In South Africa, Nelson Mandela established a Truth and Reconciliation Commission that offered amnesty to individuals in return for their public disclosure of the truth. It took new generations to come to terms with much of Nazi Germany's behavior. The U.S. civil rights movement forced the crimes of segregation into the arena of public scrutiny and shaming.
Serbs have not begun that process. They have played down the Srebrenica massacre and other atrocities from the 1990s wars they instigated. Former prime minister Zoran Djindjic, under international pressure and under cover of night, did send Slobodan Milosevic to trial in The Hague, Netherlands. Djindjic was assassinated in 2003. His successors have been more timid.
Serb nationalism
Before the wars, in the 1980s, the Serb capital Belgrade was the cosmopolitan Paris of Eastern Europe. It is now a dreary backwater, left behind as neighbors sprout modern shopping malls, McDonald's and skyscrapers and join Western clubs from NATO to the European Union. The Serb mafiosos and gangsters remain a nationalistic, intimidating force. Despite the efforts of some human rights campaigners and hard-hitting media outlets, nationalist sentiment still runs high. In a Serb opinion poll in May, more than half denied the Srebrenica massacre even took place.
Last month, however, Serbs got a chance to break out of the denial. Serb TV broadcast a video of part of the massacre. In it, Serb paramilitaries — the "Scorpions" — pull six battered, emaciated men from a truck, hands tied behind their backs. At least three are shot at close range. A Serb Orthodox priest blesses their actions against the "infidels." It was the Serbs' first incontrovertible evidence that they, not just rogue Bosnian Serb "cousins," were complicit: The Scorpions, as other paramilitary groups, were under the direct command of the Serb police.
The fact that it took a full 10 years for the video to emerge is already testimony to the resistance. The film was first played at The Hague tribunal, where it was sent by Serb human rights campaigner Natasha Kandic, who has long been subject to death threats. The Hague has, until now, largely enabled Serbs' denial. Milosevic's trial is being carried out far away, by foreigners, encouraging many to feel they, too, are being victimized. But the videotaped evidence cannot be so easily dismissed.
There are signs it might provide the needed psychological jolt out of the surreal world that Milosevic — much as Hitler — constructed. His nationalist propaganda denied inconvenient realities — though the truth was known.
Serbian men, as the Scorpions, were drafted to fight in the wars, often going with gusto. They knew what was happening, bringing information back to families and friends. When I visited Serb homes near Srebrenica months after the massacre, people shrugged about what might have happened to the "disappeared." But their exchanged glances told a different story. Police cars pulled up at the houses after I left, suggesting an official effort to suppress any breaking of the collective coverup.
A chance to come clean
Serbia is at a crossroads. It has a choice: Face up to the past, fully cooperate with The Hague tribunal, find a way — even if it's a South Africa-style commission — to come to terms with the past. The European Union has told Serbia that any future in its fold is conditional on that kind of cooperation; in recent weeks, in apparent response, several suspected war criminals have been handed over. Or continue on its present slide with an economy in shambles and no happy future.
That might seem like a no-contest choice. But it isn't. Serbia has had it for a decade now.
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