Media Discourse and the Yugoslav Conflicts

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Media Discourse and the Yugoslav Conflicts

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Media Discourse and the Yugoslav Conflicts Representations of Self and Other

Edited by Pål Kolstø University of Oslo, Norway

© Pål Kolstø 2009 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the publisher. Pål Kolstø has asserted his moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the editor of this work. Published by Ashgate Publishing Limited Ashgate Publishing Company Wey Court East Suite 420 Union Road 101 Cherry Street Farnham Burlington Surrey, GU9 7PT VT 05401-4405 England USA www.ashgate.com British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data Media discourse and the Yugoslav conflicts : representations of self and other 1. Yugoslav War, 1991-1995 - Mass media and the war 2. Yugoslav War, 1991-1995 - Press coverage 3. Yugoslav War, 1991-1995 - Propaganda 4. War in mass media 5. Mass media and propaganda - Former Yugoslav republics I. Kolsto, Pal 949.7'03 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Kolsto, Pal. Media discourse and the Yugoslav conflicts : representations of self and other / by Pal Kolsto. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-0-7546-7629-4 1. Yugoslav War, 1991-1995--Press coverage. 2. Yugoslav War, 1991-1995--Mass media and the war. 3. War in mass media. 4. Yugoslav War, 1991-1995--Motion pictures and the war. 5. Yugoslav War, 1991-1995--Literature and the war. 6. Kosovo War, 1998-1999-Mass media and the war. 7. Mass media--Moral and ethical aspects. 8. Mass media and propaganda--Former Yugoslav republics. I. Title. DR1313.7.P73K65 2009 949.703--dc22 09ANSHT 2008039161 ISBN 978-0-7546-7629-4 e-ISBN 978-0-7546-7630-0

Contents

List of Figure and Table Notes on Contributors   Acknowledgements  

vii ix xiii

������������ Introduction Discourse and Violent Conflict: Representations of ‘Self’–‘Other’ in the Yugoslav Successor States   1 Pål Kolstø 1 2 3

4

Media Discourse and the Politics of Ethnic Conflict: The Case of Yugoslavia   Tarik Jusić

Reorganizing the Identification Matrix: Televisual Construction of Collective Identities in the Early Phase of Yugoslav Disintegration  39 Sabina Mihelj, Veronika Bajt and Miloš Pankov Foreclosing the Other, Building the War: A Comparative Analysis of Croatian and Serbian Press Discourses During the Conflict in Croatia   Ivana Đurić and Vladimir Zorić Events and Sites of Difference: Mark-ing Self and Other in Kosovo   Nita Luci and Predrag Marković

5 The Yugoslav Succession Wars and the War for Symbolic Hegemony   Jovo Bakić and Gazela Pudar 6

21

Relations between Montenegro and Serbia from 1991 to 2006: An Analysis of Media Discourse   Đorđe Pavićević and Srđan Đurović

61

83

105

129

vi

7

Media Discourse and the Yugoslav Conflicts

Spinning Out of Control: Media Coverage in the Bosnian Conflict   Michal Sládeček and Amer Džihana

153

173



‘Spinning Out of Control’: Mutual Reinforcement Discourse in Macedonia?   Zhidas Daskalovski

9

The Semantics of Silence, Violence and Social Memory: ‘The Storm’ in the Croatian and Serbian Press   Gordana Đerić

195

10

Self and Other in Balkan (Post-)War Cinema   Nedin Mutić

8

215

Conclusion Discourse and Violence   Pål Kolstø

235

Bibliography   List of Media Sources   Index  

245 259 265

List of Figure and Table

Figure I.1

An emotion-based theory of ethnic conflict

Table 1.1

Draft framework for conceptualizing the conflict between ‘us’ and ‘them’

6

33

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Notes on Contributors

Veronika Bajt (b. 1973), holds a PhD in Sociology from the University of Bristol, UK. She is a researcher at the Peace Institute – Institute for Contemporary Social and Political Studies, in Ljubljana, Slovenia. She is also a lecturer at the International University Institute for European Studies, IUIES, in Gorizia, Italy. Her field of research includes migrations, studies of nationalism, ethnicity and racism, and post-socialist transformations in Central-Eastern Europe, particularly former Yugoslavia. Jovo Bakić (b. 1970), MA, is a teaching assistant and a doctoral candidate at the Department of Sociology, Faculty of Philosophy, University of Belgrade. He specializes in the study of nationalism, with the focus on Yugoslavia and Yugoslavism. Bakić’s first book, Ideologies of Yugoslavism Between Serbian and Croatian Nationalism, 1918–1941 (2004) was published in Serbian. Bakić is currently completing his PhD thesis, ‘Shifts in the Interpretations of the Death of Yugoslavia’. Zhidas Daskalovski (b. 1974), holds a PhD from the Political Science Department, Central European University in Budapest. He has published a number of scholarly articles on politics in the Southeast European region, as well as co-editing the book Understanding the War in Kosovo (London: Frank Cass, 2003). Dr Daskalovski teaches at the Political Science Department at the University of Cyril and Methodius and has been engaged as a senior trainer in the capacity-building programme CRPM in public policy and EU affairs. Ivana Đurić (b. 1973), PhD, is a CRCEES Postdoctoral Fellow at the Department of Russian and Slavonic Studies, University of Nottingham. Her main interests are in the area of policy studies, comparative politics, democratization, and post-conflict societies, human and minority rights in South-eastern and Eastern Europe. She has published on the Croatian Diaspora, political inclusion of the Serb minority and issues of minority refugee repatriation to Croatia. Her current research is devoted to the refugee repatriation policies facilitating minority return to Croatia, Bosnia and Kosovo. Srđan Đurović (b. 1978), is a teaching assistant at the Faculty of Political Science, University of Belgrade and Director of the Centre for Applied European Studies, an independent think tank institute based in Belgrade. His academic interests are in the field of contemporary political theory and he takes special interest in issues



Media Discourse and the Yugoslav Conflicts

of identity, citizenship, nationalism and Europeanization. He is co-editor of three books on the Europeanization of Serbian social, political, legal and economic space. Amer Džihana (b. 1973), works as an analyst and head of the Mediacentar Sarajevo Research Program. He received a Master’s Degree from the Faculty of Political Science of Sarajevo. Džihana is interested in the study of media operation in societies undergoing conflict. He also researches issues related to the future of public service broadcasting. Gordana Đerić (b. 1968), Dr Phil., is a research fellow at the Institute for Philosophy and Social Theory, University of Belgrade. She was a lecturer at the Slavic Studies Department at Charles University of Prague and has carried out many scholarly projects. Her research focus is on identity discourses, stereotypes and mental mapping, and her numerous publications include topics like national mythology, imagology and cultural memory. Tarik Jusić (b. 1972), PhD, works as Program Director at the Mediacentar Sarajevo and is a Visiting Research Fellow at the Centre for Media and Communication Studies, CEU Budapest (2008–2009). His interests lie in the field of post-conflict media interventions, media and democratization and public service broadcasting. He has recently co-edited two books, Divided They Fall: Public Service Broadcasting in Multiethnic States, with Sandra Bašić-Hrvatin and Mark Thompson (2008), and Stereotyping: Representation of Women in Print Media in Southeast Europe, with Nirman Moranjak Bamburać and Adla Isanović (2006). Pål Kolstø (b. 1953), Dr Phil., is Professor at the Department of Literature, Area Studies and European Languages, University of Oslo. Since the mid-1990s he has specialized in the study of nationalism, nation-building and ethnic relations in Russia and other parts of Eastern Europe. He is the author of Russians in the Former Soviet Republics (1995) and Political Construction Sites: Nation-building in Russia and the post-Soviet States (2000). Most recently he edited a book on Myths and Boundaries in South-Eastern Europe. Nita Luci (b. 1977), is an assistant lecturer at the Department of Ethnology, University of Pristina. She is a PhD candidate at the Department of Anthropology (University of Michigan, Ann Arbor) and is currently working on her thesis entitled ‘Seeking Independence: Manly Men, Woman, and National Belonging in Kosova’. Her publications include ‘Transitions and Tradition: Constructions of Gender, Nation and Family in Kosova’, Anthropological Yearbook of European Cultures (2005) and The Politics of Remembrance and Belonging: Life Histories of Albanian Women in Kosova (with Vjollca Krasniqi, 2006).

Notes on Contributors

xi

Predrag Marković (b. 1965), is Senior Research Fellow at the Institute for Contemporary History, Belgrade, where he works on social and cultural history. He teaches at several universities as a visiting professor. His most recent publications include Ethnic Stereotypes: Ubiquitous, Local, or Migrating Phenomena? The Serbian–Albanian Case (2003), Moderna srpska država 1804–2004: hronologija (The Modern Serbian State: A Chronology) (co-author, 2004) and Trajnost i promena: društvena istorije svakodnevice socijalizma i postsocijalizma u Jugoslaviji i Srbiji (Continuity and Change: Social History of Everyday Life of Socialism and Postsocializm in Yugoslavia and Serbia) (2007). Sabina Mihelj (b. 1975), PhD, is Lecturer in Media, Communication and Culture at the Department of Social Sciences, Loughborough University. She has written several journal articles and book chapters on nationalism and mass communication, and on comparative media research. Her current research focuses on collective memories of the Cold War and on the social and cultural history of media and culture in socialist Yugoslavia. Nedin Mutić (b. 1980), is a Coordinator at the Norwegian Film Institute. He holds an MA degree in theatre and performance studies from the University of Oslo. His current interest is representation of identity in Balkan post-war film and theatre. Miloš Pankov (b. 1974), holds an MA in Lingustics from the University of Novi Sad, Serbia. He is currently pursuing doctoral research, exploring the discourses of war reporting in western Balkan conflicts. His research interests include issues of political discourse and media discourse. Đorđe Pavićević (b. 1966), is Assistant Professor of Political Theory and Methodology, Faculty of Political Science, University of Belgrade. He is the author of numerous articles in the field of political theory, ethics and political philosophy and co-author of two books including Politics and Everyday Life in Serbia (2003). Gazela Pudar (b. 1982), is junior researcher with The Institute for Sociological Research, Faculty of Philosophy, University of Belgrade. She has been specializing in the study of nationalism in Serbia and other parts of former Yugoslavia. She is working on a magisterial thesis, ‘Attitudes of Young Socio-Politically Involved Intellectuals towards the National Question’ (2008). Michal Sládeček (b. 1967), is a research fellow of the Institute for Philosophy and Social Theory in Belgrade. He received his MA at the Faculty of Philosophy and later he received his PhD at the Faculty of Political Sciences in Belgrade. He has been involved in numerous scholarly projects and published several articles on contemporary philosophy, especially on the debate between liberal and communitarian political philosophy.

xii

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Vladimir Zorić (b. 1977), PhD 2006, is Lecturer in Slavonic Studies at the University of Nottingham. He is the author of a monograph on Danilo Kiš, Kiš, legenda i priča (Kiš, Legend and Story) (2005). His current research interest is in the rhetoric of exile in political and literary discourses.

Acknowledgements This book emanates from the research project ‘Spinning out of control: Rhetoric and violent conflict. Representations of “self”–“other” in the Yugoslav successor states’. The project is funded by the Norwegian Research Council (NFR), and The Norwegian Center for International Cooperation in Higher Education (SIU), project number 174860, and involves three institutions: The Department of Literature, Area Studies and European Languages at the University of Oslo; Mediacentar, Sarajevo; and the Institute for Philosophy and Social Theory, Belgrade. In addition, a large number of individual researchers from various countries have been affiliated with the project and have contributed to the book. A first draft of the book was presented at a workshop in Belgrade in September 2007. At this workshop we invited Stef Jansen, University of Manchester, and Ger Duijzings, School of Slavonic and East European Studies, University College of London, to give their critical comments and suggestions for improvement. We benefited immensely from their input. Pål Kolstø Oslo, January 2009

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Introduction

Discourse and Violent Conflict: Representations of ‘Self’–‘Other’ in the Yugoslav Successor States Pål Kolstø

Since the violent break-up of Yugoslavia hundreds of books and articles have been published that offer various and often conflicting frameworks for understanding. This volume is yet another book in this genre, and the reader may legitimately ask: what can it possibly offer that its predecessors have not already told us? This short answer is: while many earlier works mention the role of rhetoric and media, we study this crucial aspect of these conflicts in a more comprehensive and systematic way, employing the theory of discourse analysis. In particular, we study how the warring parties presented themselves and the ‘other’ through the mass media in the period leading up to the outbreak of violence, as well as during and after the conflict. In this way we not only contribute to a better understanding of why violence erupted in the former Yugoslavia – and why it was avoided in one post-Yugoslav conflict, Montenegro – but at the same time also advance our understanding of the relationship of discourse to violence in general. Some monographs on the wars of Yugoslav succession have been devoted to the role of the mass media in the fostering of violent conflict (Snyder and Ballentine 1997; Thompson 1999; Popov 2000, 537–629; Skopljanac-Brunner et al. 2000b; Kurspahić 2003a). The main focus of these studies has been the relationship between the media and the elites that use them to manipulate the masses. The media scene in latter-day Yugoslavia no doubt offers many examples of such manipulation and attempted manipulation, but as Martin Reisigl and Ruth Wodak point out, to speak about ‘manipulation’ may imply reductionist and hardly provable assumptions about the effects of language use. The use of this concept risks incapacitating the recipients (the hearers and the readers) as autonomous, self-aware and self-reflective beings (Reisigl and Wodak 2001, 33). We need to know not only how and by whom the propaganda and other texts are produced, but also how they may contribute to violent or peaceful outcomes. This requires  ������������������������������������������������������������������������������ Sabrina P. Ramet (2005) has examined more than a hundred books devoted to the Yugoslav break-up and the wars in Bosnia and Kosovo. While many of these titles mention the deleterious effect of propaganda, none put the study of rhetoric or discourse at the centre of their inquiry.



Media Discourse and the Yugoslav Conflicts

a closer look at the texts themselves – their structure, vocabulary and underlying messages. For these purposes, discourse analysis is well suited. Normally, the relationship of political decision-making with political rhetoric is regarded as one of master and handmaiden: rhetoric comes into play ex post when the decision is already taken, as embellishment, not as impetus. This is implied in the concepts of ‘spin’ and ‘spin-doctors’. Spin, however, may also play a more active role in framing and eliminating political alternatives. While rhetoric is intended to manipulate an audience, it may ‘strike back’ and influence the thinking and actions of the speakers themselves. Politicians may become prisoners of the images and perceptions they have conjured up, both directly, as these images influence their own way of thinking, and indirectly, since politicians need the support of their followers. Their followers may have come to see the world in the way the politicians have painted it and expect them to act in accordance with this world view. The rhetorical situation may ‘spin out of control’, as it were. An egregious example of this is when sabre rattling intended to intimidate the enemy and force them into concession instead contributes to the outbreak of war. It is certainly not our contention that discourse alone decides political outcomes. Discourse is but one factor among many others – including the international climate, the politico-military ‘correlation of forces’, manipulative individual leaders, and so on – that decide issues of war and peace. The aim in this volume is to isolate one factor, discourse, in order to examine its function and role. To operationalize this question, comparisons will be made among post-Yugoslav ethnopolitical conflicts with different trajectories and outcomes. The former Yugoslavia is well suited for such comparative analysis since the region has experienced a number of different conflicts in which many of the background variables, such as common political history and closely related languages, are more or less constant, while the outcomes have varied. We compare three post-Yugoslav cases of civil war – with death tolls ranging from approximately 10,000 (Kosovo and Croatia) to approximately 100,000 (Bosnia) – with two cases of conflict with limited violence and one region that experienced ethnopolitical tension, but without entering into a violent mode. The three cases of civil war are Croatia 1991–1995, Bosnia 1992–1995 and Kosovo 1998–1999; the cases with limited war are Slovenia 1991 and Macedonia 2001, while the non-violent case is the dissociation of Serbia and Montenegro. In order to compare such a large number of cases it is necessary to typify them into a standardized schema. Running the risk of oversimplification, we have reduced the various stories into presentations of ‘us’ vs ‘them’. As argued below, the selfunderstanding or identity of a group is always constructed upon the boundary separating it from other groups. Stories about the ‘other’ are, therefore, always also stories about ourselves. Stories about the ‘other’ are told within both communities, and we look for mutual influences and feedback effects between the two sets of discourses. It is a commonplace observation that the discourses of militants on both sides feed on each other. In the academic literature, less attention has been paid to the possible

Discourse and Violent Conflict



feedback effect between the rhetorical circuits of moderates and conciliators on the two sides. In addition, we are concerned with possible loop effects from contexts to texts when the political situation moves from violence to no violence (or from mass violence to limited violence). Violent conflict, we assume, may influence perceptions and discourse in such a way that with the cessation of hostilities the situation does not return to the status quo antebellum. On the one hand, there are the institutional changes: new boundaries, relocation of housing and citizenship, new media, new schooling syllabi, and so on. Less tangibly, the war experiences – human pain inflicted through acts of atrocity, but also acts of humanism and heroism – are incorporated into the collective memory and reflected in a new hegemonic discourse. Theoretically, the approach in this book links together three strands of research: theories of ethnic conflict, theories on identity construction on the we–them boundary and discourse analysis. The discussion below will show how these three research traditions may be mutually enriched through this encounter in ways that enhance our understanding of the preconditions for and the dynamics behind ethnic violence. Discourse and Violent Conflict There is a large and growing literature on the causes and dynamics of ethnic conflicts. As this section will show, the various theories on offer differ in the degree to which they focus on and acknowledge the role of information structure/ discourse in the fostering or constraint of violence. Space does not allow here an extensive treatment of a large number of post-Cold War conflict theories, thus an examination of some typical and seminal positions will have to suffice (for a more extensive discussion see Kolstø 2002). Many of the most recent attempts of theory building find their empirical material in the violent break-up of Yugoslavia. Even so, they very often give starkly different, sometimes incompatible, interpretations of what actually happened in these conflicts. The presentation below of these theories will show that all of them need an understanding of how knowledge is constructed and disseminated in society. Therefore, discourse analysis is an important, even a necessary, element in all of them. At the same time, it is emphasized that discourse, certainly alone, does not determine conflict trajectories. Discourse analysis is therefore not an alternative to any of the existing theories, but a supplement to them. It may fit into and be a ‘missing link’ in very different theories of conflict, even in theories that are incompatible with each other. In an elite-centred theory it may clarify how people are being manipulated by their leaders; in another theory that is more concerned about the reactions in the population at large it may explain how people come to perceive a need to find security and support from other members of their ethnic group.



Media Discourse and the Yugoslav Conflicts

The ‘Security Dilemma’ The so-called ‘security dilemma’ approach builds upon the basic insight of realist international relations theory that relations among states are anarchic. With the partial exception of the United Nations, no international organization has the power or the mandate to deter aggression against all states. Each state, therefore, has to fend for itself and provide for its own security by entering into alliances with other states and acquiring its own means of physical security. A major problem for all states in this respect is that practically all measures a state can take in order to enhance its security can also be used for offensive purposes. A stronger state will be better equipped to defend itself than a weak one but, at the same time, it will pose a greater threat to its neighbours. Surrounding states can never be absolutely sure about the true intent behind an ongoing arms build-up and have little choice but to initiate similar measures in order to assure their own security. Thus, the steps a state takes to enhance its own security can easily lead to the opposite result, leaving both the state itself and its neighbours more vulnerable than they were before the build-up started. This is called the security dilemma. The realists argue that conditions within states differ fundamentally from conditions among states. At the state level there does exist an arbiter and peacekeeper that stands above the contending and potentially hostile groups in society. Ideally, at least, this is the case, but this presupposes a well-organized, well-functioning state, and this premise does not always hold. When the central state power collapses, as happened in Yugoslavia, the members of society no longer have anyone to protect them, except for those groups with which they identify and that will stand up for them. In an influential article Barry Posen argues that this means that under certain conditions even states may be regarded as anarchic (Posen 1993). Posen believes that whenever ethnic groups assess potential threats to their security under conditions of a weak or absent state, they take into account, among others, the following aspects: the history of their relationship with neighbouring groups; their demographic, economic and military strength; settlement patterns; the reactions of the international milieu; and their potential for concluding alliances. If there is a history of hostility and violence in an intergroup relationship, the members of both groups will tend to think that they have reason to fear more violence in the future. If parts of a group live as isolated pockets surrounded by the potential enemy group, the group may consider their co-ethnics vulnerable. Posen argues that these were conditions that obtained in the relationship between Serbs and Croats during and after the collapse of the Yugoslav state. There was a history of mutual atrocities, in particular from World War II; groups of Serbs were living as ‘islands’ in Croatia, cut off from the main body of the Serbian nation in Serbia. The ‘objective conditions’ of Posen’s analysis, however, are not always as objective as they might seem. Serbs living in a mixed village in, say, Bosnia, will have first-hand knowledge only about who their immediate

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neighbours are. If there are many Croats or Muslims among them, they cannot draw from that fact the conclusion that they belong to a vulnerable minority in the country at large because from personal experience they do not know the ethnic composition of the other parts of the country. They have to be told. And even statistically correct data can be presented in many different ways to produce the maximum effect: if your group constitutes a majority in the country but a minority in the larger region, the latter figure is produced. As Stef Jansen remarks, ‘lay knowledge about the composition of populations tends to reflect moral panics and political scaremongering rather than census statistics’ (Jansen 2005, 49). Hence, all putatively objective historical, demographic and statistical facts have to be selected, interpreted and related to the members of society before they can influence their perceptions and actions. Someone has to formulate and articulate these putative ‘facts’ and present them to the public. There will also be different opinions within society as to what actually are the most important facts of society and how they should be interpreted. In that way, different competing discourses will be established.

Emotions In a sophisticated attempt to explain ethnic violence in Eastern Europe Roger Petersen incorporates Posen’s security dilemma approach into a general theory of the role of emotions in ethnic conflict. According to Petersen, emotions are the neglected factor in studies of violent conflict. Structural explanations, such as the security dilemma, too readily assume that structural change will lead to changed patterns of action. We need to identify a micro-level mechanism that can explain why individuals should participate in acts of violence against people with whom they have hitherto lived in harmony. This role, Petersen believes, emotions can fill. They alert the individual to heighten the pursuit of one basic desire above others to meet the demands of changing conditions (Petersen 2002, 3). Petersen calls the dominant emotion that drives the security dilemma scenario fear, but other emotions may also play a leading role in deteriorating group relations. These he calls resentment, hatred and rage. Resentment results when people perceive themselves as dominated by another group that they regard as inferior. This hurts their self-esteem and leads to attempts to reverse the status hierarchy. Hatred is a product of a long history of mutual hostility and violence. In a hatred-driven scenario, both parties believe that they have much to revenge and also expect the other group to commit new atrocities against them as soon as they get the chance. Finally, rage is an uncontrolled and basically self-destructive emotion that does not lead to the fulfilment of any particular desire. Resentment, hatred and fear are all instrumental emotions in the sense that they spur individuals to reach recognizable goals: enhanced group status, historical vengeance and safety, respectively (see Figure I.1). Petersen believes that all three mechanisms were at work in the bloody collapse of the Yugoslav state;



Media Discourse and the Yugoslav Conflicts

in fact, few other conflicts in recent times illustrate his theory as well as these do. Petersen agrees with Posen that fear better than anything else explains the actions taken by the Serbian side in the Croatian–Serbian war, but not the actions taken by the Croatian side. He regards some of the laws adopted by the Tu����� đ���� man regime, such as the downgrading of the status of the Serbs in the 1990 constitution from ‘constituent nation’ to ‘national minority’, as deliberately provocative. The Croatian leaders knew that their actions were likely to escalate the conflict, but did not care, since they felt that they had been systematically discriminated against in the Yugoslav state – in both its interwar and Titoist incarnations – and craved a status reversal. This systematic discrimination had created a pent-up resentment that was now allowed free rein, irrespective of consequences.

Figure I.1  An emotion-based theory of ethnic conflict

Source: Redrawn from Petersen, R.D. (2002), Understanding Ethnic Violence: Fear, Hatred, and Resentment in Twentieth Century Eastern Europe (Cambridge University Press).

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Petersen argues that similar emotions fuelled the Bosnian conflict. Here, both Serbs and Croats reacted with resentment against the notion that the Bosnian Muslims might come to occupy a superior position in the ethnic hierarchy. On the other hand, in the Serbian–Albanian conflict in Kosovo, the dynamics were significantly different. By the early 1990s, the Albanians were clearly in a subordinate position and the Serbs were not threatened by any impending status reversal. The resentment scenario, therefore, cannot explain why they instigated a mass expulsion of more than one million Albanians in 1999. To understand this action, Petersen believes it is necessary to look at the history of Serb–Albanian relations, which over the last century were characterized by numerous cases of atrocities, in both directions. This nourished deep, mutual feelings of hate (Petersen 2002, 242–50). Some readers will find Petersen’s explanation compelling and consistent with the facts on the ground; others will not. My own objection to it is that it contains a lacuna or an inner weakness: it lacks a theory of how information is gathered and beliefs formed. Petersen does not postulate emotions as the only intermediate level between structural change and action: between structure and emotion information and belief formation intervene (see Figure I.1). However, Petersen tells us very little about how this intermediate process works, and one may get the impression that he sees it as rather simple and unproblematic. He tells us, for instance, that ‘increased contact with other groups automatically produces new information … If a mismatch occurs between reality and the conception of a “just” hierarchy, the emotion of Resentment is activated’ (Petersen 2002, 42, emphasis added). To my mind, however, there is nothing automatic about this process, and the word ‘reality’ in the above sentence ought to have been put in quotation marks no less than the word ‘just’, not because an outer reality does not exist (I believe it does), but because people interpret it very differently. The information we possess about the putative members of other groups is derived to a very small degree from personal encounters only, and often first-hand experience is disregarded if it conflicts with what we hear on the news. Thus, for instance, in a Bosnian village the local Serbs explained to a Western reporter that the Muslims had been expelled because they had threatened to kill all the Serb men and take their women into harems. They had heard this on the radio and trusted it in spite of the fact that, as one woman said, ‘my relations with Muslims in the village were always very good. They were very nice people’ (Peter Maas, as quoted by Vetlesen 2005, 193). Thus, the weak point of Petersen’s emotion-based theory of ethnic violence is that it does not include any discussion of how information about ‘reality’ is filtered and moulded through discourse before it becomes ‘knowledge’.

Elites V.P. Gagnon (1997) has developed a cost–benefit analysis on how ruling elites can trigger violent conflict along ethnic lines in order to stay in power. He maintains that, when ruling elites in undemocratic societies face challenger elites that



Media Discourse and the Yugoslav Conflicts

threaten their power base, they will often be willing to respond by undertaking policies that are costly to the society as a whole. They will present themselves as the only true champions of the ethnic cause and create a political context in which ethnicity is the only relevant political identity. In this way what started as an internal power struggle is transformed into a conflict with other groups. The stronger the challenger groups confronting the ruling elites, the more threatened the people in power will feel and the more willing they will be to incur high costs to preserve their positions. At the same time, conflicts will be undertaken with an eye to minimizing the costs for those parts of the population that are key for support. Conflicts will, therefore, tend to be provoked outside the borders of the elite’s power base. This, in Gagnon’s view, is an important part of the explanation for the wars in Croatia and Bosnia in the 1990s. The Serbian regime of Slobodan Milošević was increasingly threatened by rival elites in Belgrade, and managed to stay in power by creating an image of a Serbian nation threatened by foreign enemies and of themselves as the only possible saviours of the nation. Rather than turning Serbia proper into a theatre of war, they fostered violent conflicts in the neighbouring countries, Croatia and Bosnia, thus averting substantial threats to the material interests of their main constituency, the Serb voters in Serbia. In Gagnon’s theory there is no discussion of the ‘objective’ situation of ethnic groups. Whether or not the group is actually threatened is in a sense irrelevant to him, since the impetus to foment conflict does not come from the grass-roots members of the group, but from its leaders, the elites. Like Posen, Gagnon is concerned with ‘security perceptions’, but of a very different kind: it is the perceptions of elites that feel threatened by other elites. In a later important work, The Myth of Ethnic War: Serbia and Croatia in the 1990s, Gagnon (2004) maintains that, in the period leading up to the wars in Croatia and Bosnia, Milo������������������������������������������������������ šević and Tuđman did not engage in ethnic outbidding, that is, in a������������������������������������������������������������������������� process whereby competing political parties try to outdo each other in nationalist rhetoric and policies in order to appeal to and thus receive the support of the ethnic voters, which spirals to more extreme positions. Instead, they practised what he calls ethnic ‘underbidding’ through which they tried to present themselves as more moderate and less nationalistic than their competitors. Policies that might provoke violence were not put on display as a means to mobilize the population but hidden from public view and denied. Only when the Serbian leadership did not need to actively appeal to the wider population did it resort to inflammatory and nationalist language, Gagnon claims (Gagnon 2004, 46 and 94). Gagnon, however, provides few examples of Milošević’s and Tuđman’s actual rhetoric to underpin his thesis, and he also introduces a new distinction between ‘offensive’ and ‘defensive’ propaganda that goes some way to undermine it: when Milošević needed to gain the active support of the majority of the voters in a system of multiparty elections, his propaganda machine focused almost exclusively on injustices being perpetrated against innocent Serb women, children and old people outside Serbia, Gagnon points out:

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[Milošević’s Socialist Party] portrayed those injustices as being essentially based on ethnicity, as having been inflicted on Serbs by non-Serbs … [The party] portrayed itself not in terms of expressing ancient hatred, but rather as the instrument of righting those injustices. (Gagnon 2004, 95)

There is, however, no reason to regard such ‘defensive’ rhetoric as less inflammatory and rabble-rousing than any ‘offensive’ strategy that plays on the ‘ancient hatred’ theme. Both kinds of discourse create a strong dichotomy between ‘us’ and ‘them’, identifying ‘them’ with evil and ‘us’ with innocence and goodness. Gagnon’s analysis, then, basically falls into line with those interpretations that see elite-manipulated discourse as crucial for the understanding of the outbreak of the wars in the former Yugoslavia. Ethnic Warfare as Collective Evildoing In Evil and Human Agency (2005) Arne Johan Vetlesen approaches the problem of ethnic violence from a very different angle. As a moral philosopher he wants to understand why and how groups of people intentionally inflict pain and suffering on other human beings, against their will, causing serious and foreseeable harm to them. In other words, why do they commit evil acts? The two paradigmatic cases of collective evildoing in modern European history that he focuses on are the Holocaust and ‘ethnic cleansing’ in Bosnia during 1992–1995, especially as it was carried out by Serbian paramilitaries. Vetlesen is convinced that the atrocities committed during the Bosnian war were centrally initiated and the result of a sophisticated and highly organized undertaking. In this sense, Vetlesen’s explanation represents an almost diametrically different position from Posen’s security dilemma approach. Human agency, not structures is, what matters. As Vetlesen sees it, one of the most sinister dynamics behind ethnic cleansing is what he calls ‘the logic of generic attribution’. This has two aspects: on the one hand, every individual is reduced to ‘a member of a group’, and on the other, every member of a group is held responsible for all alleged acts committed by all other putative members of the group, not only in the present but also in the remote past. As a result, the murder of, for instance a five-year-old Bosnian Muslim child may be legitimized by reference to harms Muslims allegedly did to Serbs 600 years ago (Vetlesen 2005, 158). When the ‘enemy’ is people one has known and lived with for years, such reductionism is not a simple task, and it requires considerable preparatory ideological work. In order to be convinced that one’s neighbours are nothing but members of a hostile and threatening group, future perpetrators must be exposed to systematic propaganda. The historical past must be mythologized and the individuals reduced to stereotypes. ‘A war of words precedes a war of bodies … An atmosphere pervaded by fear, hatred, distrust, contempt and the like, of the groups singled out for destruction [must be created] in so many articles, books,

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speeches, and conversations. The drumming up of such an atmosphere is a sine qua non for the atrocities to follow’ (Vetlesen 2005, 169–70). In his own research, however, Vetlesen does not enquire into the mechanisms by which this propaganda may influence the perceptions and actions of evildoers. Constructivism: The Copenhagen School The so-called Copenhagen School is based on a constructivist approach, that is, it denies the existence of any objectively given preconditions and circumstances in politics. Perceptions of the world rather than any objectively existing world of things shape policies and determine outcomes. While, in the 1960s, the pioneers of constructivist theory saw these processes as basically impersonal and independent of the will of the individual, in recent years many constructivists have come to believe that reality perceptions are open to manipulations by political leaders interested in achieving certain outcomes. The Copenhagen School rejects the realist assumption that groups are formed in response to threats from the outside. There is no such thing as an objective security concern. Any public issue may be identified by the actors as political or non-political, that is, as a concern for the entire community or a concern for the individual only. If the leaders succeed in convincing the members of their community that the issue at hand involves the very survival of the group, then it becomes a security issue. Thus, public issues are being moved in and out of the field of ‘vital’ security concerns by deliberate acts of politicizing and securitizing. These two concepts are central to the Copenhagen School. As his contribution to the Copenhagen School’s theory building, Espen Barth Eide introduces the concept of violization (Eide 1997). Violization occurs when conscious actors introduce elements of physical violence in a conflict in order to achieve certain objectives. In the Bosnian war, for instance, rapes were not just spontaneous acts of wanton rapaciousness by drunken or sexually starved soldiers, but elements in a systematic plan to pulverize the solidarity of the enemy group and create resentment and bitterness among its members. The girl who is debased in front of her father and brothers involuntarily exposes their inability to perform the most fundamental family role of a man – to protect the women and children against external threats. Politicizing and securitizing are discursive strategies, and of the theories of ethnic violence that are surveyed here, the Copenhagen School is the one that most directly addresses the issue of discourse. The problem with this approach, therefore, is not that it neglects the role of language in the germination of conflict but rather the opposite. It fails to discuss why nationalist propaganda may be such an effective tool in some settings and not in others. Cynical politicians who are willing to manipulate their population to the point of unleashing an ethnic war may be found in most societies, but only in some situations are they able to attain their goals. The reason why such manipulators are shunted to the sidelines in some countries and reach the pinnacle of state power in others must largely be sought

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outside the discourse. This illustrates the important point that discourse analysis cannot stand alone. It does not, in itself, provide a complete theory of violence but can function as a crucial element of analysis in other theories.

Discourse, Representations and Power Discourse A simple definition of discourse analysis is that it studies language in use (see for example Scollon 2005, 140). Similar to semantics it is concerned with the meaning side of language but, in contrast, does not treat language as a closed system. Language is situated in contexts, and discourse analysts look for the meaning of an uttering in its relation to that context. The context may be defined more or less broadly, either as the immediate hic et nunc of a conversation, as a certain social environment – a family, a school, a firm or a political party – or as broadly as an entire political system or historical epoch. The meaning the researcher finds will inevitably reflect the choice of context within which the language in use – the discourse – is studied. Linguists often choose to study language at the level of the sentence or even single words. For discourse analysis these units are too small. In order to detect the societal or interpersonal meaning of language it is necessary to focus on larger bodies of texts. Texts can be treated as separate discourses, but they also interact with each other to form larger discourses. The fact that the concept of ‘discourse’ is used in two different senses – both as single texts and as conglomerates of texts – is somewhat confusing. Some researchers therefore designate the higher level – conglomerates of texts – as Discourse with a capital letter. One and the same text may be treated as an element in several different Discourses. It may for instance be a part of a literary Discourse, a nationalist Discourse and a Serbian Discourse simultaneously. A Discourse is not something that exists ‘out there’ ready to be ‘discovered’ by the researcher. Rather, it is an analytical tool designed by the analyst to tease out the meaning of texts in their interaction with other texts in a social and political environment. Some discourse analysts tend to see language as a neutral resource, the sociopolitical goals of which are manifest only at the level of discourse. More commonly, however, they will agree with Fred Halliday’s systemic functional linguistics that sees language as shaped (even in its grammar) by the social functions it has come to serve (Chilton and Schäffner 2002, 24; Meyer 2005, 22). Discourse analysts have identified and studied a number of mechanisms and strategies that language users employ in order to press home their message, many of which are of great importance for an inquiry into representations of self/other in the public space. These include grammatical and syntactical structures, such as the use of active vs passive constructions, and lexical and semantic devices, such as metaphors, analogies, metonyms and indexes (Fairclough 1995a; Chilton 2004).

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By choosing a passive construction over an active, a speaker may manipulate the impression of who is the agent and who is the patient/victim in a certain interaction. In most languages it is also possible to omit the agent, the subject, altogether and make it appear as if things happen ‘by themselves’ or through some undefined law of nature. Thus, for instance, Stef Jansen reports from his interviews with local villagers in Krajina that people would often use the verb in the passive tense and in the neutral gender when they talked about the war in Croatia. They would say things like ‘there was shooting’ (‘pucalo se’) and ‘there was killing’ (‘ubilo se’), thus dodging the issue of moral responsibility (Jansen 2002, 85). Metaphors and metonyms may be used to describe one’s own group – the self – in positive terms, and the other group in negative terms. As Lakoff and Johnson (1980) have demonstrated, metaphors permeate the language. They structure our mental maps, for instance what we associate with ‘up’ and ‘down’, ‘forward’ and ‘backward’ when we are using these words in a non-spatial sense. Indexes are pointers that in various ways structure the text around a ‘deictic centre’: spatially (here–there), temporally (then–now–soon-to-come), person-oriented (we–them) and in relation to modality (good–bad, pretty–ugly). These often very small and inconspicuous words frequently perform a heavy load of discursive work, not least in representations of self and other. Pronouns in the first person plural create group identity. They construct not only an insider group but also a ‘non-we’, or ‘them’ (Chilton and Schäffner 2002, 30). What exactly is meant by ‘we/us’ may seem superficially evident, but may in the course of a text often undergo subtle changes, such as from ‘we in our party’, via ‘all who agree with us’, to ‘all members of “our” nation’. Michael Billig has drawn attention to the crucial deictic quality of another unobtrusive word, the definite article ‘the’. In news reporting, terms like ‘the’ nation or ‘the’ country normally do not have to be explained; they obviously refer back to ‘our’ nation and ‘our’ country. Indeed, even such a seemingly quite innocuous phrase as ‘the weather forecast for today’ can contribute to identity building. We easily understand that ‘the’ weather in question is the weather in ‘our’ country. Thus, such language lays the groundwork for what Billig calls ‘banal nationalism’ and to what he regards as ‘the dangerous politics of “us” and “them”’ (Billig 2006, 123). It should be noted that this way of structuring the language may be effective not only in national identity building in nation-states, which is what Billig discusses, but also in ethnic identity building within states. A very important discursive mechanism alluded to by Billig is presupposition, or omission of that which is regarded as so obvious that it need not be stated directly. No text will ever be complete in the sense that every term and reference is explained, but what we, in each case, decide to leave out is often just as significant as what we explicitly say or write (see Đeri������������������������������������� ć������������������������������������ , this volume). If a presupposition goes unchallenged, a rhetorical victory has been achieved. The recipient has then by implication agreed that the unspoken information, the omitted link in the line of argument, is indeed obvious. If challenged, the author must make the implicit text explicit.

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A text has both a sender and a receiver, and the meaning with which these two imbue the text is rarely identical. Texts may have very different meanings at the level of intention and at the level of consequences. The author is, therefore, not in complete control of the meaning of the text they have produced. It is a common occurrence that a speaker who is criticized for what they have said will aver that ‘this is not what I meant’. The ‘inner’ or ‘deeper’ meaning of a text as intended by the sender is something that inevitably escapes the discourse analyst. It is also not what we are primarily concerned with. We are interested in the meaning of texts as they are constructed as social phenomena in the public space in the interaction between the sender, the receiver(s) and other texts. Many discourse analysts use words such as ‘strategies’ to explain why a given text is constructed in a certain way. ‘Strategy’ is, strictly speaking, a military metaphor. A general adopts a certain strategy in order to win a battle and ultimately the war. This reminds us that discourse analysis is concerned with the relationship between language and power. All human relations are permeated by power relations, of domination and subjugation, but also of resistance and rebellion. Also, equilibrium may be understood as a power relation, between equal, countervailing forces. Discourses may be aimed at the preservation or a change of a status quo situation. In relation to a given political or social situation they may be conservative, revolutionary or reactionary. In a study of the role of discourse in ethnic conflict, such as that conducted in this book, it would be a mistake to assume that only texts which advocate, or in their consequences lead to, an escalation of violence, are strategic. Also texts with peaceful, conciliatory messages inevitably must employ various rhetorical strategies in order to ‘win’ the debate and impact upon the larger Discourse. Post-structural and Critical Discourse Analysis Discourse analysis comes in many different flavours and varieties. Michel Foucault’s analyses of various Discourses in modern European history have been highly influential (Foucault 1994). Foucault studied aspects of European cultural practices such as the development of penal systems as well as of changing perceptions of sanity/insanity as outcomes of Discourses. He demonstrated the vast changes that have taken place in European understandings of what is a ‘crime’ and what amounts to normal vs abnormal behaviour. Each age and each group has a tendency to regard its own understanding not only as natural, but as the only one possible. The relationship between the dominant Discourse in one age and that in the next is, Foucault claimed, more often than not characterized by discontinuity. Foucault’s analyses showed that Discourse has a direct impact on social relations and power structures in society. The Discourse that dominates in a certain age, with its concepts and classifications, determines which people are able to impose their will upon other people, up to and including the possibility of using coercive means against their bodies. An important part of the Foucaldian legacy to later discourse analysis is, therefore, a strong emphasis on the power nexus.

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Certain aspects of Foucault’s approach are problematical, however. First, in his conception, power is not a unilateral phenomenon that flows in one direction, topdown, only. Every society is permeated by power relations in all directions; the downtrodden who lack the means to influence the public discourse formulate their own alternative discourses that may be powerful in their own ways. Even if we agree that this may be so, this perspective is very difficult to operationalize; when virtually everything becomes power, it is difficult to identify what is not power. Second, Foucault regarded a Discourse as more than the sum of texts produced by individual authors. As he saw it, it was a mistake to focus on the contribution of individuals, their intentions and impact. In a certain sense, the Discourse lives its own life and ‘determines’ what can and cannot be said and written at a given time and in a given context. It is not so much the authors who communicate in and through discourse as the Discourse who speaks through them. This introduces an almost metaphysical element in an otherwise vehemently anti-metaphysical theory (Fearon and Laitin 2000, 851–2). Finally, Foucault’s definition of Discourse is very broad. It includes not only texts but also the institutions, social structures and cultural practices of a given age. Indeed, it may be difficult to identify what is outside the Discourse. In a study such as ours that intends to analyse the relationship between text and context, we need a definition of discourse that keeps these two analytically apart. Another strand of discourse analysis, which has developed at an arm’s-length distance from the Foucaldian tradition, is ‘critical discourse analysis’ (CDA). CDA should perhaps not be described as a theory but as a bundle of related theories and methods applied by several groups of like-minded researchers. Some CDA analysts are oriented towards social psychology, others towards literary criticism or social semiotics. Most of them are heavily indebted to systemic functional linguistics while the influence from the Frankfurt School of Critical Theory is also very strong (Meyer 2005, 22). The common word ‘critical’ in the two research traditions is no coincidence. As argued by Ruth Wodak (2005, 2), CDA is ‘fundamentally concerned with analysing opaque as well as transparent structural relations of dominance, discrimination, power and control as manifested in language’. CDA analysts do not regard language as a power in its own right; instead, language gains its power by the way powerful people make use of it. At the same time, language can also be used to challenge power and subvert it. Power cannot be reduced to language and does not derive from language, but language may alter the distribution of power in the short and long run. ‘Language provides a finely articulated means for differences of power in social hierarchical systems’ (Wodak 2005, 11). Thus, the issue of power is no less prominent in CDA than in the Foucaldian tradition, but a political stance is more explicitly expressed (Van Dijk 2005, 96).

 Some researchers regard CDA analysis as compatible with a Foucaldian approach (e.g. Jäger 2005), while others see them as inconsistent (e.g. Riggins 1997, 3).

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Representations In this book we are not equally concerned with all methods of discourse analysis. For instance, a number of analytical tools have been elaborated for the study of oral conversations that need not concern us here. We are interested in how ethnic groups represent themselves and others through media. To this end, we need primarily three things: a theory of media discourse, an understanding of what representations are and how they work, and an understanding of how identity is constructed on the we–them boundary. The first issue will be discussed by Jusić in a separate chapter in this volume. Below, I will address the other two. Representations are a central element in all discourses. Indeed, a discourse may be defined as ‘a systematic, internally consistent body of representations’ (Riggins 1997, 2). The classical Greek concept of mimesis or representation by imitation suggested that things have meanings in themselves prior to our representation of them through language. In this understanding, meaning is objectified and placed outside the speaker/writer (and of the listener/reader). Alternatively, meaning may be understood as something that is produced by the speakers through their representation of an object or an issue. In this case, meaning coincides with the speaker’s intention. Neither of these understandings is satisfactory from the point of view of discourse analysis (Hall 1997, 25). The senders (the speakers or writers) do not alone decide the meaning of a certain issue. They are constrained by the existing linguistic rules and conventions as well as by the available cultural codes in society, and may ignore these only at their own peril. If someone attempts to give the words in a given language completely new meanings, the speaker will simply not be understood. He or she will most probably be written off either as a lunatic or as someone unable to speak ‘properly’ and intelligently. In a certain sense, therefore, the language exists prior to and independent of its individual users, as Ferdinand de Saussure argued. In this way it can be said that meaning is negotiated between the speaker and the recipient in a certain cultural setting; it is constructed through discourse and representations. Meaning is interpersonal and dialogical, as Mikhail Bakhtin called it, not a given. This understanding does not deny the existence of an outer world, but it denies that this outer world has any meaning outside the discourse. Moreover, it does not privilege language as an objectively given system over the individual usages of a language or vice versa. The relationship between the language as a system of signs and the actual individual usages of this language is characterized by a hermeneutic circle: the general preconditions the particulars and the particulars modify the general (Wodak and Meyer 2005). This approach looks back to de Saussure’s seminal distinction between la langue and la parole. Stuart Hall characterizes language as a system of signs, and the study of sign systems is the domain of semiotics. As Hall indicates, there is a certain overlap between a semiotic and a discursive study of language, but there are also important differences. Semiotics is primarily concerned with how language produces

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meaning, whereas discourse analysis is more concerned with the effects and consequences of representation. It examines not only how language and representation produce meanings, but how the knowledge which a particular discourse produces connects with power, regulates conflict, makes up and constructs identities and subjectivities, and defines the way certain things are represented, thought about and studied. The emphasis in the discursive approach is always on the historical specificity of a particular form or ‘regime’ of representation. (Hall 1997, 6)

This emphasis on historical specificity brings discourse analysis closer to the study of society and politics. Discourse meaning is embedded in social context. Self and Other: Identity Production on the We–They Boundary Identity and meaning are closely connected. Personal identity gives us an understanding of who we are; we perceive the one who speaks and acts as ‘I’. Much of this identity is role-specific and derives from our belonging to various groups, but what is it that gives groups a common or ‘collective’ identity? Much research in sociology and social anthropology has rested on an assumption that group identity is formed from within and consists of shared cultural practices. However, there are at least two problems with that view. First, it makes it difficult to come to terms with change. Durable groups such as nations and ethnic groups undergo considerable cultural change over time, but through this process they do not necessarily change their identity. Those who identify themselves as ‘Norwegians’ today are convinced that their forefathers two hundred years ago were just as much ‘Norwegian’ as they themselves are, in spite of the fact that virtually the entire cultural repertoire of the population of Norway has changed in the meantime. A second problem with the view that identity hinges upon culture is the simple observation that cultural proximity between two groups has never been an important impediment for identity differentiation. Remaining with my example of national identities on the Scandinavian peninsula, Norwegians and Swedes speak virtually the same language, have historically belonged to the same Lutheran church (and undergone the same secularization), practise the same sports and have virtually identical dress codes, diets and so on. Even so, both Norwegians and Swedes today are as convinced as they have ever been that they belong to two different and distinct national groups (Kolstø 2005b, 14–15). An important move in the understanding of how group identities are maintained and reproduced was presented by Fredrik Barth in his seminal introductory chapter to the edited volume Ethnic Groups and Boundaries (Barth 1969). Barth argued that identity is constructed through contrast to and difference from other groups. The boundary between two groups who are in close contact with each other not only marks the difference between them but also maintains and reproduces it. While the cultural practices (on both sides) inevitably change, the boundary

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remains. This approach opened up a non-essentialist, constructivist understanding of identity formation in social anthropology that soon spread to neighbouring disciplines such as sociology and political science. Barth does not want us to believe that there are no cultural or social differences between groups or people. There clearly are, but they are not neatly distributed in easily identifiable patterns. It is well known that people who speak the same language often adhere to different religions and vice versa. A map of architectural traditions in a certain region will often differ strongly from a map of national cuisines, codes of child rearing or musical tastes. All these differences Barth calls ‘diacritica’. In the processes of group formation and group maintenance, some diacritica are being singled out as constitutive. To claim that some groups focus on ‘big’ and important diacritica while others emphasize ‘trivial’ or ‘minuscule’ identity markers would be meaningless. There exists no common measuring rod against which the relative importance of cultural differences may be assessed (Kolstø 2007). For some, for instance, their religious faith represents the very meaning of life while for others religion means nothing. We are then invited to focus our study on the identity/difference boundary, but how are we to understand the character of this boundary? If we treat it as a given and unchangeable entity we end up in a new kind of essentialism that easily conflicts with the historical record. It is an empirical fact that new ethnic groups do emerge while others disappear. Borders are not forever. Some groups become merged into larger ones while others split up. It is also a common occurrence that people on one side of a putative boundary put great emphasis on the difference between themselves and the other group, while the dominant opinion in the community on the other side of the boundary is that the differences are negligible or non-existent. The boundary is, to use Benedict Anderson’s celebrated phrase, ‘imagined’. It is contested and negotiated; in other words, it is subject to discourse. In a study of the politics of collective violence Charles Tilly (2003) highlights the role played by boundary activation in many violent conflicts. Claims to be or to represent a certain ‘we’ always identify a boundary separating us from ‘them’. Any individual always has a number of different identities available, for example, one and the same person in India may be a worker, woman, Hindu, Gujarati, villager and member of a certain caste. Boundary activation singles out one of these shared identities and its opposition to other identities. Tilly argues that violence increases and becomes more salient in situations of rising uncertainty across the boundary. Furthermore, the processes leading to increased uncertainty ‘affect not only boundaries but also the stories and social relations attached to them’. This is an important point and can be taken somewhat further than Tilly does. I believe that the dynamics he describes also move in the opposite direction. It is not only the case that uncertainty about the boundaries changes the stories that are told about the us–them relationship, but also the other way around: these changing stories themselves contribute to boundary activation. Indeed, Tilly points out that ‘violence sometimes occurs in the course of power struggle within categories and for control over public representation of those categories’ (Tilly 2003, 75–7).

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Many of the most detailed and important discourse studies using a CDA approach have been concerned with the rhetoric of nationalism, anti-Semitism, racism and ethnic discrimination (Van Dijk 1993; Riggins 1997; Wodak 2002; Reisigl and Wodak 2001). These social phenomena are sustained by discourses of difference and exclusion. Ruth Wodak, for instance, has studied Austrian discourses of nationalism and anti-Semitism as two sides of the same coin. Behavioural practices include both dispositions towards solidarity with one’s own group and readiness to exclude others from this constructed collective. Which individual traits are selected within a racist discourse of difference depends, to a large degree, on context. The Austrian material showed that various types of difference – or diacritica, as Barth would have called them – are highlighted in different public settings. Ethnic and cultural traits are used for marginalization of the out-group among the public at large, whereas socio-economic and religious issues are the main focus at the level of politics and mass media (Wodak 1997, 71; 2002, 146). CDA research on racism and discrimination represents an important forerunner to the current volume in so far as it deals with intergroup power relations and intergroup perceptions as mediated through language. At the same time, there are significant differences. CDA analysis of discrimination focuses on group relations with very large power differentials and, probably for that reason, tends to see these relationships as basically stable. It demonstrates how the powerful are able to hold on to and even strengthen their power through various ingenious and not so ingenious strategies. The works of CDA analysts have focused less on the counterdiscourses produced by people who are being discriminated against, and no dialectics between the two sets of discourses are examined.

This Book In this book three research traditions are brought together: studies of ethnic conflict, studies of collective identity formation and discourse analysis. We believe that all three disciplines will be enriched by this encounter. To the many different theories of ethnic conflict we can offer what is often a conspicuously missing link in the analysis – an understanding of how perceptions/sentiments/propaganda (whatever is placed at the centre of the analysis) are mediated through discourse. The same can be said about boundary studies: discourse analysis may contribute to a deeper understanding of how the boundary is maintained. Finally, we make an advance in the study of the ‘other’ in discourse analysis by moving beyond the focus on majority discourse in majority/minority relations that has, to date, dominated CDA. Our approach and selection of cases facilitates the study of reciprocity of discourses. Unlike most empirical studies of discourse analysis, we are concerned with conflicts where both parties characterize each other in print. Each ‘other’ is therefore also a ‘self’ and vice versa. The discourse circuits we are concerned with

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in the present book involve power differentials, but not to the point where one of the groups is excluded from the public arena. In each of the seven conflicts focused upon, both groups are capable of producing texts presenting their version of reality, of characterizing both themselves and the other, as well as the relationship between them. Just as importantly, the relationships undergo significant change in several phases. In all but one of our cases conflict erupts into violence; violence is contained after a varying length of time through external intervention and the relationship reverts to a non-violent mode. This allows us to detect links and relationships between texts (discourses) and contexts (sociopolitical setting). Compared with most discourse analyses, then, the contexts dealt with in this book are much more volatile and in flux. This makes our endeavour very challenging, perhaps even temerarious, but also potentially rewarding. The selection of cases allows us to avoid a serious problem in social research often referred to as ‘sampling on the dependent variable’. Studies of violent ethnic conflicts normally focus only on those conflicts that have turned violent. This may sound like an obvious and trivial observation but, in fact, entails a serious methodological problem. When researchers select as their cases only conflict situations which they a posteriori know have unleashed violence, they are methodologically barred from detecting those elements, aspects and turning points in a conflict that, if absent, could have led to a peaceful outcome. Ideally, therefore, a study of conflict ought to analyse both violent cases and comparable cases that for some reason did not turn violent. To identify instances of ‘almostviolent conflicts’, however, is a daunting task, involving improvable hypotheses about what would have happened if this or that factor had not been present. In this study we circumvent the problem by comparing all cases of ethnoterritorial conflict in a given country – Yugoslavia – in one particular time period. The book contains three thematic chapters and seven case studies. The cases are identical with the six major ethnoterritorial conflicts that erupted in the former Yugoslavia after Tito’s death – Slovenia, Croatia, Bosnia, Kosovo, Macedonia and Montenegro. In addition to these conflicts that involve primarily two or more postYugoslav peoples, we have included also a chapter on ‘Serbia vs the World’, that is, the conflict that led up to the NATO bombing of Serbian cities in 1999. At an early stage in the project we contemplated also including Vojvodina in our comparative study, for the sake of completeness, but decided against it. We aim not to cover all administrative units of the Yugoslav state, but only all cases of ethnoterritorial conflicts. In the case of Vojvodina, there was certainly political conflict under Milošević, but we were unable to identify any ethnoterritorial conflict. In the thematic chapters Tarik Jusić outlines a theory of the role of the media in conflicts and Nedin Mutić analyses a series of post-Yugoslav films to see how the we–them relationship is represented. Gordana Đerić discusses the little studied theme of silence and the suppression of information as rhetorical devices. This chapter finds most of its empirical material in the fall of the Republika Srpska Krajina in 1995 during the so-called ‘Operation Storm’, and in that way may be said to be a case study chapter as well.

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Rather than following the convention of discussing briefly the content of each chapter in the introduction, this book contains a conclusion in which the chapters are compared. In the conclusion I discuss the commonalities as well as the differences between them and in particular focus on differences in the representations of ‘us’ and ‘them’ in the various conflicts that may explain the outburst of violence or the absence thereof.

Chapter 1

Media Discourse and the Politics of Ethnic Conflict: The Case of Yugoslavia Tarik Jusić

Introduction The mass media played an important role in the series of conflicts that led to the break-up of the former Socialist Yugoslavia in the 1990s. The media discourse was both an indicator of and a contributor to the crisis, highlighting deep divisions that began to open up, while at the same time helping redraw boundaries between ethnic groups in conflict and establishing legitimacy for the actions of their respective political leadership. In this sense, the media had a pivotal role in establishing the public definition of the crisis, helping to construct the playing field and the rules of the game within which the break-up of Yugoslavia took place. Numerous studies have been conducted investigating the role of the media in the downfall of the former Yugoslavia and the subsequent peace-building efforts (Snyder and Ballentine 1996; Slapšak 1997; Reljić 1998; Skopljanac-Brunner et al. 2000a; Thompson 2000; Kurspahić 2003b; Price and Thompson 2002). These studies mostly focused on the analysis of historical and structural conditions that led to specific types of media coverage (division of audience, political control over media outlets, censorship); description of specific media outputs (for instance, description of coverage and reporting character and patterns); media policy issues; and the analysis of the general relationships between media and elites that use the media as a tool for mass manipulation and mobilization. Nevertheless, it is still puzzling if and how the mass media and their specific content contributed to violence or to peaceful resolution of ethnic conflicts in the former Yugoslavia. It also remains to be investigated how media discourse varies in relation to differences in the types and intensity of conflict, and how discourses evolve in relation to the evolution of a conflict through time. In addition, existing studies of the media’s role in the conflicts in former Yugoslavia fall short of offering a consistent theoretical framework that can help us systematically to explain the complex dynamics between media discourse and the conflict within a  ��������������������������������������������������������������������������������� This paper is partly based on a shortened and modified version of my unpublished PhD dissertation: Media, Power and Collective Identities – The Role of the Media in InterEthnic Relations; Case Study: Bosnia and Herzegovina and Former Yugoslavia, University of Vienna, Austria, 2003.

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Media Discourse and the Yugoslav Conflicts

specific environment and along the timeline of the genesis and the resolution of the conflict, and are often confined to mere description of what happened, with little explanatory power of causes and consequences. Therefore, this entire volume tries to offer a fresh insight into the role of the media discourse in ethnic conflict by focusing on how ethnic groups were presented through the mass media in the period before, during and after the fall of the former Yugoslavia, and through the variety of conflicts that unfolded. This longitudinal approach is a novelty in the study of media discourse in Yugoslav conflicts, and will hopefully help us understand more thoroughly the relationship between conflict and discourse throughout the time, and in different contexts. We are not only interested in how and by whom a particular media discourse is produced, but primarily how it influences and is influenced by a specific conflict. For this purpose, we need a theory of ethnic conflicts, a theory of discourse, a conceptualization of representation of identities and ethnic groups in media texts, an explanation of the link between discourse and power, an understanding of the relationship between context and media discourse, and an overall understanding of the link between the media and a discourse in conflict, and how media discourse influences and is influenced by the conflict. We also need a longitudinal analysis of media texts and discourses in the specific conflicts we focus upon. Issues and theories of conflict, discourse, representation and identity are discussed by Kolstø, in the Introduction. Other chapters in this book focus on the nature and dynamics of the development of media discourse in different conflicts in the former Yugoslavia and give due attention to the specific media texts and how these relate to discourses in conflict. In this article I will address the link between the media and the wider context of Yugoslav conflicts, and how the media discourse is influenced by and is influencing those conflicts. I will try to show how the media are linked to power structures, and how they contribute to (re)definition of power-relations and the actions of actors in conflict. Hence, the paper focuses on the link and interactions between the media discourse and the politics of conflict.

Media between War and Peace The study of media effects has been and remains a contested field in communication studies since its inception after the First World War in the 1920s. The theories range from those that claim all-powerful effects of the media, via limited effects and the role of individual opinion leaders in their communities, all the way to the claims about the power of the audience to interpret and use the media content in its own way (for a review of contesting media effect theories see for example McQuail 2000 and Brati�������� ć 2006)�. This problem, I believe, stems from a rather narrow definition of media effects as a ‘relationship between the media content and its audiences’ (Newbold 1995, 119; quoted in Bratić���������������������������������������������������������� 2006, 3), especially in earlier works. Such a definition reduces the effects of the media to the effects of specific messages/content on

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23

knowledge, attitudes, beliefs and behaviour of audiences, neglecting the fact that the mass media by their very nature (centralized, one-to-many, all-present, simultaneous, major source of information, legitimacy, etc.) significantly shape societal dynamics far beyond the individual’s opinions and behaviour, influencing the way that politics are conducted, how our free time is organized, how activities within society are coordinated (for example in times of crisis such as natural disasters) and how the overall public realm and debate is structured (whether it is open or monopolized, whether there is a democratic debate culture or authoritarian style dictum, and so forth). Bratić (2006,�������������������������������������������������������������� 3) studies the effect of mass media on conflict and peace by looking at the types of media messages (message, that is mass media factors), people (audiences) and conditions in the environment (situation). In his study of media in conflicts, Wolfsfeld (2004) similarly depicts a set of contextual variables (depth of crisis, elite consensus) and media variables (sensationalism, shared media) that contribute to the way the media influence and are influenced by the conflict. He also points out the effects the media can have on the political processes in conflicts by shaping the nature and the atmosphere of the debate, awarding legitimacy to specific political actors and influencing the way actors themselves act towards the media in their never-ending quest for media attention. In his study, which investigates the link between the media and conflicts in the former Yugoslavia, Relji������������������������������������������������������ ć (1998)���������������������������������������������� also talks about how the media influence the conflict by the very nature of the mediated one-to-many communication that is happening simultaneously across time and space, making whole communities become spectators of and participants in such conflicts. Summing up, and building upon these and other relevant studies, I argue that we need to look at two aspects of the relationship between media discourse and conflict: (1) the variables that shape the way the media act in the conflict; and (2) the effects of the media on conflict. The variables that shape the media’s discourse in conflict are: (1) environmental variables such as the nature of the crisis, relationships between elites, type of control over the media, and so forth; (2) the nature of the media (presence of sensationalism, existence of shared media, professional journalistic standards, existence of alternative voices, media monopolization of public space, and so forth); and (3) the nature of the audience (educational levels, territorial distribution, linguistic barriers, segregation patterns, and so forth). The effects the media discourse can have on the conflict are: (1) creation of the overall discursive framework within which the public debate unfolds, limiting possible options for deliberation and interpretation of events and processes; (2) definition of socially relevant and legitimate political actors; and (3) influence of  F����������������������������������������������������������������������������������� or an important criticism of media effects theories refer to David Gauntlett, ‘���� Ten Things Wrong with the “Effects Model”’, in Dickinson, R., Harindranath, R. and Linné, O. (eds) (1998), Approaches to Audiences – A Reader (London: Arnold). Also available from http://www.theory.org.uk/david/effects.htm (accessed on 19 February 2008).

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Media Discourse and the Yugoslav Conflicts

specific media messages within a given context of knowledge, attitudes, opinions, beliefs and behaviour of the audience. This chapter will investigate all four sets of variables that shape the media’s role in conflict, and will also focus on two sets of effects the media can have on conflict – creation of discursive framework and definition of political actors. The chapter will not be concerned with the issue of the effect of media content on audience in a situation of conflict since that lies beyond the scope of this volume. For an excellent analysis of that type of effect please consult Brati��������� ć (2006). Variables that Shape Media Discourse in Conflict Political Environment and the Media Elite consensus  The level of elite consensus is a powerful factor that decisively influences the nature of news reporting and media discourse in conflict, be it during the peace process or in the midst of escalating crisis (see Wolfsfeld 2004, 26). The media are prone to follow the lead of key political actors, and if there is a consensus about peace or war, the media are most likely to play to their tune, since those actors are their primary sources of information and interpretations of events. In the case that there is no consensus, the media will focus more and more on conflict between elites, and will also report more about negative aspects of either peace processes or the war. For example, the case of the Vietnam War shows that ‘these changes in the political environment had a direct influence on the news media moving from a supportive role to a more independent and critical role’ (Wolfsfeld 2004, 26). In other words, elite consensus reduces the number of adequate frames for interpretation of events, while lack of consensus fosters creation of many different and often opposing frames about conflict. The fall of communism in Yugoslavia brought a new opposition power elite onto the political stage, polarizing relations within and between republics and provinces. In addition, the ethnically plural republics and provinces, such as Bosnia, Croatia and Macedonia, had several nationalist power elites, one for each of the ethnic groups living in those societies. As a consequence, the political situation on the supply side of the ‘marketplace of ideas’ (Snyder and Ballentine 1996) was so polarized that it strongly contributed to the proliferation of polarizing nationalist media discourses in the public sphere. The case of Yugoslavia shows ‘how societies in such a situation where old and rising elites have partial monopolies over the production and dissemination of ideas, as frequently occurs in incipient democracies and in cases of state breakdown, are prone to nationalism, mythmaking and overall manipulation and polarization of the public space’ (Jusi��ć� 2003). As a democratizing political system opens up, old elites and rising counter-elites must compete for the support of new entrants into the marketplace through

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25

popular appeals, including appeals to the purported common interests of elites and mass groups in pursuing nationalistic aims against out-groups. (Snyder and Ballentine 1996, 16)

All in all, there was basically no consensus among the ruling elite as to what would be the solution for the crisis. The only consensus was that there was no consensus. As a result, media discourse closely reflected this polarized political scene. The complexity of the crisis  The second important variable to shape the media discourse is the complexity and severity of the crisis. There are different types of crises. First, we distinguish between violent (Bosnia and Herzegovina) and nonviolent (such as Montenegro) conflicts. We can also distinguish between limited (Slovenia, Macedonia) and extensive (Bosnia, Kosovo) violence. Finally, we can distinguish between the levels of complexity of crisis in respect of the level to which state institutions are functioning, or not – for example, Bosnia would be a case of the collapse of almost all institutions, while Macedonia is a case where state institutions and a regulatory framework functioned even during the violent episodes of crisis. For the media, this means that the more intensive and complex the crisis is, the more the media will be prone to further polarize the public discourse: ‘In other words, when things get bad, the news media often make them worse. … The news media, then, often play the role of the catalyst in such conflicts’ (Wolfsfeld 2004, 30). The crisis that led to the dissolution of the Yugoslav federation was deep and extremely complex. First, devastating economic crisis characterized by chronic shortages and unemployment undermined the very basis of the concept of the command economy and pushed the country towards the rough waters of market liberalization (see Goati 1991, 13; quoted in Marković 1997, 47). At the political level, the state was seriously undermined through internal antagonisms. This was particularly visible in the dissatisfaction of Serbs and Albanians in the province of Kosovo, and strong aspirations for secession of certain members of the Yugoslav federation, such as Slovenia and Croatia (ibid.). At the same time, these secessionist aspirations were strongly opposed by Serbia. Moreover, Yugoslavia was a highly decentralized federation, so that by the mid-1980s the country had lost its real political centre of power, and power was primarily concentrated in its federal republics. The national character of most of those republics thus enhanced polarizing processes (see Puhovski 2000, 43). An important element of the crisis was the development of new plural political landscapes and democratization that replaced state socialism (see Simić 1989, 7–19 in Marković 1997, 46). Nevertheless, Yugoslavia started to open up and democratize without having developed the necessary preconditions in terms of political culture, regulations and institutions. The creation of a plural political scene without the parallel existence of influential public opinion, regulatory framework and civil society led to the

26

Media Discourse and the Yugoslav Conflicts

rapid proliferation of totalitarian ideologies based on nationalism and populism (see Puhovski 2000, 43). The situation was even more complex at the level of individual republics and provinces with ethnically mixed populations. For example, in the case of Bosnia–Herzegovina, populated by Bosniaks (Muslims), Croats (Catholics) and Serbs (Orthodox), three ethnonationalist elites emerged, each mobilizing its own ethnic group, while at the same time there was strong influence from Belgrade and Zagreb on Bosnian internal matters. In Croatia, the large Serb population, whose leadership was strongly linked with Belgrade, was opposed to Croatia’s drive for independence. In Kosovo, the minority Serb population, supported by Belgrade, became embroiled in decades-long tension with the majority Albanian ethnic population that had strong ties with neighbouring Albania. In the case of Macedonia, a minority Albanian population, linked with Albania as well as with rebels in Kosovo, started to voice its dissatisfaction with the domination of ethnic Macedonians in practically all spheres of public life. Such a gradual disintegration of the system, coupled with a deep economic and political crisis, and ever-widening ethnic divisions, decisively influenced the way the media operated, resulting in the rapid spread of polarizing ethnonationalist discourses (see Snyder and Ballentine 1996; Slapšak 1997; Reljić 1998; SkopljanacBrunner et al. 2000a; Thompson 2000; Kurspahić 2003b). Political control over media  Furthermore, a crucial variable that influences media conduct in times of crisis is the level and the nature of the political control over the media. This means that, in established democracies, the influence of the power elite on the media is significantly limited and the competing elites differently influence the media conduct, while in authoritarian societies and incipient and weak democracies (that is, early stages of transitional societies), the power elite exercises stronger pressure and control over the media, making it more vulnerable to manipulation (Snyder and Ballentine 1996; Reljić 1998). The Communist Party had a monopoly over the political system of the former Yugoslavia, and exercised decisive control over the media until the democratization processes started in the late 1980s. Since the system was largely decentralized, the control over the media was in the hands of the political elite in each of the six republics and two provinces. Censorship was legalized and self-censorship was widespread (Robinson 1977; Thompson 2000, 11–12; Kurspahić 2003b). After the collapse of the federal state, each of the republics developed formally democratic multiparty systems with a series of elections being held in each of the republics in 1990. These brought to power nationalist forces in Bosnia and Croatia, while confirming Milošević’s hold on power in Serbia, Kosovo and Vojvodina. Although nominally democratic, most of the regimes in the states that emerged from the collapse of Yugoslavia – with the exception of those in Slovenia and in Macedonia – were rather autocratic (but to different degrees in each case). This has had a decisive influence on the media in those countries. Under the new circumstances, the media were rather vulnerable to political pressure and manipulation.

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27

The Nature of the Media Sensationalism  An important variable is the level of sensationalism in the media. Sensationalism becomes a serious problem when issues of war and peace are at stake. Here, by sensationalism we understand the practice of the media of using melodrama, emotions and entertainment and reducing the importance of reason and information in news-making. Sensationalism works hand in hand with the main criteria that determine the editorial process of news selection: immediacy, drama, simplicity and ethnocentrism. These criteria filter what is and is not considered newsworthy – the best stories are those that are new, dramatic, easy to understand and are related to ‘us’ rather than to ‘others’ (Wolfsfeld 2004, 40). Hence, the sensationalist media cover events, not processes, and offer a rather narrow and simplistic view of what is happening. The search for drama means that the newsworthy events are those relating to violence, crisis, conflict, extremism, dangers, internal discord and major breakthroughs. Calm processes, absence of crisis, cooperation, moderate positions and opportunities for improvement of relations, internal consensus and incremental progress are ignored. Simplicity reduces stories to draft portraits of polarized two-sided conflicts rather than complex multi-sided conflicts, offers space to prominent figures rather than institutions and ‘marginal’ voices, prefers images rather than texts and is focused on well-articulated opinions rather than ideologies. In effect, the depth of stories, ideas and opinions is omitted; and, finally, since the mass media inevitably operate within a specific cultural framework shaped by history, tradition, language and ethnicity/nation, they promote an ethnocentric view of the world (see Wolfsfeld 2004). Journalists played a key role in producing discourses of hatred prior to and during the wars in the former Yugoslavia: journalists were a transmission belt in the partitioning of this country. They served to complete its bursting along national and nationalistic seams, and they did it with unbelievable ease, without responsibility, without conscience. (Damjanovic 1993, 4, quoted in Gredelj 1997, 203, footnote 9)

Analyses of Serbian and Croatian newspapers (������������������������������� Brunner et al.����������������� 2000; ���������� Cvetićanin 1997) demonstrated how the media used sensationalist journalism ‘with a thesis’, generally lacking well-argued, information-based reporting. Interpretative genres dominated over informative ones: no information of any importance has reached the public without comment or interpretation. The public was continuously kept in the state of mental adolescence. An approach which the West would class as public underestimation became the media canon in Yugoslavia. (Čurguz-Kazimir 1997, 165)

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Reljić (1998, 43) pointed to the ideological nature of the news reports from that period, with absolute domination of pro-regime reports and the disappearance of independent sources, and a growing number of stories with no sources at all. Commentary and information were mixed in such a way that the audience immediately received guidelines on how to interpret each particular story, and alternative views were eliminated (see Čurguz-Kazimir 1997, 167–8). For example, in almost one-fifth of the texts in the Belgrade daily Politika, no sources were mentioned at all (see Gredelj 1997, 210). The importance of information selection derives from the fact that this is a process where journalists and editors actually have a monopoly in defining the events, and thus assume the role of ‘engineers of reality’. (Stab 1993, 41, quoted in Skopljanac-Brunner et al. 2000a, 119) (…) The fact that the process of information selection includes journalistic intention which is not based on the criteria and norms of the profession implies the primarily manipulative and propaganda, rather than information, function of a specific medium. (SkopljanacBrunner et al. 2000a, 119)

Shared Media The second media-related variable depicted by Wolfsfeld (2004, 42), Snyder and Ballentine (1996) and Reljić (1998) is the extent to which the shared media are present in a given context. A well-constituted marketplace of ideas depends not only on the expression of diverse views by different groups in society, but also on individuals’ exposure to diverse ideas. A highly segmented marketplace has the former but not the latter. In a segmented marketplace of ideas, individuals in one market segment lack exposure to ideas expressed in other segments, or exposure is filtered through sources that distort these ideas. (Snyder and Ballentine 1996, 17–18)

The idea here is that the existence of shared media ensures that all actors in the conflict use the same sources of news, and use the same media for communicating with their constituencies and debating with their opponents. In effect, the media discourse should be moderate as a consequence of three underlying reasons: cultural, commercial and political. First, a lack of shared media immediately implies ethnocentric coverage of conflict, while the existence of shared media offers space for shared culture and identities. Second, shared media reach a wider population, and will be careful not to lose significant parts of their audience due to polarizing and discriminatory discourses. Third, political actors when speaking to a wider mixed audience are prone to take a more moderate stand in order to appeal to a wider constituency (see Wolfsfeld 2004, 42).

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Even during Tito’s era, Yugoslavia was characterized by low levels of crossethnic and inter-republic communication, with strong divisions along ethnic lines. Gertrude J. Robinson (1977, 184) concluded that, already after the 1950s, ethnicity played an increasingly significant role in the communication and media policy in the former Yugoslavia, coinciding with the overall process of decentralization of the country. This led to the development of a decentralized communication system consisting of separate media systems in each of the federal units (see Robinson 1977, 185). Each of these media systems was largely autonomous from the central government. Production of TV programmes was decentralized, and after 1965 some 50 per cent of programmes were republic related and the other 50 per cent had a national and/or international content. Newspapers also devoted much more space to local topics. Moreover, audiences also had regional preferences, ignoring the media from other republics. For example, according to one study of Croatian reading patterns, only 2 per cent read dailies and magazines coming from Serbia (see Robinson 1977, 191). The ‘public sphere’ of socialist Yugoslavia was, even before the 1974 constitution, segmented along republic borders. Despite its name, Yugoslav Radio-Television was not really a ‘Yugoslav’ (federation-wide) institution. It had progressively become effectively a coordinating network of republic broadcasting organizations – each of the republics and autonomous provinces had its own broadcasting system and its own press with at least one daily newspaper as its official or semi-official publication. (…) Yugoslavia’s artificial and arbitrary internal, administrative borders were progressively ‘upgraded’ to national or ‘civilizational’ fault-lines and increasingly became communications barriers. (Sofos 1998, 164)

By 1989, just before the privatization and liberalization processes began, there were nine TV stations, one for each of the republics and autonomous regions, plus one for the Italian minority in Slovenia and Croatia. There were 202 radio stations and a large number of print media, including 27 dailies, 17 important magazines and hundreds of specialized publications (see Thompson 2000, 7–19). The state news agency TANJUG (Telegraph Agency New Yugoslavia – Telegrafska Agencija Nova Jugoslavija) and the communist daily Borba were the only two all-Yugoslav media.  ��������������������������������������������������������������������������������� Owing to economic, political and ethnic pressures, Yugoslavia introduced two new constitutions, in 1963 and 1974, in order to build up its federalist structure. According to the last constitution from 1974, the Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia consisted of six federal republics – Serbia, Croatia, Monte Negro, Macedonia, Slovenia and Bosnia– Herzegovina – and of two autonomous regions – Vojvodina and Kosovo.  In October 1990, from the studio in Sarajevo and supported by the Federal government under reformist prime minister Ante Markovi��������������������������������� ć�������������������������������� , there was an attempt to start

30

Media Discourse and the Yugoslav Conflicts

Liberalization of the media scene in the early 1990s further complicated the situation as ruling elites rapidly gained control over the newly emerging media, or created media for their own political purposes. For example, in the case of Bosnia, where there was a strong shared radio and TV broadcaster, RTV Sarajevo, the broadcasting sector was split by force, and separate media systems were created as a warm-up for the war. One could say that the war in Bosnia actually began with the battle for RTV Sarajevo. The Yugoslav Army, controlled by the regime in Belgrade, along with Serb paramilitary forces in BiH, seized several of the broadcaster’s transmitters in 1991 and began to re-broadcast pro-Milošević programmes from Serbia. Effectively, the media in Bosnia were divided along ethnic lines and largely controlled by ruling ethnonationalist parties – the Serb media system was linked with the media in Serbia under Milošević’s control, the Croat media were basically integrated into the media system of Croatia, while Bosniak-controlled territories developed their own media system around the remaining segments of RTV Sarajevo. Similarly, in the case of Croatia, territories under Serb control had their own media system linked to Serbia, while the rest of the country was serviced by the Croat media controlled from Zagreb. In the case of Macedonia, liberalization of the media scene led to proliferation of both Macedonian and Albanian language media. Under such circumstances, where two communities speak completely different languages and where only a small percentage of the population is bilingual, truly shared media are virtually nonexistent. The Nature of the Audience Nevertheless, an important factor that is related to the existence of shared media is the segmentation of the audience along ethnic lines. The greater the difference (especially in terms of language, religion and territorial distribution) between ethnic groups, the greater the possibility for segmentation of the marketplace of ideas, and the lower the chances for shared media. Segmentation occurs when there are cultural or, for example, historical predispositions of different parts of the audience towards one or another type of idea and views on specific issues brought up in debate. Other reasons for an all-Yugoslav state-wide TV channel, so Jutel TV (Yugoslav Television) started, but this short-lived station was too late coming onto the stage, and was shut down on 11 May 1992, as the war in Bosnia escalated and the rest of Yugoslavia was already divided after wars in Slovenia and Croatia (see Thompson 2000, 34–45).  ���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� The first transmitter was seized on 1 August 1991, so that by the time of international recognition of BiH in April 1992, half of its territory was covered by RTV Serbia broadcasting, and the remainder of the transmitters not under the control of Serb forces were subsequently destroyed, reducing the coverage of what was left of RTV Sarajevo���� ������������ to some 25 per cent of BiH territory���������������������� (Thompson 2000, 228).

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segmentation can be various barriers (for example, technical or geographical) to the creation of a unified public domain, the artificial creation of preferences among segmented audiences based on targeted manipulation and political promotion, or political barriers for the efficient exchange of ideas within the marketplace of ideas as a whole. (Jusić 2003, 72)

Consequently, by trying to adjust to the nature of the ethnically divided market, the media have an ethnocentric appeal to their audience, thus limiting the possibility for the existence of a shared media in societies with multiple ethnic divisions. Media Discourse and Conflict The term media discourse does not refer to the language of the media alone but to the context of communication as well, and it is concerned with ‘who is communicating with whom and why; in what kind of society and situation; through what medium; how different types of communication evolved, and their relationship to each other’ (Cook 1992, 1, quoted in Garrett and Bell 2005, 3). We are studying the media discourse in the wider context of ethnic conflicts in the former Yugoslavia in the 1990s, and the meanings we focus upon are those related to the relationship between opposed ethnic groups (‘us’ vs ‘them’). As Kolstø (in the Introduction) puts it: ‘A Discourse is not something that exists “out there” ready to be “discovered” by the researcher. Rather, it is an analytical tool designed by the analyst to tease out the meaning of texts in their interaction with other texts in a social and political environment.’ In this sense, to analyse discourse is to analyse meanings that emerge through the use of language in context. The meanings uncovered by the research will directly relate to, and depend upon, the context within which the discourse is studied. Influence of Public Discourse – Atmosphere and the Nature of Debate The theory of framing initially laid out by Goffman (1974) and subsequently developed by various authors such as Robert Entman (Entman 1993, 51–8) helps us to deal with the otherwise rather elusive concept of meaning in media discourse in a more analytical way that can be systematically applied in the research. Framing essentially involves selection and salience. To frame is to select some aspects of a perceived reality and make them more salient in a communicating text, in such a way as to promote a particular problem definition, causal interpretation, moral evaluation, and/or treatment recommendation for the item described. Typically frames diagnose, evaluate, and prescribe. (Entman 1993, 52, emphasis in original)

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Hence, we may say that frames organize meaning about a particular phenomenon about which we are communicating. As Entman (1993, 52) puts it: Frames, then, define problems – determine what a casual agent is doing with what costs and benefits, usually measured in terms of common cultural values; diagnose causes – identify the forces creating the problem; make moral judgments – evaluate causal agents and their effects; and suggest remedies – offer and justify treatments for the problem and predict their likely effects.

By looking into the complexity of media discourse, we can see that frames occupy, or originate in, at least four locations (Entman 1993, 52) within the wider process of communication through the mass media: •

•

•

•

Selection and production of information within media institutions are consciously or unconsciously guided by frames that organize the belief and knowledge system of journalists and editors. Frames are written into the media texts, for example in the form of stereotypes and myths used, sources of information, selection of facts, ways of representation of actors and their relations, and so forth. Frames also guide the receiver’s processing and conceptualization, and the way that a receiver interprets the discourse must not necessarily reflect the framing background and intentions of communicators (for example journalists) and of the text itself. The receivers’ frames originate in, and are formed by, their experience, identities, knowledge, belief systems, needs, and so forth. Last but not least, the culture and wider sociocultural context comprise a rich source and a stock of common frames for interpreting events, processes and reality in general.

These four locations of framing are mutually connected, and continuously influence each other, in the continuous struggle for definition of meaning between various frames – various interpretations of the reality within media discourse on conflict. Thus, the question here is how the conflict is framed in media discourse – how the conflict is defined (what are actors, actions and consequences), how the causes are determined, what moral judgements about conflict are made and what remedies for the conflict are at our disposal (treatments and their effects). With a slight adjustment of this model, we could say then that a meaningful conception of the conflict would need to offer us an explanation of the following six ‘elements’ of the conflict, thus helping us to make ‘sense’ of the conflict and be able to position ourselves towards the conflict: •

ORIGINS: why the conflict happens – what are the reasons? What is the conflict about?

Media Discourse and the Politics of Ethnic Conflict

• • • • •

33

ACTORS: who is involved in the conflict? What are the particular objectives of actors involved? ACTIONS: what are the means used and actions undertaken by these actors? CONSEQUENCES: what are the consequences/results of the conflict? OPTIONS: what options are there for resolving the conflict? What can a group or an individual do about it? MORAL JUDGEMENTS: the legitimacy, justifiability and morality of actions, actors and the conflict in general.

Table 1.1  Draft framework for conceptualizing the conflict between ‘us’ and ‘them’ Aspect of conflict ORIGINS

ACTORS

Framing the conflict Positive/reconciling Rational (political interests), shared responsibility for conflict

Complex set of various actors and their goals ACTIONS Negotiations/peaceful/lawful actions CONSEQUENCES Survival, continuity and the freedom of the groups OPTIONS Negotiation, reconciliation, coexistence and peace MORAL All ‘or none’** sides have JUDGEMENTS morally acceptable and legitimate goals

Negative/polarizing Irrational explanations (historical, mythological, emotional explanations), no shared responsibility Bipolar, reductions definition of actors and their goals Violent actions Annihilation, expulsion and subordination Separation, conflict ‘and domination’* Only ‘our’ side has morally acceptable and legitimate goals

Note: * For instance, Milošević’s combined Yugo-Serbian nationalist discourse contained a large element of an incorporative, dominating, not a separatist, discourse; e.g. SDA’s and especially SzaBiH’s unitarist Bosnian–Bosniak nationalism has some of these patterns on another level. ** Meaning that a ‘positive’, for example antinationalist, frame could judge most goals of all sides as unacceptable and illegitimate.

Table 1.1 sketches a possible explanatory framework for meaningful conceptualization of the conflict between ‘us’ and ‘them’. The media construct the frames, but also derive them from already existing and socially and culturally acceptable frames at a particular moment. For example, in the case of a war in which serious atrocities are committed by the enemy, the frame that describes enemy actions as legitimate is not acceptable and will not be used by the media. According to this framing

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matrix, in practice, such media discourse can have several effects on the way that conflict develops. First, the media ‘can play a major role in defining the political atmosphere in which the process takes place’ (Wolfsfeld 2004, 11, italics in the original). For example, if the overall atmosphere is positive and optimistic, people (including political actors) will be more willing to support peace rather than war options. Since any political process is subject to interpretation, journalists’ norms and routines will have a significant impact on which interpretations enter the discourses, thus contributing to the overall political atmosphere surrounding the conflict. Second, the media influence the conflict by shaping the nature of the public debate about the conflict. The media define who can speak, and what type of arguments and language can be used in public debate. The debate can be democratic, based on arguments and balanced and decent language, or it can be monopolized, and characterized by irrational argumentation and hate speech (see Wolfsfeld 2004, 12). The nature of media frames used will determine what is acceptable and what is not when it comes to the public debate. Since it is not my intention here to discuss the representation practices at the micro-level of words, sentences and individual texts, I will only try to sketch how the conflict is framed at a general level of representation in the totality of discourse on conflict. By looking at the existing studies on the media’s role in conflicts in the former Yugoslavia, I identify four core discursive strategies of representation that were employed through the media as a framework for explaining and making sense of the conflicts: (1) inventing enemies; (2) inventing victims; (3) a-historization and (4) hiding real problems/silencing. Through these strategies the media tried to explain the origins, actors, actions, consequences and options and to establish moral judgements about the conflicts in question. Inventing enemies Inventing enemies is a primary strategy of polarization. Simplification and polarization are at the core of communication that propagates national homogenization. Such communication reduces reality into one binary surface where all relations are defined through the polarization of ‘us’ against ‘them’. Identifying the enemy in political struggle is essential, since it precisely determines the target and direction of political action. Selecting the enemies and the way they are to be treated are processes with multiple functions, which form the substance of political activity. The designation of enemies inspires action. An enemy is an obstacle, the opposite, an existential threat and, thus, the political target towards which the force of the attack is turned. Clear determination of the target (the enemy) gives a political movement the force to act. (Marković 1997, 27)

Such a media discourse, when combined with an underdeveloped public sphere and repression, leads to a radical simplification of reality (see Gredelj 1997, 197).

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The enemy is a cohesive instrument for a group – it has integrative potential, which is of utmost importance. Finding or inventing the enemy is a precondition for the homogenization of the community and direction of collective action. The enemy has a role, which is more cohesive and mobilizing than that of a friend. An enemy must be sufficiently dangerous as to be functional in terms of integration. … If real enemies do not exist, this function could just as well be performed by ‘imagined’ enemies. (Marković 1997, 30–36)

Hence, the enemy has several important roles for defining and explaining the conflict – it provides conditions for collective action against the ‘other’, it legitimizes the use of violence against the ‘other’ and it homogenizes the group that is attacked by the ‘other’. Inventing victims  Apart from the systematic production of enemies of all kinds, another important strategy of war propaganda employed continuous reports and pictures of ‘our’ innocent victims and lines of refugees. Such messages aimed to increase the feeling of vulnerability and anxiety for survival of the individual as a member of a group. They also showed what destiny awaited those who were not willing to fight. According to Čurguz-Kazimir (1997, 190) the phenomenon of victimization and the development and reproduction of sacrificial mechanisms in discourse is important for a thorough understanding of the complex system of production of consciousness and images of ethnic groups. For example, during the war in Croatia, victimization established itself as one of the most important elements of media discourse: the most frequent stylistic tool in referring to Croatia is victimization: Croatia is depicted as a victim of the Serbian enemy (‘Croatia is exposed to real economic war’; ‘the escalation of violence and psychological pressures against Croatia are not unexpected’, or simply ‘Croatia is a victim’). As the conflict escalates into war, the image of a victim increasingly mediated through concrete Croatian places, toponyms of atrocities … or through major symbolic places of aggression and defense (Vukovar, Dubrovnik). (Zakošek 2000, 113)

The victims become the object of celebration and a tool of identification of a chosen and sacrificed nation that has to seek justice for its sufferings. In addition, the celebration of victims, whose bodies are dug from mass graves, turns them into the sacrificed who built their lives in the body of the nation and thus are able to reach immortality through the nation. Hence, the role of the victim is twofold: first, it calls for and justifies revenge as the only appropriate mechanism for reaching a historic justice; second, it promises immortality to those who sacrifice their lives for the nation, effectively encouraging those who are ready to fight and die for their fatherland.

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A-historization  Another important discursive strategy for defining conflict is the introduction of national history as an interpretative and analytical framework for explanation of the given moment and the conflict. With the inflow of history into the present, the possibility for rational explanation of the events is eliminated, and the understanding of the causes and nature of the conflict is guided by myths and emotions. In his analysis Gredelj points to the important role history plays in framing the discursive borders of the conflict: The main actors were, in general, substantially augmented in line with the ‘historical’ nature of the conflict they were part of. Even when the actors were individuals and smaller groups they appeared only as metaphors of this ‘historicism’. (Gredelj 1997, 214)

Not only is there a systematic misrepresentation of a given moment, but also this moment is even moved through time into the past, centuries before the present. In that way, the authority of any objective explanation of an event has been negated, and the legitimacy of the regime cannot be contested – the authorities only act within an obligatory historical framework, and cannot be held responsible for events they did not cause. All ‘real’ decisions are made elsewhere and even in another time, as are the causes of the conflict. Moreover, the historical threat to the survival of the group is presented as the core explanation of the conflict, thus making irrelevant any position that tries to uncover actual activities and decisions that have caused the conflict (also see Reljić 1998). Hiding real problems/silence A close analysis of the nature of mediated communication in the conflicts in the former Yugoslavia shows how important the discourse of nationalist ideology, hatred and discrimination actually is for securing internal peace and preservation of the stability of the authorities. The media distract public attention from everyday problems towards nationhood, patriotism, enemies, dangers, and so on. Loud discourses of patriotism are frequently there to marginalize internal conflicts and legitimate those in power (see Popov 2000, 13–14). The very nature of nationalism and its collectivist ideology discursively eliminates the real differences between various social groups. Such collectivist ideology links classes, groups and strata, which would otherwise be in ideological friction. Hence, loud patriotic discourses provide a curtain that hides actual internal struggles within a society (Gredelj 1997, 215). The complex and twisting route towards understanding the place and the role of the media in the ‘total war’ cannot bypass another absurdity – the illusion that everything is normal. (Popov 2000, 15)

The core of this strategy is the creation of the impression that the state/nation has no significant problems ‘within’ but only with ‘outside’ factors, that is the ‘other’. This is just one more aspect of the hegemonic and homogenizing strategy through

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dissemination of nationalistic discourse and construction of false realities based on pre-selected information. In this way the mass media, by fulfilling the role of the national consciousness, distract attention from real structural problems, instead directing the focus on conflict and projecting the blame outside the community. Paradoxically, in a situation of conflict, the mass media produce ‘noise’ in order to preserve internal silence and eliminate discord (for a comprehensive analysis of the semantics of silence in conflict see Đerić, Chapter 9). The Influence on Actors in Political Processes Third, the media influence the behaviour of actors (be it institutions, activist organizations or individuals) involved in the political processes and public debate around the conflict. Often, actors adopt their actions and plans in accordance with the media needs and journalistic values and routines. The strongest impact is seen among the weakest actors, who then become more extreme in order to attract media attention. Finally, the fourth effect according to Wolfsfeld is ‘the ability of the news media to raise and lower the public standing and legitimacy of various antagonists. … There is a direct and often circular relationship between media status and public status’ (Wolfsfeld 2004, 14). The need for media attention and public status is what motivates the actors in both their political actions and their media strategies.

Final Remarks The 1980s were a period of deep structural crisis that impacted upon the former Yugoslavia as well as the rest of the communist world. The crisis culminated in the late 1980s and early 1990s when the complete dissolution of the country started, triggering a series of violent conflicts among and within its republics. The entire public space was gradually divided along ethnonational lines and subsequently destroyed, resulting in a proliferation of nationalist ideologies, myth-making, extreme polarization of discourses and segmented audiences. The media are seen as one of the main actors in these polarizing processes – the media discourse radically changed and the conflict became all-present. The media become a weapon of war – portraying the world as a battlefield of polarized representations consisting of dozens of variations of ‘us’ against ‘them’. Nevertheless, even after the military conflicts have ceased, ethnic tensions still persist and the media discourse often continues to portray relations among ethnic groups in the former Yugoslav republics negatively. The link and interactions between media discourse and conflict are complex and bidirectional. The media discourse influences the conflict and, in turn, the conflict and its context influence the media. To paraphrase Wolfsfeld (2004, 31), the influence of media discourse on conflict is best seen in terms of a cycle in which changes in the political environment lead to changes in media performance that

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often lead to further changes in the political environment. This is what Wolfsfeld calls ‘the politics–media–politics cycle’. Although the politics most often comes first in this cycle, pushing forward change towards or away from conflict, the ‘news media can also become important catalysts for accelerating such changes’ (Wolfsfeld 2004, 32, italics in original). Hence, while contextual variables and political actors act and change the environment, they exercise influence over the way that the media report on those processes, which results in a change in the media discourse. In turn, such changed media discourse then frames the conflict, by redefining roles, relations and legitimacy of actors, and by offering public interpretation of the conflict and the related processes in terms of their origins, undertaken actions, consequences and options. In this way, the media discourse acts as the amplifier of the political process. The media shape the overall atmosphere in which conflict unfolds and the nature of the public debate; they also influence the actions of actors, and provide legitimacy for specific actors in the process. Such a frame then defines who can and cannot speak, what can and cannot be said, what can and cannot be negotiated and what are acceptable and unacceptable consequences of and options for the conflict.

Chapter 2

Reorganizing the Identification Matrix: Televisual Construction of Collective Identities in the Early Phase of Yugoslav Disintegration Sabina Mihelj, Veronika Bajt and Miloš Pankov

In the light of the bloody conflicts that unravelled in Croatia and Bosnia– Herzegovina in the subsequent years, the short clash that took place in Slovenia in 1991 may seem of marginal importance. Existing studies of the role of the media in the Yugoslav wars pay virtually no sustained attention to Slovenia and, instead, focus on the republics most immediately involved in the large-scale bloodshed (Malešič 1993; Thompson 1999; Skopljanac-Brunner et al. 2000a; Kurspahić 2003a). However, the media portrayal of this brief conflict warrants more attention, particularly if we want to understand the full extent of media involvement in restructuring and mobilizing collective attachments among Yugoslav nations during this period. There are two principal reasons for this. First, at rhetorical level, this conflict cleared the stage and served as a dress rehearsal for what was to come. Although the media language across Yugoslavia was ‘a language of war long before war was even conceivable in Yugoslavia’ (Thompson 1999, 52), in fact, its formation could be traced back to opinion pieces published in mainstream daily newspapers as early as 1987 (Slapšak et al. 1997). It was only during the  ��������������������������������������������������������������������������������� The authors would like to express gratitude to Radio-Television Serbia and RadioTelevision Slovenia for providing access to all the archival materials needed for this project. Thanks are also due to Nedin Mutić for his help with transcriptions and to Jovan Byford, Stef Jansen, Ger Duijzings, Ivana Đurić, Đorđe Pavićević, Pål Kolstø, Gordana Đerić and an anonymous reviewer for their comments on earlier versions of this chapter.  ������������������������������������������������������������������������������ According to the data released on 7 July 1991 by the Slovenian Red Cross, the total number of casualties amounted to 62, including 39 members of the Yugoslav People’s Army (YPA), eight members of the Slovenian Territorial Defence (TD) and the police, five civilians and 10 foreigners. A total of 313 were wounded, including 163 YPA soldiers, 89 TD members, 22 policemen, 38 civilians and one foreigner. These data continue to be quoted in official Slovenian publications (e.g. Vojaški muzej Slovenske vojske 2006, 12). On the other hand, a book written by a former YPA general quotes a higher number of both casualties (12) and wounded (116 TD, 28 police) among the TD and the police, and a lower number of casualties (37) and wounded (146) on the side of the YPA (Radaković 1997).

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conflict in Slovenia that this media war finally turned into a real war. Second, this was the only conflict that featured Yugoslav federal institutions as major actors. This means that the conflict in Slovenia provides a rare chance to examine not only the classic strategies of war reporting, aimed at mobilizing already established collective attachments (Carruthers 2000; Hoskings 2004; Andersen 2006), but also the parallel process involving a ‘reorganisation within the identification matrix’ (Godina 1999), which included a discursive dismantling and delegitimization of pan-Yugoslav identifications. The longitudinal and comparative design of our study is particularly important in this respect. We examine four samples of prime-time television news taken from four periods in the late 1980s and the early 1990s, produced by two television stations broadcasting in two different Yugoslav republics: TV Ljubljana (TVL) in Slovenia and TV Belgrade (TVB) in Serbia. We start by examining the coverage of the military trial that took place in Slovenia in July 1988, which represents one of the crucial events in the early period of political liberalization in Yugoslavia. Next, the coverage of events immediately before and during the conflict itself are examined, and also its contribution to the reorganization within the identity matrix on each side. We conclude by analysing the portrayal of the international recognition of Slovenia and Croatia as sovereign states in January 1992, which cemented the newly established arrangements of collective attachments in the region. Such a selection of case studies allows us to trace the gradual public reconstruction of collective identifications fostered by each television station, as well as examine their growing incompatibility and the concomitant elimination of the common Yugoslav identity. By focusing on television coverage, we also aim to add to the rather limited body of work that examines Yugoslav war discourse in broadcast rather than print media (Valić 1997a; Skopljanac-Brunner 2000a; Turković 2000). Before turning to the actual analysis, the following sections briefly discuss selected aspects of the Yugoslav national question and the Yugoslav media landscape relevant for the understanding of our analysis, and present the methodological framework.

The National Question in Yugoslavia The socialist Yugoslav approach towards nationality and statehood was modelled on the Soviet federal system (Shoup 1968, 114) and followed a two-tiered pattern: the unifying Yugoslav citizenship, based on supranational principles that  ��������������������������������������������������������������������������������� The Yugoslav Prime Minister Ante Marković resigned from his position in December 1991, thereby leaving the already completely powerless federation politically beheaded. By then, the other major pillar of the federation, the Yugoslav People’s Army, had already de facto turned into a Serbian army: most non-Serb soldiers had deserted its ranks, while the remainder began fighting on the side of Serbs (cf. Silber and Little 1997, 169ff.; Conversi 2000).

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promoted a common Yugoslav ‘brotherhood and unity’, was complemented by distinct, institutionally recognized and objectified national identities existing at sub-state level – Slovenian, Croatian, Serbian and so on. After the reforms that culminated in the adoption of a new constitution in 1974, sub-state loyalties and identifications progressively became so strong that abstract citizens of Yugoslavia were non-existent: all forms of political representation were adapted to Yugoslavs who also had a distinct sub-state national affiliation. However, it is important to note that the relationships between particular national identities, on the one hand, and the overarching Yugoslav layer of identification, on the other hand, were not equal. While non-Serbian republican elites generally expected Yugoslavia to be a genuine multi-national federation, the increasingly influential nationalist-minded elites in Serbia saw the federation primarily as a compromise solution that allowed all Serbs to live in one state (Conversi 2000, 348). This was due to the fact that a disproportionally large number of the Serbian population lived outside the borders of the Republic of Serbia proper, while other republics embraced a much larger part of the respective constitutive nations, with Slovenia being by far the most ethnically homogenous of all the republics. In a context where most republics were increasingly functioning as nationalizing states, that is, states conceived as being ‘of and for’ a particular core nation (Brubaker 1996; Hayden 1992), such disparities were bound to give rise to mutually incompatible visions of the future. At one end of this spectrum was the Serbian proposal, which argued in favour of strengthening federal institutions. This was the only solution, short of redrawing inter-republican borders, that would allow Serbian republican elites to exert more influence over Serbs living outside Serbia, and thus better perform their role as leaders of a nationalizing state, a state of and for ethnic Serbs. At the opposite end of the spectrum, Slovenian republican leaders were proposing a further weakening of federal ties. Again, this was the only way, short of transforming their republican borders into state borders, of allowing them to achieve a better fit between the political and the national unit. In both cases, the implementation of these proposals required significant, and mutually incompatible, changes in the matrix of collective identifications.

Discursive Construction of Collective Identity and Difference in Television News Processes of identity construction, maintenance and transformation are inextricably linked to processes of marginalization, stigmatization and exclusion. Any kind of identity is, therefore, always relational, defined not only by the material it encloses, but also by the things it excludes (Woodward 1997). Discursive construction of identity follows similarly two-folded patterns. While fostering  ������������������������������������������������������������������������������ At the same time, however, the number of Yugoslav citizens identifying solely as ‘Yugoslavs’, a category meant to cover those not committed to any of the nations or nationalities, was in fact on the rise (Sekulic et al. 1994; Jović 2003a).

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unity and identification with the in-group, it also involves emphasizing difference and distancing from the out-group (De Cillia et al. 1999). Deictic or indexical expressions, such as the personal pronouns ‘we’, ‘our’ and ‘them’, or adverbs such as ‘here’ and ‘there’, whose meaning is, in part, determined by the context of utterance, are of particular importance in this respect. They serve to establish the deictic centre, that is, the specific anchorage point from which a text is being written or an utterance made. This centre also helps readers or hearers to position themselves as either insiders or outsiders with respect to selected groups, parties and so on represented in a particular text (Chilton 2004, 56). In a world of nationstates, the in- and out-groups established by deictic expressions are often defined in national terms, and hence function as ‘banal’, largely unnoticed reminders of national identity and difference (Billig 1995). The analysis of deictic expressions alone, of course, provides only limited insight into the discursive construction of collective identities: it merely reveals where various speakers position themselves vis-à-vis different in-groups and outgroups, and whom they consider to be part of these in- and out-groups. However, distinctions between ‘us’ and ‘them’ are rarely neutral: ‘they’ are not represented simply as different, but also as qualitatively inferior or (less often) superior to ‘us’. Positive self-representation is, therefore, regularly accompanied by negative ‘other’ presentation. Although this dual strategy can operate through a wide variety of different discursive layers (Van Dijk 2006, 356–83), we decided to focus our analysis on the layer of lexical choices. More specifically, we focus on the choice of labels, phrases and verbs used to describe different actors and actions involved in reported events. The principal reason for focusing on lexical choices lies in the fact that these lexical choices can also be viewed as strategies of legitimization. As Berger and Luckmann (1991, 112) point out, the basic legitimating explanations are built into vocabulary itself. Hence, by applying a particular word to a particular event, action or actor, we are also automatically applying a particular interpretation of that same actor, action or event, and thus potentially contributing to either its legitimation or its delegitimation. While these and other discursive strategies and devices involved in identity construction are amply discussed in the literature devoted to the analysis of simple utterances, plain written texts or conversations, it is less clear how we are to approach them in analysing a multi-modal and multi-layered text such as a television news bulletin. For example, which of the many layers of voices and modes of address present in a bulletin – coming from presenters, journalists, interviewees (Marshall and Werndly 2002, 62–4) – should we treat as representative of television’s own deictic centre and lexical choices? A useful, although not unproblematic, distinction is one customarily drawn between institutional and accessed voices, that is, the voices of those speakers who speak on behalf of the organization producing the bulletin – news anchors, news readers, journalists and correspondents – on the one hand, and the voices of external sources contributing their views to the broadcast (Selby and Cowdery 1995, 129). The line between the two is of course fuzzy, as all accessed voices, simply by the virtue of being included in the broadcast,

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already bear an imprint of the institution itself. However, given that the number of case studies covered in this chapter prevents us from providing a comprehensive analysis of all the different layers of voices at play in a television bulletin, we have decided to focus our analysis on institutional voices only. For each of the periods in question, we isolated all those parts of news bulletins that were dedicated to the chosen event and could be treated as representative of the television’s voice.

Discourse in Context: The Yugoslav Media Landscape To explain patterns of discourse structures and strategies appearing in a particular text, they need to be examined in the context of the wider cultural, social and institutional constraints (Van Dijk 2007). Similarly to their counterparts elsewhere in the region, Yugoslav post-communist elites treated the media in much the same way as their communist predecessors: as instruments of control belonging to the ruling party (Gallagher 2000; see also Cvetićanin 1997; Veljanovski 2002). At the same time, journalists and editors were often complicit in sustaining such attitudes, treating democratically elected representatives with virtually unlimited trust. In such a media environment, the increased openness of public debate was a rather mixed blessing, resulting in the creation of highly exclusive public spaces (Snyder and Ballentine 1997). Additional problems were created by the fact that the Yugoslav media market was, similarly to most other institutions in the federation, segmented along republican and thereby mostly also national lines (Snyder 2002, 213–17). Except for a handful of pan-Yugoslav media, all the major media, including the two television stations examined in our study, were controlled at republican level and addressed to respective ethnically segmented audiences. When the established pan-Yugoslav routes of exchange of news items among republican media crumbled in the late 1980s, republican audiences were increasingly served a diet of news reinforcing the positions of respective nationalist-minded republican elites. In the general climate of insecurity, the combination of a media system segmented along ethnic lines, and a still largely unprofessional journalistic culture, more or less willingly subjected to respective nationalist elites, ultimately resulted in the creation of increasingly self-enclosed communicative spaces, which fostered diametrically opposed interpretations of the same events. As the next section demonstrates, this pattern of divergent interpretations was already clearly visible in mainstream television news coverage well before the outbreak of the conflict in Slovenia. However, at least during the military trial in 1988, the conflicting interpretations presented by TVL and TVB were not yet fuelled by nationalist sentiments.

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Case Study I: ‘The Trial of the Four’ (18–27 July 1988) The military trial that took place in the capital of Slovenia in the summer of 1988 was the culmination of a long sequence of clashes between the weekly magazine Mladina [Youth], an organ of the Slovenian Socialist Youth Association, and the Yugoslav People’s Army (YPA). In the early months of 1988, the magazine issued several articles that disclosed the abuse of power and corruption in the YPA. Not being used to public criticism, the military establishment was visibly upset and reacted by accusing Mladina’s editor and two journalists, along with an army officer, of leaking a secret document. ‘The trial of the four’ is often regarded as the crucial turning point in the early history of Slovenia’s democratization, which transformed democratization into an explicitly national project (Carmichael and Gow 2000, 150–56; Pavković 1997, 106–9; Mastnak 1997, 93–112). Key to this development was the fact that the trial simultaneously offended two disparate sets of core values cherished by different oppositional movements in the republic: one inspired by universalistic principles, the other by particularistic, nationalist ideals. The Army’s insistence on holding a military trial against civilians in peacetime, without civilian representation, and outside of the gaze of the public eye, prompted renewed demands for a stricter separation of military and civilian institutions, unimpeded access to information of public interest and the unrestricted right to freedom of speech. On the other hand, the fact that the trial was conducted in Serbo-Croatian rather than Slovenian suddenly began to be perceived as a direct assault on Slovenian national sovereignty and equality, and was used to fuel fears of national assimilation. Although this combination of ideologically disparate concerns was not entirely new, the trial was the first occasion when this ideological amalgam was backed by a fully formalized alliance, the Committee for Protection of Human Rights. Furthermore, the trial not only homogenized the opposition, but simultaneously facilitated its rapprochement with the Slovenian communist leadership. While initially cautiously defending the YPA against criticisms levelled by the Committee, Slovenia’s communist authorities changed their position during the trial and ended up supporting some of the points raised by the opposition (Gow 1992, 86). Although the four men were  ����������������������������������������������������������������������������������� One of the accused journalists was Janez Janša, who subsequently became Slovenia’s first defence minister and later leader of one of the biggest centre-right parties, and was finally appointed as Prime Minister in 2004.  ����������������������������������������������������������������������������������� Some of the criticisms levelled at the YPA could of course be applied to any army, yet in the given context, the YPA served as a convenient symbol for what was perceived to be lacking in Yugoslavia at large.  ����������������������������������������������������������������������������������� It is worth noting that Serbo-Croatian was the official language of command in the YPA virtually ever since its establishment, and also served as the lingua franca among the Yugoslav nations. Although the trial was far from being the first occasion when such use of Serbo-Croatian was contested, it is nevertheless clear that the key reason should be sought in the broader context of heightened nationalist tensions rather than the choice of language as such.

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ultimately found guilty and sentenced to imprisonment, the Slovenian authorities were very ‘relaxed’ in their enforcement of this punishment (Carmichael and Gow 2000, 153). Also, finally, the trial successfully galvanized public support on a mass scale. The mass protests, gathering momentum since early June, reached their peak during the trial itself, when the Committee boasted the support of more than a thousand different groups and over one-hundred thousand individuals, many of whom joined the daily protests (Mastnak 2002, 102).

TVL: Defending Citizens’ Rights to Public Information The close analysis of the coverage provided by Television Ljubljana, however, calls for a more cautious appraisal of the role of the trial, particularly with respect to its alleged homogenizing effect on public discourse. According to one journalist’s testimony (Bizilj 1996, 111), this was a period fraught with insecurity and confusion: while the representative body of TVL’s journalists was among the first to join the Committee for Protection of Human Rights, reporting remained cautious and scarce, thereby exposing the television to repeated accusations of conservatism. During the trial, reports about the event featured in most bulletins, yet never appeared as the first, most important news of the day. The analysis of deictic expressions revealed that, throughout the period, anchors and journalists continued to speak from a multi-layered deictic centre, poised between the wider membership in the Yugoslav state community – the ‘we in Yugoslavia’ (for example 24 July 1988) – and the more narrow affiliation with the Slovenian republic and nation – ‘we the Slovenians’ (for example 22 July 1988). When talking specifically about the trial, however, TVL mostly abstained from using deictic expressions that would invoke membership of either the Slovenian nation or the wider Yugoslav community. Instead, the anchors, announcers and journalists assumed the position of ‘us, the journalists’, acting on behalf of the public and seeking information about the trial. The main ‘other’ that crystallized in these reports was the YPA, more precisely the Military Court, which was constantly represented as impenetrable to the public, therefore forcing the journalists to rely on information provided by third parties. The following excerpt is a case in point: In Ljubljana, the trial continued […] Today, we still have no official information about that, none whatsoever. We can therefore report only about what we get to know from the Committee for Protection of Human Rights, and about what we extract in front of the building of the Military Court. �������������� (������������� 19 July 1988)

This line of identification and argumentation remained unchanged throughout the duration of the trial, and was also reconfirmed in the one and only explicit commentary produced by TVL during the trial. The commentator identified herself primarily as a journalist and representative of the public, emphasizing the total

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lack of official information about the trial. From this position, she defended the protesters in Ljubljana and their reaction as ‘understandable’: The reaction of people in Ljubljana was understandable, since the lack of information left the impression that something is being hidden. […] In these days, nobody provided any consolation to us journalists, the people, all of us […] We have several information agencies in the Army and in the republican organs, yet this time they failed the test. Certainly someone owes us, the public, the nation, the people, several answers. (27 July 1988)

The use of deictic expressions in the above excerpt reveals the double-layered nature of the deictic centre assumed by TVL: while the journalist is clearly more sympathetic to ‘the people in Ljubljana’, her reference to ‘information agencies we have in the Army and in the republican organs’ represents both the republican organs and the army as ‘our own’. Another thing to note is the fact that, although the journalist is clearly marking her membership in the totality of ‘the public, the nation, the people’, this community does not embrace the whole of the Slovenian nation nor the wider Yugoslav population. Instead, ‘information services’ in both the republican representative bodies and the army are accused of ‘failing the test’, since they were unable to provide public information. This suggests that, from the point of the commentator, the other is not simply the army – as a federal institution – but rather all those agents – be they Slovenian or not, republican or federal – that failed to observe the universal rights of the freedom of speech and access to public information. This delineation of the self and the other is markedly different from the one adopted by the Slovenian republican leadership at the time, whose criticisms of the trial were based primarily on nationalist rather than universalistic criteria. By the fourth day of the trial, the Presidency of Slovenia began openly questioning the legality of using Serbo-Croatian language in Slovenia, claiming that such a decision was not in line with the republican nor the federal constitution. Towards the end of the trial, the leader of the League of Communists of Slovenia (LCS) openly called into question the legitimacy of any state that does not guarantee the free use of the Slovenian language and its full equality. He emphasized the historic loyalty of the LCS to the Slovenian nation, and even claimed that the vital interests and sovereignty of the Slovenian nation might be under threat. The LCS here acted as the representative of the Slovenian national self, opposed to the federal state. We could, therefore, conclude that, while both the LCS and TVL ultimately ended up following the arguments defended by the Committee, their positions were markedly different: while the Slovenian republican elite chose to follow arguments inspired by nationalist, particularistic values, TVL’s reporting of the trial and underlying vision of the self and the other  �������������������������������������������������� Milan Kučan’s interview for TVL, broadcast during TV Tednik, 28 July 1988. Cf. also Balažic 2004, 282–3.

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was based on universalistic principles. The nationalization of public discourse in Slovenia was, therefore, far from complete.

TVB: Defending the Military Court TV Belgrade’s (TVB) treatment of the trial was noticeably different from that offered by TVL, as well as from positions defended by the Slovenian republican elite. The coverage broadcast on the second day of the trial provides a case in point. TVB first aired a news item produced by TVL, reporting on the growing numbers of protesters and their unruly behaviour. However, this item was followed by an extremely critical commentary, which used the preceding report to authenticate an unmistakably negative interpretation of the protests. At the same time, the court was consistently described in a positive light, associated with legal and ethical standards, hence public access to information was clearly not deemed to be a sufficient reason for the protests: Facing the court building the way you saw, they tried to provoke reactions from the authorities, however the Ljubljana Military Court is operating as usual despite obvious pressures, because the dignity of the judicial authorities is safeguarded through legal and ethical consistency. […] The rallies around the court building and the calls by the Committee for the Protection of Human Rights are a result of the undisguised aspiration to influence the court’s work, and even its final ruling. […] It is good that the Presidency of the Slovenian Socialist League has condemned the actions of the Committee for the Protection of Human Rights, because ahead of the trial assurances came from Ljubljana that there would be no pressure brought to bear on the court’s work. These assurances were offered by those who can and must be trusted. A mistake was obviously made somewhere. (19 July 1988)

The above excerpt is interesting for another reason: it demonstrates that the main other identified by TVB’s commentator was not the Slovenian republic or nation as a whole. Instead, only specific groups inside Slovenia, particularly the Committee, but also the protesters who ‘tried to provoke a reaction’, were identified and dismissed for taking the side of those prosecuted. In contrast, Slovenia’s republican leadership is commended for having condemned the activities of the Committee. Yet the commentator’s sympathies for the current Slovenian political elite are only half-hearted. The last two sentences mark Slovenian leaders out as a weak link in the wider Yugoslav self, describing them as ‘those who can and must be trusted’, but who proved incapable of securing order and are therefore unworthy of trust. Nevertheless, and in much the same vein as TVL, here TVB still maintains a relatively strong sense of a collective Yugoslav self, endangered not by any of its constituent nations as a whole, but rather by misguided individuals

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and groups or untrustworthy representative bodies – all of whom are seen as dangerous, but ultimately replaceable or disposable. Case Study II: The Run-up to the Conflict (16–25 June 1991) By late March 1989, the Serbian republican elites had gradually extended their control to the two Serbian provinces, Vojvodina and Kosovo, as well as the Republic of Montenegro. This secured them four of the eight votes within the federal bodies, and thus allowed them to block any proposals coming from Slovenia, Croatia, Macedonia or Bosnia–Herzegovina. The first multi-party elections, which took place across the federation in 1990, resulted in communists losing their power in Slovenia, Croatia, Macedonia and Bosnia–Herzegovina, but retaining a commanding position in Serbia and Montenegro. This outcome further deepened the division between the governing elites of Serbia, the two provinces and Montenegro, on the one hand, and those in power in the remaining republics (Cohen 1995, 159–60). In the early months of 1991, this division led negotiations at federal level into a deadlock. All attempts to break this deadlock proved unsuccessful, and on the eve of the conflict in Slovenia, Yugoslavia’s highest representative body, which was also responsible for directing the federal army, still lay beheaded. Even more ominously, the deployment of YPA units in crushing anti-Milošević demonstrations in Belgrade sent a clear signal that a substantial proportion of the Yugoslav elites was willing and able to use the only truly powerful and fully functioning federal institution to silence domestic dissent. By then, Slovenia was already a long way down the path of building a national state. The incoherent amalgam of nationalist, anti-communist and pro-democratic values now provided the ideological basis of the Demos coalition, bringing it to victory in the first multi-party elections in April 1990. The republic-wide plebiscite on the issue of independence, organized in December 1990, attracted an enormous turnout of over 93 per cent, with more than 88 per cent casting a vote in favour of independence. This result enabled the government of Slovenia to claim full democratic legitimacy to transform the republic into a fully sovereign national state. The following six months were a period of accelerated building of nationalstate institutions. This was expected to culminate in late June 1991 with a formal declaration of independence.

TVL: Building a Slovenian National State In the days preceding the declaration, most TVL news anchors and journalists were enthusiastically participating in the building of a Slovenian national state, duly reporting on the gradual establishment of new national institutions and bringing news of activities building up momentum for ‘D Day’. Gone was the critical distance established between journalists and the authorities during the trial

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in 1988. Instead, TVL was now habitually adopting positions and interpretations expounded by the republican government itself. In contrast to 1988, most deictic expressions were now unambiguously pointing to Slovenia and Slovenians: announcers were positioning themselves as members of a clearly delineated Slovenian national self, whose republic was bound to be transformed into a fully fledged national state. The belief in the inevitability of secession was so strong that announcers and journalists regularly treated Slovenia’s statehood as a fait accompli, even before the actual proclamation of independence. On one occasion, one of TVL’s anchors referred to Slovenia – effectively still only a republic within the larger Yugoslav state – as ‘the state of Slovenia’, that is, an already sovereign entity (20 June 1991). In another news bulletin, Dimitrij Rupel was labelled as ‘the Slovenian foreign minister’, despite the fact that his official function at the time was that of a Republican Secretary for International Cooperation (17 June 1991). What is more, the journalist presented Rupel’s meeting with the foreign minister of neighbouring Austria as an entirely unproblematic, legitimate meeting of two foreign ministers of equal standing, without even mentioning Yugoslavia’s foreign minister. Deictic expressions signalling attachment to a wider Yugoslav ‘we’, still so unambiguously present in 1988, had by this time almost disappeared. Federal institutions were increasingly portrayed as entirely ineffective, facing imminent collapse and potentially threatening. In the eyes of TVL, however, the federal threat had little to do with democratization: in contrast to 1988, federal institutions were no longer seen as an obstacle to Slovenia’s further democratization, but rather as an obstacle to its project of building a sovereign national state. The policies of the Yugoslav Peoples’ Bank, for example, were presented as obsolete, creating an excessive burden for Slovenian banks and hampering the economic development of Slovenia (for example, 20 June 1991). In a similar vein, the Federal Assembly was criticized not primarily for being undemocratic, but rather for its failure to ensure adequate representation of various national interests of all Yugoslav nations and, instead, functioning as an extended arm of the Serbian government. The following excerpt, taken from a news report on developments in the Federal Assembly, provides a telling example of TVL’s perception of the relative position of the Slovenian self vis-à-vis the remaining Yugoslav republics and their representatives: ‘Belgrade probably wouldn’t even mind if Slovenian and Croatian delegates no longer came to the session of the aforementioned assembly’ (20 June 1991). Evidently and quite unsurprisingly given the political developments at the time, Slovenian representatives are seen as being in a similar position to Croatian ones, both endangered by the growing influence and arrogance of ‘Belgrade’. At the same time, individual Yugoslav republics were regularly portrayed as virtually independent states, functioning almost entirely outside of a common federal framework: as one journalist commented when reporting on a meeting between Serbian and Slovenian economists, the negotiations between the two republics began to resemble ‘negotiations between two states’ (18 June 1991).

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While TVL’s coverage was now almost entirely devoid of identification with the wider Yugoslav ‘we’, an alternative layer of supranational identification was seen to be taking its role, namely identification with the wider European community. For example, when describing a new postal stamp that was about to be issued with the declaration of independence, the anchor explained: ‘In the background of the symbol of Slovenia’s identity, the ecological green is shading into the blueness of the day, or the blueness of Europe, tomorrow’s common European home’ (17 June 1991). At the same time, repeated warnings coming from the European Community (EC) as well as the USA made it clear that Slovenia’s membership in this wider community was not to be taken for granted: on the eve of the armed clash, both the USA and the EC were reluctant to accept Yugoslavia’s disintegration. However, TVL’s lexical and editorial choices suggested that these stances were not to be taken too seriously. The following sentence, used by an anchor when introducing a report on the US Secretary of State James Baker’s visit to Belgrade, is particularly telling: ‘His current mission is clear: this country needs to be brought to its senses, so that it will remain the same as it is now’ (21 June 1991). From the point of view of the journalist, Baker’s views were merely temporary, as well as unnecessarily patronizing. Moreover, Baker’s short statement about developments in Yugoslavia was followed by a lengthy exposition from the Slovenian President Milan Kučan, who confirmed the anchor’s spin on the event.

TVB: Defending the Yugoslav Self At the other end of the federation, TVB provided a completely different view of the same events. In one news bulletin, several minutes were dedicated to a detailed exposition of sympathetic statements issued by the Conference on Security and Cooperation in Europe and the German Bundestag, as well as by Yugoslavia’s Foreign Minister Budimir Lončar. The latter were presented in a particularly positive light, described as ‘direct, open and critical’ (19 June 1991). The use of deictic expressions equally left no doubt as to where TVB’s sympathies lay: Lončar was referred to as ‘our federal secretary’ (ibid.). In contrast, official reactions coming from Slovenian representatives were dealt with in passing, and were quickly dismissed as excessively narrow and guided solely by concerns for Slovenia’s own future, rather than the future of Yugoslavia as a whole. Slovenian officials, if the interview with Slovenian president Milan Kučan in the Vienna-based Der Standard is anything to go by, are interested in the warning solely in the context of the international recognition of independence.���������� (19 June 1991)

The above positioning is symptomatic of TVB’s prevailing stance in this period, and is similar to the attitude adopted in 1988: again, TVB is siding with federal institutions and their representatives. The main other, however, is now no longer

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limited primarily to certain groups inside Slovenia. Instead, all major Slovenian institutions and representatives are portrayed in a negative light, and descriptions of their actions and statements are regularly accompanied by delegitimating attributes. Furthermore, Slovenian representatives are now recurrently bunched together with Croatian ones, and collectively described as internal enemies, threatening the Yugoslav self from within. It is precisely these internal enemies that are also seen as being responsible for the inefficiency of federal institutions. For example, when reporting on yet another failure to organize a meeting of the Federal Presidency, TVB’s commentator had no qualms about who should be blamed, and placed the responsibility squarely on Slovenian and Croatian representatives. Without discussing the exact reasons for their absence, the commentator dismissed such behaviour in typically populist terms that had become the hallmark of public rhetoric in Milošević’s Serbia during the ‘anti-bureaucratic revolution’: he described it as ‘irrational’, as ‘political manoeuvring’ and, as such, entirely illegitimate, particularly in the light of the growing insecurity faced by the general population. We could almost start the weekly overview with the question whether it makes sense for journalists to continue doing it, or should the job perhaps be taken over by some other professions that are more accustomed to understanding irrational behaviour […] Political manoeuvring has continued, ruining what was likely to be the last chance of members of the ill-fated Yugoslav presidency and leaders of the republics at least assembling in Belgrade on Thursday. Mesić and Drnovšek, Tuđman and Kučan failed to show up. They did not receive prior guarantees, they have said. For what? In a country where no-one guarantees any longer your savings deposit or a full wage for an honest job or a pension for all your years of service, do politicians have the right to ask for any kind of guarantees? (22 June 1991)

Similar negative representations of Slovenian and Croatian representatives were commonplace in TVB’s reporting at the time, and provided a suitable basis for the escalation of hostility that was to erupt. The necessary complement of such othering and scapegoating was the invocation of national unity. With the realization that the process of transforming Slovenia and Croatia into independent states was well under way, the announcers and journalists of TVB started to agitate fervently for Yugoslav unity. On the day of Slovenia and Croatia’s declaration of independence, TVB’s anchor opened the bulletin in a dramatic manner, appealing to the public as part of a Yugoslav self, living in ‘the country of Yugoslavs’: Dear viewers, good evening. What will happen with Yugoslavia tomorrow? This question is being asked by many inhabitants of our country, almost all the world agencies and foreign journalists accredited in our country. […] Today, there would be more than enough reason coming from the land of the Yugoslavs for such dramatic questions. (25 June 1991)

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However, one should not be misled by this passionate embrace of the Yugoslav self. As the dismissive attitudes towards Slovenian and Croatian representatives suggest, TVB had little sympathy for their vision of Yugoslavia’s future. This meant, by implication, that TVB’s position was closer to that expounded by the Serbian leadership. Once it became clear that Yugoslavia’s representative bodies were unable to prevent the secession of the two northwestern republics, and, therefore, incapable of protecting the interests of Serbs in Croatia so important to Serbian nationalist elites, TVB’s attitudes towards federal institutions became increasingly impatient. Commenting on yet another attempt to organize a meeting of the Federal Presidency, a journalist stated: ‘Jugoslovenima je već dojadilo da predviđaju šta će biti sa predsedništvom’ [Yugoslavs are fed up with guessing what will happen with the Presidency] (19 June 1991). TVB was, therefore, sending a clear message not only about who was to blame for the present situation, but also about a growing need to react – if necessary, in ways that would circumvent the authority of the Federal Presidency. The above analysis suggests that, on the eve of the armed conflict, the crucial steps of warmongering propaganda, namely identifying the enemy and disqualifying their arguments (see Valić 1997a), as well as solidifying a sense of collective unity and mobilizing support for action, were well under way. What was left was the legitimation of an appropriate response that would eliminate, or at least subordinate, the enemy. Case Study III: The ‘Ten-Day War’ (26 June–7 July 1991) Despite the highly unfavourable position adopted by the United States and the EC, Slovenia and Croatia declared their independence simultaneously on 25 June 1991. Ante Marković, the federal Prime Minister and thus the highest-ranking political authority in Yugoslavia given the deadlock of the Federal Presidency, had made his position clear several days earlier: any unilateral attempts to change the internal or external borders of the federation were to be regarded as ‘contrary to a peaceful and democratic solution to the crisis’ and treated as ‘illegal and illegitimate’ (quoted 21 June 1991). On 25 June, he signed an order to deploy the federal armed forces to ensure continued federal control over federal borders. At the same time, the Slovenian government deployed its Territorial Defence (TD) forces to assume sovereign control over what it deemed to be Slovenia’s own territory and borders.

TVL: Supporting the Resistance of a National State TVL greeted the first signs of deployment of YPA troops with relative calm, trying to sustain the festive mood by inviting the audience to join the celebrations marking the establishment of a sovereign Slovenia. Yugoslav institutions, already completely discredited in the preceding days and months, were now transformed into a fully external other. The use of deictic expression and the label ‘Yugoslavia’

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in the following excerpt clearly demonstrate that Slovenia was no longer seen as its part. Yugoslavia was now perceived as an entirely separate state, reacting to ‘our’, that is Slovenia’s, decisions: Good evening. Yesterday evening Slovenia became independent. Today we are celebrating. […] The evening certainly will not be any less pleasant given the fact that Yugoslavia already reacted to our […] decision. (26 June 1991)

In the remainder of the same bulletin, these reactions were presented as unambiguously hostile to Slovenia. Reporting was tied to the Slovenian self, describing the situation at border crossings, the airport, or following the movements of YPA units from an unequivocally Slovenian perspective, and relying on quoted speech from Slovenian representatives. Visual images showed tanks and army vehicles driving on highways or through cities, regularly encountering street barricades made of trucks and buses. Apart from these barricades, the coverage was both verbally and visually devoid of any military actors representing the Slovenian side, thus creating an image of Slovenia being engaged in entirely non-military forms of defence. Lexical choices are equally telling. The YPA and its metonymic substitutes, most often tanks and soldiers, are portrayed as active and aggressive, while descriptions of the self, metonymically present in the form of various roadblocks, signify firm, yet harmless, resistance, and occasionally suffering. The following example is a case in point: ‘Army vehicles were brutally removing the erected barricades, several civilian vehicles are damaged’ (26 June 1991). Throughout the conflict, this image of the Yugoslav Army as an aggressor, bravely opposed by the Slovenian TD, was reconfirmed and reinforced by TVL on a daily and sometimes hourly basis. Although the YPA was intent on deploying a limited range of its forces, and initially approached the conflict as a limited action aimed purely at restoring order (Silber and Little 1997, 155–6), TVL presented its actions as a full-scale military invasion. Increasingly, the menacing Army was also functioning as the metonymic substitute for Yugoslavia itself. In the eyes of one anchor, the aggressive behaviour of the Army demonstrated ‘what the true Yugoslavia is and what it looks like’ (27 June 1991). In spreading such images, TVL closely followed the spin manufactured by the Slovenian government. The Slovenian Ministry of Information launched a massive propaganda campaign, which persistently portrayed YPA as an occupying army, consisting of conscripts unwilling to fight their own compatriots (Gow and Tilsley 1995, 105). In line with this spin, the Slovenian side continued to be presented in a positive light, associated with the Slovenian self. When armed TD units began to appear as agents in the news, they were occasionally referred to as ‘our army’ (27 June 1991) and were mostly depicted as providing non-violent, but solid resistance to the aggressive onslaught of the federal army. A concomitant aspect of such a sympathetic portrayal of the self was the glossing over of the TD’s own lethal attacks. When a YPA soldier was killed by a member of the TD, the euphemistic expression ‘a victim has fallen’ was used, evading any clear attribution of blame

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to TD (ibid.). Instead, virtually all action and responsibility for damage caused by the conflict was attributed to the YPA. At the visual level, this attribution was regularly supported by images of damaged buildings and roads, injured civilians, ambulances and the like. This was often combined with amateur footage sent in by viewers themselves, and occasionally accompanied by emotional commentaries provided by distressed journalists, shocked when faced with the devastation. The following excerpt, accompanied by a mixture of TVL’s own and amateur footage that included close-ups of destroyed houses and vehicles, a civilian’s burnt body and crying civilians, provides an exemplary case. The reporter’s commentary leaves no uncertainty about who is to blame, and his trembling voice, breaking into extended silences and sighs, further reinforces the image of authenticity. Purportedly the shelling by the Yugoslav air force – how should we call them, the invading army in short […] ended half an hour ago, we heard the comments by the local inhabitants, we heard how awful it was, yet what we see here goes beyond anything we expected, and … here lie the dead truck-drivers, who were trying to somehow stop the march of the army with their trucks … [sigh] the whole valley is full of holes left by grenades. (28 June 1991)

Such emotionally involved reporting and one-sided portrayal of victims, accompanied by the neglect of losses on the enemy’s side, was to become one of the hallmarks of mainstream media reporting in the following months and years, as the focus of conflict moved from Slovenia to Croatia and then Bosnia– Herzegovina.

TVB: From Defending the Yugoslav Federation to Defending the Serbian Nation At both visual and verbal level, representational strategies employed by TVB during the conflict were mirroring those characteristic of TVL. The positioning of TVB’s announcers was, of course, diametrically opposed: journalists and anchors sided with the YPA, and borrowed their legitimating rhetorical strategies from the statements pronounced by the federal Prime Minister Marković before the outbreak of the conflict. Slovenia’s decision to secede was regularly described as one-sided, as shown by the following excerpt, while YPA’s intervention was presented as fully legitimate and legal, aimed solely at defence. Compared with TVL’s coverage, discussed earlier, the roles of the villain and the hero were reversed: in TVB’s view, YPA was the one engaged in defence, while Slovenia’s TD was engaged in illegitimate resistance.

 ����������������������������������������������������������������������������� Cf. N. Skopljanac-Brunner et al. (2000a) and Turković (2000), as well as the contributions by Đurić and Zorić (Chapter 3) and Sládeček and Džihana (Chapter 7).

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Good evening, dear viewers. A difficult, dramatic day is behind us, with a lot of elements of war in Slovenia. At the basis of everything that you saw last night, and that we will see tonight, lies Slovenia’s unilateral, arbitrary decision to occupy the Yugoslav state border in its territory. In an attempt to protect the state border in line with the Constitution and decisions of the federal government, the Yugoslav People’s Army has met with armed and other forms of resistance, above all by the Slovenian Territorial Defence. (28 June 1991)

Another element to note in the above excerpt is the fact that the role of the hostile other was now no longer accorded only to Slovenia’s representatives, whether politicians or the armed forces. Instead, the whole of Slovenia was identified as the enemy who had performed an illegitimate, unilateral act. Similarly to TVL’s descriptions of TD’s activities, TVB’s portrayals of YPA’s moves were regularly accompanied by modal verbs and nominal phrases that avoided any reference to violence and force, thus presenting the Army as an entirely non-violent actor. When the use of force was acknowledged, TVB supported it without hesitation, deeming YPA’s application of force entirely unproblematic and justified. The burden of illegitimacy lay entirely with TD units, whose activities, according to TVB, forced YPA into adopting extreme measures: Since the barricades that were put up were not sufficient to secure the movement of armoured units towards the border, guns spoke out. In situations like this, the response to force is force. On the Ljubljana–Zagreb road, an armoured YPA unit had to shoot its way through. (28 June 1991)

Similar to the pre-conflict period, however, this resolute support for federal institutions had clear limits. While applauding the unyielding stance of the army, TVB still retained a rather negative, impatient attitude towards the Yugoslav Presidency and the Prime Minister. This impatience was only in part due to the inability of federal institutions to hold the federation together. Especially when attention shifted to the conflict in Croatia, it was becoming clear that TVB’s primary concerns lay with the Serbian nation, not Yugoslavia as a whole. The following excerpt, taken from a commentary, is particularly interesting. The commentator is clearly dissatisfied with the Federal Presidency’s reactions, and keeps demanding more resolute action and depicting the members of the Presidency as ‘tired’ and acting in an entirely inappropriate manner. Those seen as suffering from these actions are no longer Yugoslavs in general, but primarily one particular group, namely, Serbs in Croatia. The commentary sends a clear message: federal authorities are unable to solve the crisis and prevent the suffering of Serbs, and it is time for somebody else to stand up for the interests of the Serbian people: It remains unclear why the state presidency failed to announce yesterday already if and what measures it would take in case its decision was not honoured. […] And instead of being in permanent session in this war situation as the war

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Media Discourse and the Yugoslav Conflicts commander, the state presidency has scheduled its next session in three days’ time only. That some of our precious politicians seem to be tired is also shown by a statement of a presidency member […] Asked if he knew that the situation in Borovo Selo was dramatic, Tupurkovski answered that the presidency had agreed to discuss the situation in Croatia, and the status of the Serb people in that republic, as early as during next week. Only next week may be a good time for Tupurkovski to have this discussion, however it would really be worth hearing what the Serbs in Borovo Selo, Dvor na Uni, Pakrac, Knin and other areas with a Serb population in Croatia would have to say to his statement. (5 July 1991)

Case Study IV: International Recognition (10–20 January 1992) Despite the crushing symbolic defeat of Yugoslav unity during the conflict in Slovenia, the state-like behaviour of republican authorities and growing public support in Western European states (Danchev and Halverson 1996), diplomatic recognition of the self-declared new states was still not in clear sight. After the threemonth moratorium on the implementation of declarations of independence ended in early October 1991, Slovenia and Croatia resumed the building of sovereign states, yet it would take another two months for the outside world to accept the irreversibility of the dissolution. In the light of the simmering conflicts in the Soviet Union, and decentralizing pressures in Western European states themselves, hasty recognition could set a dangerous precedent. For the EC it was imperative to ensure that the Yugoslav case would be seen as unique and the procedures for recognition of Slovenia and Croatia inapplicable to other cases in Europe (Caplan 2005, 64–72). The fulfilment of this task was placed in the hands of the Arbitration Commission, appointed in November 1991 and chaired by Robert Badinter. In the end, political pressures prevailed over legal considerations: although the Commission recommendations stipulated that only Slovenia and Macedonia be granted recognition, the EC decided to deny recognition to Macedonia, but extend it to Croatia (Silber and Little 1997, 200–201). The official act of recognition was scheduled for 15 January 1992.

TVL: Exiting ‘the Balkans’, Entering ‘Europe’ In the meantime, TVL had fully established itself as the voice of a newly established national state, eagerly awaiting international recognition. As the moratorium on the implementation of the Declaration of Independence came to an end, the television symbolically marked its new identity by renaming itself TV Slovenia (TVS). In January 1992, its bulletins echoed this completed transformation of the collective self that now corresponded to the new Slovenian national state. Deictic references to ‘us Slovenians’ and ‘our state’ abounded, and anchors were proudly

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opening bulletins with announcements of yet another international recognition of Slovenia’s independent statehood, as in the following example: Good evening. Slovenia and Croatia got recognised by yet another country, albeit a minuscule one, the Republic of San Marino. The note about the recognition of our state among other things states that San Marino thereby confirms its solidarity with the suffering of Slovenia’s inhabitants in the struggle for independence. (14 January 1992)

News of countries refusing to recognize Slovenia’s sovereignty was, by contrast, accompanied by clearly delegitimating phrases and attributes. The excerpt below is a case in point, with the anchor establishing a clear contrast between the ‘long list’ of those states who had already recognized Slovenia as an independent state, and those disdainfully labelled as ‘waverers’, who believed that recognition was a harmful act – a belief the speaker clearly marks out as untrustworthy by labelling it ‘alleged’: The list of countries that recognized Slovenia as a sovereign and independent state is […] growing longer, yet one can also hear voices of those who think the recognition of, as they say, secessionist Yugoslav republics, is a dangerous act […] After initial recognitions, Slovenia of course has no reason to wait for the waverers. (20 January 1992)

These rare ‘waverers’ now joined the list of TVS’s main others, among whom could be found the remaining federal institutions, including ‘the remnants of Federal Presidency’ (20 January 1992) and especially the Yugoslav Army. Yet in 1992, the anchors and journalists no longer felt compelled to discredit the federal institutions. Instead, they merely reported on such claims coming from abroad, especially from the foreign press, increasingly pointing its finger at the Army as being the one to blame for Yugoslavia’s break-up. Serbia, now perceived as being at a safe distance from Slovenia, was no longer a significant, let alone threatening, other. Anything connected to Yugoslavia now represented only a very distant, no longer threatening, other. The gaze of TV Slovenia was directed westwards: ‘the West’, ‘the world’ and ‘Europe’ now assumed the prime role of Slovenia’s most significant other, one seen as mirroring the new Slovenian identity, associated with independence, democracy and Europeanization. While associating itself with ‘Europe’, TVS was also distancing itself from its former extended self, now stigmatized, in line with the discourse of balkanism (Todorova 1997), as the unfathomable, eternally conflict-ridden ‘Balkans’. The following extract clearly demonstrates that the lands that formerly constituted an integral part of Slovenia’s extended self, including the former ally Croatia, were now considered not only entirely external, but also completely alien and opaque: ‘In the Balkans, as always – an unclear situation, full of conflicts’ (20 January 1992).

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TVB: The West as the New Enemy At the same time, TVB was already engaged in full-scale warmongering, directed primarily at Croatia. Elements of nationalistic discourse sparsely appearing during the ‘Ten-Day War’ period had by now been transformed into fully fledged hatespeech, aimed not solely at discrediting the enemy, but at eliminating it altogether (see Bugarski 1997b). Defending the official government policy in Serbia, TVB openly adopted the position of the Serbian self, constantly reporting on the grievances of Serbs outside Serbia. Yugoslavia and Yugoslav representatives were still present as the extended self, yet one completely unable to defend Serbian interests. The list of main culprits for such a situation was no longer limited only to Slovenia and Croatia, but increasingly extended to include representatives of Western European states as well – in the following case the chairperson of the EC’s Arbitration Commission and the EC’s peace envoy Lord Carrington: The Serb people in Bosnia and Herzegovina and Croatia, thus, according to Badinter, got the epithet and status of a minority, although they are a constitutent people. In the afternoon, in light of the euphoria over the emergence of new European statelets, the work of the joint commissions of the Conference on Yugoslavia resumed here at the expert level, because Lord Carrington no longer invites Yugoslav representatives, although this is a conference on Yugoslavia. (15 January 1992)

Slovenia was no longer seen as the main player in the events concerning TVB: it appeared solely in a passive position, as an object of international recognition. It is clearly an other, but an entirely insignificant one, disparagingly referred to as one of ‘the new statelets’. The role of the main enemy was transferred to Croatia and its foreign allies. The list of countries that recognized Slovenia and Croatia’s sovereignty represents the first outline of TVB’s new other – ‘the West’ – which was to assume centre stage in the coming years.10

Conclusions Despite all the contextual factors that pushed for disintegration, some of which are briefly addressed in the opening sections of this chapter, several obstacles had to be removed before the gory conflicts that spread across Yugoslavia could even become imaginable. The case studies covered in this chapter reveal a series of discursive shifts that had to be completed before the media stage was cleared for an all-out war between republics-turned-national states – shifts that have not received adequate empirically supported treatment in the existing literature. Over the course of the four years covered in our analysis, TVL and TVB gradually 10 ��������������������������������������������������� See the contribution by Bakić and Pudar, Chapter 5.

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shifted from being the representative voices of respective republics in a wider federation, to functioning as instruments of two nationalizing states. The defence of democratic values and freedom of speech, clearly present in TVL’s coverage in 1988, later gave way to nationalist principles. During the armed conflict in Slovenia, the two television stations engaged in fully fledged warmongering, starting with the naming of enemies and delegitimation of their positions, coupled with increasingly dramatic appeals to national unity, and followed by a one-sided portrayal of victims and neglect of losses on the enemy’s side. Both gradually shook off identification with Yugoslav ‘brotherhood and unity’, though each in its own way. TVB replaced it with a vision of Yugoslavia that could, whenever appropriate, function as an extended protective layer of Serbian national interests, while TVL externalized everything Yugoslav as threatening and even alien. This led to the ultimate symbolic defeat of traditional forms of Yugoslav unity, thus clearing the ground for a confrontation of newly established nationalizing states alone. In subsequent months, as the focus of war moved from Slovenia to Croatia, the kind of war reporting that had begun developing during the conflict in Slovenia was to become a daily diet for the audiences of TV Belgrade and TV Zagreb. At that point, TV Ljubljana – now renamed TV Slovenia in order to symbolically mark its new identity – was proudly celebrating international recognition, reporting on the war in Croatia as a distant and irrational bloodshed. TV Belgrade, on the other hand, interpreted the international recognition of Croatia and Slovenia as an ominous signal of an anti-Serb conspiracy in Europe and the West, thus laying the foundations of anti-Western attitudes that were to persist in Serbian public discourse for several years to come.

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Chapter 3

Foreclosing the Other, Building the War: A Comparative Analysis of Croatian and Serbian Press Discourses During the Conflict in Croatia Ivana Đurić and Vladimir Zorić

Introduction In this chapter the focus is on the press coverage of a set of political and military events in Croatia from 1990 to 1995 in order to shed light on how the divisive political discourses in Croatia and Serbia were filtered and intensified through the media. On both sides, they contributed to a highly volatile opposition between perceived selfhood and otherness. We develop a model of how us–them perceptions are intertwined by two explicitly axiological categories, good vs bad, and proceed by discussing how the daily press discourses in Croatia and Serbia reflected the mounting ethnopolitical homogenization. The identity perceptions espoused by the press were not as stable as they may appear in a retrospective view; on the contrary, these perceptions were open to structural and circumstantial changes that followed the evolution of the conflict. The Analytical Sample and Theoretical Reflections The ominous role of the media as a major channel for the dissemination of hate speech and stereotypical imagery has been recognized and widely discussed (MacDonald 2002; Malović and Selnow 2001; Skopljanac-Brunner et al. 2000a; Thompson 1994). While most researchers have focused on those media which they could unproblematically code as either pro-regime (see Skopljanac-Brunner et al. 2000a) or oppositional and routinely picked up features that matched these labels, we use different selection criteria. Proceeding from the fact that some newspapers had a particularly wide circulation, we ask what made their discourse pro-regime or oppositional. The reason for this is the simple assumption that, the wider the circulation of a newspaper, the stronger the galvanizing and/or antagonizing potential of its political discourse. This potential may or may not be used for propagandist purposes, but it exists.

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The Croatian perspective is represented by Večernji list and Novi list, while the media responses in Serbia are exemplified by Večernje novosti and Borba. Two of the newspapers examined – Večernji list and Večernje novosti – patently reflected and complemented the views and actions of the regimes in Croatia and Serbia. The other two – Novi list and Borba – both with a numerically more limited readership, espoused more liberal views, if not overtly critical, towards their respective regimes. The staggering print runs of the state-owned newspapers such as Večernje novosti added up to a form of status quality too. Given the legacy of the state-controlled economy, the fact that a newspaper had a wide audience would not be interpreted as the result of the commercial success of that newspaper alone, but also as a consequence of someone’s political decision: that it should have a large audience. In this sense, Večernji list presents an illustrative counterexample to Večernje novosti: its market success as a liberal daily in the Communist period represented a key incentive for its early privatization during the 1990s, and this change of ownership paradoxically led to more stringent forms of political control, including self-censorship and the purging of journalists. As regards Novi list, its inclusion in the sample is meant to capture the impact of the underlying conflict between the political centre and the non-compliant region of Istria, where the centripetal nationalist discourses were countered by the centrifugal tendencies of regional discourses. Finally, the Serbian daily Borba, apart from its liberal and intellectual penchant, bears the legacy of being a distinctively Yugoslav newspaper, published in both Belgrade and Zagreb and featuring texts in the Serbian as well as the Croat linguistic idiom. Its becoming a hardline regime newspaper was facilitated by the outbreak of the war and definitely sealed by the regime-imposed change of the editorial board in 1994. The chronology of the analytical sample reflects the development of the opposition between the collective entities us–them in both the pre-military and the military stages of the conflict in Croatia. Within the pre-war stage we have selected three key events of political significance: the first and the second round of parliamentary elections (22 April and 6–7 May 1990); the ethnic plebiscite of the Croatian Serbs for autonomy (18 August 1990); and the general referendum of the citizens of Croatia for independence (19 May 1991). From the war period, we have selected three developments of both political and military significance: the fall of Vukovar following a three-month siege, when the regular units of the Yugoslav People’s Army (hereafter JNA), alongside paramilitary volunteer units from Serbia and local Serbs from the ‘territorial defence’ took over the town (18 November 1991); Operation Maslenica, when the Croatian army retook control over a strategic route through northern Dalmatia, which proved to be a turning   See ��������������������������������������������������� D. Ivanković, ‘Slijedi li smjenjivanje novinara?’, Večernji list, 25 April 1990, p. 4; Drago Kojić, ‘I novinare “diferenciraju”, zar ne?’, Novi list, 3 May 1990, p. 4.  ������������������������������������� As from early 1995, 102 employees of Borba managed to establish the daily with a new title Naša Borba.

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point in the war (27 January 1993); and, finally, Operation Storm (Oluja), when the Croatian army in a rapid offensive defeated the Serb forces and took effective control over the disputed territories (4–8 August 1995). We limited our analytical sample to a series of fortnightly periods, one week before and one week after each event. In the cases of events that lasted longer than one day, such as the operations Maslenica and Storm, we examined the press coverage throughout the seven-day period that preceded the end date and the seven days that followed it. Finally, the sample includes only those texts that relate centrally to the event in question. This approach does not aim to present a complete narrative that tells us exactly how the self–other rhetoric evolved over the five years of the conflict, but is rather based in a grounded theory model, which may reveal the essential structures of that rhetoric through a series of temporal cross-cuts. Is there any ontological and/or axiological content behind the concepts of self and other, and, if there is, can this content, by any rational standards, be related to the murders and mass violence committed during the war in Croatia? While analysts tend to agree that the concepts of self and other permeated the media coverage of events, it is paradoxical that the journalists themselves only rarely resorted to an explicit use of such oppositions. Even when they did, such usage typically occurred in extreme situations which, from a methodological standpoint, might not be representative of the media discourse as a whole. Thus, for instance, in mid-May 1991, Gordana Brajović, a columnist and war reporter for Večernje novosti, joined the armed Serbs from Vukovar and the neighbouring villages for a surveillance ride in a patrol boat on the river Danube. ‘On the bank on our right hand side there are men. We see them from a distance. Groups or individuals. “They are ours”, says the man in the boat. Just as if it were a war. The warfare words “ours” and “theirs”’. Accidentally, Brajović’s reporting stripped both the selfhood and the otherness of any substance (national, religious) apart from the primal concern of preserving one’s existence. For, beyond any pre-established schemes, the ‘us’ in her story are only those assembled in the boat; ‘ours’ are those who for one reason or another will not shoot at ‘us’, which is exactly what ‘they’ will do. Or, put more precisely, this is what they are expected to do. There is no such thing as a direct experience of selfhood and otherness, despite their deceptive simplicity. These ideas are complex, derivative social constructs (Laitin 1998; Hardin 1995) that are accessed through a set of other oppositions: universals, such as good vs evil, here vs there, constant vs fluid and so on, and cultural particulars, such as Croats vs Serbs, Catholicism vs Orthodoxy, communism vs democracy, and so on. These universal and/or cultural opposites may be combined in different ways – depending on the prevailing power relations. It is sensible to speak of a diachronic dimension of the self–other opposition, whereby different historical moments yield changing perceptions of what exactly qualifies as ‘us’ and ‘them’. For instance, in Communist Yugoslavia the only sanctioned discourse was the one of the ruling party, in which ‘we’ were the workers, and, by extension,   ‘Budni i u snu’, Večernje novosti, 21 May 1991, p. 17.

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also passive supporters of the official ideology; ‘they’ were rarely specified but were reserved, self-evidently, either for the opponents in the factional struggles within the party or for unnamed enemies of the state, who might act from outside but might as well be among ‘us’. According to sociolinguist Ranko Bugarski, in this type of discourse the categories of selfhood and otherness are deliberately kept secret in order to let the speakers freely make shifts in the meanings that would correspond to their changing position without obliging them to be consistent (Bugarski 1994, 34). However, such diachronicity does not only produce micro-shifts, but also macrochanges in rhetoric: the national revivals in Croatia and Serbia introduced a completely different, and more specific, model of the same opposition. During the late 1980s and throughout the 1990s the intended ‘we’ were primarily the members of the same ethnic group, as opposed to ‘them’, whose identity cluster included not only the rival ethnicity/religion but also malevolence and imagined spatial dissociation. As the media are of the utmost importance for the exploration of these discourses, in this chapter we examine how the diachronic and synchronic dimensions of self–other/us–them perceptions evolved and how a divisive rhetoric of nationhood anticipated and complemented the acts of violence on the ground.

Elections in Croatia A striking feature of the Serbian and Croatian press coverage of the elections in Croatia was that in most texts both politicians and journalists gave relatively little attention to the objective presentation and implications of the various party programmes. Instead, there was a strong focus on the ideological clashes of competing parties. The Croatian Press In addition to an emphatic anti-communist rhetoric, the political discourses in Večernji list and Novi list reflected a struggle within the notion of ‘us’. This notion implied a loose grouping around a single common denominator of ‘us as opposed to the Communists’, but concealed an unstable compound of competing agencies. Within a short period, the ongoing processes of redefinition and homogenization of ‘us’ moved from ‘us’ as an amorphous ‘democratic will’ via ‘us’ as ‘the democratic will of the Croat nation’, finally to be narrowed down to ‘us’ as Croats in an ethnic sense. The ethnic sentiments of the electorate were extensively manipulated and exploited by the parties that competed for the status of ‘central, “the most Croatian”  ����������������� D. Ivanković and Ž. ��� Žanko, ����������������������������������������� ‘Za slobodnu Republiku Hrvatsku’, Večernji list, 16 April 1990, p. 5.

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and the most popular’. The leading Croat opposition party, Hrvatska demokratska zajednica (HDZ), used particularly aggressive rhetoric in their construction of the opposition us–them. This was essential to its project of ethnonational homogenization and pivotal, as V.P. Gagnon put it, in ‘constructing homogenous political space’ (Gagnon 2004, 148). During the election campaign, the HDZ successfully assumed the position of a self-proclaimed authority summoned to divine the meaning of ‘us’, and imposed itself as the mediator of the construction of ‘them’. This process of the construction of us–them was constantly enacted by political agents inventing and maintaining internal opponents and external supporters. Besides the implied ‘good us’, the political discourses constructed a splinter category of ‘bad us’. To the latter group belonged the internal opponents who caused recurrent tensions within ‘our’ unity and homogeneity. Like their counterpart – the external supporters ‘good them’ – they were instrumental in the preservation and legitimization of the main division between us and them. This process was reinforced by such rhetorical strategies as assaults and defamation of dissenting opponents – usually those who disputed the HDZ’s vision of ‘us’. These ‘provocateurs’ were exposed as traitors to the nation and accordingly denounced. During the campaign for the second round of elections, HDZ attempted to moderate its nationalist rhetoric. This reflected the party’s immediate goal to attract the estimated 30 per cent of moderate and undecided voters (see Cohen 1995, 98–107). Thus, HDZ’s electoral advertisement called for ‘the reinstatement of the national dignity’, but now expanded this concept to include all citizens of Croatia, irrespective of ethnicity. However, the project of ethnonational homogenization of the Croatian society was not abandoned. On the contrary, it was effectively expanded by the inclusion of another target of the national homogenization rhetoric – Istria, with its traditional regionalism, leftist orientation and multinational attitudes. Consequently, Večernji list printed articles that revealed an increasingly anti-Istrian disposition. Owing to its resistance to HDZ’s attempt to unite all Croats, Istria was accused of autonomist attitudes and pro-Italianism and emerged as the major vehicle of the ‘bad us’. When eventually, the HDZ’s aggressive rhetoric was defeated in Istria, this was blamed on the false reporting of local journalists. Failing to win over the votes of the Istrians and the Croatian Serbs, HDZ saw its electoral victory menaced from another side as well. It was not clear how the federal government, the JNA and Serbia would react, and this situation required pre-emptive rhetoric. Facing this new challenge, HDZ president Franjo Tuđman portrayed himself as a moderate leader and declared his readiness to negotiate with both Belgrade and the Croatian Serbs. The anticipated escalation of political conflict prompted the dailies to employ two strategies: reinterpretation of the Croatian Serbs’ antagonism (which was  Želimir Žanko, ‘Ni desno ni lijevo’, Večernji list, 18 April 1990, p. 2.   Večernji list, 30 April, 1–2 May 1990, p. 31.   Branko Tuđen, ‘Prihvaćamo ruku razboritih Srba’, Večernji list, 12 May 1990, p. 7.

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portrayed as a result of negative propaganda and ignorance) and delegitimization of their claims (attributed to ‘imported groups of outsiders’). Thereby, the Serbs’ mistrust of HDZ was stripped of its legitimacy but they were still invited to ‘come to their senses’ and accept the new HDZ-imposed reality. Moreover, it was implied that the potential support of some of them (the ‘good them’) would yield mutual advantages: it would bestow the HDZ with legitimacy and rescue the Serbs from their status as ‘bad them’. The claim that ‘they’ were divided – some of ‘them’ supporting ‘our’ side – became an essential part of the subsequent war discourse. During the election period, the press devoted relatively little attention to events at the federal level as well as to developments among Croatian Serbs and the effects of Croatian ethnopolitical homogenization on the Serb community. In a rare counterexample, Večernji list reported on the opening convention of the Srpska demokratska stranka (SDS) party branch in Vrhovine. At that rally, the party’s president Jovan Rašković appealed to ‘brother Croats’, allowing for broad boundaries of ‘us’ (including both Serbs and Croats). However, he also called for unity and moderation among the Serbs and prudence toward Croats.10 The SDS reacted moderately to the outcome of the first round of the elections by qualifying the HDZ’s final victory as ‘a plebiscite of the Croat nation on its independent statehood’.11 Rašković called for ‘tolerance, wisdom and the final prevailing of reason’,12 and thereby set the agenda for negotiations – a historic compromise of the two nations in Croatia.13 The Serbian Press In its coverage of the elections in Croatia the Serbian press repeatedly dwelt on a set of inflammatory and divisive statements made by HDZ leader Franjo Tuđman. These were interpreted as supporting evidence for their own negative constructions of political and ethnic otherness. Such declarations as ‘I am happy that my wife is neither Serbian nor Jewish’, ‘All those who don’t align with our politics are free to move out’, ‘NDH was an expression of the historical aspirations of the Croat nation’, ‘the Croat rifle on the Croat shoulder’, ‘we will expand Croatia and we are already doing so’ became, for the Serbian press, the key markers of a mounting hate campaign against non-Croats.14 In editorials and commentaries in Večernje  ������������������������������������������������ Davor Ivanković, ‘Hrvatska prema želji birača’, Večernji list, 26 April 1990, p. 2.   B. Tuđen, p. 7. 10  J. Cvitković, ‘Za Hrvatsku, ali ne ustašku’, Večernji list, 16 April 1990, p. 4. 11  M. Nedeljkov, ‘Očekujemo dominaciju pameti’, Večernji list, 3 May 1990, p. 6. 12  M. Nedeljkov, p. 6. 13  V. Šaško, ‘Potopiti sve mržnje’, Večernji list, 11 May 1990, p. 2. 14 ��������������������������������������� Jusuf Čehajić, ‘Hadezeovci izviždani’, Večernje novosti, 16 April 1990, p. 16; Jurica Kerbler, ‘Nikad – “nikad”’, Večernje novosti, 20 April 1990, p. 2; Milan Mitić, ‘Levo ili desno?’, Večernje novosti, 22 April 1990, p. 2; Dragan Gluščević, ‘Na startu–mrtva trka’, Večernje novosti, 22 April 1990, p. 6; Jurica Kerbler, ‘Koalicija na

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novosti and Borba these statements were rhetorically invoked whenever historical comparisons were made between recent Croat nationalism and the Ustashe regime (and Nazism) of the Second World War.15 In some articles Večernje novosti and Borba opted to report more moderate and even conciliatory statements made by HDZ leaders. However, even in such cases, the journalists contextualized these statements by their own unsympathetic remarks. Thus, Tuđman’s declaration about his party’s democratic credentials was meticulously quoted and accompanied by a derogatory remark about his mainly youthful supporters (‘This “enthusiasm” … was horrifying in the peaceful and freedom-loving town of Split’).16 These authorial interpolations led to a singular framing effect: the occasional pro-liberal statements of the opponents were pulled apart as hypocritical through the mere pressure of the discursive context imposed by the press. Although this strategy was most prominently employed in Večernje novosti, some Borba journalists also used the framing effect to derogate the HDZ discourse, but they did so with more subtle markers. The same Split rally of the HDZ was described by Borba’s correspondent Sanja Modrić in the following words: ‘It was emphasised several times, however, that HDZ does not want any conflicts, revenge, and exclusiveness, not to mention the civil war.’17 The interpolated word ‘however’ suggested that there was a very different, hawkish strategy hidden behind the pacifist messages. After the second round of elections, Večernje novosti, whose journalists had only occasionally covered the earlier, pre-electoral activities of SDS, the national party of the Croatian Serbs, now took a closer look at the reported negotiations between the party’s leader Jovan Rašković and Franjo Tuđman.18 There was a growing suspicion that the anti-communist ethos of the two leaders might lead to a new unexpected coalition.19 Meanwhile, the very fact that the newspaper’s criticism of Jovan Rašković was rather moderate showed that, for the time being, this undisputed leader of the Croatian Serbs was not put in the same category as the ‘bad us’ together with the Serbian opposition leaders Vuk Drašković, Vojislav Šešelj and Mirko Jović. The strong denunciation of the rallies of these radical nationalists arose from the anticipated multi-party elections in Serbia. First, the Savez komunista Srbije well in advance stigmatized the rightist rivals who might try to arrogate a monopoly on the ‘national question’. Second, this denunciation also had a rhetorical function: it enabled the Serbian regime to present itself to the Croatian side, as well as to the international community, as the moderate option.

kolenima’, Večernje novosti, 25 April 1990, p. 4; Lidija Gnjidić, ‘Proširit ćemo Hrvatsku’, Borba, 16 April 1990, p. 4. 15 �������������������������������� D. Gluščević, p. 6; Ljubo Weiss, ‘Tako su govorili nacisti’, Borba, 9 May 1990, p. 2. 16 ��������������������������� J. K., ‘Miting hrvatstva’, Večernje novosti, 16 April 1990, p. 4. 17  Sanja Modrić, ‘Sedam dana do pobjede’, Borba, 17 April 1990, p. 3. 18 ������������������������������������������ D. Gl., P. St., ‘Tuđman sastavlja vladu’, Večernje novosti, 9 May 1990, p. 7. 19 �������������������������������� P. St., ‘Fotelja u četiri oka’, Večernje novosti, 12 May 1990, p. 7.

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The one perceived agency that at this time received a particularly thorough scrutiny in the Serbian press was the internal Croatian resistance to Tuđman’s ethnocentric agenda. Central to this resistance was Istria, which the Serbian press elevated to a status as ‘good them’. What mattered was not so much to discriminate between different regional agents and their interests, as to construct and essentialize an anti-nationalist agency as a public voice of the region.20

The Serb Referendum The ethnic plebiscite of the Serbs in Croatia21 produced a public debate on whether it should be pursued at all. Organized by a single political party, SDS, and addressed at the members of a single ethnic group, the Serbs, the referendum could not but lead to a further broadening of the divide in Yugoslavia and Croatia. While during the elections (as throughout most of the Communist rule) the political discourses reached the press in a regulated and ultimately predictable way, the Serb referendum was accompanied by an unprecedented informational chaos which was used by the contending actors for what can be described as a war of disinformation. The Croatian Press Croatian newspapers portrayed the Serb referendum as ‘autonomist’ and unconstitutional and quoted Tuđman’s official denunciation of this ‘conspiracy against Croatia’.22 It was perceived as an attempt to ‘turn Yugoslavia into Greater Serbia’ and ‘to defy Croatia and force Croats to live under Serbian yoke’.23 The main aim of the referendum, however, the Croatian press claimed, was an independent Serb state in Croatia. Moreover, the dailies univocally promoted the thesis that the conflict was implanted from Serbia,24 which allegedly used the Serbs from their regional stronghold in Knin and the surrounding towns as deluded followers of their politics. In a contradictory vein, Večernji list accused the Croatian Serbs of being primary carriers of such dangerous activities as ‘the “poisoning” and intimidation of the people with lies about the alleged formation of the Ustashe organizations, about the NDH “black legions”, about appropriation of weaponry and the cruellest threats’.25 Although Novi list generally aligned itself with this view, it still allowed the voices of the other side to be heard. Thus, it published 20 ������������������������������������������ S. Petrić, ‘Šta je tražio to je i dobio’, Večernje novosti, 17 April 1990. p. 6. 21 ������������������������������������������������������������������������������ Already on 21 December 1990, the Serbs proclaimed a separate territory of SAO Krajina. All territories controlled by Croatian Serbs were merged by 26 February 1992, and became known as Republika Srpska Krajina. 22  Branko Tuđen, ‘Dobro ���������������������������� organizirana urota’, Večernji list, 15 August 1990, p. 3. 23  Branko Tuđen, ‘Prijetnja �������������������� kaosom’, Večernji list, 18 August 1990, p. 2. 24  T. Tagirov, ‘Štitit ��������������������� ćemo zakon’, Večernji list, 15 August 1990, p. 5. 25  Stella Bogdanić, ‘Za ����������������� čiji račun’, Večernji list, 12 August 1990, p. 2.

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the SDS statement, in which the party denied being externally controlled and laid emphasis on ‘the defence of Serbs in Croatia’.26 Defying requests to call off the referendum, the SDS reassured the public that it would only demand what Tuđman had already promised – cultural autonomy.27 Furthermore, the party sidestepped the legal controversies over the constitutionality of the referendum by renaming it a democratic plebiscite. Nonetheless, the event effectively contributed to the political unification of wide segments of the Croatian public and bent the attitudes of the parliamentary opposition (including the communists) towards the policies of the HDZ.28 Alongside the dominant tendency to put the blame for the unfolding events on the ‘other’ side, there were also efforts to promote division among that ‘other’ side. On the eve of the plebiscite, President Tuđman in his address to the nation symptomatically appealed to all Croats and some Serbs (presumably the loyal ones). Similarly, after the Serb referendum, Stjepan Mesić (HDZ) stressed divisions among the Serbs and the difficult position of those Serbs who did not support the referendum, but were afraid to object.29 However, these constructions of ‘good them’ upheld the initial biased attitude against the ‘bad them’ and further hardened the us–them division. The Serbian Press The Serbian dailies were aware that the Serb referendum was bound to raise a set of questions. Was such a monoethnic vote constitutional? What did the autonomy mean and was it in accordance with constitutional rights? Was the referendum organized and executed in accordance with democratic procedures? What made Večernje novosti and Borba different in this respect is how they answered those questions. While the former newspaper in a populist way presented a single, laudatory vision of the referendum as a declaration of the popular will of the Croatian Serbs,30 Borba presented a number of different opinions, ranging from strong denunciations via equidistant criticism to unreserved approbation. As regards the representation of the opposite side, the anti-HDZ rhetoric of the Serbian press reached a new height. While previously, members of this party were only compared with Ustashe, with occasional allusions to ‘the vampirelike Ustashe’, the referendum period witnessed them being actually called Ustashe and, therefore, equal to historical Ustashe. This was the case, for instance, in

26  Tanjug, ‘Državni ����������������������������������������� terorizam nad srpskim narodom’, Novi list, 19 August 1990, p. 3. 27  Unsigned, ������������������������������������ ‘Tražimo samo kulturnu autonomiju’, Novi list, 20 August 1990, p. 3. 28  Hina, Tanjug, ������������������������������������������ ‘Bezrezervna podrška hrvatskim vlastima’, Novi list, 19 August 1990, p. 4; M.P.K., ‘Manipulacija osjećajima Srba’, Večernji list, 20 August 1990, p. 3. 29  Duško Aničić, ‘Srbi ����������������������������������� u Hrvatskoj su ravnopravni’, Večernji list, 20 August 1990, p. 3. 30 ������������������������������������������� Uroš Balšić, ‘Izjašnjavanje po članu 232’, Večernje novosti, 17 August 1990, p. 4, Borislav Međedović, ‘Legitimni glas naroda’, Večernje novosti, 17 August 1990, p. 7.

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the following declaration of Dušan Zelenbaba: ‘let Ustashe strike, we have been waiting long enough’.31 Meanwhile, the extreme nationalist leaders Vojislav Šešelj and Mirko Jović were even more direct in their denunciation of the measures taken by the Croatian authorities. They staged protest rallies in Nova Pazova and Belgrade and declared that their party would organize and arm volunteers to help the endangered Serbs.32 This militarism was singled out for critical treatment in both Serbian newspapers; however, the denunciation was particularly vigorous in Večernje novosti.33 This treatment vividly captures the essence of the ‘bad us’. ‘They’ were an indivisible part of ‘us’ but for some inexplicable reason they worked against the interests of the Serbs and, therefore, for all practical purposes helped the ‘bad them’, that is, the HDZ government in Croatia. It is highly indicative that all the journalists working for Večernje novosti kept silent about the fact that some Krajina Serb leaders were on good terms with the opposition leaders from Serbia. Beside these antagonistic constructions of ‘bad them’ and ‘bad us’, there was in Borba, and to a lesser extent also in Večernje novosti, a continued interest in developments in Istria. The centralist policies of the Croatian government affected different levels of civil services in the region, including local initiatives, finances and the recruitment of officials. This prompted Borba’s journalist Zvonko Tarle to launch an argument to the effect that there was a contradiction between the Croatian government’s positions on the federal level and on the republican level.34 In the Yugoslav federation they favoured decentralization and separation while within Croatia they enforced centralization.

The Croatian Referendum The referendum on Croatian independence (19 May 1991) took place amid such dramatic circumstances as the virtual collapse of all federal institutions (apart from the JNA) and occasional skirmishes between regular units of Croatian police (MUP) and Serb militia (in Plitvice and Borovo Selo) that led to the first fatalities in the incipient war. By that time, the voices of the other side had almost entirely disappeared from both the Croatian and the Serbian press: only negative representations of ‘bad them’ as viewed or imagined by respective political elites and media remained.

31 ������������������������������������������� M. Lazukić, ‘Poziv na opštu mobilizaciju’, Borba, 18 August 1990, p. 12. 32 ������������������������������� E.V.N., ‘Podrška iz Beograda’, Večernje novosti, 18 August 1990, p. 4; M. Lazukić, p. 12; E.V.N., ‘Ujedinjenje pod barjakom srpskim’, Borba, 18 August 1990, p. 12. 33 �������������������������������������������� Branimir Radaković, ‘Zloupotreba Beograda’, Večernje novosti, 21 August 1990, p. 2. 34 ��������������������������������������� Zvonko Tarle, ‘Veliki medijski pohod’, Borba, 14 August 1990, p. 5.

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The Croatian Press Novi list represented the referendum as Croatia’s step in the European direction, be it on equal terms with other Yugoslav nations or independently.35 Novi list’s growing support for Croatian independence was triggered by rumours about plans among Italian and Serbian nationalists for a partition of Istria.36 In contrast, Večernji list was pragmatically concerned with whether Croatian independence would be proclaimed prematurely.37 In their effort to strengthen what they saw as the fragile position of Croatia in relation to the federal government and Serbia, both newspapers actively engaged in mobilizing all available political support. In that respect, the Serb population was invited to join up with the Croats in the organization of a national referendum on independence, thus bypassing Krajina’s self-proclaimed authorities.38 If they did, the Serbs would explicitly confirm their loyalty to the Croatian government and lend it credibility. Still, the dominant discourse in the Croatian dailies depicted Serbs as arrogant, traditionally irrational, and liars who use reverse rhetoric to portray Croats as ‘wreckers, nationalists, and even Ustashe’.39 The mixture of historical stereotypes (Chetniks vs Ustashe) and the newly invented appellations (Greaterserbians, Serbochetniks), became the norm rather than an exception in political and media discourses. However, the paramount goal for both dailies was to mobilize external political support and achieve moral recognition from the international community, in general, and the EC in particular. Hopes for international support were especially high after the candidacy of Stjepan Mesić for the president of the Federal government was rejected, to bitter disappointment in Croatia.40 This rejection coincided with the referendum, and was duly interpreted as yet another proof of the ignorance and animosity directed against Croatian interests in Yugoslavia. Such reasoning drew the Croatian media to the conclusion that the solution was secession from Yugoslavia. The Serbian Press The referendum on independence in Croatia received very little attention in Večernje novosti, just like the referendum in Krajina on integration with Serbia before it. The Serbian press was becoming gradually more solipsistic, that is enclosed in self-created rhetorical constructs and less willing to comprehend the 35  Drago Kojić, ‘Zaokružena �������������������������� nezavisnost’, Novi list, 21 May 1991, p. 3. 36 ������������������������������������������ See Inoslav Bešker, ‘Granica kod Knina?’, Večernji list, 14 May 1991, p. 11; Ivo Banac in Globus, ‘Nastaju li Sjedinjene Srpske Države?’, Novi list, 17 November 1991, p. 18. 37  Branko Tuđen, ‘Opasnosti ��������������������������� prerane berbe’, Večernji list, 14 May 1991, p. 2. 38  R.I., ������������������������� ‘Iznad svih očekivanja’, Večernji list, 14 May 1991, p. 3. 39  Branko Tuđen, ‘Velikosrpski ����������������������� svrbež’, Večernji list, 22 May 1991, p. 2. 40  S. Bogdanić, ‘Krajnja ����������������������� točka krize’, Večernji list, 16 May 1991, p. 3.

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discourses of either the Croat opponents or the Serb ‘brethren’ outside Serbia. However, the rupture with the discourses of others was not complete, at least not at this stage. As the rhetorical constructs of the Croatian media continued – albeit ever more decreasingly – to reach the cognitive field of the Serbian press, there was a growing irritation with the actions of those Croatian Serbs whom the Croatian media depicted as the ‘good them’. Several articles in Večernje novosti protested against Tuđman’s alliance with the ‘loyal Serbs’, denouncing the Croatian president’s moves as a propagandist sham and his Serb partners as brazen collaborators.41 The one sensational development at this stage was the emergence of the first refugees from the conflict zones. The influx of displaced persons to Vojvodina in the spring of 1991 could not fail to attract media attention, and Večernje novosti excelled in publishing refugee stories with an unmistakable touch of melodrama.42 Thus, with regard to the evolving rhetoric of selfhood and otherness, there was not much structural change at the stage of the Croatian independence referendum as compared with the period of the Serb referendum. The agent categories ‘good us’ vs ‘bad us’, as well as ‘bad them’ vs ‘good them’, were all in place and their content more or less firmly determined. The only open question was how the relationship between them should be labelled: was this already the war or something else? The journalists and contributors to Večernje novosti and Borba seemed united in their inclination to give an affirmative answer to the first question, and forthcoming developments showed that this was not unfounded.

Vukovar Battle The war in Croatia proved to be too broad a category to be presented as single news, hence it was compartmentalized in the media into a number of different subevents, each comprising a certain number of articles on a daily basis. These branched out into the so-called ‘black chronicle’ (crime reports), the cultural pages, sports and the obituaries. As the war was taking hold of every aspect of public life, there was an atmosphere of emergency at multiple sites, but also a sense of massive historical action taking place at the front line. It is unsurprising that these developments led to increased state control over the media and a severe

41 ������������������������������� J.K., ‘Trijumf samostalnosti’, Večernje novosti, 21 May 1991, p. 6; J. Kerbler, ‘Ultimatum od trideset dana’, Večernje novosti, 23 May 1991, p. 7; ‘Fašisoidno uterivanje “lojalnosti”’, Večernje novosti, 25 May 1991, p. 10. 42 ���������������������������������������� B.B. Mijić, ‘I Hrvati prihvataju Srbe’, Večernje novosti, 13 May 1990, p. 4; G. Brajović, ‘Budni i u snu’, Večernje novosti, 21 May 1991, p. 17; ‘Sine, čuvaj naše ime’, Večernje novosti, 22 May 1991, p. 13; Večernje novosti, ‘Pogača na drugoj obali’, 23 May 1991, p. 14.

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reduction in journalistic autonomy.43 Both sides rhetorically constructed the fall of Vukovar as a victory: in the Croatian press, in symbolic terms (moral victory in territorial defeat), and in the Serbian press, in both empirical and symbolic terms (moral victory in territorial gain). The Croatian Press: The Fall of Vukovar The fall of Vukovar marked the climax of the most acute phase of the war in Croatia. It mobilized all national resources and produced a high degree of ethnonational homogenization. Preoccupation with the physical threat to the nation led to discourses in both Croatian dailies that focused on proving the righteousness of ‘our side’ against the mendacious and genocidal enemy. The hostile ‘them’ were labelled either as the abstract but omnipresent ‘aggressor’ or as the stereotypical ‘Chetniks’ and ‘Serbo-communists’. Other derogatory references in Večernji list, which by that time had been transformed into a pro-regime newspaper, included ‘the bloodthirstiness of the domestic Serbo-chetniks’;44 Novi list referred to ‘Serb cannibals’ and ‘brutal Serb extremists’ who might be advancing but whose troops were dissipating.45 Defamation of the enemy, in conjunction with reported rumours about internal clashes in their ranks, was instrumental in upholding the national morale and compensating for the losses. While the newspapers drew on various rhetorical strategies to delegitimize the ‘bad them’, they also relied on support and acquired legitimacy from the ‘good them’. One such important source of legitimacy was the newly founded Srpska narodna stranka (SNS), which aimed to replace the SDS, which had withdrawn from the Croatian political institutions in 1990. The new party invited the entire Serb community to demonstrate their loyalty to the Croatian state by joining the Croatian forces.46 Looking for other sources of legitimization, Večernji list turned to individual statements from Serbian prisoners of war (POWs). Unlike the abstract ‘enemy other’, these ‘good them’ were presented with full names and histories, as simple men who were misled and coerced into an unjust war.47 Novi list also utilized statements by Serb dissenters among ordinary people by reporting on such cases as two policemen, a Croat and a Serb, who fought together for Croatia in Dubrovnik.48 A significant fissure in the imposed discourse of ethnonational homogenization appeared in an article by Veselčić in Večernji list. This journalist referred to the remaining Croatian fighters and civilian population of Vukovar as distant ‘them’ 43 �������������������������������������������������������������������������������� This phenomenon is common to the state of emergency (see Price 2007; Carruthers 2000). 44  Miona Ševčik, ‘Živi ������������������ zid smrti’, Večernji list, 19 November 1991, p. 16. 45  Hina, ‘Obračun �������������������������������� rezervista i četnika’, Novi list, 22 November 1991, p. 9. 46 Hina, ‘Srbima ����������������������������������� ne trebaju posebna prava’, Novi list, 12 November 1991, p. 4. 47  Hina, ‘Mi ���������������������������� nemamo tu što tražiti’, Večernji list, 14 November 1991, p. 2. 48  Sanjin Kurević, ‘Braća ������������������� po oružju’, Novi list, 13 November 1991, p. 5.

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who were detached from the main corpus of ‘us’.49 The author’s use of the third person plural highlights spatial and emotional distancing: ‘they know which destiny awaits them (…) and they have reconciled themselves to it’. However, this pathetic depiction of the people of Vukovar, who had accepted their fate and were prepared to sacrifice, concealed a psychological mechanism to cope with the inevitable by minimizing the consequences of the looming defeat. Moreover, at a different level, it also served as a rhetorical strategy to tap into the credibility established by such a noble collective act. Oddly, the actual fall of the town (18 November) was not reported in the two Croatian dailies. The official press release published on 20 November in Novi list stated that the Croatian forces in Vukovar were still fighting.50 Any information that indicated otherwise was ascribed to the enemy’s propaganda. When the defeat of the Croatian forces in Vukovar became obvious, the newspapers resorted to two strategies in order to comprehend and handle the situation. They strived to minimize the damage by eulogized reinterpretations of the losses; Novi list also raised the issue of the individual responsibility. The defeat was rhetorically justified by the historical and moral catharsis of the nation it was supposed to bring about.51 Thus, paradoxically, it was symbolically converted into a redemptive victory and a demonstration of the bravery of the Croat forces. Opposing such a discourse of denial, articles in Novi list testified to a profound anger and disappointment over the international community’s indifference and failure to support Croatia. Just as importantly, Novi list disapproved of political fragmentation,52 but allowed voices of political opposition who criticized the lack of competence in the HDZ leadership and blamed it for the national disgrace.53 The Serbian Press: The Liberation of Vukovar In Serbia, the war had unleashed and legitimized what can be described as a suppressed drive to endlessly debase the enemy side; this is very clear in Večernje novosti. While the JNA, the members of the territorial defence and the volunteer units were routinely subsumed under pretentious labels of ‘liberators’ and ‘defenders’,54 for the Croatian military units were reserved the titles of ‘Ustashe’, ‘Ustashoid hords’, ‘blackshirts’ and ‘militants’ (and, somewhat less frequently, ‘zenge’, ‘soldatesque’, ‘drunk and stoned monsters’).55 49  D. Veselčić, ‘Srce ������������������������ jače od granate’, Večernji list, 17 November 1991, p. 7. 50  Hina – press release of Ministry of Defence and Croatian Army Headquarters, ‘Vukovar slama napade’, Novi list, 20 November 1991, p. 4. 51  Milan Rakovac, ����������������������������������� ‘Četnički parastos nad Vukovarom’, Novi list, 21 November 1991, p. 2. 52  Stjepo Martinović, ‘Hrvatski ��������������������� survival’, Novi list, 23 November 1991, p. 19. 53  Hina, ‘Greške ����������������������������������� u strategiji vrhovništva’, Novi list, 24 November 1991, p. 4. 54 ���������������������������������� D. Stojić, ‘Prodor prema centru’, Večernje novosti, 12 November 1991, p. 6. 55 ������������������������������� B.M., ������������������������� ‘������������������������ Garda sprema ofanzivu��� ’��, Večernje novosti, 12 November 1991, p. 6.

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However, not only did labels change in this radically Manichean development, imagery and rhetorical arguments did too. As regards imagery, there was a whole set of new associations attached to the ‘bad them’: (a) animal nature;56 (b) barbarity;57 (c) demonic nature;58 (d) abstract, inconceivable sadism;59 and (e) gender inferiority (‘they put on female dress to escape from the town’)60 and racial inferiority (‘they recruit black men’).61 As regards rhetorical arguments, the correspondents ended up by repeatedly insisting that the HDZ was even worse than Ustashe.62 There was an analogous evolution in the journalists’ understanding of how deeply the evil cut into the Croat ethnic corpus. While previously most Serbian journalists had tried to distinguish between ordinary Croat people and extreme nationalists, in the wake of the fall of Vukovar it was precisely these ordinary Croats who allegedly committed the most horrific atrocities against their neighbouring Serbs.63 While ‘the bad other’ underwent a dramatic escalation of vituperative rhetoric without any substantial change of the basic content (‘them’ remained equal to ‘ethnic otherness’), the categories of the ‘good them’ and the ‘bad us’ did change substantially. The discourses of internal resistance in Istria had fallen into oblivion, at least as far as the Serbian press was concerned. Instead, Serbian journalists focused on the ethnic Croat refugees on Serbian territory who were quoted, often with accompanying photographs, as slamming the policies of Tuđman and HDZ which had destroyed their country and rendered them homeless.64 The category of the ‘bad us’ also changed in content. Vuk Drašković, Vojislav Šešelj and Mirko Jović, the Serbian opposition leaders who had organized the paramilitary units (Serb Guard, Serbian Chetnik Movement and White Eagles) that participated in the Vukovar combats, seemed to have been temporarily rehabilitated by the regime. This was duly reflected in Večernje novosti, which published Drašković’s open accusatory letter to Tuđman, thus allowing this Serbian opposition leader to gain some limited political benefit from the ongoing national mobilization and the 56 �������������������������������� T. Bakić, ‘Zločinci na salašu’, Večernje novosti, 13 November 1991, p. 19; D. Stojić, M. Petrović, ‘Štit od talaca’, Večernje novosti, 20 November 1991, p. 5. 57 ������������������������������������������������������� N. Nenković, M. Janošević, ‘Ustaše ubijaju i – svoje’, Večernje novosti, 12 November 1991, p. 17; M. Bošnjak, ‘Krajišnici zauzeli Saborsko’, Večernje novosti, 17 November 1991, p. 3. 58 ������������������������������������������������ D. Stojić, M. Petrović, ‘Iz podruma u slobodu’, Večernje novosti, 14 November 1991, p. 17; M. Petrović, D. Stojić, ‘Zveri klale u ponoć’, Večernje novosti, 22 November 1991, p. 5 59 ������������������������������������������������� Anđelko Dragojević, ‘Sve zločince za sve žrtve’, Večernje novosti, 22 November 1991, p. 2. 60 ��������������������������������� B.B.M., ������������������������� ‘������������������������ Specijalci čiste mine��� ’��, Večernje novosti, 20 November 1991, p. 25. 61 ��������������������������������������� N. Ilić, O. Nosov, ‘Deca – živi štit’, Večernje novosti, 19 November 1991, p. 26. 62 ��������������������������������������������� Ibid.; S.S., ‘Novi dokazi ustaških zlodela’, Večernje novosti, 22 November 1991, p. 11. 63 ���������������������������������� See B.B. Mijić, ‘Sto dana pakla’, Večernje novosti, 20 November 1991, p. 5. 64 ����������������������������������������� D. Stojić, M. Petrović, ‘Pakao na Vuki’, Večernje novosti, 15 November 1991, p. 12; M. Petrović, D. Stojić, ‘Zveri klale u ponoć’, Večernje novosti, 22 November 1991, p. 5.

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accompanying resentment.65 Now that the opposition leaders had abruptly turned co-militants, the intended category of ‘bad us’ spotlighted those members of the Serb ethnic group who were opposed to the war: deserters and draft dodgers, peace activists and army doves. The all-out debasement of the enemy was fostered by the immediate propaganda purposes: it implicitly suggested that the opposite side was not a respectable, awe-inspiring enemy but a coward and that ‘we’ should not be afraid of him but mobilize and unite all our forces in order to wipe him out. However, as far as the long-term social function of the construction of national identity is concerned, it was simply inconceivable that the enemy was pusillanimous: since ‘we’ won over them, they must have been evil but respectable and ‘our’ sacrifices on the altar of victory were dignified enough to become a part of ‘our’ collective memory. While the coverage of the fall of Vukovar was permeated by the dominance of the earlier, propagandist-mobilizing tendency, in the subsequent period there appeared to be a certain oversaturation of the press with vituperative rhetoric, and the other function, that of constructing a national identity, gradually took over.

Operation Maslenica In January 1993, the massive offensive of Croatian forces in the area of Maslenica resulted in the first substantial defeat of the Serb forces, which affected not only their territories, but also the morale of the warring sides. The press discourses reflected this development: in Croatia, an increased use of euphemisms and paradoxes consolidated the symbolic effects of the victory; in Serbia, the attempt to minimize the losses was conveyed through contorted language of paradoxes and periphrases. The Croatian Press The Croatian press celebrated the Maslenica victory, but concern over expected negative international reactions led to a range of justificatory explanations: the operation was necessary in order to (1) re-establish the traffic between continental and southern Croatia (Dalmatia) and (2) protect the bridge construction site against Serb attacks. Therefore, the action was labelled in the media as a ‘cleansing’ (of the terrain) and ‘bringing order’.66 At the same time, the adoption of military euphemisms such as ‘cleansing Chetnik strongholds’67 was aimed at debasing the enemy and stripping him of humanity.68 Such rhetoric rendered the ‘bad them’ anonymous and violence against them easier to justify. Growing discontent in the 65 ������������������������������������������� Vuk Drašković, ‘Dželati isti, žrtve iste’, Večernje novosti, 23 November 1991, pp. 6–7. 66  Zoran Vodopija, ‘Promašeno ������������������������� iskupljenje’, Večernji list, 27 January 1993, p. 2. 67 �������������������������������������������� A. Ivković, ‘Srbi iznenađeni – ljudskošću’, Večernji list, 1 February 1993, p. 4. 68  For the concept of military euphemism see Vojin Dimitrijević (2000, 104).

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international community and demands for the withdrawal of the Croatian army were rejected as political defamation of Croatia, confusion between victims and perpetrators. Here again, personal experiences and statements were used to lend legitimacy to ‘our’ cause. This time, however, the speakers were not POWs but enemy refugees. They were summoned to testify with stories of alleged cruelty by the Krajina authorities towards those who refused mobilization. These accounts were then contrasted with what was depicted as the humanism of the Croatian soldiers the refugees encountered during their flight.69 An elderly Serb refugee’s statement shows how the notions of ‘us’ and ‘them’ fluctuated, depending on political circumstances and viewpoints. Her story patently followed the predictable line of the official Croatian rhetoric but also deviated from it in the sense that it offered an illustrative insight into perceptions of personal and national identity: ‘I welcomed the Croatian Army as my own, because it is my army […] Croatia is our state, and therefore, it is our army, too. And I know that in Croatian Army there are many Serbs too […] and in the last days some 70 of our boys joined it’.70 The refugee initially posited the Croatian army and state as her’s/our’s, but at that point her identity perception broke and she introduced a clear distance between those ‘other’ Serbs who already supported the Croatian state/army, and ‘our boys’ who had joined that army recently. Such a puzzling account raises the question: who are ‘us’? Apparently, that notion in the refugee’s view related to the localized sense of national identity that was confined to the immediate, personal experiences that were constantly reinterpreted. It also suggests the resilience of individual perceptions and local peculiarities to centralized attempts at homogenization, and how difficult it was to sustain a nationwide sense of unity over a long period, even at the time of such an extreme emergency as a war. The Serbian Press After the reversal of war fortune, what was being excused and rationalized was no longer the violence of the stronger side against the defeated (as in the case in Vukovar). Instead, the Serbian press had to confront the manifest defeat of the Serbian side, which was no longer able to legitimize itself as the stronger party imposing violence on the opposite, Croat, side. The discourses of Večernje novosti and Borba were informed by paradoxical and periphrastic constructions. In a first reaction to the retreat of the Serb forces Večernje novosti quoted their chief of staff, General Milan Novaković, who brought together two premises: ‘Croatian forces have not broken through Serb lines of defence and have only managed to push the defenders several kilometres back’.71 It is incomprehensible how the Serb defence line could remain intact while the ‘defenders’ were pushed back 69  Elza Radulić-Toman, ‘Bijeg �������������������� od četnika’, Večernji list, 28 January 1993, p. 5. 70  A. Ivković, p. 4. Emphasis added. 71 ����������������������������������� Unsigned, ‘Srpska odbrana čvrsta’, Večernje novosti, 24 January 1993, p. 4.

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several kilometres behind it. The same applies to the self-confident statement that the Serbs were not surprised by the Croat offensive, a statement which was immediately followed by the regretful acknowledgement that they were left no time to regroup their forces.72 Besides these baffling paradoxes, journalists relied on various periphrastic constructions to conceal the crude facts of the battleground. Thus, when it was reported that ‘there are quite a few dead and injured on both sides’73 and that the number of fatalities is ‘not known’,74 the implicit message would pitilessly suggest that only ‘our’ side had heavy losses and that the enemy’s casualties are ‘not known’ for the simple reason that they were few, if any. While during the Vukovar offensive the anti-Croat sentiment was accelerated to paroxysm, the Maslenica action registered a significant change in the very content of that category. The fact that the Croat forces attacked during the Geneva peace conference, and that the UN forces on the ground did not prevent it, was interpreted by Večernje novosti as a tell-tale sign of the international community’s bias. This shift is best exemplified by Dušan Đurić’s text in Večernje novosti, which began by what had by then become a standard lament: ‘What else should Tuđman’s Croatia perpetrate so as to earn from the international community what it has actually earned many times?’75 However, towards the end of his text, Đurić reached the conclusion that this question was naive and that it should be replaced with another question that would clearly name the instigators of the latest military offensive: ‘To what extent did the Geneva conference scare the war makers if they had to use the Croatian finger to pull the trigger?’76 The privileged narrative of a belligerent Croat regime which successfully manipulated the key agents of the international community into supporting their own interests was replaced by a more comprehensive narrative about an anti-Serb-oriented international community − led by the USA − which used world organizations (UN) and regional agents (Croatia) to pursue their hegemonic plots. Thus, in the perspective of Večernje novosti, the international community had progressed from its originally tangential role to the very heart of ‘them’: from being invoked as a neutral agent it progressed to being a powerful aid of the Croats. Finally, it became the mastermind behind the Balkan wars that used the Croats as a strategic means to accomplish their imperialistic goals.

72 ��������������������������������������� Z.C., P.D., ‘Istrebljena srpska sela’, Večernje novosti, 27 January 1993, p. 5. 73 ���������������������������������������������������� Z. Cvijetićanin, P. Damjanić, ‘Srbi drže položaje’, Večernje novosti, 24 January 1993, p. 4. 74 ������������������������������������������������������� Z. Cvijetićanin, P. Damjanić, ‘Hrvati gomilaju snage’, Večernje novosti, 25 January 1993, p. 4. It is notable that the journalists confuse the regular forces of the Croatian Army (HV) and the forces of Bosnian Croats, HVO. 75 ������������������������������ Dušan Đurić, ‘Šta još treba’, Večernje novosti, 24 January 1993, p. 2. 76 ������������ Ibid., p. 2.

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Operation Storm (Oluja) The two and a half years that separate the operations Maslenica and Storm witnessed a further military decline of the Serb forces, accompanied by significant territorial losses incurred through the Croat offensives Medački džep and Flash. Operation Storm represented the effective end of the war in Croatia. In their reactions to this event, the press discourses in Croatia and Serbia maintained an antagonistic attitude towards the other side; however, for different reasons, they also critically framed the international community as an indirect aid (Croatia), or even mastermind (Serbia), of the ‘bad them’.77 The Croatian Press Throughout the final stage of warfare, Večernji list and Novi list relied on argumentative rhetoric (Gredelj 1996, 131–3) to legitimize the violence. It was argued that earlier negotiations with the Serbs had been unproductive and illusory.78 Furthermore, the two dailies expressed consternation over the failure of the UN peacekeeping forces to take control over the Croatian borders and prevent the Serbs from ‘completing the ethnic cleansing’79 of the areas under their control. Evidence was assembled to justify the argument that in such a situation Croatia had no choice but to engage in the long-awaited military action.80 Mobilization of unreserved moral support from the Croatian Catholic Church and Vatican substantiated such a discourse.81 After its completion, Operation Storm was glorified as the triumph of Croatian politics and the ultimate defeat of the Serbs. Yet, the advance of the Croatian army presented a serious challenge to the established discourse of the victimization and injustice committed against the Croats. Therefore, the media carefully crafted an image of the Croatian army as a humane and civilized force that was distributing food, water and medicine to the fleeing Serb refugees and the POWs.82 The Croatian dailies published even more photos of elderly people, Serbs who did not flee the region but allegedly looked forward to the Croatian liberation. They were used to reinforce the hegemonic Croatian discourse woven around the self-representation of ‘us’ as the victorious force. 77 ���������������������������������������� For the subsequent consolidation of the Storm in Croatian and Serbian collective memories, see Gordana Đerić, Chapter 9. 78  Mate Piškor, ‘Bila je to posljednja šansa��� ’, Večernji list, 5 August 1995, p. 15. 79 Ibid. 80  Hina, Statement of President Tuđman: ‘Hrvatska je prisiljena na vojno-redarstvene korake��� ’, Novi list, 5 August 1995, p. 2. 81 IKA, ‘Manipuliranje Papinom izjavom��� ’, Večernji list, 6 August 1995; Hina, ‘Samoobrana ne smije prijeći u mržnju i osvetu’, Novi list, 7 August 1995, p. 22. 82  Mate Piškor, ‘Jednima suze, a drugima?��� ’, Večernji list, 12 August 1995, p. 4; M. Tomljenović, ‘Nije ih briga za ‘“krajinu”’, Večernji list, 8 August 1995, p. 4.

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While on the one hand praising the humane treatment of the Serb refugees, the Croatian press, on the other hand, was exasperated by the lack of reciprocity and unfair treatment of Croat refugees. This was rhetorically supported by vivid accounts of Croat returnees and photos of the destruction of their settlements and churches.83 Thus, the dailies’ protests against mistreatment of Croat refugees84 reinvigorated the perennial discourse of victimization based on the belief of ‘our’ group being wronged. The two dailies also criticised the international community’s growing disapproval of the Croatian offensive, particularly its concern over reports of the shelling of the Serb refugee convoys.85 Večernji list co-opted the voice of a foreigner, Dr Carl Gustaf Ströhm, a German intellectual and journalist, to counteract such ‘malicious’ international voices. Assuming the role of an impartial foreign commentator, Ströhm became an advocate of the idea that Croatia should be absolved from any responsibility for the fate of Serb refugees. The Serbian Press The Serbian press did not see the Storm merely as an epilogue to the earlier developments. Differently from the Maslenica stage, there was no attempt at concealing the proportions of what had happened. The ineluctable quality of the event – the fall of Knin and the mass flight of the Serbs – was conveyed in short and simple sentences that allowed for no circumvention, be it a paradox or a periphrasis. This was visually illustrated by the dreaded image of the Croatian flag, described as ‘Ustashi’, on the fortress above Knin. Equally disturbing – and impossible to conceal – were the pictures of refugee convoys, which in the following days fled the war zones, reached Yugoslav borders and, finally, approached the urban centres in Serbia. The country’s political and social system was not capable of integrating refugees from Croatia in the short to medium term, and the authorities were cautious not to make any formal commitments in that respect. Besides, after Storm an outrage and a sense of national humiliation was provoked, and the Serbian authorities had to avoid further disturbance (and potential violence) in Serbia. They tried to do so by tempering the refugees’ anger against the part Serbia had played in the political games that had led to the surrender of Krajina without serious resistance. The articles in Večernje novosti and Borba testified to these ambivalent tasks and attitudes. On the one hand, the two newspapers indulged in deploring the refugee plight: in the days that followed Storm, the number of articles dealing with the refugees rose to an

83  I. Kustura, D. Karakaš, J. Bistrović, ‘Dušu nam nisu ubili’, Večernji list, 14–15 August 1995, p. 39. 84  D. Pavičić, ‘Došli divlji i istjerali pitome’, Večernji list, 12 August 1995, p. 8. 85  Inoslav Bešker, ‘Protiv Hrvatske izmišljenim citatima’, Večernji list, 11 August 1995, p. 15.

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average of 35 texts per day. At the same time, the journalists also denounced violent excesses against the members of the minority ethnic groups in Vojvodina.86 Provocatively asking ‘what happened to the famous Krajinian prowess?’,87 Večernje novosti’s editor Rade Brajović argued that the culprits responsible for the fall of Krajina should be identified not only among the imperialist agents and their Balkan handmaidens. The culpability of certain segments of ‘us’ was initially described in terms of alleged ethnocharacteristic patterns (‘discord of the Serb leaders’) and then specified by naming individual culprits: Milan Martić, the leader of the Croatian Serbs and Radovan Karadžić, the leader of the Bosnian Serbs. Both were accused of nurturing unrealistic and inconsistent expectations of Serbia. In normal times, they expected Serbia to support their statehood aspirations without interfering with their policies; in times of crisis, they expected Serbia to act as a mother state and provide a silver bullet solution, either diplomatically or militarily. Thus, while the Croatian army was denounced for perpetrating crimes against the fleeing civilian population, it was not so vehemently criticized for the actual offensive. The main culprits of this action were identified among hegemonic policy-makers in the international community, more specifically the USA. The Croats were treated not as the core of ‘bad them’, but as an instrument in the actualization of this purported anti-Serb ploy. Furthermore, they had had more or less deliberate accomplices among the ‘bad us’, that is, the leaders of the Serbs from Croatia and Bosnia. Doubt was cast even on some refugees for reported disorderly behaviour and assaults.88

Conclusions In this chapter we have, through a number of cross-cuts into the pre-war and war period of Croatia (1990–1995), traced how different forms of violence were absorbed and accelerated by media perceptions of selfhood and otherness. The divisive rhetoric rose abruptly in the period before the parliamentary elections and then temporarily decreased after the announcement of the results, but patterns of representation of the otherness left a negative trace in the subsequent period. During the period of the two referenda, as the war was looming large, the divisions were further consolidated with newspapers striving to delegitimize the actions of the opposite side as unconstitutional. Furthermore, in the same period, the press discourses showed a steep curve from an initial interest in communicating (even if on unequal terms) with ‘the other side’ to a complete refusal to engage with it. Until the end of the war, the discourses in Croatia and Serbia were to remain divorced from each other and focused on their own self-contained news and 86 ������������������������������������������ Dijana Dimitrovska, ‘Reči Olivere Rajić’, Večernje novosti, 12 August 1995, p. 2. 87 ������������������������������������� Rade Brajović, ‘Skupa cena razdora’, Večernje novosti, 7 August 1995, p. 2. 88  D. Dimitrovska, p. 2.

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interpretations. In both the Croatian and Serbian press, the battle of Vukovar represented the culmination of the vituperative rhetoric against the opposite side, with a set of metaphors that presented the different ethnic group as inherently evil. Successive snapshots of press rhetoric during the operations Maslenica and Storm show a relative moderation of the mobilizing rhetoric. This is explained by the newspapers’ pragmatic shift to justificatory rhetoric and��������������������������� by the long-term function of symbolic interpretation of the outcomes of the war. In contrast to many recent studies, we argue that the rhetorical constructs uncovered in this chapter should in no way be regarded as stable and consistent wholes that can be extrapolated and retroactively posited as a contributing factor in the conflict. By examining how the six events were refracted in the four selected newspapers in Croatia and Serbia, we found that the implicit division between the ‘good us’ and ‘bad them’ was rhetorically concealed and supported by two strategic categories that we labelled ‘bad us’ and ‘good them’. More particularly, our analysis revealed, on the one hand, that these fractional agencies were served by changeable persons and groups: depending on the situation, the media singled out as ‘good them’ particular local communities, intellectuals, POWs, refugees and even war victims of the opposite side. On the other hand, the hegemonic press discourses demonstrated a considerable capacity to actively project the two functions and to manipulate particular agents into conforming to the desired discursive patterns. Certain opposition parties and leaders from both Croatia and Serbia were at times antagonistically projected as the ‘bad us’, and pushed towards ever greater enmity against ‘good us’, only to be pragmatically rehabilitated to launch a political assault against wholly different agents who emerge as the current ‘bad us’.

Chapter 4

Events and Sites of Difference: Mark-ing Self and Other in Kosovo Nita Luci and Predrag Marković

Introduction For almost two decades Kosovo has been made into a particular ‘area of conflict’, sometimes quite imaginatively and at others times in quite banal ways. While for many ‘Western’ audiences, ‘intervention’ in Kosovo may have seemed to have occurred in a digitized ‘orbital space’ (see Kaldor 2007), the groundedness of life experiences still begs for critical and, perhaps, more anthropological analyses of power relationships emergent through spatially and temporally cultural-specific ways. Claims made regarding the origins of disputes, claims to legitimacy over sovereignty and, perhaps above all, claims to historical rights over the territory, have permeated the more specialized knowledge production as well as popular renderings of events in Kosovo. Many analyses of the role that the media have played in this regard have offered compelling arguments ��������������������� (Mertus 1999)�������� . While most have offered analyses of the role and the effects of media technologies, the proposal here is that an attempt should be made ‘to expose the agents, aesthetics [and] politics … behind the technologies’ (Askew and Wilk 2002). As Stuart Hall has argued, the meanings that are given and assigned to representations, and the attempts to fix them, are parts of a complex matrix of relations of power, history and politics (Hall 1997). There is no true meaning of a visual image, for example, but there are continuous attempts to fix the meaning of certain representations, to prefer certain meanings. In an attempt to trace these processes in media discourse – the emergent shifts in the constructions of Self and Other, the chapter focuses on a series of crucial events from before, during and after the war in Kosovo: (1) the debated poisoning of Albanian school children in 1990; (2) the killing of Adem Jashari and the Jashari family; and (3) the March 2004 riots in Kosovo. We analyse both Albanian and Serbian language print media and compare their coverage of the said events. We show that important shifts have occurred in tropes of representations of Self and Other, as well as in the practices and discourses demarcating the boundaries of communities.

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A Note on ‘Event’ Analysis We offer a reading of media texts and representations as a collapsing of the temporal and spatial aspects of events. The discursive plots of media reporting cannot function without particular reference to places and times of the occurrence of events, but neither can they be assumed or taken for granted (Desjarlais and Kleinman 1994, 9–14; Nagengast 1994, 109–36). Events, as Val Daniels argues, are made from a dialectical relation between a ‘past’ and a ‘now’ (Daniels 1996). Events can be seen as happenings of the past, dislodged, and to be recovered by memories, or the telling of stories and histories. They are, at the same time, constructs of our imagination and a ‘filtering of facts’ that has occurred by their repetition, commemorations in public and private spaces, and/or hidden from knowing (Bachelard 1994). What we remember happened at this or that place and time, the bodily and sensual experience of remembering or participating in protests, battles, marches and so forth, are all aspects that make events meaningful. Events are thus never just temporal constructs but are also significantly tied to the sites of their occurrence and remembrance. Their meanings are often contested, as are the places in which they occur. Cities, streets, houses and various landscapes can also serve as aides-memoires, providing frameworks through which people perceive and engage with the past, present and future (Halbwachs 1992; Bohlin 2001). Documentation and historical narratives are precisely built upon the construction and interpretation of events. Benedict Anderson’s notion of imagined community, and the relevance of print capitalism in the construction of national belonging, is particularly helpful in this regard (Anderson 1983). Similarly, Sofos has pointed to the influences of mass communication in forming the imagination of national communities, and the formation and maintenance of public spheres. He argues that these processes, roughly coextensive with modern nations, have been central to the homogenization and creation of national cultures and identities, and have been constructed not only by ‘external’ representations but also by ‘local’ demarcations of difference (culture, territory, people, and so forth). According to Sofos, media events also provide evidence of the important ‘relationship between mass communication, public rituals, and nationalism’ (Sofos 1998, 166). By being televised, photographed and reported, these events ‘rendered physical presence unnecessary and provided a common shared imagined locus and time in which the existence of the national community could be affirmed’ (Sofos 1998).

The Political and Social Context: Shifting Boundaries of Communities If one had to define the ultimate Other in Serbian media and culture, the choice would be easy. Kosovo Albanians were the most remote others, although the communist regime tried hard, at least in the first decades after the Second World War, to bridge the gap between Serbs and Albanians. Integration on equal terms

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was the communist mantra for Kosovo. It was assumed that Albanians should build a ‘bright future’ together with Serbs and other Yugoslav nations. The communist regime introduced the ‘brotherhood and unity’ principle as the basis for the state’s legitimacy (Vasović ��������������������������������������������������������������������� et al. 2001).����������������������������������������������� The ‘brotherhood and unity’ myth implied that all national problems were solved for good. Anyone who dared to address the problem of interethnic relations would be severely punished. Accordingly, an even bigger offence was to criticize another nation. It is not surprising that any negative media representations of the Other were virtually expelled from the public sphere. This was the time when a supranational identity, that of a Yugoslav, was most fervently being endorsed by Titoist policies. On the other hand, the social and, in particular, the educational emancipation of Kosovo Albanians brought some ‘unexpected’ results. Access to all levels of education in the Albanian language also meant an opportunity for social promotion without sufficient knowledge of the Serbian language. The official attitude of the Yugoslav authorities was that the new indigenous Kosovo-Albanian political and social elite should deal with Kosovo-Albanians. Serbs were not expected to interfere and, therefore, the already minuscule number of Serbs acquainted with the Albanian language and culture decreased. This is particularly true for Serbs from central Serbia and Belgrade. In fact, as time went by, integration became weaker. During the 1950s and 1960s Kosovar scientific journals in the Albanian language published numerous Serbian authors. The first Albanian scholars of the time (historians and ethnographers) focused on the political and cultural relations between Albanians and Serbians. Gradually, however, Serbian authors disappeared from Albanian language journals, while Albanian authors concentrated on exclusively ‘Albanian’ topics ��������������������������� (Vasović et al. 2001, 431). At the beginning of the 1980s, the fragile and complicated constitutional arrangement of Yugoslavia created in the late 1960s and early 1970s, codified in the constitution of 1974, started to crumble. Albanian students demonstrated in March 1981, demanding republican status for Kosovo to replace its existing status as an autonomous province of Serbia. The demonstrations were brutally repressed by police, and student leaders were jailed and persecuted as ‘counterrevolutionaries’ and irredentists. These events triggered several interconnected processes. At the institutional level, the tacit status quo established within the loose coalition of Party oligarchies had been challenged (Judah �������������������������������������������� 2000; Jović ������������������������������� 2003). It seems that the Party apparatus had lost control over both the Albanian and Serbian population in Kosovo. An emergent Serbian national movement in Kosovo, initially springing from the grass roots, was welcomed by Belgrade’s nationalist intellectual opposition of the time (Dragović-Soso 2002; Vladisavljević 2004; Brudar 2003). Their demonstrations paved the way for public discussions of a formerly taboo subject: the emigration of Serbians and Montenegrins from Kosovo. In 1982, the Serbian Party Congress discussed the issue and the first petition of Kosovo Serbians was circulated, but only 79 people signed (Judah ������������������������������������ 2000, 48)�������������������� . A second petition in October 1985 managed to gather 2,016 signatures. The petition asserted that

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a ‘brutal pressure of Šiptar chauvinists on our families, estates, graveyards, and sanctuaries has been lasting for decades’ and that ‘the realization of the ethnically pure Kosovo and Metohia belongs to the fascistic doctrine’. The petitioners demanded a guarantee of their human rights, a change in status of the Serbian republic, the removal of Albanian ‘chauvinists’ from power, the expulsion of the 260,000 Albanian ‘immigrants’, the establishment of Serbian as the official language in Kosovo, and so forth. Another petition signed by 212 Belgrade intellectuals in January 1986 further developed these views. According to this petition, there were only two new things in Albanian political attitudes: ‘a combination of tribal hatreds and genocide disguised in Marxism rhetoric’ (Popović 2001). The methods, they claimed, remained the same, including ‘rape of nuns and old women, the beating of children, killing of cattle, the building of stables from tombstones, the vandalization of churches and historical monuments’. In the petition the provincial leadership was criticized for ‘Draconian’ penalties aimed at young Albanians, not against the real criminals (Popović 2001). Public pressure upon federal and republican authorities, demanding some solution to the Kosovo problem grew steadily. The federal party supported, in principle, the efforts of the Serb leadership to make ‘a functional state’ of Serbia (Jović 2003). In April 1987, Slobodan Milošević supported Serb protesters in Kosovo Polje/Fushë Kosovë. However, his speech offered nothing new. Everything in this speech resembled official Serbian attitudes articulated by Ivan Stambolić over the previous few years. Not what he said but how he spoke was a crucial watershed in the Serbian and Yugoslav public political discourse. He combined traditional communist rhetoric (brotherhood and unity and socialism) with some hints regarding the opposition’s claims (human rights, right to demonstrate – mentioned previously by Stambolić; Cohen 2002; Nikolić 2006). In 1989 Milošević achieved a Pyrrhic victory, proclaiming amendments to the Serbian constitution. These amendments, proclaimed in March 1989, meant the centralization of Serbia, and this date was made a public holiday in Serbia. During February and March, Albanians protested bitterly against the new constitutional arrangement. Minor strikes were followed by the imprisonment of the most prominent Albanian politician, Azem Vllasi. These events symbolized direct confrontation with both the Albanian population and a new political elite.

 ������������������������������������������������������������������������������������ There was a thin, not always discernible, line between ‘permitted’ and ‘prohibited’ when speech and writing on other nations was concerned. Šiptar was the term used by Serbs to refer to Albanians in Kosovo, a term that carried many derogatory overtones. While many Serbs used the term as a rendering (although incorrect) of the Albanian word Shqiptar, meaning Albanian, it made a distinction between the Serbian word Albanci (in Serbian), which referred to Albanians in Albania, and Šiptari, which referred to Albanians in Kosovo. An official move to prohibit the use of the term in 1968 would affect official discourse to a certain degree. In contemporary usage it made the term ‘politically incorrect’. Nonetheless, in public and private usage it was a main means of referring to Kosovo Albanians. See Đerić������������ , Chapter 9.

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The actual day of the constitutional amendments witnessed the bloodiest riots in Kosovo since 1981 (Marković 2004, 297–314). The context described here shows that important negotiations took place often outside and in opposition to the dominant state and legal boundaries of allowed political participation. The seemingly amicable relations constructed in the immediate post-Second World War period applied mainly to the communist and Party elite. Social development among Albanians, mainly in education, became increasingly perceived as a threat by the Serbian minority in Kosovo, who adversely began to see Albanians as a minority in Serbia. The educational and cultural institutions being developed in Kosovo, increasingly managed by Albanians themselves and free of Serbian patronage, also became sites through which Albanians would construct and define their ethnic belonging.

Changing Tropes of Representations: From Socialist Peoples to Violent Enemies Since the early 1980s the Serbian public sphere had gradually become receptive to the construction of ever more negative images of Albanians. During the 1980s, the patronizing sympathy for Albanians, perceived as hard-working but primitive people from cellars, had withered away. In this decade, they were increasingly seen as dangerous barbarians, who threatened not only to occupy Kosovo, but also to expand all over Serbia. Julie Mertus has, for example, described how different myths and media stories paved the way for war (Mertus ������������������������� 1999).����������� The first adversarial media representations of Albanians were reduced to charges about ‘counter-revolution’, ‘irredentism’ and ‘nationalism’. During the 1980s these ‘official’ themes gave ground to more traditionally biased images. The ‘barbarian’ image of Albanians implied five important concepts: violent and deviant sexual behaviour, destruction of churches and other sanctuaries, brutal murders, ‘animal’ fertility and a closed society with its own traditional moral code. A review of print media in Kosovo from 1986 until 1990 (still under Party control) shows that ‘narod’/‘populli’ was still the dominant trope through which collectivities were addressed. The notions of ‘people’ and particularly ‘workers and peoples of the Socialist Federative Republic of Yugoslavia’ were part of Yugoslavia’s socialist idioms that reinforced politics, sentiments and the ideology of brotherhood and unity. Nonetheless, within the Yugoslav pantheon, nations  ������������������� Author’s review of Rilindja and Bujku.   Narod in Serbian stands for both people and nation. While the two were used interchangeably, the fusion of the nation and the people into the same category allows the construction of particular naturalized boundaries of national belonging. Here, we do not make the distinction as one between civic and ethnic nationalism, usually associated with the West and the East, respectively. Rather, we wish to point to the relevance of language in the demarcation of not only ‘national communities’, but also particular publics, all of which are ‘capable of being politically indexed’ (Chilton 2004, 10).

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were constituted as republics (Slovenia, Croatia, Macedonia, Serbia, Montenegro, Bosnia), nationalities were constituted as provinces (Kosovo, Vojvodina) and all ‘others’ were national minorities. Notions of ethnic groups and communities were not part of the legal vocabulary, rather they offered ethnographic content to the claims of a federal state (Slobin 1996). The concept of ‘ethnic conflict’, which during the 1990s became identified with the former Yugoslavia, assumed definitions and relations between groups that, through a local world-view, had been quite differently imagined. The shift that occurred at this time is a relevant one in redefining political agents as national groups, but no longer socialist peoples. In the main Albanian language daily of the time, Rilindja, such a usage continued, with the paper itself defined as an organ of ‘the working people of Kosovo’. A significant shift occurred in mid-1991, particularly after the paper was closed by ‘special measures’ of the Republic of Serbia and Bujku became the main daily in the Albanian language. The analysis of political discourse in the media brings to bear a complex set of issues. One of these issues is the need for contextualizing the possibilities for a free press in socialist Yugoslavia and another is the changing political alliances with the introduction of ‘political pluralism’, such as the multiparty system and the burgeoning new ‘independent’ and privately owned media outlets in both Serbia and Kosovo (which occurred a couple of years later). While Serbian officials were increasingly quoted referring to Albanians as nationalists, separatists and terrorists, countless contemporary texts engaged in the work of presenting Albanians in a positive light. The discriminatory policies enforced by the Serbian state (the revocation of Kosovo’s autonomy, martial law, countless beatings, jailing and interrogations, the segregation of schools, the mass expulsion of Albanians from their jobs and, finally, the closing of Rilindja and Albanian language public broadcasts) were explained in official statements as measures to defend Serbia from counter-revolutionary activity and Albanian nationalism. On the other hand, editorials, opinion pieces and texts by anonymous writers continued to explain and analyse the emerging context as an issue of the abuse of human rights, violations of the constitutional rights of Albanians in Kosovo and, later, their right to self-determination. During 1990, when the activities of Albanian political leaders and opinion makers, and increasing acts of civil disobedience, were reported, editorials and other articles provided an analysis of events from a human rights perspective and  �������������������������������������������������������������������������������� Milošević����������������������������������������������������������������������� ’s speech in Kosovo Polje in 1986, argued by many to be the event that marked the beginning of the end of Yugoslavia, carried the infamous statement ‘No one dares to beat this people’. A review of his speeches shows conflicting loyalties to the discourse of socialism, and emergent nationalist paradigms, but the people to whom ������������������� Milošević���������� referred in the statement became nationally marked.  ����������������������������������������������������������������������������� After the revocation of Kosovo’s autonomy, Albanian language newspapers were banned, various educational and other institutions closed, and Albanian journalists banned from the public radio and TV stations.  �������������������������������������� For instance, a series of articles in Rilindja and Bujku from April 1990 to August 1991.

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efforts to gain equal political status as part of Yugoslavia. While a committed reporting of party and other meetings consistently published statements made by Serbian officials – on 25 March, a Serbian official was quoted to the effect that the problems in the province were being caused by ‘Albanian terrorists’ who were also responsible for defending the Turkish yoke – Albanian officials, journalists and opinion makers were quoted as making appeals to prevent the escalation of violence and promote a resolution of the situation through dialogue. ‘Dialog is the Only Alternative’ was the title of an article by R. Tahiri and B. Reka. In another article, a report on the meeting of the Yugoslav Alternative on Kosovo, the title states ‘Democracy in Kosovo means Democracy in Yugoslavia’.10 Among others, Veton Surroi was cited as stating that ‘we cannot discuss through narrow national perspectives … but we have to make attempts at denationalizing the problem, which is a key issue when human rights are at stake’.11

The Poisoning Affair At the end of the 1980s and beginning of the 1990s, shifts in the boundaries of ‘ethnic’ cultural, social and political signification became increasingly visible. The events discussed below are marked by these shifts and new dominant discourses which come to constitute conflicting collective memories in the making. We begin with a discussion of the changing political and legal frameworks as contexts that informed media coverage of particular events, which were then turned into markers of ‘ethnic’ belonging and remembrance. Oddly enough, all three cases happened to take place in March (1990, 1998 and 2004), a month which, over the years, has come to be preceded by nervousness in both Kosovo and Serbia. In March 1990, the Serbian Communist Party approved the ‘Political Action Platform of the Central Committee of Yugoslavia in the Political Circumstances of  ������������������������ A series of articles in Rilindja January, February, March and April 1990. Reka, B. (1990), ‘What Does the Resolution of the International Helsinki Federation Say on Human Rights? Kosova – A European Priority’, Rilindja, 2 March, p. 8.   Rilindja (1990), 25 March, p. 8.  ������������������������������������������������������������������������������������ 4 March 1999, p. 4. In the article the journalists wrote: ‘Kosovo, depending on the ideological perspective, is being represented at times as a Serbian problem and at times as an Albanian problem. Myths are being incited and manipulated even in the present. Some media of mass communication have been turned into powerful means of propaganda for certain political forces … which attempt to distort the truths about Kosovo … In other words, the guarantee of all rights and freedoms in Kosovo, individual and collective, which are and will be held by all other citizens of Yugoslavia, all nations and nationalities. Thus, it is a guarantee for Albanians as equal political subject in all matters of SFRY as a unified homeland’. 10  Rilindja (1990), 1 April, p. 5. 11 ������������������������������������������������������������������������� Reka, B. and Kelmend Hapçiu (1990), ‘Democracy in Kosovo means Democracy in Yugoslavia’, Rilindja 1 April, p. 5.

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the Province of Kosovo’ and the plan of the Republic of Serbia for ‘Peace, Freedom, Equality, Democracy and Prosperity in the Socialist Autonomous Province of Kosovo’. Albanians were accused of setting up ‘majority rule’ and dismantling brotherhood and unity. Such discourse was particularly present during the early months of 1990 but was increasingly replaced by accusations that sidetracked the relevance of socialist ideals, and placed at the forefront the well-being of the ‘Serbian people’.12 On 17 March 1990, Rilindja reported transcripts from a meeting of the Central Committee of the Communist League of Serbia.13 One of the main items on the meeting’s agenda was ‘national equality’. The official statement contained the following excerpt: ‘We will work for national equality. The Serbian people and all other nations and nationalities that live in Serbia may express and affirm their own national being, cultivate their traditions, and customs. We engage in creating conditions for members of the Serbian people in our other republics to have the same status’. At the same time the Conference of the Socialist League of the Working People of Yugoslavia began a series of meetings on the realization of a new Yugoslav Program for Kosovo. Over the following weeks, meetings continued at all levels of government – federal, republican and provincial – leading to the revocation of Kosovo’s autonomy. Over the coming months a series of articles, mainly statements of political officials, repeated the classification of Albanians as a threat to the stability of the country.14 On the other hand, as the examples above showed, accusations toward Serbia were not explicit, rather the focus was given to a series of appeals, gatherings and conferences which defined the situation as a matter of human rights abuses. During March and April Rilindja followed two other major stories: the poisoning of schoolchildren and changes to the educational system. The poisoning of schoolchildren falls within the context of a series of discussions on and later the implementation of the segregation of schools, as well as the expulsion of students from the University of Pristina campus dormitories. On 20 March 1990, Rilindja reported on a meeting of functionaries of the Serbian Communist Party, who discussed changes that would follow with the new Program for Kosovo and amendments to the Yugoslav constitution. Miroslav Đorđević, a member of Serbia’s government, was quoted as stating: ‘We will also change the name of Kosovo’ (referring to the change from Kosovo to Kosovo and Metohia and/or Kosmet).15 With regard to changes that would occur to the education system and curricula, Misha Milošević, a professor, was quoted as stating that: ‘two options are available with regard to the problem in the schools: one is to segregate the schools’ (the journalist noted: ‘a voice was heard from the audience saying just 12  Rilindja (1990), 20 March, pp. 1–3. 13  Rilindja (1990), 17 March, p. 8. This was common practice. Newspapers quoted ‘in-full’ statements made by speakers of the committee and other representatives. Live feeds were not common practice at the time and most reports underwent censorship. 14  Rilindja (1990), February and March. 15 ����������������������������������������������� Rugova, Rr. (1990), ‘Two Programs for Kosovo’, Rilindja, 20 March, p. 2.

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like in South Africa’), ‘and the second one is the formation of teachers committees based on the language of instruction, the appointment of head masters in the school should be according to national belonging, and the principal and vice-principal should be changed every year’.16 The debate on the school curricula centred on the delegation of decisionmaking posts in schools, whether principals should be Albanian or Serbian and, more powerfully, on the content of certain school subjects, such as literature, history and geography.17 During the first and second weeks of March, Rilindja reported on a number of news stories related to this issue. One article, entitled ‘The School Name Divided Them’, focused on the name change of a school in Fushë Kosovë/Kosovo Polje.18 Others reported how ‘Students Left the Dorms in Calm’19 and the same issue included an article titled ‘Pupils – Innocent Victims of Negative Politicization’.20 During 1990 elementary and high schools were segregated: in most cases, Albanian and Serbian pupils attended school at different times of the day; often walls were placed in schools and separate entrances designated. By 1991, as the LDK formed a parallel government and institutions, most school buildings were closed off to Albanian pupils and teachers, and schools were organized in private homes. By not accepting the curricula of the Ministry of Education of the Republic of Serbia, the Kosovo Albanian leadership, teachers and parents organized all levels of education via a parallel system. Then, during the time when the debates over curricula were taking place, constitutional changes were being enacted, and curfews and a large police presence put in place, the media were flooded with reports of schoolchildren exhibiting symptoms of poisoning and being taken to the emergency rooms of hospitals and health care facilities in Kosovo. The first article in the Albanian language print media to report the incident was on page 1 of the 23 March issue of Rilindja under the headline ‘Outbreak of a “Mysterious Epidemic” in Some Municipalities in Kosovo. Doctors Say: There Are Symptoms of Poisoning’.21 The articles reported that a total of 417 persons, mainly students from Besiana/Podujevo, had been taken to the University Hospital clinics. Over the next couple of days, hundreds of other cases were reported in a 16 ����� Ibid. 17 These debates, and the overall institutional crisis, led to the suspension for several weeks during the spring term in 1990 of all Albanian language elementary and secondary schools in Kosovo. The Serbian parliament repealed the full education legislation passed by the Kosovo parliament and adopted a uniform curriculum. 18  B.K. (1990), ‘The School Name Divided Them’, Rilindja, 7 April, p. 5. 19 ����������������������������������������������������������������������������������� ‘Students Left the Dorms in Calm: Gathering of Albanian Students of the University of Pristina’ (1990), Rilindja, 17 March. 20 ��������������������������������������������������������������������������� Kabashi, B. and Kajtazi, B. (1990), ‘Pupils – Innocent Victims of Negative Politicization’, Rilindja, 17 March. 21 ��������������������������������������������������������������������������������� Aliu, S. and Bajcinovci, E. (1990), ‘Outbreak of a “Mysterious Epidemic” in Some Municipalities in Kosovo. Doctors Say: There Are Symptoms of Poisoning’, Rilindja, 23 March, pp. 1, 5.

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number of other towns and cities. According to articles over the following week, all patients admitted to hospital were Albanian and demonstrated the same symptoms of vomiting, headaches, sore throats, dizziness and fainting-spells. The statements from a consortium of Albanian and Serbian doctors, formed to investigate the event, reported a suspicion that a neurotoxin was present and asserted general agreement that the patients were ill, but there was no agreement on the nature of the symptoms and their cause. By mid-April more than 4,000 cases had been reported.22 According to Evliane Bajçinovci, some of the doctors claimed that symptoms were of a psychoreactive nature due to experience of some form of earlier trauma, others claimed that the whole thing was a simulation and an act, while still others argued for collective hysteria. The diverging assessments seemed to follow national lines.23 At a press conference held on the same evening as the first reports were published, Zekerijah Cana, the secretary of the Kosovo Committee for the Defence of Human Rights and Liberties, claimed that a mass poisoning with an unknown chemical substance had occurred.24 The next day the most influential Tirana newspaper, Zëri i popullit, under the title ‘Only a Consciousness Poisoned by Hate Can Poison Children’, published a polemical text aimed at the ‘unheardof cynicism’ of the Yugoslav authorities. The statement included the following: ‘It seems that the firearms used against the Kosovo people since 1981, has not been effective enough. Therefore, a new more effective weapon has been invented, more psychologically directed: a poisoning … Serbs were those who demanded segregation in schools and dormitories … poisonings such as the Yugoslav type have not been heard of even in South African ghettos’. The Albanian language print media in Kosovo reported that the consortium of doctors, formed at Pristina University Hospital to investigate the cases, claimed that no definitive statements could be issued until all blood samples and other samples could be tested. While locally there appear to have been no adequate facilities for testing the samples, laboratories in the country and abroad did receive samples. The official assessment issued by the Republican Committee on the Health of the Republic of Serbia stated that there were no indications of poisoning.25 Bernard Kourcher, later French Minister of Foreign Affairs, then with Médicins Sans Frontières and first Special Representative of the Secretary General with UNMIK (United Nations Mission in Kosovo Administration), at the time also invited a fellow colleague to investigate the matter. Dr Bernard Benedetti, who was part of the French team that collected samples and sent them to the research laboratories of the French Ministry of Justice, was repeatedly cited in the Albanian 22 �������������������������������������������������������������������������������� Bajcinovci, E. (1990), ‘The Diagnostic Polyvalence of the “Mysterious Illness”: “Poisoning”, “Simulation”, or “Collective Hysteria”’, Rilindja, 11 April, p. 9. 23 ������ Ibid. 24  ‘Talas trovanja na Kosovu’ (Wave of Poisoning in Kosovo) (1990), Radio Tirana, 23 March (in Serbian translation by the Tanjug news agency). 25 �������������������������������������������������������� Tanjug (1990), ‘There Are No Indications of Poisoning’, Rilindja, 24 March, p. 5.

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language media saying that the analyses showed evidence of intoxication with poison gases.26 On the other hand, Radio France Internationale (RFI) reported that Dr Bernard Cohen, on behalf of the US-based Physicians for Human Rights, examined five patients and found only one of them to be ill. Cohen concluded that, from video records of 3,000 patients, it was a case of mass hysteria. However, he did not believe that it was possible for the Yugoslav medical authorities to exclude poisoning, because such an analysis would have required several weeks.27 On the other side of the Atlantic, the Yugoslav Ambassador to the US, Dževad Mujezinović, had written a letter to Congress, the Senate and the main newspapers claiming that this was a ‘false alarm’. At the same time, American senator Robert Dole appealed to the Congress to help ‘the poor children’.28 In the Serbian press there was a focus on the role of the Albanian doctors in the case. There was only one polemical article opposing Dr Cohen’s claims. A professor of toxicology from the Military Medical Academy claimed that his institution was experienced enough to undertake rapid tests.29 Other articles were concerned with the ‘betrayal’ by the Albanian medical staff, with titles such as ‘To Purge Medical Faculty’, ‘Hypocrites in the Hands of Mafia’ and ‘Medicine in the Service of Terror’.30 As a consequence, non-Albanian medical staff at Pristina Hospital and the Ethics Committee of the Serbian Medical Society demanded the suspension of Albanians from hospitals and the medical faculty in Kosovo. Similar demands were also made regarding the responsibility of the Albanian TV journalists who had sent alarming images of the events via Zagreb television to the Eurovision channel and other broadcasters. It was suggested that, since Eurovision regulations consider only more than 1,000 victims to constitute a catastrophic event, 2,000 victims should be reported. Albanian TV journalists and in particular Ali Alaj, who was responsible for international news, were accused of open hostility toward Yugoslavia, while Zagreb TV was criticized for not checking the news. Some articles (TV Revija) demanded the expulsion of journalists from TV Pristina.31 As the events unfolded, two opinion pieces appeared in Rilindja – one titled ‘Dora e Zezë’ (The Black Hand)32 and the other ‘Helmi i Armikut’ (Poison of the

26  Zëri (2000), 25 July, p. 7. 27  BBC (1990), 24 March. 28 ��������������������������������� ‘Opasno političko manevrisanje’, Borba, 29 March 1989. 29  Borba (1990), 31 March. 30  ‘Očistiti vrh fakulteta’ (1990), Večernje, 3 April; ‘Hipokrat u rukama mafije’ (1990), Novosti, 19 April; ‘Medicina u službi terora’ (1990), Ilustrovana, 24 April. 31  ‘Istinom u Evropu’ (1990), Ekspres, 25 March; ‘Informativni otrov’ (1990), Ekspres, 27 March; ‘Otrov prosipa TV Pristina’ (1990), Ekspres, 28 March; ‘U službi separaističke propagande’ (1990), TV Revija, 30 March. 32 �������������������������������������� Rushiti, M. (1990), ‘Today and Here’, Rilindja 23 March, p. 5.

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Enemy).33 They provide examples of differences in public opinion that emerged regarding the cause of the events and the simultaneous demarcation of boundaries of what constituted truth. These events helped to further divide people’s everyday experiences along national lines. While the aforementioned perceptions of Serbs in Kosovo as victims of Albanian chauvinism occurred through the construction of an Albanian nationalist threat and enemy, Albanians in Kosovo increasingly defined ‘themselves’ as victims of human rights abuses and of direct state attacks on the part of Serbia. Rilindja’s first article defined the events in the following manner: ‘In a Kosovo tired of devilish psychological and nationalistic bureaucratic games – these days a dark hand has thrown another poison. This time the lives of more than a thousand children have been put at monstrous jeopardy … with signs of poisoning, but of an unknown kind, and unknown how and by whom. This barbarism can be equated with an attempt at genocide’.34 Two days later, a second article appeared on the front page of a weekly edition of Rilindja, but with a different reading of the events. The article was a statement released on behalf of anonymous editors and journalists at the paper: Another great darkness has been unleashed in Kosovo. At a time when we are attempting to heal with all our force the wounds left by the recent demonstrations and protests, which again have shown that the enemy from the position of Albanian nationalism, at that time through an abuse of request for democracy, has again … attempted to open the gates of brotherly war in these territories.

By March 1991, the idiom of persecution had become well established in the political and public discourse of Kosovo Albanians. On 12 March 1991, Bujku published a letter from the Council for the Defence of Human Rights and Freedoms in Pristina to the European Parliament. The article title stated that ‘Albanians are The Most Persecuted People in the World’.35 Serbian authorities, on the other hand, questioned the nationally ‘exclusive’ character of the poisoning, implying that perhaps parents and other family members had poisoned the children.36 Through such discourses of vilification and victimization, the Serbian language print media followed the protest of some 4,000 Albanians in Podujevo, who attacked Serbs and called them ‘poisoners’. Emphasis was placed on claims of Serbs having been beaten by policemen, while high-ranking police and state officials visited Ljubiša Stanojević, who lay in hospital with injuries. On March 25, breaking

33 ������������������������������������������������������������������������������������ Our Word (statement by editors and journalists at the paper) (1990), ‘Poison of the Enemy’, Rilindja 25 March, p. 1. 34 �������������������������������������� Rushiti, M. (1990), ‘Today and Here’, Rilindja 23 March, p. 5. 35 ������������������������������������������������������������ ‘Albanians the Most Persecuted People in the World’ (1991), Bujku, 12 March, p. 4. 36  ‘Samo svest zadojena mržnjom može da truje decu’36��������� (1990), Zëri i populit, 24 March.

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news announced that the Serbian Republic would take over the protection of the constitutional order in Kosovo and the personal security of Kosovo citizens.37 The events discussed here show the gradual entrenchment of differences along national lines. In relevant ways, although not discussed further here, people began to experience their everyday lives as increasingly dangerous. The seemingly safe sites of public institutions, such as schools and hospitals, became locales where violence would be practised. During the 1990s such sites also served as places of political mobilization and later remembrance. The events became marked by violence, and the experiences of the present became read as repetitions of the past. Albanians saw these events as a logical continuation of Serbian attacks on their emancipation (education, and so on), while Serbs saw them as plots to undermine Serbian legitimacy (political, historical, and so on) in Kosovo. The Year of the War (1998–1999): The Death and Killing of the Jashari Family The 1990s in Kosovo were characterized by the policies of the LDK, which focused on civil disobedience, social solidarity and the entrenchment of a discourse of patient waiting and self-sacrifice. Political alternatives were carefully silenced and the Kosovo-Albanian political landscape was dominated by what Di Lellio and Schwandner-Sievers define as ‘a shared understanding [of the Albanians] as an oppressed nation looking for political and psychological deliverance’ (Di Lellio and Schwandner-Sievers 2006b, 513–29). Albanian representations of themselves revolved around an often contradictory set of markers: between humility and sacrifice, self-determination and liberation struggle, and militant resistance to oppression. The appearance of the clandestine Kosovo Liberation Army or KLA (Ushtria Çlirimtare e Kosovës – UÇK) in 1997 marked increasing dissatisfaction with LDK’s political platform, and would, at the time and after the war, provide legitimacy to new political parties and shifting identity politics (Di Lellio and Schwandner-Sievers 2006b, 513–29). During 1997 and 1998 the Serbian police and military presence in Kosovo grew and attacks on villages in the Drenica and the Dukagjini region intensified. Claiming to search for suspected members of the KLA, or ‘Albanian terrorists’ as the Serbian media almost exclusively labelled them, dozens of villages were burned, people fled to neighbouring towns and cities in their hundreds, and the numbers of civilians killed grew. In February 1998 NT PLUS in Serbia published an exclusive photograph of Adem Jashari, one of the founders of the KLA, and reported confirmation that he was living in Drenica and not abroad as was assumed.38 The report claimed that his appearance was not accidental and

37  Politika (1990), 25 March; Jedinstvo (1990), 21–22 April. 38 ���������������������������������������������������������������������������� ‘The Terrorist from Drenica, Adem Jashari, Emerges from Illegality’ (1998), NT PLUS, 9 February.

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substantiated the existence of the KLA.39 What in the Serbian media was presented as ‘the appearance of a terrorist’, in the Albanian media was ‘the emergence of a KLA commander and freedom-fighter’.40 While one side represented the killing of Adem Jashari and his family, as well as the other casualties of the Drenica Uprising, as a collateral effect of the fight against terrorism, the other side constructed a ‘legendary commander’ and ‘martyr’. In the Albanian-language print media the construction of the martyrdom of the Jashari family began with the events at Prekaz, a village in the Drenica region, although stories and images of Adem Jashari and the Jashari family contained remembrances of insurgency that transcended the immediate event and linked them to previous liberation struggles on the part of Albanians.41 All are powerfully linked to Drenica as a place of such struggle. Today, the National Theatre in Pristina is named after Adem Jashari, while the site of the uprising/siege has become one of the main landmarks for the writing of Kosovo’s recent history. The Jashari house and graves of the family members who died during the siege have been turned into a memorial complex visited by the diaspora, tourists and people living in Kosovo (Di Lellio and Schwandner-Sievers 2006a, 27–49). One possible way of telling of the story, relying on selected media sources, is the following. Starting on 5 March, Serbian police and Special Forces were deployed to Prekaz. They sealed off the area surrounding the Jashari compound and began an attack that lasted for two days. Although this was not the first attack on the Jashari compound, the March siege resulted in one dead and some wounded among the police, and over 50 dead from the Jashari extended family. The Council for the Defence of Human Rights and Freedoms in Pristina issued a report with a list of the names of persons killed. Reading like a memorial plaque, the list contained the age and gender of each person, including 12 children. The sole survivor was Besarta Jashari, the daughter of Adem Jashari’s brother Hamëz. Her brief recollections of the event were fervently cited, stating that her uncle sang patriotic songs while he fought and that Serbian police ‘had threatened her with a knife and ordered her to say that her uncle killed everyone who wanted to surrender’.42 Later, Adem Jashari became memorialized as the Legendary Commander (Komandanti Legjendar), hero, leader of the Jashari family and a ‘mythical figure 39 ��������������������������������������������������������������������������������� At the time of the first appearances of the KLA (attacks on Serbian Police Force vehicles and road control posts) the LDK claimed that they had no information on the existence of such an organization and called the attacks either Serbian provocations or provocations of enemies of the people. 40 ��������������������������������������������������� ‘Adem Jashari: The Man Who Changed an Era’ (1998), Zëri, 26 December. Media monitoring has consistently evaluated Zëri as the most bipartisan newspaper in Kosovo. 41 Drenica has traditionally been a stronghold of Albanian resistance to any Yugoslav or Serbian state (kachak movement in the 1920s and the Drenica Uprising in 1945). 42 �������������������������������������������������������������������������� Council for the Defence of Human Rights and Freedoms. Report No. 398. ‘On the Widespread Repression and Harassment Perpetrated by the Serbian Police and Other Authorities in Kosova: From 8 to 11 March, 1998’, www.bndlg.de/~wplarre/week398.htm.

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who binds past and future generations to the nation’ (Di Lellio and SchwandnerSievers 2006b, 513–29). Various media published historiographical accounts of the Jashari family and helped build the symbolic relevance of the event. War memoirs proliferated. The event, as former members of the KLA have stated, boosted the conscription of new fighters, who fought in the ‘Adem Jashari’ troop during the war, and continues to inspire various forms of artistic and cultural production in Kosovo. The Jashari compound, turned into a memorial complex, has become a site of commemoration and pilgrimage for Albanians living in Kosovo and abroad, while street and buildings now bear his name (Di Lellio and Schwandner-Sievers 2006a, 27–49). The importance of the event also relied on the fact that ‘Adem fought back’, thereby shifting the political platform and acceptable action on the part of Albanians. During and after the events in Prekaz, the Kosova Information Center (KIC) reported on the redeployment of Serb forces in Drenica and noted: ‘the Serb regime continues its outrageous behavior. Even after two days of heavy shelling by Serb forces in Albanian villages, it does not allow any kind of assistance for the wounded, old men, women and children’.43 On 7 March, Koha Ditore reported eyewitness accounts of refugees from the village of Prekaz, stating that Serb forces were committing atrocities and had ‘cut the throat of a 12 year old boy in front of his mother’.44 Media reports issued by KIC quoted Ibrahim Rugova pressing for support in establishing a humanitarian corridor, regular reports on statements of members of the Clinton administration were issued and a letter from Human Rights Watch, calling on the International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia to investigate possible war crimes being committed, was released in the press.45 After the crackdown in Prekaz, another police action resulted in the killing of 10 members of the Ahmeti family, and reports of the murder of a toddler and a pregnant woman caused further distraught public opinion. While Bujku and KIC faithfully argued in line with LDK’s assurances of international support for Kosovo’s independence, Zëri and Koha Ditore increasingly emphasized the complexity of the emerging situation and contradictions in statements of international officials regarding the resolution of the situation in Kosovo. Zëri had reported on the coalition of the opposition leader in Serbia, Vuk Drašković, with the Socialist Party led by Milošević,46 and Koha Ditore conducted an interview with Richard Miles, Head of the American Mission in Belgrade, who 43 ������������������������������������������������������������������������� Kosova Daily Report no. 1364 (1998), 7 March. ��������������������������� Kosova Information Center; www.kosova.com. 44 �������������������������������������� Atrocities of Serb Forces in Drenica. Koha Ditore. In Kosova Daily Report no. 1364 (1998), 7 March. Kosova Information Center; www.kosova.com and www.hri.org/ news/balkans/kosova/1998/98-03-07.ksv.html. 45 ������������������������������������������������������������������������� Kosova Daily Report no. 1364 (1998), 7 March. ��������������������������� Kosova Information Center; www.kosova.com. 46 �������������������������������������������������������������������� Shala, B. (1998), ‘Graves and Independence’ (Varret dhe Pavarësia), Zëri, 21 February.

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claimed that the USA did not support Kosovo’s independence but did recognize Rugova as the legitimate leader of Kosovo Albanians. Soon after the Serb forces’ operations in Prekaz, a debate emerged between KIC and Koha Ditore. KIC, and through that the LDK-loyal press, was being criticized for not having covered the events satisfactorily, that is of having diminished the relevance of the KLA. The press in Serbia also became divided into two groups: those who aligned with the regime and those who belonged to the oppositional, anti-war and critical opinion. The first group tried to show that KLA was a terrorist organization that terrorized and plundered Albanians themselves, especially ‘Catholics hesitating to use children as living shields’. They claimed that Albanians in Drenica had lost confidence in Jashari and other KLA leaders. The pro-regime press also attempted to prove that the Serbian police did control Drenica through a report by a TV Novosti journalist who travelled during the night through KLA-claimed territory (on 19 January Reuters published a KLA announcement about the formation of the liberated territory in Drenica).47 The opposition press held a different perspective. Naša Borba quoted an Albanian political activist from Srbica/Skenderaj who denied the existence of the KLA. He said that local citizens only organized themselves to protect their families against the terror of the Serbian police forces. Under the title ‘Bloody Calculation’ and ‘The Little Dirty War in Kosovo’, Vreme wrote about the hypocrisy of both Serbian and Albanian political elites. Many claimed that both Milošević and Rugova favoured an escalation of the conflict, in order to present themselves as moderates. Rugova’s denial of the existence of the KLA was reported in both Serbia and Kosovo, as was Milošević’s reluctance to admit that control over the region was being lost. Nobody dared to admit that it was a matter of a mass uprising of the entire Drenica population.48 Towards the end of February the situation escalated. While the media in Kosovo marked the beginning of the event with the attack on the Jashari compound, in Serbia the media focused on the killing of four policemen in an ambush near Likoshane village. On 28 February police assaulted the village, killing all the male members of several families. The Serbian pro-regime newspaper Politika reported the death of four policemen and 16 terrorists and claimed that the police reacted within ‘legal limits’.49 Nedeljni Telegraf, a weekly with close links to the police,

47  ‘Decu koriste kao živi štit’ (They use Children as Live Shields) (1998), Večernje novosti, 23 January. ‘Teror i pljačka’ (Terror and Plunder) (1998), Večernje, 2 February; ‘Potera za duhovima’ (Search for Ghosts) (1998), TV Novosti, 2 February; ‘Teroristi zlostavljaju Albance katolike’ (Terrorists Abuse Catholics) (1998), Politika, 3 March. 48  ‘Skenderaj nije slobodna teritorija’ (Skenderaj is not a Free Territory) (1998), Naša Borba, 26 January; ‘Krvava računica’ (Bloody Calculation) (1998), Vreme, 31 January. 49  Politika (1998), 2 March.

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expressed regret that politicians ‘prevented’ the police from finishing their work.50 For Večernje novosti the main topic was the blockade of the Devič monastery by the KLA.51 While the oppositional Belgrade daily Danas mentioned civilian casualties, Vreme provided a strikingly different story. According to this news magazine, Serbian police massacred the Ahmeti family, after capturing all male members of the family in their house and plundering their property. The Serbian press ‘tastelessly’ praised this energetic police action. For Serbs the killed policemen were ‘Kosovo knights’, while for Albanians the Likoshani victims were ‘martyrs and heroes, innocent victims of the Serbian occupiers’. Telegraf wrote about the biggest Albanian demonstrations in Pristina since 1990. On the front page this newspaper published a famous photograph of a policeman kicking an older Albanian man. It also reported that the Albanian politicians Surroi and Seidiu were beaten up during these riots.52 With regards to the Drenica Uprising and its oppression in Prekaze, the regime press found itself in a double bind: should it boast about the number of killed ‘terrorists’ or describe the police offensive as a regular action. Of course, it was stressed that policemen rescued women and children, risking their own lives.53 The notorious ‘war correspondent’ Miroslav Lazanski, in a ‘poetically’ titled article ‘The Crime and Punishment of Donje Prekaze’, with many photos of destroyed houses, described the last battle of Adem Jashari. According to him, while the father Shaban had been inclined to negotiate with the police, Adem had taunted police to catch him if they could. The Jashari house was described as a well-equipped fortress.54 Lazanski concluded the article ‘What power of hate, passionate nationalism religious intolerance and terrorism, forced the Jashari clan and village Donje Prekaze to take this road of no return? … Will Donje Prekaze be a warning to any terrorist adventure? It remains to be seen’.55 Another article in 50 ����������������������� One should distinguish Nedeljni Telegraf, a weekly with shadowy connections, from Dnevni Telegraf, an oppositional daily newspaper owned by Slavko Ćuruvija, who was eventually killed by Serbian secret police in 1999. 51  ‘Političari sprečili policiju da teroriste razbije do kraja’ (Politicians Stopped the Police from Breaking the Terrorists) (1998) NT, 4 March; ‘Na ulicama samo strah’ (Only Fear in the Streets; In Likoshane, Albanians Fired on Police from Every House) (1998), Večernje novosti, 5 March. 52 ���������������������������������������������������������������������������� ‘Šta se stvarno desilo u Drenici’ (What Really Happened in Drenica)��������� (1998)��, Danas, 4 March; ‘Krvavi vikend u Drenici’ (Bloody Weekend in Drenica)��������� (1998)��, Vreme, 7 March; ‘50 000 Albanaca na ulici. Policija silom razbija demoinstracije’ (50,000 Albanians in the Streets. Police Breaks up the Demonstration with Violence)��������� (1998)��, Telegraf, 3 March. 53  ‘Dobrovoljci iz Nemačke’ (Welcome Back from Germany) (1998), Večernje novosti, 7 March; ‘Policajci pod rafalnom paljbom iz kuća tvrđava’ (Police under Fire from Forts) (1998), Večernje novosti, 7 March. 54  Lazanski, M. ‘Zločin i kazna Donjih Prekaza’ (Crime and Punishment of Donji Prekaz), Večernje, 9 March 1998. 55 Ibid.

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the same newspaper, described ‘terrorists fleeing toward the Ćičavica mountain’. Some of them were supposed to be ordinary citizens, while others were supposedly minors recruited by Jashari (therefore they had no ID). Politika wrote that villagers themselves complained about the terror, intimidation and racketeering of KLA and that while fleeing they killed each other.56 On 9 June 1998, thousands came out to protest in the streets of Pristina, calling for NATO intervention and shouting Freedom, Rugova, Adem Jashari, Drenica and other slogans and names.57 The NATO intervention that occurred almost a year later has been treated as another important ‘event’ through which to interrogate contemporary issues of globalization, international law and particularly war and media (Kaldor 2007). Nonetheless, the focus has for the most part been on responses, perceptions and concerns of ‘Western’ publics, while the groundedness of life experiences of people more directly affected by war continues to beg for analysis. The March 2004 Riots The last case in this survey is the series of events that have come to be known as ‘the March riots’. A series of events culminated in Albanians rioting in a number of towns and villages in Kosovo, and subsequent protests in Serbia. As a result, 19 people died, 1,000 were injured, several Orthodox churches were burned down, and the houses of Serbs and other property in Kosovo destroyed. In Serbia, protesters burned mosques in Belgrade and Niš. Such targeted violence provides an explicit example of how ‘definitions of political rights and representation have placed great attention on the delineation of cultural heritage and sites of ethnically defined historicity’ (Luci 2007), Using Veljko Vujačić’s terminology, this episode can be seen as an illustration of a ‘cycle of status reversal’: ‘The superimposition of physical, religious and linguistic markers of status differentiation, accompanied by a constant process of status/power reversal, revived negative historical memories’� (Vujačić 1996, 769–70). The events developed over several days. On 15 March, two days before fullscale rioting broke out, Serbs in Čaglavica, a Serbian enclave near Pristina, blocked the Pristina–Skopje road after a Serbian teenager had been wounded on the same day. In the evening, an Albanian was injured in another enclave, Gračanica, and Serbian protesters from Čaglavica clashed with UNMIK police. On 16 March, three interconnected organizations representing KLA war veterans, KLA invalids

56  ‘Beg ka Čičavici’ (Fleeing towards Cicavica) (1998), Večernje novosti, 9 March; ‘Vraća se mir’ (Peace is Returning) (1998), Politika, 9 March. 57 �������������������������������������������������������������������������� Kosovo Information Center (1998), 9 June. ALBANEWS Archives; www.listserv. acsu..buffalo.edu/archives/albanews.html.

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and families of missing persons demonstrated in almost every town in Kosovo, protesting about the arrest and detention of KLA leaders on war crime charges.58 The situation began to get out of hand when on 16 March, three Albanian boys drowned in the River Ibar near Serbian settlements north of the river. A fourth, surviving boy related a story about two young Serbs with German shepherd dogs, coming from a Serbian village, who frightened him and his brothers and a friend into the cold river. Later reports by the UNMIK police stated that the evidence was not conclusive and that they had not found the alleged perpetrators. The UNMIK police spokesman Narej Singh implied that Albanian journalists had suggested the story to the boy at the press conference. Following this, the press in Belgrade emerged with a version claiming that the boys had been frightened by Danish soldiers, who had thought that the boys were stealing something.59 In Kosovo, the electronic media were the main carriers of information about these events. On the evening news of 16 March, RTV21 reported that: ‘Serbs chased four Albanian children … While trying to escape from them the Albanian children jumped into the river’.60 The public broadcaster RTK followed with similar coverage, although later it became clear that this news had not been confirmed. Civil society groups reacted to the unsupervised interview with the minor and issued statements condemning the use of violence among all parties. Nonetheless, the media continued with announcements of the ‘dramatic situation’.61 Halit Berani, the chairman of the Council for the Defence of Human Rights and Freedoms in Mitrovica, gave a four-minute interview to RTK stating ‘we are used to these Serb bandits … We think that it is in revenge for what happened in Caglavica, the case that’s showed what Serbs are willing to do when the situation is getting calm in Kosovo’.62 On 17 March Albanians tried to cross the bridge dividing north (Serbianpopulated) and south (Albanian-populated) Mitrovica. Simultaneously, Albanians assaulted Serbs and Orthodox churches all over Kosovo.63 The situation was worst in Prizren, where eight churches and monasteries were burnt down, including a UNESCO cultural heritage site, Bogorodica Ljeviška. The tomb of Tsar Dušan was desecrated.64 More than 30 churches and monasteries and almost 30 Serbian houses 58  ‘Od žiški do ognja’ (2004), Politika Ekspres, special series 27 March–5 April. 59  ‘Srbi nisu krivi’ (2004), Kurir, 28 April; ‘Svedok bio pod stresom’ (2004), Večernje, 29 April; ‘Albanski dečaci se udavili bežeći od danskih vojnika’ (2004), Balkan, 30 April; ‘U reci zbog Danaca’ (2004), Večernje novosti, 1 May. 60 �������������������������������������������������������������������������� ‘The role of the media in the March 2004 events in Kosovo’, International Media Commission; www.imc-ko.org/arkiva.php?id=7&l=a; www.osce.org/documents/ rfm/2004/04/2695_en.pdf. 61 ����������������������������������������������������������������������� RTK Correspondence from Mitrovica. See www.osce.org/documents/rfm/2004/ 04/2695_en.pdf. 62 ����������������������������������������������� www.osce.org/documents/rfm/2004/04/2695_en.pdf. 63  ‘Orkestriran teror nad Srbima’ (2004), Reporter, 23 March. 64  ‘Svetinje Dušanovog grada u pepelu’ (2004), Večernje novosti, 22 March.

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were destroyed.65 The Belgrade press wrote about the event in a melodramatic tone, stressing human tragedies and touching stories (a dog that stayed behind to watch the house, priests who were attacked by rioters or by KFOR itself).66 Later during that month, more general surveys appeared. Particularly interesting is an article about Prizren on ‘urbicide’. In this particular article, bishop Artemije said that Prizren had suffered ‘urbicide’, because, apart from the Serbian cultural heritage, Prizren had lost its entire Serb population (from 10,000 in 1991 to 100 in 2002, and finally none after 17 March).67 Previously, the term urbicide had been used to describe the destruction of Bosnian cities during the war in that republic. In a comparative study of the media coverage of the events, Jelena Bjelica, a Pristina-based journalist and chief editor of Gradjanski Glasnik (an independent Serbian-language biweekly in Kosovo) concluded that ‘nationalist discourse in Serbian newspapers vis-à-vis Kosovo Albanians has constructed a regime of representation of “otherness” through a (re)construction of the national self’.68 She also provided a series of relevant conclusions and recommendations. Bjelica noted that stereotyping as representational practice continued to form Serbian media portrayals of Albanians. There was a significant lack of journalistic ethics and professionalism in Serbia, and Kosovo broadcast media lacked the professionalism to deal with emergency situations. An important recommendation to government and journalist associations was also made for enforcing guidelines when interviewing minors. The IMC report dealt a blow to the media in Kosovo, arguing that ‘Without the reckless and sensationalist reporting on 16 and 17 March, events could have taken a different and better turn. They might not have reached the intensity and level of brutality that was witnessed and might even not have taken place at all.’69 While the media may have been ‘guilty’ of sensationalizing the events, another important process can be made visible – the construction of monuments of cultural heritage as boundaries of group belonging and exclusion. Even those who are not specialists of the former Yugoslavia have some knowledge of the ‘Kosovo myth’: the relevance of religious sites in Kosovo to Serbia’s claims over its territory and Serbian discourses of national belonging. Therefore, it may not come as a surprise that precisely those sites came under attack in March 2004, referencing and marking sites of once mutual belonging into sites of national exclusivity.

65  ‘Spaljeno 286 kuća i 30 crkava i manastira’ (UN Police Anouncement) (2004), Politika, 23 March. 66  ‘Pas koji je čuvao zgarište’ (2004), Večernje, 20 March; ‘KFOR pretio hapšenjem’ (2004), Večernje, 23 March; ‘Sam sebi vadio gelere’ (2003), Blic, 23 March. 67 ������������������������������������������ ‘Sa crkvama uništavana i groblja’��������� (2004)��, Danas, 29 March; ‘Urbicid nad Prizrenom’��������� (2004)��, Politika, 31 March. 68 ����������������������������������������������������������������������������� Bjelica, J. ‘Comparative Study of the Albanian Language and Serbian Language Media Coverage of March 2004 Events in Kosovo’. Unpublished paper. 69 ������������������������������������������������������ http://www.osce.org/documents/rfm/2004/04/2695_en.pdf.

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Conclusion An important consideration of this chapter has been the analysis of discourses through which relations between groups have become defined along exclusively national and/or ethnic lines. We have analysed a series of events that came to mark important moments in the construction of collectivities and memories in Serbia and Kosovo. The examples, spanning a period of almost 15 years, show how a complicated recent past is often flattened by dominant narratives of nationalism. This flattening turned particular forms of political sentiment, so-called ‘ethnic hatred’ and nationalism, into the main tropes through which particular constructions of Self and Other became dominant. In particular, our aim was to address the ways in which national and ethnic belonging, as existing and emerging categories of self and group identification, are maintained as processes rather than as self-evident political and social formations. Within such processes varying and contested chronologies of ‘the Kosovo conflict’ emerged as they were constructed in the Albanian language and Serbian language media in Kosovo and Serbia. Perhaps above all, the moments and places where such contestations met resulted in often violent Other-ing.

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Chapter 5

The Yugoslav Succession Wars and the War for Symbolic Hegemony Jovo Bakić and Gazela Pudar

This explorative study analyses how the frames of interpreting reality, together with the attendant discourses, were used in the US, British and Serbian press: (a) before Serbia’s conflict with the West, that is up to 25 June 1991; (b) during the conflict, from 25 June 1991 until 5 October 2000; and (c) after 5 October 2000. In many articles, we targeted the ultimate cases close to the ideal type of particular frames and discourses through whose application symbolic hegemony in the global or Serbian public was achieved. Compilation of the sample was facilitated by the fact that in the mid-1990s one of the authors of the study had analysed the content of more than 10,000 newspaper articles from the period 1990– 1993 in the US, British, Austrian, German, Italian and Russian press (Bakić 1997, 1998, 1999). The notions of intertextuality, proposed by Lene Hansen (Hansen 2006, 55) following Julia Kristeva, and interpersonality guide the methodology of the research. Intertextuality concerns the frequency with which a text or idea is quoted in texts by others, and interpersonality the approving references to names of other authors for the purpose of reinforcing the persuasiveness of one’s own assertions. The influence of an author is also established through testimonies by powerful individuals. NATO spokesman Jamie Shea, thus, expressly mentions the liberal Anthony Lewis and the conservative William Safire, columnists of the New York Times, as individuals who exerted strong pressure on the administrations of George Bush Sr and Bill Clinton, as well as NATO, to punish Bosnian and/or Serbian Serbs. In addition, newspaper articles by intellectuals who have published books with big print runs and with more than one edition in less than 10 years were also analysed. For instance, the Oxford (All Souls College) intellectual star, the conservative polyglot Noel Malcolm, replaced Robert Kaplan as Clinton’s favourite  ������������������ Simms, B. (2003), Najsramniji trenutak: Britanija i uništavanje Bosne ������������� (translation into Bosnian/Croatian/Serbian, previously known as Serbo-Croatian) (Sarajevo and Belgrade: Buybook and Helsinški odbor za ljudska prava u Srbiji), pp. 46, 83: ‘The media were hammering us (…) And although you know politicians say they don’t care what Chip Hogan in the Washington Post says or Will Safire in the New York Times or Anthony Lewis or any of the others, over a period of time it was hammer, hammer, hammer.’

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Balkan expert. He also published texts in various newspapers, and it is therefore interesting to observe his contribution to familiarizing the Anglo-American reader with the topic of the dissolution of Yugoslavia. In the analysis, authors publishing in the world’s leading print media who imposed symbolic hegemony emerged most prominently. Chosen for discourse analysis were the mouthpiece of the US political elite, the New York Times, and Thomas L. Friedman and the two above-mentioned columnists. The British left-liberal paper The Guardian, the reporter Ed Vulliamy and the columnist Martin Woollacott were also chosen, because the most pronounced campaign of demonizing the Serbs, be it those in Bosnia–Herzegovina or those in Serbia, occurred in the Anglo-American liberal papers, especially with the outbreak of the war in Bosnia–Herzegovina. Humanitarian–activist arguments were used to criticize the conservative governments of Major and Bush Sr and influence the liberal governments of Blair and Clinton. In addition to editorials and columns by the above-mentioned authors, we also analysed news agency reports from the beginning of the non-armed conflicts in Slovenia and Croatia. At that time, the SFRY (Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia) was not the focus of journalistic attention and there are no editorials or commentaries, because brief agency news reduced a complex reality to clear and unequivocal frames and identities: good democrats vs evil communists; the rich West vs the poor East; the Catholic Europe vs the Orthodox (Muslim) Orient. Generally speaking, the communist pedigree of Slobodan Milošević, elected to power by the Orthodox Serbs in their common aspiration to rule over their Catholic or multi-ethnic neighbours, was the ideological shortcut for understanding the disappearance of the SFRY and the Yugoslav succession wars. With regard to the leading Serbian daily Politika, the nationalist discourse of those Serbian intellectuals who sought to impose symbolic hegemony at the level of relations between the Serbs and the West was analysed. We also analysed the discourse of Greater Serbia, the paper of the anti-Western, far-right Serbian Radical Party. Ideologies are long-lasting structures (F. Braudel) which facilitate orientation in a chaotic social reality. More important than their cognitive/orientational dimension is, however, the fact that ideologies have a social meaning and importance: Ideologies are the basic frameworks for organizing the social cognition shared by members of social groups, organizations or institutions. In this respect, ideologies are both cognitive and social. They essentially function as the interface between the cognitive representations and processes underlying discourse and action, on  �������������������������������������������������������������� Weisman, S.R., ‘Coming to Terms With Kosovo’s “Old” Hatreds’, NYT, 12 June 1999.  ��������������������������������������������������� An influential supporter of all the recent US wars.  ������������������������������������������������������������������������������� The columnist Francis Wheen: ‘The most common accusation is that by advocating military action against Serbia, I have joined “the Guardian’s armchair generals”’. Wheen, F., ‘Peeps from a Pipsqueak’, The Guardian, 14 April 1999.

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the one hand, and the societal position and interests of social groups, on the other hand. (Van Dijk 1995a, 18–19)

They help shape the identities of social groups by creating the rival Other, the perpetrator, the criminal, the bearer of dangerous tendencies, the personification of Evil. By contrast, We are always on the side of Good, whereby we actually justify our wish to preserve or seize power. Inasmuch, discourse analysis is a tool of ideology analysis (Van Dijk 1995a, 22; Wodak 2006b, 14). It is little wonder then that the few politicians in the former Yugoslavia who remained loyal to the leftist ideology after the fall of the Berlin Wall provoked the wrath of the Western fight against communism. Using the discourse strategy of triumphalization, the winners explain the defeat of socialism as a necessary consequence of inferiority. In cognitive and social terms, leftists are portrayed as odd and disrupting remnants of the defeated Evil. Ideological thinking describes, interprets and evaluates the new reality using obsolete categories (Manhajm ��������� 1968). The socialist faithful in the SFRY ‘waged war’ against capitalism and the imperialist powers out of ideological inertia, sensing a conspiracy against the socialist government in their actions. Thus the Cold War discourse lived in Serbia despite the fact that the SFRY had not belonged to the Warsaw Pact during the Cold War. It resisted the enemy’s triumphalism with the discourse strategy of relativization, noting for example that global socialism had not been defeated, since it still survived in Asia. The Cold War frame of representing reality along the lines of good democrats vs evil communists contains a Cold War discourse of sorts that was used by conservatives and liberals. This frame, however, was not the only one used to interpret the conflicts in the SFRY. It was often grafted onto the older frame of clash of civilizations, which clearly demarcates the Protestant/ Catholic, capitalist and democratic West from the Orthodox/Muslim, socialist and authoritarian East. This pattern of mapping the geopolitical reality is mostly applied by the conservatives.  ����������������������������������������������������������������������������������� Discourse is a form of social practice expressed through speech and writing. It is socially conditioned and at the same time it conditions the social reality. What is important is the social context (institutional, situational, social-structural) of communication (Wodak and Busch 2004, 108).  ������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� The frame of representing reality is given in advance to generations, social classes and nations. It is a long-lasting structure shaped by the experience of various social groups through generations which inevitably affects social practice and signifies ‘an area of experience in a particular culture’ (Chilton 2006, 51). In the context of communication, framing selects some aspects of reality and neglects some others; emphasizing the former as especially important, it defines the problem and offers a causal interpretation, moral evaluation and a practical treatment (Entman 1993, 52). Frame refers to the unexpressed thought, the ‘mental mapping of reality’, whereas discourse is more directly linked to expressing thoughts. Of course, the difference between an abstract discourse and its textual concretization is important in analytical terms.  ������������������������� Bakić (1997, 1998, 1999).

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The latter frame includes an Orientalist (Said 1979), Balkanist (Todorova 1997) or Occidentalist discourse with the attendant stereotypes regarding Easterners, Balkan people and Westerners. Orientalism above all applies to the Asian East and non-Christians, and Balkanism to the Orthodox in the Balkans. The domination of one or the other depends on whether Russia or an Islamic country, that is Islam per se, is considered to be the main enemy. Roughly speaking, if Russia is the enemy, the Orthodox in the Balkans are then ‘Russian agents’, and if the main enemy is a Muslim country or organization, then the Balkan Muslims are the suspicious party. People in the Balkans also use the above-mentioned discourses: the Orientalist discourse when a neighbouring nation should be portrayed as Eastern and inferior to us ‘Europeans’, and the Balkanist discourse when we compare ourselves self-disparagingly to big Western societies and cultures. This is an instance of ‘identification with the aggressor’, where the definitions of reality of the powerful are accepted as one’s own. Both discourses are used in discussions about the wars of the 1990s and their causes; reasons for the dissolution of Yugoslavia; and the causes of a future dissolution of Bosnia–Herzegovina. They justify the argument of ‘perennial hatred’ among South Slavs and the resulting impossibility of their living together in the same state. The Occidentalist discourse of opposing the West is also applied in the Balkans. Although opposed to Orientalism and Balkanism, it emerged in the same framework. The clash of civilizations is considered to be the driving force of history. However, the superiority of the ‘rotten’ and ‘morally depraved West’, ‘mired in consumer mentality and crime’ is not acknowledged. This discourse is used by the radical right and the radical left; the former negates the values of the West, in particular of the USA, and wants to turn to Russia, China, India or Islamic countries, while the latter negates the values of capitalism and parliamentary democracy and wants to see the return of socialist values and norms. Finally, when we look at a conflict, either directly or through the media, we tend to judge the rival’s strength and sense of justice through the frame aggressor vs victim. Social democrats and left-wing liberals are particularly prone to this. Guided by the principles of humanity and human rights, they look for the weaker and more just in order to support them. A distinguishing feature of this frame is a humanitarian–activist discourse that euphemistically advocates ‘humanitarian intervention’, that is war (Pawlowska 2005, 487). If the previous three discourses are of an ideological nature, although not exclusively, the latter may be of an ideological, but also of a Utopian, nature. Its nature is ideological, especially when it is combined with the previous discourses, because this confirms that what we have is only strengthening the a priori arguments with the aim of winning the widest possible public support. All possible arguments are used, regardless of the logical incongruity of their eclectic use. The humanitarian discourse has a Utopian nature in the cases where a yet ������������������������� Bakić (1997, 1998, 1999).

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to-be-realized and distant world is imagined, a world based on the inviolability of each person’s rights and the resulting universal protection of human rights at the global, regional, national and local levels. Inasmuch, war is an exception, the ultimate means. This discourse is also found in Serbia, most often as a pathetic and self-pitying perception of Serbian historical destiny in constant confrontation with the world’s greatest powers. Victimization, along with the monopolization of the victim status, is the most frequently used discourse strategy. It is used by nationalists of different ideological orientations, from Orthodoxy-inspired conservatives to leftwing critics of imperialism, thus its nationalist essence is evident. The leftists most frequently justify nationalism by using the humanitarian–anti-imperialist discourse, because nationalism has little room within the framework of a fundamentally internationalist orientation. All the above-mentioned frames and discourses as often as not apply the Manichean discourse strategy of dividing the world into Good and Evil. The enemy is Satan, homogeneous, depersonalized and dehumanized, while one’s own identity is unquestionable, devoted to defending the fundamental values of civilization. Evil needs to be destroyed. Since they represent actual social interests, for which they serve as the means of ideological justification, different frames and discourses are sometimes rivals and at other times complementary. The public use of language always expresses the power of the holder of social power. Through it, symbolic hegemony is achieved, that is social domination of the relatively powerful over the powerless in the sphere of culture as a system of symbols. Through different discourse practices the established relations of power between different parts of the world, the great powers and different nations, as well as between elites and social strata, are justified and contested (Wodak and Busch 2004, 109). Politicians, editors and columnists a priori shape a great deal of news, in particular on foreign policy, by fixing the view of the situation on the ground (������������������� Van Dijk 1985, 72)�.

The Frames of Representing SFRY Reality in the Anglo-American Press, 1 January 1990–25 June 1991 Until the beginning of the war, texts on the former Yugoslavia were relatively rare. Although there was no media campaign vis-à-vis any of the sides at conflict in the SFRY, a position was taken. Reality was interpreted through the Cold War frame and discourse, which were constantly applied by AP, UPI and Reuters. A typical UPI report (15 January 1991) said: ‘Slovenia and Croatia advocate for Yugoslavia to be transformed into a confederation of independent states in order to avoid the domination of Serbia, the largest republic ruled by communists. All the three republics are refusing to recognize the federal authorities.’  ����������������������������������������������������������������������� Max Weber considered them secularized theological notions in politics.

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The discourse world consists of quarrelling sides: the leaderships of the first two republics are not identified in ideological terms, while Serbia is ‘ruled by Communists’. ‘The largest republic’, ruled by communists, is represented as a danger to the public that for 50 years had associated the size and ideology of the USSR with a threat to the ‘free world’. The transformation of a socialist federation into a ‘confederation of independent states’ is a euphemism for the disappearance of a 70-year-old state. Through the statement that none of the three republics recognizes the federal authorities, Yugoslavia is portrayed as a hopeless state, while apparently an impression of balance is created. The Cold War discourse of AP, UPI and Reuters influenced the global public since agency news is employed by many different newspapers around the world. The discourse strategy of passing over in silence was consistently applied for the purpose of simplifying the conflict: Bosnia–Herzegovina, Macedonia and Montenegro were ignored. The Cold War frame, hegemonic after the end of the Cold War, justified secessionism.

The Frame of Representing the ‘West’ in Politika, 1 January 1990–25 June 1991 During this period, the rival nations in the SFRY were written about more negatively than the West. As often as not, Politika journalists persuaded their readers that Milošević enjoyed a diplomatic advantage over Slovenia and Croatia in the EC and the USA. Nevertheless, some Western nations were also subject to negative representation. To the question ‘Historically speaking, whose legacy of ideas is the most present today in the Yugoslav territory’, historian Slavenko Terzić answered:10 1. The most present are ideas from the Austro-Hungarian legacy, behind which always stood the Vatican policy. 2. Austro-Hungary was preparing a campaign of conquest in the Balkans for decades. 3. Ever since the time of the First Serbian Uprising, when it was assessed that an independent Serbia may be the core for gathering the Serbs and all South Slav peoples. 4. This religious–political concept, since Austro-Hungary has not existed for a long time now, is clearly recognizable in recent statements by HDZ leaders

10 �������������������������������������������������������������������� ‘Zatočenici nestale monarhije’ (Interview with Dr Slavenko Terzić), Politika, 30 September 1990.

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about the ‘Croat historical space’, which, in addition to Bosnia–Herzegovina, should even include the territory of Old Raška (today’s Sandžak). 5. Such constructions are not only devoid of any basis, but objectively push the Muslims into a conflict with the Serbs, placing them in the position of executors of political concepts created long since in Vienna and the Vatican.

Within the frame of clash of civilizations, the Occidentalist and Orientalist discourses are interwoven. Religion serves the function of delimiting deep cultural differences transformed into political hostility. The historian apparently (1) only states which legacy of ideas is the most developed, linking it inextricably with the Vatican policy by using the temporal adverb ‘always’. He places in a negative context not only the long-extinct Austro-Hungary, but also the Vatican, an active participant in international politics. Through a historical analogy, local Catholics are entered into the service of foreign ‘campaigns of conquest’ by indicating that the HDZ is a Habsburg successor in the Balkans. Finally, the aspirations of having Bosnia–Herzegovina join Croatia are criticized (4), because they turn ‘Muslims’ (Bosniaks) into an instrument of the Catholics. The metonymic use of Vienna (5) shifts the emphasis from the past to the present. A conservative ideological emphasis is placed on the Catholic conspiracy against Orthodox Serbs, while the Muslims are assigned the role of a passive means by using the accusative, which in Serbian denotes an object. The implication is accomplished through the discourse strategy of historical analogy and adverbs signifying long periods of time: always (1), for decades (2), ever since the time (3), long since (5). 26 June 1991–5 October 2000 The Yugoslav Succession Wars 26 June 1991–21 November 1995 With the start of the war in the SFRY, the British conservative N. Malcolm, a Thomas Hobbes expert and subsequently the author of two of the most influential books on the Balkans in the past two decades,11 the chair of the London-based Bosnian Institute, a columnist of The Daily Telegraph and the co-publisher of The Spectator,12 took an interest in Yugoslavia: 1. It is possible to be anti-Communist without being anti-federal, or anti-federal without being anti-Serb; but after the events of the last few days, the vast majority of Croats and Slovenes are implacably anti all three. 11 ��������������������������������������� Malcolm, N., ‘Bosnia: A Short History’ NYP, 1994, NY; ‘Kosovo: A Short History’ NYP, 1998, NY. 12 ����������������������������������������� Malcolm, N., ‘Yugoslavia at Breakpoint’, The National Review, 29 July 1991.

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Media Discourse and the Yugoslav Conflicts 2. The idea that forcing these two countries back into a federal political system would actually increase the ‘stability’ of the area belongs to the realm of superstition not to rational politics. 3. The only way to recover anything resembling stability now is for the West to recognize Croatia and Slovenia as quickly as possible, and to encourage them to complete on generous terms the unfinished negotiations over their exit from Yugoslavia. 4. The European Community and the United States still have an enormous moral authority over the Slovenes and Croats who desperately wish to think of themselves as fully Western. 5. But if we continue to reject their claims to independence, we shall only weaken the Western-looking aspect of their nationalism, thereby helping to turn them into the very kind of resentful vendetta-obsessed isolationists that Western policy-makers should most fear.

Although it is generally recognized (1) that anti-communism, anti-federalism and an anti-Serb sentiment are separate in theory, this evidently does not apply in practice. The Cold War discourse supports the dissolution of the SFRY, as well as Slovenians and Croats against the communist Serbs.13 Because of the lack of such support (2), Western governments are criticized through the dichotomy rational/ irrational (superstitious), which has been a deep-rooted frame in the West ever since the Enlightenment. Malcolm (2, 3) focuses on stability, one of the most important conservative values, appealing to the West to recognize Croatia and Slovenia as soon as possible in order to maintain it. He looks at Slovenians and Croats with a dose of Balkanist irony (4) saying that ‘they desperately wish to think of themselves as fully Western’, which implies that they are not. A bridge is built between the Cold War and clash of civilizations frames (the ‘pro-Western aspect’ of nationalism); (5) as a result, two discourses – the Cold War and Balkanist ones – are interwoven. What stands in the foreground is breaking the ‘socialist federation’14 by supporting those 13 �������������������������������������������������������������������������� How important the label ‘communist’ was is illustrated by Anthony Lewis’s column (‘Where is the Outrage?’, NYT, 4 November 1991): ‘The tragedy that has overtaken Yugoslavia is the direct result of the ambitions of the Serbian Communist leader, Slobodan Milošević. (…) The Milošević grab for power aroused in other republics opposition that was both ethnic and democratic – anti-Communist – in character’. The Cold War discourse included the discourse strategy of personalization. Anti-communism was considered without reservation to be the guarantee of a democratic orientation. 14 ��������������������������������������������������������������������� The blame was placed squarely on the communist Milošević and Serbian nationalism: ‘It is this lopsided survival of the Communist political tradition with its artificial stimulation of Serbian nationalism for its own internal purposes, that has set the

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who ‘wish to think of themselves as fully Western’, with the aim of preserving ‘stability’. Bosnia–Herzegovina and Kosovo, about which Malcolm wrote two quite lengthy books several years later, are not mentioned at all. The discourse strategy of passing over in silence simplifies the conflict. Upon the introduction of sanctions against the SRY, the journalist and former professor of Serbo-Croatian at Nancy University, Komnen Bećirović, wrote:15 1. With the events in Bosnia, the Yugoslav tragedy is spreading, as well as the anti-Serb sentiment, which, following the fierce position of the US government against Serbia, has swept the entire Western world, and is now extending to the Islamic world as well. 2. One of the oldest and most famous nations of Europe – the Serb nation, whose history is identified with the struggle for freedom and human dignity – is being blamed, insulted, banished and pilloried by the international community, along with calls for its destruction! 3. And as the culmination of absurdity, a people who in the two great conflicts of the century have suffered a heavy death toll of three million in the defence of civilization against Germanic slavery and Nazi barbarism! 4. At the same time, the most faithful Yugoslav allies of that evil are being praised, encouraged and rewarded (…) 5. Unfortunately, the strong Germanic sense of revenge and the hereditary Croat, Muslim and Albanian hatred towards Serbs seem to have become the standards of Western policy in Yugoslavia.

A discourse world is created: the Serbs are opposed to the US-led West and the Islamic world. People slide into national megalomania (2), typical of numerically small nations. The discourse strategy of justifying the Serbs (2) delegitimizes the West, because what can someone be like who is, metaphorically speaking, ‘pillorying’ the nation-embodiment of universal human ideals. The response to the stereotype of Serbs as barbarians is the exaggeration (3) in terms of victimization. Anti-German stereotypes, which are strong in the Serbian public, delegitimize the Other as the personification of oppressors and ‘Nazi barbarism’. The discourse strategy of a Manichean division of the world (4) justifies us and demonizes them. National identities are (5) essentialized and immutable. Fatalism shows through, because the author is aware that the West cannot be defeated. Nevertheless, it is

present series of nationalist conflicts in motion.’ Nationalism is, thus, good if it is proWestern (5) and bad if used by communists. 15 ������������������������������� Bećirović, K., ‘Zapad i Srbi’, Politika, 31 May 1992.

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declared an enemy and, through a historical analogy, portrayed as a successor to the Germanic Evil. On 14 April 1992, the State Department issued, through the USIS agency, official guidelines to the ‘international community’ on the interpretation of the war in Bosnia–Herzegovina.16 As early as the following day, an editorial appeared in the New York Times (NYT) under the metaphorical headline ‘Stop the Butcher of the Balkans’. The nickname that Slobodan Milošević was never to be rid of is extremely important from the point of view of intertextuality.17 1. Slobodan Milošević, strongman of Serbia and wrecker of Yugoslavia, may not be as ruthless and reckless as Saddam Hussein. 2. But his aggression against the newly independent republic of Bosnia and Herzegovina has become just as blatant – and just as urgently requires a stern response. 3. Unless the international community acts against him now, thousands may die. 4. Even conscientious outsiders have grown confused and weary by the ceaseless, complex civil warfare. 5. But there’s nothing confusing or complex about how much of it arises from the Serbian nationalism whipped up by Mr. Milošević, Europe’s last Communist tyrant. 6. He resorted to force in a vain attempt to keep Slovenia and Croatia from breaking away. 7. Now he has wheeled and lashed out mercilessly at Muslim-majority towns in Bosnia.

16 �������������������������������������������������������������������������������� The international community should consider the Serbian and ‘Yugoslav’ military leadership responsible for the aggression and destabilization directed against Bosnia– Herzegovina. Tanjug Press crveni bilten, April 1992. 17  Butcher of the Balkans is a frequently repeated metaphor. For instance, in the NYT editorial of 8 July 1992, ‘Croatia, the Butcher’s Apprentice’, or in the article by Tim Judah ‘Banker Hurd to fund “Butcher of Belgrade”’, which avoids the politically incorrect use of ‘the Balkans’. This was a metonymical ‘Balkanization of the Serbs’. Serbian neighbours are dislocated from the Balkans, especially Bosnia–Herzegovina, which is ‘an example of the multicultural, tolerant and cosmopolitan West’, while Milošević and Serbia are the embodiment of the dark and violent Balkans (Hansen 2006, 113–14). Ed Vulliamy, Rory Carol and Peter Beaumont, ‘How I Trapped the Butcher of the Balkans’, Observer, 1 July 2001. Ian Traynor, ‘No Smoking Gun for “Balkan Butcher”’, Guardian, 28 February 2004. On 12 March 2006, CNN reported: ‘“Butcher of the Balkans” found dead’.

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8. Bosnia’s people – 44 percent Muslims, 31 percent Serbs and 17 percent Croats – live side by side. 9. Now, by the tens of thousands, they are fleeing the artillery barrages side by side. 10. In contrast to Mr. Milošević’s divisiveness, Bosnia’s freely elected leaders formed an ethnic coalition to try to hold Yugoslavia together. 11. They broadcast news free of the bilious nationalism that poisons the airwaves of neighboring Serbia. 12. They moved to break free of a Serbian-run Yugoslavia only after Slovenia and Croatia declared independence. 13. The US and the European Community have yet to send a strong enough message to Mr. Milošević: Get out.

The discourse strategy of personalization (‘strongman’ of Serbia and ‘wrecker of Yugoslavia’) and the rhetorical device of comparison with Hussein, after the previous year’s US attack on Iraq, heralded Serbia’s fate. The discourse world (2) is completely established by listing all actors: the bad guys are carrying out the action, the good guys are enduring it. The discourse strategy of compulsion is used to persuade people that the bad guy must be met with a ‘serious and resolute response’ in order to protect the victim of ‘blatant aggression’. Humanitarian considerations are used (3) to justify the interventionism of the euphemistically dubbed ‘international community’, that is (13) the USA and the EU. The editorial acknowledges briefly (4) that this is ‘confusing’, ‘ceaseless civil warfare’. It then (5, 6, 7) relativizes this in a Cold War fashion through the discourse strategy of personalization, identifying the ‘Communist tyrant’ who metaphorically ‘whips up Serbian nationalism’ as the sole culprit for the wars in Slovenia, Croatia and Bosnia–Herzegovina. Defining the war as an aggression by Milošević’s Serbia is also accomplished (8–12) through the untrue statement that the three ethnic groups that ‘side by side’ represent ‘Bosnia’s people’ are now ‘fleeing the artillery barrages side by side’, which in spatial terms paints the picture of a container, a limited space from which people are forced to flee regardless of their ethnic background. The most grotesque, and clashing with elementary logic, are the statements that the coalition of Radovan Karadžić, Alija Izetbegović and Stjepan Kljujić tried to save Yugoslavia, and that it fought nationalism ‘that poisons the airwaves of neighboring Serbia’. How should one then explain that Bosniaks were not expelled from Serbia, while in Bosnia–Herzegovina all three ethnic groups, and Bosniaks in particular, were ethnically cleansed? Bosnian Serbs as one man boycotted the referendum for ‘breaking free’, which is a euphemism for Bosnia–Herzegovina’s secession, from ‘Serbian-run

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Yugoslavia’. Therefore, it is an untrue statement that the three Bosnian ethnic communities decided to leave Yugoslavia only after Slovenia and Croatia seceded. Imperatively, although ambiguously, the USA and the EU are instructed to threaten Milošević with using force in order to have him leave Bosnia–Herzegovina, or perhaps power. The Cold War and aggressor–victim frames combine the corresponding discourses and the discourse strategies of passing over in silence, lying, personalization and compulsion. Six weeks after the beginning of the war in Bosnia–Herzegovina, the former speechwriter for Richard Nixon, William Safire, approvingly quoted A. Lewis, creating interpersonality as a discourse network of important persons who publicly speak about the same topic in a similar way with the aim of influencing the authorities and the public, that is of attaining symbolic hegemony. The Serbs needed to be collectively punished.18 A conservative endorsed a liberal in the upcoming elections precisely because of his position on Bosnia–Herzegovina and Serbia: 1. The Serbs have earned a reputation for ferocity. 2. They are now represented by – and not oppressed by – their own dictator, Slobodan Milošević. 3. Sorry, but the law of the jungle has been repealed. 4. No longer should any people get away with barbarism in the name of vengeance.

Thus, as early as in May 1992, (1) the Other was depersonalized and dehumanized with the help of the rhetorical device of irony. Somewhat out of tune with the usual style of writing in the newspapers of the American elite, (2) the leader and the people were identified. The Serbian ‘dictator’ has democratic legitimacy. Depersonalization and dehumanization (3) are also achieved through the metaphorical accusation of ‘the law of the jungle’. A conservative does not need to hide, for the sake of political correctness, behind the guise of distinguishing between ‘bad leaders’ and ‘the misled people’. The Serbs are ‘Balkanized’. The talk is of ‘Serbia’s bloody invasion of the neighbours’, in the face of which ‘George Bush has hidden under the table’. The emotional language was supposed to influence the public, and the cowardice metaphor to disqualify Bush Sr from presidential office. The frame of representing reality is 18 �������������������������������� Safire, W., ‘Punish the Serbs’, NYT, 21 May 1992. Jeane Kirkpatrick, former adviser to R. Reagan, is also quoted approvingly. Moreover, the Pulitzer Prize winner asked the presidential candidates what they would do in order to stop the ‘Serbian aggression’. He was happy only with Bill Clinton’s answer, although he himself advocated harsher measures.

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the imperial one (punishing the ‘barbarians’), and the discourse interventionist, but without the humanitarian ideological veil that liberals are so fond of. The face of the one remaining global power should be saved. Among numerous journalists and columnists who portrayed the Serbs as the Others, a special place is occupied by the double Pulitzer Prize winner, lecturer at Columbia and Harvard, liberal columnist of the NYT and strong opponent of the war in Vietnam, Anthony Lewis. At the beginning of an article dedicated to ethnic cleansing in Bosnia–Herzegovina,19 he provided a description of events with the information on who, where and when ethnically cleansed whom, which established the ‘discourse world’ (Chilton 2004, 54). The frame of the Second World War is used, as well as the Holocaust discourse, the discourse strategy of historical analogy and of compulsion to ‘do something’. The roles are unequivocal: the Serbs are the new Nazis; the Bosniaks the new Jews; and even a new Neville Chamberlain has emerged: 1. President Bush has been a veritable Neville Chamberlain in refusing to face the challenge in Yugoslavia. 2. He has dithered, deferred to a Europe that was looking to him for leadership, refused to call for the international military action that everyone knows is the only way to stop the Serbian aggression. 3. President Bush compared Saddam Hussein to Hitler. 4. I am against such analogies, because they cheapen the Holocaust. 5. But if that one is to be used, it better fits the Serbian leader, Slobodan Milošević, the inventor of ‘ethnic cleansing’.

In an election year, (1) George Bush Sr was being accused of cowardice and called ‘a man of the past’, while Clinton, who, as it is euphemistically put, ‘called for action in Yugoslavia’ was being praised. The rhetorical device of pointing to general knowledge (2) (‘everybody knows’) indicates ‘the social normalization of 19 ������������������������������ Lewis, A., ‘Yesterday’s Man’, NYT, 3 August 1992. On 2 August, Roy Gutman published a Pulitzer Prize-winning story on concentration camps in the Newsday tabloid, and ITN aired distressing footage from Trnopolje. Hence, August 1992 was the month with the most pronounced anti-Serb writing in the US and Western European press. On 4 August, for instance, the NYT published an editorial ‘Milošević is not Hitler, but …’. In formal rhetorical terms, the negation in the first part of the sentence, followed by the conjunction ‘but’, serves to confirm that this is at the very least something very similar to what is being negated. The discourse strategy of historical analogy and the rhetorical devices of simile and metonymy confirm this: ‘Mr. Milošević is only a minor-league Hitler. The London Conference must not become a minor-league Munich’.

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personal models’ (Van Dijk 1995b) and is often used when one has no sufficiently convincing arguments. The columnist rhetorically imposed his view of the Serbs and the situation in the Balkans and the world based on his power and culturally anchored frames (the Second World War, the aggressor vs the victim) as socially relevant. One cannot find a better justification for a war against a country than the historical analogy with Hitler (3). However, the view is expressed (4) against historical analogies that cheapen the Holocaust. But if they are used at all, says Lewis (5), then they better fit Milošević than Hussein, because the former is the ‘inventor of “ethnic cleansing”’. That Milošević invented neither the term nor the practice is not the most important point.20 More important is the relativization of the view on cheapening the Holocaust, because Milošević was not compared with Hitler only like that, but the entire text is dedicated to it. The Second World War frame is present in the victorious countries. It often includes the Holocaust and humanitarian–activist discourses.21 What we have here is actually a sub-pattern of the cognitively ethically more basic frame of the aggressor vs the victim. These discourses were applied in relation to the siege of Sarajevo and several controversial massacres (Vase Miskin street, attacks on Markale vegetable market) as well as the genocidal massacre by General Mladić’s forces in Srebrenica in the first half of July 1995. The Serbian press conveyed reports and statements by international players with misgivings, and the official mouthpiece of the SRS pursued a xenophobic campaign. A text (June 1994) headlined ‘Sorosland’ stated: In addition to the communists, who are again raising not only their heads but their strutting bosom as well, the Soros fund is yet another internationalist dragon threatening this people and its state. In addition to the Shiptar state in Kosovo and Metohija, we are set to get one more parallel state on our own territory – Sorosland.

Because of Milošević’s blockade of the Republika Srpska, the Radicals attacked the SPS as ‘Communists’ and, homogenizing the enemies with internationalism as the only shared feature, lumped them together with the ‘Soros fund’. Extreme nationalism metaphorically spoke of ‘dragons’, fairytale monsters threatening the Serbs. The use of the first person plural ‘we are’ and the possessive pronoun ‘our own’ stresses the ethnic perception of soil regardless of the people who live on it. Intermezzo: 1996–1997 During 1996 and 1997, there was no war in the Balkans. There was a lull in the relations between Serbia and the West. The war in Bosnia–Herzegovina, however, 20 �������������������������������������������������������������������������������� On the distinction between genocide and ethnic cleansing and the history of the phenomena, see Michael Mann (2004). 21 ��������������������� Hansen uses the term genocide discourse (Hansen 2006, 111–14).

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was a topic. Ed Vulliamy,22 a Guardian journalist, wrote23 ‘Omarska was a concentration camp in northwestern Bosnia, run by Serbs and dedicated to the humiliation and murder of Bosnian Muslims and Croats. It seemed unbelievable that a network of such camps – with their echo of the Third Reich – could have existed in the heart of Europe, hidden from view for three months while thousands were slaughtered and those who remained were kept skeletal, bloodied by torture and living in abject, desolate terror.’ Through the Second World War frame, historical analogy and the use of emotionally loaded words, the tragedy that befell Bosniaks and Croats is described and evaluated. The metaphor ‘in the heart of Europe’ points to the vulnerability and importance of Bosnia–Herzegovina, as well as to the moral unbearableness of the recent event. However, the writer does not mention that similar camps dedicated to the ‘humiliation and murder’ of Serbs existed, for example the Bosniak-held Čelebić or the Croat-held Dretelj. Nazis are recognized in the homogenized and depersonalized Serbs. What is requested of them is a confrontation with the past similar to that of Germany after the Second World War. Should one expect of a left-wing liberal to demand a confrontation with the past of the most powerful nations with an imperial past and ambitions? Instead, regret is expressed over the fact that the Serbs remain undefeated,24 because that prevents a confrontation with the past. 1. We had the same argument here, over and over again: can such a whirlwind of violence be dictated by an elite that dupes an otherwise kindly, boozy folk? 2. Here at the village of Omarska, in the shadow of an accursed mine, everyone knew and nobody objected. 3. There are soldiers and pretty girls sipping coffee at the Wiski Bar, where the main street meets the railway siding that runs into the mine. 4. For four months, as they freebooted around the scrappy streets, these people were yards away from the screaming and the mutilation. 5. They would have watched the ‘ethnic cleansing’ convoys pass, out on the road to nowhere. 6. I was part of such a convoy of 1,600 wretched Bosnian Muslim deportees myself; we were herded over the mountains at gunpoint, through a terrifying

22 ��������������������� Vulliamy, E. (1994), Season in Hell: Understanding Bosnia’s War (New York and London: Simon & Schuster). 23 ���������������������������������������������� Vulliamy, E., ‘Middle Managers of Geonocide’, The Nation, 10 June 1996. 24 ����������������������������������������������������������������� ‘Undefeated, the Serbs choose to “hide reality from themselves”’.

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A drunken Balkan man (1) is a favourite image in the West. Generalization (1, 2) is used, a powerful rhetorical device aimed at homogenizing the enemy as the embodiment of Evil. An indication of time (4) is given in ‘for four months’, while ‘they freebooted’ in the streets, ordinary Serbs were ‘yards away’ from ‘the screaming and the mutilation’. They would have watched (5) the ‘ethnic cleansing’ convoys pass, metaphorically speaking, ‘out on the road to nowhere’. The metaphors and the emotional language reinforce the impression of heartlessness of those ‘who knew, but did not object’. The personal testimony (6) reinforces the persuasiveness of the story; the identification with the people in trouble is expressed through the pronoun we. The mention of a ‘whisky bar’ (3, 7) contrasts the suffering of the people in the nearby camp with the moral numbness caused by the hatred of those who are having fun in the vicinity. The roles are divided along the lines of ethnic stereotypes. By quoting the local Serbs (8), an analogy is drawn with the ‘negationism’ and ‘revisionism’ of the Holocaust. Denial shows the lack of strength for confronting the past. In 1996 and 1997, the opposition, and even some supporters of the Serbian government, sought to cast the West in a somewhat pleasanter light. Only the Radicals consistently insisted on an anti-Western position:25 ‘Belgrade has turned into a dirty, smoky SALOON. Belgrade is choking in vice and kitsch “made in the USA”.’ Belgrade is metaphorically seen as a ‘Wild West’ saloon. Milošević is an American agent who is breaking Serbdom like Gorbachev Russia, and ‘vice’ and ‘kitsch’ are typical of all things American. The adjectives ‘dirty’ and ‘smoky’ tell how the West affects Serbia: it soils and chokes it. The contrast is emphasized: ‘cheap American kitsch’ is choking the ‘rich Serbian culture’. The text is an example of the Occidentalist discourse in the clash of civilizations frame. Kosovo: The Final Act of the Yugoslav Tragedy Starting from 1991, individuals of different ideological orientations (JohannGeorg Reissmueller, Anthony Lewis, William Safire, Jeane Kirkpatrick, Ronald Reagan, Zbigniew Brzezinski, Margaret Thatcher, French New Philosophers, etc.) recommended the bombing of Serbia. On 24 March 1999, their wishes were 25 ������������������� ‘Srpski Gorbačov’, Velika Srbija, January 1996.

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answered. An article by the NYT columnist Thomas L. Friedman,26 a Pulitzer Prize winner, discussed possible options: 1. But those are our options: Beat the Serbs until they learn to love the Kosovars. 2. Invade Kosovo and own it forever. 3. Cut and run and bear the stain forever. 4. Or bomb and talk and hope to build a messy diplomatic solution from the ashes of Kosovo. 5. Oh, there’s a fifth option: Put your hands together and pray that the Clinton team knows something that you don’t.

The fact that Serbs too are Kosovars (1) is often overlooked; the Albanization of the term ‘Kosovar’ ethnically cleanses first the language and then the reality. The discourse strategy of animalization makes possible the most cruel showdown with the disobedient. As if they were animals being taught through classic conditioning, the Serbs should (the word which was left out in the original, but is implied) be beaten until they learn how to love the Albanians. If this is irony, it is inappropriate. It is also recommended (2) to create a colony in the twenty-first century. The temporal adverb ‘forever’ implies that the most powerful role of the USA is guaranteed for good. In a different context, the adverb (3) is linked to a metaphor which expresses moral prohibition. It is interesting that the first option did not entail any ‘stain of shame’. An empire can show heartlessness, but not faintheartedness. The adjectives dirty and messy (4) serve the function of the metaphor for ‘a diplomatic solution’, which places in the foreground the moral dubiousness and the practical complexity of such solutions. Tacitly, bombing is morally purer and practically simple. Nevertheless, it is less humane and it metaphorically turns Kosovo into ‘ashes’. The implicit criticism of the Clinton administration (5) is of a jovial character, and the article exhibits the imperial frame and interventionist discourse of justifying the bombing of Serbia. Martin Woollacott, a liberal columnist writing for the Guardian, one week after the start of the NATO bombing wrote:27 1. What happened at Rambouillet was that Europe and America laid out their terms for continuing the partnership, which were that Milošević should hand

26 ���������������������������������������������������� Friedman, T.L., ‘Bomb and Call in George Mitchell’, NYT, 2 April 1999. 27 ��������������������������������������������������������������������������� Woollacott, M., ‘How the Man we Could-do-business-with is Becoming the Man we must Destroy’, The Guardian, 3 April 1999.

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Essentially, this is an accurate interpretation (1) of the Rambouillet ‘alibi diplomacy’.28 Milošević refused the indecent proposal. What is passed over in silence is that some opposition members did not join the government in order to be able to conclude that everybody is on ‘the same road to perdition’. In other words, there is no politician in Serbia with whom one could talk. What is there to do with a society cultivating a ‘narrow and morally blind Serbian view of the world’? The Serbs are homogenized, depersonalized, dehumanized and demonized. Woollacott made topical the leitmotif of the geostrategic concern: Serbia as Russia’s agent in the Balkans.29 The headlines stressed the importance of a NATO victory ‘for us’. The personal pronoun in the first person plural refers to the West, that is NATO and the political–military establishment of the USA and the EU. NATO sought a new role after the Cold War, and it was believed that the role of the world policeman was fitting: ‘Nato’s technical problems in the Balkans are the consequence of too slow a shift from territorial defence to intervention capability, for what we want from Nato has changed in the last 10 years. People want this military instrument to be used to put things right in societies where normal political life has broken down.’ The pronoun in the first person plural ‘we’ and euphemisms (‘a shift from territorial defence to intervention capability’) persuade the public that it wants NATO to transform itself from a defensive to an offensive organization. Who decides what normal political life is, and when and where it has broken down? The answer ‘people want’ points to the ‘social normalization of personal models’. UK liberals were no strangers to the imperial frame in the past either. In Serbia, the activities of William Walker, head of the OSCE monitoring mission in Kosovo, the Rambouillet conference and the bombing led to antiWestern hysteria, illustrated by a press release issued by the Serbian Writers’ Association:30

28 ���������������������������������������������������������������������������������� An unacceptable proposal is offered, and the refusal is then used as an alibi for bombing. A term used by Živorad Kovačević, former SFRY ambassador in Washington. 29 ����������������������������������������������������������������������������� Woollacott, M., ‘Russia may be Bluffing. Nato must Win, as the Importance of Victory to us is Great’, The Guardian, 10 April 1999. 30 �������������������������������������������������������������������������������� Udruženje književnika Srbije, ‘Rasistički, pravoslavofobični i antisrpski akt’, Politika, 3 February 1999.

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1. Before Europe got terminally ill, its greatest bards, in the name of humanism, defended the Serbian people, the Serbian holy objects that are older than the first mention of Shiptars in history and the Serbian culture, which preserved the dignity of the roots of European civilization. 2. Still, contemporary barbarians want to create on the soil of Christian Europe, in addition to Albania and Turkey, two more militant anti-Christian states, Bosnia and Kosovo. 3. Although numerous world agencies (slipping from the control of bancocracy) showed that in the village of Račak (15 January 1999) the Yugoslav army and Serbian police did not perpetrate a massacre – which the American executor and man without qualities William Walker tried to fabricate – the Contact Group puts an ultimatum to the Hague tribunal to launch an investigation into this issue in a sovereign state (Serbia and Yugoslavia). 4. The Contact Group (like a Gauleiter guard) issues an ultimatum demanding that members of the Yugoslav Army and the Serbian Ministry of Interior be suspended.

The occasion for the press release is an ultimatum that the Contact Group (28 January) issued to the SRY after the controversial event in Račak (15 January 1999). Humanism, Christianity, Europeanhood and Serbhood (1) are interwoven and equalized. Metaphorically, Europe is terminally ill because it is helping Muslims who are a priori ‘anti-Christian’ and ‘non-European’. The Orientalist discourse completely overlooks the possibility and reality of the secular character of some Muslim states, and the Serbian culture in an Orientalist/narcissistic fashion is considered to be the guardian of the ‘dignity of the roots of European civilization’. The passive Europe is pitied rather than reproached. The main enemies (2) are ‘contemporary barbarians’, the Americans, who are stereotypically uncultured and uneducated. Paradoxically, the secularized Western Europe is judged more favourably than the devout USA, although the discourse is saturated with Christian conservatism. Robert Musil’s metaphor (3) stereotypically suggests the insensitivity and immorality of W. Walker and the Americans. Bearers of the anti-fascist coalition (4) are identified with the Nazis. The clash of civilizations frame is linked to the Second World War frame, with the discourse strategy of vicitimizing us and demonizing the other. Beyond 5 October 2000 The frames of representing reality applied in the 1990s are still being reproduced today, although the Serbs and Serbia are not portrayed as enemies. Hague tribunal trials, crises (for example the assassination of premier Đinđić, Milošević’s death,

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the status of Kosovo) and international court rulings that do not correspond to 1990s frames all lead to this reproduction. Thus, on the occasion of the 27 February 2007 ruling by the Hague-based International Court of Justice, Marlise Simons wrote in the NYT an article headlined ‘Court Declares Bosnia Killings were Genocide’: 1. The International Court of Justice on Monday for the first time called the massacre of Bosnian Muslims at Srebrenica in 1995 an act of genocide, but determined that Serbia itself was not guilty of the enormous crime. 2. It freed Serbia of the stigma of being a genocidal nation and absolved it from having to pay war reparations, as demanded by Bosnia. 3. But the judges ruled that demonstrating a pattern of conduct or of atrocities was ‘too broad’ to qualify for the definition of genocide. 4. In essence, they did not answer the question often asked in The Hague: when does ethnic cleansing become genocide?

The headline is a half-truth, at best. Not all ‘Bosnia killings’, but only the Srebrenica massacre, was declared an act of genocide, but it is necessary to align the court ruling with the aggressor–victim frame; hence the headline, because many people do not have time to read entire articles. The discourse strategy of victimization of Bosniaks, at the cost of misleading the readers, is still at work, despite the fact that under the headline (1) a full explanation is given which includes the statement that Serbia is not guilty of ‘the enormous crime’. Obviously, (2) Serbia was considered genocidal. The adjective ‘genocidal’ demonizes a nation or a state, seriously calling into question any demand by its members because they are a priori illegitimate. The victimization secures the monopoly over the status of victim for the Bosniaks. If there were also often victims among Serbs and Croats, then they should not be ethnicized.31 The article systematically applies the discourse strategy of passing over in silence. Hence, the argumentation of ‘Bosnia advocates’ is presented extensively, while it is not mentioned that Bosnian Serbs did not endorse the lawsuit. Also, no quotes by Serbian lawyers are cited. The prosecution expert witness, historian András Riedlmayer, is quoted as listing destroyed mosques, Catholic churches and monasteries, and ‘vacated municipalities’. However, no words of the defence witnesses are quoted. The selection of quoted sources and the syntagm ‘demonstrating a pattern of conduct or of atrocities’ (3) suggest to the reader that, if not genocide, then something similar took place in the entire territory 31 �������������������������������������������������������������������������������� The total death toll in Bosnia–Herzegovina was 100,000, including both fighters and civilians, of whom 65.8 per cent were Bosniaks, 25.6 per cent Serbs and 8.01 per cent Croats. Bosniaks, however, made up as much as 83.33 per cent of all civilian victims. Ljudski gubici u Bosni i Hercegovini 1991–1995, Istraživačko-dokumentacioni centar Sarajevo; http://www.idc.org.ba/prezentacija/rezultati_istrazivanja.htm (10 August 2007).

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of Bosnia–Herzegovina. Finally (4), the main conclusion of the article is voiced, because the sentence starts by emphasizing the ‘essential’. The judges, referred to by the pronoun ‘they’, which diminishes their authority, ‘did not answer the question’ about the difference between ethnic cleansing and genocide. The text on the ruling, which starts with a headline that misleads the public, ends in dissatisfaction with the judges and the ruling, which disavows the headline. The hermeneutical circle closes: the NYT is unhappy because the ruling clashes with the picture of reality which it had created over 15 years and which it continues to promote irrespective of the court ruling; this explains the half-true headline. The aggressor–victim frame and the humanitarian–activist discourse are still at work. In Serbia, the status of Kosovo makes problematic afresh the attitude towards the West, because the USA and the EU are considered responsible for ‘taking away holy Serbian soil’, ‘the heart of Serbia’, ‘the Serbian Jerusalem’ and ‘15 per cent of the territory’. Politika’s military commentator and columnist Miroslav Lazanski linked the NATO bombing and the status of Kosovo:32 1. Vidoje Tomić was a guard on the Belgrade–Bar railway on the stretch passing through Bosnia–Herzegovina, i.e. through the Republika Srpska. 2. When he was younger, he loved listening to stories about his famous cousin, US Navy Sergeant-Major Petar Tomić, who died a heroic death on 7 December 1941 at Pearl Harbor, saving his friends on the warship ‘USS Utah’ under a hail of Japanese bombs and torpedoes. 3. Many years have passed since and Vidoje Tomić grew up believing that his cousin’s heroic death in 1941 contributed to the indestructible US–Serbian alliance. 4. Did not Serbs rescue US pilots in the Second World War? 5. And that thing with Korea, too, we almost offered to go there under the UN flag to help the Americans. 6. And then, all of a sudden, the Americans bombed the Serbs in Bosnia– Herzegovina. 7. He did not want to talk any more about his cousin from the warship ‘USS Utah’, a holder of the highest US war medal. 8. And then came the NATO war against Yugoslavia in 1999.

32 ������������������������������������ Lazanski, M., ‘Čiča Vidoje i NATO’, Politika, 31 March 2007.

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Within the aggressor vs victim frame and through the archetype of David’s struggle against Goliath, the self-pitying nature of Serb nationalism is expressed. The Serbs are a victim of the powerful and ungrateful USA and EU. Uncle Vidoje is a stereotypical metaphor of the Serb people: elderly, poor, honourable, loyal, courageous, selfless, honest and not understood by the ungrateful world. A rhetorical question is used (4) for the known fact that the Chetniks rescued US pilots in the Second World War as a rhetorical device, and the next thing mentioned as an argument in favour of the ‘US–Serbian alliance’ (5) is something that did not take place. The author says ‘we almost offered’ to go to Korea. The word ‘almost’ indicates that we did not ‘offer’ it. The ‘we’ refers to the Serbs, and at the time Serbia did not exist on the international scene; there was only the socialist Yugoslavia. This is an instance of megalomania, because ‘our help’ to Americans in Korea is discussed in a serious, and not ironic, tone. The idyllic narrative comes to an abrupt (6) stop, because ‘all of a sudden’ the Americans bombed the Serbs in Bosnia–Herzegovina. The context of the bombing is not discussed – the crime committed in Srebrenica on behalf of the Serbs, the US interests – because this hinders the victimization of the Serbs. The Americans are assigned an active role: they ‘bomb’; the Serbs suffer passively. It is made known metaphorically (7) how great the disappointment of the Serbs is at their ingratitude. The language is, understandably, more direct (8) than the language of NATO officials and many Western journalists who euphemistically called the bombing ‘action’, ‘intervention’ or ‘campaign’. The metaphor emphasizes the difference in the balance of forces between the Serbs, ‘the old Uncle Vidoje’ (aged 70) and the West, ‘NATO’s most elite commandos’. The rhetorical question ‘was Uncle Vidoje killed “in the name of peace”’ expresses irony, and the ironization of political correctness (13) shows Euro-scepticism.

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Conclusion The aim of this survey was to identify and analyse the dominant frames of representing reality and the attendant discourses. By no means do we claim that we have shown all the existing frames representing the relations between the West and Serbia; the limited space did not allow this. For instance, the left-wing anti-imperialist frame of N. Chomsky and E. Herman, and the very interesting polemical exchange between the left-wing liberals from The Guardian, led by E. Vulliamy, and the leftists gathered around the journal Living Marxism and the magazine Z-net have, thus, remained out of reach. Several dominant frames and discourses in the USA and Great Britain vis-à-vis the Serbs have been identified. Although in reality they are often combined, for the purposes of the research they were analysed separately. The Cold War frame and discourse dominated in the liberal and social democratic press up to the beginning of the war in Bosnia– Herzegovina, while the conservative press combined this pattern and discourse with the clash of civilizations frame and the Balkanist discourse. With the outbreak of the war in Bosnia–Herzegovina, the frame aggressor–victim and the humanitarian–activist discourse prevailed in the liberal and social democratic press, with the sub-variant of the Second World War frame and the Holocaust discourse, sometimes interwoven with the Cold War frame. Finally, the imperial frame and the interventionist discourse were also applied during and especially towards the end of the 1990s. In Serbia, the clash of civilizations frame and the Occidentalist discourse were dominant, combined with the Orientalist discourse when it came to the attitude towards the Muslims, and especially the aggressor–victim frame, accompanied by a self-pitying nationalist discourse.

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Chapter 6

Relations between Montenegro and Serbia from 1991 to 2006: An Analysis of Media Discourse Đorđe Pavićević and Srđan Đurović

The disintegration of the Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia (SFRY) provoked much violence. Analysts are unanimous in their view that the media played a significant role in the upholding of aggressive aspirations of politicians and stirring up violence. They created and transmitted a picture of the other that backed up violence-generating politics. Our paper is concerned with the creation and transmission of such a picture of the other or, to be more precise, the picture of Serbia and the Serbs in Montenegro. The separation of Serbia and Montenegro differs from other such cases in the process of the disintegration of the SFRY, due to the absence of violence in the course of Montenegro’s acquisition of independence. Another characteristic of this case is that the media, which had taken an active part in stirring up and expanding the political conflict in Serbia and Montenegro, rarely exceeded the limits of political conflict, and did not enter into any identity dispute. The media actively supported specific political elites and took sides in their disputes, but rarely highlighted ethnic or cultural diversity. Indeed, until the collapse of the common state, they only cautiously and indirectly added identity elements to the debate. The dispute crystallized around the need for two independent states, vs the survival of the common state of Serbia and Montenegro. Neither side challenged the tradition of independent statehood in Montenegro, on the one hand, or that the two peoples were intertwined by bonds of ethnic and cultural similarity, on the other. The arguments used were more pragmatic and political in character than divided along friend/enemy lines. Within this Serbian–Montenegrin dispute, the other was not viewed as an enemy but, rather, as a close yet bad partner. The only difference lay in the fact that a remedy for one side was the renewal of the original bond and for the other – divorce. We tested this thesis in our analysis of the media coverage of relations between Serbia and Montenegro from the beginning of the Yugoslav crisis in 1990 until the collapse of the common state in 2006. The analysis includes: (i) a semantic analysis of print media language; (ii) an analysis of discursive strategies focused on the mutual presentation; and (iii) the establishment of the link between media coverage and sociopolitical context (see Fairclough 2000). Naturally, one must

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take into account the limits of this type of analysis, which refers only to some of the public discourse representations about the other and probably would not have been the same if other political and social aspects of the separation of the two republics had been considered. A broader picture would probably be different. The findings refer to the discursive strategies used for the presentation of the other in the specified media only, and it is not advisable to generalize from them with undue haste. (i) For the purposes of this paper we analysed some 1,200 articles from the main print media, which cover a broad spectrum of the reading public in Montenegro, including the Serbian media that are distributed in Montenegro. We focused on Montenegro because the crisis caused by disintegration manifested itself as an internal state crisis in Montenegro rather than as an inter-state conflict between Serbia and Montenegro. The reason for this lies in the fact that the conflict was reduced to an inter-party contest for political supremacy in Montenegro, whereby one side was an exponent of the leading political circles in Belgrade and openly represented their interests. Therefore, Serbia very rarely took any direct action towards Montenegro. Instead, this was done by Serbian politicians through their Montenegrin proxies. For our analysis we selected the Montenegrin dailies Vijesti, Pobjeda and Dan, and also the weekly magazine Monitor. Pobjeda is a pro-government newspaper which in its reporting followed and justified all changes in the politics of the Montenegrin government. Vijesti was launched as an independent daily newspaper, which retained a slight distance vis-à-vis the regime. However, in all elements essential for our analysis the paper generally supported the government’s policies. The daily newspaper Dan was founded on 31 December 1999, under the control of the pro-Serb Socialist People’s Party (SNP), which supported Slobodan Milošević’s policies and promoted a common state. The weekly magazine Monitor was the only important print medium in Montenegro during the 1990s that openly criticized Slobodan Milošević’s policies, policies which otherwise were supported by the entire Montenegrin political elite at the time. This weekly magazine gathered together a small group of independent intellectuals, including some of those who openly endorsed the idea of an independent Montenegro. With regard to the Serbian media, we analysed Večernje novosti, being the most highly circulated newspaper distributed in Montenegro. Until 1999, when Dan was founded, Večernje novosti was the main promoter of pro-Serbian politics in Montenegro. In our analysis of the events, we also used some articles from other Serbian print media as controls, namely Politika, Politika ekspres, Borba and Danas. Otherwise, this refers especially to the events to which Večernje novosti paid little attention. These newspapers were also distributed in Montenegro, but their readership was much smaller.

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(ii) In our analysis of the dominant discursive strategies we focused attention on: •

•

•

The dominant media practices in the transmission of messages – suppression of facts, indirect transmission, highlighted agency news headlines, citations, distortion of the meaning, quotations out of context, anticipated ‘conventional wisdom’ (Chilton, 2004), ‘story attribution’ (Bell, 2000), ‘opposite mode’ (Hall, 1980) and extensive use of quotation marks (Klemperer, 2007). The dominant theses in the presentation of the opposing sides, which can be identified as relatively stable discursive strategies within a specific time frame. Argumentation strategies used for winning over supporters.

On the basis of our analysis, we singled out four characteristic periods during which the relations between Serbia and Montenegro were presented in different ways. From 1990 to 1996, the media promoted a policy of non-differentiation and close ties between Serbia and Montenegro. In the 1997–2000 period, the dominant media in Montenegro distanced themselves from Milošević’s policies and pointed to the dysfunctionality of the union. During the period 2001–2003, the thesis on dysfunctionality was reinforced, while at the same time a pragmatic policy of institutional independence was promoted. The period 2004–2006 was characterized by overt promotion of separation and a political struggle for independence on one side and for the retention of the common state on the other. (iii) In the analysis of the sociopolitical context, within the established periodization, we singled out those events that explicitly raised the question of relations between Serbia and Montenegro. The selected events were also points of radical disagreement between the two political options in Montenegro and milestones in the process of redefining the relations between the two republics. These events caused a media ‘storm’ in Montenegro. The following events, selected according to the above periodization, are distinguished by the culmination of the rhetoric that dominated in the period in question: I. The Period of the Rhetoric of Non-differentiation (1997–1997) The siege of Dubrovnik  This event was selected because of the direct involvement of Montenegrin citizens in this conflict in the former Yugoslavia, and absolute identification of Serbia and Montenegro with respect to the war aims. The Badinter Commission’s opinion on the former Yugoslavia and the adoption of the constitution of the FRY  On the basis of this legal expert opinion the fate of the Federal Republic of Yugoslavia (FRY) was formally sealed and the question of Montenegro’s future status was raised for the first time. Although the debate

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about Montenegrin statehood was politically closed for the moment, questions concerning the functionality of the federation, which would play an important role in later developments, were raised. II. ‘Discomfort within the Marriage’ (1997–2000) The split of the ruling Democratic Party of Socialists (DPS) and the Montenegrin presidential election in 1997  This event marked the beginning of an ideological split in Montenegro. During this period the discursive agenda, which would dominate in the subsequent period until the separation of the two republics, was defined. NATO bombing  The NATO military action against the FRY was the most dramatic situation faced by Montenegro during the period analysed. The Montenegrin policy of distancing itself from Milošević reached a rhetorical climax when the republic agreed to seek special status in relation to NATO and pursued a specific policy of shielding Montenegro from the NATO air strikes. The introduction of the dual currency system in Montenegro  The introduction of the German Mark as a parallel currency and later as the only legal tender in Montenegro exemplifies the beginning of a radical institutional separation of the two republics. III. ‘Dysfunctionality of the Marriage’ (2000–2003) The October changes and the demise of Milošević  The collapse of the Milošević regime and the democratic changes in Serbia raised the question of redefining Montenegro’s relations with Serbia. The handover of the former President of the FRY, Slobodan Milošević, to the International Crime Tribunal for the Former Yugoslavia in The Hague This event confirmed that a new direction in Belgrade’s new politics had been ushered in. At the same time it caused a procedural controversy that was seen as new evidence of Serbia’s unreliability. IV. Dual Track Rhetoric (2003–2006) The erection of a church on the top of Mount Rumija by the Serbian Orthodox Church, with the help of a Yugoslav Army helicopter, was an event that symbolized the political dimension of religious and cultural conflict. Montenegro’s referendum on independence, held on 21 May 2006, was the climactic and final act of separation between Serbia and Montenegro.

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The Period of the Rhetoric of ‘Non-differentiation’ Our analysis of the media coverage in this period is based on three important processes: the conflict in the territory of Croatia; the actions of the international community; and the relations between Serbia and Montenegro under the new circumstances. As a ‘state-run’ medium during that period, Pobjeda was closely following the policies pursued by the Montenegrin government, which were the policies of preserving the federal system that actually implied its alignment with Serbia. A comparison between Večernje novosti and Pobjeda does not reveal any significant semantic or other language-related differences. The position of the Montenegrin authorities was identical to that of ‘official Belgrade’, and this had a direct bearing on the media coverage. Apart from their specific geographic differences, there was almost no distancing from Serbia. In both republics Croatia and Slovenia were treated as ‘others’, ‘separatists’ and ‘alienated brothers’. The language analysis points to an identical pattern of discursive de-legitimization and anathematization of the other side in all the examined media. The position taken was that of moral superiority, which was accompanied by the discrediting of the ‘separatists’, ‘alienated brothers’, ‘rowdies’ and ‘criminals’. This was supported by a strategy of reviving old historical divisions along religious lines (‘Catholic vs Orthodox’) and, even more so, along ideological lines (‘Ustashas and fascists vs anti-fascists’). The Siege of Dubrovnik The media coverage of the attack against Dubrovnik was based on the time-tested strategy of discrediting the other, in order to mobilize the population. Hence, the media reported that ‘the Ustashas have entrenched themselves’ in Dubrovnik and that they ‘terrorise the surrounding population’. The war was allegedly waged in order to pull the army troops out of ‘Ustasha hands’. The Yugoslav People’s Army (JNA) was depicted as a ‘humane’, ‘liberation’ army, which defended itself and (it also defended) the population. The climax of this rhetoric was the idiom ‘war for peace’ which, as a rationale for war, was launched by the then high-ranking official of the DPS, Svetozar Marović. Pobjeda even published a special photo edition in two instalments under the same title (16 November 1991). It contained pictures of soldiers on the battlefield depicted as ‘human beings’/wounded soldiers, soldiers with girls, and so on. ‘A just war’ was the war into which We were driven (whereby who ‘We’ were was not clearly defined). The first specific feature of the articles in Pobjeda to distinguish them from Večernje novosti was the position assigned to Montenegro in the conflict, which was reflected in the attacks against Dubrovnik. Pobjeda conceived its war coverage as a specific chronicle of Montenegro’s contribution to the JNA activities. Columns  ��������������������������������������������������������������������������������� The articles bore headlines like ‘More than a Treason’, ‘The Population Flees to Escape the Ustasha Dagger’, ‘It Would have Been Better if We Had Never Been United’.

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with headlines such as ‘Volunteers from the Battlefield’, ‘Montenegrins on the Slavonian Battlefield’ and so on were introduced very quickly. The other specific feature was the intense daily coverage of the events in and around Dubrovnik. This specific media fixation was also reflected in the editorial policy. The front pages were primarily devoted to the activities of ‘our’ army in Dubrovnik. The selected readers’ letters fitted into the overall strategy of personalizing the war in order to justify it. There was a strong tendency in the media coverage to highlight personal stories. This discursive strategy was based on the authority of the personal experiences of ‘victims’ and ‘heroes’. The dignity and the moral correctness of the position were supported by distorted historical generalizations about the ‘treason’ committed by ‘inferior’ Croats, as well as by invoking Croatia’s fascist past. The dual identity that could be detected in the media resembled a specific form of schizophrenia. In Pobjeda, the adjectives ‘Serbian’ and ‘Montenegrin’ were virtually synonyms, while ‘Montenegrin’ was added to ‘Serbian’ mechanically, by automatism. The least line of difference was when the paper simply wrote about ‘our army’ and ‘our state’, whereby it was assumed that everyone knew what was meant by ‘our’. At the same time, Montenegrin statehood was never brought into question. The adopted position was one of two ‘brotherly peoples’, who at best could be described by the idiom ‘Montenegro – the Serbian Sparta’. However, Montenegrin statehood was mentioned mostly in an historical context, to emphasize that the statehood of Serbia and Montenegro, as opposed to the other republics, had already been recognized at the Berlin Congress in 1878. In so doing, greater emphasis was placed on their common identity relative to the other republics than on their differences. At that time, one could observe in the media a proliferation of the identity matrix ‘Montenegrins of Serbian descent’. This was an attempt to reconcile Montenegro’s state identity with the principle of national identity. The Report of the Badinter Commission and the Constitution of the FRY Montenegrin reactions to the Badinter Commission’s report in 1991 marked the beginning of a new rhetoric which insisted that state independence could also be pursued in a situation of cultural and national similarities. This was the first time that Serbia and Montenegro were mentioned as independent and separate political entities. Their joint life was not brought into question, but neither was it regarded as self-evident. Rather, it was linked to the freely expressed will of the citizens. This attitude was taken vis-à-vis the international community in response to the Badinter Commission’s offer to the republics to hold a referendum on independence, which would be recognized by the European Community as the basis for their independence. At first, Montenegro accepted this offer, but this acceptance was later qualified. This period is interesting because of the variety of discursive strategies of keeping silent and concealing the acceptance of this offer. In the above-mentioned media it was not possible to find the statement made by the Montenegrin

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President, Momir Bulatović, to the effect that Montenegro would ask the European Community to recognize its statehood. It is only possible to find the subsequent interpretations and a direct denial by Bulatović himself (Novosti, 6 December 1991). According to the media, the statehood of Serbia and Montenegro had not been in question since the Berlin Congress in 1878, so a new application for the recognition of statehood was senseless and had no legal grounds. The media in Serbia and Montenegro tried to conceal any differences in their political views. According to the Serbian media, the protests in Montenegro were staged against something that never was (‘Protests of the People’s Front of Yugoslavia in front of the Assembly of the SFRY and in Titograd’). The media also printed excerpts from the dramatic speech made by Matija Bećković at a meeting in Herceg Novi, in which he mentioned only one people who should make the decision: ‘These are decisive days for the Serbian people who stand at a crossroads and by the crucifix. We must select our path at the crossroads and take our aim and hope from the crucifix. We do not attack anyone but, as can be seen, we must defend what is ours’ (Novosti, 25 December 1991). This ‘oneness’ of Serbia and Montenegro was more crystallized when it came to the attitude toward the international community. In this context, ‘We’ was Yugoslavia, or Serbia and Montenegro. The news and articles were taken in full from the Tanjug News Agency. No news deviated from the media course chartered by Belgrade. An article carrying the headline ‘Reckoning without the Host’ (Račun bez krčmara, Pobjeda, 8 December 1991), which analysed the effects of the Badinter Commission’s report, was a text taken from the Tanjug News Agency. Throughout the entire text there was no mention of Montenegro as one of the potentially independent republics. It dealt exclusively with the report and its effect on Serbia, and argued that other republics had secessionist intentions which contravened the constitution of the SFRY. The new constitution of the FRY was drawn up on the same platform, without any great public debate, as a compromise between the political elites who institutionalized their agreement. The media only indirectly alluded to the potential dysfunctionality of the federation as stemming from the difference in size between the two federal units. This they did by rejecting the allegedly possible counter-

 ������������������������������������������������������������������������������ Even when the Montenegrin Parliament passed the decision to hold a referendum to choose between Montenegro’s independence and a common state with Serbia, the print media were still writing that ‘They overturned the EC Declaration with an overwhelming majority of votes (83 vs. 90 of those present) … because Montenegro’s statehood has been recognised since the Berlin Congress in 1878 and, in addition to Serbia, it is the only state that brought its own sovereignty and statehood into Yugoslavia’ (Novosti, 25 December 1991).  ������������������������������������������������������������������������������� Other print media headlines were: ‘Contrary to the European Norms’ (2 December 2001) and ‘The Badinter Passion’ (10 July 1992). The writing of Večernje novosti and Politika was almost identical: ‘The Badinter Document Has No Legal Grounds’ (14 July 1992), ‘Prominent Lawyers Support Politics and Not Science’ (19 July 1992).

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argument that a federation consisting of such different units was not viable. Only a few independent media and associations used various arguments to challenge the functionality of such a state.

Discomfort within the Marriage This period began with the split in the ruling party – the Democratic Party of Socialists in Montenegro – and the victory of Milo Đukanović in the presidential election in 1997, and ended with the fall of the Milošević regime in October 2000. During this period, one could clearly identify Milo Đukanović’s political strategy of overtly distancing Montenegro from Slobodan Milošević’s policies and providing declarative support for the preservation of a common state, while at the same time separating the two republics institutionally. In this period it became possible to single out two political blocs in Montenegro that differed in their rhetoric and political agenda vis-à-vis Serbia and on the issue of state union. The dominant discursive strategies launched in Pobjeda and Vijesti referred to: 1. The lack of democracy and the economic inefficiency in Serbia’s politics, which was disastrous for Montenegro. This theme dominated during the election campaign in 1997 and provided the basis for distancing Montenegro from Serbia during the subsequent period, until its separation. 2. The designation of Montenegro as the next victim of Milošević’s politics of instability aimed at keeping him in power. This hypothesis could clearly be perceived in the media coverage of the introduction of the German Mark as the national currency and the formation of the Seventh Battalion of the Yugoslav Army. 3. The non-functionality and violation of the principle of equality of the two republics in decision-making on issues falling within the competence of the FRY. The NATO bombing was presented as a result of ‘Milošević’s disastrous policies’. ‘Montenegro never passed any decision on Kosovo’, and therefore should not suffer the consequences of NATO’s involvement either, it was argued. On the other hand, Večernje novosti, Politika and Dan characterized the policies of the Đukanović regime as: 1. ‘Mafia-style and criminal’, since it was allegedly transforming Montenegro into a ‘personal police state’, based on corruption and the personal enrichment of the ‘power holders and Milo Đukanović’s sycophants’. 2. Anti-Yugoslav and anti-Serbian, since it was building its identity on cooperation with Montenegro’s traditional enemies, while at the same time renouncing specific Montenegrin tradition.

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3. Separatist. This hypothesis was timidly advanced as early as 1997, but gained momentum after 1999. Its aim was to prove that separatism was not the authentic will of the Montenegrin people, but was imported and imposed from the outside. The Split within the Ruling Montenegrin Party The political separation of Montenegro and Serbia began in 1997, after the staging of mass protests against Slobodan Milošević in Serbia. The rift within the ruling party in Montenegro, the DPS, was personified in the conflict between the two leaders, Milo Đukanović and Momir Bulatović, who adopted different stances on Serbia’s official policies. The political divisions between the two, defined during and after the election campaign, continued to dominate the Montenegrin political scene even after its separation from Serbia, albeit not with the same intensity. The media coverage of this rift could be observed at different levels: (i) as a struggle for symbolic supremacy and for the political capital of the ruling party; (ii) as the value identification of the actors on the Montenegrin political scene; (iii) as their respective qualification of the relations with Serbia; and (iv) as de-legitimization of the rival. (i) In the media coverage of each actor’s activities nuances can be observed that point to the alignment of the media in question. Thus, in reporting the rallies held by supporters of Milo Đukanović and Milica Pejanović (the formal leader of the DPS), Pobjeda and Vijesti called this wing the ‘Democratic Party of Socialists of Montenegro’, while Momir Bulatović’s wing was called the ‘Democratic Party of Socialists – Momir Bulatović’, hence prejudicing the legitimate successor of the ruling party. After the election, the newspapers went one step further and called the members of the latter bloc ‘the deputies loyal to Momir Bulatović’, thus personalizing the representation of this political option. On the other hand, the media in Serbia called Milo Đukanović’s supporters ‘the wing of the DPS which supports Milo Đukanović’ or ‘the breakaway part of the DPS’. (ii) As for the value identification of the political actors, the media in Serbia and Montenegro placed the emphasis on different parameters. The media struggle was concentrated on value-motivating attributes. Pobjeda and Vijesti placed the emphasis on democracy, economic prosperity, youth, the future and so on – themes that were part of Milo Đukanović’s election campaign. This is exemplified by the following headline in Pobjeda: ‘Democracy, Prosperity and a More Beautiful and Affluent Montenegro’ (10 October 1997). The other side placed the emphasis on tradition, identity, honour, dignity, non-corruption and so on. They identified Milo Đukanović’s politics with anti-Yugoslavism, crime, corruption and lawlessness. The first accusations of separatism were also made (Novosti, 13 October 1997). Polemical fighting concentrated on the actors’ value identification, whereby care was taken to capture as many positive attributes for oneself as possible.

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Value-based rhetoric was also defined in this period. It would be used by both sides for self-identification and description of the other side, and would change very little until Montenegro’s acquisition of independence. The ideological blocs thus created adopted different stances on the future of Montenegrin society, and the media aligned themselves with one bloc or the other. (iii) The relations with Serbia were not an important item on the election agenda, although it was already permeated by a new redistribution of alliances. In the media it was impossible to find any articles that explicitly challenged the state union with Serbia, or Serbia as a closer partner. However, there was a split, which could be followed through the mutual accusations of hostile alliances. The Serbian media (Vijesti, 13 October) accused Milo Đukanović of ‘defending Montenegro with the political support of [the Bosnian Muslim leader] Alija Izetbegović and [the Kosovo Muslim leader] Ibrahim Rugova’, and of being an exponent of foreign interests, especially those that proved to be hostile to Serbia. Serbia’s support for Momir Bulatović was always linked to the ruling parties and political actors, thus it was provided for this support to remain at the level of political polarization. Bulatović was presented as an exponent and extended arm of the JUL and SPS (Pobjeda, 11 October 1997). In the writings of the ‘Montenegrin’ media there were no negative or insulting tones aimed at Serbia. Instead, Serbia was presented as the hostage of a set of bad politics which was now nearing its end. (iv) Finally, in this period the media underwent further polarization, thus paving the way for irreconcilable conflict of the leading actors. The conflict over the legitimacy of the election results affirmed the different political principles, raising this dispute to an ideological level. Thus, the media that promoted Milo Đukanović’s policies insisted on the democratically expressed will of the citizens. After proclaiming the Montenegrin election results as ‘the victory of democratic Montenegro’, Pobjeda ran an article under the headline ‘Doubts about the Will of the Citizens’ (28 October 1997), implying that Bulatović’s reluctance to accept the election results would bring the democratic principle and the will of the citizens into question. On the other hand, the Belgrade media attempted to de-legitimize Đukanović’s victory by counting the votes on the basis of ethnic affiliation. Novosti, Politika, as well as Borba, found the election results not to be authentic, because ‘Separatists, Muslims and Albanians Voted for Milo Đukanović’ (Novosti, 15 October 1997), or argued that ‘The Yugoslav Public Supports the DPS of Momir Bulatović’ (Borba, 24 October 1997), without explaining what the mystical entity ‘Yugoslav public’ denoted. Whatever the result, the truth was on the side of Bulatović and his policies and Đukanović had won by means of manipulation.

 ��������������������������������������������������������������������������������� The thesis was advanced in a series of articles formulated as ‘The Truth against Manipulation’ (Novosti, 24 and 28 October 1997).

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In their media confrontations both sides tried to justify their election defeat as a matter of manipulation by the other side, using almost identical formulations. The Introduction of a Dual Currency System The introduction of the dual currency system in Montenegro was the first big and, probably most important, step toward Montenegro’s institutional independence. The dominant reporting strategy of both sides consisted of a selective ‘transmission’ of news, especially from the foreign media, or evaluation of the moves of the Montenegrin government by various actors or experts. Media confrontations took place on several levels, including (i) accusations of separatism; (ii) political and economic threats to Montenegro from the Milošević regime; (iii) the sustainability of such a monetary system; and (iv) the legality of the decision to introduce it. (i) In the pro-Serbian media the discourse about separatist tendencies dominated. Dan carried a commentary taken from the British press according to which the introduction of the German Mark in Montenegro was ‘The First Step toward Independence’, while Politika carried an article under the headline ‘Introduction of the German Mark as a Separatist Trick of the Montenegrin Government’ (11 November). Večernje novosti carried a statement by Milo Đukanović under the headline ‘Economic Sovereignty’, in confirmation of the hypothesis on separatism (13 November). Dan went one step further by calling the politics behind this move of the Montenegrin authorities treacherous and toady. An article under the caption ‘The Colonization of the Mind’ stated: the open question remains of how cultural and monetary cooperation between the two ‘brotherly states’, Montenegro and Germany, will be carried out … Do we have to send our ‘highly intelligent boys’ to a language course … or will the German gentlemen prepare their own staff? I think that the latter option is more likely, because it will enable them to march into our sovereign state, while their control over the German Mark will not come amiss either.

The use of quotation marks for the expression ‘brotherly states’, which was a commonly used term to describe relations between Serbia and Montenegro, as well as for the words ‘highly intelligent boys’ should emphasize the absurdity of separation from Serbia and the replacement of the ‘genuine brothers’ (Serbia) with ‘the colonizer of the mind’ (Germany). The article’s final message was that

 ����������������������������������������������������������� At the end of November, the same hypothesis was adopted by Vijesti, which carried statements by SNP leaders: ‘By the Adoption of the German Mark, the Border with Serbia Will Become a State Border’. However, read in the context of other news stories printed in the paper, the message produced an effect that could be decoded also in the ‘opposite mode’ (Hall, 1980), that the establishment of the border was actually a good thing.

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Montenegro would lose its identity and implied that only Serbia could prevent such a course of events. (ii) On the other hand, Vijesti reported ‘The NBJ Requests the Constitutional Court to Order the Withdrawal of the German Mark’ (13 November). The news was taken from the Beta News Agency, while the overline text explained that ‘in Belgrade’ proceedings for an examination of the constitutionality of the Montenegrin government’s decisions had been instituted. The contrast ‘Belgrade’, which decides and ‘orders’ that the German Mark should be withdrawn, pointed to the ‘absurdity’ that decisions which concerned Montenegro and were to be implemented in Montenegro should be made ‘there’, in Belgrade. Thus, the location of the Federal Constitutional Court became more important than the institution itself or the legal grounds for such a request. Vijesti suggested nonreciprocal rivalry and an absence of common interests. ‘On one side, we have an older brother who is threatening us and, on the other, “bad children”.’ Monitor (5 November) carried an article that made a comparison with the case of Slovenia. The subhead text of this article read: ‘Belgrade Analysts Are Unanimous that the Situation is Very Similar to the Situation When Slovenia “Seceded”.’ Slovenia’s first steps towards independence had also been financial. Placing the word ‘seceded’ in quotation marks in the subhead should suggest that the Belgrade regime had forced Slovenia out of Yugoslavia. This discourse on shackles and imposition, as well as on the feeling of discomfort and thus, the need for protection, was also supported by statements made by Milo Đukanović and other officials of the Montenegrin government or the DPS. Pobjeda (6 November) reported an interview with Parliament Speaker Svetozar Marović under the title ‘The Introduction of the German Mark Was a Necessary Defensive Measure’. In his interview Marović stated that ‘there will be various attempts to challenge the decision of the Montenegrin Government in some way (…) especially by those who are less concerned about the interests of the people, but are seeking a way to destabilise the government’. On 28 November, Vijesti carried Milo Đukanović’s interview for the German weekly Welt am Sontag, with the overline text ‘President Đukanović Explains the Risk of Common Life’ with, and under, the headline ‘People Feel Relief after the Introduction of the German Mark’. Throughout the interview, Milo Đukanović directly accused Milošević of the wars in the former Yugoslavia and denounced his policies as ‘the policies of xenophobia, conflict, economic backwardness and isolation’.  �������������������������������������������������������������������������������� He advanced the hypothesis that Montenegro had two key interests: the first was to remain with Serbia and the second involved democratization, reforms and integration. He pointed out that ‘in view of the fact that Milošević instigated four wars and that he will not hesitate to instigate the fifth, Montenegro is in a perilous situation, but “we still do not wish to abandon our European, democratic path”’. Naturally, this statement was a typical example of the glorification and justification of one’s own position, as opposed to the disastrous other side. The other side was not Serbia, but Milošević ‘to whom we must

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(iii) The pro-Serbian side advanced the hypothesis that such a monetary system was not sustainable by pointing to the economic, and at times technical, problems, as well as the harmful moves taken by the government. Dan carried articles taken from The Times under the headline ‘Germany Will Also Bear the Cost’ (Dan, 6 November), and ‘Everything Will Become More Expensive in German Marks’ (Novosti, 23 November). Taken together, such news would provoke a state of chaos, insecurity and poverty. Almost as a rule, the rendering of news followed a pattern of referring to some experts (bank managers, members of the chambers of commerce, and so on). (iv) The discourse about the unconstitutionality and illegality of the decision appeared exclusively in the newspapers published in Serbia and in Dan: ‘The Introduction of the German Mark is an Unconstitutional Act: The Montenegrin Government has Legalised a State of Monetary Chaos, Blackmarketeering and Lawlessness’ (Politika, 6 November); ‘The Right to Life Endangered’ (Ugroženo pravo na život, Dan, 12 November). In Pobjeda and Vijesti there was no analysis or refutation of such discourses. However, by quoting the Serbian daily Blic, Pobjeda wrote: ‘The Governor Informed about the Introduction of the German Mark’, thus clearly upholding the government’s decision. The Bombing of the FRY The media coverage of the NATO attack against the FRY introduced an additional element to Montenegro’s institutional independence in the media rhetoric, independent foreign policy, and led to further divisions in Montenegro. The progovernment media attempted to take a neutral stance on the NATO intervention by treating Montenegro not as an object of NATO attacks; instead, they felt threatened by Milošević’s Serbia and the army, even when the latter was attacked by NATO on Montenegrin territory. During this period, the Serbian media mostly ignored events in Montenegro, while Dan was rhetorically identified with the Serbian press. Analysis of the press coverage of the beginning of the NATO bombing reveals the different ways in which the NATO operations against the FRY were presented. On its front page, Pobjeda (25 March 1999) carried Milo Đukanović’s appeal: ‘I not yield’. ‘We’ denoted the Montenegrin people, while the other was Milošević and not Serbia. It was also argued that a better life in Montenegro would also provide an impetus to the Serbian citizens. All this was enhanced with elements of the myth about victimhood (Kolstø, 2005a), manifested in Milošević’s pressures, which are ‘borne by the citizens’.  ����������������������������������������������������� Other headlines were: ‘German Marks Brought Poverty’, ‘German Marks not Accepted at Budva Counters’ (Politika, 6 November), ‘One Cash Register for German Marks and One for Dinars’ (Dan, 5 November; Politika, 5 November), ‘Fear that German Marks Might not come to Serbia’, ‘Dual Currency System Caused Numerous Problems’ (Politika, 10 November).

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am appealing to all of you to remain calm and restrained and to preserve peace and harmony’, while the inset contained an excerpt from this appeal: ‘I am asking the President of the FRY [Milošević] to stop with policies that cause the collective suffering of the innocent and are threatening to the survival of the state. At the same time, we are asking the international community to refrain from new strikes against targets in Montenegro’. On page 24, Pobjeda carried a statement by Xavier Solana under the headline ‘NATO Doesn’t Wish War’. This statement was not published by either Dan or by Večernje novosti. Under the headline ‘Milošević is Responsible’, Vijesti carried the same news on the second page, next to an article about NATO strikes against targets in Montenegro. In the overline text it was said that ‘Last Night NATO Bombed Several Targets also in Montenegro’. The word ‘also’ in this sentence should suggest that attacks against Montenegro were the collateral damage of Milošević’s policies. At the same time, Politika’s front page bore the headline ‘NATO Begins Criminal Aggression against Our Country’, whereby it was assumed that the readers knew which country was in question. Moreover, neither Serbia nor Montenegro were mentioned, only Yugoslavia. Dan readily adopted a similar media strategy. On 25 March, it carried an article under the headline ‘Dignified Conduct of the Citizens’, in which it called for solidarity and suspension of ‘political duels’, without specifying whose citizens and whose political duels were in question. On 25 March, the messages from Dan and Vijesti were particularly different from each other. While Vijesti carried the news under the headline ‘We Can Stop After the First Strike’, with the overline text ‘The NATO Council Sends a Message to Milošević that a Diplomatic Solution is Still Possible’, Dan wrote: ‘New Rockets – An Object of NATO Concern’. While one side indicated that it was necessary to raise the question of responsibility, whereby Milošević was identified as the key actor – since NATO sent a message to Milošević and not to Serbia or Yugoslavia (Vijesti) – the other side ‘patriotically’ praised the strength of ‘our’ army (Dan).

The Dysfunctionality of the Marriage The fall of Milošević and the dramatic changes that took place in Serbia on 5 October 2000 also brought an end to some discursive strategies that had been dominant in the previous period. The ‘feeling of discomfort’ and fear of the Milošević regime had to be diverted from public discourse. The dysfunctionality of the Federal state was mentioned increasingly often, as was the need to redefine  ����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� The article is also full of negative qualifications: criminal aggression, dictate of the USA as the world’s policeman, Albanian terrorists, and so on.  ������������������������������������������������������������������������������� As an exception, the discourse of ‘othering’ vis-à-vis Milošević continued, to some extent, in the media coverage of the Seventh Battalion as a ‘residue of the Milošević structure’.

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relations between Serbia and Montenegro, as well as the problem of equality of the two republics, which differed dramatically in size. The argumentation strategy was based on pragmatism and functionality and not on identity differences. During this period, ‘the family roles’ in the discourse of the Montenegrin pro-government media changed. Montenegro was now depicted not as the abused ‘younger brother’, but as the morally superior partner. The changes that had taken place in Serbia were acclaimed,10 but it was emphasized that ‘recently liberated Serbia’ must now embark on the same road as the one Montenegro had taken a long time ago. While democratization and stabilization in Montenegro were well under way, Serbia was only now about to enter this phase. In the discourse, whatever is democratic, European or modern was attributed to Montenegro (‘the European orientation of Montenegro’).11 In the period following the changes, Dan attempted to delegitimize the events that took place during the Serbian political turnover of 5 October. It carried without any value judgement news that could not be found in either Vijesti or Pobjeda, including many descriptions of violence and destruction: ‘The Radio Television Building Set on Fire’ (6 October) and ‘Nearly 150 Works of Art Disappeared’ (10 October). If this is compared with the writing of Vijesti about the same event (the capture of Radio Television Serbia’s building) that same day (6 October), the positioning of the media becomes evident. The headline in Vijesti was ‘By Dredger Against TV Bastille’. In the jargon used by Milošević’s opponents in Serbia, Radio Television Serbia was called TV Bastille in order to indicate its significance for the preservation of the Milošević regime. For its part, Dan placed emphasis on the act of burning the TV building, a legitimate institution. War Crimes and the Handover of Milošević The superior position of Montenegro was also reflected in its attitude towards war crimes and relations with its neighbours, as shown by Montenegro’s formal apology to Croatia for crimes committed on the Dubrovnik battlefields. This ethically coloured ‘progressive democratic consciousness’ was naturally contrasted with Serbia’s problem of cooperation with the Hague tribunal. In this context, 10 ���������������������������������������������������� Characteristic headlines were: ‘People Seek Justice’ (Pobjeda, 6 October) and ‘Serbs Deposed Their Leader’ (Vijesti, 6 October). 11 ���������������������������������������������������������������������������������� In a characteristic text (6 October), the key message was that the Serbian people had finally summoned up the strength to deal with their dictatorship and that ‘democratic Montenegro’ supported recently ‘liberated Serbia’. This argumentation was reinforced after the assassination of Serbian Prime Minister Đinđić in March 2003. Thus, immediately after the assassination Vijesti’s front pages contained pictures of the police in the streets and data on the arrests during Police Operation Sabre. On a daily basis stories were told about individuals being arrested by the police, thus depicting a Serbia in a state of emergency and ‘crisis’ and placing emphasis on its geographical, situational and developmental differences vis-à-vis Montenegro.

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the handover of Slobodan Milošević to the Hague tribunal was not regarded as a Serbian move in a positive direction. Instead, both sides in the dispute covered this event, each from its perspective, as one more piece of evidence of the need to part with Serbia, or as Serbia’s negative deviation. Although it was acclaimed, the handover of Milošević to the Hague tribunal was interpreted in pro-government Montenegrin media as evidence of the malfunctioning of the federal state. In an article entitled ‘The Reaction of the Montenegrin Parties to Milošević’s Handover’, the main headline consisted of one statement indicating the end of the common state: ‘I am Afraid that this is the End of the FRY’ (Vijesti, 3 September 2006). Although the text reported the reactions of several political parties, including the opposition parties, the main headline referred to a statement which was not essential for the news. As a rule, when statements by the leaders of the opposition, that is, the unitarist bloc, were printed, Vijesti never put them in the headline. The rhetoric of the Montenegrin officials, which was emphasized in Pobjeda and Vijesti, was a twin-track one. Vijesti carried a statement by the President of the Executive Committee of the DPS under the headline ‘Yugoslavia is Dead also Legally’. Hence, it was concluded that it was necessary to aim for independence as the solution to the current situation in which the legal framework forced both governments to act unilaterally and illegally in order to protect their legitimate interests.12 At the same time, Dan personalized the whole story by interpreting the handover of Milošević as Zoran Đinđić’s ‘obsession’ and by pointing to the unconstitutionality of the decision.13 On 29 June, on page 3, Dan also carried a picture of Slobodan Milošević in a very ‘human’ pose with the fatalistic caption Milošević ‘Handed over to The Hague’. In the text below, in a box, there was a statement by Milošević’s wife, Mira Marković: ‘I am shocked’. In Dan other emotional and mystical evocations could be found, such as ‘Saint Vitus’ Day – The Serbian Fate’. The article did not mention Montenegro; instead, it dealt with Serbdom and ‘our people’, whereby Đinđić was labelled a modern Vuk Branković and a traitor of Serbia.14 Moreover, the handover was depicted as the result of the activities of only one person – Đinđić – and his politics, which was detrimental to the national interest. It is also interesting to note that Vijesti’s front page bore the headline ‘Serbs Handed over Milošević to The Hague on St Vitus Day, 12 Years After Gazimestan’, but with the implication that Montenegro was further 12 ������������������������������������������������������������������������������������ This referred to the Serbian government, which did this now, and to the Montenegrin government, ‘which over the past three years had been forced to do so’. 13 ������������������������������������������������������������������������������ ‘Đinđić’s Miscalculation’ and ‘Other Reasons Behind Zoran Đinđić’s Fanaticism’. 14 ������������������������������������������������������������������������������� The Battle of Kosovo against a Turkish army in 1389 took place on Saint Vitus’ Day (28 June). According to many authors, this battle is the mythical source of many elements in Serbian national identity, such as harmony, sacrifice and bravery, in addition to treason and discord as the causes of defeat and ill fate. According to historical legend, Vuk Branković was a Serbian nobleman who deserted the leader of the Serbian army, Prince Lazar, at this battle.

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distancing itself from Serbia.15 Although the text did not deal with this issue in detail, it still emphasized the symbolism of St Vitus’ Day and treason, with the explicit naming of the ‘other’, that is, ‘these Serbs’. These Serbs were the ones who had committed treason – not the Montenegrins. The article also carried a commentary by Vojin Dimitrijević, a Serbian expert on international law, entitled ‘They Made Use of the Separatist Article of the Serbian Constitution that was Written by Milošević Himself’. The use of the term ‘separatist’ in this context was indicative of the attempt to justify the Montenegrin government’s actions, which the unitarists had previously labelled ‘separatist’, by pointing to equivalent actions taken by the Serbian government.

Dual Track Rhetoric This period was marked by a greater polarization between the contending parties. One of the most sensitive questions concerned the status of the Serbian Orthodox Church, which was identified as a political actor and an exponent of one particular political option. This issue was especially sensitive in view of the fact that the Serbian Orthodox Church in both Serbia and Montenegro is treated as one of the pillars of national identity. The state-run daily Pobjeda attempted to be neutral in this dispute, bearing in mind the previous establishment of the unrecognized Montenegrin Orthodox Church, but the dispute continued among both non-state, pro-government and pro-Serb media. The views crystallized during the referendum campaign for an independent Montenegro, in which the dispute surpassed the political and ideological limits, but the commitment to a political solution was also expressed. The Erection of a Church on Mount Rumija and the Position of the Serbian Orthodox Church This event is important for several reasons. First, the Serbian Orthodox Church was identified as the overt proponent of pro-Serbian rhetoric and politics, and the question of the relations between church and state was enhanced. Second, on this issue the Church cooperated with the Army of Serbia and Montenegro, which was also perceived as a pro-Serb institution. Third, the interpretation of this conflict surpassed the strictly political framework and raised the question of Montenegro’s identity relative to Serbia. The erection of a church on Mount Rumija raised the media conflict between the two blocs to a higher level. This time, the conflict was covered especially by

15 ��������������������������������������������������������������������������� Gazimestan is the historic site in Kosovo and Metohija where the Battle of Kosovo took place. In 1989 Milošević organized a huge rally at the field of Gazimestan to commemorate the 600th anniversary of the 1389 battle.

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Vijesti (from the independist bloc) and Dan (from the unitarist bloc). Vijesti adopted the ‘neutral’ position associated with the Montenegrin state authorities. Namely, its reactions and commentaries referred primarily to the illegality of the erection of a church on Mount Rumija. The tone of the article under the headline ‘The Church Will Be Demolished if no Licence is Forthcoming’, dated 23 June 2005, with the subhead ‘The Government is Checking the Legality of Erecting an Iron Structure on the Top of Mount Rumija’ was studiously neutral. It is symptomatic, however, that the overline text implicitly denied the ‘sacral character’ of this building by calling it ‘an iron structure’. In the last passage of the article, it was pointed out that the erection of a prefabricated church ‘violated the ancient custom of the citizens of Bar of all three religions – Orthodox, Catholic and Muslim – to carry the cross to the top of the mountain in the traditional annual ceremony’. It also pointed to the values of a state based on the rule of law and secularity. The media conflict was in this way raised to the identity level, but this was done without the interference of the main political actors. In an announcement issued by DANU (Duklja Academy of Sciences and Arts), this act was openly attacked and called ‘clerico-fascist’ and ‘vandalistic’. The Montenegrin Metropolitan Amfilohije Radović was accused of ‘designating Mount Rumija as a Serbian mountain under the Serbian Church’. However, the Academy did not defend an ethnically ‘Montenegrin’ Montenegro but a multi-religious one: ‘Amfilohije Took away Mount Rumija from the Montenegrins, Albanians, Muslims and Croats from the Villages beneath Mount Rumija’ (Vijesti, 25 June). In this context, Vijesti devoted rather a lot of space to statements issued by spokespersons of minority parties. On 12 August, Vijesti carried an article under the headline ‘Bardhi Claims that the SPC Demonstrated Force on Mount Rumija’. The subhead read: ‘They’ll Also Come to our Homes by Helicopter’. The article carried a statement by Mehmet Bardhi, the President of the Democratic Alliance (the Albanian minority party), to the effect that this was the greatest provocation against the Albanians in the past 50 years. At the same time, Dan also carried some more extreme statements, but the newspaper refrained from reproducing these in lofty-sounding headlines. In one instance the newspaper quoted some quite extreme words by Budimir Aleksić, a historian of religion, who claimed that: the announcement that the church on Mount Rumija will be demolished, is the announcement of an ethnic cleansing of the Serbs in Montenegro and the persecution of the Serbian Orthodox Church. They have abolished the Serbian language and expelled the Cyrillic alphabet. As a probable next step they will prohibit the SPC and open concentration camps for Serbs, as was done by Ante Pavelić and Franjo Tuđman.

The same article carried a statement by Mlađan Mićović, the attorney of the Serbian Orthodox Metropolitanate, who claimed that ‘it is evident that what disturbs these authorities is not the church on Mount Rumija as a structure, but as an embodiment

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of the spirit of the Serbian Orthodox Church in Montenegro’. The same page also contained commentaries of ordinary citizens about the announcement that the church would be demolished. All the five citizens who were interviewed (whose photographs were also printed) were against its demolition. Divorce: Montenegro’s Referendum on Independence The climax and final settlement of relations between Serbia and Montenegro was the holding of Montenegro’s referendum on independence on 21 May 2006. At the height of the election campaign, the two blocs brought their rhetoric to the extreme. Both domestic and foreign non-governmental organizations were unanimous in their view that the media were much more accessible to both sides and that their coverage of this event was less biased than on other occasions. However, the media could be divided into two distinct groups – Vijesti and Pobjeda on one side and Dan on the other – by the way in which they aligned with one bloc or the other. This was reflected in the number of printed articles and their editorial policy in general. Independist Discourse during the Referendum Campaign Vijesti and Pobjeda consistently presented the argumentation strategy of the ‘independist’ bloc. First of all, it was a question of establishing the legitimacy of the referendum process itself and how it was organized. To that effect, statements by both relevant and irrelevant foreign officials were printed, stating that everything was in accordance with democratic principles and that the people’s decision had to be respected.16 Second, emphasis was laid on the absence of any violent acts and on the benefits of an independent Montenegro. In so doing, they applied the usual technique of publishing the statements by the leaders of the ‘independist bloc’. The campaign was mostly ‘positive’ and based on three dominant hypotheses, whereby only the third demonstrated the mechanism of ‘othering’. The first hypothesis emphasized the renewal of Montenegrin statehood, coupled with close and friendly relations with Serbia and the world. The rhetoric vis-à-vis Serbia was reconciliatory: ‘After the referendum we will agree on the relations between the two independent states, which will be extremely close and comprehensive. In that way we will be able to achieve a quality that is possible only in a union of independent states’ (Pobjeda, 17 May), ‘Dialogue with Belgrade – The First Address after the Referendum’ (Pobjeda, 17 May). ‘Recalling that Montenegro had displayed remarkable patience and will for the dialogue with the Serbian authorities, Minister Vlahović pointed out that the first steps after 21 16 ������������������������������������������������������������������������� ‘Germany Categorically Insists that the Result of the Referendum Must Be Respected’ (Pobjeda, 17 May); ‘Montenegro is Ready to Meet the Will of its Citizens’ (Vijesti, 18 May); ‘Conditions Have Been Created for the Expression of the Citizens’ Free Will’ (Pobjeda, 18 May); ‘Berlin Officially Backs the EU Position on the Referendum: The Result Must be Recognised’ (Vijesti, 17 May).

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May would be made toward Belgrade’. He said that an independent Montenegro and its government, as true friends of Serbia, would remain open for cooperation, thus helping Serbia in the process of self-definition as a vital prerequisite for its further democratic advancement and European perspective (Pobjeda, 18 May). Independence was regarded as the freedom to decide on one’s own future: ‘After 21 May We’ll Take over the Helm of Our Future’ (Pobjeda, 16 May), and not as the freedom from Serbia: ‘Our YES will also save face to those who’ll say NO’ (Pobjeda, 17 May). The second hypothesis was distinctly modernist: it is better for us to be separated, since this will ensure prosperity and our faster accession to the European Union. In an article under the headline ‘Independence of Montenegro is the Best Framework for Prosperity’ (Pobjeda, 16 May), this was explained: Only an independent state can guarantee the preservation of the existing sovereignties. The winning of international sovereignty will be an instrument for the securing Montenegro’s overall development. As a state that will be committed to the full utilisation of its natural and economic resources, which will provide maximum investments, quality privatisations, and valuable economic partnerships that will ensure the prosperity of Montenegro.

However, it also pointed to the detrimental consequences of a negative result: ‘A negative outcome of the referendum will mean the suspension of numerous investment plans in Montenegro and a slowdown in the creation of new jobs and overall development’. The media strategy was to dramatize the results of the referendum vis-à-vis Montenegro’s positive or negative future, depending on the result of the referendum. ‘In ten days, there will be relief and an end to agony’ (Pobjeda, 17 May), or ‘Let’s vote for all of us, for our home and future, because a people without its own state does not exist in the civilised world’ (Vijesti, 18 May).17 The headlines and news stories were dominated by positive news and affirmative formulation of headlines, especially during the campaign silence which the law prescribed in the final 48 hours before referendum voting. In this connection, we cite the following headlines from Pobjeda (19 May) and Vijesti (18 May): ‘Further Reduction in the Budget Deficit’, ‘Ecological Masked Ball’, ‘Cheerfully Until Dawn’, ‘A New Health Unit on the Railways Premises’, ‘Radio and TV Signals to be Improved Soon’, ‘Project for AIDS/HIV Prevention in Montenegro’, ‘Tourist Trade Needs 2000 Employees’, ‘The Law on Minorities – The Model for 17 ����������������������������������������������������������������������������� It was also pointed out that Montenegro’s independence would not generate an adverse effect on Serbia. On the contrary: ‘The Victory of Montenegro Cannot Be Anyone’s Defeat’ (Pobjeda, 18 May). ‘We cannot have the joint army if one army is 15 times bigger and more expensive. We cannot have joint diplomacy if Serbia’s diplomatic needs differ from those of Montenegro. Serbia will also understand very soon that its prosperity lies in the independence of Montenegro’ (Pobjeda, 16 May).

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the Region’, ‘Since the Beginning of the Year Montenegro Was Visited by 58,259 Tourists’ (Vijesti, 18 May). The third hypothesis was about a multi-ethnic and civil Montenegro, coupled with a resolute distancing from the past wars, hatred and ethnic cleansing, all of which were associated with Serbia: ‘“Their” time of armed conflicts, the worthless dinar and inflation is behind us. The time of our European Montenegro – the time of peace, learning and production is approaching’ (Vijesti, 13 May).18 It pointed to the principle differences in the values on which Serbia and Montenegro were based. In contrast to Serbia, Montenegro cherished a non-nationalist, multi-cultural and multi-religious identity: ‘there is no better place “to express our profound gratitude” to the minorities confirming that Montenegro is a safe home “for all of us who love her”’ (Vijesti, 13 May).19 Special emphasis was placed on the support for independence among the minorities: ‘The Bosniak/Muslim Forum and the Bosniak Homeland Appealed to the Citizens to Vote for Independent Montenegro at the Referendum’ (Pobjeda, 17 May) and ‘Albanians Are Lost in Serbia and Montenegro’ (Vijesti, 17 May). Pobjeda and Vijesti reported the discourses of the unionist bloc, which were mildly ironized through the selection of headlines, statements and discrediting of their authors. Thus, the news emphasized: 1. The unionist bloc lacked confidence in Montenegro’s own strength and relied on the power of someone else: ‘The story about the inferiority of their state for whose governance they recommend themselves is incomprehensible’ (Vijesti, 13 May); ‘If they prefer the neighbour’s home to our own – there you are … Let us clarify some notions – I love my home and my family most, but I am always on good terms with my neighbours’ (Vijesti, 13 May); and ‘Bulatović Relies on Belgrade’ (Vijesti, 15 May). 2. The inclination of the ‘non-secular and retrograde’ forces that resist pluralism (the Church and the Army): ‘Bulatović with the Generals’ (Vijesti, 15 May) and ‘Bulatović Asked Patriarch Pavle for a Blessing’ (Vijesti, 18 May). Vijesti also carried excerpts from a service held by the Metropolitan of the Serbian Orthodox Church, Amfilohije Radović, in order to show the ‘bigotry’ of these actors:

18 ������ Or in Pobjeda: ‘We must not allow ourselves to become the hostages to decisions made outside Montenegro. The memories of the time when others were deciding instead of us are still fresh – the dinar and unprecedented inflation, NATO intervention, conflicts, and political instability’ (17 May). 19 ������ Or in Pobjeda: ‘To support independence also means to live in Montenegro after 21 May, with all the differences, without the victor or the loser, with your neighbours, being convinced that everything we have in common is deeper and more lasting than that which might separate us’ (17 May).

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Media Discourse and the Yugoslav Conflicts Amfilohije appealed to us to say YES to good, the love of God and our neighbours … but that there is also NO that must be said and that is our NO to Satan, sin and death, to all false ideologies that poison the human soul and capture the divine spark taking it to nothingness … to say NO to everything that separates us from God and from each other, which is eroding the unity of God’s people for which all that was kept to the straight and narrow path throughout the history was sacrificed. (Vijesti, 15 May)

3. The ‘Primitivism’ and epic character of the rhetoric of the supporters of the unionist bloc. By selecting slogans from their rallies or statements by the citizens supporting this bloc, an image of the ‘primitive other’ was created; the most striking slogans were: ‘This is not Montenegro, but the Heroic Serbian Stronghold’ and ‘The Fairy is Crying – Milo, the Traitor’ (Vijesti, 15 May).

The Unionist Discourse During the Referendum Campaign Dan reported the rhetoric of the unionist bloc, attempting to de-legitimize the referendum process itself and the leaders of the independist bloc. First, it placed emphasis on the legitimacy of the referendum by pointing to different irregularities and carrying news about cases where web pressures were put on the voters. There were many articles reporting how the authorities manipulated and pressurized citizens. In this respect, there were several scandals. The greatest dispute was about how Montenegrin citizens living in Serbia were prevented from voting in the referendum and those who it was assumed would vote for independence were favoured: ‘Montenegro Airlines Cancelled All Flights to Belgrade on the Days of the Referendum’ (Dan, 16 May). Special emphasis was laid on state-sponsored violence against the supporters of the unionist bloc: ‘“Independists” Have Beaten up Four Young Men’ (Dan, 13 May); or ‘They forced them to say “yes” and then beat them up’; and ‘After beating the students, the assailants began to sing: “Montenegro, our dear mother, we’ll slay the Serbs tonight”’ (Dan, 21 May). The second dominant theme was the historical bond with Serbia and the virtual non-sustainability of an independent state (but, naturally, without renouncing Montenegro’s statehood). This discursive line also relied in large measure on statements issued by the Serbian Orthodox Church and the emotional discourse of ‘historical and spiritual’ Montenegro as the Serbian Sparta. Remember your families in Serbia and ask yourself whether you wish to renounce them and make them foreigners in their country, to establish borders, to leave them jobless, to deny education to the young and medical treatment to the sick in Serbia … Your heart and head will provide the answer to your dilemmas, and you will understand why an increasing number of citizens rallied around the great, proud and heroic ‘no’.

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Third, the regime in Montenegro was accused of dividing the people, which may have more serious consequences, and all done for the sake of personal gains and the creation of a private state. Dan carried a statement by Metropolitan Amfilohije Radović, expressing this view and representing the dominant rhetoric in a sharpened tone. In the article under the headline ‘Amfilohije: The Sanctities Are the Witness to Unbreakable Unity’, it was said that ‘our sanctuaries are the most powerful witness of the unbreakable unity of our people and our state’; ‘Our noblemen, God’s curse be on their souls, carved up the empire into little pieces, sowed the bitter seed of disharmony and, thus, poisoned the entire Serbian tribe’; ‘That is how it was in Kosovo and Metohija over the centuries’, he warned. The Metropolitan also said that ‘Today, they wish to divide the brothers, to divide the state … But, who dares to divide us’. This discursive line equates the project for an independent Montenegro with the personal project of Milo Đukanović and other ‘noblemen’ for the creation of a private, police state: ‘They Are Cheering Milo and not the State’ (Dan, 16 May), ‘NO to a Mafia State’ (Dan, 17 May).

Epilogue After the referendum in Montenegro, both blocs acknowledged the results very quickly and the independence of Montenegro was proclaimed on 21 May 2006. Montenegro and Serbia began to grow apart, and while divisions along these lines continue to exist in Montenegrin society, the issue has lost its previous intensity. The media played an important role in provoking and continuing the conflict between Serbia and Montenegro, that is, within Montenegro itself, but they also contributed, in large measure, to the prevention of any violence. Thus, from this analysis of the relevant media coverage we can draw several general conclusions: 1. Rhetorically speaking, the media in Serbia and Montenegro progressed a long way from treating ‘the other’ as being the same to treating ‘the other’ as different, but there were no abrupt turns or moves on this road. The starting position was such that it was difficult to change it into a hostile policy without the required surplus media and political repression. Therefore, the process of differentiation made progress step by step, calling on the media to be more sophisticated and more cautious in their reporting. Any careless step could be turned against the authors themselves. 2. The media in Serbia and Montenegro, until their separation, did not treat the other side as a hostile one, but, at worst, as a bad partner who wished to dominate or consciously bring about disharmony. In most cases, the other was treated as an unprincipled political rival. 3. The dispute never evolved into a conflict of irreconcilable identities. On the contrary, all media placed the emphasis on similarity (the same identity matrix), while a difference was mentioned with respect to the

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dysfunctionality and, later on, with respect to the impossibility of living together in view of their value-related and ideological differences. 4. The dispute was kept, in large measure, within a political framework and the media did not resort to aggressive calls for illegal, non-political means, except for defensive purposes, by accusing the other side of doing just that. 5. Last but not least, the political dynamics, circumstances and power structures were limiting the room for manoeuvre for the media to independently influence the instigation of hatred and hostility toward the other, which might eventually have led to violence. Full political control over the referendum by the international community was the best proof.

Chapter 7

Spinning Out of Control: Media Coverage in the Bosnian Conflict Michal Sládeček and Amer Džihana

Introduction This survey focuses on three key topics of the Bosnian crisis: the 1992 Bosnian referendum on independence; the 1995 signing of the Dayton agreement; and the 2006 debate on constitutional amendments. Thus, it covers the period immediately preceding the war, the period in which peace was being established and the foundations of today’s Bosnia–Herzegovina constituted, as well as the contemporary period, marked by debates on the future state organization. The analysis intentionally left out an examination of the wartime media discourse, which saw the culmination of transparent war rhetoric, with an overemphasized binary division of actors and an intensified ‘hate speech’ as its corollary (see Bugarski 1997b, 65–8; Skopljanac-Brunner et al. 2000b; Thompson 2000). More interesting for analytical purposes is the semantic structure of texts, with their indirectly implied meanings and mobilizing/homogenizing functions, that is with indirect speech about ‘us’ and ‘them’, in which the polarization is presented in a seemingly neutral, non-evaluative and non-ideological discourse. Since we are dealing with different periods and different contexts, the survey will indicate certain transformations in discourse strategies that take place in parallel with ongoing changes and the political ‘demands of the time’. At the same time, it will identify individual persistent tendencies and figures in the discourses of all three sides. The most general historical background to be taken as a starting point is the dissolution of the Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia (SFRY), within which Bosnia–Herzegovina had functioned as a federal republic for 45 years. Notwithstanding its non-democratic, one-party system and one mandatory ideology, this multi-ethnic republic was often quoted, regardless of all inevitable difficulties, as an example of the peaceful coexistence of three peoples – Muslims, Serbs and Croats, who enjoyed a balanced political representation. The looming  ����������������������������������������������������������������������������� This former SFRY republic was at the forefront in the repression towards the unlike-minded and opponents of the ruling nomenclature, whereby ‘we’ as party members and the like-minded transformed over time into ‘we’ as members of an ethnic group. The ‘us–them’ polarization changed only its ideological valency without changing its extremely

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dissolution of the SFRY, the de-legitimization of the communist ideology with the resulting revalorization and promotion of nationalist ideologies, and the start of the conflict in neighbouring Croatia all led to the (un)expected victory of ethnic parties in the first multi-party elections in Bosnia–Herzegovina, which, because of the domination of ethnic parties, one observer, with some exaggeration, called ‘a population census’. This post-election division of the political space along ethnic lines had far-reaching consequences that are still manifest today. In order to understand the media discourse, it is important to be familiar with the context, that is the developments parallel to the subject under examination, some recent events, political relations at the time, and so on. The context of the referendum discourse, thus, certainly includes the Serb boycott of the referendum, the massive arming of the population and the establishment of paramilitary forces, the presence of the so-called Yugoslav People’s Army (positively perceived by the Serbs, ambivalently by the Bosniaks and negatively by the Croat side), the temporal and geographic proximity of the war in Croatia, as well as the first victims of interethnic conflict. The context of the Dayton agreement is marked by a changed balance of forces on the ground, that is the military successes of the (predominantly Bosniak) Army of Bosnia–Herzegovina, together with the Croat Defence Council and the Croatian Army; the sanctions against Serbia and the Serbian sanctions against the RS (Bosnian Serb Republic), as well as the new ‘peacemaking’ policy of the Serbian leadership. Concrete events that are part of the context include: the issuance of The Hague indictment against the Bosnian Serb civilian and military leaders Karadžić and Mladić; the indictments against high-ranking representatives of the Bosnian Croat military and political leadership; the resignations of the highranking Bosnian officials Sacirbey and Zubak; as well as the Serbian leadership ‘persuading’ Bosnian Serbs to accept the agreement. Finally, the debate on constitutional amendments, that is on the constitutional reorganization of Bosnia–Herzegovina, proceeded in an atmosphere of fresh polarization and a fresh exacerbation of the discourse, the threat of a Serb secession referendum and the related threat of abolishing the RS by some Bosniak parties, as well as the renewed topicality of the status of the Croat people in Bosnia– Herzegovina. In terms of content, reports on particular concrete events largely coincide in the media of all the three sides. In consequence, the discourse strategy is above all reflected in the form: the formulation of headlines, secondary headlines and subheadings; the report’s positioning or place in the paper (central or secondary, transparent or pushed to the side); the way the information is presented, and so on. Also, reports are significant in terms of which events they keep silent about or overlook, whereby they perceive certain views or events as undesirable, as not

exclusionary character. On the persistency of this division in various discourses, see the Introduction by P. Kolstø.

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fitting into the constructed perception of ‘us’ and ‘them’. A second basic indicator of discourse strategies is the reported statements of politicians, that is the views of public figures. Here, the politicians who had influence over these media outlets occupied a prominent place, while the views of the ‘other side’ were reported mostly in those cases where they fitted in with the picture that the media wished to paint. The third, clearest set of indicators of the discourse strategy includes commentaries by journalists and editors, which in a situation of mobilizing the public for certain goals, just like in uncertain situations, prevail over reporting. In most cases, commentaries contained in own reflections on the current situation (placing it in a broader social, geographic, global and historical context) are examples of a legitimizing discourse that rests on fixing the polarization between ‘us’ and ‘them’. When choosing the periodicals, we sought to create a sample representative of the most influential daily papers, that is the papers which largely shaped the public opinion of all three constituent peoples. Politika was the most influential paper in Serbia and, to a considerable extent, it also shaped the public opinion of Serbs in Bosnia–Herzegovina. Starting from the late 1980s, the paper was fully controlled by Milošević’s Socialist Party of Serbia. The Croatian Večernji list was under the direct influence of Tuđman’s HDZ and is a good representative of the official views of Croatian politics vis-à-vis Bosnia–Herzegovina. Keeping in mind the fact that the Croat population in Bosnia–Herzegovina did not have their own daily newspaper, Večernji list indisputably influenced their public opinion the most. As for the media printed in Bosnia–Herzegovina, although it did not reflect the dominant political discourse in all issues since it was not published in the Bosnian Serb wartime capital (Pale), in terms of defining the relations with Bosniaks and Croats Glas Srpske (earlier called Glas and Glas Srpski) was very close to the views of the Bosnian Serb leadership. Dnevni avaz, which started publishing in 1995 and is therefore not included in the analysis on the referendum, had the reputation of a pro-Bosniak paper close to the ruling Bosniak party SDA. The exception is Oslobođenje as the only paper with a civic orientation. Finally, bearing in mind the diminished influence of both Serbian and Croatian politics and media, the analysis dedicated to constitutional changes focused solely on papers published in Bosnia–Herzegovina. The period surveyed is seven days before and after the central event.

 On the importance of an intentional passing over in silence, as well as of tacit implication emerging from the very ideological nature of the given discourse, see the introductory part of Chapter 9.

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•

23 February–8 March 1992 – referendum on independence of Bosnia– Herzegovina Analysed press: Oslobođenje, Sarajevo Glas, Banja Luka Politika, Beograd Večernji list, Zagreb

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14 November–28 November 1995 – signing of the Dayton Peace Agreement Analysed press: Oslobođenje, Sarajevo Dnevni avaz, Sarajevo Glas Srpski, Banja Luka Politika, Beograd Večernji list, Zagreb

•

19 April–3 May 2006 – negotiations on the new constitutional organization of Bosnia–Herzegovina Analysed press: Oslobođenje, Sarajevo Dnevni avaz, Sarajevo Glas Srpske, Banja Luka Nezavisne novine, Banja Luka Dnevni list, Mostar

The Referendum on Independence Politika and Glas: Consistently Against In Politika’s coverage can be observed a careful selection of personalities whose views were reported, that is attention was paid to the ‘authorization’ of statements or commentaries. Most of these were individuals or associations linked to developments in Bosnia–Herzegovina in a certain way, such as political representatives of Bosnian Serbs, ethnic cultural associations based in the republic or associations of Bosnian Serbs in Serbia. SDS leaders, above all R. Karadžić, were treated as people’s tribunes and their statements received most attention. In a situation where the international community threatened to introduce sanctions over involvement in relations in Bosnia–Herzegovina, reporting the views of the Serbian (Yugoslav) side was avoided, except for statements addressing the most general principles, such as the insistence on a just solution, on the equality of peoples, on

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the consensus of all the three sides, and so on. This way of presenting views was supposed to produce the impression of the Serbian side’s non-involvement in the situation in Bosnia, i.e. of autonomy in the actions of SDS leaders as independent actors and authentic representatives of the Serb people’s interests. The views of the future organization showed an exceptional inconsistency in that the future Bosnia–Herzegovina was sometimes presented as a confederal (meaning independent) republic, whereas at other times it was seen as divided into three parts: the first part should join the third ‘Yugoslavia’, practically Serbia and Montenegro; the second part was Croatia; while the third part was an independent Muslim state. R. Karadžić stated: ‘As far as we Serbs are concerned, we state that we are staying in Yugoslavia at any cost as its federal part. As for those who wish to leave it – have a nice trip’. However, in the preceding sentence he asserted ‘Bosnia–Herzegovina is only possible as a confederation’ (P. 1992. 03. 03. 5). On a different occasion, he maintained that ‘Bosnia–Herzegovina cannot become independent before sovereignty and a sovereign space is secured for the three constituent peoples’ (P. 1992. 24. 02. 1). The notion of sovereignty was thus used in two inconsistent ways: in one case, sovereignty was ascribed to a people, while in the other, the territory in which a certain people lived was sovereign. Other options, which were declared undesirable, were a civic Bosnia– Herzegovina (because it disguises the Muslim domination) and the status quo, that is Bosnia–Herzegovina as part of the Yugoslav federation (because the Serbs were the greatest victims in the federation). The already mentioned first two options (confederation and joining Serbia) were called ‘just’ and were seen as corresponding to ‘facticity’ and the ‘state of facts’ – the normative was presented as the factual, and vice versa. In any decision on the future status of Bosnia–Herzegovina, the most important thing was that ‘the state of facts is accepted’, because a unilateral referendum solution would encourage extremism on the Serb side. The ‘facts’ were the ethnic division of Bosnia–Herzegovina (P. 1992. 23. 02. 1). The reports often expressed doubts about the referendum representing the will of most citizens in favour of an independent Bosnia–Herzegovina, since ‘the Croats voted for the Muslim cause only in order to secure their own departure from the rest of Yugoslavia’ (P. 1992. 05. 03. 2). The referendum was considered null and void, at least by the Serb side, since only Muslims and (in part) Croats turned out. Since only ‘one and a half peoples’ voted, the referendum was not binding on anyone – it was ‘illegal’ and ‘illegitimate’. A report on the course of the referendum is found only on page 8 (P. 1992. 1. 03. 8). The coverage of the referendum was, nevertheless, pushed into the background by another event: the murder of a Serb carrying the ethnic flag during a wedding  ����������������������������������������������������������������������� The first letter is an abbreviation of the title of the newspaper (O = Oslobođenje; G = Glas; P = Politika; VL = Večernji list; DA = Dnevni avaz; GS = Glas Srpski/Glas Srpske; NN = Nezavisne novine; DL = Dnevni list). The second element is the year of publication. The next number indicates the day, the next the month and the last number is the page number.

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ceremony in the very centre of Sarajevo, at Baščaršija. Although interethnic clashes resulting in several casualties had already taken place throughout Bosnia– Herzegovina, this event assumed great symbolic importance in the Serb media, and the texts about it were very emotionally charged. This crime, according to the Serb press, was a metonymy reflecting the overall position of the Serb people in an independent Bosnia–Herzegovina. As a result, this crime became a mobilizing cause, used as a warning to the others and as the assumption of an obligation for us: ‘Let the Sarajevo death be the last warning to our neighbours Muslims and Croats. The Serb people cannot and will not allow themselves to be led to the slaughterhouse with their hands tied once again. We are warning that the Serbs in Bosnia–Herzegovina are part of the entire Serb people and that all Serbs are obliged to protect them’ (P. 1992. 03. 03. 5). Glas is a Banja Luka-based daily founded by the City Assembly. Although in the period analysed, that is immediately before the war, the city of Banja Luka was a multi-ethnic community with non-Serbs making up around one half of the population, Glas views reflected the views of the Serb political parties at the time. Glas articles included few direct references to the ‘us’ vs ‘them’ polarization. In some articles, the interests of the Serb people as a whole were opposed to those of Croats and Muslims. Thus, a polarization was created in the sense that those who voted in the referendum were actually voting for an Islamic state of Bosnia– Herzegovina, while those boycotting it expressed the will to preserve Yugoslavia and avoid bloodshed. The polarization was also evident in an article in which the Bosniak political forces were accused of obstructing the Lisbon negotiations on the future of Bosnia–Herzegovina, which were in progress at the time. ‘They’ were not serious, they did not honour what had been agreed, while the SDS, that is ‘we’, kept our word, ‘firmly sticking to the position agreed in Lisbon, without any intention to make further concessions’ (G. 1992. 28. 02. 20). On the other hand, the strategy of ‘implication’ whereby certain things were presented as common sense, well-known and self-explanatory, although these were actually arbitrary statements, was present to a much larger extent. The vote for a sovereign Bosnia–Herzegovina was thus described as ‘a knife at the throat of the Serb people’ (G. 1992. 28. 02. 1); voting in the referendum as diminishing the value of ‘honest intentions’ (G. 1992. 28. 02. 1); the SDA commitment to respecting other, non-ethnic principles as well in the new organization of Bosnia– Herzegovina as a ‘well-known’ trick (G. 1992. 28. 02. 20). On the other hand, the proclamation of the Republic of Serb Bosnia–Herzegovina was defined as the interest of the Serb people, hence ‘the Serb people took its fate into its own hands

  ‘The killers of the Serb wedding guest are not the three attackers but those who created the atmosphere which abolished Bosnia–Herzegovina once and for all’ (P. 1992. 06. 03. 7). ‘Those are shots directed at the Serb Bosnia–Herzegovina, at the entire Serbdom’ (P. 1992. 03. 03. 5).

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and did what it was forced to do’ (G. 1992. 29. 02. 20) in order not to allow others to ‘decide on its status’. An important device in the Glas reporting strategy was the use of the passive, intended to hide the perpetrators or to mislead the readers on certain issues. In most cases, it sought to hide those who impeded the conduct of the referendum in different ways, through phrases such as: ‘Given that … in the days that followed events took place which are currently being investigated’ (G. 1992. 29. 02. 5); ‘Following certain problems which existed in the past three days’ (G. 1992. 1. 03. 4); ‘The local polling committee has been relocated from the premises where it was earlier not allowed to work’ (G. 1992. 2. 03. 3). The most striking example of using the passive in order to cover up the actual situation was observed in the text ‘Voting in a peaceful atmosphere’ (G. 1992. 1. 03. 4), which said that ‘the polling stations were not opened, but the interested citizens were allowed to vote in the referendum at the closest polling stations’. The citizens were prevented from voting in the referendum, but we do not know who prevented them. The author, however, placed emphasis on ‘allowing’ citizens to vote at other polling stations without specifying who made it possible for them. Oslobođenje: Decisively in Favour Although the referendum was organized and supported by the leading Bosniak and Croat ethnic parties – the Party of Democratic Action (SDA) and the Croatian Democratic Union (HDZ) – the opposition and pro-Yugoslav Oslobođenje endorsed it. The reason for this position was that a vote for the sovereignty of Bosnia– Herzegovina should prevent the fragmentation of the republic along ethnic lines, that is a complete ethnoterritorial division that would lead to some of its territories joining the neighbouring republics. Should its multi-ethnic core be preserved, an independent Bosnia–Herzegovina would have a Piedmont-like role in unifying the South Slav peoples and serve as a bridge between the peoples at odds. Unlike other influential dailies in the former SFRY, Oslobođenje was also open to dissonant and opposing opinions both in terms of the meaning and possible consequences of the referendum. Although most reports regarding the referendum were positive, even asserting that a successful referendum was the only way out of   Such constructions abounded in the rhetoric of SDS chairman Radovan Karadžić. In this way, he manipulated the readers, turning indefinite things into definite, universally known facts, which is evident from the following example: ‘We know what our territory is’. Karadžić replied to questions about the actual extent of the Serb Republic of Bosnia– Herzegovina, ‘However, the plebiscite has shown us where our land is’ (G. 1992. 1. 03. 3).  The referendum was a condition set by the European Union for its recognition of Bosnia–Herzegovina as an independent state; it was held on 29 February and 1 March. It was boycotted by the then leading Serb party, the Serb Democratic Party (SDS). Sixty-four per cent of the constituency voted for a sovereign Bosnia–Herzegovina (Official Gazette of RBiH No. 7, 27. 3. 1992), which was sufficient for the referendum to be considered valid.

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the crisis, the paper quoted foreign media reports, most of which believed that this further exacerbated the crisis in Bosnia–Herzegovina, that is that the referendum made no sense without a consensus of all three sides. One more reason for supporting the referendum was its civic character, which set it apart from other national referenda in the former SFRY. The entire strategy of this newspaper was conceived in such a way that the notions of citizen and citizenship were valued extremely positively. The ‘civic’ in most cases featured as opposite to the ‘ethnic’, understood in the sense of a particularist and ethnicexclusionary position. The realistic possibility was, however, accepted that the very civic character of the referendum could be instrumentalized and abused. There was the danger that, by choosing to vote ‘yes’ in the referendum, citizens ‘without wanting it, at the same time also opt for the policy of ethnic parties and thus place confidence in them’ (O. 1992. 29. 02. 2). Since it was difficult to expect that the majority of voters who voted along ethnic lines in the elections would take a civic position after the referendum, the election victory of the ethnic parties relativized the civic substance of the referendum in advance. However, the chief aim of voting on sovereignty was to prevent a division of Bosnia–Herzegovina (O. 1992. 29. 02. 2). ‘It solidifies the republic’s “independent” position’, above all vis-à-vis the neighbouring states – Serbia and Croatia (O. 1992. 28. 02. 3). With the referendum, the danger of having parts of Bosnia–Herzegovina becoming provinces of one of these states was avoided, as well as that of a division into ethnic cantons. According to one headline, a vote in the referendum was ‘a Vote against Cantonization’ (O. 1992. 28. 02. 5), while another headline suggested ‘Cantonization – a High Treason’ (O. 1992. 01. 03. 11). A referendum on sovereignty should make possible a civic legal organization based upon which a fresh ‘interest-based rapprochement’ of all former Yugoslav peoples and states could take place in the future (O. 1992. 28. 02. 2). The idea of integration, that is the idea of a coexistence of different faiths and nations, lay at the core of the ‘Bosnian idea’. Given the civic and non-nationalist character of Oslobođenje, the very figure of the ‘other’ had a special form in it: it designated a group that was non-civic, non-tolerant and not used to living in a pluralist and multi-cultural community. Therefore, those who put up barricades in Sarajevo could not be Sarajevans in their very character: ‘Those who have caused the current chaos in Sarajevo are certainly not Sarajevans, because they simply cannot be that. Sarajevo has never allowed such things. This is not in the spirit of the centuries-old moral, human and cultural tradition of its inhabitants’ (O. 1992. 02. 03, special edition, 1). However, this strategy of portraying the ‘other’ as a stranger did not prove sustainable. The admission by A. Izetbegović was thus quoted, that the events in  According to Oslobođenje, the killers of the wedding guest at Baščaršija, hatemongers and barricade-builders were not only not Sarajevans; they were not even true Bosnians, but strangers (the headline on the erection of the first barricades is indicative here – ‘Strangers in the Night’).

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Bosnia–Herzegovina had initially been coordinated from Belgrade, but that local politicians subsequently became more aggressive than those from Belgrade, so that extremism was not imported from outside but had developed within Bosnia– Herzegovina itself (O. 1992. 04. 03. 1). Finally, a press release saying that the killers of the wedding guest at Baščaršija were from Bosnia–Herzegovina and Sarajevo was published although the news was completely pushed to one side (O. 1992. 04. 03. 20). This was, at the same time, a modest admission that, despite its tradition of coexistence and tolerance, the city was not immune to ‘mountaindweller’ tribal extremism and even the urban Bosnia–Herzegovina was still far from a civic Bosnia–Herzegovina. Večernji list: Decisively in Favour, but Consistently Against By contrast to the media rhetoric in Bosnia–Herzegovina at the time, the Croatian media did not talk about potential integration. The dominant view was that against any Yugoslav community since it had, reportedly, always been a ‘grave’ for Croats and Muslims. All Muslims and Croats were invited to take part in the referendum in order to ‘break the backbone’ of Yugoslavia, which ‘has not deserved anything else’ (VL. 1992. 28. 11. 8). A thread running through the speech was the argument about Bosnia–Herzegovina as ‘the backbone’ of Yugoslavia, as the central republic which had been of key importance for integration in the former state, so that ‘to break the backbone’ figuratively meant to prevent the possibility of any new union. Typical of the media discourse on other nations was the lack of distinction between the people and the then leadership and its policy. The Serbs were identified with the greater Serbian policy, marked by ‘depravity, chameleon-like adaptability and unscrupulousness’ (VL. 1992. 29. 11. 17). The Serb side was portrayed as the one constantly seeking a proxy-cause for war, but these were ‘products of a petty, cunning vegetable market con artist who, ingratiating himself with the buyer [meaning America] manages to understand what the buyer actually wants … And so, the Westerner [who cannot be bothered to fathom the Balkan reality] allows the Serb, who has cheated him, to go on deceiving and lying’ (VL. 1992. 06. 03. 2). A sovereign Bosnia–Herzegovina suited most of the people, ‘but not the Serbs, who have shown their true face and imperial aspiration in the war against Croatia’. Hypocrisy, cynicism and slyness were ascribed to Muslims, who would, by virtue of being the most numerous people, want to turn Bosnia–Herzegovina into a predominantly Muslim state. On the other hand, it was suggested that Croatia faced the threat of cooperation between the Muslim and Serb sides, which the author of the article believed would lead to the disappearance of Croats. The only   Izetbegović was described as ‘resolute’ in quotation marks, which implied an ironic distance. Those who wanted a sovereign Bosnia–Herzegovina through peaceful means, without a single shot fired, were described – also in quotation marks – as Muslim ‘moderates’, while their behaviour was described as national cowardice (VL. 1992. 05. 03. 2).

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solution on offer seemed to be radical: ‘In order to be able to prospectively realize any solution that would be more just, in the above context the Croats must first become appropriately credible in military terms’ (VL. 1992. 06. 03. 2). Finally, some articles discussed war in Bosnia–Herzegovina, which had not started yet at the time, as though it were a fait accompli: ‘For its inhabitants, war in Herceg– Bosnia seems to be the necessary hell on the road to freedom’ (VL. 1992. 06. 03. 2). As for debates on the future state organization, the very topic and meaning of the referendum were pushed into the background in the reports, while the legal and political status of the Croats, that is the interethnic structure of Bosnia–Herzegovina, were in the foreground. The Serb side (SDS) advocated a confederate state, the Muslim side (SDA) a unitary state and only the Croat side (HDZ) advocated a federal Bosnia–Herzegovina, ‘which will have designated ethnic areas’ (VL. 1992. 24. 11. 9). These parties were referred to as ‘people’s’ parties, which was supposed to bestow on them additional legitimacy. The modifier ‘people’s’ implied that the other ethnic parties, including those ‘ethnic’ parties that did not fit into the ethnopolitical mainstream, did not represent the people, that they were not ‘people’s’. Similar to the case in the Serb media, the confusion between the sovereignty of peoples and territorial sovereignty was perpetuated, wherein, depending on political needs, sovereignty was sometimes on the side of the people (regardless of its size in the given area), while at other times it was the territory in which one people was the majority that was sovereign. We can conclude that in the discourse of Večernji list the referendum itself was used as an instrument, just like the issue of Bosnia–Herzegovina’s sovereignty. Information on the referendum and sovereignty was ‘overlaid’ by information on the status of peoples in Bosnia–Herzegovina, that is the importance attached to them was determined by their relationship to partial ethnic self-determination. The referendum did not change anything since the interests of the three sides remained different, which was an ‘irrefutable fact’. The lack of a common civic interest was not even considered to be a shortcoming: ‘The Croats do not want to substitute the sovereignty of the Croat people in Bosnia–Herzegovina by a civic state, perhaps even a unitary one, in which outvoting by one people would be a constant threat … One of the worst and most pernicious scenarios would be for it to be exclusively some sort of a civic state!’ (VL. 1992. 29. 11. 17).

The Dayton Agreement Politika and Glas Srpski: ‘There is No Alternative to Peace’, or ‘We Have Achieved as Much as Our Maturity as a People Permits’ Of all the analysed papers, Politika was instrumentalized the most by the ruling political structures and, as a result, there can be found in it almost no criticism of the Serbian government policy towards Bosnia–Herzegovina. Although the rhetoric about the Serb people as a victim of aggression and genocide persisted,

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a significant shift is noticeable in identifying political goals, the discourse being considerably more measured compared with that of 1992. More extreme views occupied mostly a marginal position in the paper, with less important personalities being presented as their champions. Thus, the mayor of Banja Luka was quoted as saying that ‘the unification with Serbia is yet to follow’ (P. 1995. 22. 11. 13), while the Loznica SPS municipal board stated that ‘the River Drina remains the backbone of the Serb people’ (P. 1995. 23. 11. 13). Conspicuous in Politika’s discourse is the absence of references to the RS leadership, the main political representatives of the Bosnian Serb side – it should be noted here that the non-recognition of the Serb side and its representatives as equal partners in political decision-making in Bosnia–Herzegovina used to feature in the media as one of the chief causes of the conflict in Bosnia–Herzegovina. The Bosnian Serb leadership was not mentioned in reports before the signing of the agreement, while their negative assessment of the agreement was mentioned only in marginal positions. Only in an article published two days after the initialling was it mentioned, through a report from The Guardian, that M. Krajišnik had described the Dayton agreement as ‘a big mistake’; however ‘this is the view of a small group of people seeking to continue the war’ (P. 1995. 23. 11. 2). It was demonstrated that the centre of decision-making was on the other side, embodied in the Serbian president, who was at the centre of all media attention. The Serb side was portrayed as constructive and cooperative vis-à-vis the agreement, while the disunited Bosniak side, which tried to ‘grab’ as much territory as possible for its ‘Muslim state’ (A. Izetbegović) or aspired to a unitary Bosnia–Herzegovina (H. Silajdžić), was identified as the main obstacle (P. 1995. 17. 11. 1). The negotiations were burdened with a number of negotiators ‘looking at things from a war perspective, from the trenches’, while ‘we did not have such a burden in this respect, which allowed us to be in a better position’ (P. 1995. 27, 28, 29 and 30. 11. 2). Nevertheless, the central position in the discourse was occupied by the figure of Serbian president Slobodan Milošević who, even before the start of the negotiations, was described by the official propaganda as ‘the key factor of peace’ in the former Yugoslav region. ‘There is no alternative to peace’ was perhaps the most frequently quoted slogan of Milošević’s of the time, which the pro-regime media repeated ad nauseam. After the initialling of the Dayton agreement, texts were dominated by accolades in the form of letters to Slobodan Milošević, which often crossed the line of good taste. The victory of ‘the wise policy of President Slobodan Milošević and his statesman-like preparedness and courage in being full of understanding for others as well while saving his own people and his citizens’ was glorified (P. 1995. 22. 11. 13). Congratulating the president were also the director-general of the  Hand in hand with the notorious role of the victim goes the strategy of rejecting blame for crimes committed in Bosnia–Herzegovina. When probably the greatest war crime committed in Bosnia–Herzegovina – the one in Srebrenica – was discussed, the mentioned crimes of the Serb side were duly preceded by the adjective ‘alleged’.

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Yugoslav Railways Union, the Serbian Teachers’ Association, the Produkt bakery, the Peć health centre, the director of the Pančevo glass plant, Pirot’s Tigar rubber plant and the French philosopher and author Daniel Schiffer, while Montenegrin culture minister Gojko Čelebić said that even literature would be different after the Dayton peace (P. 1995. 23. 11. 13). This writing style culminated with the report that the SPS municipal board in Požega ‘has endorsed … the proposal of the SPS executive board of Zlatibor district to propose Slobodan Milošević as a candidate for the Nobel Peace Prize’ (P. 1995. 24. 11. 12). In keeping with the universal trend of adding the possessive ‘Serb’ to the names of cities, institutions and toponyms, during the war in Bosnia–Herzegovina the Glas newspaper changed its name to Glas Srpski. Although departing to a certain extent from both the new ‘conciliatory’ discourse of the Serbian/Yugoslav leadership and the militant position of the then Serb leadership in Bosnia–Herzegovina, the discourse positions of Glas Srpski, nevertheless, accurately reflected the political discourse of Bosnian Serbs at the time in terms of defining Bosniaks and Croats, the relationships with them and the prospects of coexistence. The main features of this media/political discourse included the premises that the war had been imposed on the Serbs (GS. 1995. 20. 11. 1); that the ultimate goal of the Serb struggle was to create the state of Republika Srpska and have it united with Serbia (GS. 1995. 20. 11. 1); that the agreed peace was unjust towards the Serbs (GS. 1995. 22. 11. 1); and that the most that the Serbs wanted, according to the messages dispatched, in their coexistence with the Bosniaks was fair neighbourly relations, but by no means living together (GS. 1995. 23. 11. 1). The positions adopted by Glas were most evident in the very headlines since they most explicitly expressed editorial views vis-à-vis the dominant political discourse. The analysed newspaper texts did not contain many references to the identity of any of the Bosnian peoples. However, when indications of identity were given, they promoted ‘our’ side, or noted things that should be rectified with ‘us’, while completely anathematizing ‘them’. The Serbs were, above all, courageous, as Biljana Plavšić said about the inhabitants of Serb Sarajevo: ‘Those are heroic people and every child there has deserved a hero’s medal’ (GS. 1995. 23. 11. 1).10 A note from the Orašje front described the characteristics of Croat fighters, as well as of the Croat people as a whole. It was asserted that ‘apart from lacking intelligence, the Croats also lack words for basic cultural and mediatic achievements’, and that ‘this completely deluded people would not even dream of peace, at least when it comes to Posavina’ (GS. 1995. 20. 11. 4). An analysis described Bosniaks, on the other hand, as converted Turks whose hatred of Serbs remained immune to change, and their spiritual values as ‘evil looks, ugly proverbs and obscene gestures’(GS. 1995. 22. 11. 2). The relations between the Croats and Bosniaks in the newly established Federation of Bosnia–Herzegovina were described through 10 On the other hand, one commentary noted that the Serbs were not united and that they often worked against their own interests: ‘At this point in history, we have achieved as much as our maturity as a people permitted’ (GS. 1995. 23. 11. 1).

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the metaphor ‘Ljuta guja Latinkinja gurnuta je u muslimanska njedra’ [A Latin viper pushed into the Muslim bosom] (GS. 1995. 23. 11. 2). Very frequent in the analysed period was the use of implicit messages in which meanings assumed to be ‘commonsensical’ were added to the core meaning. The expressions ‘the former Bosnia’, ‘the Muslim government in Sarajevo’, and the like, implied that Bosnia–Herzegovina did not exist as a state, although it was an internationally recognized country at the time. Implicit messages were also used when commenting on the results of the Dayton agreement. Thus, it was implied that the war had been started by the others (GS. 1995. 20. 11. 1), as well as that it had been planned in the global centres of power (GS. 1995. 23. 11. 1), and that the Bosniaks had ‘staged’ the massacre of Sarajevans at the Markale market (GS. 1995. 21. 11. 3). Dnevni avaz and Oslobođenje: ‘Minimum Equity’ with ‘A Firm Fixing of Territorial Delineation’ Comparing commentaries and reports published at the time of the Dayton negotiations, it may be noted that the commentaries of Dnevni avaz, a paper close to the Bosniak political leadership, were more ‘extreme’ than the reports themselves. One analyst (DA. 1995. 20. 11) was against the position of the Bosnia–Herzegovina leaders on ceding the Posavina corridor to the Republika Srpska, that is the concession to the Serb side which was accepted by both the Croatian and the Bosnian president and was a condition for the definitive signing of the Dayton agreement and for establishing peace. Another commentary (DA. 1995. 23. 11. 4) did not distinguish between the Serb leadership and the Serb people, acknowledging that the views of one of the Serb leaders, M. Krajišnik, on not accepting the Dayton agreement and on the necessity to divide Sarajevo along ethnic lines were actually the views of Serbs themselves.11 Analogous to the reports of the Croat and Serb sides, the coverage by this Bosniak paper on the course of the peace negotiations stressed the constructive behaviour of its own side, while ascribing obstruction to the others. The new demands of the Serb side regarding the Brčko corridor were, thus, described as the main obstacles to reaching an agreement (DA. 1995. 21. 11. 1), while a different article on the same page discussed the obstruction and possible collapse of the negotiations because of Tuđman’s disagreement regarding Posavina. Statements by Bosniak politicians regarding the results of the peace agreement were based on the reiterated view that the peace was unjust, yet more 11 The conclusion on which the entire text was based was that the agreement was good just because the Serbs were not happy with it. The ‘negative’ logic prevailed, that is views in which the dissatisfaction or a bad situation of the other (an entire people) prompts our approval. This ‘negative’ logic is also evident in Oslobođenje in some cases, with the important distinction that the desirability of the plan was derived from the dissatisfaction of the Pale Serb leaders (O. 1995. 23. 11. 2).

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just than a continuation of the war, because ‘a bitter pill had to be swallowed’ and, pressures notwithstanding, a minimum of equity had been achieved. The international recognition of Bosnia–Herzegovina within its existing borders and of Bosnia–Herzegovina as a ‘single, although now decentralized’ state was noted as an advantage of the agreement; however, the latter statement implied that a decentralized state was in some way worth less than a unitary/centralized state. Decentralization was perceived in some cases as something inappropriate in and of itself and contrary to integration, which can be seen from an interview with H. Silajdžić (DA. 1995. 24. 11. 2). A parallel can be drawn here to the rhetoric in Serbia at the time of the rise of Milošević, when decentralization was perceived negatively, as a threat to national unity and the integrity of the state. Faithful to its discourse and political orientation, Oslobođenje saw territorial division along ethnic lines as a defeat of the civic alternative, that is as a failure of the approach that would rest on the sovereignty of an individual/citizen. The dominant policy was based on ‘ethnic premises’ and was ‘the origin and cause of all division’ (O. 1995. 14. 11. 1). Hence, a ‘broader political basis’ than an exclusively ethnic basis was needed, which would lead to an ‘open society’ that would ‘reconcile ethnic and civic interests’ and start ‘establishing democratic institutions’ (O. 1995. 23. 11. 1). Unlike Dnevni avaz, which mostly conveyed the views of the ruling structure or views that the ruling structure would accept as desirable, Oslobođenje reported (mostly negative) views of the Bosnian opposition on the territorial division. The opposition wondered why the Federation authorities were sorry about Posavina or Srebrenica (which now belonged to the RS) if Bosnia–Herzegovina was a single country and if the boundary line was but ‘a line of demarcation’ and not a border (O. 1995. 26. 11. 6). Given its consistent position and its status as an opposition paper, which did not oblige it to remain silent about internal agreements and tactical alliances, Oslobođenje used a less diplomatic vocabulary than the pro-government Dnevni avaz when writing about Milošević and Tuđman. Serbian president Milošević was said to be ‘the most responsible for all the evil in the region’ and was called a ‘Führer’12 (O. 1995. 15. 11. 6). In alluding to his native Veliko Trgovišće, Croatian president Tuđman was referred to as a ‘trgovac’ (trader) in other people’s territories (O. 1995. 27. 11. 4). Oslobođenje exhibited a more pronounced scepticism when it came to the prospects of an ethnically divided Bosnia–Herzegovina. The author of a commentary published on the cover page on the day the Dayton agreement was initialled wondered if the initials might be announcing a definitive division of Bosnia–Herzegovina (O. 1995. 14. 22. 1). Built into the agreement were ‘so 12  Nevertheless, in some cases it is not quite clear who exactly was meant with the division into ‘us’ and ‘them’ – the people or the leadership that initiated the crimes – as is the case with the (alleged) ‘immeasurable mental barrier’ between ‘us’ and ‘them’ (O. 1995. 24. 11. 6), where it is not clear if ‘them’ denoted the Pale ‘criminal leadership’ or the entire people.

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many tired compromises and deep disagreements, so many unnatural divisions and corridors’ that a question mark constantly hung over its implementation. Nevertheless, the hope was expressed in some articles that ‘economy and money will put things in the right place’ and that economic welfare for all would enable civil reintegration, and achieve the desire of ordinary people to live in peace (O. 1995. 25. 11. 4). Večernji list: ‘Croatia – The Only Winner?’ Similar to Politika, Večernji list sought to present its side as the winner in the Dayton agreement, although the victory was not personified in the figure of a faultless leader as it was in Politika. Instead, the policy of the Croat leadership was considered to be the winner. There were ample quotes from foreign media which referred to the Croat side as ‘the unquestionable winner of the Dayton negotiations’. The Croatian role was considered to be ‘decisive’ for the agreement, since ‘several important proposals of the Croatian delegates’ had been accepted. An article with the big headline ‘Croatia – the only Certain Winner’ conveyed British press reports on the completion of the negotiations (VL. 1995. 21. 11. 15). The official reaction, dominant in Večernji list as well, was based on the alleged moral superiority and solid moral arguments of their own side, which had to take a back seat to the other moral imperative – stopping the war – as well as to the world’s realpolitik. Also similarly to Politika, in Večernji list the opposite side was accused of obstructing the negotiations. ‘Milošević Only for Bargaining’ was a typical secondary headline, while one article said: ‘The only dispute concerns Brčko, where the Serb side has unrealistic demands’ (VL. 1995. 21. 11. 3). Although justice was on our (Croat) side, the imposed interests of the great powers had to be recognized and less pleasant concessions agreed to. Even though, according to some texts, a division of Bosnia–Herzegovina into three ethnic parts would be more favourable, the Federation of Bosnia–Herzegovina would be weak enough and would, of necessity, fall in Croatia’s sphere of interest: ‘If we act wisely, the Federation will develop extremely friendly ties with and become strategically/politically and economically dependent on Croatia’ (VL. 1995. 25. 11. 4). Regardless of changes in the official Croat policy, above all that of the Republic of Croatia itself, it was not felt necessary in the media presentation to examine the earlier policy, which largely collided with the policy in this period. Thus, there was no criticism of the Croat–Bosniak war or of the establishment of the Croat state (and de jure irredentist) ‘entity’ Herceg–Bosnia. Herceg–Bosnia was reportedly a vital condition for the Croats: they would not have survived in Bosnia–Herzegovina without it (VL. 1995. 20. 11. 5). While this entity was described as the only guarantee of the survival of Croats and the army of Bosnian Croats as ‘defence’ units, the Serb army was referred to as a ‘para-army’ and the RS as a ‘parastate’, regardless of their concurring war objectives (a separate state) and methods (ethnic cleansing).

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The Bosniak side enjoyed little better treatment than the Serb side. The Croat people had been forced to ‘organize resistance’ against the Yugo-communist army due to the ‘the lack of preparedness and shortsightedness of Muslims in Bosnia– Herzegovina’ (VL. 1995. 15. 11. 8). ‘Bosnia would have collapsed more than two years ago had it not been for the Bosnian Croat army’, but ‘when the territory lost in the Serb aggression needed to be made up for elsewhere, they [Muslims] were very effective, and hundreds of thousands of Croats/Catholics had to flee in the face of the Muslim onslaught’ (VL. 1995. 16. 11. 9.; VL. 1995. 19. 11. 19). ‘Our’ war was, of course, a ‘defensive’ war in both cases (VL. 1995. 18. 11. 6). Since the figure of the aggressor was reserved for the Serb side, problems with words occurred when the conflict between the Croat and Muslim sides needed to be described. As has been seen, the war with Muslims was described as ‘unfortunate’ in several places and referred to as a ‘conflict’, while the war-waging by the Serb side was an ‘aggression’. A parallel could not be drawn between the crimes themselves, as some were trying to do abroad: while the other sides had perpetrated ‘systematic’ crimes, i.e. planned and prepared in advance, our side had perpetrated ‘individual’ crimes (VL. 1995. 21. 11. 4). The entire rhetoric was continuing the discourse blueprint accepted in advance, according to which crimes could be committed only by the other side, meaning the Serbs, and, as the occasion might require, the Muslims (who were to blame for the expulsion of ‘some hundred thousand Croat civilians’). An article reporting the statement of the Swedish police that around 20 suspects for war crimes committed in former Yugoslavia were in Sweden said that the identity and ethnicity of the suspects was not revealed because this was not allowed under the local laws (VL. 1995. 22. 11. 11). The content, however, did not prevent the article from being headlined ‘Serb Criminals also in Sweden’.

Constitutional Changes Significant Steps Forward, with a Pronounced Focus on Separate Readerships The winter of 2005 and the spring of 2006 saw attempts by the most relevant Bosnian parties, with the mediation of international representatives led by the USA, to agree on changes to the Bosnia–Herzegovina constitution adopted in Dayton as Annex IV to the Framework Agreement for Peace. In a session that began on 25 April and lasted until the early hours of the following day, only to be continued on 27 April, the parliament failed to take a two-thirds majority decision on adopting amendments to the constitution.13 Many advocates of constitutional change noted that this was the first time since Dayton that reform was carried out through an agreement between local political forces. However, it is also true that on the issue 13 Of 42 MPs, 26 voted for and 16 against, which means that two votes were missing for this majority.

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of constitutional reform atypical political coalitions were created for the first time since the war that were not based exclusively on ethnonational criteria. In the period surveyed, great progress in professional terms was registered in media reports. Thus, the voices of different peoples and different political orientations appeared in all newspapers and, in a large number of cases, the authors of newspaper articles themselves came from different ethnic groups. In addition, correct titles were used for different actors of political life, be they from a different ethnic group or a different political bloc. Typical of reporting in all the newspapers analysed during this period was the dominant use of news forms, which above all conveyed statements by actors of constitutional changes (statement/press release) and described developments in parliament (news item/report), while the use of analytical forms, such as commentaries or notes, was reduced to a minimum in most newspapers. In this way, the visibility of journalistic interventions was significantly reduced, and the impression was given that the newspapers were actually only a channel through which politicians expressed their views and opinions on up-coming constitutional changes. Glas Srpske and Nezavisne novine Although Glas Srpske published only one commentary on constitutional changes, its editors commented on the process of constitutional changes more conspicuously than the others through headlines, subheadings and text boxes, while journalistic commentaries were sometimes inserted in the very text of a report. Thus, interpreting the demand of the independent MP Sead Avdić to abolish entity-based voting, a journalist wrote in the report ‘Denouement or imbroglio’: ‘This means that Avdić is asking for what Serb MPs will not agree to at any cost’ (GS. 2006. 25. 04. 5). Glas Srpske portrayed the debate on constitutional changes as a battle for the survival of the Republika Srpska. On the one hand, there were those who wished the RS to disappear, as suggested by the headlines: ‘Traps have Remained Empty’ (GS. 2006. 21. 04. 5); ‘We do not Want Petty Deceptions’ (GS. 2006. 19. 04. 1); and ‘Wool over the Eyes’ (GS. 2006. 21. 04. 5). On the other hand, there were those who fought for the survival of the Republika Srpska and who sent the messages ‘No Bargaining over the RS’ (GS. 2006. 20. 04. 2) and ‘No Wind Could Blow the Srpska Away’ (GS. 2006. 29. 04. 2). Against the emphasis on unity and determination in defending the RS, Glas was stressing the message of disunity and uncertainty when it came to the future of Bosnia–Herzegovina, that is to coexistence with other peoples. Nezavisne novine, on the other hand, approached constitutional changes as a purely technical issue. It gave space almost exclusively to advocates of constitutional changes, as well as to international representatives, while the voices of radical opponents of constitutional changes from the RS were completely ignored. The messages sent suggested that the proposed constitutional changes

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should lead to a faster development of the country. The only thing that Nezavisne was trying to underline for its readers was that in the announced second phase of constitutional changes there would be ‘No Pressures to Abolish the RS’ (NN. 2006. 21. 04. 3). Although mostly focusing on Serb readers, Nezavisne novine also sought to address other Bosnian peoples as well, reporting to a large extent on Croat and Bosniak debates on the constitution. By contrast, Glas Srpske focused almost exclusively on discussions by Serb political players, while the dilemmas of non-Serb political parties were presented in the context of the ‘other’. The newspaper’s editors did not hesitate to apply metonymic reasoning and turn only a section of the Croat and Bosniak political parties that opposed the constitutional changes into all ‘Bosniaks’ and all ‘Croats’, as was done in the headline ‘Bosniaks Would Like to Abolish the Republika Srpska, Croats are in Favour of Four Regions, and the Serbs of Preserving the Essence of the Dayton Agreement’ (GS. 2006. 29. 04. 5). In addition, Glas Srpske also invoked the hopelessness of war by uncritically conveying open calls for a fresh conflict in Bosnia–Herzegovina. The statement by the head of the Republika Srpska Association of Camp Inmates that ‘Our representatives must not accept these constitutional changes, even at the cost of what happened in Bosnia–Herzegovina repeating itself’ (GS. 2006. 20. 04. 2) was thus reported without any comment. Dnevni avaz and Oslobođenje With Dnevni avaz, the pronounced use of forms of news journalism served the strategic goal of hiding its siding with the opponents of the constitutional changes, because this meant an overt conflict with international representatives, who strongly endorsed the constitutional changes. Hence, there was a marked use in Avaz of the statement/press release form, as well as of the form of report (which describes events, but also relates participants’ statements), whereby statements of numerous international representatives were correctly conveyed. The newspaper tried to impose the image of objectivity by an almost complete absence of analytical forms. Although Avaz is not particularly known as a paper with recognizable commentators, the absence of any serious commentaries on the topic of constitutional changes is still symptomatic. A rubric Commentary of the Day did exist, but during the period of analysis commentators did not write about constitutional changes one single time. On the other hand, Oslobođenje was at the forefront of all the other newspapers in using analytical forms, giving space to analysts with different views to express their opinions of the constitutional changes. While the commentaries by Oslobođenje’s external contributors identified numerous difficulties and illogical elements regarding the upcoming constitutional changes, the paper’s editor clearly sided with the advocates of the constitutional changes. Although Oslobođenje managed to secure commentator voices coming from different peoples, most of the authors were from Sarajevo.

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Both Oslobođenje and Avaz wrote the most about the dilemmas faced by the Bosniak and non-ethnic parties. In news items and reports, the norms of professional reporting were, for the most part, adhered to, and the newspapers did not openly side with either of the opposing camps. Nevertheless, in several texts Dnevni avaz presented only the positions of opponents of the constitutional changes (DA. 2006. 19. 04. 2), or, even more effectively, from the Federation the positions of the opponents were presented, and from the Republika Srpska those of the advocates of the constitutional changes, which emphasized the ‘us vs them’ polarization with the Bosniak readership (DA. 2006. 21. 04. 9). Dnevni list Through reports on the process of constitutional changes, Dnevni list aimed to appeal in a certain measure not only to the Croat readership, although it is obvious that most space was given to discussions conducted between Croat political parties. A good indicator of the focus of the papers analysed, including Dnevni list, on different ethnic audiences are headlines taken from the statements by the senior US administration official Rosemary DiCarlo. While Nezavisne novine used as a headline ‘There will be no Pressures to Abolish the RS’ (DL. 2006. 21. 04. 3), Dnevni list singled out in a headline ‘The Constitutional Changes do not Threaten the Croats’ (DL. 2006. 21. 04. 3). The Mostar-based Dnevni list reported rather correctly on debates within the Croat community, without neglecting either the opponents or the advocates of the constitutional changes. However, it can be seen that a slight preference was, nevertheless, conferred on the opponents of the constitutional amendments since only Martin Raguž, one of the prominent opponents of the changes, was granted the opportunity to give an interview (DL. 2006. 28. 04. 3). The impression is given that, by presenting the debates within the Croat community, Dnevni list sought to avoid fanning the conflict between the opposing sides. In analyses following the parliament debacle, commentators did not try to stress the triumph or defeat of any side, but rather pointed to the essential problems that remained after this outcome (DL. 2006. 28. and 29. 04. 2). However, this intention of calming down passions is not evident in the analyses regarding the Bosniak participants in the debate on the constitutional changes, which accused the opponents of the changes of careerism (DL. 2006. 29. 04. and 02. 05. 2).

Conclusion As stated in the introduction, the aim of the survey was to analyse the media discourse in the context of a particular key event. In this sense, the discourse strategy was adapted to the given political and social circumstances. We, therefore, focused on similarities in portraying ‘us’ and ‘the others’ between different papers in one and the same period, as well as on the continuity and discontinuity of the

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media discourse of one and the same daily (or of the most influential media of one and the same ethnic group) in different periods of time. In 1992 and 1995, ethnic papers often failed to make a distinction between the political authorities of the other ethnic group and the people itself, whereby permanent traits and intentions, directed against ‘us’, were ascribed to the people in question (and the other peoples). No explicit discourse of xenophobia or ethnic intolerance is to be observed in the papers in 2006, regardless of whether the political discourse maintained a clear polarization between ‘us’ and ‘them’. The other side was no longer described as criminal, but was considered responsible for the committed crimes and the political crisis, as well as for obstructing change and wanting to dominate. In the same sense, unlike the case in the discourse from the previous periods, a distance vis-à-vis political elites is evident in the media, irrespective of the views of those elites and their attempts to present themselves as representatives of an entire – and exclusively their – people. The comparison between different daily newspapers in one and the same period of time, together with the comparison of the papers’ discourse in different periods of time, has allowed us to show the media discourse in all its dynamics and transformation, and the way in which the discourse, adapting itself to the changed situation, presents that situation, but also produces its own field of political and social reality, filtered and (re)constituted by the media. Up to the most recent period, media representation, that is the media discourse, on the one hand, and the discourse strategies of political players, on the other, constituted a single narrative with identical ‘stereotyping’ and ‘confabulations’. Although the discourse of politics itself has to undergo a significant transformation in order to be equally acceptable to all citizens, it depends on the media themselves whether they will continue ‘reflecting’ the ruling political views, or rather strive towards their own autonomy. After all, this autonomy is an important condition for the very necessary de-homogenization of self-perception and the perception of the other.

Chapter 8

‘Spinning Out of Control’: Mutual Reinforcement Discourse in Macedonia? Zhidas Daskalovski

Introduction Hailed as an exemplary case of successful interethnic cooperation, Macedonia surprised analysts and diplomats when it almost surged into a full-blown civil war in the first half of 2001. Led by Ali Ahmeti, the previously unknown National Liberation Army (NLA) – a motley group of former Kosovo Liberation Army fighters from Kosovo and Macedonia, Albanian insurgents from the south-east Serbian regions of Preshevo, Bujanovac and Medvedja, young Albanian radicals and nationalists from Macedonia, and foreign mercenaries – between February and August 2001 organized an armed insurrection against the Macedonian government (Bellamy 2002, 132). Following prolonged warfare, and with emotions running high among government officials and ordinary Macedonians and Macedonian Albanians, the danger of civil conflict was real. The international community, led by the European Union, reacted swiftly by producing the Ohrid Framework Agreement and the pacification of the NLA, thus ending the conflict. This chapter examines the relationship between media discourse and conflict development in Macedonia in the early 2000s. It investigates how the ‘self’ and the ‘other’ were presented in the media discourse in three different time periods: before the conflict of 2001; during the scandalous affair concerning the eavesdropping of politicians and public officials which lasted for approximately one month from mid-January to mid-February; during the conflict, approximately six months from mid-February to August 2001; and after the conflict, during the campaign for the parliamentary elections of 2002, which was a moment in history when the ‘wounds of the war’ were still fresh. Our aim is to determine whether the media discourse in the Macedonian and Albanian languages was inflammatory and hate reinforcing. In order to do this, we juxtapose the rhetoric of the press in the Macedonian and Albanian languages with statements made by the leadership of the NLA, the international discourse, as well as with the actual NLA deeds during the conflict. First, a brief overview of the conflict is provided, then the media discourse is  ������������������������������������������������������������������������� The National Liberation Army’s acronyms are ONA in Macedonian and UCK in Albanian. The latter is also the acronym of the Kosovo Liberation Army.

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presented through an overview of the news reporting and commentaries in two newspapers, Vest published in the Macedonian language and Fakti in the Albanian language. In addition, the Forum magazine, considered as the most serious political journal in the country, is analysed. In the next section the chapter focuses on how this discourse was influenced by the rhetoric of the NLA and of representatives of the international community. The main finding of the chapter is that the local media discourse before the conflict did not produce a significant rate of hate speech in the two communities. While nationalistic/inflammatory discourse appeared and, to some degree, escalated during the conflict, it was not extreme in nature and had decreased to a minimal level during the parliamentary elections of 2002.

The Local Media Discourse Parallelism The majority Macedonians and the Albanian minority live next to each other with little interaction. These two parallel worlds are reflected in the media situation. Although some ethnic Albanians, especially the highly educated, read Macedonian language newspapers, most do not. At the same time, the majority of Macedonians does not know the Albanian language and follow the media in the Macedonian language. During the war the media, in both languages, presented two different ‘truths’ to the societies that existed side by side. Yet, it is a common perception that the coverage of the 2001 crisis by the Macedonian media (in both the Macedonian and Albanian language) was very moderate, at least compared with the role of the media in other countries of the former Yugoslavia (Serbia, Croatia and Bosnia– Herzegovina), during the years when war was waged in these countries. The Macedonian media produced very little ‘hate speech’. Overview of the Conflict and the Influence of the International Community During the conflict, the media in both languages presented their own views on the origins of the fighting and the right of the rebels to stage an uprising. The Macedonian language media favoured the view that the rebellion was unjustified and that the NLA actions were essentially terrorist, while the Albanian language media took the opposite stance. Since Macedonian politics are strongly influenced by the reactions of the international community, the statements of European and American politicians on the conflict and the reporting of the international press had a great effect on the reporting of the Macedonian and Albanian language media. In fact, at the beginning of the conflict the international community labelled the NLA as ‘murderers’ and ‘terrorists’, in line with the reporting in the Macedonian language media. Later, the international community ‘relabelled’ the NLA as ‘rebels’, which was much more in line with the Albanian language press and in contradiction to the official Macedonian authorities and the Macedonian language press.

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The conflict began on 22 January 2001, when an NLA unit attacked the police station in the village of Tearce, near Tetovo, killing one police officer and injuring three others. Weeks later, bizarre circumstances sparked off another serious incident. On 16 February, a private Macedonian TV station (A1 TV) sent a crew to an isolated mountain village on the Kosovo border that was inhabited by Macedonian Albanians. When men in NLA uniform harassed the crew and did not allow filming, the Macedonian police sent a patrol unit to investigate. By late February, Macedonian special police units had defeated the rebels by driving them across the border into Kosovo, but in mid-March NLA forces reappeared in the hills above Tetovo, a key northwestern town with a Macedonian Albanian majority. The NLA forces’ strategic position allowed them a good view of the town, including the part of the town inhabited almost exclusively by Macedonians. As the NLA began firing indiscriminately on that district, there were worries about conflict escalation. On 25 March, the government launched an offensive, which eventually led to the withdrawal of the NLA forces to Kosovo. The NLA was ambiguous both in its statements and in its actions. The organization announced its existence to the world after the attack on the police station on 22 January 2001. From Germany, the NLA sent a fax to the BBC, stating that ‘the uniform of the Macedonian occupier will be targeted until the Albanian people are liberated’. Some statements claimed that the NLA would ‘fight a longplanned-for “war of liberation”’, in order to achieve an ‘independent, separate Albanian state of Western Macedonia’. Demands that Macedonian forces should ‘withdraw from our territories’, and claims to the effect that ‘if we [NLA] had tanks we could go all the way to Bulgaria and Athens’, were mixed with more moderate rhetoric. Thus, some statements set out their political aims as ‘international mediation in the conflict and a new constitution which will stress that Macedonians and Albanians are equal national groups in the same state’. They also claimed that ‘we do not want to endanger the stability and the territorial integrity of Macedonia, but we will fight a guerrilla war until we have won our basic rights, that is, until we are accepted as an equal people in Macedonia’. The   Vest (16, 17, 20 and 26 March 2001).  ��������������������������������������������������������������������������������� Paul Wood, BBC News, Internet edition, ‘Analysis: Stirrings of War?’ Tuesday, 27 February 2001.  ��������������������������������������������������������������������������� Paul Wood, BBC News, Internet edition, ‘Who are the Rebels’, 20 March 2001.  ����� Ibid.  ������������������������������������������������������������������������ Carlotta Gall, ‘On the Front in Macedonia: A Show of Rebel’s Tenacity’, New York Times, 20 March 2001. See also Paul Watson, ‘Going Behind Enemy Lines in Macedonia; Balkans: Ethnic Albanians battle a government determined to crush their rebellion’, The Los Angeles Times, 20 March 2001.   James Graff and Joshua Kucera ‘Behind Rebel Lines: As NATO Vacillates over Military Intervention in Macedonia, Ethnic Albanians Advance on the Capital’, Time International, 25 June 2001.  ��������������������������������������������������������������������������� Paul Wood, BBC News, Internet edition, ‘The Rebels Agenda’, 11 March 2001.  ��������������������� P. Wood, ibid., 2001.

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NLA actions, one statement said, were designed to ‘get the attention of the police and the government in Macedonia, to make them sit down and talk and solve the problem peacefully’.10 The NLA rebellion was met with widespread condemnation in the international community. From the EU and the USA, as well as from Russia and all of Macedonia’s neighbours including Albania, only harsh criticisms were issued, followed by demands that the guerrilla activities had to stop. In the initial stages of the crisis, leading figures in the international community labelled members of the NLA as ‘murderers, thugs and terrorists’. Thus, at a meeting with his Macedonian counterpart, Srdjan Kerim, French Foreign Minister Hubert Vedrine said that the international community supported the Macedonian authorities in their fight against terrorist groups active in the northwestern part of the country. Vedrin underlined that ‘we should not accept that separatist groups use terrorist methods and pose a threat to the stability in the region’.11 Around the same time UK Foreign Secretary Robin Cook was also clear about the international community’s stance on the NLA fighters, describing them as ‘terrorists’.12 Likewise, EU High Representative Javier Solana was unambiguous in his description of the NLA. On a visit to Skopje Solana commented that the Macedonian government’s refusal to negotiate with the NLA was justified, adding that ‘the terrorists have to be isolated. All of us have to condemn and isolate them’.13 The international community was clearly concerned about the potential for destabilization of the country and strongly backed the multi-ethnic government, in which both Macedonian and Albanian parties participated, against what was at that moment an uncoordinated extremist action of Albanian militants. Given the clear divisions in Macedonian society and the dangers of ethnic mobilization, the foreign leaders sent positive signals to the government in Skopje that they should crush the rather small and isolated group of NLA fighters. During his visit to Macedonia in early April, Mr Cook used the label ‘terrorist’ at least half a dozen times. At the same time, he also pressed the government to introduce a wide range of legal reforms.14 Also in April, the USA classified the NLA as a terrorist organization in the State Department’s Annual Report on Patterns of Global Terrorism for 2000.15 10 ��������������������� P. Wood, ibid., 2001. 11 �������������������������������������������������������������������������� ‘World Community Backs Macedonia Fight against Terrorism’, ITAR/TASS News Agency, 11 March 2001. 12 ������������������������������������������������������������������������ Richard Norton-Taylor, ‘Nato Pleas for More Troops in Balkans Ignored’, Wednesday 21 March 2001, The Guardian and at the House of Commons, ‘Statement Say UK Troops’ Operation in Macedonia Successful’, Xinhua News Agency, 27 March 2001. 13 ����������������������������������������������������� Rory Carroll, ‘Albanian Rebels Told to Flee or Die’, The Guardian, 21 March; Raymond Whitaker, ‘No Talks With Rebels, Says EU Security Chief’, The Independent, 21 March; ‘Military Activities of the Government are Legitimate’, Vest, 21 March 2001. 14  Dominic Evans, ‘Macedonia’s Albanian leader slams government talks’, Reuters, 5 April 2001. 15  See http://www.state.gov/s/ct/rls/pgtrpt/2000/.

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Following a quiet period in May, the fighting resumed when NLA fighters ambushed a reconnaissance patrol of the Macedonian security forces, killing and mutilating the soldiers. Again, the reaction of the world powers was swift. At a briefing on 1 May, State Department deputy spokesman Philip Reeker emphasized that ‘we will not allow terrorists to derail the political dialogue’.16 Secretary of State Colin Powell expressed ‘the United States’ total commitment to territorial integrity of Macedonia; … facing dastardly and cowardly acts from terrorists and terrorist organizations that are trying to subvert the democratic process’.17 The following week, NATO General Secretary George Robertson made a particularly memorable statement concerning the activities of the NLA. Robertson called the rebels ‘a bunch of murderous thugs whose objective is to destroy a democratic Macedonia and who are using civilians as human shields’ in a cynical bid to provoke ‘another Balkan bloodbath’.18 The May ambush led to riots in which ethnic Macedonians attacked Macedonian Albanians and the businesses of Muslim Macedonians in Bitola, Veles and Skopje. In May, the fighting moved to the rural areas of Kumanovo. In June, there was fighting in the Tetovo area, while NLA units entered the village of Arachinovo near Skopje. To make the situation even worse, the NLA shifted back and forth in its style of combat. On the one hand, the NLA acted as an archetypal guerrilla force, bombing police stations, ambushing enemy patrol units and taking over villages populated by its own kin, in the hope that the government would overreact and that the locals would join their movement. At the same time, it also undertook a number of deeds of atrocity that easily fit a ‘terrorist’ definition. On a number of occasions NLA fighters shot at civilians. When clashes resumed in Tetovo in early July, rebel forces advanced into villages outside the town and conducted ethnic cleansing of Macedonian-inhabited areas. Civilians were the victims of kidnappings, temporary detentions, beatings and torture. A number of houses owned by ethnic Macedonians were robbed and damaged while others were badly burnt. As the crisis progressed and dramatic events ensued, there were noticeable changes in the approach of the ‘internationals’ to the labelling of the NLA guerrilla. Increasingly, the international community took a drastically different approach, using far more moderate terms, such as calling the NLA members ‘rebels, guerrilla, ethnic Albanian forces’, etc. With the exception of Russia, the great powers ceased to describe the NLA as a terrorist organization. This change of 16  The State Department deputy spokesman Philip Reeker in Saso Ordanovski, ‘NLA Violence Sabotages Talks’, Institute for War and Peace Reporting, Balkan Crisis Report, 243, 3 May 2001. 17 US Department of State Statement Issued on 1 May 2001, ‘Powell Pledges Solidarity with FYR Macedonia’. 18  George Robertson, ‘Lugjeto na ONA se Siledzhii, Kriminalci, Ekstremisti’ [Members of NLA are Thugs, Criminals, Extremists], Vest, 7 May 2001, ‘Macedonia “on Brink of Abyss”’, BBC News, Internet edition, 7 May 2001.

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rhetoric was paralleled with a diplomatic insistence that the crisis should be solved by political rather than military means. In effect, the international community’s main concern in Macedonia was the stability of the country. The pressure which they exerted on the Macedonian government to implement reforms was motivated by the hope that an improvement of the position of local Albanians through a framework agreement would lead to stability and the avoidance of interethnic civil war. However, in early August after a series of violent incidents, tensions rose further. An NLA unit kidnapped and cruelly tortured construction workers near Tetovo. In a surprise raid on a private house in Skopje on 7 August, a police unit killed five NLA members and seized a cache of weapons and explosives, accusing the rebels of planning a terrorist attack on the capital. The next day, 10 Macedonian soldiers were killed in an NLA ambush on the Skopje–Tetovo highway. While angry demonstrators staged violent protests in the cities of Skopje and Prilep, the battles in Tetovo continued over the next few days. On 10 August, eight more members of the security forces were killed when their vehicle struck two landmines on the mountain slopes near Skopje. While fighting intensified, internationally supervised negotiations to bring peace were under way in the western Macedonian town of Ohrid. Following tense talks since June, on 13 August the four main Macedonian political parties, members of the government coalition, signed an agreement (the Ohrid Framework Agreement) to bring peace and reforms aimed at improving the position of the Macedonian Albanians. The parties agreed on reforms of the political system and a clarification and a further entrenching of the rights of the minorities in the country (in particular, the largest, the ethnic Albanians). A few days after the signing of the Ohrid Agreement the NLA blew up a historically important monastery near Leshok. On 26 August, members of the NLA laid explosives and caused serious material damage to a motel complex near Tetovo, killing two security guards, both local Macedonians, in the process. The murder was particularly horrible as the NLA first maltreated the two guards and then used their bodies to start the fire for the explosives that demolished their objective. Although less severe than other conflicts in the former Yugoslavia the short Macedonian war of 2001 was, nevertheless, a serious affair. About 100 people were killed during the conflict and more than 100,000 civilians were forced to leave their homes out of fear or as a result of direct intimidation.19 There was also significant property damage, while the economy, instead of growing, shrank considerably.

19 �������������������������������������������������������������������������������� See ‘What Do the Casualties of War Amount to?’, Alternative Information Network (AIM), 25 December 2001.

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The Media Discourse Before and During the War In early 2001, there were no news reports on ethnic tensions in Macedonia, and no reporting on the ethnic ‘self’ and the ‘other’. The beginning of that year, the starting point of our inquiry into how the ‘self’ and the ‘other’ were presented in the media discourse before the conflict in Macedonia in 2001, was marked by a wiretapping affair. At a press conference the leader of the opposition, Branko Crvenkovski (from the Social Democratic Alliance of Macedonia, SDSM), informed the citizens about an alleged widespread eavesdropping/wiretapping of politicians, public officials and journalists. Since Vest can be labelled a yellow press daily, presumably prone to extremist rhetoric, articles from it were used for our analysis. Vest does not publish editorials, opinion pieces, forum discussions or op-ed columns. The only exceptions are the Saturday columns of two of the newspaper’s editors, Goran Mihajlovski and Biljana Sekulovska. The main section of the newspaper, devoted to Macedonian politics, carries on average 12 news articles per issue. In January 2001 most of the newspaper’s attention was focused on the wiretapping affair – in some issues about half the number of the articles written that day were on that subject (for example on 18 and 19 January). Ethnic issues were rarely discussed or reported. The Saturday columns on 20 January 2001 did not mention anything about ethnic relations between Macedonians and Albanians. In fact, the first article to mention interethnic relations was published on 22 January 2001. In the article it was reported that tension was increasing in the Tetovo region over the rebuilding of a local church and a cross by the local Macedonians. The following day, the NLA attacked a police station in the village of Tearce in the Tetovo region. On 23 January, Vest reported this incident.20 In his article, the journalist commented that: Tearce is a village with about 1,000 families of Macedonian, Albanian, Turkish, Roma and other ethnicities. None of them mentioned that there had been any misunderstandings or conflict. The village is peaceful. The villagers of Albanian ethnicity have mentioned that ‘the attack is politically motivated … The new chief of police at the local station was promoted and he is an Albanian, and the attack was perpetrated in order to discredit him’.

Although on the same day there were many other news stories about the attack, none of them commented upon ethnic relations or ethnic stereotyping. The next day, Vest reported that a number of opposition parties had protested about the poor work of the government. On 25 January, most of the articles published in Vest were devoted to the eavesdropping affair, and none of them dealt with interethnic relations. The 20 ������������������������������������������������������� See the article ‘Eden policaec ubien trojca povredeni’ ����������������������� [One Policeman Killed, Three Wounded], Vest, 23 January 2001.

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following day, Vest reported, without any editorial comment, the first communiqué that the NLA had sent to the television stations A1 and TV Era. It also reported that, while VMRO-DPMNE (the party in power) stated that ‘someone wants to heat up inter-ethnic tensions in Macedonia’, and ‘the intention was to point the finger at the Albanians in Macedonia, who attack the security, territorial integrity and sovereignty’, SDSM proclaimed that the government ‘uses the security forces to fight political opponents instead of fighting terrorists and criminals’. In his Saturday editorial, Goran Mihajlovski ridiculed the president, saying that the incidents mentioned were not deemed important enough for him to stop his foreign policy trips to various countries. On 29 January, Vest carried only matterof-fact stories, none of which had any interethnic connotations. The next day, Vest reported that the police had detained one suspect of the Tearce attack and that at an emergency meeting of VMRO-DPMNE the party had claimed that ‘all leads as to who has organized the terrorist attacks … point to “underground forces” in neighbouring Albania and Kosovo, forces supported by criminal networks among the local Albanians’. In early February, Vest carried reports on various events and political scandals in the country, none of which touched upon interethnic relations. On 9 February, the newspaper carried a statement by the vice-president of the Democratic Party of Albanians (DPA), Menduh Thachi, who said that ‘the intensity of attacks against DPA grows daily. These attacks are orchestrated by anti-Albanian forces. DPA will not allow adventurers or traumatized people to lead the Macedonian Albanians … The partnership in the government and the equality of the Macedonian Albanians in the consensual decision-making in the government is growing stronger’. On 12 February, Vest printed a statement by Premier Ljupcho Georgievski at the opening of the Southeast European University, a university that teaches classes in both Albanian and Macedonian: ‘this new university will not only be a center of higher education, but also a test of the interethnic relations between Macedonians and Albanians in this country’. The 14 February issue of Vest reported the kidnapping of an A1 journalist by paramilitary forces in the village of Tanushevci. For most commentators and analysts this event signalled the beginning of the conflict in Macedonia. It is important to note that in the period immediately before the war began there was no discourse to indicate ethnic hatred between ethnic Macedonians and ethnic Albanians in Macedonia. It is true that there were a number of statements and comments that were antagonistic, but these were made between political parties and not on the basis of ethnic affiliation. Reporting in the Albanian language media was similar. From 18 January 2001, when the first article on the phone-tapping affair was published, until the last article on that topic on 1 March, there were a total of 35 articles in 17 issues of Flaka. All of these articles presented the reactions of the opposition and the government to the phone-tapping affair. There was not a single word or sentence devoted to interethnic relations or the ‘us and them’ aspect. The articles simply reported the accusations of the opposition regarding the phone tapping – who claimed that it

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had been conducted by the government – as well as the government’s response to these allegations, and the activities of state institutions and officials regarding the above-mentioned affairs. During the warlike crisis that hit Macedonia between 1 March and 31 July 2001, the Macedonian-language media carried numerous articles and news reports about the war. The daily Vest, for example, published 308 articles on the war during this period.21 Similar numbers of articles covering the crisis were printed in Dnevnik and Utrinski Vesnik. In the same period, the most prestigious political magazine, Forum, published 19 articles on the war. The coverage of the activities of the NLA was extensive, with all the newspapers publishing NLA press releases and covering all their military actions and diplomatic overtures. During the conflict the Macedonian-language media almost unanimously presented the members of the NLA as terrorists. Of 308 war-reporting articles published in Vest, 183 mentioned NLA members or commented upon the actions of the organization. A vast majority (170) of these articles referred to the NLA members as terrorists. The 13 remaining articles talked about the ‘so-called NLA, paramilitaries, guerrillas, or armed individuals’. Similarly, 13 articles in Forum described the rebel forces as terrorists or as ‘uchki’ (a derogatory term for a member of NLA/KLA), while in four articles they were labelled ‘extremists’, ‘the so-called NLA’, ‘paramilitaries’, ‘guerrillas’ and ‘armed individuals’. During this period, security forces, officials, politicians, newspaper journalists, as well as the ordinary people of Macedonian ethnicity, all called members of the NLA ‘terrorists’. The reports in the Albanian-language media during the warlike crisis were different. Flaka, one of the two Albanian language dailies, did not modify the labels ‘terrorists’, ‘extremists’, ‘gangs’, ‘criminals’ and so on, when it reported on official information and statements made by official persons. Clearly, the intention was to inform the public about how official institutions and official persons characterized these armed and uniformed fighters. Flaka reported extensively on the work of the state institutions (parliament, government, president, and so on), and published their statements regarding the situation, using their original rhetoric. At the same time, the Albanian-language media carried criticism of the way the terms ‘terrorist’, ‘bandits’, ‘bands’ and ‘fascists’ were used in official sources and by official spokespersons in their description of the NLA. Conversely, in their description of the Macedonian security forces, Albanian journalists used a whole variety of terms, including ‘the security forces’, ‘Macedonian military forces’, ‘Macedonian police’, ‘Macedonian army’, ‘[Serbian, Ukrainian, Romanian, Russian] mercenaries’, ‘Macedonian terror’, ‘Macedonian paramilitary groups’, ‘Slavic-Macedonians’ and ‘ethnic Macedonians’. In order to describe the NLA soldiers the Albanian-language media used terms such as ‘armed groups’, ‘Albanian armed groups’, ‘Albanian fighters’, ‘Albanian rebels’, and so on. 21 ������������������������������������������������ All these articles are on file with the author.

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The Albanian-language media had to balance between the official position of the state authorities on the conflict, the fact that NLA was an Albanian force, and the danger that the conflict might harm the interests of Kosovo Albanians, bearing in mind the forthcoming (at that time) solution of the Kosova status. According to a statement by the president of the DPA, Arbën Xhaferi, published by Fakti, the appearance of uniformed groups at the beginning of the crisis ‘is a specifically inter-Albanian problem. It is a question of who will represent them [the Albanians] – either political parties … or groups which through such actions desire to shorten the procedure of gaining political legitimization. This is an Albanian problem and we should achieve its solution through democratic methods, as it is done in democratic countries’.22 Other Albanian commentators were also critical. In an editorial titled ‘All the Albanian liberation armies’, Baton Haxhiu’s summarized message was that the majority of Albanian fighters were youths who had been frustrated in their career possibilities.23 There was a great deal of anxiety voiced about the implications of the conflict in Macedonia for the status of Kosova in the Macedonian Albanian-language newspapers, which bore in mind that Albanians from Macedonia supported the independence of Kosova. In his editorial ‘War – for whose interests?’ published in Flaka, Besnik Bala lamented that ‘Villages abandoned by their inhabitants is the first “result” of the appearance on the scene of the “National Liberation Army”, as the Albanian armed groups that operate in Tanusha [Tanushevci] call themselves. … A second “product” of their “liberation activities” is the conversion of the Albanians from “victims” to “destabilizing elements” of the region which as a result risks isolation from the international community’. Bala declared that ‘the rhetoric of “legitimate demands of Albanian inhabitants” can no longer be heard, thanks to the shooting of guns and mortars of Tanusha’, and he concluded that ‘the process of the stabilization of Kosova suffers heavily while “Kalashnikovs” have become a synonym for the groups that lead the crimes and local “wars”, often in favor of interests that are known only to their leaders’.24 In the same issue, Flaka published an interview which the president of DPA, Arbën Xhaferi, gave to Voice of America. He opposed the Macedonians’ thesis that the conflict in Macedonia was imported from outside of the state. According to him ‘the crisis is not imported from Kosova into Macedonia because Macedonia has its own hassles, inherited from the past. This means that the origin of the problems and of the radicalism should be sought in internal sources; in the bitter legacy of inter-ethnic relationships in the past’.25

22 ���������������������������������������������������������������� ‘Problemi në Tanushec duhet të zgjidhet me metoda demokratike’, Flaka, 5–6 March 2001, p. 3. 23 ���������������������������������� Baton Haxhiu, ‘Të gjitha ushtritë ����������������������� çlirimtare shqiptare’, Flaka, 12 March 2001, p. 5. 24 ������������������������������������������� Besnik Bala, ‘Luftë-për interesa të kujt’, Flaka, 9 March 2001, p. 4. 25 ������������������������������������������������������������������� Arbën Xhaferi, ‘Fajësia e krizës në Maqedoni s’gjendet në Kosovë’, Flaka, 9 March 2001, p. 6.

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From the articles in Albanian-language newspapers it is obvious that the newspapers strongly supported the DPA (the Albanian party in the government coalition) since ‘from the first days of fighting the priority of the leaders of the Albanian party in Government was to avoid bloodshed’.26 Furthermore, there was an explicit attempt to glorify the leader of the DPA, Arbën Xhaferi, as the saviour of the Albanians. At the same time, demands for political changes in Macedonia were voiced. Xhaferi judged that equality between the constitutional rights of Macedonians and Albanians is the only solution, therefore ‘it is necessary to change the mono-ethnic Macedonian concept of the state because it is not in compliance with the reality’.27 The Albanian-language media also opposed claims made by government officials and the Macedonian-language media to the effect that the motivation behind the rebellion of Albanians was religious. ‘Luckily neither the armed groups, nor our Muslim population, at any moment gave a religious character to the conflict, although certain circles at the top, or more concretely, the defence minister, on more than one occasion tried to give to this war the character of an inter-religious war.’28 The most obvious example of how Albanians perceived themselves and how they felt in relation to their position in Macedonian society is Emin Azemis’s editorial ‘What������������������������������������������������������������������ Does an Albanian that Enjoys all the Rights Looks Like?’ Part of the editorial is given below. ‘Albanians enjoy all the rights, they are fighting for Greater Albania.’ This is the refrain that foreign journalists most often hear from Macedonians. … Even after you have said that 80% of ethnic Albanians in Macedonia are unemployed, and even when you say that you can count on the fingers of one hand the number of Albanian doctors and nurses in Skopje hospitals, and when you say that you can’t find any Albanian working in local banks (not even as cleaning ladies), and even when you say that the share-holders in the biggest companies are almost exclusively Macedonians (and a few naturalized Vlachs), and when you say that there are not more than 3% of Albanians in the police force, and that 99% of the Army officers are ethnic Macedonians, and when you say that 150,000 Albanians from Macedonia are working abroad in western countries, and when you explain that Albanian pupils in the textbooks still read the names of their towns written in Macedonian, and even when you say that 112,000 ethnic Albanians are without citizenship, the foreign journalist will still ask you ‘what

26  Fakti, 22 March 2001. 27 ������������������������������������������������������������������������������� Arbën Xhaferi, ‘Është e domosdoshme të ndyshiohet koncepti shtetëror monoetnik maqedonas’, Flaka, 29 March 2001, p. 3. 28 �������������������������������������������������������������������������������� Haki Selimi, ‘Perspektiva e jetës fetare islame në këto troje është në rrugë të mbarë’, Flaka, 28 April 2001, pp. 6–7.

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For Albanians, NLA activities and their rebellion were now justified because ‘the Constitution is the generator of the crisis and of what is happening now in Macedonia’.30 Fakti added that only negotiations to a change in the Constitution would end the conflict and bring a sustainable solution. The NLA was seen as an organization that would bring back the dignity of Albanians in Macedonia, by defending their homes and households and fighting for the equality of Albanians. NLA soldiers were ‘heroes’ who were conscientious enough to stand up against the Macedonian repression. Each NLA soldier killed was perceived as a martyr who did not spare his life for the benefit of the Albanians in Macedonia. They ‘have expressed a kind of humanity that is characteristic for Albanians’,31 since they helped not only the Albanians but also the Macedonians who lived in the territories controlled by them. ‘These civilian houses have been destroyed by the grenades of Macedonian forces. We do not shoot civilians. We have a problem with the Macedonian army only. In this village we have several Macedonian civilians and we have ordered the soldiers not to harm them in any way’.32 Fakti cited a local NLA commander from the Tetova [Tetovo] mountains in the light of presenting the NLA as a conscientious army, contrary to Macedonian security forces that do not hesitate to attack Albanian civilians. The NLA clearly found great support within the Albanian community in Macedonia, otherwise it would not have had such success. Many Albanians, some of them not so young, joined the NLA. This is what one 50-year-old NLA soldier told Fakti when asked about why he had joined the army: ‘I am from Shipkovica [a village in the Tetovo region]. I have suffered in prison for twenty years where I have survived various tortures. When I heard that shooting had begun in the Fortress my spirit was uplifted and I said to myself that I had been waiting for this day for a long time. I took a rifle, kissed it and cried from happiness’.33 The analysis of Fatmir Besimi, given below, indicates the situation within the Albanian community and the relationship between the Albanian stakeholders, calling for them to be unified for the sake of Albanians in Macedonia.

29 ������������������������������������������������������������������ Emin Azemi, ‘Si duket shqiptari që i gëzon të gjitha të drejtat’, Fakti, 30 March ������ 2001������ , see http://www.alb-net.com/amcc/newspronews/arc40.html (accessed 3 March 2007). 30 ���������������������������������������������������������� Isen Saliu, ‘Ofrohet zgjidhje e pjesërishme e problemit’, Fakti, 22 March 2001, see http://listserv.acsu.buffalo.edu/cgi-bin/wa?A2=ind0103d&L=albanews&T=0&P=5994 (accessed 3 March 2007). 31 �������������������������������������������������������� Xh. Neziri and A. Beqiri, ‘Udhëtimi i “klasit të parë’, Fakti, 22 March 2001, see http://listserv.acsu.buffalo.edu/cgi-bin/wa?A2=ind0103d&L=albanews&T=0&P=5994 (accessed 3 March 2007). 32 ����� Ibid. 33 ����� Ibid.

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The Albanian factor ���������������������������������������������������������������� (Albanian political parties and intellectuals) ����������������� is in a state of chaos and is not unified even at those moments when Albanians from Macedonia have fallen on hard times. In their inability to manage this kind of situation, political parties change their views in the course of one day and get engulfed in rumors and name-calling among themselves. A right management of the situation will demand a practical approach toward actual problems. It must draw upon the expertise and full engagement of the political and intellectual potential of Albanians, not ignoring the demands of the fighters. All of this should be coordinated on behalf of the interests of the Albanian people in Macedonia.34

Fakti’s editorial ‘Yesterday’s Informers Become Today’s “Disinformers”’35 tells Albanians to believe exclusively the Albanian-language media – Fakti, Flaka and the Albanian-language programme of the public Macedonian television. The reason for this, the newspaper claimed, is that there is a ‘special war’ going on against Albanians with the goal of ‘ethnic cleansing of our territories’. In this editorial, Emin Azemi, publisher and owner of the Fakti newspaper, accused the state secret services of subversive activities and disinformation with the intention of starting a displacement of Albanians. Albanians considered themselves to be ‘terrorized from the gunshots’ of the Macedonian security forces. They complained about the situation of Albanian civilians in the crisis regions, blaming the Macedonian security forces for not permitting any humanitarian aid to go there since the villages where the NLA was present were completely surrounded. They declared that ‘blockades [police check points] of villages exceed and break all norms and international conventions for humanitarian care’.36 The Party of Democratic Prosperity (PDP) maintained that ‘The story broadcast on the Television of Macedonia on March 20, 2001 clearly shows how the Army and Police are shooting at civilians, in this case at an old man and a child’.37 The Albanian-language media wrote about refugees, mostly old people, women and children, who abandoned their homes and fled to more secure villages on the outskirts of Skopje, and in Kosovo. They had to leave their homes ‘because the children were afraid of the shootings that we heard from the Macedonia–Kosova

34 ����������������������������������������������� Fatmir Besimi, ‘Kriza ndëretnike në Maqedoni’, Fakti, 3 April 2001, see http:// listserv.acsu.buffalo.edu/cgi-bin/wa?A2=ind0104a&L=albanews&T=0&P=7648 (accessed 5 March 2007). 35 ����������������������������������������������������������������� Emin Azemi, ‘Informatorët e djeshëm tani blëhen dezinformatorë’, Fakti, 22 March 2001, see http://listserv.acsu.buffalo.edu/cgi-bin/wa?A2=ind0103d&L=albanews& T=0&P=5994 (accessed 3 March 2007). 36 ������������������������������������� ‘Të evitohet katastrofa humanitare’, Fakti, 22 March 2001, see http://listserv.acsu. buffalo.edu/cgi-bin/wa?A2=ind0103d&L=albanews&T=0&P=5994 (accessed 3 March 2007). 37 ��������������������������������������� ‘Qeveria të ndalojë menjëherë dhunën’, Fakti, 22 March 2001, see http://listserv.acsu. buffalo.edu/cgi-bin/wa?A2=ind0103d&L=albanews&T=0&P=5994 (accessed 3 March 2007).

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[Kosovo] border’.38 The refugees also complained that ‘men were tortured without mercy [by the security forces]’.39 Albanian claims about the use of unjustified force by Macedonian security forces against Albanian civilians were often published in the Albanian-language newspapers, which considered it a ‘crime against the Albanian population’. The Mayor of Tetovo, Murtezan Ismaili, explained to Flaka: ‘I am very concerned about the fate of the Albanian people in Macedonia, for the Albanian population in Tetova [Tetovo], particularly in the villages in the mountains near the city, from the vandal behaviour of the special police and the Macedonian army’.40 The Albanian-language media began to publish articles that were hostile to some Macedonian public figures (for example, the article ‘Frçkovski – the Šešelj of Macedonia’).41 They accused the Macedonian-language media of deliberately trying to destroy interethnic relationships in Macedonia, for the rhetoric in their description of the NLA and for the ‘disinformation in darkest possible manner’. According to Fakti, ‘Albanians fall between two fires: bullets over their heads during the day, and poison from the Macedonian journalists who cover the situation, in the evening. Macedonian media inevitably carry a big responsibility by fanning the conflict. They poison directly inter-ethnic relationships and try using all methods to flare the fuse’.42

Particular High-tension Episodes During the War: The Vejce Killings The media in the two languages reported differently on specific high-tension events during the conflict. Here, we describe the reactions of the Macedonian- and the Albanian-language press to a selected sample of events that stoked passions among the civilian population of both ethnicities. The selection of these events was made by the authors of this chapter and cannot be considered conclusive. Other analysts might have chosen different episodes that occurred during the conflict that can be seen as just as nerve-racking. Yet without claiming comprehensiveness, we maintain that the events described in this chapter were particularly traumatic and could have led to a fully fledged civil war. The media in each language focused more on those incidents in which members of ‘their’ ethnic group were hurt, and 38 ���������������������������������������������������������������������������� Q. Bajrami, ‘Në vend të gëzimit të Bajramit, përjetuan tmerrin e krismave’, Flaka, 8 March 2001, p. 3. 39 �������������������������������������������������������������� Saubi Demiri, ‘Gratë dhe fëmijët në spital-burrat në polici’, Flaka, 31 May 2001, pp. 1–3. 40 �������������������������������������������������������������������������� A.A., ‘Policia special maqedonase ka bërë krim mbi popullatën shqiptare’, Flaka, 5 April 2001, pp. 1–2. 41 ����������������������������������������������� F.Mustafa, ‘Fërçkovski-Shesheli i Maqedonisë’, Flaka, 19 March 2001, p. 2. 42 ��������������������������������������������������������������������������� Ylber Lili, ‘Mentaliteti ksenofobik përgjegjësi për nxitjen e konfliktit’, Fakti, 11 April 2001, see http://listserv.acsu.buffalo.edu/cgi-bin/wa?A2=ind0104b&L=albanews&T =0&P=11938 (accessed 3 March 2007).

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reported minimally on those episodes in which their own ethnic kinfolks were the perpetrators. Similarly, in their editorial pieces, the media in both languages were much more critical in their comments on the gruesome acts committed against individuals and groups of their ethnicity. The death of eight police officers in Vejce on 29 April 2001 was one of the factors that contributed to the intensification of ethnic tensions. On that day, during an attack by ethnic Albanian rebels in the Sar Mountains above Tetovo, eight Macedonian security officials were killed and six more wounded. Worse, there were reports that the soldiers had been massacred. This NLA action unleashed a wave of anti-Albanian violence in Bitola. The media in the Macedonian and Albanian languages published different versions of what had happened. All told, the three issues of the newspaper Flaka following immediately after these events carried 19 articles dedicated to the violent acts in the city of Bitola. Twelve articles were written on 3 May 2001 (the first issue of the newspaper after the incident in Vejce), five articles on 4 May 2001 and two articles on 5 May. All articles were, for the most part, dedicated to the violent acts of Macedonians from Bitola and the danger that those acts presented to the Albanians living in the city. At the same time, Flaka gave no detailed information about the actual act of fighting between NLA rebels and the police forces. The main emphasis was on the reaction of Macedonians in the city of Bitola (since four of the victims were from this city), who demolished, burnt and robbed the property of Albanian and other Muslim businessmen of Bitola. These Macedonians were characterized as ‘a Macedonian chauvinistic vandal crowd’.43 Flaka also published detailed accounts of the demolition and looting of the premises of Albanian businessmen by Macedonians in Skopje and other cities, stating ‘Once again Slavic-Macedonians from Monastir (Bitola) in a barbaric manner have organized vandal marches in the streets of the city … with catastrophic consequences for Albanians’. Immediately after the funeral of the four policeman and after a ‘provocative media report broadcast on TV Sitel by Mende Petkovski, Macedonian xenophobes, as a revenge against innocent and defenceless Albanians, destroyed, set on fire, and robbed the premises of not only Albanian businessmen but also of other Muslims. They looted more than forty stores, and even the office of the Islamic Community of Bitola’.44 In the same issue, with reference to the demolition of the coffee houses, the beating of employees and the killing of one person, the journalist opined that ‘the Macedonians appear to show clear signs of fascism’.45 If the short statements from the Ministry of Interior concerning the introduction of curfew are excluded, there was practically no information from the state authorities reported in the Albanian-language press regarding the situation in 43 ��������������������������������������������������������������� Q. Hasani, ‘Pse të gjithë ushtarët e vrarë ishin nga Prilepi’, Flaka 6893, 11–12 August 2001, pp. 1–2 44 ����� Ibid. 45 ����������������������������������������������������������������� Zeqirja Ismaili, ‘Ismet Hoxha-Viktimë e shovinistëve maqedonas’, Flaka, 3 May 2001, p. 2.

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Bitola. At the same time, Flaka gave much space to the reactions of Albanian political parties, which condemned the situation. DPA described the situation as ‘a dangerous tendency to collectivize the guilt’ and ‘an extreme ethnic polarization’.46 The PDP accused the police of abetting vandalism since ‘buildings belonging to Albanians and other citizens are being demolished in the presence of the police’.47 Furthermore, reporters from the newspaper described Macedonians who destroyed the property of Albanians as ‘Slavic Macedonians, chauvinists, vandals, xenophobes and fascists’. Their behaviour was characterized as ‘revengeful, barbaric acts’ and ‘Macedonian terrorism’.48 The Macedonian-language media provided different coverage of the same events. The silence of the Albanian media regarding the brutal murder of the security officers was matched by the quietness of Macedonia regarding the events in Bitola. While the Albanian-language media did not comment upon the slaying of the Macedonian soldiers but simply reported the facts of the murder, the Macedonian-language press highlighted these murders and barely commented on the riots in Bitola, reporting only the basic facts. No editorials were published condemning the actions that resulted in deaths and property losses. Even though the reporting of the events was fair, without inflammatory or hate speech, the lack of criticism of the actions of their ‘own side’ indicated ethnic preferences. On 3 May, of a total of 11 articles in the political section of the newspaper that day, Vest printed nine articles relating to the Vejce events. The lead article ‘Osuda, revolt i neizmerna zhal za ubienite’ [Condemnation, Revolt and Boundless Grief of the Murdered Security Forces] described the sorrow of the relatives, friends and others who attended the funerals of the members of the security forces. Their killings were described as ‘treacherous’. With regard to the revengeful acts of local citizens of Bitola, Vest reported how ‘spontaneously organized youth gangs attacked property that was owned by or suspected of belonging to ethnic Albanians’. Many buildings were burned or demolished. When attempting to enter the restaurant ‘Suzi’, the crowd had been met by the owner and his two sons. According to the newspaper, the owner fired and wounded a 20-year-old youth, after which the police intervened and dispersed the crowd. The following night the building was burnt down and other property was also destroyed. Yet no inflammatory statements or labels were published in the newspaper.

The Killing of the Five NLA Soldiers in Chair, Karpalak Among events that influenced the reporting of the Macedonian-language and Albanian-language media were: the killing of five NLA soldiers by police forces 46 ��������������������������������������������������� ‘Tendencë e rrezikshme e kolektivizimit të fajit’, Flaka, 3 May 2001, p. 4. 47 ����������������������������������������������������� ‘Policia jo që nuk pengon, por ndihmon vandalizmin’, Flaka, 3 May 2001, p. 4. 48 ������������������������������������������������������������������������������ ‘Demonstrim eklatant i vandalizmit, primitivizmit dhe terrorizmit maqedonas’, Flaka, 6812, 5–6 May 2001, p. 4.

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in Skopje (7 August 2001); the revenge of the NLA in Karpalak, when 10 soldiers of the Army of the Republic of Macedonia (ARM) were killed (8 August); and the reaction of Macedonians in the city of Prilep to the death of their fellow citizens in Karpalak by destroying properties of Albanians and burning the mosque in this city. In Flaka three articles dedicated to the death of the NLA soldiers were published, two on 8 August and an editorial on 9 August. These articles compared the special police forces with ‘butchers’, accusing them of slaughtering and massacring Albanians. These acts were characterized as ‘ghoulish killings that can satisfy only cannibals’.49 The Albanian-language media reported the killing of the five NLA soldiers as a premeditated execution, describing in detail the blood and brain pieces found in the room where they were killed in their sleep. Their death was characterized as a ‘Massacre of the special police against Albanians’.50 According to the newspaper ‘All of this shows that the special police of Macedonia have used inhuman force against people who were asleep’.51 The Albanian press did not believe the official statement released by the Ministry, according to which ‘the special forces of the police fired back only when they were fired at with light weapons’.52 The police claimed that five persons had been killed during the fighting and five more arrested after the end of the fighting. Nevertheless, as mentioned above, the official version of the Ministry of Interior was called ‘a crystal clear lie of [Minister] Ljube Boshkovski and his clique in order to whitewash the violence that was perpetrated and the massacre of these five Albanians who were killed by the police in their sleep’.53 Clearly, the Albanianlanguage press did not believe the police, who were accused of not respecting the provisions of the law and elementary human rights in their dealings with Albanians. According to the Albanian-language press the police had ‘exceeded their authority’.54 The Macedonian-language press reported this event differently. Vest explained that in a massive police operation a ‘terrorist nest’ had been destroyed and five members of the NLA killed after a shoot-out during their arrest. Five other NLA members were wounded. Vest claimed that the NLA fighters had come from Arachinovo the night before the attack. The newspaper reported that the group had a huge arsenal of ammunition and guns, including a number of rocket launchers, bombs and TNT. This factual reporting was combined with the labelling of the NLA members as ‘terrorists’. The following day, Vest reported that ten army reservists, who, according to unconfirmed sources, all came from Prilep, were killed when rocket-propelled 49 ���������������������������������� F. Mustafa, ‘Vrasjet e turpshme’, Flaka, 9 August 2001, p. 2. 50 ��������������������������������������������������������� S. Demiri, ‘Masakër e policisë speciale mbi shqiptarët’, Flaka, 8 August 2001, p. 1. 51 ������������������������ S. Demiri, ibid., p. 4. 52 ����������������������� S. Demiri, ibid., p. 4. 53 ����������������������� S. Demiri, ibid., p. 4. 54 ���������������������������������� F. Mustafa, ‘Vrasjet e turpshme’, Flaka, 6891, 9 August 2001, p. 1.

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grenades launched by terrorists had hit their vehicle. Two others were wounded.55 The newspaper explained that the attack was carried out a couple of hours before the planned signing of the Ohrid Framework Agreement. In another article the newspaper reported that the signing of the agreement had been postponed. There were no other news stories on the Karpalak murders or on the police action undertaken the previous day. Apart from the labelling of NLA members as terrorists, there were no inflammatory statements or labels. At the same time, there was only one article and one official statement of the Ministry of Interior published in Flaka on 9 August in relation to the Karpalak attack on the Macedonian Army soldiers. Entitled ‘Attack on Karpalak Imperils the Dialogue’ it is worth noticing that the article was very objective with regard to the coverage of the actual events and their consequences. ‘When NLA fighters attacked a convoy of Macedonian forces, ten ARM soldiers lost their lives while three were wounded’.56 The Albanian newspaper covered all aspects of the incident and related the official version without disputing its truth as it had done in the case involving the death of NLA soldiers in Skopje. The rhetoric was calm and nonprovocative. In Flaka there was only one article about the burning of the mosque by Macedonians in Prilep, a revenge for the killings in Karpalak. The demolition and burning of the mosque was characterized as an act of Macedonian vandalism and revenge. Since all 10 of the dead soldiers were from the city of Prilep the article stated its suspicion that ‘this is a case of premeditated killings … in order to rouse citizens of Prilep to rise up against the Albanians’.57 The Islamic community of Macedonia expressed its own reaction, showing surprise at the use of ‘hateful force against Muslims’. It denounced the burning of the only mosque in Prilep as an ‘anti-civilizational act’ carried out by an ‘extremist group of Macedonians’.58 The Macedonian-language media devoted little attention to this event. Vest carried only one story on the burning of the Prilep mosque, ‘Zapalenata Charshi Dzhamija e spomenik na kulturata od 15 vek’ [The Burnt Charshi Mosque is a Cultural Memorial from the 15th Century]. There was neither commentary nor any labelling, only a cited statement of the Agency for the Conservation of Cultural Memorials calling on the citizens not to damage cultural heritage sites.

55 ���� See Vest, 9 August 2001, ‘Deset mrtvi i dvajca povredeni vojnici na ARM vo napad na albanskite teroristi blizu Grupchin’ [Ten Dead and Two Wounded Soldiers of ARM in an Attack of Albanian Terrorists near Grupchin]. 56 ���������������������������������������� ‘Sulmi në Karpallak rrezikon dialogun’, Flaka 6891, 9 August 2001, p. 3. 57 ��������������������������������������������������������������� Q. Hasani, ‘Pse të gjithë ushtarët e vrarë ishin nga Prilepi’, Flaka 6893, 11–12 August 2001, p. 5. 58 ����������������������������������������� ‘Dënohet akti anticivilizues në Prilep’, Flaka 6892, 10 August 2001, p. 4.

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The Media Discourse after the War While the Ohrid Framework Agreement of 13 August 2001 provided for early elections on 27 January 2002, regular elections to the Parliament of Macedonia took place on 15 September 2002. In mid-November 2001, to the dismay of hard-line Macedonian nationalists who opposed any concessions to the ‘Albanian side’, and under considerable international pressure, the Sobranie had approved a package of constitutional reforms to protect Albanian rights and expand their admission into such areas as education, politics and the police force. Shortly thereafter, President Boris Trajkovski declared an amnesty for former ONA insurgents, including about 120 detainees and convicts. Having secured a constitutional reform and an amnesty for his fighters, Ahmeti founded the Democratic Union for Integration on 5 June 2002 and repudiated the use of violent methods. The Macedonian Helsinki Committee, as well as local and international election observers, assessed the vote in the summer elections as reasonably free and fair. While the ruling coalition of VMRO-DPMNE and DPA lost heavily, most analysts believed that this, as in 1998, rather than expressing a hope for the future, displayed the frustration of both Macedonian and Albanian electorates with the recent past and a revulsion against the present. Seeing no viable alternatives, the Macedonians restored the still mistrusted SDSM to power. For obvious reasons, Macedonian Albanians showed their political support for the DUI. Following lengthy and tense negotiations, DUI entered the coalition government of Branko Crvenkovski, the leader of the Social Democratic Alliance of Macedonia. Our interest is in the media discourse during the election campaign from 15 August to 15 September. During this campaign VMRO-DPMNE challenged the SDSM to enter a preelection coalition – or at least to field a joint list of candidates in the heavily Albanian sixth electoral district in western Macedonia. Campaigning under the slogan ‘Glavata Gore’ [Hold Heads High], VMRO asked SDSM to demonstrate that it did not represent a danger to Macedonia’s national integrity and territorial security. It demanded an a priori declaration from the SDSM that, should it win the elections, it would refuse to bring any Albanians associated with the NLA into the government. When SDSM leader Crvenkovski refused Georgievski’s challenge, the VMRO escalated its rhetoric and accused the SDSM of treason during the 2001 war by asserting that Crvenkovski had always secretly planned to enter into a coalition with Ahmeti. At the same time, a coalition of opposition parties campaigned under the slogan ‘Zaedno za Makedonija’ [Together for Macedonia]. The opposition consisted primarily of the SDSM and Petar Gosev’s LDP, but also included some minor ethnic parties representing Serbs, Turks, Roma, Vlachs and Bosniaks. SDSM’s platform stressed a revival of the economy, promising at least ‘one job per family’. The opposition coalition accused its rivals of having initiated the violent ethnic conflict in 2001, corrupting the national institutions and plunging Macedonia into an economic crisis. While VMRO-DPMNE criticized the Ohrid

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Agreement, SDSM’s Crvenkovski warned that ‘a vote for VMRO-DPMNE is a vote against Macedonia’. Meanwhile, during the election campaign all Albanian parties adopted programmes demanding more rights for their constituencies and a full implementation of the Ohrid settlement. Under the slogan ‘We Support the West’, the DPA advocated Macedonia’s integration into the EU and NATO, as well as Kosovo’s independence, as prerequisites for the resolution of the Balkan-wide ‘Albanian question’. Although DUI made much use of the success of the 2001 insurgency, it also distanced itself from its NLA past in an obvious attempt to jockey for position as a potentially acceptable coalition partner for whichever Macedonian party formed the new government. The media discourse during the election campaign was very moderate, with few inflammatory or loaded statements and commentaries. During the month of electoral campaigning, the daily Vest printed a total of 214 articles in the section of the newspaper that covered domestic politics. Of these, only eight contained inflammatory or loaded language about interethnic relations, portraying Macedonian Albanians in a negative way. The reporting in the other main Macedonian dailies such as Dnevnik, Utrinski Vesnik and Vreme was similar.

Conclusion In this chapter we have investigated how the ‘self’ and ‘other’ were presented in the media discourses in three different time periods: before the conflict of 2001; during the scandalous affair concerning the eavesdropping of politicians and public officials, lasting for approximately one month between mid-January and mid-February 2001; during the armed conflict, for approximately six months from mid-February to August 2001, and after the conflict, during the campaign for the parliamentary elections of 2002, a moment in history when the ‘wounds of the war were still fresh’. While there were many unresolved political issues before 2001 that were hotly debated and contested, this chapter has shown that the media discourse before the conflict did not produce a significant rate of hate speech in either of the two language communities. During the conflict the loaded label ‘terrorist’ appeared in the Macedonian-language media. Yet, it could be argued that it was correct to use such a label since some actions of the NLA clearly were terrorist in nature and at least until the mid-phase of the conflict the international community also labelled NLA deeds as acts of terrorism. The chapter has revealed that during particularly intense periods of the conflict a silencing strategy dominated the reporting of the Macedonian- and the Albanianlanguage press concerning events that harmed the property or lives of members of the other ethnic group. This was true of both civilians and military victims. While the media in both languages largely abstained from making inflammatory statements, they also often kept silent on the bad deeds committed by members of their own community. Criticism of the actions of NLA members in the events

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discussed here and in other instances when the Macedonian and the international press were particularly vocal writing about ‘terrorism’ and ‘brutality, was not mentioned in the Albanian-language press. Neither did the Macedonian-language press make much effort to criticize the actions of the security forces or enraged citizens who overstepped the legal norms of the country. By discussing only episodes when their ethnic brethren were killed or wounded and pointing the finger at the ‘other side’, both the Macedonian- and the Albanian-language press presented their compatriots as victims. However, by ignoring or avoiding criticism of morally repugnant violent acts committed by representatives of their ‘own side’, the media in both languages failed to make a deeper impact upon preventing ethnic divisions within the society exploding into a civil war. While negative labelling of the ‘self’ and ‘other’ increased during the war crisis of 2001, during the 2002 election campaign such labelling diminished significantly, so that ethnic issues became a marginal factor in Macedonian political life. Even though the discourse before and after the conflict was not tension-free, it was rarely inflammatory. Negative portrayal of ethnic groups or of the ‘other’ did not prevail in the Macedonian media. The conflict itself was moderate, with fighting of a low intensity and few casualties. One can conclude that, in a similar way, the conflict in the sphere of the media was of low intensity and produced minimal casualties from an ethical standpoint. Knowing how propaganda works, and how even the liberal Western media becomes biased on specific occasions, such as the war on Iraq, we may conclude that the Macedonian media, in both the Macedonian and the Albanian language, passed its most difficult test since independence in 1991 with a good grade.

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Chapter 9

The Semantics of Silence, Violence and Social Memory: ‘The Storm’ in the Croatian and Serbian Press Gordana Đerić

Introduction: What are we Speaking About When we Keep Silent and What are we Keeping Silent About When we Speak? The official history of the Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia (SFRY), like so many other histories, was the history of selective memory and selective forgetting. Something similar can be said about the more recent history of this region and of the states established on the ruins of former Yugoslavia. They search for common denominators and a somewhat uniform approach to an analysis of the most recent past. The wars generated vast amounts of information, which were often ‘tacitly or overtly partial’ (Halpern and Kideckel 2000, 13) Therefore, it is now difficult to say what is not problematical and what is indisputable, apart from the fact that the country disintegrated amidst armed conflicts: a dilemma is mostly caused by the selection of assumptions on which analyses are based. Yet, regardless of the approach, the opinion prevails that in many areas, including the linguistic one (��������� Greenberg 2004���������������������������������������������������������� ), Yugoslavia and Yugoslavism were destroyed under direct television coverage. The metaphor of ‘sweeping under the carpet’ (particular national discontents and interests) has become a commonplace in explanations for the causes of the country’s disintegration. Although it has been convincingly refuted (��������� Brubaker 1998, 285–9�������������������������������������������������������������������������� ), this metaphorical generalization is not unfounded or quite accidental, since it points to the decades-long non-thematization of interethnic distrust, as well as to the silence about everything that was contrary to the proclaimed phraseology of togetherness and of the Yugoslav ideology in general. In the official discourse of socialism nationalism was ritually condemned, it was not a legitimate part of the world of ‘working people’ of the Yugoslav ‘peoples and nationalities’; in short, it was hidden, or kept silent about. This does not mean, however, that notions and opinions that are not thematized, or are not spoken about in public, do not exist. On the contrary! Our understanding of the world  �������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� The relevance of this version of the argument about the ‘return of the suppressed’ in the case of Yugoslavia is also recognized by Brubaker (1998, 288).

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is mostly based on a set of tacit assumptions, regardless of the official discourse. It is a question of values and notions which, due to their ‘basic nature’ and ‘naturalness’, are mostly non-articulated. They are like the grammatical models of the mother tongue; the grammar is learned in early childhood, in the family setting, and, unless something ‘goes wrong’, is never questioned. In a similar way, these historical assumptions, as ‘self-understood truths’, remain beyond any public problematization and questioning, and are an important part of cultural intimacy. In view of the fact that they are imperceptible in discourse (������������������������ Holland and Quinn 1987, 3–40��������������������������������������������������������������������������������� ), even if they are thematized, this is done in a significant empirical void. In some cases, this is a result of the inertia and durability of systemically and legally prescribed forgetting of those beliefs that persist despite changes in the official discourses and adjustments in the politically correct speech. In other words, the absence of certain notions from public discourse does not rule out the possibility that they remain as stable ingredients in social mappings and orientations. Because of their general acceptance, these notions can be axiomatic and unnoticeable. It can be said that one looks through them, but does not see. On the other hand, they can also be deliberately concealed and kept secret, mostly out of fear, because they do not comply with the ideological correctness of a given period. In the case of Yugoslavia there were both: in order to maintain the socialist consensus the regime also resorted to terror, especially right after the Second World War. Older citizens still had vivid memories of this period when the state fell apart. Regardless of which nation they belonged to, some of their children and grandchildren, therefore, even while socialized into the Titoist regime, knew and believed in the parallel, alternative stories that departed from the seemingly generally accepted version of ‘brotherhood and unity’. These later generations entered the world of the socialist imagery in a non-violent way, through the compulsory school programmes, extracurricular activities, television and film as well as sports and entertainment programmes. Regardless of the convincingness of the dominant version and the time and methods of its adoption, socialism was marked by parallel public and secret (suppressed) narratives of the past. In some cases a wide gap developed between the official, publicly demonstrated values and the values adopted in private historicizations in the families. It can be said that Yugoslavia was destroyed at the moment when the state became incapable of controlling the public imagination of its constituent parts (different ‘communities of memory’) and when this control was taken over by the republican elites. This shift was also reflected in a change of discourse, which was now marked by a more pronounced social comparison, bringing to light a hitherto mostly hushed-up homogenization on the basis of ethno-national principles, as well as through a hierarchization of values. Therefore, it is not surprising that during the late 1980s and the early 1990s, the decades-long suppressed particularistic national sentiments that hitherto existed only in the private sphere became dominant – exclusive and excluding – also in the public sphere. That was the time when the stereotypes from the mute, non-transparent sphere shifted to the public one and when – for the purposes of ethnic and national homogenization – it

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became desirable to reinvent the stereotypes about the ‘Others’, that is, to make clear mutual differences for the purpose of new political aims. However, I do not suggest here that silence in socialism was monolithic and that it referred only to ethnic homogenization or to the stereotypes of the Other. The truth is that the members of all the constituent peoples of the former Yugoslavia cherished ‘the truths about themselves’ and the ‘cultural intimacy (��������������� Herzfeld 2004, 15–50����������������������������������������������������������������������������� ) that during socialism were demonstrated only in the family circle or among their compatriots. Any disruption of the tacit consensus and the public covenant of silence about the alternative historical narratives was – in the name of togetherness of Tito’s Yugoslavia – considered an incident. For the purposes of this research, tackling the problem of silence under socialism is only an assumption for research and not an explanation for the causes of its collapse. It proceeds from the assumption that the phenomenon of silence (and of keeping silent) is an important factor in the development of social relations and in the transfer of cognitive models and belief systems. Another reason for dealing specifically with this theme lies in the fact that silence is immanent in every discourse, so that it is an unavoidable aspect of discourse analysis. Because of its performative character, it is an important communicative and cognitive means of discourse (������������������������������������������������������������ Polovina 1996, 187–221�������������������������������������� ). In short, silence helps create the dominant picture. Another reason why the meaning of silence in the context of the Yugoslav conflicts is thematized here is that, in studies on the end of Yugoslavia, the phenomenon of keeping silent has often been mentioned as a manipulative strategy employed by one or more parties to the conflict (and even of analysts who are dealing with Yugoslav themes). At the same time, there is no study that deals systematically with the meanings of silence and of keeping silent in the Balkan conflicts. From an analytical point of view, the sphere of the silent, the suppressed and the diverted remained absolutely untouched. Although considerations of violence and silence dynamics – from the perspective of contextual discourse analysis – are a non-thematized aspect of all Yugoslav crises, I will, due to the complexity of this phenomenon, limit my research to one particular event that had a decisive influence on the process of disintegration through war. The event in question is the operation conducted by the Croatian army in August 1995 that bore the code name Operation Storm, the aim of which was to occupy the territories where Croatian citizens of Serb nationality – or, more precisely, their nationalist leadership – had created a parastate called the Republic of Serbian Krajina (RSK). After the secession of Croatia from the SFRY, these Serbs did not recognize the new Croatian state or its symbols, because  ������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� This operation, which started on 4 August 1995, is officially called a ‘military and police action’ in order to emphasize – through the engagement of police forces – its internal character relative to international law.  ������������������������������������������������������������������������ See Grandits and Promicer (2000), 165–86 and Nikica Barić’s book (2005) abounding in documents on the RSK, which can also be read in the light of constructing the

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its flag with the chequered field (the šahovnica) was associated with the sufferings of the Serbs in the Independent State of Croatia during the Second World War. I will not thematize here the ways or the time in Croatia when those who had been neighbours (= citizens of Serb nationality) became ‘Serbs’ – and the neighbours of these Serbs became ‘Croats’ – but it is evident that, at least in wartime, ‘Serbs’ and ‘Croats’ perceived each other as just that – as enemies, or as their most important Others. In wartime, the general guidelines for collective self-understanding in the silent, non-transparent sphere became a quite common and expected form of perception and activity in public. The media instrumentalization of the previously suppressed alternative narratives and ‘collective features’ – the stereotypes about ‘Ustasha’ (licentious ‘šahovnica soldiers’, ‘bloodthirsty cutthroats’, etc.) and ‘Chetniks’ (‘Serbo-communists’, ‘Yugo-communist aggressors’, etc.) became ‘self-fulfilling prophecies’ and ‘self-reinforcing opposites’. By marginalizing positive experiences, memories and ideas about the ‘Others’, that is, about ‘neighbours’, as well as by eliminating from public discourse everything that did not fit the image of the Enemy, the collectivities adopted as ‘positive values’ just that which the other side regarded as their ‘negative image’. Once they found themselves in such a relationship, the enemies (the ‘Ustashas’ and the ‘Chetniks’) needed each other, since only such a relationship ensured their authenticity and ‘national correctness’. After the radicalization and homogenization of the positions along national lines, one did not have to wait long for the day of the military victory, which had to be perceived by the other side as a defeat – though a muffled one, since nobody on the Serbian side wanted to assume responsibility for it. Therefore, Operation Storm and the symbolic imagery built around it – regardless of whether it was perceived as a ‘victory’ or a ‘defeat’ – were organized and rationalized according to a system of silent stereotypes (‘images in the minds’; Rot 2000, 256–90; Đerić 2005b, 71–95). Operation Storm completely changed the demographic picture of the Krajina region (Pažanin 2006, 459–82). It marked the end of the four-year existence of the RSK and the end of the war in Croatia. It was accompanied by numerous cases of violence. And while the Croatian public learned about the Republic of Serbian Krajina as a period of non-freedom (‘Yugo-communist aggression’ and ‘barbarism’), in Serbia this same period was completely erased from the public perception, like some void and non-existent time, without any reflexion. The forgetting of the Serbian public can in part be contributed to the acts of violence committed during Operation Storm, so that the strategic selectivity and manipulation of the status of the victims became a soothing means of forgetting the violence that had preceded Operation Storm. The particular nationalist narratives about Operation Storm had completely different fates in the Croatian and Serbian publics. While its results and consequences official version, that is, the scientific foundation for the idea about the voluntary exodus of Serbs from Croatia, thus freeing the regime of any responsibility.

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are mostly known, various contrary speculations and different opinions remain with regard to not only its character, but also the number of exiled and killed persons and the number of blown-up and burnt Serbian houses. Croatian President Franjo Tuđman summed up the results of the operation in this way: ‘Consequently, we solved the Serbian question. There won’t be 12 per cent Serbs and 9 per cent Yugoslavs [in Croatia] any more. And if there still remain three or five per cent of them, this does not pose any threat to the Croatian state’ (December 1998). The historical and symbolical importance of Operation Storm for the Republic of Croatia is best evidenced by the fact that 5 August is celebrated as Victory Day, Homeland Thanksgiving Day and the Day of Armed Forces. According to its planners and participants, this operation is a symbol of ‘sovereignty’ and ‘unity’, ‘the fulfilment of a thousand-year long dream’. It was a ‘historical victory’, ‘the greatest rock event in Croatian history’, and so on. As for the Serbian public, Operation Storm will be remembered for the endless columns of people as well as for the killing of civilians, as a crime, and as one of the traumatic events in its recent history. The expulsion of a large part of the population during this operation was just one more indicator of something that was already ‘known’ about ‘Croats’; it fit into the worst preconceived ideas about ‘Them’ and ‘proved the truthfulness’ of prejudice. However, the Serbian public made a mistake in its perception about ‘ourselves’ and ‘our people’, primarily because this event broke with the auto-stereotype of ‘Serbian courage and invincibility’. As it turned out, the Serbs ‘fled’ from Croatia ‘without firing a single bullet’, in other words, without organized resistance. The other reason for disappointment about the ‘collective I’ was the reaction of the Serbian authorities and the reception of the expelled people into Serbia. Many of them had to wait for days at the border crossings. In other words, the results and consequences of this event were contrary to the features that shaped the cultural intimacy of Serbs, their implied ‘courage’ and ‘hospitality’. These are among the reasons why Operation Storm, like any traumatic event, was suppressed from the Serbian public and at the same time, confirmed (and even strengthened) the system of negative stereotypes about ‘Croats’. It is understandable that the semantics of silence about Operation Storm in the Croatian and Serbian public differ from each other. Naturally, the general functions and meanings of silence are the same, although what is spoken about and what is kept silent about concerning Operation Storm in the two contexts diverge. As Irwin-Zarecka put it so well, silence must be ‘covered by words’, so that when we start to listen to historical silence, we inevitably hear much noise. The acts of violence committed by ‘our’ side are wrapped up in complete silence. On the other hand, a monolithic narrative about the violence of the ‘Other’ results  ������������������������������������������������������������������������������� Here Operation Storm is regarded as massive violence as a ‘collective criminal act’, ‘ethnic cleansing’ and so on. On other approaches to Operation Storm, ranging from ‘voluntary exodus’ to ‘ethnic cleansing’ and ‘genocide’, see Barić (2005, 553–67) and Livada (2006).

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in noisy victimization of ‘us’. The Serbian public keeps silent about the violence preceding Operation Storm and about the responsibility of the Milošević regime for the formation of the RSK and its support for this parastate in the first years of the war; by contrast, in the Croatian public the preceding violence (from the time of the RSK) is used to legitimize the ‘inevitability’ of Operation Storm. This situation creates a basis for this study. I regard this silence as extremely important for the organization of the cultural and national knowledge in the new states and the (re)construction of that which is crucial for their symbolic and mythological imagery. Despite the fact that silence is usually regarded as an antonym of speech, it comes into the focus of analytical attention just through speech, or more precisely, through newspaper discourse. In an attempt to elucidate the meanings and functions of silence over time (in the context of generating, adjusting to and maintaining new political realities), the research will focus on the writing of the Serbian and Croatian press from 2 August 1995 to mid-August 2006. The press coverage of the anniversaries of Operation Storm is studied in order to explore the relationship between silence and violence and the way in which this event is remembered. The method is cumulative and inevitably comparative, since it is employed in a search for the meanings and performativeness of silence in the Croatian and Serbian environments. Cumulativeness here means not only the multiplication of the meanings of silence, as one might expect, but also the narrowing down and crystallization of a semantic focus on that which is of utmost importance for the social memory of this event. Consequently, the question is what was suppressed and forgotten and how; in other words, how silence was reflected in the domain of social memory and the codes of self-comprehension in the newly established states.

From Silence to Violence This section deals with the writings of daily newspapers immediately before and during Operation Storm, since this can provide an answer to the question of what is spoken about and how, when there is an intention to keep silent about and suppress facts. A reading of the print media gives us a unique opportunity to explore not only how the media participated in the creation of events, but also to uncover fissures in those creations. It may show how something that had to remain secret was still anticipated in the strictly controlled public, or how the general public was prepared for future events. At the beginning of August 1995, the Croatian daily Večernji list (VL) devoted utmost attention to the situation on the battlefields in Bosnia and Herzegovina  ����������������������������� The daily newspapers include Večernje novosti, Politika and Danas (Belgrade) – Večernji list, Jutarnji list and Magazin – supplement to Jutarnji list (Zagreb), as well as the articles about Operation Storm in the weekly magazines NIN, Vreme and Globus.

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and in Croatia, as well as to the diplomatic issues concerning the forthcoming peace talks between the Republic of Croatia and the Republic of Serbian Krajina. Attention was focused on the Serb attacks against Gospić and Bihać which, according to VL, was on the agenda of the diplomatic meetings which President Tuđman and Foreign Minister Granić had with the Ambassadors of the USA and Iran. Concerns over continued Serb attacks on these regions were reflected also in the writing of VL on 3 August: ‘Serb Terrorists Don’t Rest: Provocations on the Eve of the Geneva Talks’, ‘Croatian Forces Gain Control over Important Hills’, ‘Serb Insurgents Launched a Repeated Attack on Gospić Yesterday’ and ‘Chetniks also Opened Fire at the UNCRO Checkpoints and the Croatian Army near Otočac’. On 4 August 1995, when Operation Storm started, the front page featured the following headline: ‘Croatia is Resolute: Peaceful Reintegration Now!’. The other important news included ‘Gospić and Otočac Attacked Again’, ‘Enemy Rockets Hitting Civilian Targets’, ‘Artillery Fights Continue along the Croatian Border with Bosnia and Herzegovina’, ‘Chetniks and Abdić’s Forces Continue to Attack Bihać’ and ‘A Strong Approach to the Settlement of the Crisis’. Although the entire second page was devoted to the Geneva talks, the article hardly gave a clear picture of the progress of these talks and the stances of the warring sides. The very headline, ‘Croatia is Resolute: Peaceful Reintegration Now!’, left an impression that Croatia gave precedence to a peaceful solution and that the Krajina Serb representatives rejected the proposal. Admittedly, this was not explicitly said. What was actually said was that the answers of the Krajina Serb representatives were ‘not considered “satisfactory”, since they have not been sufficiently clearly formulated’. In any case, the public on both sides was deprived of relevant information. However, they did receive some unexpected information, which made the talks themselves and the topic of this article farcical. Namely, we learn from the article that ‘President Tuđman chose the right moment to undertake this operation without being punished for it’ (we are not told which operation was in question). Furthermore, it was said that there were at least two trends in international diplomacy concerning this issue: one group of diplomats allegedly supported the war option and ‘respect the strong’ while another group attempted to find a peaceful solution: ‘International diplomacy, that is, the part represented by Thorvald Stoltenberg, wishes to avoid war and searches for a peace formula: Is it possible to find a means of peaceful reintegration of the Croatian territories that are now under the control of “Serb secessionists”?’ That same day, the Croatian citizens did not have to read VL in order to obtain an answer to this question. In a cognitive sense, the answer was irrelevant (irrespective  ������������������������������������������������������������������������������ The talks, organized by Yasushi Akashi and Thorvald Stoltenberg, were held in Geneva, on 3 August 1995.  ����������������������������������������������������������������������������� See: ‘Showing Understanding for Croatian Politics’ and ‘Bihać – The Greatest Concern’ (VL, 2 August 1995).   VL, 4 August 1995.

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of what it was, or of whether the question itself was unclear or rhetorical), since Operation Storm was already under way. From the present perspective, the transcripts of the meeting of Croatian President Tuđman with his top military and state leadership, which was held on Brioni Islands, on 31 July 1995, throw a special light on the writings of VL about the Geneva talks and the armed conflict in the period from 1 to 4 August 1995. The transcripts of this meeting became accessible to the public at the end of 2004 and, having been collated with audio recordings from the meeting, their authenticity was confirmed in early 2005 (������ Barić 2005, 514��������������������������������������������������������������������������� ). These transcripts greatly facilitate the research on the manifestations of silence (under the cover of false and too extensive speech about something else) concerning Operation Storm. It turned out that the two key themes in the public – the situation on the battlefield and the attitude towards the Geneva talks – were concocted. The ‘news’ had been written a few days in advance with the ‘government’s hand’. According to the Brioni transcripts, President Tuđman gave instructions on how the media should inform the public: he decided that the press should continue to write about ‘Serb attacks on Bihać’ (although the conflict in that region was already over).10 He also proposed that the Serbs should be provoked into attacks in Croatia about which the public should be informed on a daily basis, or stories about such attacks should simply be concocted. After a discussion about the places or regions that would be the most appropriate, the Croatian leaders opted for Gospić.11 The Brioni transcripts also elucidate the background for the Croatian stand on the Geneva talks. Before Operation Storm, this topic was treated in VL immediately after the topic of ‘Serb attacks on Bihać and Gospić’. The Croatian proposals and stands during these talks were described in terms of ‘peaceful reintegration now’: according to the transcripts, however, the trip of the Croatian delegation to these talks had to serve Operation Storm itself – as an additional alibi for the planned operation – or, as the participants put it, its ‘disguise’.12 They pretended to be ready   http://www.vecernji.hr/newsroom/news/croatia/791205/index.co (in further text: Brioni transcripts). 10 ����������������������������������������������������������������������������������� Looking for a political justification for Operation Storm (‘we must find a pretext for our operation’), the Croatian President ordered that the media should ‘emphasise that the Serbs did not retreat from the Bihać area and that they continue to attack the town’. Brioni transcripts and Barić (2005), 514–15. 11 ����������������������������������������������������������������������������� ‘Norac should provoke them, together with him, so that maybe two mortars hit Gospić or some other place. I think it has to be a populated area’; Brioni transcripts. 12 ������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� ‘I told Šarinić to say that we support the talks in principle (…) So, we can also do that, he will call today already and accept those talks; we can even appoint, I don’t know, our delegation, but we must talk, tomorrow or one of these days, about undertaking an operation for the liberation of Banija, Kordun up to Lika, Dalmatia and Knin, how to do the job in three, four or eight days at the most. So, that only some enclaves remain, which will have to surrender. (…) To inflict such blows that the Serbs will virtually disappear and those who did not will have to surrender in a few days’. Croatian President Tuđman, Brioni transcripts.

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for a compromise, and the scheduled talks were abused and became a media alibi and a political alibi for a military operation. In the context of the Brioni transcripts, a subsequent reading of VL makes it clear that the messages were aimed at two or three different audiences: one international and the other domestic and, within the latter, the public in the Republic of Serb Krajina.13 And no matter how impossible it may seem, the Croatian authorities succeeded in having these messages accepted as desired in all these audiences. Operation Storm was carried out as planned by the Croatian leadership, while VL was promptly informing the public about everything. The news stories were illustrated with photographs of ‘captured Chetniks’ and ‘Croat liberators’. The operation was illustrated with maps of Croatia, where the Croatian coat-of-arms (the chequered fields) was placed besides the name of each captured place. As if planned, there was a spate of articles which claimed that Croatia guaranteed the rights of all its citizens of Serb nationality, alongside other articles that wrote about ‘Chetniks’ and ‘enemies’14 as usual. In one article, it was said of the citizens remaining in Knin that ‘not a hair on their heads was harmed’, while in another the citizens of Knin were called ‘routed, bearded creatures hiding in their houses’ (VL, 6 August 1995). The headline ‘Croatia Insists on Peace’ ran in parallel with the headline ‘Another Brilliant Victory’. The historical character of the operation was summed up and the first analyses appeared as well – they were about as serious as the ‘news from the battlefield’ had been before Operation Storm was launched.15 VL did not forget to accuse the world media of ‘lying with pictures’. They allegedly lacked professionalism and carried ‘news reports written in advance, as directed, that is, stereotypes’. Any similarity with the style of writing in Večernji list itself was of course quite incidental. *  *  * A perusal of Belgrade’s daily newspapers of early August 1995 feels like leafing through virtually identical product catalogues from the same firm, only with slightly different design. The front pages were devoted to economic issues, to 13 �������������������������������������������������������������������������������� Apart from deliberating on how to inform the international and Croatian public, the Croatian leadership was contemplating how to inform the RSK population. It discussed how it could best cause confusion among the citizens of Serb nationality – by radio and television, or by distributing leaflets: ‘One such leaflet means a state of chaos, the victory of the Croatian army with world’s support and so on. Serbs, you are already retreating … but we call on you not to retreat, we guarantee you … This means we will give them the direction and allegedly guarantee their civil rights, etc.’ (Brioni transcripts). 14 ������������������������������������������������������������������������������������ ‘The Importance of Preserving the Lives of Civilians’, ‘Protection of Civilians and Prisoners Alike’, ‘Don’t Leave into Uncertainty!’ and ‘Croatia Guarantees All Rights to Serbs’, in contrast to the articles like ‘Tough Resistance of Chetniks’, ‘Chetniks Targetting Ogulin’ and ‘Special Forces Caused Confusion among Chetniks’ (VL, 5–8 August 1995). 15 ��������������������������������������������������������������������������������� ‘What decided that the operation should begin just on 4 August (…) was the Croat Serb attacks on Bihać’. In ‘Ready for Their Five Minutes’, VL, 7 August 1995.

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the government’s successful diplomacy and to the President’s ‘appeal for peace’. In short, they concentrated on easy themes, defence politics, the language of peace and good neighbourly relations: ‘As Usual in Unusual Times’ could be a diagnosis of the editorial policy of Večernje novosti (VN). On 2 August 1995, on its inside pages, the newspaper carried only two short news stories about the war in Croatia. The avoidance of serious themes indicated a strategy of silence, serving to keep the situativeness secret and marginalizing the RSK problem. The only agency news that dealt directly with the Krajina Serbs was found on the fifth page, in the lower right corner: this was the warning of UN Special Envoy Akashi that Croatia ‘seems to be preparing itself for an attack on the Serbs in Krajina’.16 The second news story referred only indirectly to Croatia, since it dealt with the Bosnian battlefield, where the Croatian army was also engaged. This article is a typical example of how the Serbian print media treated the participants in the events, by both what was said and what was implied. Croatian soldiers were called ‘Ustashas’, and it was indirectly and propagandistically suggested that the Croatian forces were weak. The stereotype of ‘Serbian courage’ was tacitly implied – and, in the end the newspaper ended up by giving incorrect information. In an article under the headline ‘The Black Flag over Mount Marjan’ it was stated that ‘Ustasha formations suffered heavy losses during the attacks on Grahovo and Glamoč’. In that way attention was diverted from what was happening in Krajina, since these places, as it turned out, were only ‘transit stations’ of the Croatian army on its way to Knin. That same day, Politika carried a few more articles devoted indirectly to the conflicts in Croatia: apart from Akashi’s warning, it also carried another one: ‘Germany Warns its Citizens to Leave Croatia’. In Darko Ribnikar’s article ‘Tacit Support for Croatia’, silence was for the first time mentioned in this context. Writing about the hectic diplomacy, the author pointed out that, despite the concerns of the West, the attacks of regular Croatian troops on the Serbian troops and places in Bosnia can result in an escalation of the war, the governments of these countries are still reluctant to send serious warnings to Zagreb and demand cessation of military operations. Hardly anyone mentions that about 10,000 Croatian troops have attacked targets in Bosnia, a country which is recognized by Zagreb as an independent state, while the fate of Serb refugees from Glamoč and Grahovo did not upset the so-called humanitarian organizations here.

Pragmatic silence, however, was not a specialty of Western diplomacies only. In the days that followed, on 3 and 4 August, the Serbian dailies virtually ignored or kept silent about the situation in Croatia. They focused on ‘support for Milošević’s appeal for peace’. The front page of VN carried photographs of pretty girls on the Novi Sad Strand beach and an article about children’s water sport games! Apart 16  VN, 2 August 1995.

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from ‘sports’, the front page carried news stories about ‘bread’ (‘Maize About to Beat Records’) and that was all. On 4 August, when Operation Storm started, the front pages of VN and Politika were devoted mostly to the national economy. With regard to the talks between Croatia and the Republika Srpska Krajina, Politika, on its inside pages, carried news stories that contradicted each other in contents as well as in spirit – one optimistic and the other pessimistic: ‘Stoltenberg: “An Agreement is not Far Away: Greater Prospects for Avoiding a General Conflict”’, vs ‘Croatia Turns down the UN Peace Plan’. The only remaining news story about the situation was in the lower right end: ‘The United States Tacitly Approve the Croat Attack’. Apart from the distinct discrepancies between the front page and other pages, between the headlines in bold type and the text beneath, a large amount of contradictory information also contributed to a blurring of the picture. Namely, the silence and absence of any reaction to the situation in Croatia by any representative of the Milošević government were noticeable. These days, both politicians and editors of daily newspapers focused on the economy, diplomacy and summer leisure, promising panem et circenses. These stories served to conceal the situation which, as it turned out, was not a secret to anybody, except for a good part of the so-called ‘ordinary people’ in the Republic of Serb Krajina. Too many stories about ‘something else’ were an unambiguous sign that the situativeness was covered up. Silence about something that was important could be interpreted as a part of political preparations for a new and already certain situation. When the attack did take place, it could no longer be ignored in the daily newspapers, but the usual practice of presenting the conflicting parties on the basis of contradictory information continued. Although the front page of VN of 5 August was printed in black – ‘An Attack with 100,000 Troops’ – the inside pages carried various contradictory and false news: ‘Not One Village Surrendered’ and ‘The Losses of the Croatian Formations in Their Offensive Against the RSK: The Omiš Unit Decimated’. That same day, Politika wrote: ‘The Krajina Serb Army is Bravely Repulsing the Attacks and Holding All Lines of Defence’; ‘A Number of Croat Soldiers Taken Prisoner’; and ‘Assaults Repelled’. Such encouragement and false hopes at the moment when refugee columns were approaching the Serbian borders were a consequence of keeping silent about the current situation. At the same time, it was a residue of the previous style of writing about ‘Us’ and ‘Them’. Such practice was continued in the days that followed. While continuing to deny the fast and absolute collapse of the Republic of Serb Krajina the newspapers introduced new themes, such as stories about intense Western support for Croatia and, in particular, the silence in the West about the armament of the Croatian army. At the same time, the conspicuous silence of Serbian officials on the RSK debacle did not attract the attention of these dailies. From the writing of the Serbian print media and testimonies of the actors, it is evident what they wanted to keep silent about: the discrepancy between the great silence and the great tragedy which,

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in part, was the consequence of Milošević’s instrumentalization and ‘spinning’ of the Croatian Serbs. However, Operation Storm was not thematized in the Serbian public at the time, nor for many years thereafter. Such a situation points to the officially imposed silence as a shield against an unpleasant confrontation with the responsibility for past actions and for something that could have been avoided or prevented. A convincing historical parable about the homeland’s long-term attitude toward the Croatian Serbs – their deliberate sacrifice, ‘spinning’ and abandonment – was told by Slavoljub Đukić 10 years later, in 2005, when he cited what Svetozar Pribićević had said 70 years earlier: ‘Serbia treats the Serbs in Croatia like dogs. It first talks them into barking and then leaves them tied to the fence so that the Croatian master can beat them up.’17 In the meantime, both silence and talk about Operation Storm underwent various metamorphoses. They are the subject of the following section.

From Violence to Memory In this section I will deal with the discourses of ceremonial commemorations of Operation Storm, in other words, with the ways in which this event is constructed in social memory. The question is how collective silence is converted into a striking symbol of collective memory, despite the fact that it is a question of public memory of the most recent past. My story is based on several assumptions: that this operation has been selectively approached in the Croatian and Serbian publics ever since it took place, in other words, that it is a subject of selective forgetting and selective memory. Furthermore, that the communicative memory of Operation Storm (contemporary discourses which are the subject of analysis) has entered a matrix of cultural or social memory that refers to long-duration phenomena, to the ‘beginning of a nation’ and landmark events in the past. I further assumed that something which was systematically eliminated, forgotten or kept secret in the appropriate speeches and at the official marking of Operation Storm is of utmost significance for the symbolic imageries of these states. Finally, I proceeded on the assumption that for the Croatian contemporary mythology Operation Storm is a symbol of a new beginning (the rebirth of the nation), while for Serbian political mythology it is yet another contribution to the saga of sacrifice – the dominant genre of national mythopoetics. In marking the anniversary of Operation Storm, Zagreb and Belgrade have something in common: in both cities the main memorial service for the victims takes place in St Mark’s Church. Everything else is different. In Belgrade, Operation Storm was until recently commemorated only by the Serbian Orthodox Church and some NGOs. In Croatia, it is a matter of official politics, involving the Government, the Church, veterans’ associations, NGOs, entertainers, athletes, and so on. Therefore, the media coverage of this anniversary attracts greater attention 17  NIN, 5 August 2005.

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in the Croatian than in the Serbian public. There is also one more difference – in Croatia the anniversary of Operation Storm is a celebration, while in Serbia it is a memorial service. In Croatia, the first anniversary of Operation Storm was passed in the sign of a great victory and illustrious weapons.18 And while in the Croatian public it was emphasized that the ‘“glorious” and “stormy” victories were the result of the concerted efforts of the Croatian people’, the Serbian public was preoccupied with a search for culprits for the fall of the Republic of Serb Krajina.19 From the perspective of the Milošević regime, this strategy was quite understandable, since this sudden media interest and talkativeness (that is, the attack on the former leadership of the former Republic of Serb Krajina) was a cover for its silence about this issue and a defence against something that was ‘known by everyone’, but not talked about aloud. On the second anniversary of Operation Storm President Tuđman took the oath for his second presidential term. The print media carried in detail the President’s appropriate words while laying a wreath on the ‘Altar of the Homeland’, as well as the words of congratulation uttered by Croatian Defence Minister Gojko Sušak.20 In these messages, the past, the present and the future were fused into one. In a unique narrative, the living and the dead were united in fulfilling the same task of ‘winning victory and respect’, while the ‘nation-state’ and its ‘identity’ were extended to the times when ‘nations’ or ‘sovereignty’ did not exist in their present meanings. More than anything that was said (which is always formalized, expected and standard on such occasions), the promotion of Operation Storm into a state-founding myth was brought about by the tacit and performative character of the appropriate actions (the presidential oath, the laying of wreaths, the hoisting of flags, religious services, military and sports competitions). Thus, Operation Storm was brought into the focus of national celebration, the anniversary of which marked national bravery, its history and national transformation, in other words a new beginning. Therefore, the myth about Operation Storm that was created is a myth about a metamorphosis which, like all other founding myths, requires ‘noble lies.’ The appeal of the narrative about the ‘sovereignty of the state’, the social acceptability of Operation Storm, as part of the ‘rebirth of the nation’, was made possible by suppressing the facts, as well as by many symbolic acts and procedures. During each subsequent ceremony, the community would use them in order to remind itself of its identity: what was said would serve to disguise the facts about the event on which it drew, but primarily to remind the community about the new/old/omnipresent ‘we’ – the ‘collective ethos’, the national solidarity and ‘oneness’.

18 ������������������������������������������������������������������������������ ‘Pilatus – The Herald of Western Technology’ and ‘We Built the Military Force from Nothing’, VL, 6 August 1996. 19 ���������������������������������������������������������� ‘The Memorial Service to the Victims of Operation Storm’, VN, 5 August 1996. 20  VL, 6 August 1997.

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The inventory of Croatian memory was enriched over time, so that the third anniversary of Operation Storm was already characterized by unusual historical analogies and, in his column in Jutarnji list (JL), Zivko Kustic wrote that: ‘Catholic Croats have every reason to recall that on the Day of Our Lady of Snow, in 1716, the Turkish army was defeated at Petrovaradin, and on that same day, in 1995, the collapse of Yugo-communist aggression was marked by hoisting the Croatian flag over the imperial city of Knin’. The symbolic and sacred significance of violence for Croatia’s contemporary imagery and the strong link between the state and the church are evident from the following headline: ‘The Wreaths of the President of the Republic, the Government and the Parliament on the Homeland Altar’. At a time when the official stance was that Operation Storm was ‘planned and realised thanks to the intellect and power of the Croatian people’, it was not easy for the Croatian public to break the silence about the violence committed against Serbs. In that sense, the journalists’ questions were symptomatic: on the one hand, they referred to the silence that hitherto existed about the crimes as something normal and natural but at the same time they implied that someone were conspiring against or attacking the Croatian state for some alleged crimes.21 Although the sporadic narratives about such crimes did not refer directly to Operation Storm, but to the period immediately after it, stories about the crimes committed during this operation were in this way nevertheless introduced to the public: the confession made by an anonymous Croatian warrior to JL broke the stereotype writing about Operation Storm,22 but in no way influenced the official stance, or the usual treatment of the ‘Us’ and ‘Them’ theme in Croatian public. As international pressures were building up and Croatia’s accession to the European institutions was made conditional on the prosecution and handing over of indicted war criminals, this unpleasant issue had to be thematized differently. Although this was a substantial question, it was treated as if it were marginal, if not imaginary. The strategy adopted was that the state officials should say nothing while the narrative about violence during Operation Storm should still be introduced to the public. And so it was done, with quotation marks and coming from the place where, as usual, everything bad comes from – Belgrade. Jutarnji list quoted Belgrade’s daily Politika to the effect that ‘Croatian soldiers were killing and burning everything Serbian’, but concluded that the Hague Tribunal had not yet indicted anybody of ‘crimes committed by the Croatian forces’. During the Milošević regime, Serbian politicians and print media dealt with Operation Storm only declaratively. At the time of the third and fourth 21  JL, 6 August 1998. 22 ������������������������������������������������������������������������������ ‘Operation Storm was something extremely wonderful, my greatest joy. I was so happy to have a chance to watch a Serb running, while I was chasing him. You hunt him down and hit him and then shoot him at close range. Just to be sure. (…) Each day we were advancing twenty kilometres and, on the way, we were doing our job – shooting. There were no civilians; all of them were simply our enemies’. In ‘How Magnificently One Was Killing During Operation Storm – Hatred as a Chip in the Head’ (Danas, 5 May 1998).

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anniversaries, the print media were still in a state of fatigue and routine. They gave their chronology of the events and their data on the victims, keeping silent about the facts which, at that political moment, were not appropriate. Nevertheless, in a text authored by M. Vasić there was for the first time mention of Milošević’s responsibility and the ‘naiveté of the common people in the RSK who, having no true information, were deceived by the Serbian pro-regime press and television and lulled into false safety with foolish stories about “invincible Serbian weapons”. (…) Today we know that the Croatian Serbs were deliberately and cynically sacrificed as small change in the deals between Milošević and Tuđman’.23 Although year 2000, one would assume, was destined to become decisive for breaking the silence about the violence during Operation Storm in the Croatian public – in view of Hrvatska demokratska zajednica’s loss of power and the growing pressure from international institutions – this did not happen. In an attempt to achieve national consolidation, domestic discontent was tolerated, and cooperation with the Hague Tribunal was maintained but only to the extent that this was necessary and more or less in secret, while the print media continued to report in the same spirit as before: insofar as the victims of Serb nationality were concerned, this was referred to as ‘the alleged sufferings of Serb civilians’, ‘Chetniks’ and ‘terrorists’ (VL, 6 August 2000). The new government was yielding to the pressures of the international community, but it also had to find ways to satisfy the domestic public rhetorically: expressing the uneasiness of the new regime Prime Minister Račan declared that ‘Our battle will not be easier than Operation Storm’. Prosecution of the acts of violence committed during Operation Storm was still treated as something bordering on the impossible, as something that affected social intimacy and the positive self-image of the Croat community. Thus, a frequent question posed by journalists was: ‘Do you think that there is any state prosecutor in Croatia who will indict a member of the Croatian Army of a war crime, or even of expulsions or ethnic cleansing?’ The persistent cherishing of the discourse of self-comprehension and insistence on the collective roles of ‘victim’ and ‘criminal’, through the prism of ‘Us’ and ‘Them’ (at a moment when the evidence of violence was no longer unknown to anybody), speak in favour of public support for eliminationist nationalism. After the fall of the Milošević regime, the Serbian press failed to change its reporting style in any significant way: what was new, however, was the direct reproaches it directed against the authorities for not attending the memorial service held on the occasion of Operation Storm. Criticism of the new government for its silence was levelled also by the President of the Veritas Centre, Savo Štrbac: ‘Those who “turned a blind eye” on the Croatian Operation Storm should finally open their eyes to the fate of 300,000 Serbs who continue to live in exile’.24 The possible reasons for the silence of the post-Milošević government about Operation Storm are not quite clear: in part, the reason probably lies in its intention 23  Vreme, 12 August 2000. 24  VN, 3–6 August 2001.

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to normalize relations with the neighbours. For the sake of regional stability it did not want to bring up difficult topics from the legacy of the previous regime. Other possible reasons lie in the economic sphere – it is possible that it had no capacity to solve the refugee problems, or simply had no time to address them due to other problems which it considered more important. It is also possible that – in an attempt to preserve the stability of the ruling coalition DOS (which also included the political party of General Momčilo Perišić, a participant in the wars of the Milošević regime) – the best solution was to forget these issues, including Operation Storm. In any case, the policy of silence continued and the theme of Operation Storm was left to the refugee associations, to popular stories and to the Church. Religious language spun sacred and mythical stories about the event. Regardless of whether it was due to public pressure, or to the coming of the DSS to power, on the ninth anniversary of Operation Storm in 2004, the Serbian print media reported on the commemoration under the headline ‘For the First Time with Government Support’.25 That same year, the weekly (Nedeljne infomativne Novine) NIN also printed a most convincing text about the silence of the Serbian (and world) public about Operation Storm.26 Being illustrative of one part of the then Serbian political leadership, this silence can hardly be characterized in any other way but as the expression of weakness, shame and humiliation. This was a case of keeping silent when nothing can be added to that which has already been said; in other words, a situation in which everything can be expressed only by silence. The celebration of the tenth anniversary of Operation Storm in Croatia was rather noisy. However, in the political speeches the praises to ‘the greatest victory’ were toned down a little, while there was no longer an absolute silence about the violence. Such speeches, which spoiled the ritual custom, were not met with approval by those present, and the President was hissed for his ‘betrayal of national intimacy’: ‘During the war there were also those who did not fight for Croatia, but for themselves, who were destroying also that which should not have been destroyed’, said Mesić and was interrupted by the chants: ‘Ante, Ante!’27 A 25  Danas, 4 August 2004. 26 �������������������������������������������������������������������������������� The author of this text was Slavoljub Đukić, who wrote that in both Croatia and Serbia a lot of alcohol was consumed during Operation Storm. He described the drunkenness (and silence) of the then political leadership of the FRY: ‘Federation Palace, 7 August 1995, Monday afternoon, the Office of Yugoslav Prime Minister Radoje Kontić. A well tapped bottle of French cognac on the table. The Prime Minister is in the company of two friends. “I invited you to come here and get drunk”, says Kontić. “I do not know how you feel, but I, as a Montenegrin, feel shame. This morning, my compatriots said to me: ‘We piss on your function!’ What can I tell them? I keep quiet”’. The same author also wrote about other forms of silence: ‘One priest says that if two hundred birds had left these habitats for some reason, the world would have stood up against this danger to the environment. The displacement of almost the entire people, however, was met with total silence’. 27 ������������������������������������������������������������������������������ They are chanting the name of the chief commander of Operation Storm, General Ante Gotovina, against whom the Hague Tribunal issued an indictment.

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reporter from Knin said that Ante Gotovina was ‘in a sense present, but mostly on a commercial basis: Many street vendors were selling T-shirts with his image (…) Indeed, one could hardly see any other posters in the town than the one that was carried around Knin all day long with this slogan: “Gotovina hides himself in my heart”’.28 By way of conclusion the reporter noted that the Serbs did not participate in this celebration, because they ‘decided to stay at home’. This collective absence of the Serb citizens of Knin on the day when Croatia was celebrating, whether it was an act of protest or caused by fear, implied social exclusion and the deprivation of rights. Despite improved relations between Serbia and Croatia, the anniversaries of Operation Storm continued to be times of tensions and mutual accusations. This culminated in 2006. To Serbian Prime Minister Koštunica’s statement that the ‘horrible trek of people is a lasting testimony to a great and unpunished crime’, the Croatian Prime Minister responded by accusing Serbia: ‘Operation Storm was pure as the driven snow, and we are proud of it’.29 According to President Mesić, Operation Storm ‘sealed the fate of the plan to create a greater Serbia on the ruins of Yugoslavia. (…) It was important not only for Croatia, because if the war had not been stopped here, it would have spread to both Europe and the rest of the world’.30 So many years after Operation Storm, it is difficult not to point out the resilience of two different messages that are aimed at different audiences: one is directed to the outside, to the ears of the international community (‘Europe’ and ‘the world’); the other to the inside, to national intimacy and its memory. The basic meanings of the internal discourse can be absolutely contrary to the meanings communicated to the international community. The former are achieved by collectivizing the roles through a narrative of ‘Othering’. The original story of which ‘We’ vs ‘They’ is essentialized through mutual differences and the circle is closed. It is less relevant whether the statements made on behalf of ‘Us’ or ‘Them’ are true, false, or contradictory: in terms of efficiency and reception, it is important that they are easily and spontaneously suggested, and that they support the tacit assumptions of collective intimacy. The organization of the narratives on Operation Storm into first and third person plural postpones any discussion about this issue until some future time – a time that refuses to come.

Conclusion: From the Old to the New Carpet Immediately before and during Operation Storm silence was manifested by the appearance of too many stories about ‘something else’: in the Croatian public by fabricating events and enhancing tensions and in the Serbian public by shifting the 28  JL, 6 August 2005. 29  JL, 6 August 2006. 30 ����� Ibid.

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emphasis away from that which was important in the situation, by constructing relaxation. Until the change of government in both states in 2000, silence about the facts and (in particular) the collective generalizations and political shaping of this event were retained. This was done in accordance with the laws and the vocabulary of a mythical story – victory vs defeat; life vs death; good vs evil; criminals vs victims. The theme of Operation Storm was narrowed down from an event that could be described in as many ways as there were participants in it to two opposite, trans-historical versions based on the tacit assumptions in the relations between the two peoples. The inactivity of subsequent governments on this issue encouraged a continued trans-historical approach to the topic of Operation Storm. This was well suited for the enhancement of its homogenized versions to the level of great national stories. A short overview of the changes in silence over time does not speak much about the special meanings of silence, manifested on various occasions and with various functions: sometimes they served to create a context and sometimes they were responses to it. Many manifestations of this phenomenon in both countries were pragmatic in character: silence as a sign of a hidden reality; silence as a result of excessive speaking about something else, aimed at concealing the real situation or some previously conceived aim; silence as the sign of marginalizing some problem; silence in the meaning of a highly valued ‘political currency’ in inter-state relations; silence in the meaning of a ‘noble lie’; silence as yielding to the official stance (important state interests); silence as a shield against an unpleasant confrontation with responsibility for something that could have been avoided or prevented. The forms of silence that refer to participation in a collective situation can be both pragmatic and emotional. On the one hand it may be useful to agree with the dominant stance; on the other, a person may be incapable of confronting the complexity of the situation. This phenomenon is thus manifested either as agreement with something that has been done and approved, or as an inevitable consequence of the previous forms of keeping silent. Close to these meanings of silence are also those forms that refer to silence in the sense of emotional distancing from a problem. Distinctly emotional and psychological in character are those forms of silence that express incapacity, humiliation and shame in situations when there is nothing to be added to what has been said, or silence as a sign of fear of punishment, social subordination or exclusion. Some forms of silence are ways to postpone unpleasant questions and problems. With the exception of some rare individual cases, the established world of silence about Operation Storm (and of speaking about it) has been collectivistic in both countries: Operation Storm is a theme of national auto-historicizations and such historicizations, as a rule, require selection. Therefore, whatever did not fit into the assumed ‘common knowledge’, cultural intimacy, stereotype of the Enemy and victimizational or victorious discourses of self-apprehension, was kept secret, or excluded from public discourse. The other question that has been raised in this chapter, the relationship between silence and violence, is reflected in the domain of social memory. The analysis

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of the writings about commemorative ceremonies inquired into the methods of including the symbolic capital of Operation Storm into the codes and matrices of the collective memory of the newly established states. The short history of things remembered points to bipolar monolithicism and a condensation of public interpretations of this event: they fit into the stability of the previously established social knowledge, symbolic imageries, national self-understanding, and Croatian and Serbian cultural intimacy. In both countries the commemorations defined and objectivized the meanings of Operation Storm, in a more or less authentic way, since the manifested, official memories of the most recent past almost automatically excluded the inappropriate contents and connotations: the situation created after ‘sweeping them under the carpet’ was such that facticity vanished into total silence. The public was overwhelmed by the eternal and unchangeable meanings of collective autoreflection. In other words, before remembering a homogenized meaning (which was now ‘a matter of course’), everything else was forgotten in an organized way. All other things were allowed to run their own course, according to the system of repetitiveness and cumulativeness. In Croatia, the narrative about Operation Storm is an established cult, that is, a founding myth, whose main constituent parts are Struggle, Sacrifice and the Great and Final Victory over the Enemy. Under the sponsorship of the State and the Church, by repeating the selected accents at public celebrations and commemorations, the violence committed during Operation Storm was consecrated, while the homogenized meaning of the Great Victory was promoted into truth. Nothing can ‘unite the hearts and establish order’ better than violence and victims. Or, as Girard put it more concisely – ‘violence and sanctity are inseparable’ (���������������� Žirar����������� 1990, 27). On the other side of the border, the homogenized meaning of Operation Storm – according to its occurrence and main symbolic topoi – placed itself in the ‘heart’ and the ‘hidden soul’ of the Serbian national myth. Like the main narrative of Serbian mythopoetics, which became part of the official practice only a long time after the historical event which it draws upon and when consequently many things had been forgotten, the narrative about Operation Storm also waited for a long time to be included in the symbolic state register. The initial, official suppression of the facts and silence, which also continued after the change of regime, played a most important role in paving the way for mythical interpretations of this event. Until then, as long as it was left to the ‘people’ and the Church, the narrative about Operation Storm was shaped according to the well-known mythopoetic model of Treason, Sacrifice, Defeat and Death.31 Only the legend of the Hero is missing, but, that one too will be introduced when the personalization of the Traitor has become clearer. After all, myths write history. And that’s the end of the story. Everything else is silence.

31 ����������������������������������������������������������������������������������� Most researchers hold that these are the basic legends within the Kosovo myth (see Bandić 1997; Đerić 2005b, 15–30).

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Chapter 10

Self and Other in Balkan (Post-)War Cinema Nedin Mutić

In order to broaden our understanding of fictional, cinematic representations of ‘self’ and ‘other’ in this chapter I will analyse some of the films produced in Bosnia– Herzegovina, Serbia–Montenegro, Croatia, Macedonia and Slovenia between the 1990s and 2006. It is in the years after the wars in/between these countries that an evaluation of national identities as conflict performers can be witnessed in Balkan fiction films. Therefore, it is interesting to examine the representations of ‘self’ and ‘other’ in the more successful films produced in the years after these major conflicts. The films chosen have won awards at international film festivals and, consequently, received somewhat wider distribution and reached international audiences. The reason for this choice is simple: the films have been seen by many people, and thus the analysis of the films from the representation of the self and other perspective will hopefully resonate with the reader’s potential reflections on these films. On the other hand, the analysis of these films may evoke discussion, which is perhaps an even better outcome. However, possibly the most famous film from both the region and the period this chapter covers, Underground (1995), directed by Emir Kusturica, probably the most famous director from ex-Yugoslavia, is not discussed here. The main reason for this is the storyline of Underground, which depicts the last 50 years of Yugoslavian history and as such is too vast to examine in the limited space of this chapter. The other reason is that this film has been thoroughly examined in various other scholarly works (Iordanova 2001; Galt 2006; Gocić 2001; Žižek 1997). The films examined in this chapter were all produced in the years of either pre- or post-conflict and (re-)nationalization. They are mostly co-productions between ex-Yugoslav states and various Western European countries (UK, France, Germany, and so on), and were also chosen because they either on a formal or thematic level, or both, in one way or another illustrate, represent or re-enact ‘self’ and ‘other’ during, after or before the wars. However, as will be seen, the national and ethnic characteristics of ‘self’ and ‘other’ in these films are not always selfexplanatory, and some of the films investigate or deconstruct the categories and stereotypes of the national and/or ethnic identity rather than simply portray them. On the other hand, there can be both stereotypical representations of ‘self’ and ‘other’ and an immediate investigation of these categories in different scenes in one and the same film (for instance Witnesses [Svjedoci], Croatia, 2003). Some of the films construct their representation of self by portraying the other in a comfortable, ‘culturally memorized’ stereotypical way and thus function relatively

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well as comedies (for instance� The Red Coloured Grey Truck [Sivi kamion crvene boje], Serbia–Montenegro, 2004), but lose their verisimilitude by ridiculing the other and trivializing the war. There are also films which, by setting their storyline in a time of war, investigate the self by opposing it to the other and through such an investigation fragment the general cognition of self into a more complex and multi-layered representation (Pretty Village, Pretty Flame [Lepa sela lepo gore], 1996). However, the dynamic of the categories self and other and the potentiality of their differences is also portrayed in films such as Before the Rain [Pred dozhdot] (Macedonia, 1994), which, as the director, Milcho Manchevski, himself states, captures some kind of a paradoxical duality or a ‘before-the-rain feeling, like when you wait for the skies to open and bring down something hard, but also – potentially – something cleansing. Like rain’ (Manchevski 2000, 129–34). In the first part of the chapter I have chosen to examine the representation of self and other in films depicting the recent wars, or the self and other in wartime. In the second part of the chapter we shall see how the self and other are represented in narratives depicting before the war(s) phases. Finally, by analysing the Bosnian film Grbavica [Grbavica: The Land Of My Dreams] (2006) in the last part of the chapter, how the self handles both the physical and psychological consequences of war is investigated. (Post-)War Films Cinema was a priori assigned the role of representing the political, and engaging the poetic function within the context of the ideological debates of the moment. The artistic function and communicative power of film were appropriated by ‘the people’, whose party officials imagined different types of control over the poetic articulation of political reality. (Longinovic 2005, 35–47)

After the Second World War, cinema in Yugoslavia went through several, somewhat opposing, phases. The war films made in the 1960s and 1970s, the so-called partisan films, primarily portrayed how Tito’s partisans victoriously fought the German Nazi Soldiers, and sometimes internal enemies, Chetniks and Ustashas. In these war films one can trace a fictional staging of the heroic self, opposed primarily to the German other. However, the subnational and ethnic/religious diversity of the Yugoslav or partisan self (Croatian, Serbian, Bosnian, Slovenian, and so on) within these films is rarely explicitly commented upon within the thematic or narrative dimensions. Through these films the Yugoslav cinema developed a specific ‘national’ articulation (Longinovic 2005, 36) and a tentative mediation of a Yugoslav self, usually represented by Serbian actors. As will be seen, such Yugoslav ‘national’ articulation is somewhat absent from the war films of the 1990s. Instead, perhaps best exemplified by the character Gvozden played by the famous actor Velimir ‘Bata’ Zivojinovic in the film Pretty Village, Pretty Flame, there is, especially in the Serbian-produced films, an ironic

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relationship to Yugoslav film history which ‘doubles the (knowing) spectator’s sympathies, as well as questioning the similarities between the two wars. The iconography of the partisan film and the trope of underground space again work to structure the ambiguous political stakes of both historical conflicts’ (Galt 2006, 172). First, these films represent a different kind of war(s) where the Yugoslav self is deconstructed and fragmented, and is represented as absent or something abstract, marginal, historical and fictitious. Second, the divisions which make up the conflict(s) and drive the narrative(s) in these post-Yugoslav war films are maintained by the antagonisms between ethnic nationalities. In the film No Man’s Land [Ničija Zemlja] (2001), directed by Bosnian director Danis Tanović, the action takes place primarily in a trench between enemy lines somewhere in Bosnia and Herzegovina during the 1992–95 war. One Bosnian Serb and two Bosnian Muslim soldiers who are trapped in the trench cause a temporary ceasefire amidst the Bosnian war and provoke a more direct involvement from the United Nations Protection Force (UNPROFOR) and the international press on its tail. The director, who also wrote the script, illustrates the absurdity of war by placing three soldiers in a trench between the front lines and scales down the complexities of the Bosnian war to the human level. The situation in the trench functions both as a metaphor and an allegory of the Bosnian conflict, presented in a multi-layered perspective where both the UNPROFOR and the Western (sensationalist) press are embedded in the narrative. By temporarily stopping the war and projecting a state of peace into it, the director invites us to reflect upon, re-present and re-interpret the categories of ‘self’ and ‘other’. The soldiers, Bosnian Muslim soldier Čiki, and Nino, a Bosnian Serb soldier, are trapped in the trench with another wounded Bosnian Muslim soldier, Cera, who is immobilized because he has been wounded and placed on a ‘bouncing mine’ by the Bosnian Serbian soldiers. The two soldiers, Čiki and Nino, are forced to cooperate in order to survive. Through this unforeseen and unpredictable cooperation one witnesses a deconstruction and a reconstruction of the categories of ‘self’ and ‘other’ while the characters’ actions vacillate between taking and not taking sides. The trench ‘functions as a place of dwelling where the dwellers Nino and Čiki negotiate the spaces of their individual and collective identities in a hermeneutic circle of being’ (Petrunic 2005). In this analysis Ana-Marija Petrunic uses Heidegger’s term ‘dwelling’ as a state of relating to a location to investigate the narrative of No Man’s Land. Here, she understands the trench as a ‘third space in which a sense of neutrality subsists’ (Petrunic 2005). This neutrality, maintained by the two opposing soldiers and the soldier lying on, and thus neutralizing, ‘the bouncing mine’, is compromised throughout the film by external, non-neutral characters (for example the UNPROFOR soldier disobeying an order and trying more actively to resolve the conflict in the trench, the press reporter investigating UNPROFOR’s involvement in defusing the situation, and so on). The hermeneutic play of this neutrality between the two soldiers is space-bound, and is immediately inactive outside the trench where survival is re-based or re-positioned upon the vilification of the ‘other’. In other words, the soldiers are only allowed to interpret

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the ‘self’ and ‘other’ while they are together in the trench. Once they are out of the trench and point guns at each other, the interpretation is done through the weapons, muting alternative interpretations. In the Serbian film Pretty Village, Pretty Flame there is similar site-specific nonaction taking place. For most of this film the audience is engaged in a situation in a tunnel where the main character Milan, five other Serbian soldiers and an American video reporter, Liza, are trapped. The tunnel is blocked on the other side, thus it functions more like a cave. The Serbian soldiers recall their different war entrance stories through which the audience is given a chance to become familiarized with the supporting characters. In contrast to the trench in No Man’s Land, the tunnel in this film is not a place of constant interpretation of the ‘other’, but rather a place where the ‘other’ is already interpreted and alternative interpretations are irrelevant. The tunnel, or more precisely the cave, is a place that by its construction formalizes a binary perspective only. Even the American reporter Liza takes sides when she is in the tunnel (screaming ‘Shoot the bitch’ in one of the scenes from the tunnel). The perspectives crystallize into one, and the tunnel, by its construction, shapes this perspective and projects it towards the ‘other’. ‘Tunnel’ implies a durational passivity which, together with, as will be seen later, the ‘all sides are responsible’ theme this film implicitly expresses, weakens the self-proclaimed confrontation of the Serbian myth. On the contrary, it strengthens the image or the self-staging of the Serbs as the victims and thus positions itself in line with other Serbian propaganda at that time. An interesting fact within the film is that Milan is the only Bosnian-Serb in the tunnel, the outsider on the inside. In contrast to the other Serbs he is portrayed as the human one, while the other Serbian soldiers vilify the other through an articulated repetition of mutually known stereotypes. In No Man’s Land the processes of such vilification of the ‘other’ are not simply represented, but rather exposed, perhaps best exemplified in the scenes where Čiki and Nino argue over who started the war. The first time they argue a conclusion is reached when Čiki points his weapon at Nino and forces him to admit that ‘they’ have started the war. When the tables are turned and Nino has the weapon he does the same to Čiki. It is as if each of them is trying to justify his interpretation of the ‘other’ and, at the same time, justify his ‘real-time’ actions in the trench and the ‘self’ within. Similarly to the rest of the film, no final conclusion is ever reached in the dialogues from these scenes. The one who holds the weapon decides the truth. This is also explicitly uttered in the film; whenever one soldier explicitly questions the requests or the orders of the other, the other answers: ‘Because I have the weapon and you don’t.’ This I–you and we–you distinction is deconstructed later in the film when the two soldiers reminisce about a girl they both knew from the city of Banja Luka. In this scene the categories of ‘self’ and ‘other’ are almost invisible. The two soldiers, portrayed together in one frame, talk descriptively about the girl in question, and are both, first and foremost, represented as two male human beings. However, the sides are retaken and the categories again reconstructed when soldiers from UNPROFOR arrive and try to defuse the situation.

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A significant difference between No Man’s Land and films like Pretty Village, Pretty Flame (and Underground) is that the characters in No Man’s Land are not trapped totally underground. Thus, there is space for alternative interpretations. While the situation of the characters in the cave/tunnel in Pretty Village (or in the basement of a house in Underground) engulfs the entrapped characters in a sphere of victimhood and invites us to view the story or the conflict from their perspective, the situation in the uncovered trench allows both the characters involved and the spectating viewer to constantly reinterpret the conflict and the actions of self and other composing it. In other words, the characters in No Man’s Land seem to have an opportunity, or an opening, not to be entirely captives of their own land. The presence of other perspectives is made tangible. The trench functions as a sphere within reality where the war is paused and the two soldiers are forced constantly to interpret the selfness of the self and the otherness of the other in order to cooperate and in order to survive in the paradoxical non-war war situation. It provides a space where the distinctions self–other, Bosnian–Serb, peace–war, Balkan–West, active–passive and comedy–tragedy are juxtaposed not only in order to illuminate each other, but more importantly, in order to reflect upon the space in-between them and their mutual presence and appearance. When taken out of the trench by the UN soldiers the Bosnian Muslim soldier shoots the Bosnian Serb soldier and is himself shot by a UN soldier, thus their purpose as soldiers is fulfilled and the state of war is resumed. The perception of the ‘other’ is correspondingly restored after the apparition of the ‘other’ as ‘self’ has been manifested and the (con-)fusion of the self and other has been (de-)fused (while the bouncing mine has not) back to the soldiers acting as conflict performers. This is the key significance of No Man’s Land: the film creates a stage where the actors of war become aware of their acting, act together in order to survive, ultimately only to restore the reality of war. To underline the trench–stage parallel further, it should be mentioned that No Man’s Land has been produced as a play for the theatre and staged both in Europe and elsewhere. The use of humour in this film also represents the ‘Balkan mentality’, which simultaneously underlines the absurdity of war and the strong sense of humanity in wartime. The first scene, where the Bosnian soldiers are lost in the fog, is full of humour and sarcasm and represents some kind of ‘Bosnian way’ of dealing with or reacting to the war. The use of humour bestows upon the film distance to the conflict but closeness to the characters involved, and illustrates how one deals with the presence of constant unrest. As Andrew Horton has noted: No man’s land shares with so many films of the Balkans a special blending of humour and horror, the tragic and the comic … these films embrace verbal and physical/visual dimensions that are emblematic of a cultural spirit searching for ways to transcend the conflicts and wars of times present and past. (Horton 2003)

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Through humour and depiction of (primarily) British media, the film also questions the media’s handling and editorializing of the war. As Dina Iordanova noticed in Cinema of Flames (2001), the Western media divided the actors into clearly defined categories in order to be able to tell a comprehensive story. ‘The logic of “identity politics”, which made the partition an imperative for individuals, was, ironically, furthered by the way Western media worked’ (Iordanova 2001, 138). The British journalist in the film is portrayed as critical towards UNPROFOR throughout the film. However there is a scene at the end of the film, after the UNPROFOR soldiers have pretended to help the soldier on the mine and pretended to carry him to a helicopter, thus providing the press with the illusion of helping, while in fact leaving him in the trench, where the cameraman asks the journalist if she wants him to film the trench. She answers no and the ‘real’ story of the soldier on the ‘bouncing mine’ remains untold. The film does what Western media could not do at the time: portray the complexities of the war without oversimplifying the national aspects of the events. Its ending – the Bosnian soldier on the ‘bouncing mine’ – is the perfect metaphor, which even captures the present fragile state of the Bosnian peace. Another film which examines the dynamic of the self and other perception and interpretation during the Bosnian war is the above-mentioned film Pretty Village, Pretty Flame, directed by Serbian director Srđan Dragojević. In contrast to No Man’s Land which projects several perspectives on the trench where the action is (not) taking place, Pretty Village, Pretty Flame is primarily an examination of the Serbian self and its variations. The film opens with black and white archive-resembling footage of the festive opening of the ‘Brotherhood and Unity Tunnel’ somewhere on the border between Bosnia–Herzegovina and Serbia. During the opening scene the black and white cinematography fades into colour and the communist past is turned into an immediate element of the film’s storyline. The tunnel is later interpreted by two young boys, Halil, a Bosnian Muslim, and Milan, a Bosnian Serb, and plays a significant role as a site-specific gravitational mark for these characters’ childhood, youth and manhood during the film’s disrupted narrative. It is a place where fear of the ‘other’ materializes through the actions or passiveness of the ‘self’ creating a dynamic which is always in play. It is important, however, to note that this film is focused mainly on the Serbian representation of the ‘self’, while Bosnian–Muslim characters, including Halil, are represented sparsely, without any deeper personal characterization. Vanja Bulić, the co-screenwriter and author of the news article upon which the script is based – the allegedly true story of Serbian fighters who were stuck in a tunnel near the city of Višegrad, printed in the Milošević-sympathetic magazine Duga in 1992 – stated that: ‘You don’t see a lot of Muslims in the film. They are in the shadows, but this is good because this is a movie we made about ourselves. The stereotype is that the Serbs are the best, cleanest, true heroes. We attacked this mythology’ (Iordanova 2001, 145). This self-proclaimed attack on Serbian mythology does not co-relate to the shared responsibility theme the film indirectly propagates. The film’s ‘all

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sides are responsible’ message was criticized both in Bosnia (Iordanova 2001, 146) and in the West (Iordanova 2001, 146–7), while the reactions of American critics were mostly positive, comparing the film to Vietnam war films and applauding the representation of the perpetrators’ war experience (Iordanova 2001, 147). On the one hand, the film places responsibility on the ‘Ogre’ (Milan and Halil’s childhood fantasy) but, on the other hand, the film is a Serbian production that confronts Serbians with their immediate past (the film was produced in 1996), by pursuing an ‘all sides are guilty’ approach. This self-proclaimed confrontation is therefore not a confrontation turned inwards, deconstructing the ‘self’, but outwards, relating the ‘self’ to the ‘other’ by equalizing the blame. Therefore it manages not to fictionally confront or deconstruct the Serbian myth but, somewhat successfully, to fictionally represent how this myth materialized. The film tentatively mediates the question of ‘how’ the war was conducted as seen from a Serbian perspective, representing both sides as equal perpetrators, but fails to incorporate the disrupted narrative into a mediation or an investigation of the question ‘why’. The film is played out with a disruption in the narrative and thus nonchronologically presents Halil and Milan in different periods of their lives. This selfconscious manipulation of narrative time is interesting because it can be analysed as a cinematic negotiation of transformations of national identities (Martin-Jones 2006, 3). In his book Deleuze, Cinema and National Identity (2006) David MartinJones uses Deleuze’s philosophy of time to examine contemporary films from various national cinemas which share the formal characteristics of manipulation of narrative time and examine recent transformations of national identity. By combining Deleuze’s distinction between time-image (discontinuous narrative time) and movement-image (linear narrative), and Homi K. Bhabha’s work, MartinJones investigates how formally disruptive films narrate the nation. He further examines how films de- or re-territorialize narrative time and national identity. With this book in mind Pretty Village, Pretty Flame, with its various representations of the Serb ‘self’, can be viewed as a clear questioning of the options of selfidentification available to a national identity constantly defined by its perspectives of the other(s). The film uses its discontinuous narrative to deconstruct the ‘self’ by a de-territorialization of narrative time, exemplified by the supporting characters and their respective background stories. These characters are: the intellectual professor Laza, the criminal Velja, the drug addict Brzi, the national-romantic peasant Viljuška and the JNA (Yugoslav People’s Army)-decorated, communismnostalgic, above-mentioned army veteran Gvozden. The latter character is played by Velimir Bata Zivojinovic, a famous actor from partisan films such as Walter Brani Sarajevo (1972). The background stories of these supporting characters provide comprehension of the background and character depth to almost all of the Serbian soldiers while the Bosnian characters, as Vanja Bulić states, ‘remain in the shadows’. The representation of ‘self’ is fragmented, both through disrupted narrative and through (the background stories of) the supporting characters. This almost cubistically illustrates the Serbian ‘self’ and relates Milan’s perception of himself more to the other Serbs than to the ‘other’, the non-Serbian characters.

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This fragmentation of the ‘self’ is the backdrop for Milan’s perception of himself and, therefore, also indirectly of the ‘other’. The discontinuous narrative suggests the fluidity of Milan’s self, represented by his choices and actions, contextualizing or adjusting to the other characters in the frame and/or to the set background within each scene. This constant (re-)positioning may be viewed as a re-territorialization of the Serbian national identity, as an adjustment caused by intermittent past and present materializations of the ‘other’, be that the Bosnian Halil or the Western reporter Liza. The film’s disjointed narrative supports this interpretation. Once Milan is in the tunnel, however, the fluidity of the ‘self’ is limited, with the other on the outside and self on the inside, and the only possible position toward the ‘other’ is assumed. The scene showing the confrontation between Halil and Milan at the end of the film illustrates the metaphor of the tunnel/cave more vividly, and the following response is given to the question of responsibility: Halil: Milan, You entered the tunnel? Milan: I did! Halil: Why did you burn down our workshop? Milan: Why did you kill my mother? Halil: I didn’t kill anybody. Milan: I didn’t burn down the workshop. Halil: Who did? Maybe the Ogre from the tunnel? Was it the Ogre, Milan?

Another point that should be mentioned is the simple one-dimensional portrait of Bosnian Muslims in the film. The actor who plays Halil has, in several scenes, an almost demon-like stare and throughout the storyline Bosnian soldiers, who we never clearly see, are presented as torturers and rapists. It seems that this (mis-)representation of the ‘other’ is also chosen in order to emphasize the ‘all sides are responsible’ theme and to please the producers. The key significance of Pretty Village, Pretty Flame is its attempt to confront the Serbian self-perception by questioning the choices of its protagonist, Milan, at the time of the postYugoslav wars. This attempt at confrontation fails, however, due to, on the one side, its sympathetic and sometimes romanticized depiction of the ‘self’, and on the other, because of its conscious under-representation of the ‘other’ and implicit argumentation for equal responsibility for the war.

  The film was produced mostly with the financial help of Radio-TV Serbia and the Serbian Ministry of Culture. See also Iordanova (2001, 157).

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The Croatian film Witnesses [Svjedoci] (2003), directed by Vinko Brešan, is based on the novel Ovce od Gipsa [Alabaster Sheep] (1997) written by Jurica Pavičić. The novel was inspired by a true story from 1991 about a Serbian family killed by Croatian soldiers, and was a source of great controversy in Croatia when it was published. The film represents, in a discontinued narrative, how a group of Croatian soldiers, a family in grief, a journalist, a detective and the city officials react to the murder of a Serb civilian in the town of Karlovac, and the kidnapping of his daughter who witnessed the murder. All of the characters’ backgrounds are intertwined and their overlapping storylines are revealed through repetitions, disruptions and constant changes of perspective in the narrative. The director Vinko Brešan has stated that, while making the film, the most difficult thing was to overcome the barriers in his own head (Becker and Engelberg 2004). Similar to the book upon which it is based, and the above-examined films, the film is clearly an examination of ‘self’ at a time of war. By fragmenting the characters, their stories and the perspectives through disruption in narrative and time, and through repetitive rhythm and editing, the film re-presents or re-enacts the re-actions on a crime committed towards the ‘other’, and thus questions the processes of self-understanding in time of war. Thus, this film is also relevant for an examination of national identity from a Martin-Jones perspective, because of both its discontinued narrative and its direct examination of how the processes of self and other understanding and representation are drifted, or maintained, by choice and materialized through actions. The process of the representation of the ‘other’ is exemplified in the scene where the female Croatian journalist questions and criticizes her editor’s attempts at spinning the murder story. Here, the film clearly stages self-representation by questioning the methods of how the other is represented in the media during the time of war. Once again, as in No Man’s Land and Pretty Village, Pretty Flame, this is done by a fictionalized female journalist, in order to comment upon the constituting aspects of reality and thus of identity. On the one hand, it seems as if Balkan male directors regard ‘self’-evaluation as a typically feminine course of action, but at the same time it is possible to understand ‘self’-questioning as a critical feminist perspective on the war. Are only women brave enough to be ‘self’-critical? Is it legitimate to assume that if the critical journalist in the film had been a male, the narrative would (automatically) heroize the male character, turning it into a sexual rival and thus be (only) about that male? (Examples of male journalist-heroes are Stephen Dillane and Woody Harelson in Welcome to Sarajevo 1997, Robert Redford and Dustin Hoffmann in All The President’s Men 1976 and Denzel Washington in Pelican Brief, 1993; the last two directed by Alan J. Sekula.) On the other hand, by leaving the critical questioning of the ‘self’ within the time of war to the female characters, the directors are free to abstain from pursuing such subnarratives further. They may merely introduce the (feminine) phenomena of ‘self’-evaluation or ‘self’-criticism in wartime without placing the entire narrative in the sphere of such phenomena.

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The constant dramaturgical repetition through the changing of perspectives emphasizes the constitutive aspects mentioned above and contributes to a formal ‘de-spinning’ of the unfolding story. The question is how this repetition impacts on the ‘self’-representation of the Croats in the film. By constantly repeating the same scenes from different perspectives, it is as though the director comments upon the constant presence of recent history in Croatia and elsewhere in the Balkans. The repetition is thus also a comment on the contemporary understanding of recent national history and therefore of the national present. It is this repetition that brings the representation of ‘self’ and ‘other’ into play throughout the film and thus enables the confrontation between the players: husband vs wife, brother vs brother, son vs mother, detective vs city officials, and so on. As such, the film does not expose the crimes towards the ‘other’ committed during the war, but the representation of these crimes and the reactions to them in the immediate public and private discourse. Therefore, the film is not only an investigation into the representation of ‘self’ by representing the ‘other’ but, more importantly, an illustration of how self-representation ‘works’, how it is understood and reflected in the private and public discourse during the time of war. The title of the film, Witnesses, speaks directly to the state – or more actively, the action – of witnessing the war and the ‘self’ within it. In contrast to No Man’s Land and Pretty Village, Pretty Flame, Witnesses not only represents and examines the self and the other inside the war(s) but, more importantly, exposes the reactions and representations of the actions which the self has committed against the other. The fusion of the perspectives and actions is also paralleled on the formal level of the film, where the detective drama, the family drama and the war film genres are fused into one repetitive narrative driven by opposing perspectives about Croatians as perpetrators and as heroes. In the scene before he commits suicide, the soldier Barić states that they all are witnesses, suggesting the helplessness and passivity of the human condition in times of war. On the other hand, the injured soldier Krešo is the one who rejects passivity and rescues the girl witness by confronting his brother in particular and thus, as a Croat, the ‘self’ in general. At this point of the story the film differs from the book and the true story which the book is based on, in which the girl and her family were killed. The final scene is a clichéd happy ending in which we see Krešo, his girlfriend, the journalist and the rescued Serbian girl witnessing the sunrise. In other words, the last scene can perhaps be interpreted as a (re)staging of the ‘self’ as heroic and thus more redeemed and ‘just’ than the ‘other’. Vinko Brešan has explained the final scene as a wish (Becker and Engelberg 2004, 152), a wish that can be interpreted as naive or optimistic, or both, but which cannot be described as a realistic representation of the ‘self’, the ‘other’ or of the reality of war. It is, rather, an optimistic, hypothetical construction of the ‘self’ and the ‘other’ after the confrontation(s).

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Self and Other ‘Before the War’ Above I have examined how the categories of self and other are represented in three different war films, in other words, films where the main narrative is taking place during the time of war. Even though, as we saw, these films expose several important aspects of the dynamic, representation and staging of the self and other, it is equally important to examine films that place their narratives in a ‘before the war’ setting. Thus, I have chosen two films in which the storyline depicts the immediate period prior to the war(s). The Macedonian film Before the Rain [Pred dozhdot] (1994) was produced before the actual conflict took place, while the other, The Red Coloured Grey Truck [Sivi Kamion Crvene Boje] (2004) was produced after the war(s). Before the Rain was its director Milcho Manchevski’s first feature film and was an international breakthrough for the Croatian actor Rade Šerbedžija (who later starred in films and TV series such as Mission Impossible 2, Snatch, Eyes Wide Shut, Surface and 24). Since this film has been thoroughly examined in Balkan film and culture studies, I choose to concentrate on the film’s portrayal, or problematization, of the categories ‘self’ and ‘other’, and not on the film’s aesthetic and historical aspects (for such see Iordanova 2001; Rosenstone 2000). The film was nominated for the Academy Award for best foreign film in 1994 and is composed of three chronologically separated, but narratively interdependent, storylines, entitled ‘Words’, ‘Faces’ and ‘Pictures’. As Dina Iordanova noted, the discrepancies between the separate storylines never add up to a coherent linear narrative – which creates an effect of uncertainty underscored by the sentence ‘the circle is never round’, which is repeated several times in the film (Iordanova 2001, 79). This formal aspect of the film also underlines the ‘before the rain feeling’ mentioned earlier and embodies a simultaneously fatalistic and optimistic mode of waiting. The film is primarily about a Macedonian photo-journalist, Aleksander, who, after having caused the killing of a man in the Bosnian war, chooses to abandon his home in London and return to his homeland Macedonia, a country about to erupt into ethnic conflict. In the first story, ‘Words’, which is set in an Orthodox monastery, the young monk Kiril tries to help an Albanian girl, Zamira. She is fleeing from local Macedonian villagers who claim that she has killed their brother. In the second story, ‘Faces’, set in London, a layout editor (Anne, played by Katrin Cartlidge, who also plays the journalist in No Man’s Land), is having an affair with Aleksander, who has decided to go back to Macedonia and asks Anne to join him. In the third storyline, ‘Pictures’, the first two storylines come together. Aleksander returns to Macedonia, primarily because, while reporting from Bosnia, he has witnessed or partaken in the death of an innocent man, a death which he feels he has inflicted as the man was killed for the purpose of Aleksander’s photography. The reason for his return  See also Chapter 8.

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to Macedonia, then, is an idealistic attempt to warn against the looming conflict in his home country which, as he finds out, is already in a ‘before the rain mode’. His home village is divided along ethnic lines and his premonition of looming dangers is rejected by both his own people, the ethnic Macedonians, as well as by the Albanians. In this part of the story we learn that Zamira is fleeing from one of Aleksander’s relatives whom she has stabbed with a pitchfork. Aleksander’s family is seeking vendetta, but Aleksander himself helps the girl by hiding her. When he is discovered he is killed by his own people, his own family, while Zamira manages to escape. We already know, however, that she will be (or already has been) killed by her own family in ‘Words’, the first story of the film. In the third of the film’s three stories the Muslim Albanians are portrayed as patriarchal, obsessive and controlling people while the Orthodox Macedonians are represented as revengeful and potentially violent. In the second story we witness a blue-grey London, its implied civilization never quite manifested and tentatively contrasted with elements of chaos (Anne depicted in the chaotic London traffic, with traffic sounds dominating the soundtrack), vulgarity (Aleksander and Anne’s taxi ride) and irruptions of ‘Balkan’ brutality (the shoot-out in the restaurant). However, the categories of ‘self’ and ‘other’ become fluid in this second storyline, and as the taxi moves through the blue-grey London streets reflected in the car windows, the director, together with his cinematographer Manuel Teran, manages visually to depict and reflect upon Aleksander’s duality, his troubled history (stated explicitly as ‘I killed’) and his impending guilt-tainted decision to return to Macedonia. This mode of being, as Robert Rosenstone phrases it, ‘living in two histories’ (Rosenstone 2000, 190), is an effective embodiment of ‘self’ (Macedonian) and ‘other’ (Westerner) in one and the same fictional character, Aleksander. As the narratives unfold, or fold into each other (through our gaze), we realize that Aleksander is at the same time a Macedonian and a Westerner, observer and observed, witness and protector, and perpetrator and victim. He embodies the deconstruction of the categories of ‘self’ and ‘other’. When he repeats the line ‘I took sides. I killed’ he articulates (self-)awareness and preventively postulates tolerance. At the same time he invites us and ‘enables us to examine the normative idea of the “I”, the self historically conceived within the parameters of ethnic sameness and stable national purity’ (Marciniak 2003, 65). Aleksander can be interpreted as a witness of the re-emergence of the past in the present. Rosenstone bases the following understanding of the self within such a past: ‘You can only serve as a witness, call attention in the hope that the knowing of what has not yet happened but has already happened too many times may not happen again’ (Rosenstone 2000, 190). This interpretation can also be applied to Witnesses, where the soldier Barić, before he kills himself, implicitly calls attention to the crime he participated in and comments upon the act of witnessing war, meaning witnessing both the past and future within its present. In Before the Rain Aleksander’s advice is not heeded and his actions not accepted by his own countrymen because to them he represents the West (while to others he represents the Balkans). His history is, at the same time, a history

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about all of us (Western) and a history of us and them (Balkan) (Rosenstone 2000, 190). When he finally (which is the wrong word, because he is the first to protect her) helps Zamira, he is killed. His attempt to inform and save is rejected by his murderers. By contrasting the linear narrative within each storyline with the circular, non-chronological, wholeness of the story itself, Manchevski is able to articulate the paradoxes within each self of the conflict, and within the conflict itself, before the conflict has actually broken out. In other words, he visually manages to produce a ‘history of what has not yet happened’ understood as ‘the history of the future created to warn against that future in order to prevent it from happening’ (Rosenstone 2000, 191). Thus, it is tempting to interpret Milcho Manchevski as being the real-life Aleksander who, by fictionally staging the inevitability of the conflict and illustrating what is about to break out in reality by allowing it to happen on screen, manages to limit the size of the conflict when it actually breaks out in Macedonia. As described in Chapter 9, from February to August 2001 the National Liberation Army (NLA), a group of former Kosovo Liberation Army fighters, organized an insurrection against the Macedonian government. Katrzyna Marciniak interprets the illogic narrative in Before the Rain as ‘a means of performatively critiquing the stereotypical portrayal of the violence in the Balkans as a permanent historical construct in the region’ (Marciniak 2003, 67). Slavoj Žižek interprets the film as offering ‘to the Western gaze what it likes to see in the Balkans – a mythical spectacle of eternal, primordial passions, of a vicious cycle of hate and love, in contrast to the decadent and anemic life in the West’ (Žižek 2000). A prophetic interpretation of the film is also possible. In 1994 when the film was produced, it foreshowed the conflict which happened six years later, in 2000–2001. The self and other are represented throughout the film as interdependent projections in a constant state of ‘before the rain’ or as Aleksander puts it: ‘War is the rule, peace is an exception’. The film does not pretend to answer the question of why it is so, or if it is so at all; it simply constructs a country of Macedonia on film by combining interiors and exteriors from different parts of the country. It mediates a fully possible, predictable and perhaps preventable prelude to both personal and national conflicts, presented in the chronology of an imperfect circle, and thus illustrates a history of what has not yet happened. Consequently the viewers are almost left with a feeling of guilt, as though by witnessing it, they could have done something to prevent the tragedy from happening and, at the same time, the feeling that the tragedy is about to continue after the film ends. The film as such ends with a tragedy which will spawn other tragedies. Thus, both on the formal and on the thematic level, the film operates with a quirk that arouses the curiosity of the viewer, inviting them to fix or correct the error which has been frozen in the way the film’s storyline has been edited. The general representation of self and other in the film, the one where the groups are already formed, materialized through similar motives – the Macedonian-Albanians, the Macedonian-Christians, and so on – is  See also Chapter 8.

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very simplistic and seems to function as a contrast to Aleksander’s individuality and manifest a horizon for his possibilities. This is perhaps the key significance of Before the Rain in the context of this chapter; the representation of self and other illustrates how conflicts can be spawned and it emphasizes and problematizes the individual will within a reality where one must choose sides. However, this reality is represented through a circular formal structure that does not emphasize its own circularity but rather complements the storyline itself and thus makes it possible for both the director and the viewer aesthetically to construct a history of what has not yet happened, in other words a history which, it seems, will continue (has continued) repeating itself, even after its exposition. The film The Red Coloured Grey Truck (Serbia–Montenegro, 2004), directed by Srdjan Koljević, is a road movie where a Bosnian Serb, Ratko, and a Serbian girl, Suzana, embark upon a journey through a Yugoslavia, and Bosnia and Herzegovina in particular, about to erupt into ethnic conflict (the story begins in June 1991). Ratko is a colour-blind criminal who steals trucks and Suzana is a rebellious pregnant artist who wants to escape from her daily difficulties by hitching a ride to Dubrovnik. Ratko is a caricaturized representation of a Bosnian villager, while Suzana is portrayed as a grass-smoking, rock and roll-listening city girl. In this genre mixture of love story, road movie and war film, it is interesting to see how ‘self’ and ‘other’ are delineated, staged and represented in a pre-war atmosphere. In contrast to the complex structure of Before the Rain, this film has a straightforward chronological narrative, and its two main characters seem not to be interested in preventing the war, but more in avoiding being caught up in it. The film is a Serbian–Montenegrin, German and Slovenian co-production and all the characters are played by Serbian actors, with the exception of Suzana, who is played by the Slovenian actress Aleksandra Balmazović. The film was the directorial debut of Serbian director Srđan Koljević, who has written manuscripts for other Serbian films such as Normalni Ljudi (2001), Natasa (2001) and Nebeska Udica (1999), and it was the first ever Slovenian–Serbian co-production. The reactions to the film have not been entirely positive. For instance, the director was attacked after a screening at the Montreal Film Festival by the Serbian consul from Toronto, who accused him of pro-Slovenian propaganda. In this chapter we are mostly interested in how the film’s creators have chosen to portray the self and the other in the film. The storyline has a constant dynamic in the opposing personas of the two main characters, and the conflicts between them more or less drive the narrative. It is important to note that Ratko is a Serbian name, and that this character is a Bosnian-Serb. Thus the division or the difference between the two main characters, Ratko and Suzana, is not so much ethnic (Bosnian Muslim vs Bosnian Serb) as national (Bosnia–Herzegovina vs Serbia) and infrastructural (city vs village, urban vs rural). The ethnic divisions in pre-war Bosnia, which make up the backdrop, are mainly represented through a variety of supporting characters whom Ratko and   http://bostonphoenix.com/boston/movies/film/documents/04123766.asp

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Suzana encounter on their journey. During some of these encounters the colourblind Ratko is forced to take sides and distinguish colours, so to speak. In the first act of the film Ratko is unaware of the fact that he has stolen a truck loaded with weapons (supposedly) intended for the arming of the warring parties in Bosnia. One of the supporting characters, Ratko’s friend and war-profiteer, Švabo, instructs Ratko how to drive through the barricades already erected in different parts of Bosnia, by supplying arms to all three sides in the conflict. However, their encounters with the Serbian, Bosnian and Croatian sides are filmed from a distance, with minimal dialogue and character portrayal. The focus of the story, Ratko and Suzana’s journey of escape, is never compromised by a detailed representation of ‘self’ and ‘other’ in these scenes. On the other hand, it should be mentioned that the representation of the Croatian soldiers, supposedly led by two Germanspeaking soldiers in the scene where Ratko and Suzana are stopped at a Croatian barricade, is clearly an explicit comment upon, or example of, how Serbs interpret Croatians, basing the staged representation on historical conflicts. Thus, the representation of self and other’s ethnicity is never as explicitly portrayed as in, for example Pretty Village, Pretty Flame. As in No Man’s Land, the use of nicknames and ambiguous civilian clothing as uniforms makes it difficult for the viewer to distinguish the supporting characters’ ethnicity and thus to answer the question of which side they are on. During the first part of the film, whenever their journey is interrupted, neither Ratko or Suzana nor the viewers know who exactly is stopping and interrogating them. On the other hand, there are scenes where Ratko is asked whether he is with ‘us’ or with ‘them’: Chief of paramilitary: Are you with us or with them? Ratko: With us. Chief of paramilitary: Nice, and who are we? Ratko: I have no idea. It makes no difference to me.

However these scenes are never resolved and, like Ratko, the viewer is not allowed to distinguish who ‘we’ or ‘they’ exactly are. In this way, the film manages to construct a sphere of ambiguity where everything seems to be happening in an ‘as if’ colourless reality, where the meaning of things escapes the persons involved. This is perhaps best illustrated in a scene which is real Yutel news footage where a news reporter is interviewing a young JNA soldier lying in the bushes somewhere in Yugoslavia:

 ���� The Red Coloured Grey Truck (my translation).   Yutel was a news programme produced in Yugoslavia between 1990 and 1992; for more see http://bs.wikipedia.org/wiki/YUTEL.

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Media Discourse and the Yugoslav Conflicts Reporter: Do you know why this war is happening? Soldier: I don’t know. As I understand things: It’s like these guys want to separate and we are like not allowing it.

This sphere of ambiguity provides a perfect setup for both the comic and the romantic scenes in the film. The war is about to start, yet all the characters are ignoring the obvious. In such a state of total ambiguity one can extract the positive side out of almost anything. The war profiteer Švabo, for example, regards himself as a man who loves to ‘make people happy’, by selling them weapons; an Orthodox priest is represented as trying to stop the conflict, whereas there are examples of priests actually participating in conflicts in Bosnia by blessing the Serbian forces and their weapons. The key information about the war, which is in its early stages, is provided mainly through the media. Examples of this are the scene in the roadside café where Suzana uses the restroom to smoke a joint while all the other guests are watching the news report on television, news reports on the radio in the truck, and so on. However, these ‘news interventions’ seem only to increase the two main characters’ desire to ignore the realities: instead of watching the news, Suzana lights a joint; when the news about the war is broadcast on the radio in the truck, Ratko changes the channel. These scenes are unique in portraying the main characters’ reactions to a world they seem to have lost control over. Thus they illustrate a flight from the realities and imply a more or less conscious ignoring of these realities. In other words, these scenes can be regarded as typical general perspectives on human reactions to the war(s). It is important to note, however, that, including my own personal experience in Bosnia before the war, denial is a common reaction to approaching conflicts. Nevertheless, it seems as though the director, through the mixture of this denial with the characters’ (substancesupported) escapism, stages an ambiguity in these scenes which implies a defence of the passivity or the logic in reactions to the wars. Thus, the representation of self and other throughout the film is not based upon the reality where the war is about to start, but is rather structured in a fictionally constructed ambiguous sphere where the questions of self and other, war, guilt, and so on are secondary and regarded as less important. Ignoring the war seems more important than acknowledging it. In such an atmosphere, the beginning of a major conflict can be represented as a comical background for an impossible love story. If the representation of self and other is a secondary theme in The Red Coloured Grey Truck why then do I include an analysis of the film in this chapter? I hope to show, by the examples mentioned above, that also such secondary representations can expose the choices made when one fictionally represents war narratives and the self and other within them. It seems as though there is a need in all the films produced in the ex-Yugoslav states to construct projections of alternative  ������������������������������������������������������������ http://iwpr.net/?p=bcr&s=f&o=242137&apc_state=henibcr200506.

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perspectives on the Balkan conflicts from the 1990s. These projections can function both as a deconstruction of the general perspective on the role of the self and other within the wars, and as a defence for the choices made while the wars were taking place. The Red Coloured Grey Truck has scenes which can be placed in both categories. Self and Other as One – Identity as a Consequence The film Grbavica: The Land of My Dreams (Grbavica, 2006) is a co-production between Bosnia–Herzegovina, Austria, Germany and Croatia. The film was written and directed by the Bosnian director Jasmila Žbanić and it has won several Best Film awards, including the Golden Bear at the Berlin Film Festival. As the title of the film implies, the action takes place in Grbavica, a Sarajevo city-neighbourhood, where the two main characters, Esma (played by the Serbian actress Mirjana Karanović) and her daughter Sara (Luna Mijović), live. Esma has been raped by Serbian soldiers during the Bosnian war and Sara is the offspring of this crime. The drama begins when Sara gradually unravels her mother’s secrets and forces her to tell her the truth about her origin. Esma is the main character of the story and we follow her as she is getting through days and nights in a blue-grey, almost transparent, Sarajevo winter, beautifully photographed by Christine A. Maier. Esma spends the nights working in a nightclub where war veterans and former war profiteers conduct their various illegal businesses. She also attends meetings for women who were victimized during the war. While portraying a victimized woman’s struggle through contemporary citylife in Sarajevo, the film at the same time manages to underscore the portrayed present with echoes of the recent past. Through her own daughter Esma is constantly reminded of the crime committed against her and its constant presence in her private life. The reason for the inclusion of the film in this analysis is that the representation of self and other in Grbavica: The Land of My Dreams is projected through a single character, Esma’s daughter Sara. She is at the same time the self, where the film’s audience can realize the other within, but also a child becoming an adult. Sara is thus a human embodiment of the opposing categories ‘self’ and ‘other’, a character in which these categories are unified and their abstraction literally embodied in a human body. For most of the film she is a child who does not seem interested in her past. In order to go on a school-trip, free of charge, with her class, she is asked to provide attestation that her father is a war hero. This is the starting point for the confrontations which later develop. The film also successfully manages to convey the constant mode of confronting the past that is endured by people living in a post-war society. The sense of not being in control is strikingly represented by Esma’s internal drama. She is represented as a woman who is not only expected to learn to cope with her traumatic past,

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but also as a woman who is supposed to appropriate this past into her everyday life. The central motif of this character is the cover-up of the truth about her daughter’s origin, and all Esma’s actions are anchored in it. On the other hand, upon discovering the truth, her daughter Sara has to appropriate a new conflicting dimension into her own identity, an identity which is grounded in a crime and which at the same time consists, and is in the realm of, the categories of ‘self’ and ‘other’. It is an identity which, from the point of view of its own realization, will be continually constituted in the constant reinterpretation of the self and the other within. Such an identity can also, on a more abstract level, be interpreted as a reconstruction which is logically triggered by the deconstruction of the categories ‘self’ and ‘other’. Thus the character Sara can be interpreted as a metonym for the country of Bosnia–Herzegovina: she is begotten in a conflict, she is simultaneously both the self and the other, she is always the same age as the country where she has been born and she is a living proof of the crime that has been committed. Such an embodiment of the two opposing sides in one and the same character can only be investigated, reinterpreted and conveyed through a fictional story. The director manages to depict these characters’ struggle without oversimplifying the background conflicts and without overstating the characters’ despair. Instead, by using a present-day Sarajevo cityscape as the exterior background, the film fictionally brings together Bosnia’s past and present, implying that the crimes which have been committed are omnipresent and that (possible) closure can come only when they have been exposed, externalized and both privately and publicly acknowledged. Even though this has not fully happened in the real Bosnian present, the film’s last scene contains a fragile hope, although it is not a happy ending. The point that the exposure of such war crimes is a prerequisite of their acknowledgement has been explicitly underlined by the film’s director, Jasmila Žbanić, who has used all the media attention her film has produced, to call for the arrest of war criminals Radovan Karadžić and Ratko Mladić, and to criticize the Bosnian government, which she feels has not done enough to help the victims of war crimes.

Conclusion If most of us remain ignorant of ourselves, it is because self-knowledge is painful and we prefer the pleasure of illusion. (Aldous Huxley)

Through the analysis of the films No Man’s Land (2001), Pretty Village, Pretty Flame (1996), Witnesses (2003), Before the Rain (1994), The Red Coloured Grey Truck (2004) and Grbavica: The Land of My Dreams (2006) we have traced some specific examples of fictional representation of self and other, and outlined some   http://www.fokuskvinner.no/Publikasjoner/Kvinner_sammen/2006/4_2006/5710.

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general consequences or aspects of these representations. By interpreting the storylines of these Balkan films we have managed not only to investigate how filmfiction exposes how the representation of the categories ‘self’ and ‘other’ works, but also discovered how self-representation and the representation of the other in Balkan film-fiction can produce or constitute a discourse of its own. There is, of course, a significant need for a broader analysis of this discourse which should involve both (the realms of) identity theory, film theory and media analysis. Through the storylines of some of these films it has been possible to extract some general themes which, besides the obvious problematization of the concepts of war, also produce other interpretations such as questioning of justice, hope, peace, identity, gender, religion, nationality, ethnicity, acceptance, compensation, revenge, and so on. In order to formulate a successful analysis of the representation(s) of self and other in Balkan film-fiction, however, it is in the limited format of this chapter unfortunately necessary to disregard such (supplementary) aspects. By investigating some representative scenes I have shown how and why films produced in the aftermath of Balkan wars from the 1990s deconstruct, reinterpret, stage and restructure the collective experiences of these wars and the ‘self’ and ‘other’ within them. By watching films such as these one witnesses and experiences alternative realities where self and other, and the war between them, require continued reinterpretation.

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Conclusion

Discourse and Violence Pål Kolstø

The discussion below does not pretend to give justice to the full richness of the chapters in this book. Instead, it will focus on some common themes and try and see how the various chapters may elucidate each other. In his theoretical and general discussion of the role of media in the break-up of the former Yugoslavia, Tarik Jusić underlines the hermeneutical relationship between text and context: the media may be both an indicator to the crisis and a contributor to it. Similarly, towards the end of and after the conflict, the media may passively reflect a peace and reconciliation process, but may also actively contribute to it. In all of these processes, Jusić points out, the media often tends to amplify current tendencies: quoting Gadi Wolfsfeld, he points out that ‘when things get bad, the news media often make it worse’. This is what I, in the introductory chapter, called ‘spinning out of control’. In this perspective it may not be so difficult to explain why a non-violent conflict such as the Montenegrin separation from Serbia could proceed peacefully – the slippery slope towards escalating violence was never entered. The same line of reasoning may also go some way to explain why and how the media aggravated violent conflicts in Croatia and Bosnia: once the descent into hell had begun, it was difficult to stop. More puzzling instances, perhaps, are Slovenia and Macedonia, two cases where a downward spiral was arrested after some blood had already been shed. To be sure, as will be discussed below, several circumstances besides discourse no doubt contributed to the Macedonian turnabout and peaceful ending: one was the retention of intact state institutions; another was the changed attitudes of the international community. However, another factor, discussed by Jusić, may also be relevant: the presence of a shared vs segregated media market. In a segregated media landscape each side is shielded from the rhetoric of the warmongers and radicals on the opposite side. In a shared media market extremist fringe groups on either side to a conflict tend to feed on each other. Their hysterical rhetoric is ideal stuff from which to create scare propaganda and a demonization of ‘the other’. When extremists are deprived of the raw material for such demonization, pacific voices may stand a better chance of prevailing with their message, on both sides. Yet other dynamics were also clearly at work in the Macedonian and Slovenian cases. In their coverage of the Slovenian conflict in Ljubljana and Belgrade television Sabina Mihelj, Veronika Bajt and Milo������������������ š����������������� Pankov document an interesting evolution of the semantic content of the personal pronoun ‘we’ in the Slovenian discourse. If in Slovenian news programs this word initially could

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refer to a number of different entities – ‘we’ the journalists, ‘we’ the democrats or even ‘we’ the Yugoslavs – the concept was gradually nationalized, and became an index for ‘the Slovenes’ in an ethnic sense. (In the end, it could also mean ‘the Europeans’, a group of people among whom the Slovenes counted themselves.) To a remarkable degree the Slovenes were able to dissociate themselves from their former ‘socialist brothers’ in the Yugoslav state. They could, for instance, refer to ‘the tumultuous Balkans’, a place which all the former Yugoslav republics except Slovenia allegedly belong to. Even Catholic Croatia was placed in this category. Serbia, now perceived as being at a safe distance from Slovenia, was no longer a significant, let alone threatening, other. A different, but parallel semantic shift took place in TV Belgrade. In this case the evolution of the concept of ‘us’ was less drastic; basically it continued to refer to the Yugoslav state, albeit with an increasing identification between this state and the Serbian leadership. At the same time, in the Belgrade media the concept of ‘they’ also changed. The role of the Other was taken over by ‘the West’; Slovenia was clearly also an ‘other’, but ‘an entirely insignificant one, disparagingly referred to as “one of the new statelets”’. The much more serious conflict in Croatia soon overshadowed the conflict in Slovenia, and stole all the attention of Serbian media. Thus, the process of othering did not in itself inevitably lead to protracted and bloody conflict. The interesting conclusion we can draw is that a former ‘brother’ can be ‘othered’ to such a high degree that he disappears from the radar screen as anyone seriously worth bothering about. In the Croatian conflict Ivana Đurić and Vladimir Zorić uncovered somewhat different discursive mechanisms at work. They too detected a nationalization of the self: on the Croatian side the concept of ‘we’ went from ‘us’ as an amorphous ‘democratic will’ via ‘us’ as ‘the democratic will of the Croat nation’, finally to be narrowed down to ‘us’ as Croats in an ethnic sense. And while it is true that, as in Slovenia, the concept of the ‘other’ became radicalized, its semantic trajectory was very different. Rather than becoming more distant, it became more evil. If the Croats in the Serbian press initially were only compared with Ustashe, the period of the Croatian referendum witnessed them actually being called Ustashe and, therefore, equal to historical Ustashe. Finally, during the war in Vukovar they were even alleged to be worse than Ustashe. The soldiers of the other side were now actively dehumanized and labelled as animals, barbarians, demons, sadists and racially inferior. None of these rhetorical moves could be found in the Serbian– Slovenian media war. In order to express the normative aspect of media representations in the Croatian conflict Đurić and Zorić introduce a second dichotomy: good vs bad – alongside the basic distinction between ‘us’ and ‘them’. Interestingly, while this second dichotomy certainly contributed to the intensity and shrillness of the reportages on both sides, it does not neatly reinforce the original dichotomy: instead, it intersects with and muddles it. Both the Croatian and Serbian press distinguish between the ‘good’ vs the ‘bad’ both among both their own group and in the enemy group. For the Croats, the SPS party organized by moderate Serbs in Croatia was ‘good’, at

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least for a while; conversely, Serbian media tended to treat the inhabitants of the distant Croatian region of Istria as less menacing than other Croats. In both cases, this may be explained as an attempt to drive a wedge in among the enemy lines. Thus, it may be regarded as a rational strategy in the war effort. The strong focus on the ‘bad us’ in both Croatian and Serbian press is somewhat more surprising, and probably reflects both a recognition of genuine differences within national politics, as well as attempts to homogenize the national body by squeezing out, marginalizing or winning over those within the putative nation who disagreed with the ‘good us’. In any case, as the Croatian conflict was ratcheted up and reached its climax around the time of the fall of Vukovar, the dichotomy between good us and bad us faded away and gave way to an increasing national-ideological homogenization. The focus on internal division became, as it were, a luxury which one could no longer afford. In this instance, it seems that developments ‘on the ground’ reflected back on and influenced the media rather than the other way around. Another important development at this time was the increasing failure to distinguish between the leaders and the led, between ‘ordinary people’ and ‘extreme nationalists’. Not only the perception of ‘us’ but also the perception of ‘them’ was homogenized. In the Kosovo conflict, analysed in this volume by Nita Luci and Predrag Marković, we may discern dynamics in the evolution of reciprocal stereotypes which replicate developments in both Slovenia and Croatia, as discussed above. As in Slovenia, the media on both sides of the Kosovo conflict to an increasing degree presented the other group as ‘alien’, but this in no way meant that the ethnic other was seen as less threatening, quite the contrary. Like in Croatia, the other was steadily demonized and ascribed subhuman or inhuman qualities. The patronizing sympathy for Albanians that was quite common in Tito’s Yugoslavia, perceived as hard-working but primitive people, withered away. Instead, they were increasingly seen as ‘dangerous barbarians, who threatened to occupy not only Kosovo, but to expand all over Serbia’. Luci’s and Marković’s analysis, then, seems to confirm Roger Petersen’s theory (referred to in the Introduction) that Fear was the main driving emotion in the Kosovo conflict. A part of the Fear syndrome was a process of ‘mutual minoritization’: while the Albanians to an increasing degree saw themselves as a persecuted minority group in Yugoslavia/Serbia, the local Serbs in Kosovo came to regard themselves as an exposed and vulnerable minority in this autonomous region. As in Croatia, a repertoire of bad historical memories from recent past with stories about atrocities committed by the other was available and was utilized to the full. In the chapter on Serbia’s conflict with the international community, a conflict which culminated with the bombing of Belgrade in 1999, Jovo Bakić and Gazela Pudar find evidence of a radical demonization by both sides, albeit perhaps not as far-reaching as in the mutual recriminations in the Croatian war. In the standoff between the Milošević regime and the West, the parties did not fight each other with ground forces; instead, NATO dropped bombs from a height where they could not see the buildings they hit as more than Lego toys and the people as

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more than ants. In this situation, armchair commentators in the rear rather than front line reporters seem to have been the more important shapers of attitudes and stereotypical perceptions on both sides. Intellectuals and quasi-intellectuals had a field day. Their contributions to the discourse are at the focus of Bakić and Pudar’s analysis. They identify a number of discursive frames or strategies employed by commentators on each side. Sometimes these frames come in pairs that mirror each other: Western triumphalism is countered by Serbian self-pitying, Western accusations against Serbian communism are reciprocated by Serbian accusations of Western Nazism, and so on. As Bakić and Pudar document, a staple trope in the Anglo-Saxon vocabulary on Serbian politics in this period was ‘the butcher of the Balkans’ (first introduced by a commentator in the New York Times in 1992 and since then repeated endlessly). The epithet, of course, refers to Slobodan Milošević, and implicitly those who employed it were in effect saying that the real problem was not the Serbian people, but this one person. This emphasis on the leader should presumably have influenced the choice of strategy to resolve the conflict: it ought to have been directed at removing the Serbian political leadership, not at punishing the entire Serbian people. In the Serbian–Croatian conflict, as pointed out above, the media on both sides initially differentiated between good and bad ‘them’, but as the violence unfolded, this distinction broke down. Also in the war of ‘Serbia vs the World’ Western journalists made discursive moves that justified a military solution that would harm not only the Serbian elite, but the Serbian population at large. Milošević might be a butcher and a dictator, but the Serbs were not oppressed by his regime, Western journalists claimed. They had elected him and were represented by him. As one British commentator rhetorically asked, ‘can such a whirlwind of violence be dictated by an elite that dupes otherwise kindly, boozy folk?’ The implicit answer was no. Hence, there was not one big butcher in the Balkans, instead, he was surrounded by thousands of smaller butcher boys running his errands. This way of reasoning removed one important obstacle to military action. We see an interesting contrast between the relationship between Serbia and the West, on the one hand, and Serbia’s relationship to Montenegro, on the other. Also in the latter case, as Đorđe Pavićević and Srđan Đurović document in their chapter, the person of Slobodan Milošević played a central role in the discourse that led up to state separation. But while in the Western media ‘Milošević’ was often presented as a metonym for and increasingly identified with ‘the Serbian people’, in the Montenegrin media the man and the people were scrupulously kept apart throughout. The discourse was at all times kept at the political level and was not allowed to evolve into an identity issue. This seems to distinguish the Montenegrin debate from most, if not all, of the other conflicts discussed in this volume, and Pavićević and Đurović are probably right when they see this as one of the most important reasons why the separation of Montenegro and Serbia had a peaceful outcome.

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Yet if the stand-off between Serbia and Montenegro to such a high degree focused on the person of Milošević and the deleterious effects of his policies, why did the issue of separation between the two parts of the dual republic not disappear when Milošević was toppled from power in 2000? There is no simple answer to this question, but it seems that the separation process had gained a certain momentum that was difficult to stop. Moreover, also in the post-Milošević period the argumentation for the most part was kept at the level of politics and pragmatism. Increasingly the discourse evolved around the issue of possible EU membership, and the chances that Montenegro would reach this coveted goal alone was, not unreasonably, presented as bigger than if the republic remained in union with Serbia. Both Serbia’s difficulties in collaborating with the Hague tribunal, and the murder of Prime Minister Zoran Đinđić in 2003 were presented as proofs of Serbia’s unpreparedness for Europe. To be sure, also in the Montenegrin debate some shrill voices could be heard, specifically regarding the issue of the erection of a Serbian church at the top of the Rumija mountain. The announcement that the church would be demolished was met by charges of ‘ethnic cleansing of the Serbs in Montenegro’ and predictions that as a probable next step the Đukanović regime would ‘open concentration camps for Serbs, as was done by Ante Pavelić and Franjo Tuđman’. However, these claims were so outrageous as to cancel themselves out, and, as Pavićević and Đurović point out, no major political actors reacted to them. This teaches us that provocative statements alone are not enough to escalate a conflict; for that to happen people have to be provoked by them. If we then turn to the most deadly conflict during the process of the collapse of the Yugoslav state – the Bosnian debacle – we find that influential media on all sides failed to distinguish between political leaders and individual perpetrators of violence, on the one side, and the ethnic nations which they represented or ‘belonged to’, on the other. From the very beginning the conflict was ethnicized ����������� and turned into a confrontation among the population at large. In the Serbian-language Bosnian press the referendum on Bosnian independence in 1992 was described in apocalyptic terms as ‘a knife at the throat of the Serbian people’ and as an attempt to establish an Islamic state. To a large degree the coverage of the referendum was eclipsed by the reporting on a Serb who had been killed while carrying an ethnic flag at a wedding ceremony in Sarajevo. According to the leading Belgrade paper Politika the perpetrator of this act was not the person who fired the shot, but the entire population of Muslims and Croats in Bosnia. The event was construed as a forewarning of the fate that would befall the Serbs in an independent Bosnia. In the Croatian press a similar confusion of the political, criminal and ethnic levels of conflict could be found. As ������������������������������������������������ Michal Sládeček and Amer Džihana express it, in Večernij list ‘the Serbs were identified with the greater Serbian policy, marked by “depravity, chameleon-like adaptability and unscrupulousness”’. Only the Sarajevo-based liberal daily Oslobođenje tried to avoid an ethnification of the conflict. Initially, it would present violence in Sarajevo as imposed on the

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city’s population by people from the outside, from the Bosnian countryside and/or from Serbia. However, as the carnage unfolded and the lines among the warring parties followed ever more clearly ethnic boundaries, this editorial policy was increasingly difficult to maintain. By the time of the Dayton agreement, Sládeček and Džihana point out, it was sometimes difficult to decide whether references to ‘them’ in Oslobođenje articles denoted the ‘criminal Pale leadership’ or the entire Serbian people. In other Sarajevo papers more closely associated with the Izetbegović leadership, such as Dnevni avaz, there was no uncertainty on this issue: this paper squarely identified the Serbian people with the Serb leaders. This, as Sládeček and Džihana wryly remark, was of course precisely as the Pale leadership wanted it to be. After three years of war-fighting, the mouthpieces of the various Bosnians groups routinely referred to each other in derogatory, ethnicized ways. Both Serb and Croat journalists would characterize Bosnia–Herzegovina as a ‘muslim’ state, the use of the lower case ‘m’ rather than an upper case ‘M’ indicating that they employed this word in a religious rather than in a national sense. Conversely, government-loyal media in Sarajevo would refer to the Bosnian Serb population as ‘Karadžić’s Serbs’. This, however, was not the end of the story. By the time of the 2006 referendum – on constitutional changes for the federal Bosnian state – a considerable amount of professionalism had been reintroduced in Bosnian media language, Sládeček and Džihana claim. Many news reports still maintained a clear polarization between ‘us’ and ‘them’, but representatives of the ‘other’ side were now at least addressed in formally correct ways, with their official titles and names, and they were no longer criminalized. Whether this is a case of imposed ‘political correctness’ and conforming to the demands of the imposed EU administration in the country, or reflects a deeper change of heart, may be a matter of dispute, but if discourse matters at all, this change may indicate – and further promote – a new departure in the thinking and attitudes in the Bosnian population. Among the cases surveyed in this volume, the NLA insurrection in Macedonia in 2001 occupies an intermediate position with regard to the amount of bloodletting that occurred. Interestingly, it seems that, with regard to the types of rhetoric that accompanied the escalation – and de-escalation – of the conflict, Macedonia also finds itself somewhere in the middle. In his chapter, Zhidas ���������������������������� Daskalovski strongly emphasizes the non-provocative character of the reporting on this conflict, in both Macedonian and Albanian media. The main issue concerned the nature of the NLA and the characterization of the actions of this paramilitary formation. The Macedonian press predictably denounced the NLA fighters and frequently described their violent deeds in graphic detail, but, importantly, it did so without conflating the NLA with the Albanian population of Macedonia. If anything, Macedonian journalists presented the NLA as inspired from abroad, mainly from Kosovo. Within the Albanian community the NLA was a thorny and potentially divisive issue in so far as this organization challenged the ������������������������������ leadership�������������������� of the established Albanian political parties in Macedonia. Even so, the Albanian-language press

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tended to sympathize with the NLA and its operations and increasingly presented the NLA fighters as defenders of the rights of Albanians. The Albanian-language press also strongly denounced the behaviour����������������������������������� �������������������������������������������� of the Macedonian security forces and even more the behaviour����������������������������������������������� �������������������������������������������������������� of the Macedonian mob when it, enraged by NLA killings, attacked Albanian civilians. When more than 40 Albanian-owned stores in the city of Bitola were vandalized and one Albanian was killed in retaliation against the killing of four Macedonian police officers, one Albanian journalist claimed that ‘the ��������������������������������������������������������������������� Macedonians appear to show clear signs of fascism’�������������� . In this and some similar statements the crucial distinction between a political conflict (with the Macedonian state authorities) and an ethnic conflict (with the Macedonian people) was abandoned, potentially paving the way for a dangerous spiralling into an all-out ethnic conflagration, as had happened in other former Yugoslav republics. A crucial, and apparently beneficial aspect of the Macedonian media situation, however, was its strong bifurcation along ethno-linguistic lines. With very few exceptions ethnic Macedonians do not read Albanian newspapers and vice versa, and as it seems, the Macedonian media did not report on inflammatory statements made in the other language press. A mutual reinforcement of incendiary rhetoric was thus avoided. At the same time, it seems, Macedonian media and Macedonian authorities were strongly receptive to changes in the international descriptions of the NLA insurrection. Crucially, as the conflict developed, the message sent by Western politicians changed drastically. If originally the Albanian insurgents were denounced as ‘terrorists’, this label virtually disappeared from the Western vocabulary and was replaced by more neutral epithets like ‘guerrillas’, ‘ethnic Albanian forces’, and so on. We can only speculate about what might have happened if this change in rhetoric had not taken place. Possibly the Macedonian state authorities had then been emboldened to seek a military rather than a negotiated resolution to the conflict. While Daskalovski basically exonerates the media in Macedonia of all charges of having fanned the conflict, he at the same time points out that the media on neither side played any wholesome role in its eventual resolution either. While the journalists for the most part exercised restraint in the reporting of violent acts committed by the other side, they nevertheless presented their readers with a onesided and biased news picture, by keeping silent about atrocities committed by their own side. This is a case of ‘the rhetoric of silence’ discussed by Gordana Đerić. In her chapter on the semantics of silence Gordana Đerić tackles the tricky and important question of selectivity of writing and selectivity of memory. What is not talked and written about will not be passed on to the next generation and will eventually be forgotten. Sometimes those who control the media may try to erase from the collective, national narrative the very memory of a particular event because it is too painful and shameful to remember. This is more or less what happened in Milošević-controlled media to the fall of the Serbian Krajina Republic in 1995. More commonly, however, the event as such will continue to be

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remembered, but certain aspects of it will be suppressed. This is basically the case with the treatment of Operation Storm (Oluja) in Croatian public consciousness. In Croatian media there is hardly any mention of the human rights violations that were committed by Croatian soldiers when they retook RSK, and this makes it possible to turn war criminals into national heroes. Conversely, while Serbian media in later years have started to mark the memory of Oluja, they conveniently fail to write anything about the expulsion and harassment of the Croatian population of RSK that took place when this region was still under Serbian control. As a result of these ‘conspiracies of silence’ two incompatible stories about the RSK and Oluja are being spun in Serbia and Croatia which contribute to a hardening of mutual antagonism between the two nations more than 10 years after the event. A rhetoric of silence has allowed both sides to cast themselves in the role of the victim and the other as a bloodthirsty perpetrator. This clearly hampers any reconciliation and ‘normalization’ process between the two countries. One way of coming to grips with the war events and moulding them into the national memory is artistic treatment. In contrast to self-congratulatory commemoration speeches art – or good art at least – is not and cannot be onedimensional. In order to ring true, fictional characters must be multifaceted and the stories open-ended. Any simple identification between ‘us’ and ‘good’, or between ‘them’ and ‘bad’, becomes highly problematical. Indeed, even the very concept of ‘us’ as a national collective identity breaks down: in the trenches there is every man/woman for themselves and their dearest ones. As numerous novels and films about wars have shown, the in-group is no longer the nation, but is reduced to a few war-mates, family members and friends. These themes are explored by Nedin Mutić in his examination of post-conflict movies produced in the former Yugoslav republics. Mutić finds that different directors have treated the us–them dichotomy in different ways. In Pretty Village, Pretty Flames, the soldiers of the two warring sides do not get into contact except by shouting at each other at a distance, and neither of them reassesses their stereotypical image of the other. In No Man’s Land two enemy soldiers accidentally end up in the same trench and potentially get a chance to learn about and understand each other, but in the end both are shot and the conflict is no nearer its resolution. In the final film analysed by Mutić, Grbavica, the ‘self’ and ‘the other’ have, as it were, moved into one and the same body, since the main character of the film is the offspring of a rape of a Bosnian woman by a Serb soldier. In this movie, the director explores the relative merit of silence vs the relative merit of breaking it. To confront the truth is extremely painful and there may be good reasons to avoid it, but the film implies that ‘the crimes which have been committed are omnipresent and (possible) closure can come only when they have been exposed, externalized and both privately and publicly acknowledged’.

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*  *  * In an important review article, James Fearon and David Laitin (2000) discuss the potential of discourse analysis for the study of ethnic war. As they see it, the relationship between the social construction of ethnic identities and the probability of ethnic war may be tackled from three different angles: the construction of ethnic identities may result from strategic actions of elites, strategic actions of the masses or from the logic of discursive structures. Fearon and Laitin are sceptical about discourse analyses that in a foucauldian manner treat people as ‘pawns or products of discourses that exist and move independently of the actions of any particular individual’ (Fearon and Laitin 2000, 851). By treating discourses as supra-individual, such approaches come close to a primordialist and essentialist position, they maintain. Nevertheless, Fearon and Laitin conclude that ‘the thesis that discursive logics explain behaviour should not be discarded, despite the apparent primordialism in the presentation of these logics in some cases, and despite obstacles to testing such arguments empirically across cases’ (Fearon and Laitin 2000, 874). Some varieties of discourse analysis provide more workable approaches than others, they note. For instance, instead of trying to outline one stable, hegemonic discourse for each culture, some discourse-oriented studies of ethnic violence identify a diverse set of competing discourses. In this way, discourses are treated as ‘more strategies than supra-individual forces’ (Fearon and Laitin 2000). It is in this pluralistic and strategic sense that we, in this book, have used discourse as an analytical tool. This means that the three elements in the construction of ethnic identity outlined by Fearon and Laitin – strategic actions of elites, strategic actions of the masses and the logic of discursive structures – should not be regarded as alternative explanations, but rather as dialectically interrelated. Individuals may be strongly influenced by existing discourses but they may also manipulate these discourses for their own purposes. Inevitably, the media both influence and are influenced by public attitudes and perceptions. Discourses on ethnic boundaries are not cut in stone, but neither are they endlessly malleable. They may influence the outcome of conflicts, but hardly in any linear or predetermined way.

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List of Media Sources

Blic is one of the highest circulation dailies in Serbia. It is a tabloid owned by Ringier AG group from Switzerland. The newspaper was founded in 1996. Borba was originally started in Zagreb in 1922 as an official Communist Party newspaper. By the early 1990s it was published in both Belgrade and Zagreb (in Latin and Cyrillic alphabet). Apart from its liberal and intellectual penchant, Borba also bore the heritage of being a distinctively Yugoslav newspaper, and featured texts in the Serbian and Croat linguistic idiom. Soon after the war started, Borba became solely a Serbian newspaper, one of the few liberal media that criticized the Serbian regime. Bujku is an Albanian language daily. Following the shutdown of Rilindja, by special government measures, Bujku became the main daily. Dan, a daily Montenegrin newspaper, was founded on 31 December 1999, under the control of the pro-Serb Socialist People’s Party (SNP), which supported Slobodan Milošević’s policies and promoted a common state. Dnevni avaz is one of the most popular daily newspapers in Bosnia and Herzegovina and is published in Sarajevo. It was founded by Fahrudin Radončić, at the end of 1995. Today, the Dnevni avaz newspaper is part of the Avaz publishing house, the biggest news house in Bosnia and Herzegovina. This newspaper is often viewed as being pro-Bosniak. Dnevnik, from Krug, was founded in 1996 as the first independent newspaper of the Republic of Macedonia and rose to be market leader in Macedonia in 2003. Today there are more than 100 persons employed on this daily. Its Internet site is regularly visited by readers from all around the world – 30,000 per day. Dnevni list is a popular daily newspaper in Bosnia and Herzegovina. Its headquarters are in Mostar. The paper is popular among the Bosnian Croats. Fakti was the first privately owned daily newspaper in Macedonia in the Albanian language. The first issue was published on 10 April 1998. Flaka is an Albanian-language daily. The first issue was published on 4 April 1945. From 1971, Flaka was published three times per week. Since 27 May 1994 Flaka had been published daily. During 2001 Flaka was a public enterprise. Glas Srpske – the first number of Glas was issued on 31 July 1943, by the NOP (People’s Liberation Movement) in Župica, near Drvar. In 1992, it became a daily newspaper of Republika Srpska, and was renamed on 28 September 1992 Glas srpski (Serbs’ voice). It is now published under the title Glas Srpske (Voice of (the republic of) Srpska). The founder was the National Assembly of Republika Srpska. It was not until recently that the Glas Srpske was privatized. In January 2008, the Government of Republika Srpska accepted an offer made

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by a consortium (Nezavisne novine, 90 per cent share and Integral Engendering, 10 per cent share) to purchase Glas Srpske. Globus is a Croatian weekly news magazine published in Zagreb. The magazine was started in 1990, having some of its first issues published during the Croatian War. Ilustrovana Politika is an illustrated weekly magazine, founded in 1958. Its Golden Age was in the 1960s. During the 1990s the Politika part of the concern was strictly in tune with the regime. Koha Ditore (Daily Time) is a daily newspaper from Kosovo. It is published by the Koha Group and is owned by politician Veton Surroi’s sister Flaka Surroi. Veton Surroi owned the newspaper until recently, but gave it up when he started his political career within the ORA reformist party. The newspaper was published for the first time in 1997. Monitor was the only important print medium in Montenegro during the 1990s that openly criticised Slobodan Milošević’s policies. This weekly magazine gathered a small group of independent intellectuals, including some of those who were openly endorsing the idea of an independent Montenegro. National Review is a biweekly magazine of political opinion, founded by author William F. Buckley, Jr in 1955 and based in New York City. While the print version of the magazine is available online to subscribers, the website’s free content is essentially a separate publication. Generally the magazine provides conservative views and analysis on the world’s current events. Nezavisne novine – established in Banja Luka in August 1996, the daily national newspaper Nezavisne novine belongs to the Journalistic, Editorial and Graphics Company (NIGD). The founder and director of NIGD is Željko Kopanja. NIN (Serbian Cyrillic: НИН) is a weekly news magazine published in Belgrade, Serbia. Its name is an acronym for Nedeljne Informativne Novine, which roughly translates into Weekly Informative Newspaper. Novi list is a regional daily published in Rijeka and widely read in the northwestern region of Istria (also a stronghold of the regional Croatian political party – Istarski demokratski sabor) and Primorje-Gorski kotar county. Novi list is the oldest Croatian daily widely perceived as having a liberal and intellectual orientation. It is also viewed as a rare example of a newspaper that remained more critical toward the HDZ regime during the 1990s. Oslobođenje (Liberation) is a popular Sarajevo newspaper in Bosnia and Herzegovina. The Oslobođenje newspaper was founded on 30 August 1943 in Donja Trnova near Ugljevik, as an anti-Nazi newspaper. During the Bosnian war and the Siege of Sarajevo, the Oslobođenje staff operated out of a makeshift newsroom in a bomb shelter after its 10-storey office building was targeted and reduced to rubble. The war left five staff members dead and 25 wounded. The Oslobođenje was awarded 18 prizes for its work under war circumstances. In 1993, it was awarded the Sakharov Prize for Freedom of Thought. The editors of Oslobođenje, Kemal Kurspahić and Gordana Knezević, were named International Editors of the Year for 1993 by the World Press Review for their

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‘bravery, tenacity, and dedication to the principles of journalism’. During the war, it was printed every day. In 2006, the company was bought up by way of the Sarajevo Stock Exchange by two leading city industries, the Sarajevo Tobacco Factory and the Sarajevska Pivara. Pobjeda is a pro-government Montenegrin newspaper which in its reporting followed and justified all changes in the politics of the Montenegrin Government. Politika is a popular newspaper in Serbia. The first issue of Politika, the oldest newspaper in Serbia, and among the oldest in Europe, was published on 25 January 1904. The company that owns the Politika newspapers, Politika Novine i magazini (Politika Newspapers and Magazines d.o.o.), was founded on 1 March 2002, and its founders were Politika AD and German media concern WAZ (Westdeutsche Allgemeine Zeitung) Medien Gruppe. They participate equally in all strategic and operational decision-making. On the one side, the Serbian partner keeps the jurisdiction over editorial policy, while on the other WAZ has the final word on business systems. PNM issue two dailies: Politika and Sportski žurnal (Sports Journal) in Serbia, and nine magazines. Politika Ekspres is an evening newspaper from the Politika concern, a socialist ancestor of tabloids. Rilindja was the most read daily in Kosovo and the official newspaper of Kosovo. The Guardian (until 1959 The Manchester Guardian) is a British newspaper owned by the Guardian Media Group. It is published Monday to Saturday in the Berliner format from printing centres located in London and Manchester. The Nation is a weekly US periodical devoted to politics and culture, selfdescribed as ‘the flagship of the left’. Founded on 6 July 1865 at the start of Reconstruction as a supporter of the victorious North in the American Civil War, it is the oldest continuously published weekly magazine in the United States. It is published by the Nation Company, L.P. at 33 Irving Place, New York City. The circulation of The Nation is rising and was last placed at 184,296 (2004), more than double the neoliberal The New Republic, and larger than the neoconservative The Weekly Standard and the conservative National Review. The New York Times is a daily newspaper published in New York City and distributed internationally. It is owned by The New York Times Company, which publishes 15 other newspapers. It is the largest metropolitan newspaper in the United States. It is often regarded as a national newspaper of record, meaning that it is frequently relied upon as the official and authoritative reference for modern events. Founded in 1851, the newspaper has won 95 Pulitzer Prizes, more than any other newspaper. The newspaper’s title, like other similarly-named publications, is often abbreviated to The Times. Its famous motto, always printed in the upper left-hand corner of the front page, is: ‘All the News That’s Fit to Print’.

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The Observer is a British newspaper published on Sundays. Overall slightly to the right of its daily sister paper The Guardian, it takes a liberal/social democratic line on most issues. The Washington Post is the largest newspaper in Washington, DC. It is also one of the city’s oldest papers, having been founded in 1877. The Post is generally regarded among the leading daily American newspapers, along with The New York Times, which is known for its general reporting and international coverage, and The Wall Street Journal, which is known for its financial reporting. The Post has distinguished itself through its political reporting on the workings of the White House, Congress and other aspects of the US government. TV Ljubljana and TV Belgrade formed part of a network of nine Yugoslav television studios, most of them located in the respective capital cities of the six Yugoslav republics and the two autonomous provinces. Each of the stations catered for its respective republican or provincial audience, and had virtually no competition. Along with TV Zagreb, TV Ljubljana and TV Belgrade were the oldest stations in the network; both started with regular broadcasting in 1958. Upon Slovenia’s declaration of independence in 1991, TV Ljubljana was renamed TV Slovenia. TV Belgrade retained its original name, although the name of the Radio-television centre as a whole was changed into RTV Serbia. TV Revija is an illustrated magazine concerned primarily with media and television. Utrinski Vesnik is a Macedonian daily newspaper tha appeared for the first time on 23 June 1999. Utrınski Vesnik is considered to be a serious but left-leaning daily. Večernje novosti has been published in Belgrade since 1953. During the 1990s the daily was associated with the Serbian regime of Slobodan Milošević. It also often exemplified cases of extreme propaganda on behalf of the regime. Večernji list d.o.o is a contemporary media house founded in 1959 in Zagreb, where it still has its headquarters. With its 217 employees, a network of offices all over Croatia, superior informatics and technological support and the annual turnover of €50 million, Večernji list has been trying to retain the position of a market leader that makes information available to its readers everywhere and at all times. With the development of a unique multi-channel platform (print/mobile/videonews/online) Večernji list is at the same time the leading innovator on the Croatian media market. In the year 2000 Večernji list became part of the Austrian corporation Styria Medien AG. Velika Srbija, founded by Vojislav Šešelj, is a main newspaper of the nationalist Serbian Radical Party (Srpska radikalna stranka). Vijesti was launched as an independent Montenegrin daily newspaper, which retained a slight distance from the regime. However, in all elements essential for our analysis, the paper generally supported the Government’s policies. Vreme (Time) is an independent news magazine, based in Belgrade. It was founded in October 1990 by a group of journalists from the largest Serbian publishing house, Politika.

List of Media Sources

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Zeri – Zeri was chosen for its coverage of one particular event discussed in the Kosovo chapter, as a newspaper not affiliated with any political party but offering more populist reporting.

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Index a-historization 36 Anderson, Benedict 84 Anglo-American Press 109–10 audience, segmentation 30–31 Badinter Commission (1991) 131–32, 134, 135 Bajt, Veronika 235–36 Bakić, Jovo 237–38 Balkan films 215–16, 242 post-war films 232–33 pre-war films 225–31 war films 216–24 Balkanist discourse 108, 112, 127 Barth, Fredrik 16–17 Billig, Michael 12 Blic (Serbian newspaper) 141, 259 Borba (Serbian newspaper) 62, 259 elections 66–67 Operation Storm (Oluja) 80–81 referendums 69, 70, 72, 138 Bosnia–Herzegovina 26, 30, 153–54 conflict (1992–1995) 7, 8, 10, 118–20, 153, 235, 239–40 constitutional amendments (2006) 154, 168–71 Dayton agreement (1995) 154, 162–68 ethnic cleansing 9–10, 117–18 referendum (1992) 154, 156–62, 239 Bosnia–Herzegovina Press 155 boundary activation 17, 18 Bratić, V. 23 Brioni Island transcripts 202–3 Bugarski, Ranko 64 Bujku (Kosovo newspaper) 88, 94, 97, 259 Bulatović, Momir 137, 138 CDA (critical discourse analysis) 14, 18 Cold War discourse 107, 109–10, 112 collective evildoing 9–10

collective silence 199–200, 209–10, 212, 241–42 Communist Party 26, 84–85 constructivism 10 Copenhagen School 10 crisis, complexity of 25–26 critical discourse analysis (CDA) 14, 18 Croatia 6, 8, 26, 30, 61–63, 81–82, 236–37 elections 64–68 Operation Maslenica 62, 76–78, 82 Operation Storm (Oluja) 79–81, 197–201, 206–9, 213, 242 recognition (10–20 January 1992) 56 referendums 68–72 Vukovar battle 62, 72–76, 82, 237 Croatian Press 155, 236–37 Bosnia–Herzegovina 239–40 constitutional amendments (2006) 171 Dayton agreement (1995) 167–68 referendum (1992) 161–62 cultural identity 16 Čurguz-Kazimir, V. 35 Dan (Montenegrinnewspaper) 130, 136–37, 259 dual currency 139, 141 Milošević, Slobodan 143, 144 NATO bombing 141, 142 referendum (21 May 2006) 147, 150–51 Serbian Orthodox Church 146–47 Daniels, Val 84 Daskalovski, Zhidas 240–41 Dayton Peace agreement (1995) 154, 162–68 defensive propaganda 8–9 Ðerić, Gordana 19, 241–42 Ðindić, Zoran 144 Discourse 11–14, 31 discourse analysis 1–2, 3, 11–16, 18, 243

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discourse strategies a-historization 36 Balkanist 108, 112, 127 Cold War 107, 109–10, 112 humanitarian 108–9 nationalist 36–37 Occidentalist 108, 119–20 Orientalist 108, 123 personalization 114–15 relativization 107 silence 195, 197, 199–200, 204, 205–6, 209–10, 212, 241–42 triumphalization 107 victimization 35, 109, 123, 124, 125–26 Dnevni avaz (Bosnia–Herzegovina newspaper) 155, 165–66, 170, 171, 240, 259 Dnevni list (Croatian newspaper) 171, 259 Dnevnik (Macedonian newspaper) 181, 192, 259 Drenica Uprising, Kosovo 95–99 Dubrovnik, seige of 131, 133–34 Ðukanović, Milo 136–138, 140, 141–42 Ðurić, Ivana 236 Ðurović, Srđan 238–39 Džihana, Amer 239–40 Eide, Espen Barth 10 elections Croatia 64–68 Macedonia 191–92 Montenegro 132, 136, 137–38 elite-centred theory 3, 7–9 elites 7–9, 24–25, 26, 30, 37, 41, 43, 48 emotion-based theory 5–7 enemies, inventing 34–35 ethnic cleansing 9–10, 117–18, 121 ethnic conflict 3, 4–10, 31, 32–37, 88 Event analysis 84 Fakti (Macedonian newspaper) 174, 182, 184–86, 259 Fear syndrome 5, 6, 237 Fearon, James 243 Federal Republic of Yugoslavia, see FRY Flaka (Macedonian newspaper) 180–82, 183, 185–86, 187–88, 189, 190, 259

Forum (Macedonian magazine) 174, 181 Foucault, Michel 13–14 framed representations 31–37, 107, 108–11, 112, 119–20, 123–24, 127 framing, theory of 31–37 FRY (Federal Republic of Yugoslavia) 131–32, 135–36, 141–42 Gagnon, V.P. 7–9 Glas (Bosnia–Herzegovina newspaper) 158–59 Glas Srpske (Bosnia–Herzegovina newspaper) 155, 169, 170, 259–60 Glas Srpski (Bosnia–Herzegovina newspaper) 164–65, 259 Globus (Croatian newspaper) 181, 260 group identity 16–17 Guardian, The (British newspaper) 106, 119, 120, 163, 261 hatred 5, 9, 27 HDZ (Hrvatska demokratska zajednica) 65–67, 69–70, 75 humanitarian discourse 108–9 identity construction 12, 16–17, 41–43 ideology analysis 106–7 Ilustrovana Politika (Serbian magazine) 260 interpersonality 105, 116 intertextuality 105, 114 Irwin-Zarecka, I. 199–200 Istria 62, 65, 68, 70, 75, 237 Jashari, Adem 95–97, 99 Jović, Mirko 67, 70, 75 Jusić, Tarik 19, 235 Jutarnji list (Croatian newspaper) 208 Karadžić, Radovan 81, 156, 157 Karpalak, Macedonia 188–90 KLA (Kosovo Liberation Army) 95, 96, 97, 98 Koha Ditore (Kosovo newspaper) 260 Kosovo 7, 26, 83, 84–87, 88–89, 94–95, 237 Drenica Uprising 95, 96–97, 98–99 ethnic cleansing 121

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independence 97–98 Jashari, Adem 88–89, 90–91, 95–97, 99 March 2004 riots 100–102 poisoning case 91–94 school segregation 90–91 Kosovo Information Center (KIC) 97 Kosovo Liberation Army, see KLA

Milošević, Slobodan 132, 142–43, 143–45 NATO bombing 132, 141–42 referendum (21 May 2006) 132, 147–51 Serbian Orthodox Church 132, 145–47, 239 Mutić, Nedin19, 242

Laitin, David 243 Luci, Nita 237

Nation, The (US periodical) 261 National Liberation Army (NLA), Macedonia 173, 174–78, 180–82, 184–85, 187, 188–90 National Review (US magazine) 260 nationalist discourse 36–37 NATO 100, 121–22, 132, 141–42 New York Times, The (NYT) 114–15, 121, 124, 261 Nezavisne novine (Bosnia–Herzegovina newspaper) 169–70, 260 NIN(Serbian magazine) 260 Novi list (Croatian newspaper) 62, 260 elections 64 Operation Storm (Oluja) 79–80 referendum (19 May 1991) 71 Serb referendum 68–69 Vukovar battle 73, 74

Macedonia 26, 30, 173–74, 185–87, 192–193, 235 elections 191–92 Karpalak killings 188–90 National Liberation Army 174–78, 180–82, 184–85, 240–41 Ohrid Framework Agreement 178, 190 Vejce killings 187–88 Macedonian Press 174, 192–93 manipulation, mass media 1, 26, 30–31, 43 Marković, Ante 52 Marković, Predrag 237 Maslenica, see Operation Maslenica media discourse 22–24, 37–38, 235–42 framing 31–34 political environment 24–26 shared 28–31 types of 27–28 media effect theories 22–23 Mesić, Stjepan 69, 71, 211 metaphors 12 Milošević, Slobodan 8–9, 114–15, 144, 238 Croatian-Serbian war 208–9 Dayton agreement (1995) 163–64 Kosovo 86–87, 98 Montenegro 130, 136, 142–43, 238–39 Mladina [Youth] 44 Monitor (Montenegrinmagazine) 130, 140, 260 MontenegrinPress 130, 133, 137, 151–52, 238 Montenegro 129–30, 151–52, 235, 238–39 Badinter Commission 131–32, 134–36 dual currency 132, 139–41 Dubrovnik seige 131, 133–34 elections 132, 136, 137–38

Observer, The (British newspaper) 262 Occidentalist discourse 108, 119–20 offensive propaganda 8–9 Ohrid Framework Agreement, Macedonia 178, 190 Oluja, see Operation Storm Operation Maslenica 62, 76–78, 82 Operation Storm (Oluja) 79–81, 82, 197, 198–200, 211–12, 242 Brioni Island transcripts 202–3 commemoration of 206–11 silence a bout 199–200, 204, 205–6, 209–10, 212, 241–42 social memory 206–11, 212–13 Orientalist discourse 108, 123 Oslobođenje (Bosnia–Herzegovina newspaper) 155, 239–40, 260–61 constitutional amendments (2006) 170–71 Dayton agreement (1995) 166–67 referendum (1992) 159–61

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Pankov, Miloš 235–36 Pavićević, Ðorđe 238–39 personal identity 16 personalization 114–15 Petersen, Roger 5–7 Pobjeda (Montenegrinnewspaper) 130, 133, 136, 261 Badinter Commission 135 dual currency 140, 141 Dubrovnik seige 133–34 elections 137–38 NATO bombing 141–42 referendum (21 May 2006) 147–50 Serbian Orthodox Church 145 poisoning case, Kosovo 90, 91–94 polarization 34–35, 37–38, 138 political discourse 64–66, 68, 88, 164 politicizing 10 Politika Ekspres (Serbian newspaper) 261 Politika (Serbian newspaper) 110–11, 261 Bosnia–Herzegovina 155, 239 Dayton agreement (1995) 162–64 referendum (1992) 156–57, 239 Croatia 204 Operation Storm (Oluja) 205, 208 Kosovo, Drenica Uprising 98, 100 Montenegro 136–37 dual currency 139, 141 elections 138 NATO bombing 125–26, 142 Posen, Barry 4 propaganda 9–10, 34–35, 36 Pudar, Gazela 237–38 rage 5 Rašković, Jovan 66, 67 referendums Bosnia–Herzegovina 154, 156–62, 239 Croatia 68–70, 70–72 relativization 107 Reljić, D. 23, 28 representations 15–16 resentment 5, 6, 7 Rilindja (Kosovo newspaper) 88, 261 poisoning case 91–92, 93–94 school segregation 90–91 riots, Kosovo, March 2004 100–102 Robinson, Gertrude J. 29

RSK (Serbian Krajina), see Serbian Krajina, Republic ������������ of RTV Sarajevo 30 SDS (Srpska demokratska stranka) 66, 68, 69 securitizing 10 security dilemma 4–5 semiotics 15–16 sensationalism 27–28 Serb referendum 68–70, 81 Serbia 8, 30, 41, 48, 85–88, 89–90, 94–95, 125–26, 129–30, 134–35, 143–45, 199–200, 206, 213, 237–38 Serbian Krajina, Republic of (RSK) 197–98, 200, 204, 205, 241, 242 Serbian Orthodox Church, Montenegro 132, 145–47 Serbian Press 156, 236–37 Bosnia–Herzegovina 154, 155, 204, 239 Dayton agreement (1995) 162–64 referendum (1992) 156–58 Croatia 61–63, 81–82, 236–37 elections 66–68 Operation Maslenica 77–78 Operation Storm (Oluja) 80–81, 203–4, 205–6, 208–9, 210, 242 referendum (19 May 1991) 71–72 Serb referendum 69–70 Vukovar battle 72–73, 74–76 Kosovo Drenica Uprising 97–99 Jashari, Adem 95–96 NATO bombing 122–23 poisoning case 93, 94 Montenegro 130, 151 Badinter Commission 134–35 elections 137–38 NATO bombing 141 Šešelj, Vojislav 67, 70, 75, 262 SFRY (Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia) 40–41, 87–88, 195 1 January 1990–25 June 1991 109–10 26 June 1991–21 November 1995 111–14 dissolution 25–26, 37, 129, 153–54, 196–97

Index shared media 28–31 silence 195, 197, 199–200, 204, 205–6, 209–10, 212, 241–42 Sládeček, Michal 239–40 Slovenia 39–40, 48, 235–36 independence (16–25 June 1991) 48–52 recognition (10–20 January 1992) 56 ‘Ten-Day War’ (26 June–7 July 1991) 52–56 Trial of the Four (18–27 July 1988) 44–48 Slovenian Territorial Defence (TD) 53, 54, 55 social memory 206, 212–13, 241–42 Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia, see SFRY Sofos, S. 84 Srpska demokratska stranka, see SDS Tilly, Charles 17 Trial of the Four (18–27 July 1988), Slovenia 44–48 triumphalization 107 Tuđman, Franjo 6, 8, 65, 66, 67, 69, 199, 202 TV Belgrade (TVB) 40, 47–48, 50–52, 54–55, 58–59, 236, 262 TV Ljubljana (TVL) 40, 45–47, 48–50, 52–54, 56–57, 58–59, 262 TV Revija 93, 262 TV Slovenija (TVS) 56–57 Utrinski Vesnik (Macedonian newspaper) 181, 192, 262 Večernje novosti (Serbian newspaper) 62, 262 Croatia elections 66–67 Operation Maslenica 77, 78 Operation Storm (Oluja) 80–81, 204, 205 referendum (19 May 1991) 71, 72 Serb referendum 69, 70 Vukovar battle 74, 75 Kosovo, Drenica Uprising 98 Montenegro 130, 133, 136–37

269

dual currency 139 Dubrovnik seige 133 Večernji list (Croatian newspaper) 62, 200–202, 262 Bosnia–Herzegovina 155, 239 Dayton agreement (1995) 167–68 referendum (1992) 161–62 Croatia elections 64, 65, 66 Operation Storm (Oluja) 79–80, 203 referendum (19 May 1991) 71 Serb referendum 68 Vukovar battle 73–74 Geneva talks 202–3 Vejce killings 187–88 Velika Srbija (Serbian newspaper) 262 Vest (Macedonian newspaper) 174 elections 192 Karpalak killings 189–90 NLA conflicts 179–80, 181 Vejce killings 188 Vetlesen, Arne Johan 9–10 victimization 35, 109, 123, 124, 125–26 victims, inventing 34–35 Vijesti (Montenegrinnewspaper) 130, 136, 262 dual currency 140, 141 elections 137–38 Milošević, Slobodan 143, 144–45 NATO bombing 142 referendum (21 May 2006) 147–50 Serbian Orthodox Church 146 violization 10 Vreme (Time) (Serbian magazine) 98, 99, 192, 262 Vukovar battle 62, 72–76, 82, 236 Washington Post, The (US newspaper) 262 Wodak, Ruth 1, 14, 18 Wolfsfeld, Gadi 23, 28, 37–38 Xhaferi, Arbën 182–83 Yugoslav films 216–17 Yugoslav People’s Army (YPA) 44, 45, 48, 52, 53, 54, 55

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Yugoslav Succession Wars 1, 2, 110–18, 123–26 Bosnia–Herzegovina 118–20 Serbia 120–23

Zeri (Kosovo newspaper) 263 Zorić, Vladimir 236