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November 18, 1991 November 18, 2011: TWENTY YEARS AFTER THE FALL OF VUKOVAR

Tuesday, 25 October 2011 18:59 Written by Mishka Gora

The war may be over, and Vukovar may have started to rebuild, but the battle for the truth about what really happened in Croatia during the war is only just beginning.

Twenty years ago, in the middle of Europe, a beautiful cosmopolitan city was pounded into rubble, men were herded into concentration camps, and hospital patients were taken to a cattle farm where they were slaughtered. 

Whatever lessons we had learnt from the Nazi Holocaust, we forgot them as we watched Vukovar’s destruction on our television screens and did nothing.  Instead of sending soldiers to protect defenceless civilians against the world’s fifth largest army, we sent Red Cross officials to streamline the ethnic cleansing.  Vukovar was martyred in front of our eyes, and the best we could do was to belatedly send in ‘the smurfs’ – blue-bereted peacekeeping troops with a mandate so spineless that they might as well have painted targets on the side of their armoured vehicles instead of the black letters ‘UN’.  In the 1930s, ‘premature anti-fascists’ walked over the Pyrenées into Spain and joined the International Brigades to fight the good fight; in the 1990s, war had become ambiguous and ignoble.  Most of us didn’t know the difference between a Serb, a Croat, and a Muslim - most of us still don’t – and it seemed the only country that really meant it when they said ‘never again’ was Germany.  So, instead of taking sides, instead of risking ‘another Vietnam’, we launched a humanitarian relief effort… and that’s how I ended up in Vukovar.

I first set foot in Vukovar in August of 1993 as the acting manager of a German NGO, part of a small delegation of aid workers considering expanding operations into the Serb-occupied north-eastern area of Croatia called (in military parlance) UNPA East, a UN ‘Protected Area’ similar to the ‘Safe Areas’ like Srebrenica in Bosnia, except that there was a ceasefire in place.  Gluttons for punishment, we weren’t satisfied with helping the half a million or so refugees who had made it to the relative safety of Croatia’s Adriatic coast; the savage fighting in Bosnia-Hercegovina had made it inaccessible for aid workers, and we wanted to do more.  A month or so later, at the end of a UNHCR special assignment as a Protection Officer, leaving Vukovar was like going into exile.  The thought of returning to UCLA to finish my bachelor degree seemed obscenely banal, and the insularity of my home in Australia had become nauseating.  Vukovar, and the struggle for freedom it represented, had burrowed itself under my skin.  My world would never be the same.

Any expectations I had that the presence of UNPROFOR (the United Nations Protection Force) might have significantly altered the situation in UNPA East proved quite without foundation.  I was somewhat relieved, because I wanted to see the war with my own eyes, but I also felt guilty because I fervently believed that the welfare of the people left in the area was more important than my eyewitness experience.  The sense of opprobrium was heightened when a Croatian friend cut me off for what she considered assisting the enemy.  Ironically, she wasn’t from Vukovar, and those who were exhorted me to go regardless of the cost.  They remembered the friends and family left behind, thousands of non-Serbs struggling to survive under Serb occupation, and they took the attitude that even if some of the aid went astray it would be warranted, if only to set eyes upon the home they’d lost: Vukovar.  They uttered the name with reverence, and I felt like I was going a medieval pilgrimage to assuage my sins.

The process of getting to Vukovar only increased my sense of a penitential journey.  As we waited for our UN flight to Zagreb in the brasserie of the airport in Split – the supermarket shelves were always bereft of food, but we never had any trouble finding alcohol – we observed two young blond Norwegian pilots make a bee-line for the bar and grimly skull some vodka shots, as if to calm their nerves.  Someone commented that they had probably just flown in from Sarajevo, and I felt a surge of compassion for the two men who had braved Serb anti-aircraft guns to deliver food and medicine to the people of the beleaguered Bosnian capital.  Soon afterwards, we crossed the tarmac to the UNHCR Beechcraft, weaving in between the files of teenage French soldiers headed for Sarajevo on a neighbouring aeroplane, and stowed our own baggage before finding a seat in the ten-seater aircraft.  We didn’t have to wait long before the two Norwegian pilots joined us, clambered into the cockpit, and started rifling through what appeared to be a thick instruction manual before flicking various switches overhead and mercifully closing the curtain.

Despite this unpromising start, we arrived at the UNPROFOR base in Zagreb safely and were collected by a UNHCR vehicle for the three-hour trip into Eastern Slavonia along the now-deserted Highway of Brotherhood and Unity.  Approximately halfway, we had to traverse UNPA West, where the Serbs had re-militarised a substantial part of the theoretically demilitarised protected area, which entailed crossing the confrontation line twice, each time through a series of three checkpoints, the Croatian and Serb ones separated by the UNPROFOR one in the middle.  In UNPAs North and South, the Serb military aggression had gone beyond even the borders of the UNPAs, creating so-called ‘pink zones’ from which they continued to wage war against Croatia despite the presence of UN troops, albeit at a slightly reduced intensity.  UNPA East, on the other hand, was the only UNPA where the self-declared ‘Serb Republic of the Krajina’ and the UNPA were identical.  The Croatian field worker who had so far acted as our guide couldn’t accompany us into the sector (even though the UN presence should have ensured his safety), and the black-shirted paramilitary group Arkan’s Tigers (headed by the notorious war criminal Zeljko ‘Arkan’ Ražnatovic) roamed about terrorising the local population when they were back at their headquarters while on leave from dubious operations in Bosnia.

We spent our first night within sight of UNPA East on the Croatian side of the front line in the pockmarked Hotel Osijek overlooking the River Drava.  The other side of the river, once a zoo, was now no man’s land, and the proximity of the war was emphasised when John, the UNHCR Head of Office, bade us goodnight and left for his house in Serbia proper where (he so kindly reminded us) he wouldn’t get shelled.  Looking out my seventh floor hotel room window across to a shell-scarred wall – some of the lower floors were still being renovated after the entire hotel had been reduced to a burnt-out skeleton - and remembering that no night ever passed without a ceasefire violation, I went downstairs to fortify myself with a couple more vermouths before retiring to my bed.

Our first foray across the confrontation line at Nemetin wasn’t the ordeal for which our sardonic liaison officer in Split had prepared me.  An ICRC prisoner exchange and an aid convoy proved far more interesting than a tiny delegation of aid workers, so we flashed our UN blue cards and passed through with very little hassle in record time.  I hadn’t even had to resort to the most basic currency of bribery and pull out my pack of Marlboro cigarettes (which I carried everywhere even though I didn’t smoke).  On the Croatian side, the gaunt jaded soldiers with their short-cropped hair were creating obligatory delays for the Norwegian convoy.  On the Serb side, the unkempt long-haired soldiers with Chetnik caps looked like they’d stepped out of the Middle Ages.  In the middle of no man’s land, staring down the barrels of three Serb T-34 tanks, the UN peacekeepers supervised the prisoner exchange uneasily and waved us through with barely a glance at our blue cards.

Nothing could have prepared us for Vukovar itself.  Sandy and Teresa had just spent a year in Somalia where they’d stepped over scores of dead bodies just to get to work each day.  We’d all seen the footage of the civilian exodus from the city in November of 1991 and were well-versed in the relevant facts.  Our guide, a UNHCR interpreter, had been there every day for the previous year.  Nevertheless, we all fell into a stunned silence as we entered the city.  After endless fields of ripe corn and bright sunflowers, it was a brutal change in landscape, and we felt as though we’d been thrust through a time warp into World War II.  We’d all seen the ravages of shelling, but never had we seen an entire European city pounded to rubble, let alone one so achingly beautiful.  The elegant Baroque façades teetered as though frozen in the act of crumbling into ruin, and the sheer emptiness made the occasional scattered personal effects of past occupants all the more poignant.

As our Nissan Patrol edged through the ghostly streets, our guide assured us that very little had changed.  The only things different were that the rubble now lined the sides of the roads instead of blocking the middle of them, there were no longer six-foot-high piles of dead bodies, and the area was now patrolled by Serb police in blue tanks rather than being pulverised by Serb soldiers in green army ones.  There were approximately fifteen thousand non-Serbs left behind, people too infirm to join the exodus or who simply thought that a Serb Republic would be little worse than life in the old Yugoslavia, all trying to eke out their existence under a volatile occupation force.  As in Croatia, inflation was rife, but whereas the restaurants in Croatia adjusted their prices daily and pencilled in the new figures on their menus each morning, the Krajina Serb restaurants changed their prices by the hour and didn’t bother writing them down.  I exchanged one Deutschmark for four fifty-million-dinar notes, and we made sure we paid for lunch in advance in case the price went up by the time we’d eaten it.

It didn’t take much to convince us that the area was in dire need of aid.  The head of the Red Cross needed a warehouse facility but didn’t even have a car, and patients at the hospital were required to provide their own anaesthesia and gauze.  There were two thousand or so diabetics who had had their insulin supplies thrown into bonfires by invading Serb troops and who were now on a starvation diet so as to keep their blood sugar levels down.  Locals couldn’t even telephone their relatives a few miles away in Croatia to tell them they were still alive, let alone how they were faring, as telephone lines were cut between Croatia and Serbia.  Even the UNHCR had to rely on radios and the highly restricted use of a satellite code-a-‘phone that scrambled whatever was said from prying ears.  When I telephoned a friend at the Ministry for Foreign Affairs in Zagreb and said I was calling from the UNCHR’s Erdut Field Office, the receptionist all but dropped the ‘phone in shock – I might as well have been calling from Mars.

It was clear to me that Vukovar’s war story was still unfolding.  The cessation of hostilities couldn’t be considered much more than a hiatus when one-third of Croatia was under occupation and had to be regained if only to secure a regular supply of electricity.  The fighting had largely subsided, but it was still a war zone, and the UN’s pitiful mandate meant that it was a fairly dangerous place even for neutral foreigners.  I had just packed my bags to return there on special assignment when the UNHCR announced it was closing down its operations in central Bosnia after a series of attacks on internationals.  My new boss informed me that things were worsening in UNPA East too, that the UN was getting ready to evacuate to Hungary, troops and all.  It wasn’t too late to change my mind.

However, I had the arrogant sense of immortality that is common to twenty year olds and I was fairly impervious to danger after living the sleep-deprived adrenaline-fuelled life of an aid worker.  In the course of my first month of aid work, I had transformed myself from a naïve university student doing a spot of volunteering into the acting manager of an international NGO, so successfully that I’d given up trying to convince others that I wasn’t the much older crisis control expert that so many assumed me to be.  As impressed as my new boss must have been to take me on, John was a canny Scotsman with more than two decades of experience in the British Army, and he greeted me on my first morning with a brutally-barked expletive-filled order to take off my seatbelt.  It was a harsh but necessary reminder that the business of helping people and saving lives could be a deadly one, and after I recovered from my initial civilian shock I calmly took off my seatbelt.  John meanwhile explained apologetically that if I were shot I wouldn’t be able to escape subsequent bullets, whereas without the seatbelt there was the chance that the first shot wouldn’t kill me, I’d be able to duck the remainder, and the local BritMedBat (British Medical Battalion) team would be able to patch me up.  It wasn’t exactly a comforting thought, but I recognised that John was exactly the sort of man I’d want by my side if we got into a pickle.

The gravity of the situation was underlined when John informed me that overnight we had gone from green to an orange alert after the stabbing of a Russian peacekeeper.  Along with the not-so-spontaneous combustion of an unattended UN vehicle – probably a twelve-year-old Arkan Tiger Cub playing with an RPG (rocket-propelled grenade) – and the usual threats at gunpoint, life for internationals in UNPA East was becoming sufficiently uncomfortable for the UN to be considering a vacation in Hungary en masse, via the use of a red alert.  There was already heavy fighting in UNPAs North and South, so I was told to keep my bags packed.  I was handed a radio, given the call sign one-zero (10), and informed that leaving my radio (even to go to the toilet or have a shower) or allowing the fuel in the car to go below three-quarters of a tank would incur instant dismissal.  Every male in the Krajina had been mobilised – while there were few in uniform, everyone was visibly armed – and my first protection case was Serge, a persecuted Macedonian UNHCR field worker for whom the call-up was the last straw.  It was one thing to have one’s bedroom window shattered by automatic gunfire in the middle of the night, but it was quite another to be forced to shoot and kill old friends.  Instead of wishing I’d gone to Italy for some R&R as I’d originally planned, I was just glad to be finishing my summer vacation in the thick of the action.

The heightened state of alert meant our local staff had to stay at home in the safety of Serbia proper, so we had no drivers and no interpreters for a day that required the crossing of four frontlines plus two international borders, all relying on the slightly improper use of a blue UN identity card as I didn’t have a Serbian visa.  We stopped briefly at our field office in UNPA East, where John left me with a stern order to stay in the car until he gave me the all-clear in case of an IED (improvised explosive device).  I sat clutching my radio, rather glad that (as a temporary member of staff) I wouldn’t have to take my turn at opening up, and huddled in my seat as Arkan’s Tigers did an intimidating speed-march past the gate, as they did every morning at seven-thirty on the dot.

UNPA East was cut in half thanks to the destruction of all the bridges over the Drava.  So, in order to visit the northern sub-sector, called the Baranja, we had to go via either Serbia or Croatia.  Normally, Serbia was the preferred route, even though the direct route ran through Osijek, a small pocket of Croatian territory jutting into the sector.   It was safer to be behind the lines of the aggressor, and we could take one of our own interpreters instead of begging one from the Osijek office.  However, the retaliatory Croatian offensive in other parts of the Krajina (Operation Medak Pocket) suggested that, for once, the route via Croatia might be safer.  Once we’d crossed the front lines into Baranja, John relaxed and put on the cassette-player, and I found myself in the rather queer situation of speeding dangerously down a road bordered by land mines and ruined buildings, without a seatbelt, to the background music of a Highland pipe band.  If it hadn’t been for my own Scottish blood and unerring sense of reality, I might have fancied myself kidnapped by a madman.

At the Belgian UNPROFOR base, where I was besieged by young officers offering to show me the inside of their tanks, we headed to the hospital to visit a patient who had recently recovered consciousness, an old woman whom John had rescued from the civilian medical facility at Beli Manastir.  The victim of a land mine, she had lost the lower half of one of her legs, and the local Serb doctors had decided that, being a non-Serb, she didn’t need the fresh bandages, antibiotics, and morphine that the UNHCR had given them for her treatment.  So John had found her barely alive, delirious with fever, her amputated limb festering in urine- and faeces-soaked bandages.  In disgust, he’d plucked the frail woman from her bed and driven her to the Belgians, who had mastered the art of officially adhering to the letter of the law (as prescribed by the UNPROFOR mandate) but cleverly violating it in order to fulfil the humane spirit of international intervention.

In the hospital, which was theoretically populated by up to ten accident-prone Belgian soldiers at any one time, we found a profusely grateful old woman who seemed to take inordinate pleasure in merely holding our hands.  Through a series of charades, we eventually established that she was a semi-literate Hungarian peasant born in 1896.  We were all somewhat awed to be in the presence of someone who’d lived the first twenty-two years of her life under the Hapsburgs and survived two world wars, but she seemed quite oblivious to the rich history she had experienced.  As for her injuries, she just shrugged her shoulders in a remarkable display of stoicism, and we wondered whether she even knew who was fighting whom. It wasn’t the first time the Baranja had been declared a breakaway republic, but we doubted she remembered the six days in 1921 when it had been its own state and not divided between Hungary and what came to be known as Yugoslavia.

Next door, the Belgian major in charge of the hospital proudly showed us his ‘pharmacy’, a large store room filled to the brim with expired medicine that pharmacies in Belgium couldn’t legally sell and had donated to his cause.  Outside, the gallant Flemish colonel who commanded the battalion politely excused himself with an explanation that he needed to “look the other way”, and literally turned his back on an ambulance filled with thousands of eggs that was on its way to conduct a “training exercise” – in actual fact, a training exercise in preventative medicine by way of keeping the local population from starving.  The major later explained that the colonel was unofficially aware of his soldiers’ activities and proudly defended their bizarre record of accidental injuries, inexplicable ailments, and gluttony.

The remainder of the day was fairly typical.  We usually worked at least fourteen hours without a proper break, often without eating, and most of the day would be taken up by exasperating meetings in the hope of achieving one small victory for human decency.  On this day, we were focussed on a thirty-eight year old doctor who had had a brain haemorrhage and needed to be evacuated to Ljubljana.  In any other circumstances, we might have thrown up our hands in despair, but there was always someone who needed our help and even the most vexing situations could be borne as long as we didn’t lose sight of the good we were doing.  We all had our moments, of course.  Even John, who had seen the killing fields of Cambodia firsthand and fought his way through five different conflicts, said that ‘Bosnia’ – our shorthand for the wider conflict in the former Yugoslavia – was different.  Likewise, veteran aid workers found that the usual coping mechanisms didn’t work.  Stress took on a new meaning.

Ironically, it was usually something quite minor that proved to be the last straw.  When someone’s life was at stake, our determination (accompanied by a hefty dose of adrenaline) would keep us going.  An inconvenient delay, like having to attempt a three-point turn on a narrow road without touching the verge (that might be mined) after getting lost during a troop mobilisation without an interpreter, was the sort of thing that could make any of us boil over.  When that delay meant sitting on a front line for almost an hour, staring down the barrels of three Soviet-era tanks that were primed and ready to fire, desperately wanting to go to the toilet, I too found my composure severely tested.  I knew that the fields of no man’s land were heavily mined, so squatting behind some sunflowers definitely wasn’t an option, but the Croatian checkpoint was sure to have a latrine and I was becoming rather desperate after a few too many Turkish coffees.

John, however, told me I wasn’t to get out of the car, even if ordered to at gunpoint.  The way he saw it, the Croatian soldiers were tense and on edge, understandably frustrated at being in sight of their homes that had been occupied by the enemy for almost two years.  Most of them hadn’t enjoyed the company of a woman for at least three months, and John quite seriously thought that my getting out of the car would start World War III.  If they tried to rape me, John explained, he would intervene and get himself shot in the process, we’d probably both end up dead, and both our governments would respond in force.  I thought he was overestimating our worth to our respective countries, but I got the point.

Although the UN was exempt from searches, all sides liked to throw their weight around and insist on the right to search any vehicle at their checkpoints.  The Croatians were no exception.  That summer, however, some British aid workers had vindicated their mistrust by going native and smuggling weapons for the Bosnian Muslims.  Despite this, we were obliged to withhold permission and did so stubbornly, so that we would not set a precedent and undermine our inviolability.  The Croatian soldiers did not hesitate to express their disdain.  They couldn’t understand why we wouldn’t let them search the vehicle if we weren’t carrying weapons, which of course we weren’t, and the principle of neutrality was entirely lost on men who had witnessed the violation of just about every human right possible and lost their homes after three months of waiting vainly for international relief.

If John had a poor opinion of the discipline of Croatian soldiers, his assessment of the Serb ones at the other side of no man’s land, was considerably worse.  He didn’t even turn off the engine, and while the half-drunk Serb soldiers debated whether to let us through, he discreetly edged the car onto the wrong side of the road so that his way wasn’t blocked by a hedgehog (anti-tank barricade).  If he decided to make a run for it, he reminded me, I was to curl up in the cavity in front of my seat and stay down until he said it was safe to come out.  Thankfully, an officer waved us through before John’s fuse ran out, but my next assignment was hardly any less nerve-wracking.  While John went to an important meeting, he wanted me to collect ten thousand US dollars in cash from UNPROFOR Headquarters, transport it to our office with no more security than a cash box, and then count out all the staff’s wages in our unguarded office that was only fifty metres down the road from Arkan’s base.

I collected the money without incident, with Serge acting as my driver and accessory.  The money had to be counted by two staff members for security and verification purposes, at least one of whom had to be an international, and Serge had been exempted from the ban on local staff during the alert because it was deemed the safest place for him to avoid being press-ganged.  Just as we reached a t-intersection, we saw the first truck in a long army convoy rumble past.  Headed by Arkan’s black-shirted Tigers, flying an occasional skull-and-crossbones flag, the trucks were full to the brim with Serb soldiers returning from operations in Bosnia.  Serge groaned and said we’d have to squeeze ourselves in as it could go for miles.  We counted eighteen trucks of blackshirts, then darted in after the nineteenth, which had brown-shirted regular soldiers crowded onto an open tray.  The soldiers were clearly delighted to be on leave from the fighting in Bosnia, and upon seeing me in the car gave me friendly waves and blew kisses.  I waved guardedly, trying not to think of what atrocities they’d committed while in Bosnia or the ten thousand dollars we were carrying in cash.

My lunch ended up consisting of some passive cigarette smoke from the doctors and nurses at BritMedBat as we congregated outside the mess after locking up our twice-counted cash in the questionably secure safe.  Despite the warnings of the SMEDLO (Senior Medical Liaison Officer) – a wry British major whose chain-smoking indicated to me he was a soldier first and a doctor second – I had ventured into the Russian mess for a meal.  After sampling the boiled lump of fat masquerading as bacon and the tasteless slush they called mashed potatoes, I had a mordant understanding of how a British nurse could end up on a drip after fainting from lack of food.  The Brits didn’t have the numbers to merit their own catering staff, so they were forced to eat with the Russians, as were we.  It made the simple but delicious lunch of stewed venison we’d had at the Belgian base on our first visit seem luxurious.

It wasn’t until darkness had descended that we retired to the safety of Sombor in Serbia’s semi-autonomous Vojvodina province for supper and a late-night drinking session.  Our tongues loosened by the combination of exhaustion and alcohol, we trusted the assurances of some of our local drinking companions that we could safely speak our minds.  One of them was on the staff of a prominent Serb politician and had a postgraduate degree from a highly-regarded Californian university.  He was charming, eloquent, and intelligent, and he assured us that he wasn’t a “Serb peasant”, that he respected our opinions and genuinely wanted to know what we thought about the war.  I wasn’t one to let down my guard completely, even when considerably intoxicated, so I explained that I took the attitude of John Quincy Adams to the Union, that the Yugoslav Federation was like a marriage, but if one of the republics should insist upon a separation it should be granted, as heartbreaking as it might be – for, even if she were in the wrong, no good or sensible husband would use violence against his wife to try to keep their marriage intact.  He liked the analogy, especially as it compared the Serbs to the victorious North (who did go to war against the rebels), but he nevertheless remonstrated with me.

He asked me whether I was a Christian.  I answered in the affirmative, not liking the direction of the conversation.  “Then, as a good Christian, why do you want a Muslim country in the middle of Europe?” he demanded.  I decided this wasn’t the time to embark on a lecture about the Judeo-Christian basis for Western democratic values or the fact that the term Muslim is predominantly an ethnic rather  than religious identification, so I merely noted that Bosnia is a multi-ethnic country with no state religion and a population of Catholic Croats, Orthodox Serbs, and Jews in addition to the dwindling Muslims.  The way I saw it, Bosnia did not qualify in any way to be called a Muslim country.  He then went on a rant about how many Serbs had been killed by the “Turks” in 1389 and by the Croats during World War II, finishing with the not-so-convincing statement of “he’s a good Orthodox Christian, he understands”.  “He” was one of my co-workers, a fellow Australian of Greek descent who had no qualms about cheating on his wife.  I didn’t think “he” was a very good model of Christian behaviour.

Eventually, I asked him what he proposed as a solution to the ‘problem’ of Muslims in Europe.  He replied that they must leave, and be forced to leave if necessary.  The urbane academic had suddenly turned into a fervent proponent of ethnic cleansing.  Flabbergasted, I retorted that they had nowhere to go, that Bosnia was their home and always had been.  They were merely Serbs and Croats who had decided conversion to Islam under Ottoman rule was preferable to being persecuted as Christians.  “What if they refuse to leave?” I asked.  He shrugged his shoulders as if to indicate I was becoming tedious, and said: “They must be exterminated.”

Such encounters with evil created a momentum that overcame exhaustion and spells of despair.  When Arkan’s Tigers trained their cubs (cadets) to kill by putting them in the back of a lorry and getting them to drag a man along the road by a length of barbed wire, it was difficult to be optimistic about the future.  But when a posse of men accosted me while I was alone in the office and demanded to know the whereabouts of a mother and her young son – one of my protection cases – my duty to humanity became crystal clear.  I didn’t think about my own life as I noted the gun being waved in my face, and I can’t really claim to have made a conscious choice as to my actions.  It never occurred to me to betray the terrified woman who so desperately wanted to cross the frontline into Croatia, and whether I lived or died was something I didn’t consider until her husband and his henchmen were long gone.  In a place where so many innocent people had been slaughtered for no good reason, I didn’t feel entitled to protest if my time had also come.

The next day, after the Croatian mother and her eight-year-old son had been spirited to safety, the gentle Irish gardaí who worked as the UN Civil Police in our sector arrested her Serb husband and formally interviewed him concerning various charges that included attempted murder.  He didn’t deny anything except our authority.  When asked why he wanted to kill them, he seemed bemused that we were such simpletons as to not understand the obvious.  She was a “Croat whore” and it would be better for his son to be dead than to be brought up by Croats, he explained indignantly.  Afterwards, as I stood staring at myself in the bathroom mirror after splashing my face with cold water, the Serb interpreter (whom Arkan retained for the accused along with a lawyer) rushed in and vomited in the bath, before curling up on the floor crying.  When I went to her, she clutched my arm and begged me to tell her that I didn’t think she was like them.  It was just her job, she sobbed.  I reassured her and said I understood, but after my late-night chat about exterminating Muslims I wasn’t entirely sure that I did.

Our work days from dawn to dusk were punctuated by nights of dining out, drinking heavily, and dancing with abandon.  Dollars and deutschmarks went a long way in Serbia, and the only effective way to reconcile ourselves to the fact that we’d spent a doctor’s monthly salary on dinner was to continue drinking into the wee hours.  Despite international sanctions, Serbian nightlife was breathtakingly sophisticated.  One club we favoured had terraced sections on either side of a small stream connected by a romantic footbridge, all the way down to a canal where one could have a floating tête-à-tête in a candle-lit wooden skiff.  It was a surreal way to escape the day’s brutality, only marred by occasional visits from the police who needed to be placated with free drinks so that they would look the other way when we paid in hard currency.

Shortly before the end of my assignment, after days of wrangling, we managed to negotiate permission for a non-UNHCR aid convoy to enter the sector.  It was a hodgepodge assortment of trucks filled mostly with donated goods from Walsall in the north of England.  Although I’d officially been tasked as a protection officer, international staff responded to the exigencies of our work in a war zone as needed, so it wasn’t the first time I’d found myself acting as an assistance officer escorting a convoy across the frontline.  This one was different, though.  The drivers were volunteers, mostly retirees.  One was a WWII veteran, excited to be traipsing through Europe on a special mission.  They were ordinary men who cared enough about their fellow human beings to leave the comfort of their homes for no greater reason than that they had watched the evening news and decided something needed to be done.  It was a shaft of light that cut through the gloom of mass graves, concentration camps, and bitter hatred.

It was exhilarating seeing the trucks unloaded at the hospital in Vukovar.  The hospital staff were so thrilled that they unloaded the trucks themselves, gasping over each item like children opening Christmas presents.  I watched on with the soldiers from BritMedBat, quietly chuffed that the pharmacy (which served the entire southern sub-sector) would be functional once more, that we’d finally acquired a year’s supply of insulin.  So, we weren’t surprised when one of the nurses took four of us aside to the lunchroom and gushed her thanks.  As she served us an unpalatable coffee substitute, she told us how wonderful it was that we were helping them, and that they in turn would be able to “do good”.  I wasn’t sure if it was just the contrast with the no-nonsense warmth of the northern Englishmen, but I found myself recoiling with distrust.  I was sure she was lying.

Before we left, the nurse made an impassioned presentation of some ‘souvenirs’ of Vukovar.  She explained she only had four left, which was why we had been taken aside while the English truck drivers toured the hospital.  They were stickers and patch badges celebrating the Krajina Serb army and the first anniversary of what she called the “liberation” of Vukovar.  One the British soldiers supressed a grimace while I reeled with nausea.  “Don’t you mean destruction?!” I spluttered.  “Yes, it’s very sad,” she replied earnestly.  “We had to destroy it in order to liberate it.”

I returned to Vukovar Hospital seven years later as an emergency patient after Vukovar’s real liberation, after some of Vukovar’s original residents had returned home.  They were still dying as a result of the war, victims of IEDs that hadn’t been cleared, and many of the survivors were shadows of their former selves after months in Serb concentration camps.  Contrary to the media’s dissemination of Serb propaganda, Serbs who remained in Croatia after the Krajina’s restoration in 1995 were not discriminated against.  In fact, they still controlled Vukovar Hospital.  The ambulance paramedic who took me there was one of the few Croats working there, and while I waited for the sole Croatian doctor to tend to me – the Serb ones would not treat me because I had arrived in the company of Croats, one of them a famed ‘defender’ of Vukovar – he explained that I was lucky I hadn’t had a heart attack as his ambulance wasn’t even equipped with a defibrillator.

Twenty years after the fall of Vukovar, the battle is not over.  Ante Gotovina, a Croatian General and war hero whose liberation of the Krajina prevented the people of Bihać in north-west Bosnia suffering the same fate as those in Srebrenica, was recently found guilty of the very crime he prevented.  Despite his defence lawyers demolishing the prosecution case, Gotovina and his Special Police counterpart, Mladen Markač, may well spend the rest of their lives in gaol. Despite being dead and unable to defend himself, the wartime Croatian President Franjo Tudjman was declared the leader of this so-called “Joint Criminal Enterprise” as part of Gotovina’s judgement, implicating the entire nation.  The war may be over, and Vukovar may have started to rebuild, but the battle for the truth about what really happened in Croatia during the war is only just beginning.

Mishka Gora is a writer and photographer based in Tasmania.

http://croatianchronicle.com/ccn/life/twenty-years-after-the-fall-of-vukovar

UM RAIO DE LUZ E FEZ-SE LUZ: COISAS DO NOSSO ALGARVE - Ilha da Culatra (Faro)C...

UM RAIO DE LUZ E FEZ-SE LUZ: COISAS DO NOSSO ALGARVE - Ilha da Culatra (Faro)
C...: COISAS DO NOSSO ALGARVE - Ilha da Culatra (Faro) COISAS DO NOSSO ALGARVE: Ilha do Farol (Faro) COISAS DO NOSSO ALGARVE: Ilha dos Hangares ...

DAVAO SAM TI MILIJUNE ZA ORUŽJE KOJE NIKADA NIJE STIGLO U HRVATSKU

OTVORENO PISMO BIVŠI DIREKTOR TANKERSKE PLOVIDBE STANKO BANIĆ BIVŠEM ZADARSKOM ŽUPANU ŠIMI PRTENJAČI

DAVAO SAM TI MILIJUNE ZA ORUŽJE KOJE NIKADA NIJE STIGLO U HRVATSKU

OSVJEŽAVANJE MEMORIJE

Sjeti se samo uplate od 1.812.000 dolara koju sam po tvom nalogu uplatio u inozemstvu, a nije stigao niti jedan metak ili dalekozor – piše Banić koji nije dočekao da Prtenjača posvjedoči kako nekadašnji čelnik Tankerske plovidbe nije lagao u polemici s Kalmetom

Sad kad su izbori završili, da se vratimo našoj priči o istini i lašcima. Naravno, ne bih trošio riječi na politikantske ocjene da sam se javio u javnosti pred izbore jer me je Kalmeta tri puta na izborima pobijedio – svi u Zadru, a vjerujem i šire, znaju da se nikad na izborima nisam natjecao, a zna se i koga je i kako Kalmeta pobjeđivao. Moglo bi se reći da sam pri tom i dobro prošao jer sam dobio kompliment da sam ljevičar, a prije su me zvali starom komunjarom.

Nisam se iznenadio što mi se, Šime, nisi javljao, nije prvi put da se skrivaš kada zagusti. A htio sam te zamoliti da javno posvjedočiš  u polemici Banić-Kalmeta kako Stanko nije lagao.

Ogovarao si Kalmetu

Zašto baš ti, Šime? Iako nisi bio nazočan sastanku, ti si čovjek koji o ovome najviše zna. Žao mi je što te je u ovo uvalio gospodin Kalmeta svojim nesmotrenim izjavama. Sjećaš se da sam mu dao priliku da se naknadno ogradi od izjave da sam lažac, nije poslušao. A da jeste, sada tebe ne bih trebao gnjaviti. 

Vidiš, Šime, odavno sam pročitao da u životu napredujemo do stupnja vlastite nesposobnosti. Što ne bismo danas dali da smo taj stupanj na vrijeme prepoznali i stali. Imovinska kartica bi nam bila nešto tanja, ali zato duše puno ispunjenije i noći mirnije. Ti bi vjerojatno i danas bio šef financija u zadarskoj bolnici, Kalmeta bi bio šef proizvodnje u Maraski, a ja umirovljenik s mjesta komercijalnog direktora u Tankerskoj plovidbi gdje sam vjerojatno preskočio svoj stupanj nesposobnosti. Divota. Ali eto, bili smo samo ljudi, nismo znali ili htjeli stati, zato sad plaćamo. A cijena je viša svakim udaljavanjem od stupnja nesposobnosti. 

Tvoje ponašanje, to da si mi se javio tek preko posrednika iako smo godinama surađivali, dokazuje da nisi različit od svih dvorskih spletkaroša – zamuti i nestani. Predugo smo skupa igrali boće da ne bih znao koliko malo voliš gubiti. Stoga se nadam da si složio dobru obranu za ovo što slijedi. 

Pred svake izbore dolazio si kod mene osigurati odstupnicu (čitaj egzistenciju) za slučaj neuspjeha na izborima. Svaki put sam ti odgovorio: «Šime, ljudi smo!» Tada sam bio uvjeren da to i jesmo obojica. U više sam navrata Kalmeti pod nos stavljao gospođu Peroš, a nije to možda ni zaslužio jer si mi se u više navrata hvalio da si pored gospodina Šileša morao ispregovarati i gospođu Peroš, jer da je Kalmeta bio nesposoban za to pored ostalih stvari. I tako je tvoja stranka nakon prošlih lokalnih izbora ostala na vlasti.

Sadašnjeg ministra Kalmetu često si znao ogovarati u mom uredu i to vrlo ružno. To nisam nikad nikome prenio jer sam vjerovao da si čovjek kojem je lakše ako olakša dušu ili svoju muku s nekim podijeliš.

Prekasno sam shvatio da je sve to plod tvoje ovisnosti za ogovaranjem i spletkama. Tako sam morao slušati kako te Kalmeta znojnih dlanova došao moliti da se ne kandidiraš za predsjednika Županijskog odbora HDZ-a, a da ti se takvi ljudi naprosto gade. Ne znam zašto, usput si mi nabrojio i njegovi imovinsku karticu otkad je u politici – te nova kuća u Arbanasima, te kuća na Lavdari, te veliki stan u Zagrebu, stan za prijateljicu, itd. Nikada nisam od tebe čuo lijepu riječ o tvojim suradnicima i članovima Županijskog poglavarstva. Svi su oni po tebi lijenčine i neznalice, a znaju da ih nitko ne plaća tako dobro kao ti.

U želji da ti pokažem da je Tankerska plovidba prerasla mentalne sklopove podneblja iz kojeg djeluje, vodio sam te u London, Beč, itd. što te i pripadalo kao predsjednika Nadzornog odbora. Nažalost, ta su putovanja bila uzaludna jer tebi i takvima ne odgovara tvrtka svjetskog renomea u Zadru, već balkanska krčma kojom možete manipulirati.

Dokaz tome je i svečani potpis ugovora s Japancima iz 1999.godine o gradnji dvaju brodova. U gospodarskom smislu to je sigurno bio najvažniji događaj u Zadarskoj županiji od početka Domovinskog rata. Iako su pozivnice poslane tjednima unaprijed, gradonačelnik se ispričao i nije došao, ti si, Šime, izdržao do pola ručka i ispričao se, a predsjednik Gospodarske komore je došao u crnoj majici bez kravate.

Vrijedni darovi koje su vam donijeli Japanci još su u skladištu Tankerske plovidbe. Eto, koliko vi cijenite Tankersku, posebice kad joj je na čelu jedan ljevičar. Ipak mislim da je pravi razlog takvog ponašanja bio strah da vas netko ne pita za zdravlje na engleskom jeziku.

Mogao bi mi, Šime, reći i par riječi što si kao član povjerenstva za Viktor Lenac našao za Tankersku jer ste, kako je javnost izviješćena, nešto tražili, a ne zna se jeste li što intrigantno našli.

Siguran sam da je tvojoj uspješnoj političkoj karijeri pridonijela i uspješna obrana grada u Domovinskom ratu, odnosno nabava oružja i ratne opreme. Što se Tankerske plovidbe tiče, koja je plaćala sve nabave, nalog za plaćanje u inozemstvo sam dobivao ili od tebe, Šime, ili Bože Jusupa kao šefa logistike HV-a Zadar. 

Činjenica je da su pošiljke uplaćene preko Jusupa stizale na vrijeme i u cijelosti, a što god je plaćeno u inozemstvu po tvom nalogu ili nikada nije stiglo ili je stigao samo dio uplaćene robe. Sjeti se samo uplate od 1.812.000 dolara koju sam po tvom nalogu uplatio u inozemstvu, a nije stigao niti jedan metak ili dalekozor.

Previd u spletkarenju

Podsjećam te na razgovor, dok si još bio predsjednik NO-a Tankerske plovidbe, kada sam ti rekao da se jedan od direktora sektora spetljao sa svojom službenicom, da namještaju službena putovanja i da je sve to prešlo mjeru dobrog ukusa. Budući da nam se radilo o zajedničkom prijatelju, zamolio sam te da mu skreneš pozornost na to da u kući ozbiljno bruji o njegovoj «aferi» i da mu više neću potpisivati službena putovanja. 

Glatko si to odbio učiniti. Međutim, u travnju 2003.godine, kada više nisi bio ni predsjednik ni član NO-a, energično interveniraš, i to u mojoj odsutnosti (bio sam na putu), lobirajući za prohadezeovsku struju u Tankerskoj plovidbi, oko ustroja uprave nakon mog umirovljenja. Da si bio učinkovit, pokazuje sadašnji sastav Nadzornog odbora. Tako se nije ponašao ni Komitet. Ovo što si, Šime, u svom spletkarenju previdio jest da Stanko Banić nije ni Renata Peroš ni Mirko Šileš.

Eto, moj Šime, malo sam se previše raspričao, a za svaki slučaj ponešto i zadržao za sebe. Da se razumijemo, Šime, nisam ni ja anđeo, ali ne ogovaram, ne spletkarim, a najmanje od svega ne pokušavam lagati cijeli narod cijelo vrijeme.        

BOŽO ŠARE OSNIVAĆ I PRVI RATNI ZAPOVJEDNIK STONSKE SATNIJE ALI I RATNI ZAPOVJEDNIK GRADA STONA

                                         14.6.1990 poklonio sam gospodinu Tokić ovu pušku

Tko su ljudi za koje tvrdite da pripadaju tom kriminalnom lobiju?

Tvrdim da je u ovom ratu veći neprijatelj bio onaj iza nas, nego onaj sprijeda. Sada je prava situacija da se govori o udbaško-kriminalnom lobiju, tko su ti ljudi, na kakav su način uništavali i kako žele dalje uništavati ovu zemlju. Bio sam zapovjednik Stona do 6. prosinca '91., dok je i bio glavni rat. Ante Bilić postao je zapovjednik obrane Stona tek nakon 6. prosinca '91. Kada je vidio da će se rat dobiti, udbaško-kriminalni lobi uključio se kroz razna mjesta u zapovjedništvima. Od onda su oni stvarali borce, stratege i generale. Mi smo morali šutjeti jer je bila bitna hrvatska država, trpjeli smo jer se nije imalo dovoljno kadra, potencijala, oružja. Dok smo mi ratovali, taj je lobi na sve institucije postavio svoje ljude koji rade pod patronatom suda, policije, inspekcija. U mom slučaju jedan od takvih ljudi je Luka Bebić. Još kada je bio ministar obrane Bebić je s Jambom dolazio i jeo kod mene. Računi se ne bi podmirili, a s druge bi strane slali inspekcije, policiju... Znao sam kako radi taj tim. Za prve su me izbore. opet ponavljam, optužili da švercam oružje. Janko Bobetko je izdao naređenje da se to ispita, bio je tu i Nojko Marinović i ostali klan o kojem bi se mogle knjige pisati, zašto su nastali, što su radili kroz rat, kako su postali generali...

– Kako ste Vi doživjeli ta događanja?

Ja sam u ljeto 1991. nabavio oružje iz Amerike i već smo 10. lipnja '91 organizirali Stonsku satniju. Bili smo dio 116. dubrovačke brigade i vodio nas je pokojni Miljenko Bratoš. Toga ljeta gledali smo i kako u Ston dolazi oružje, kako se dio izravno ukrcava na srpske brodove, dok se drugi dio vraćao preko Prapratnog u Ploče i kasnije za Bosnu. Ustanovili smo kasnije da je cijeli plan išao gore, od vrha, i već se tada osjetila sprega srpsko-hrvatsko-muslimanskog kriminalnog lobija. U momentu, kada je Grad trebao pasti, 6. prosinca '91., iz Dubrovnika su maknuti svi hrvatski zapovjednici.

-Kako mislite maknuti?

Neke su pobili, kao Sinišu Tkaleca, Zdenka Baričevića, sada pokojnog Perkušića. Bratoš je već prije bio maknut.

Tada su čudni ljudi došli na zapovjedna mjesta i od tada se zatire svaki trag 116. brigadi. Kada spominjem čudne ljude, mislim i na Nojka Marinovića i na političare, Pera Poljanića i Miljenka Šikića. Ljudi koji su se ograđivali od Crne Gore, od župana Šprlje, Luke Korde, sada grade bratstvo i jedinstvo s njima. Tvrdim da su dubrovačke nekretnine, zlato, novac i ostale vrijednosti, još onda s brodovima završavale u Zelenici. Treba pogledati gdje je sve to završilo i gdje je danas Pero Poljanić konzul. U Crnoj Gori!

GENERAL IVO JELIĆ OSNIVAĆ I PRVI RATNI ZAPOVJEDNIK 4.GARDIJSKE BRIGADE POZDRAVLJA DOMAGOJA MARGETIĆ

Naši dečki 08.11.2011.

HDZ=SDP I OBRATNO

Kukurikuizam kao prikriveni puhmanizam

Prof. dr. sci. Zdravko Tomac

Kukurikuizam kao prikriveni puhmanizam

Prihvaćanje prava Srbije da legitimno i legalno optužuje branitelje Vukovara za genocid nad Srbima jedna je od najvećih nacionalnih izdaja

U proteklih dvadeset godina od proglašenja Hrvatske kao samostalne i suverene države moćne snage unutar Hrvatske na različite načine sustavno su pokušavale osporiti Hrvatsku kao suverenu nacionalnu državu hrvatskoga naroda i provesti radikalnu detuđmanizaciju što je drugo ime za rashrvaćenje Hrvatske. Tu strategiju i danas zastupaju značajne političke snage koje vjeruju da će pobijediti na parlamentarnim izborima. U ovom članku takvu strategiju nazvao sam PUHMANIZAM. Riječ PUHMAN sastavio sam od početnih slogova prezimena Žarka Puhovskog i Igora Mandića, glasnogovornika takve strategije koji ne samo osporavaju pravo hrvatskom narodu na vlastitu suverenu državu nego i sposobnost hrvatskog naroda da bez tutorstva upravlja vlastitom državom. Pojmom PUHMANIZAM definirao sam strategiju čiji je cilj rušenje Tuđmanove koncepcije hrvatske države kao suverene nacionalne države, kriminaliziranje ne samo Tuđmana i državnog i vojnog vodstva iz Domovinskoga rata, nego i kriminaliziranje HDZ-a, stožerne stranke hrvatskoga naroda s konačnim ciljem ustavne zabrane rada HDZ-a i njegovim raspuštanjem. Žarko Puhovski i Igor Mandić nisu ključni ljudi takve strategije ali su najglasniji i najjasniji. Zato sam ju i nazvao PUHMANIZAM.

Žarko Puhovski već dvadesetak godina sve šąto se dogodi u Hrvatskoj ne samo da komentira nego i moralizira, presuđuje i sudi. Žarko Puhovski bio je istaknuti jugoslavenski teoretičar ali i  svjedok optužbe protiv hrvatskih lidera u Hrvatskom proljeću. Bio je branitelj Jugoslavije do zadnjeg trenutka te zajedno sa svojim kolegicama i kolegama, profesorima koji nas danas podučavaju o moralnosti i ljudskim pravima bio je UJDIJEVAC (Udružena demokratska jugoslavenska inicijativa), čiji je cilj bio spašavanje Jugoslavije. Kao predsjednik Hrvatskoga helsinškog odbora inzistirao je isključivo na istraživanju i osudi zločina koje su počinili Hrvati u Domovinskome ratu. I na Haaškom sudu bio je svjedok optužbe a istakao se i zahtjevom za javnim sramoćenjem generala Mirka Norca.

Igor Mandić nikada nije skrivao svoje žaljenje zbog propasti Jugoslavije i svoje nade da će se ona obnoviti. Igor Mandić je u intervju u tjedniku Forum od 14. 10. 2011. pod naslovom "Odustajem od pisanja" jasnije nego ikada, bez fraziranja i prikrivanja izložio bit strategije obnove jugoslavenskoga ili regionalnog zajedništva i rušenja Hrvatske kao suverene nacionalne drľave hrvatskog naroda. Mandić u svom intervjuu formulira sljedeća bitna stajališta te strategije:

1. "Hrvatska se ne smije prepustiti ustašama. Bolje se rastočiti u EU-u ili asocijaciji jugoslavenske federacije." Dakle, Mandić zastupa stajalište da su u Hrvatskoj na vlasti ustaše odnosno izjednačava HDZ i ustaše te tvrdi da Hrvatska ne može opstati kao samostalna država.

2. Dalje Mandić tvrdi: "Ideja samostalne Hrvatske pokazala se katastrofalnom, glupom i neuspjelom." Dakle, Mandić osporava svaku ideju samostalne hrvatske države i naziva ju katastrofalnom glupošću. On tvrdi: "Nismo u stanju držati, stvarati, oblikovati i voditi državu. Jednostavno nismo u stanju! Slabost tog mitomanskog tuđmanoidnog ustaškog projekta se dokazala." Dakle, Mandić proglašava hrvatski narod nesposobnim da ima vlastitu državu a stvorenu Hrvatsku kao samostalnu, suverenu, demokratsku državu kvalificira kao mitomanski i tuđmanoidni neoustaški projekt. To su temeljne četničke velikosrpske teze koje tvrde da je svaka ideja samostalne i suverene Hrvatske ustaška ideja i da hrvatska država ne može opstati ako nije ustaška država.

3. Mandić osporava sposobnost hrvatskoga naroda da upravlja svojom drľavom te kaľe: "Sami ne moľemo opstati to je potpuno jasno."

Takvi Mandićevi stavovi su ponavljanje teza koje se od 90-ih godina stalno propagiraju u Hrvatskoj kako bi se otvorio prostor odnosno dokazala navodna nužnost da se Hrvati moraju ponovno integrirati u nekome novom jugoslavenskom okviru kako kažu u regiji, regionu. Dakle, Mandić zastupa stajalište da Hrvati nisu povijesni narod i da se ponovno dokazalo da ne mogu biti gospodari, da ne mogu biti svoji na svome nego moraju uvijek biti sluge, uvijek moraju biti pod tutorstvom. To Mandić potvrđuje sljedećom rečenicom: "Ideja samostalne Hrvatske pokazala se katastrofalno glupom i neuspjelom". Mandić vidi izlaz u Europskoj uniji. On je za Europsku uniju jer je uvjeren da će se Hrvatska rastopiti u Europskoj uniji, dakle, da će nestati, odnosno on je za Europsku uniju zato što će tamo, prema njegovom mišljenju, Hrvatske nestati.

Međutim, Mandić najbolje rješenje vidi u obnovi jugoslavenske federacije.On se nada "da je moguća obnova zajednice jugoslavenskih republika jer je to jedina aglomeracija u ovom području koja se može oduprijeti sjevernim i istočnim narodima." Za Mandića su nastale države raspadom Jugoslavije "komedija države". Za njega je Crna Gora dio Srbije odnosno srpska, kao što je za njega i Kosovo srpsko. On se brine za sudbinu Srbije jer nakon ąto je izgubila Crnu Goru i Kosovo govori da se sad buni i Vojvodina te da će ostat od Srbije samo UŽAS (uža Srbija) ili kako neki kažu, veliki beogradski pašaluk.

Zašto toliko pozornosti dajem stavovima Igora Mandića? Zato što je njegova strategija intelektualca srbofila koji još uvijek vjeruju u obnovu Jugoslavije, koji žudi za propašću hrvatske drľave vrlo slično stajalištima značajnih političkih i društvenih snaga u Hrvatskoj koji jednako misle kao Mandić ali nisu iskreni i otvoreni kao on. Igor Mandić ustvari samo je dobar glasnogovornik strategije koja je formulirana 90-ih godina. Nakon raspada SKJ-u na 14. kongresu Saveza komunista početkom 90-e godine u Savezu komunista Hrvatske sukobljavale su se dvije bitno različite političke strategije. Većina je bila i dalje za obranu Jugoslavije, za njenu demokratizaciju ali ne za njeno ukidanje. Dakle, krajnji cilj je bila reforma federacije i obrana Ustava iz 1974. od napada velikosrpskog nacionalizma. Ta većinska politička struja zbog toga je išla na parlamentarne izbore s koncepcijom obrane Jugoslavije kao federacije. Dakle, ne samo da su bili protiv koncepcije Hrvatske kao samostalne i suverene države, nego su bili čak i protiv pretvaranja Jugoslavije u konfederaciju.

Manjina u SKH SDP je smatrala da treba podržati Tuđmanovu strategiju udruživanja svih nacionalnih snaga i projekt stvaranja i obrane Hrvatske kao samostalne države. Taj sukob unutar SKH SDP izrazio se i prilikom donošenja novog Ustava Hrvatske tzv. Božićnog ustava 90-e godine. Vrlo brojna i snažna bila je opcija unutar SKH SDP koja je bila protiv Tuđmanovog prijedloga Ustava odnosno protiv Ustava samostalne hrvatske države. Čak su dugo vremena inzistirali da SKH SDP napiše kontraprijedlog Ustava na poziciji udruživanja u demokratsku Jugoslaviju.

Projugoslavenske političke snage u SDP-u bile su brojnije i prilikom donošenja odluke Sabora Hrvatske o razdruživanju od Jugoslavije 25. lipnja 1991. te snage su ultimativno tražile da se u odluci o razdruživanju utvrdi i nova ustavna mogućnost udruživanja u Jugoslaviju. Franjo Tuđman i HDZ to odbacuju i zastupnici SDP-a napuštaju Sabor i Odluka o samostalnosti se donosi bez njihovih glasova. Dakle, može se reći da sve do ljeta 1992. SDP nije bio za samostalnu Hrvatsku, nego je bio branitelj Jugoslavije. Tek nakon toga u ljetu 1992. dolazi do obrata u SKH- SDP-u. Pobjeđuju hrvatski socijaldemokrati, te prihvaćaju koncept samostalne Hrvatske i nužnost udruživanja svih političkih snaga u obrani nacionalnih interesa uključujući i oružani otpor velikosrpskoj agresiji. Ključni dokaz preobražaja SDP-a bio je ulazak ljudi SDP-a u Vladu demokratskog jedinstva i čvrsta obrana legitimiteta Tuđmana i vlasti HDZ-a kao izraza većinske volje hrvatskog naroda.  

Mnogi su tada u SDP-u samo privremeno odustali od svoje strategije suprotstavljanja Hrvatskoj kao samostalnoj suverenoj državi hrvatskoga naroda. Nisu postali istinski socijaldemokrati, a pogotovo nisu postali istinski hrvatski socijaldemokrati. Govorili su da su socijaldemokrati iz nužde ali da se nisu odrekli ni titoizma ni Jugoslavije ni komunizma te da će se samo primiriti i čekati povoljno vrijeme da se ponovno angažiraju. To vrijeme je došlo nakon pobjede koalicije šest stranaka na čelu sa SDP-om nakon smrti Tuđmana na izborima 3. siječnja 2000. godine. Tada počinje u SDP-u ponovni proces jačanja titoističko jugoslavenskih snaga te potiskivanja iz vrha stranke istinskih hrvatskih socijaldemokrata.

Danas u SDP-u nema više bitnih hrvatskih socijaldemokrata. Nema nikakve dvojbe da su ključni ljudi stvaranja hrvatske socijaldemokracije i strategije obrane Hrvatske kao suverene i samostalne države bili Ivica Račan, Zdravko Tomac, Mato Arlović, Romano Meątrović, Jerko Zovak, Antun Vujić, Željka Antunović, Branko Lasić, Milan Bandić i mnogi drugi. Danas su oni ili izvan SDP-a ili su politički marginalizirani. Željka Antunović je marginalizirana iako je igrala značajnu ulogu, iako nikad nije bila u SK, iako je vjernik što je davalo SDP-u jednu pluralističku notu. Nema više u vrhu stranke ni vrhunskog intelektualaca dr. Antuna Vujića. Na vrh je izbio umjesto njih Igor Dragovan koji je postao glavni tajnik SDP-a i nositelj liste u Slavoniji.

Igor Dragovan se probio kao manipulator posluąnik i provoditelj prljavih poslova u SDP-u. Eliminirao je Matu Arlovića, nesumnjivo najboljeg zastupnika SDP-a i ključnog čovjeka u mnogim presudim događajima. Odigrao je prljavu ulogu u izbacivanju iz stranke Jerka Zovaka i Blaženke Gogić. Bio je i provoditelj progona moje sestre koja je smijenjena u roku 24 sata kako bi se meni poslao signal da nisam poželjan u SDP-u. Nema više ni Milana Bandića i njegove ekipe koja je zaslužna za uspon SDP-a u Zagrebu. Umjesto njega došli su mladi novoskojevci poput Igora Dragovana koji nemaju ni dana radnog staža izvan politike, neki nisu ni završili fakultet a došli su na velike plaće i privilegije. Došli su novi titoisti i Jugoslaveni koji strasno pjevaju na dan izbora "od Triglava do Vardara" i koji su dokaz da se SDP vraća na politiku 90-ih godina.

Opasnost povrataka na tu politiku ne dolazi samo iz SDP-a nego i iz HNS-a. Gospođa Vesna Pusić koja želi biti ministrica vanjskih poslova u svim ključnim odlukama stvaranja i obrane Hrvatske radila je na obezvrjeđivanju i destrukciji Domovinskoga rata i njegovih vrijednosti. Pisala je pismo tražeći smjenu Tuđmana prije Oluje, bila je protiv Deklaracije o Domovinskome ratu, optuživala je Hrvatsku da je agresor na Bosnu i Hercegovinu, tvrdila je da nema Domovinskog rata, nego da se radi o dogovornom prljavom ratu hrvatskoga i srpskog nacionalizma na čelu s Tuđmanom i Miloševićem radi komadanja Bosne i Hercegovine. Mnogi ljudi iz SDP-a i HNS-a i IDS-a sudjelovali su u pokuąaju puča 1994. godine uoči Oluje kada je uz pomoć Manolića i Mesića i njihove grupe skoro uspio puč protiv Tuđmana u Saboru i promjena vlasti bez izbora. Da se to dogodilo ne bi bilo Oluje, a ne bi bilo ni Hrvatske, opet bi živjeli u nekakvoj novoj trećoj Jugoslaviji.

O svemu tome treba voditi računa. Uoči novih izbora s pravom se može postaviti pitanje: Što će se dogoditi s Hrvatskom ako pobijedi Kukuriku koalicija? Mnogo je činjenica koje upozoravaju da će se vratiti na strategiju 90-ih godina. Bit te strategije je da treba do kraja detuđmanizirati Hrvatsku, da treba srušiti  i kriminalizirati Hrvatsku nastalu u Domovinskom ratu te izgraditi novu Hrvatsku koja će biti utemeljena na komunističkom antifašizmu i na obnovi titoizma i jugoslavenskog zajedništva. Nema dvojbe da je politički mentor Kukuriku koalicije predsjednik Republike Ivo Josipović. Također, nema dvojbe da je politika tandema Tadić-Josipović vrlo slična Mandićevoj strategiji obnove Jugoslavije? Zato je Puhmanizam drugo ime za Kukurikuizam.

Oni prijete masovnim uhićenjima i zabranama, oni žele uništiti HDZ kao stranku, čak ju i Ustavom zabraniti ili sudskim procesima onemogućiti da djeluje, da postoji. Nakon što je kriminalizirana Oluja pa i cijeli Domovinski rat sada se pokušava kriminalizirati i HDZ kao stranka koja je u teškim političkim borbama omogućila stvaranje i obranu hrvatske države. Dakle, Kukuriku koalicija ne želi samo vlast i pobjedu, ona želi apsolutnu vlast, želi se riješiti političkog konkurenta, želi u potpunosti očistiti prostor za povratak na strategiju koju je vrlo jasno obrazložio Igor Mandić.

Međutim, mnogi dobri poznavatelji političkih previranja u Kukuriku koaliciji smatraju da postoji mogućnost da se dogodi kao i 1992. godine da projugoslavenske i anacionalne snage budu poražene, da pobijedi umjerena struja koja ne želi ukinuti politički pluralizam i koja će se odnositi prema HDZ-u kao konkurentu a ne političkom neprijatelju koga treba zgaziti. Kamo će krenuti Hrvatska zavisi od odgovora na niz otvorenih pitanja. Posebno je bitan odnos između Ive Josipovića i Zorana Milanovića. Hoće li Zoran Milanović pristati biti premijer "fikus" koji ni o čemu ne odlučuje? Hoće li prihvatiti tutorstvo Josipovića i biti provoditelj njegove politike? Hoće li se pomoriti s ambicijama HNS-a da preko Vesne Pusić vodi vanjsku politiku, a preko Radimira Čačića gospodarsku politiku? Dakle, hoće li Zoran Milanović pokušati voditi nacionalnu politiku, hoće li se odreći svoje rečenice koja mnogo govori "Tito, a ne Tuđman". Hoće li mu biti važnija Hrvatska od regije i ideologije? Hoće li se suprotstaviti jakim snagama koje ga vode u nove ideološke sukobe i obračune ili će biti na njihovom čelu?

Skoro svaki dan na svijetlo dana izlaze novi dokazi koji potvrđuju da Kukuriku koalicija ima tajne planove koje želi provesti poslije izbora a da je njezin program "21" samo lijepa priča za dobivanje glasova. Nakon što je Slavko Linić zaprijetio državnom odvjetniku Mladenu Bajiću da će biti smijenjen ako ne dokaže privrženost Kukuriku koaliciji i ako ne stupi u akciju prije izbora protiv HDZ-a, Mladen Bajić je mjesec dana prije izbora povukao poteze kojima želi onesposobiti HDZ za izbore i osigurati  dvotrećinsku laganu pobjedu Kukuriku koaliciji kako bi i dalje ostao državni odvjetnik. Kakve su stvarne namjere Kukuriku koalicije pokazuje izjava navodno buduće ministrice vanjskih poslova Vesne Pusić koja je najavila da kada dođe na vlast da će poništiti Zakon o ništetnosti pravnih akata bivše JNA, bivše SFRJ i Srbije koji se odnose na Domovinski rat. Dakle, obznanjuje da će Kukuriku koalicija legalizirati pravo vojnih sudova agresorske JNA i njihove optužnice koje su nastale iznudom i mučenjem hrvatskih branitelja u logorima. Dakle, najavljuje da će prihvatiti da vojni sudovi nepostojeće države imaju pravo optuživati vukovarske branitelje za navodni genocid protiv Srba. Time najavljuje da Kukuriku koalicija ne će poštivati ni Ustavni zakon za provedbu Ustava Republike Hrvatske (N.N., broj 56/90 i 8/91), na temelju kojeg je Vlada Republike Hrvatske 5. lipnja 1991. donijela odluku o neprimjenjivanju odredaba Zakona o vojnim sudovima i Zakona o vojnom tužilaštvu na teritoriju Republike Hrvatske. To znači da ne će poštivati ni odluku Hrvatskoga državnog sabora od 26. lipnja 1991. o neprimjenjivanju odredaba Zakona o vojnim sudovima i Zakona o vojnom tužilaštvu na teritoriju Republike Hrvatske.

To znači da će poništiti i odluku Sabora RH od 8. listopada 1991. kojom Sabor odriče legitimitet i legalitet svim tijelima dosadašnje Federacije SFRJ i kojima Republika Hrvatska ne priznaje valjanim ni jedan pravni akt bilo kojeg tijela koje nastupa u ime bivše Federacije SFRJ. Dakle, Zakon o ništetnosti je u skladu s Ustavom Republike Hrvatske, temeljnim odlukama ustanovljenja Hrvatske kao suverene i samostalne Republike. Njegovo poništavanje je prihvaćanje legalnosti i legitimnosti zločinačkih vojnih sudova koje je aktivirala Tadićeva Srbija iako nije pravni slijednik SFRJ. Prihvaćanje prava Srbije da legitimno i legalno optužuje branitelje Vukovara za genocid nad Srbima jedna je od najvećih nacionalnih izdaja i najvećih uvrjeda Domovinskoga rata. Graditi pomirbu na takvim temeljima i krivotvorinama mogu samo oni političari koji su u cijelome svom političkom djelovanju u proteklih dvadeset godina tvrdili da nema Domovinskog rata, koji su tvrdili i lažno svjedočili da je Hrvatska agresor a ne žrtva agresije. Svakako treba reći i da su bivši ministar pravosuđa Ivan Šimonović, ali i sadašnja vlast, napravili veliku grješku kada su prihvatili da Hrvatska i Srbija surađuju u progonu ratnih zločinaca u kojem se agresoru daje pravo da na temelju lažnih monstruoznih optužbi vojnih sudova progoni hrvatske branitelje. Zato je dobro da su i predsjednik Ivo Josipović, Vesna Pusić i drugi jasno rekli što im je strategija.

Dakle, ako pobijedi Kukuriku koalicija progonit će se hrvatski branitelji ne samo na temelju haaških optužnica koje su poslane hrvatskim sudovima, ne samo na temelju hrvatskih optužnica, nego i na temelju monstruoznih optužnica vojnih sudova agresorske JNA. Nevjerojatno je da uoči ulaska u Europsku uniju dio hrvatske politike prihvaća takvo poniženje, čak pomaže da se legaliziraju i legitimiraju monstruozne optužnice vojnih sudova. Kad je koalicija SDP-a bila na vlasti od 2000.- 2003. dovela je Međunarodni monetarni fond. Oni to namjeravaju učiniti ponovno. Slavko Linić je samo testirao reakciju javnosti. On spada u vrh SDP-a i sigurno je da ne govori samo u svoje ime. Međutim, kada su vidjeli vrlo negativne reakcije onda su ga demantirali. A predaja Hrvatske u ruke Međunarodnoga monetarnog fonda znači da će nas natjerati da moramo prodati sve ono što još nismo prodali, uključujući elektroprivredu i nacionalne parkove i otoke, čak i športske klubove.

Uvjet je sve privatizirati. Uvjet je smanjiti socijalna davanja, uvjet je smanjiti plaće, uvjet je masovno otpuštanje. Uvjet je sprječavanje države da zaštiti vlastitu proizvodnju, uvjet je deregulacija i potpuno slobodno djelovanje tržišta koje je za manje razvijenu zemlju poput Hrvatske katastrofa. Dakle, uvjet je da potpuno izgubimo gospodarsku suverenost. I ąto se tiče odnosa prema Hrvatima u Bosni i Hercegovini jasno je da Kukuriku koalicija nema namjeru štititi njihove interese. Međutim, usprkos svega toga rejting Kukuriku koalicije raste jer se sva pozornost usmjerava samo na crni fond u HDZ-u. Ne priznaje se da je novo vodstvo nakon Ive Sanadera odlučno pokrenulo borbu protiv korupcije, za razliku od ostalih stranaka koje svoje korupcionaąe kriju kao "zmija noge". Plan je vrlo jasan, najavom optužnice protiv HDZ-a uoči izbora dobiti dvotrećinsku većinu u Saboru, slomiti HDZ do kraja kao političkog konkurenta i onda ostvariti PUHMAN strategiju. Dakle, srušiti u temeljima Tuđmanovu Hrvatsku, vratiti se regiji i građanskom konceptu Hrvatske u kojoj nacionalno prestaje biti bitno.

Zato mislim da ne pretjerujem kada tvrdim da su predstojeći izbori jednako vaľni kao prvi izbori. Na prvim izborima pobijedila je koncepcija stvaranja i obrane samostalne hrvatske drľave. Tada je pobijeđena PUHMAN strategija odnosno Kukuriku strategija. Danas se odlučuje hoće li se još jedanput pobijediti državotvorne snage koje će obraniti Hrvatsku kao suverenu nacionalnu državu hrvatskoga naroda usprkos svih teškoća, ili će pobijediti koncepcija koja je 90-ih godina poražena. Dakle, građani hrvatske biraju: rehabilitacija tuđmanizma ili pobjeda puhmanizma odnosno kukurikuizma.

Prof. dr. sci. Zdravko Tomac

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