 |
A video and written diary of
Serbian Filmmaker A.G. (name withheld), 34 years, an independent filmmaker.in Belgrade, Yugoslavia The
diaries and video date from March 22 to April 11, 1999
The video is viewable in RealPlayer
G2 only |
Introduction to video of The War Diaries
This video was filmed between March 22 and April
3rd in and around Belgrade, Yugoslavia and comprise three short films. There is nothing as graphically dramatic as
the news photo above, no images of bombs falling, dead bodies and such, rather images the
day to day life of people caught up in war.
Clip # 1: Shot a day or two before March
23, 1999, when the written diaries begin, before the
NATO bombing. A few young people gather together around computers, obviously very close
friends, sending email, reading the web pages that announce "NATO Planes Prepare for
Attack" . The mood seems naturally anxious but not grim, almost jovial, with people
smiling.
A small girl flashes the V sign for victory. There is a feeling that
something may happen but it is uncertain what exactly? A melodic song, the words in
Serbian, play over the images. It ends abruptly, as the images continue for a few moments,
much as the people in the film know that their lives will never be the same.
Clip # 2, Nikolai Doesn't Look
At The Sky, shot on the first day of diaries, March 23, 1999, is a home movie of
Nikolai, a child of three years, and his mother as they move from their home to another
location, on the first days of the bombings. It's a poignant portrait of the innocence of
a child caught in an tragedy created by adults he does not know and he can not even begin
to comprehend. It seems almost as if the family is going on a day trip, as the child
laughs and sings, not looking upwards at the sky and the impending air strikes.
Clip # 3: No Justification, takes place in a bomb shelter
on March 30, 1999, during a NATO air raid alarm
We shoot follows the rules of Dogma 99: it's one minute long, shot in
one take, with no camera movements... It is titled "No Justification", and I
doubt many will understand it. I think people will look for condemnation message in it:
condemnation of NATO or condemnation of what Serbs do on Kosovo. But it's neither - and
it's both. Simply, no justification for the whole situation - A.G.
Introduction to the Written Diaries
The War Diaries started on March 23, 1999, on the eve
of the final meetings with Serbian President Milosevic and and US negotiator Holbrooke and
ended on April 3rd, several days into the bombing of Belgrade, where the diaries are
written.
The War Diaries first appeared on Webcinema, a network of 2,000 filmmakers using
internet and new media technologies to produce, distribute and exhibit independent films
and have since been distributed widely on the internet and in print.
Over the course of several months prior to the NATO
bombing A.G. had posted to Webcinema and was a member of on-line community, sharing his
ideas about cinema with fellow filmmakers around the world and seeking distribution of a
few Serbian Shorts, produced by his
film collective in Belgrade. At the time he did not expect he would ever be the author of
these War Diaries.
The name of the author and all other names in the
diaries have been omitted, to prevent reprisals to the author and his associates.
A.G is now filming and continuing his diaries under
difficult circumstances. We await additional entries in the upcoming days and will also
host any films shot during this time, as we receive them.
Jonathan Sarno - director@webcinema.org
W A R D I A R
Y - p a r t I
TUESDAY, March 23rd
Early in the morning, I went to my friend M., to
help him evacuate his family (wife B. and 3 years old son N.) to the village. While they
were preparing for leaving, TV was broadcasting from the Serbian Assembly.
"We don't need American Coca Cola and such
stuff", politicians were exclaiming. Conclusion: the Assembly does not agree with
foreign troops on Kosovo.
I have my handycam with me, and I shoot M. s family
preparing for the evacuation.
Holbrooke is talking with Milosevic. We are waiting
anxiously what's gonna happen. At noon (local time), it is reported that Holbrooke went
away from these talks without any results. Fear is on the rise. But Holbrooke is still in
Belgrade. Will be any new attempts?
M. and his family are ready. We sit in the car and
go. We travel without any difficulties, and reach the village early in the evening.
Holbrooke has left Belgrade, Milosevic definitely said 'no'. Yugoslav Prime Minister has
declared high alert. B. and little N. remain in the village, M. and me immediately go back
to Belgrade, expecting air strikes to begin at every moment.
On the way back to Belgrade, we can see kilometer
long queues at all the petrol stations: anticipating what comes after high alert was
announced, people come with barrels, bottles and whatever is suitable for keeping fuel
reserves.
WEDNESDAY, March 24th
We reach Belgrade soon after midnight. Everything is
unusually quiet and nothing happens. When arrived at M.'s home, first thing we do is
turning on the Radio B92, independent radio station. But nobody knows what's going on.
Suddenly, at 3 a.m. local time, Radio B92 was shut down. All TV and radio stations now
broadcast the same: old war movies, patriotic songs, Assembly conclusions...
So, it looks like this... War begins. I stay at M.'s
home overnight. When we awoke, nothing still happened. M. drives me to the city. Nothing
special to see: everything is as usual, except everybody talk only about possible air
raids. M. goes to his job, I go to my working place, where I work.
There is strange state of anxiety there in my
working place: nobody knows what's gonna be with Radio B92, and my working place belongs
to this radio. It is guessed that equipment confiscation could happen, and we make
equipment list, and plans for its evacuation. But information comes that confiscation is
not likely for now, and we are a little bit relaxed now. B92 is not broadcasting any more,
but it's still netcasting, so we all gather around the computers when news begin.
We make jokes, drink beer and do whatever we can,
just not to think about the uncertain future. I shoot everything on video. 6 p.m. We all
leave my working placeand go to the cafe. I don't feel good (headache) and I go home, and
fall asleep.
8:45 p.m. Women who rent me appartment (D. and A.)
wake me up: they say it's air raid and syrens were heard. It's panic in our building:
neighbours running down the stairway and go to the shelter. I tell D. and A. that there's
no sense in going to the shelter, so we stay at home, not even turning the lights off.
Some people are in the shelter, and some sit in the front of the building and talk.
Everybody tries to find out what happens.
Obviously, NATO strikes begin. So, thus it begins...
Yugoslav Prime Minister declares the state of war.
One by one, news come: that city was hit, and that,
and that. Even some parts of Belgrade. It's the first time a capital in Europe is air
raided since 1945.
Phone lines get hot, but there are many
difficulties, and communication often breaks down. Everyone wants to hear about his/her
family in the other cities.
Night is clear, and sky is full of stars. Perfect
weather for the air raids. I feel no fear. I don't hear anything, and I don't see
anything. Soundless kind of war. But some of my friends living in the other parts of
Belgrade reported me by the phone that they've heard strange sound, and then one could see
distant flashes on the horizon.
What really drives me mad is the lack of
information. I tune my radio and TV scale like crazy, but all the stations broadcast only
propaganda, and very little of information.
TV program: war movies, war movies and war movies.
So I go to sleep.
W A R D I A R
Y - p a r t II
THURSDAY, March 25th
Suddenly, a very strong sound wakes me up:
obviously, a missile explosion somewhere. A few minutes later, another one. There's no any
harm done to my building, but it was all shaking for a few seconds.
I was sleeping very irregularly: half an hour of
sleep, and then fifteen minutes of unsuccessfully trying to hear some news from TV, and
again sleep, and again TV. Syrens announced new air raids 9 a.m. but I was sleeping. I
stand up at 1 p.m. People empty shops. Government declares there is no oil and petrol any
more but for military needs. Schools and faculties stop working.
2 p.m. Syrens again. But people do not seem to pay
much attention. There's no panic any more. People are mainly at their homes, but one can
see groups of men and women sitting or standing here and there in the street, and talking
quietly about the last night. Children play around them.
I go to the center of the city to buy something, and
then go to my working place. And hungrily begin to surf B92, BBC and CNN sites. The news
at last! But very few, as I soon find. So I begin this war diary. New attacks are expected
this evening.
The show goes on.
FRIDAY, March 26th
I had very good and long sleep. No sirens. School is
terminated, and there is lot of boys playing soccer in the backyard. D. and A. decide to
flee, and they go to Arandjelovac by one of the rare buses which still drive out of town.
I go to my working place. Everybody talk about
bombing phases, and are full of "confident" information about what's the next
target. What's the next... it's the most frequent question.
People compare NATO and Serbian loses and damage, as
they've heard about them from "confident" sources. General impression is that
Serbian vital capacities are still untouched. Of course, there are some who deeply doubt
it.
New sirens at 4:15 p.m. But this time we experience
nothing after the sirens. Time passes, and it's boring a little. This is kind of boredom
coming out of too much expected. My friend R. takes a small joint and invites us to smoke.
A few of us take two smokes each. Short but strong. Experiencing the effects of the joint,
I take my camera and go through the town, to meet my friend M. (this one from the
beginning of this diary). I can never describe this mixture of emotions and impressions I
had then, walking stoned down the spooky town. Why all of this around me? Which is the
sense of the civilization? Who is crazy here?
Sunset is beautiful. This whole planet is beautiful,
but damn. I take shortcut to the place where I'm supposed to meet M. The shortcut leads me
across the big park in the city. Suddenly, I realize I am in the middle of the strange
military camp: the park is full of Army vehicles and vans. Soldiers stand outside of it
and smoke. Something strange happens. Full of horror, I realize it's not too good to be
caught with the camera in the middle of the military camp, so I leave the park and take
the other way. I meet M. and tell him about this camp in the park. M. tells me something
similar: he was in Batajnica this morning, to evacuate his cousins living there, because
there is military airport near Batajnica and it was heavily shot these days. And near
Batajnica M. has seen MIG aircraft parked beside the highway and civil houses.
So, this is the strategy now: to protect military
vehicles from the destruction by parking it in the civil areas.
Night falls, and M.'s friend R. asks M. to give him
a ride. I go with them, and we cruise in the car through the city that's still darkened,
although alert is just finished. M. drives R. to his home, and then we give a ride to two
women who want to reach home before the next alert.
I spend the evening at M.'s home. It is announced on
the TV that workers in the city of Kragujevac want to make the human chain around their
factories, to protect if from the air strikes.
It's half moon and the night is fine and beautiful.
M. and me decide to find some beer somewhere. We go around the block, but no shop is open.
Nowhere to buy some beer. Suddenly, a strange flash. And another one. And another, with
distant thunder. "Is this the storm coming?", "I doubt. This is no
lightning - I haven't heard about the orange lightning." And then sirens at least.
This time missiles were faster than the sirens.
A series of orange flashes everywhere around us. And
then one earthquaking and windows-trembling. The car alarms cry everywhere in the block.
And behind us - the large fire and giant orange smoke. Something serious is shot.
People run around us like crazy, looking for the
shelter, and M. asks them where we could buy some beer. Of course, nobody answers. Some
people stand in front of their buildings and guess: these must be B-2 bombers, they are
invisible for the radar, and that's why there were no sirens before the bombing. No, it's
not B-2, this must be 'tomahawk', it follows terrain configuration and flies low - says
the other neighbour.
We go to M.'s home again, and listen to the radio.
Radio and TV vocabulary is very interesting: NATO forces are called "criminals"
and "Nazis", Clinton is called "bloodsucker" and "serial
killer".
It seems that large rocket fuel depository was
directly shot. The large forest near this place burns. All the edges of Belgrade burn, but
it seems there are no dead or wounded civilians here. But it is told about many civil
victims in the other cities. And many NATO aircraft shot down. What's the truth? Who
knows...
W A R D I A R
Y - p a r t III
SATURDAY, March 27th
I wake up at M.'s home. TV broadcasts Barry
Levinson's "Wag the Dog" - very bad VHS pirate copy with shaking image.
Last night it was told to Belgrade inhabitants that
NATO has dropped some radio-locators, and if somebody found some of these, it is to be
destroyed. I see some of M.'s neighbours gathered around a "suspicious" object
in front of the building: the wooden frame, probably for transporting water boiler, and
beside it a tin box - obviously, something thrown away from somebody's cellar, but people
around it discuss whether is it one of these NATO radio-locators.
I take a bus to reach the downtown. It's a private
bus, and everybody inside comment the situation. Woman who sells the tickets complains
that she can't take the fear when working while the alert lasts.
Walking through the center of the city, I go down
the Knez Mihajlova street - the most popular city promenade. It's very sad view there:
this is the street where all foreign cultural centers (American, English, French, German)
are placed - or, WERE placed, because now all these centers are demolished, and its walls
are covered by graphitti addressed to NATO (mostly Nazi crosses and loose dicks). I hear
that McDonald's is demolished too.
I come to my working place and check out my E-mail:
I have 56 new messages since yesterday! Most of them are support from abroad, mainly from
American filmmakers. But reading it is very hard - connection is tragically slow, and it
works byte by byte.
My colleagues edit video clip for a song by a
Belgrade band. The song is called "The Day Before the End of the World", and the
clip is being made of the material shot on the first day of this war. The clip looks like
the requiem, someone says.
4:45 p.m. First we hear a blast and then the siren
announces new alert. But we don't mind. Got used to it. I invite my friends to my home.
Some kind of war party. We watch TV; tonight, the most frequent word used for NATO and
Clinton
is "insane".
Late in the evening, another friend joins us. He
looks very scared and
nervous, after long walk through the completely
darkened city, covered with unearthly silence.
SUNDAY, March 28th
2:45 a.m. The alert is finally over. It was the
longest one in Belgrade to date - and the most quiet. And actually, it is 3:45 now,
because tonight the summer time counting begins and all the clocks and watches are moved
one hour forward.
All six of us sleep at my home. A strong morning
explosion wakes us up. My friends get up and leave then, and I stay at home for a while,
and write the synopsis for the documentary film about my friend M. evacuating his family
to the village.
It's cloudy weather - not supposed to be good for
bombing, they say. I walk around the block and try to find cigarettes. And soon I realize
there are no cigarettes to buy - a sure sign that the war goes on. My lungs welcome this
situation, but my addictive mind doesn't.
At noon, the big open-air rock concert against the
bombing begins in the heart of the city.
I come to my working place. Everybody talk about
NATO F-117 plane which was shot down over Serbia yesterday, and everybody has his/her own
theory how it could happen. It seems it's gonna be the first media war that Milosevic
could win.
I spend the rest of the day in the editing room,
making that documentary, which is titled "Nikola Who Doesn't Watch the Sky". And
no damn cigarette to make me work easier.
The alert is on, but tonight the street lights are
all turned on.
W A R D I A R Y
- p a r t I V
N O J U S T I F I C A T I O N
MONDAY, March 29th
Cigaretteless, we edit documentary until 5 a.m. Then
I remain at my working place to sleep on the floor. I wake up at 10 a.m. Is it alert? Who
knows...and who cares? Many people really doesn't pay attention to it any more - me too.
But many other look like ghosts after five sleepless nights spent in the shelter.
Soon, all my colleagues are here. D., one of them,
is invited to join the Army. He says he will not hide, and he leaves us. D. goes to war.
The first one of us.
I leave my working place in the evening and take a
tram to M.'s home. Fortunately, the tram comes soon - I didn't smoke the whole cigarette I
got from a friend for waiting tram, and I put the rest of the cigarette in my pocket. It's
pity to throw it away.
M. and me watch TV. A Serbian general proudly talks
about successes against NATO. At one moment, he says ironically: "We have only 7
soldiers killed and 17 wounded, after five days of heavy bombing - and they say this NATO
is some power..." What a fool! - would he be happy if there were seven thousand? And
he doesn't realize he's just said the greatest compliment to NATO's precision and
'humanity'.
And then Serbian minister of education: "NATO
has damaged even schools - we have 200 square meters of broken window glass." Another
unconscious and unintentional compliment to NATO: so much of heavy bombing, and the only
damage minister of education can report about is 200 m2 of broken windows on all Serbian
schools...
We watch open-air concerts on the central city
square from today and yesterday: the explosion of euphoria. M. and me comment: these
people still don't know what the war really is - actually, they feel past few days as some
kind of longer weekend, some kind of interesting and not too scary adventure. And above
all, the "invincible" F-117 was shot down!
But I'm curious what will remain of this euphoria
ten days from now.
TUESDAY, March 30th
At midnight, M. finds Radio Free Europe's frequency
on his radio - with lot of
noise, but main news can be understood. Thus we learn
about recent disaster on Kosovo. It is told that Fehmi Agani, one of the moderate Albanian
leaders, is murdered, as well as some other Albanian intellectuals. And ten thousands of
civilians flee wherever they can
.
The day begins with no new siren sounds. Everybody say
it's due to Russian Prime Minister Primakov's visit to Belgrade. I go to my working place,
and pass through the center of the city. It's time for today's concert to begin there, and
people gather. Everybody buys badges "Sorry, we didn't know it was invisible"
(about F-117), and carries target marks (concentric circles). And wow! - cigarettes have
arrived. I stand in one of the long cigarette queues.
One can hardly tell these queues from the concert
audience.
After luckily making my cigarette reserves, I come
to my working place and find my friends and colleagues worried and frightened: today the
police was on Radio B92 and took the list of all employees. I check out my E-mail and find
asentence in one of the coming reactions: "People on Kosovo don't watch the skies,
but their front doors." And it seems some people in Belgrade begin to watch their
front doors too.
Sirens late in the afternoon. We make jokes that it
is announced Primakov has left. And immediately we begin to surf, looking for the news.
But it seems Primakov has no results. Actually, it wasn't likely he'd get some results.
Today, we have some bread to eat at the work. Last
two days we were eating crackers instead of bread.
In the sudden strike of inspiration, five of us
shoot a short film here at our working place. The film is inspired by "Culture",
one minute masterpiece by Ari Gold, an American filmmaker who has been sent us
"Culture" just before the war began. Together with his film, he sent his Dogma
99, some kind of parody to Lars von Trier's Dogma 95. The film we shoot follows the rules
of Dogma 99: it's one minute long, shot in one take, with no camera movements... It is
titled "No Justification", and I doubt many will understand it. I think people
will look for condemnation message in it: condemnation
of NATO or condemnation of what Serbs do on Kosovo. But it's neither - and it's both.
Simply, no justification for the whole situation.
I reply to the mails and go to my home. I have a lot
of plans what to do at home, but sleepy feeling catches me very soon. It's amazing how the
war can exhaust your emotional potentials and make you tired.
"People in Kosovo are not watching the skies
but thier front doors."
That's bloody true. I'm sorry to say this, but
you are damn right. Anyway, I write my WAR DIARY because I anticipate the same thing will
happen here in Belgrade. And it could be very soon: today the police came to Radio B92 and
took the list of all the people working there...
A.G.
W A R D I A R
Y - p a r t
V ( D E C I S I O N S )
WEDNESDAY, March 31st
I have a long sleep. I get up and go to work. We are
visited by Z. A., Serbian filmmaker living in New York, who is here now. It's very
pleasant encounter, and we spend a nice afternoon in talking, drinking beer and coffee and
watching our war production. Yesterday another war film was edited, about people hiding in
the basements.
A nice time with Zoran was interrupted by a
distressing phone message: it seems some kind of great evacuation must be done, and it is
told to all of us to be ready for something uncertain and mysterious, but very important.
Nobody knows what exactly. So I finish this diary for today.
In the afternoon, someone tells us US Embassy is
demolished, and the wave of vandalism could start to roll down the city, and
everything which has relations to the Western countries could be robbed and destroyed. And
my working place is on this list. So, what to do now? To evacuate all the equipment? Or
the most important computers only? Or nothing? The discussion begins, and soon it becomes
a long quarrel. It's obvious that nerves of all of us break down. After four hours of
quarreling, we decide to evacuate six of our ten computers tomorrow.
I go to M.'s place. He sits silently all the
evening, and tries to put the fifth wire on his guitar, which has only four wires. "I
want to compose a song which will be a hit, and thus people could remember me when a get
killed in this war", he says bitterly. But no song comes out of his guitar.
THURSDAY, April 1st
All the night TV broadcasts American movies:
"Hair", "Born on the Fourth of July", "Dances with Wolves" -
everything on bad VHS copies, some of them even with time code over the picture.
While watching TV, we listen to Radio Free Europe.
They broadcast an hour long witnessing of a Serb woman working in a humanitarian
organization, who spent last two days on Kosovo. And what she tells is horrible: Kosovo is
now not the twilight zone, but beyond the twilight zone.
There are other distressing news - among them, we
learn about Russian military ships sailing to Mediterranean Sea. Sounds like the scenario
of the Doom's Day.
And everything tonight sounds like this. I see
Kosovo and Serbia as Chernobyl nuclear reactor which has just exploded, and starts to
spread and radiate horror all over Europe.
Europe. Lars von Trier is right - Europe is in deep
crisis. The epicenter of Europe's crisis and bad consciousness is right here - so, after
Kosovo Chernobyl exploded, whole this area will be sealed with concrete sarcophagus,to be
forgotten and not to radiate evil any more.
I don't accuse anyone of you, sitting carelessly at
your comfortable home, for feeling this war as something very remote to you. This
Chernobyl IS remote, but I'm sure you'll experience its radiation very soon. The World War
I brought out Dadaism, as the reaction to its senselessness. After the concentration camps
from the World War II nothing in this civilization was the same as before. And this
current war will be such kind of civilization's turning points. The perfect way to end
millenium.
But no matter how this war will end, it will be
unimaginably hard to live in Serbia. This will be deserted and completely isolated land,
with lack of everything except bitterness of defeat.
M. and I wonder about the prospects of living under
this concrete sarcophagus. It's time for very heavy decisions: what is the smartest thing
to do today to survive, and tomorrow to live normally? So we decide to flee to the West.
But how?
There are other depressive news early in the
morning: the old bridge in the beautiful Serbian city of Novi Sad was directly hit and
completely destroyed.
The inhabitants of Novi Sad feel this loss just like
London inhabitants would feel the loss of the Tower Bridge.
In the morning, M. decides to cancel his apartment -
he doesn't want to pay precious 150$, which will be desperately needed in the days to
come.
I come to my working place and help in evacuating
the equipment. Then I send mails announcing my decision to leave Serbia. And I cry at the
computer.
All my colleagues are very sad because of
everything. They desperately drink beer and smoke joint by joint. I can't. I want my mind
to stay clear in this hours of decision.
I call D. and A. in the city of Arandjelovac, to
announce that I want to cancel apartment too. And what after? - nobody knows. I take my
geographic map and go to M. His friend R. is there, and all three of us sit around the map
and study where is the best way to leave the country. To hide in the petrol wagon going to
Romania to import some oil? To swim across Danube river? And where to go after this?
Vancouver? Toronto? New York? No, Australia is the safest if the Third World War begins -
someone tries to be funny.
And what about the families? Fortunately, my parents
live in Croatia, and I have no other family in Serbia but my aunt in Belgrade. And I'm
single. But M. has wife and little son, evacuated to the village now.
TV broadcasts "Blue Soldier". It seems
Serbs now feel themselves as Indians.
FRIDAY, April 2nd
Morning faces us with the same dilemmas. Maybe it's
not the best idea to leave Serbia now? Maybe it's too uncertain and dangerous? Perhaps we
should rent apartment somewhere in Belgrade, and hide there for, say, a month? Withn this
time, the situation will maybe become clearer. Today, everything is completely
unpredictable.
When this war has begun, the greatest psychological
problem to me and all of us was the lack of information. Now, it is the lack of stable
elements to base any decision on. You can't imagine how great problem this can be. It can
really drive you crazy.
M. sits at the phone and tries to find some van
owner to move out M.'s
furniture to the village, out of Belgrade. But no van
owner is willing to do this now, because it means the risk of confiscation of his vehicle
by the Army, somewhere on the road.
Finally, M. changes his decision about cancelling
this apartment. But
immediately after he has announced this decision
yesterday, a guy appeared who wants to move in. He is cousin of a M.'s neighbour, and he
comes this morning to see the apartment. M. asks him how urgent to him is to move in.
Then, M. and this guy go to M.'s neighbour. "I'll be back in two minutes", M.
says.
He is back after almost two hours. Slightly drunk.
"The guy is completely OK. And he has splendid home-made brandy...", he says.
The guy is not in hurry, because he has the same problem as M.: he can't find a
transporter to carry his furniture. So, that's the decision: M. remains here for the next
month.
And then... who knows?
A buddy from my working place calls me to tell me
that the police has definitely closed Radio B92 and its server, so we can't use Internet
from the working place any more. And it seems our working place could be closed on Monday.
I go to my home. D. and A. are there, they arrived
from Arandjelovac. They don't know what to do either - the same problem of lacking
elements for the decision. So we sit, drink coffee and stare nowhere. Freeze-frame. No
proper decisions.
In the evening, I go to one of my colleagues. Me and
my low-fi buddy use this
colleague's computer to send mails about the current
situation. The tapes with the short films we were collecting from young Serbian authors in
the last two years are evacuated here. All our work in two plastic bags.
There's one bright point in this evening: TV
broadcasts the whole "Star Wars" trilogy. Who knows why? - maybe because of the
battle between David and Goliath.
Suddenly, "Empire Strikes Back" is
terminated because of the latest news: NATO hit the building of Serbian Ministry of
Police, in the very center of the city. Picture is horrifying: the big building all in
flames up to the sky, and the nearby park all burnt down. This is the first time NATO was
striking downtown, and it begins to frighten. But none of us feels sorry because the
police is shot.
W A R D I A R
Y - p a r t V I ( R E S E T )
Sorry for it took me so long to send this, but I
live some kind of illegal life now, and have not much opportunity to send mails. So, here
is this, until the part VII comes.
SATURDAY, April 3rd
Early in the afternoon, we have meeting at my, now
former, working place. Very quiet and short meeting. This place, as well as its venue
where we were holding all our screenings, will not work any more. Thus, the birthplace of
LOW-FI VIDEO ends its existence.
We go to a nearby cheap café, and drown ourselves
in gallons of beer. Which times are coming for all of us? What's gonna be with our beloved
city of Belgrade? All seems so absurd that someone says that if NATO enters Belgrade, we
should ask John Cleese to be Mayor.
I come home drunk and immediately fall asleep. I
wake up in the evening and then talk to my female friend A. I tell her that I want to
leave the country, and we should say goodbye. This desperate saying goodbye turns into
several hours of apocalyptic sex, full of blues and sorrow. We are ceased by M.'s phone
call: he wonders where am I, because he was expecting me for this couple of hours. I know
he needs me, so I have to leave A., although it's midnight.
SUNDAY, April 4th
I take midnight bus to M.'s place. The bus goes
unusual way - obviously avoiding dangerous parts of the town, where expected NATO targets
are placed.
After long hesitating, M. has made his final
decision: he leaves this apartment, and so he has to empty it within the next 3-4 days.
All night we plan this complicated operation.
Strangely quiet night. No air strikes. "It's
Easter and they won't attack today", guesses M. At this very moment, a strong blast
shakes the windows. We rush to the windows and see the whole block of buildings reflecting
giant flame from somewhere. And then we see a new great orange flash. I count six seconds
before the thunder - which means the explosion was two kilometers from here.
We listen to the news: tonight, NATO was
concentrated to large oil reservoirs and depots all around Serbia, as well as important
bridges. The first explosion we heard came from the Belgrade's largest heating plant. It
burns all night and part of the day.
Everything hit tonight was hit with perverted
precision. Only reservoir was hit in that heating plant, and no machines around it. In the
city of Pancevo, giant oil and chemical industry complex was hit, but no parts of it which
could cause ecological disaster - only a pump, destruction of which stops working of the
whole complex.
M. and me wake up at noon and start to pack his
things. Then we fill his car with incredible amount of boxes and bags. It's a beautiful
springtime day outside. If the times were different, I'd enjoy this day. Although, I
admire it as much as I can - until a bee bites my finger. What an irony - neither bee
allows me to love this springtime.
I go with M. to help him. He drives the things to a
friend's empty house in the Belgrade's suburb. This house on the hill is placed near a
small forest full of soldiers, sitting and walking aimlessly around their tents set under
the trees. We drive through their camp and reach the house. Two nice teenage girls play
basketball there, and young soldiers watch them.
We carry the things out of M.'s car, and then carry
it in the house: books, clothes, toys. full car of it. Removal is very bothering job.
Especially carrying the books.
Then we drive back to M.'s place. We have supper, and
immediately after it early sleep catches us unready. We are exhausted and knocked down.
MONDAY, April 5th
M. and me wake up at midnight. Again we sit around
the map of the world and dream. Now we study climate and choose the city with the most
pleasant climate. Vancouver is better than Toronto, M. finds out. OK, but how to leave the
country when no male is allowed by authorities to do it?
Then we start to work, packing more things, and
decomposing cupboards and beds for easier transport by car. When decomposing children's
bed, M. finds a piece of wood. He smiles: this is the piece of wood that his grandmother
used to put under his pillow against demons and evil spirits. When he was little boy and
felt fear of darkness, he used to clutch at this wood and then feel safe. And now the same
wood put under his son's pillow. Will it keep evil forces away from his son in the times
to come?
I regret I have no camera with me now. A nice
documentary could come out of this wood's story.
Dawn approaches. It seems NATO has changed its
working time. In the beginning, it was attacking earlier in the night, or even in the
daytime. Then it moved its operations after midnight, when there are no people and cars in
the street. And now, it begins to strike Belgrade at dawn.
Really, the first pale eastern light brings two
sharp hissing sounds - it's low flying missiles somewhere nearby. We run out to see some
firework on the horizon, but nothing happens - who knows where these missiles were aimed
to? But we hear shooting of air-defense guns. And then nothing. What a boring night in
Belgrade. But other Serbian towns have more excitement: again depots, bridges, military
barracks, radar stations. Sun jumps up above the horizon, and another beautiful day
begins. We go to sleep.
We get up at 2 p.m. and drink coffee. The concert is
again on TV: day after day, young people gather on the main Belgrade's square and sing.
But as I predicted a week ago, one can notice that euphoria blows out: the audience is
pretty diminished, and there is no more convinced enthusiasm in the speeches. Only
disgusting messages and curses are still the same, mainly dealing with Bill Clinton's
blowjob scandal. But I see something new: picture of Stalin, and text on it "He
defeated Hitler, we'll defeat Clinton". That's another proof to me that extreme
communist party ruled by Milosevic's wife organizes these concerts.
M. and me put more things into his car and evacuate
it to that house on the hill. But what after evacuating all his things? Where will he live
until the end of the war? In that house on the hill? Or with his wife and son, earlier
evacuated to the village? And what will he do? Hide from mobilization? Or join the Army?
Or go to the village to seed vegetables and raise cows and pigs? - he, a computer expert
which had to close his company because this war stopped all commercial activities in
Belgrade.
Too much questions.
With the come of the evening with expected air raid
alert, we stop M.'s removal for today. And besides, he is out of fuel. I go to meet my
low-fi friends, who also share these dilemmas about the future. We spend hours analyzing
the situation.
TUESDAY, April 6th
Some gifted young filmmakers and musicians are
gathered tonight. Some want to stay here and act like some kind of artistic resistance
movement. Others think it's senseless and sentenced to failure. At the end of this long
night talk, we all agree the things have changed: no matter how this war will end, this
town and this country will never be the same as before. The fatal damage is already done,
and definitely there is no life for the people like us in Belgrade any more. Dark visions
flood all of us. Thinking people in this country are very successfully shut down and wiped
out, by the first 'tomahawk' that hit Serbia.
And again the same vital questions like with M.:
where to go, and how? Two short, but unsolvable screaming questions of one whole
generation. The Reset Generation: if we manage to leave the country, we'll have to forget
all our past - who we were, where we lived, what we were doing there. Everything must
start from the very beginning. Someone has harshly reset our lives. It takes strength to
face it.
After coming back to my apartment, I begin to plan
how to leave the country. Of course, at dawn I hear planes, and soon after sounds like
distant heavy hammers beating the horizon.
I begin to pack the things for my removal, and for
my reset. The first step is to leave this apartment, carrying out the most important
things only. No remorse when packing: I'll take only what will be really necessary to me
for this expected new beginning.
peace and video
may the Force be with you
A.G., Belgrade
W A R D I A R Y - p a r
t V I I
( B M B A )
TUESDAY, April 6th
I pack my things all night, and don't even come
close to the end of this job.
It's not easy to select the most important things
from your whole life to carry with you. What to choose, what to leave, what to throw away?
It's a nice morning and A. invites me for a walk to Danube river. We sit by the mighty
river: it's so green, wide, peaceful and full of life that nobody would tell it witnesses
the horrible fall of a nation and death of common sense. A. will leave Belgrade within two
or three days, and she wants to spend this time with me.
After morning with A., I meet my low-fi friends at
our favourite cafe. Most of the time I talk to V., a musician, brilliant man and great
friend, who lives in the house right across the Army barracks hit a night ago, and this
was new and very loud experience to him. Then we analyse different types of explosions and
following sounds: some explosions are short, some are long lasting. Some sound like
rolling thunder, some just like loud crack with no basses, like large tree falling down.
Some hit buildings look like Godzilla stepped on it, and some look like empty cube, like
rotten tooth - only facade remained, only empty shell with nothing inside.
V. and me talk about the sense of life here now. We
agree this war is great shock to many urban people, especially alternative artists,
independent journalists, members of various non-government organizations, and other people
used to deal with jobs non-commercial by definition. They can't work something else, and
now nobody needs them. What is their future? V., former guitar player in one of the most
popular Yugoslav rock bands, tells he could now find sense even in living in a cabin by
the river and fishing. But very few of people like us could do the same.
While we talk, people pass us by - full street of
people. Never was so much people walking, so much abandoned dogs and cats lying in the
street, so much drunk young people sitting in the parks... There is life only in the
daytime; night comes with its sirens, and then there's no life in the streets.
Owner of the cafe where we sit takes red paper, and
everywhere in his cafe he covers Coca Cola emblems with it. Wow- how totalitarian!!! There
was no official order to do this - the man simply does what he thinks that's proper now.
Maybe he really agrees with this act, and maybe he is driven to do it by fear of being
different - no matter what's the reason, one can see that lobotomy is successfully done.
That's Serbia now. That's the most evident result of the bombing to date.
Sick of this, I come home and take some of my things
- camera, TV monitor and bag full of cassettes - and carry it to a friend's home. These
are the things I don't want to take with me when I leave, and these things can be useful
to the guys who stay here and want to make films.
Then, I spend evening (and night) with A. Don't want
to talk about details.
WEDNESDAY, April 7th
Early in the morning, I go to The Place, where I
expect to get necessary papers for leaving. But it's closed. Then I go to M., to help him
pack his things. He wastes a great part of the day in looking for some petrol to drive
these things, and finally he succeeds somehow. But night arrives and we give up from
driving.
We low-fi people, together with some comics authors
and computer wizards, have the meeting with K., the former chief of our former venue. The
idea is to continue activity by making specialized Web site - a virtual place to gather,
instead of the real one which we have lost. The idea basically sounds good, but there are
some important dilemmas and doubts about it.
Then we move video archives from K. to the home of
one of us. Midnight approaches, and when walking down the empty street, we hear aircraft,
and then one of these cracking sounds without basses. It's something very downtown.
It's very pleasant and warm evening, and groups of
people sit or stand in front of the buildings we pass by. They cackle, drink coffee or
wine, and try to guess what was hit, and was it by the bomb or by the missile. There is
not much excitement in this any more - it has become their everyday life.
THURSDAY, April 8th
I spend another passionate night with A.
In the morning, I go to The Place again, but again I
don't do anything, because I come too late and long queue is already formed. And then M.
again. He has to finish his removal today, and another friend comes with his car, and
somehow we manage to fill these two small cars with: refrigerator, washing machine, table,
four chairs, two coaches, two cupboards, and unnumbered bags and boxes full of everything.
I take my last look to M.'s apartment: I loved this place too, and share M.'s sorrow.
There's some kind of party at R., one of my
colleagues. I come at 9 p.m., and find everybody in the strange state of mind - you know
what I mean. This is how the young people's life looks like during wartime: waking up at 2
p.m., and then parties begin, and at 8 p.m. everybody is drunk or stoned, to be asleep at
10. So soon I remain the only one not sleeping. And R.'s computer is free...
FRIDAY, April 9th
I sit and write at R.'s computer all night long.
With the approach of morning, some of the guys wake up, but then I fall asleep.
I didn't plan to sleep so long - again I'm late for
The Place. So I continue to sleep until the early afternoon, and then go to say goodbye to
A. But this time it is really goodbye - a relationship that just began, and already have
to be ceased by the war.
I go to V.'s home. It's likely to be our last
evening together in this part of our lives, and both of us are sad. So, what else? - V.
makes a joint. And soon we laugh like crazy when watching TV. I can't describe how funny
are the news tonight: full of phrases like "insane bombs", "fascistic
dinosaurs", "satanic NATO strategy", "so-called Secretary General of
the so-called UN", and full of epic 'poetry' ("they attacked my black roof with
white birds making nest on it, with curly grass growing on it") and philosophical
thoughts like "I am guilty because I am when I am not supposed to be" etc. We
write down all these 'pearls'.
Exhausted of laughter, we go to sleep.
SATURDAY, April 10th
I send a few mails from V.'s computer after waking
up, and then V.'s wife drives me part of my way. I go to that house on the hill where M.
has evacuated his things. There I meet M. and his wife B.
M. has to finish some jobs in the city, and he
leaves B. and me to prepare those things which are supposed to be moved to the village,
because that's why she came today from the village, leaving their son with his grandmother
and grandfather. But B. has no strength to do it - it's too painful to her.
Instead, we sit in front of the house and talk about
everything what has happened and changed in our lives in the last 18 days since we last
met, and since the war began. It's another deeply sad conversation - but this one is
especially sad, because in the last 11 years B. and me are the best friends, sharing
everything: secrets, fears, joy and sorrow, studying psychology together, working
together, and sooo much more.
M. finds us unready to go to the village, and the
plan is changed: all three of us go to one of our common friends, and after that M. and B.
will sleep at my apartment.
After arrived at my place, B. takes a look at my
books and other things I don't want or I can't take with me. She can feel the pain I had
when deciding to leave these things, and she is sorry. So she decides to take some of
these things and keep it for me - maybe some day I'll come back and need these things, and
if not, she'll keep it as the memory.
We spend time talking about war and future. B.
thinks she and their son will be safe in the village until the end of the war, and M.
agrees. B. plans to dig the garden there and raise hens, but M. wants to stay in Belgrade,
to see how the things will go on, and then: a) find the way to leave the country with the
family, b) join the family in the village, c) try to start again something in Belgrade,
and then bring back the family to him. But this way or another, M. and B. must be
separated for a while.
And it's not easy at all, with three years old son,
and maybe with new child to be born - B. announces that her period is unusually late. This
announcement would be the reason for happiness in some other times, but now it's just
another reason to be worried.
SUNDAY, April 11th
This night is too short for everything we have to
say to each other. At 6 a.m. we have a coffee and - oh, Jesus! - say goodbye. Even now,
writing this, I feel like crying.
Among the other things I'll leave in Belgrade, B.
finds "The Little Prince" by Antoine de Saint Exupery. A book that, I must
admit, I never loved too much - at any rate, it's not "The Lord of the Rings",
the only fiction literature I would take with me anywhere. B. knows this, but "Little
Prince" has nice drawings and her son would like it. So she asks me to give this book
as the present to her son. I say OK. And she asks me to write dedication on it.
I can't remember the thing that was heavier to me.
This is the child I was listening to even before he was born. This is the child I was
keeping and playing with so many times. He was my greatest joy and the brightest point in
my life in the last three years. He has even invented completely new word for my function
in his life - I'm not his father, I'm not his uncle, I'm not some Mister, in his own
language he calls me simply 'bmba'. And his beloved bmba has to leave him and betray him
now.
How fuckin' unfair of life!!!And B. and me cry
together, and coffee was never so bitter to me. M. wakes up, and he and B. go to the house
on the hill to pick up the things for the village. Maybe I'll see M. before I leave, but
God knows when
I'll seeB. and their son again, and will he remember me
then...
And I go to sleep.
And I sleep.
And I sleep. All day long, to drown my sorrow in
sleeping.
In the evening, I go to a friend of mine, to write this
diary on his computer.
The War Diaries can also be found at: http://www.eGroups.com/list/wardiary
Document compiled by Dr S D Stein