The Bad, the Good, the Ugly and the Church

June 21, 2006

Scorpions Trial, Belgrade

The Bad, the Good, the Ugly and the Church

I missed yesterday's witness. My friend told me: youdidn’t miss much. He was lying constantly, laughingunpleasantly, and he was just a bad person, and it wascoming from every pore of his skin. He accusedprotected witness A from Hague of lying in court
in order to get legal status abroad. He didn’t fail to mention that
the "Cunt", meaning the guy who didn’t shoot the
prisoners, had shamefully failed to shoot any prisoners.
When he tried his best to look good, then he was the worst.

Today, instead, we had another show-off witness, though
God knows what he wanted to display to us. The other Scorpions
in court scarcely seemed to recognize our show-off at all: in
the war years, he was a young, very commonplace soldier.
Today his head is shaved, his scalp is full of scars, his smile is crooked
and unpleasant, and his body language is distinctly weird. He looks
like a deeply traumatized guy to me, like somebody who
suffered a lot of hell even before he became a Scorpion.

Clearly that war experience was the
highest point of his life. First, he was a prisoner
inside Croatia. Then he escaped to join the regular army to
fight against Croatians. When he was sent to Serbia
for regular military service, he volunteered
to become a Scorpion: for revenge, for money and out of
shame at having always been a lowly victim. I can see
through his emotional lies: I see a drafted skinny boy
(as he was in those years) who dreams of escaping his
misery to become a Scorpion, and then, as a miserable
Scorpion, furthermore dreams of becoming a Big-Time Scorpion.

There were no prisoners in our war, he says. We would kill
everybody in our sight. He echoes the Commander's words.
His sister, he says, was a hairdresser for the Scorpions.
She travelled faithfully with them, doing their hair. This is the first time that a woman has been mentioned as a member of the Scorpions
in active service. I wonder if she was in charge of designing and maintaining their public image: did this hairdresser suggest their shaven heads, their tattooed scalps and necks? I wonder: did she wear their uniform, and carry a gun along with her combs and shampoo?

Until a week ago, the witness was living in Cuprija, inner Serbia.
My mother went to school in that town. I am trying to
imagine how my late Mom would comment on this pitiful case of
small Scorpion, the hairdresser's brother whom no other Scorpion remembers. My mother was a very judgmental person and keenly aware of her own regional people.

The courtroom's technician of death, the guy without one leg, preaches to the judges. You failed with this witness, he says. I'll
handle him now, and he does. He catches the small Scorpion
in all kinds of traps as regarding his supposed dates and missions.

The judge too, catches him in contradictions and scolds him
severely. I don’t know why, but I believe his testimony. He clearly
doesn't know or remember enough to tell "the truth and nothing but the truth," but I believe he was there. He is clearly a veteran of many terrible places in his cruel world; the places that he talks about, and many other situations that create very bad people from the good and the merely ugly.

Our witness describes a World War II-era "bunker full of ammunition" that nobody else remembers. This sounds more like a seven-year-old's power fantasy than a genuine arsenal for professional killers.
He blurs some nicknames from the troop in order to prove he was there with them: the Muslim, the Montenegrin, the Sqiptar (the Albanian). What would he be called, I wonder: the "Croat," since he lived in Croatia as a Serb? Was it a problem for him to live with a gang of ethnic cleansers who had such multi-ethnic nicknames?

He tells us how they drank their water from the forest streams,
and how horses often brought them food in tins from the locals. Then one day a horse collapsed, and they saved the horse. He smiles with deep emotion at this memory. I realize that he said he was a veterinarian's assistant. I am sure he had many good reasons to love animals more than people.

He paid no attention to the burnt houses around, though he keenly
remembers his romantic bunker from World War II. I believe
him again. I am coming to believe that his bunker, or something like it, is really out there.

Then I realize why he is here in court. I finally recognize his face. I saw him countless times on television. He is the famous soldier in the front-lines, who was blessed by the Orthodox priest before going to combat. He was in that famous video cassette, along with the execution and the other Scorpion blessings. My friend recognizes him too, now that he is boasting about his video: he's both a star and a criminal. It's hard to say which one of these experiences came first for him, since he clearly wanted to be both all along.

My friend says: if I were the state, I would indict every one of them. I am startled. There's simply no room in the jails for every combatant in the Balkan wars. I remember men in the early 90s, marauders, deserters. I knew one who shaved his long hair, was drafted into the regular army, saw the horror of Vukovar and deserted in a couple of months. For ten years this deserter stayed out of jail: he had no passport, no official ID. He looks a lot like this Scorpion witness, the same ragged denim, the same red shirt. He is now in his early thirties, and is still a true victim of the war, much more so than these Scorpion guys who lack legs, or brains, or both.

Our one-legged hero, who sports red crutches, gives a
political speech today. The other jailbirds, whom he considers dirt, are discriminating against him because of his physical disability. He can't help becoming rude to them because of this, and so he is risking injury at the hands of the criminal inmates, who lack his glorious reasons for being behind bars. He pleads innocent and wants to defend himself from outside the jail.

His lawyer chimes in with great pomposity and unbelievable tender words and feelings: his brave hero plans to have children before dying, and he fears he will die before managing to sire any. His wife is in the audience today, I think... Yes, she raises her thumb at him after his speech, and he smiles back at her. I never saw him smile before: the future father is looking forward to his basic human rights (as his lawyer calls them). As a woman, I feel cold and numb.

June 22, 2006
My security policeman is unhappy with my shoes today.
They are black, plain flat shoes, yet they have a metal clip at their
back. What is that clip for, he asks...It's to clip to things... I
answer vaguely. If that metal clip rings through the security door, then you cannot attend the trial, he decides abruptly.

My shoes do not alarm the scanning machines.

The lobby is full of loose Scorpions today, my Lord,
of all colors, sizes, genders and ages. Scorpion moms and
Scorpion in laws are attending too... They seem grimmer than usual.

I have a feeling I know them all now, their familiar faces, their usual worries... And I feel awkward about that. I talk too loud, my friend tells
me... So what? I'm no Scorpion and these aren't my lawyers .
Avoid making trouble, she insists. She works in the humanitarian organizations. All these people here just hate us and are ready to strike at first excuse. Be calm for the sake of the victims' relatives.

I back down. I remember how many years ago, when a taxi-driver called me a whore, I lost my temper and broke the window of his cab. He sincerely wanted to kill me.

Yesterday I took part in a public performance in the main
square in Belgrade called "Not Whores, Not Saints, but
Women." We dramatically threw off our outer clothes and danced in miniskirts, shorts, swimming suits... The police were very tense and uneasily ready to arrest us, even though there was nothing illegal about our show. Today our
pictures are in some of the dailies. Do they recognize us Women in Black in this courtroom as those witches dancing in the public square?

Today we are expecting a star witness. This is the guy who first ratted out the existence of the Scorpions' execution video. He told a human rights lawyer about it, and everything since has followed his revelation. As we wait for the trial to start again, I am trying to guess who this new prosecution witness might be. Again we are crowding the small lobby: the Muslim relatives, we Women in Black, the Scorpions, their relatives, the lawyers, the policemen and the court clerks.

Our body language grows more precise and tense now, as if we are in a car race, where one wrong move can cost your life. We never look at each other or touch, but we are keenly aware of each other. A jungle full of predators and prey.

The judge announces that the witness has not shown up to testify.
Next time, she says, he will be summoned by the cops. The defense lawyer of the Scorpions, who was once a right-wing war volunteer, is rude and aggressive about it. He states publicly: you should look for that witness in your rooms, not at his house.

Score One-Zero for the Scorpions. The war-crimes court is adjourned until the next session in July. The witness may well disappear altogether, though his dice have already been cast. We know they are guilty. They know they are guilty. They know that everybody knows they are guilty. It's just that they declare their guilt to be Patriotism, while the rest of the world calls it War Crime.

Let's see what the law in modern Serbia thinks about it.