Serbs look to history to explain fury at what they see as Western affront over Kosovo

A short history that explains the issues surrounding the theft of Kosovo.

February 24, 2008, (AP)
BELGRADE, Serbia: Masked rioters torch the U.S. Embassy. Mobs throw U.N. border kiosks into a river. Demonstrators burn American and EU flags.

Serbs are furious at Kosovo’s declaration of independence, and the nationalist-backed government is stoking the flames of a visceral passion for a province where Serbs have long been a minority — but that is seen as the sacred heartland of the Serb nation.

By breaking free, Kosovo has touched several raw nerves in the Serbian psyche.

This war-shattered nation feels it is being unfairly punished for the sins of late strongman Slobodan Milosevic. It is wounded by the loss of yet another big chunk of its territory. Its youths are bitter and restless over the deep poverty brought on by four lost wars.

And now it is faced with the trauma of saying goodbye to what its people are taught to cherish as the cradle of their culture.

The vehemence of the Serb response to the Kosovar declaration may then seem less surprising — perhaps even inevitable — when viewed in this context. And Serb leaders have not hesitated to manipulate the psychological scars to rally the masses for political gain.

Serb unanimity over Kosovo extends even to pro-Western leaning politicians such as President Boris Tadic, who hopes that Serbia might eventually join the European Union.

That unity confounds many Western leaders who argue it is natural Kosovo’s ethnic Albanians should have an independent homeland in a territory where they represent 90 percent of the population — especially since they lost thousands of lives under Milosevic.

But ask just about anyone about giving up Kosovo on the streets of this drab capital and they would fail to understand the Western viewpoint. Serbs overwhelmingly feel it’s like asking an American whether Los Angeles should be ceded to Mexico because many Latinos live there.

In light of other separatist movements around the world, from Spain’s Basque country to Kashmir, the dilemma raises a searing question about whether self-determination is an absolute right when a slice of one nation is overwhelmingly populated by what is otherwise a minority ethnic group.

For Serbs, the answer is easy.

“Kosovo is ours,” said Dragoljub Stojanovic, 61, a retired factory worker from Leskovac. “We can’t give that away.”
To Serbs, Kosovo is the place where Serb identity was forged in 1398, when Serbian Prince Lazar chose to fight against overwhelming odds to stop a Turkish onslaught. Though he lost, the battle helped to stem the Turkish tide — safeguarding Christianity in the rest of Europe.

To mark his sacrifice, the Serbs put down roots in the area, building monasteries, churches and shrines, including the Pec Patriarchy — the ancient seat of the Serbian Orthodox Church — the 13th Century monastery in Gracanica and the Decani monastery, which is on the UNESCO World Heritage list.

The buildings safeguarded a rich culture: Byzantine-style icons painted by ancient masters are protected in the inner walls; the paintings depict the elongated faces of past rulers, saints, the Virgin Mary, Jesus Christ.
For Serbs, these images stir up pride and defiance.

“As long as we exist, Kosovo … is our Jerusalem, and we cannot give it up, just as we cannot give up our soul and our destiny,” Bishop Amfilohije, a church hard-liner, told worshippers at a prayer service Thursday following the Kosovo protest.

Politicians in Serbia have long manipulated the symbol of national identity to suit their own goals. Milosevic famously invoked the specter of an independent Kosovo in a pivotal 1989 speech that marked the rebirth of Serb nationalism after decades in which communist leaders sought to erase ethnic identities.

But after the wars and the systematic dismemberment of Yugoslavia, the Serbs are struggling with the question of their identity, said Dusan Janjic, who runs the Forum for Ethnic Relations, an non-government organization.

Politicians can mobilize masses by manipulating fears of losing a place that Serbs — from a very early age — are taught to revere as sacred.

“The Kosovo myth is about the beginning,” he said. “When you cut off the root, people become really nervous.”
Other factors are at play that contribute to Serb frustration. Many people in this Balkan nation of about 8 million believe they have been unjustly blamed for all the troubles that dog the region.

They think they have been punished enough for the bloodshed unleashed by Milosevic — through isolation, sanctions, and particularly with the 1999 NATO air strikes launched to halt Serb attacks on ethnic Albanians in Kosovo.

They see Kosovo independence as the latest chapter in a long anti-Serb Balkan saga, particularly since Serb separatists movements in Croatia and in Bosnia never won Western support — while the Kosovo Albanians were quick to win such backing.

“Among normal people, the recognition of the independence of Kosovo is the final act of offending Serbs and proof that the West is unjust to the Serbs,” said Bratislav Grubacic, a leading political analyst in Belgrade. “They don’t see why they should be punished.”

The punishment is visible. Across the capital — and even across the street from the U.S. Embassy — debris from the airstrikes remains in place, testimony to the immensity of the attacks and the poverty of a country that can’t afford to clear it away or persuade anyone to take the risk of developing property that may be full of unexploded bombs.

NATO launched 78-days of strikes to force Milosevic to his knees. Serb troops left Kosovo in the hands of the United Nations and the alliance, which was unable to prevent revenge attacks and other violence that sent thousands of Serbs fleeing in fear of their lives.

The punishment is also invisible. The years of isolation have scarred a generation who never took part in the conflict but have lived under strain of being Europe’s pariah state. Only few manage to grasp Serbia’s role in all this — and they wonder why they should be held responsible for the policies of an autocratic leader who died three years ago.

For young people here, there is a stifling lack of opportunity in a country that has been unable to develop economic links to the West because of the lingering confrontation over Kosovo and other differences.

Adding to the unease, Serbia’s leaders have essentially picked up where Milosevic left off. Taking advantage of the long-standing history of harassment between the Serbs and Albanians, Prime Minister Vojislav Kostunica has pushed a Kosovo-must-be reclaimed campaign that underscores a sense that the Serbs are victims.

At the Belgrade rally Thursday night that preceded the U.S. Embassy attack, Kostunica stressed Serbia’s history, its ancestors and the nation itself as he whooped up fervor in a patriotic pep rally.

“If we give up Serbian nationality, our history, Kosovo, ancestors, who then are we, the Serbs?” he said “What is our name?
The headline of the popular Vecernje Novisti newspaper the next day summed it up in a single word “Vow” — a pledge that Kosovo will not be lost for long.

Associated Press Writers William J. Kole and Nebi Qena in Pristina, Kosovo and Jovana Gec in Belgrade contributed to this story.

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