The Achill Island Essays 2
Srebrenica
No one told me it would lead to this. No one said there would be secrets I would not want to know.
David Whyte
Every evening throughout July 1995 I watched the nightly news, though at the time, I was more concerned about my house renovations than what was happening in the world. During those warm summer evenings I followed, with passing interest, the fall of Srebrenica, one of the "safe havens" established by the United Nations in Bosnia. I found it annoying that those nasty Serbs had overrun the safe haven, taken thousands of men and boys away, and set as many women and children on the road as homeless, husbandless and fatherless refugees.
The commentators openly speculated that this would be another case of "ethnic cleansing". I was annoyed that our Governments had let Srebrenica fall. After all, we had promised to make it a safe haven. Yet the Serbs paraded the men of Srebrenica past a couple of hundred poorly armed Dutch UN troops to their certain deaths. I was annoyed, but each night I switched off the television after the news, totally unmotivated to do anything more about it.
Switch to February 1996. Following the deployment of NATO troops after the Dayton Accord, human rights observers were "discovering" the killing fields in and around Srebrenica. They were gathering evidence for a War Crimes Tribunal so that the western world could enjoy the cathartic release of bringing the perpetrators to justice.
I hope that the Tribunal doesn't find out about me. I knew full well what was going on in Srebrenica. In my complacency, I ignored the holocaust that was happening. I didn't phone my member of parliament. I didn't fax the Prime Minister. I didn't organize my friends, neighbours and relatives to protest the atrocities or our Government's lack of response. I didn't support policies that would increase my country's commitment and ability to respond.
No, in my silence I have the blood of thousands of Bosnian Muslims on my hands. Like Lady MacBeth, my soul walks the halls at night hoping that the War Crimes Tribunal can cleanse those damn spots.
I grew up in the aftershock of the Nazi Holocaust. My catholic upbringing told me that such a horror should never be repeated. I wonder had I lived 55 years ago, would I have been mildly annoyed about the rumours of Nazi atrocities? Would I have ignored the cries of the Jews on their way to the gas chambers?
I like to think that I would have been one of those brave people who would have hidden a Jewish family in my attic, risking my own life and the lives of my wife and children. But as I sat, unmoved through the fall of Srebrenica, I wonder if I wouldn't have turned that desperate family away, all the while doing all I could to muster a sense of righteous annoyance at those nasty Nazis.
50 years from now some future Steven Speilberg may make a movie about the horrors of Srebrenica. But he may not find any lists or heroes to feature. Or maybe, a few months from now some multi-national TV corporation will produce a made-for-TV movie, to be played on pay-per-view, to capitalize on the publicity surrounding the War Crimes Tribunal. Maybe I'll watch the program and feel passionate disgust as actors are led away to their pretend executions. Maybe the fiction will inspire me to action in a way that the reality never did. Perhaps, like all good consumers of propaganda, I will be caught up in the cathartic release of the War Crimes Tribunal, like a spectator at a public hanging.
Unlike the circumstances of 55 years ago, when word of Nazi atrocities were only rumours confused by propaganda, and where the true horror was only discovered following the liberation of the death camps, I was fully aware of what was happening in Srebrenica throughout July 1995. Each night I switched off the television, mildly annoyed at those nasty Serbs and our political leaders who did nothing about it.
I can only pray that the war crimes investigators don't find out about my complicity with the perpetrators.
February 1996
Postscript - May 2002
Six years after writing this piece I feel a little badly for generalizing about the Serbian people by making such remarks as "those nasty Serbs". It is clear that the majority of the Serbian people are good people who just want to get along with everyone else. However, there were those among them who committed unspeakable atrocities; people who have since been turfed from power, some of whom are now on trial at the war crimes tribunal. I had no intention of insulting the Serbian people or anyone else. It was I who was convicted in the court of my own mind for not speaking up during the summer of 1995.
About the Photograph: Taken in Marseille, France.