Last Supper

The gig is up.  There’s no going back now.  Party or government vice-president, I am not entirely certain, but it’s all the same —  in any case, comrade Dusan Matkovic personally saw how, in a restaurant in one European capital, Fehmi Agani and Mahmut Bakali sat talking with representatives of the Serbian opposition, members of the Democratic Party and the Civic Alliance of Serbia.

Now there is no other way but to admit everything.  Matkovic told the truth, which I know with certainty since I was there, sitting at that table and, even though I was not mentioned, I consider it advisable to volunteer this information.  Therefore, the historical scene witnessed by Matkovic described occurred in Paris, in the restaurant “Balzar” on Rue Saint Germaine.  He did not lay much stress on the symptomatic fact that the day in question was an anniversary of one of the Yugoslavia’s, probably because he was not sure whether that could be taken as a mediating factor or not.

It was already cold, a nippy wind was blowing from the Atlantic and it must be that only Providence could have lead Matkovic to venture forth, stroll about and stop before the window of a restaurant.  I’m not sure whether I can even imagine his excitement at seeing who was sitting there.  He did not come in, because no one saw him, so he must have glued his nose to the fogged glass and remained thus, taking in every motion made by us inside, guessing at what was being said, who was eating and drinking what, and who was paying the bill, until he realized that he was getting stiff with cold.  But he was certain that comrades in Belgrade would want to know every detail, and that nothing firms up a career like such information.

Comrade Matkovic said that the language used was Serbian, which is true and certainly very useful to know, although that is merely his logical conclusion.  He did not hear any of it, although it sounds better in the report if he says that he did.  I know that he is interested in much more which he was unable to divine, as the table was somewhat removed from the window.  Well, here, I’ll tell all, not wishing to have to admit it under torture: we ate cracklings.  A la provanceale, of course.

Otherwise, the number of conspirators was slightly higher and more colorful than it appeared to the frozen stiff Matkovic.  There were twelve of us, as is only fit for a Last Supper, with the jinxed number thirteen being left out in the cold.  A pity that we did not know he was watching us, especially if he was hungry — that would have opened our appetites to an added degree.  I cannot say what wine we were drinking, and I’m not even sure who sat next to whom, which can hardly be held against me, given the different reports submitted by the four evangelists.

However, what is important is that Comrade Matkovic realized that evening why Albanians are not coming to negotiate with Milutinovic.  Why should they waste time with him and his paper when they can close a deal with the opposition, and in Paris, with a dinner to boot?  I personally sold my part of Kosovo for a portion of cracklings which, as has been established in our country for some time now, is the main currency for such dealings.  I don’t know how the representatives of the parties made their deals, but it’s likely that nothing was left for Milutinovic.  Not even a crackling.

Well, if someone were to really want to know what was being said, this story would have to become deadly boring.  First of all, that dinner was merely the end to a two day session of talks, it being the third such session in the last six months, with more being planned.  The entire thing is being organized by the International Federation for Human Rights in Paris and the France Liberte Foundation which is presided over by Mitterrand’s widow.  The Kosovo problem is analyzed quietly and with civility, in a good atmosphere, with two sides putting forth their positions and exchanging arguments, among which there is nothing which you have not heard many times already.  I’m not saying that all this is leading nowhere, but I’m certain that without Matkovic looking on, the story loses its life.

Of course, he was not personally present, but this does not take away anything from the story.  In all likelihood he found on his table a so-called official report, made by some informant with a lot of spare time on his hands, and decided that it would be more effective if he proclaimed himself as an eyewitness.  He probably thought that the people would sooner believe that the opposition had been caught red handed, in the act of treason, while at the same time letting some of his more envious colleagues know that he is still able to travel, and that he has not been put yet on the European Community’s black list.

The fact that Milosevic negotiates secretly with whom he likes, that is to say with whom he can, the fact that Milutinovic would like to meet with the same Albanians, but with no luck, these are all enterprises of a state whose effects we all see in Kosovo.  And the opposition is traitorous by the very fact that it exists, and only logically so when it meets with Albanians.  We have heard this many times, and whoever wishes to believe this will also believe eyewitness Matkovic, so that it’s hardly worth wasting words on that.
This conviction, not limited to Matkovic alone is quite interesting — that the discovery of secrets like the mentioned supper represent great, valuable information.  It is of little consequence that no secret was at stake.  He tells us that he watched us secretly, thinking, probably correctly, that half of Serbia envies him for this.  It appears that the old snitch tradition is alive and well here, despite the fact that secrets are a thing of the past.  Peeking and listening in are pleasures which do not require a reason.  If there is nothing inside, these sort of people will want to look through the keyhole toward the outside, if only to learn that which everyone knows.

Many people have lived here, and many more have dreamed about living from snitching.  That was an ideal combination of the pleasant and the useful.  But the price of secrets has dropped, the demand is nearly at zero, and now we have a great, insufficiently considered social problem of unemployed snitches who mostly refuse to learn new skills.  This Law on Information goes somewhat in their favor, so that now, even if they do not find out anything secret, they can still report on things that they read in the papers and hear on the radio.

Besides that, Seselj introduced a significant novelty and enriched the local snitch culture with his interpretation of foreign radio shows as representative of espionage.  Thus, if no one tells you anything, if the spy in you is thwarted and starving, you can tell someone something, for that is espionage also.  Seselj broke the traditional mono-directional framework, dividing it into givers and gatherers of information, thus approaching the theory of total espionage.

Following in these footsteps it could be possible to go quite far and to return some dignity to the very discouraged and degraded amateur snitches, when it is not possible to pay everyone what they deserve.  If none of them discovers anything worthy of snitching on in the newspapers, if they have no one to pass their secret message on to, then they can at least confide something to  themselves.  It is important to keep in shape in the snitch business and never to forget that the enemy is everywhere around us, hiding even within us.  Ultimately, everyone can draw a keyhole on their personal home mirror.