The minute of silence near the Knez Mihajlo monument on Main Square was accompanied by rock and roll and the tingling of glasses in the nearby cafes. Belgrade remained merry, despite all the misery, its own and those of others.

Radio reported on Saturday that Knin fell. Pedja, who had just come from Italy, asked whether the people were rising. "What are you getting so hung up about?", they asked him, "Why should they?". After that, a short stroll through Skadarlija. Everything's full. Belgrade is stuffing itself with hamburgers and shishkebabs, tomato salad, it's drinking wine and soda or Coke. Tambourines and merry crowds can be heard from the restaurants. Pedja would ask: "What's going on?" and everyone would respond: "Serbs are celebrating."

At the beginning of the next week, people started getting confused about words. Who is the traitor here? About the developments in Krajina, about the refugees, the war, about us ... one can learn about all of that only in the denounced Nasa Borba and the denounced Radio B 92. Others are silent. The war which broke out without an official declaration was lost in the same way - without an official declaration.

Most of Belgrade - the one that fills up the already full buses at 6 A.M., is roaming the streets in search of sugar and cooking oil, regularly listens to the RTV of Serbia prime-time news, envies and hates at the same time - still believes its man. "That's what they get for not listening to Sloba (Slobodan Milosevic). He told them what would happen," this is what you can hear more and more frequently in the gayest city in Europe. Milosevic forever.

The first refugees began arriving Monday night. In Pohorska Street (pavilions in New Belgrade), a man in a uniform stepped out of a car and a woman hung herself around his neck. They said nothing and no-one called out to them. That was the beginning. Radio B 92 reporter Svetlana Lukic went to Banja Luka, saw people pushing their cars towards Belgrade, admitted she cried and began organizing collection of relief. People brought milk, baby food, blankets, diapers, bottles full of water... Youth Center's hall was had less and less room. Belgrade, the real one, wanted to help. The rally (Main Square, Wednesday evening) was a flop. It was too merry around it, the speakers too drab. The city which four years ago lifted a stone block, climbed up a police transporter, inhaled a lot of tear gas and showed a lot of courage, now opted for a tepid requiem. There were too many full cafes, too many Beatles, too many ice-creams and take-away Wiener schnitzels in the immediate vicinity for the rally to be taken seriously.

We met Pedja again in Ruski car. "Will something happen". "Hey, man, will you cool it?"