Читать книгу Aid Memoir - Larry Hollingworth - Страница 14

Rogatica

Convoys are exciting, stimulating and satisfying but a small portion of the aid task. A lot of time was spent in negotiation, listening and learning, attending meeting after meeting.

The conferences between the Government and the aid agencies took place mainly on Tuesdays. They were terrible affairs. We had a representative from all the UN agencies, and other non-UN agencies were invited. The government had a permanent liaison officer for aid, but if the subject or the time warranted it, they would upgun their representation to Vice President level. Initially, the permanent member changed frequently, then for a while, it was a Mr. Beardic who had spent a lot of time in America as a Consul and had the looks, mannerisms and accent of a Godfather. He could be charming but he could also be obstructively rude. After a while, he was replaced by Mr. Mugdim Pasic, an electrical engineer by training but now a diplomat, a skilled negotiator and a genuine person. He understood our problems as he understood those of the government he represented. More importantly he realised that life in war torn Sarajevo was a compromise between the necessary and the possible.

In truth, most of what was demanded of us should have been possible. We, the UN, published and printed a minimum scale of food necessary to preserve life in a Central European environment. We even qualified it further, we stipulated a winter and a summer scale. Then we failed to achieve the minimum by an enormous margin. Sometimes the shortfall was as much as ninety per cent, often it was sixty. Daily we admitted the shortfall. We gave the citizens of Sarajevo, the authorities, and the media a huge stick to beat us with.

Why was it not possible? Most of the time we had the money, most of the time we had the food and the medicines, for a lot of the time we had enough transportation to do most of the job. The simple answer is that we were not allowed to send convoys where they were needed. Who stopped us? For a long time it was mainly Bosnian Serbs, for a while it was Bosnian Serbs and Bosnian Croats. For a brief mad moment, the Sarajevo authorities themselves prevented us from feeding the people of Sarajevo.

Occasionally the conferences produced a flash of humour. High on the agenda of one was “Bull semen for cows in Sarajevo.”

The meeting was chaired by the Vice President. Tony Land was leading for UNHCR.

– Mr. Vice President, firstly I have seen only one cow in Sarajevo. Secondly, the transportation of bull semen is not easy, unless you happen to be a bull.

Vice President Lagumdzija replied—To answer your first point, there are few cows. There will be even less if we do not get semen. To answer your second, it needs to be transported in temperature-controlled containers.

Tony drew on his chemical engineering degree and his Sarajevo knowledge. Mr. Lagumdzija, the containers need to be nitrogen cooled. There is no way the Serbs will allow such containers in.

– There you go—said Lagumdzija petulantly—back to what the Serbs will allow.

Tony then said only half in jest—Maybe we can negotiate that the Serbs have thirty per cent of the semen?

Back came the vice president’s reply—The Serbs can go and fuck their own cows.

But more often than not, the conferences were hard work. In January 1993, Vice President Zlatko Lagumdzija came to the meeting in a fighting mood. When we arrived, there were TV cameras set up in the conference room. Always a bad omen.

– Mr. Hollingworth, you are failing in Sarajevo, in Srebrenica, in Zepa, in Gorazde. Let me give you some solutions. Model one: Give us the means to solve the problem ourselves. Model two: Give us airdrops. Model three: You use all necessary means.

This was a good start and left no opportunity for me to get in.

Mr. Hollingworth, are you aware that in Zepa 291 people, including 166 children, have died? You told us that you were going to take a convoy on 21st of December. You said that the Serbs told you it was impossible because of heavy snow. There was no snow. You told us that you would go in on the 6th of January. You said that the Serbs told you it was impossible because of heavy fighting. There was no fighting. Here he paused. He was clearly perplexed and angered by our lack of action. Mr. Hollingworth, what is the role of UNHCR? What is the role of UNPROFOR?—These were rhetorical questions. He left no time for a reply. Believing you, we have been promising the people aid. But all of the UN institutions have done nothing…Nothing…—Another long pause. I thought about interrupting but he continued. Why do you not adopt the mandate you have been given?

Oh boy, I am not going to try to answer that one.

– Negotiating with the Chetniks is a waste of time. Go on, admit that UNHCR and UNPROFOR cannot achieve their aim—I thought “NO,” I will sit this one out—Mr. Larry, tell the donor governments that it is not possible to provide aid to the enclaves. Tell the governments that hundreds are dying of cold and starvation. Continue the way you are and all will die. The Chetniks started this war to annihilate these locations. They are close to finishing what they started.

At this stage, the Vice President stopped and amazingly—yes, that is the right word—amazingly, began to cry. These were genuine tears of frustration and emotion. I am sure that they took him by surprise. His emotion devastated some of his colleagues.

I was not prepared for it. I had until the moment of his tears thought that I was listening to a carefully prepared and rehearsed speech.

In the pause a doctor from Zepa whose brother was practising in Zepa stepped in—Why haven’t you reached Zepa? The road is clear today, there is no fighting today. Go now.

This was not my day. No sooner had he stopped than my friend Murat, the ex-Mayor of Srebrenica, who knew how much effort I had put into attempts at reaching Srebrenica, began.

– There is no fighting near Srebrenica. Try now—He caught the “Et tu, Brute?” look in my eye and mellowed—Try. If you have to return, it is OK. At least they will know you tried.

These interjections had given Zlatko time to recover and back he came with a vengeance.

– So we agree we cannot enter anywhere because the Chetniks do not let us. So whatever happens, it is because the other side will not let us. Then let us inform the media that it is the Chetniks’ plan to kill all these people. You, the UN, have the mandate to relieve them. You, the UN, are holding cities under siege. At the airport meeting, the Chetniks agreed to allow convoys. They clearly did not mean it. So, UN, with your mandate, there is no solution. We demand airdrops. Please try again this time with adequate air drops. If you cannot respect the UN resolution, we will do something on our own. It will clearly be suicide but we will do it. Mr. Hollingworth, inform Geneva that the people of Bosnia believed in the United Nations. But you have not carried out the mandate it gave to you. We must now do it our way.

Then he left. No farewell, he just swept out of the room.

Zlatko, if I had been in your shoes, I would have said exactly the same. You were not normally a passionate man—you were on that day and I admired you for it.

I was not too happy with him the next meeting.

– Mr. Hollingworth (a bad sign), we have received from your office in Zagreb all the paperwork for all the aid that has arrived at the airport. There is a thirty per cent deficiency between that which was put on the aircraft and that which was distributed. Who is eating our food?

– Mr. Vice President, you cannot eat aircraft pallets.

Zlatko and the Bosnian Government were shouting about Srebrenica and Zepa, but we had promised an early return to Gorazde which, having done it once, seemed easier. We told the Serbs of our plans and they gave approval. Naturally, we told the Bosnian government. They must have told the authorities in Gorazde.

We had a French escort and Egyptian drivers. The drivers were late, and I cursed their ancient ancestors that must have annoyed the Egyptian duty officer. They were late, but the journalists as ever were on time. The first to arrive was one half of the BBC twin legends Kate Adie. She had set off with her team in Sarajevo city. They were the first down the dreaded sniper alley. The duty sniper was alert and delighted to see a single vehicle travelling fast enough to challenge his skills. He fired one round. He was a good shot, he aimed off to compensate for the moving vehicle, his range and distance were correct, but his weapon was firing low. Thank God. The round hit Kate’s armoured Land Rover at the base of the panel in front of the passenger door. The round lost velocity as it passed through armoured plate, the footwell of the Land Rover and the boot on the right foot of Kate. Naturally, the crew did not stop. They raced on and arrived at the airport. In the quiet of the morning, we had heard the shot. The Land Rover parked alongside mine and Kate removed her boot. The round had not penetrated the skin, but her foot was sore. As the day progressed, it became a dark blue. She was lucky as she had been in Tien An Men. It was an omen for the day.

The road from Sarajevo to Pale twists and turns, and the final kilometres are down a steep hill. The terrain in Egypt must be flatter. I know this because the Egyptian drivers, each and every one, drove down the hill slowing their ten-tonne vehicles laden with flour using just the brakes. The gear lever was an expensive cab ornament, not even used as an optional extra. I was not aware of this, as I proudly led the convoy waving to the children until the third vehicle burst into flames. The convoy stopped. I walked back to the vehicle, passing vehicles one and two, which smelt of burning rubber. The fire in the third was quickly extinguished. The vehicle was unloaded in Pale. Pleasing the locals and making a virtue out of necessity. The drivers were introduced to the gear lever and we proceeded.

At Rogatica, the inspection team were vicious. But for a good reason. On this very day, the Bosnians had decided to break out of Gorazde, to end the siege. And apparently, they were doing well.

– It is all your fault—I was told.

– Mine? Why mine?

– Because you took ammunition in last time—This was the second time this oft to be repeated accusation was made. I was horrified that they could even think of this. How naive I was.

– It is not possible that we took in ammunition. Firstly, we are the United Nations. We are totally impartial. Secondly, I would never permit any war material on a convoy. Thirdly, you ransacked the convoy before it went in.

– No we didn’t, we did a random search. You must have taken in ammunition. They are using weapons that they have not used before. Weapons and ammunition that they did not have before your last visit.

This actually turned out to be true. But we had not taken it in; it had gone in via the mule route from a little place called Grebac. We later used it to send in food.

The search was long and thorough and may have gone on forever had not the commander who had, on my first visit, insisted that I see the bodies arrive.

– You have heard of the Muslim attack? Ah, now it was an attack.

– Yes, I have and I have been accused of having taken in weapons last time. I am furious and demand an apology.

He ignored me but continued—They have ambushed a mobile patrol of ours. We have tried to recover the bodies, but they have a sniper covering them. Will you please go and collect the bodies and bring them here?

I thought quickly—I cannot collect them now. The sniper will probably shoot us. I will talk to the commander in Gorazde and ask him to call off the sniper. I will then try to collect the bodies on the way back. OK?

– Please, Mr. Larry, the families know that they are dead and lying in the road. They want them back. I liked this man, he was a good man caught up in an evil war. He agreed that we could go forward but only if I accepted full responsibility. The Egyptian drivers may have been lacking in driving skills, but they were not lacking in courage. They wanted to go forward. The journalists also wanted to go forward, but they were told that Pale had forbidden them to go beyond Rogatica.

Not everyone wanted to go forward. Lovely loyal driver Dragon came to see me.

– Last time when we went in, they were killing Serbs on our way out. This time they are killing Serbs on the way in. Do you really need me? On this convoy we had brought three vehicles with aid and medicine for Rogatica.

– No, my friend, I would much prefer you to distribute the aid here in Rogatica. I was then without a driver but not for long. A gentleman with previous Hereford skills and current camera expertise volunteered to leap into Dragon’s seat. He agreed to pool his resources for the benefit of his less fortunate colleagues. His camera was carefully stowed under my personal possessions, out of sight.

We moved on. In the valley, we found the bodies. It had been a mobile patrol. They had been in a car. All three men were lying in the road. All very dead. It was a very hot day. We had to weave the APC and my vehicle around the bodies, as they almost blocked the road. I stopped my vehicle and discussed with my driver the moving of the bodies. We should have done but we didn’t. They were not a pretty sight, and if we handled them there was nowhere to wash our hands. Also, the sniper may not agree. So we drove on but, sickeningly, not all of our trucks could avoid the bodies.

We could hear a lot of gunfire, but we were way up the twisty mountain road before we could positively see the change of fortunes. Near where Fabrizio had lost the APC, a Serb truck had been shot off the road. It had fallen down the side of the mountain and been stopped by a clump of trees. Bodies were strewn over the hill and around the vehicle. They were Serb and all had bullet wounds. The vehicle, probably containing reinforcements, had been ambushed.

On the crest of the hill from where the Serb guns had pounded Gorazde, there was the most remarkable sight, the Bosnian flag was fluttering and a platoon of jubilant Gorazde fighters were sitting out of breath. I was at first disbelieving that they could be government troops, but then, from amongst them emerged the little round civilian who had been the first man Eric and I had seen when we entered Gorazde. He threw his arms around me. I was overwhelmed.

– When? How?—I asked, spreading my arms.

He was too emotional to reply. He just hugged me.

I wanted to be in and out of Gorazde within the day. The last night move out of Gorazde had put me off night moves, and now that there was a battle raging, I did not want to be caught up in it.

– We must move—I told our friend. He insisted on coming in with us.

We descended down the hill to Gorazde. Government troops were everywhere. Sadly, they were burning houses and bizarrely cutting the throats of pigs which they found in the Serb farms. Muslim symbolism. The pigs were lying in the road squealing and squirming.

Gorazde was chaotic. Last time we had been the star attraction. This time we were a side show. A welcome sideshow. I spoke to Major Bulabasic, the commander and the man responsible for the success of the day. He was tired, but he was not elated. He knew that he had won a battle but that the war was far from over for Gorazde.

We did not unload the trucks where we had on the first occasion. They now had more territory and were able to use the old ammunition depot where it could be stored safely and issued safely. It was weird to use the road to the depot. The previous day, it would have meant certain death from the snipers. Today, it meant low risk, although there was still the odd round coming in. Not all the Serb sites were overrun.

I maintained pressure to get out. There was enthusiasm from the convoy to stay and join in the festivities, but I was worried about a counterattack. If it came, it would be furious. It did eighteen months later and was far more evil than I had expected. It was also a shameful time for the UN. I collected some of the large plastic sheets that wrapped the pallets to collect the bodies in on our return.

We began to leave late in the afternoon. My substitute driver had gone on a walkabout with no intention of returning, so I was behind the wheel. The French APC commander had not been on the first convoy. I had been to Gorazde before. I was in charge. So, I insisted that I lead the way out and took the convoy with flags flying and people frantically waving up a cul-de-sac. That’s why they were waving. We had to reverse and there was very little room. So the last became the first, and I became the tail end of the convoy!

So, with the convoy spread out before me, we left. The last APC negotiated the first bend and was hit by a BMW car travelling at great speed having negotiated what it thought was the end of the convoy. There was little damage to the APC, a few flecks of white paint had fallen to the floor; the BMW was a write off. I raced across and was on the scene quicker than the APC crew could dismount. I expected to see tragedy, but four exceedingly drunken Bosnian soldiers tippled out of the car forcing the bent doors open with alcoholic force. I was concerned, they were drunk, they probably had been euphoric. This would not be the way they would wish to end the day. But quite the contrary. They staggered, looked at the BMW, looked at the APC and began to giggle.

By now, I was worrying about exchanging insurance details and thinking of calling for a policeman. The man who had been in the driving seat spoke English. With a “who cares” wave of his hands, he dismissed my apologies and commiserations.

– Don’t worry Mr. Larry, it is a trophy car. We will go and get another. He had just “liberated” it from the garage of a Serb farmer who had fled. Thank God they had liberated the slivovica as well. Sober, I do not reckon they would have survived the crash. As I motored to catch up with the convoy, I wondered about the car. If farmers in relatively recent capitalist ex-Yugoslavia could run BMW’s, what would they drive if they ever join the Common Market?

By the time we entered the valley before Rogatica, it was dark. I spoke to the French commander and asked him to stop at the bodies. He agreed. We were not too sure where the bodies were. Distance is deceptive at night. Also, we were worried about some of the debris on the road. There were the tails of mortar bombs which had not been there on our way out. If any mortars had failed to explode, we did not want to drive over them. We motored very slowly.

It was a night without a moon, but suddenly there was a flash and night became day. The lead vehicle had hit a trip flare. A trip flare without covering fire is useless. A flare on a road usually triggers off an ambush. The French officer was very calm and professional. If I had been the lead vehicle, I would have sped forward with the whole convoy, forget mines, get out of one danger area, worry about the next one if you hit it. He didn’t. He quietly ordered his APC’s to put their spotlights on, thus illuminating the convoy and showing it to be UN. His APCs had taken up static fire positions and were ready to fire heavy machine gun rounds at anything that opened up.

Nothing opened up. We sat in silence. After a while, I spoke with the French officer. He decided to send the APC ahead to sweep a stretch of road then call us forward. This we did for the next fifteen minutes after which we saw the bodies in the road. They had been moved by the convoy and were more gory. The French officer was not happy to stop and move them. We had had the scare of the flare, moving the bodies may annoy whoever is out there. He then asked,

– If we stop, who is actually going to do it?

– I have some plastic sheets from the pallets. We will just pull their bodies onto them and put them on the trucks.

– I will not let the military help. It is a job which needs gloves and masks. I have spoken with Sarajevo. They have said NO.

I did not want to do it. I could not do it on my own. It was a dirty job and it did have the risk of attracting fire. But I had told the Serb that we would do it. Also, we had damaged the bodies. But at that time of the night, after the day we had had, I was prepared to hide behind a Sarajevo decision.

When we arrived in Rogatica it was absolutely deserted. It took ages to find Dragon. I then went to the house of the commander and explained that I had been unable to collect the bodies. I blamed the flare and the threat of an ambush. He told me that the flare was his and that there had been an ambush section in the hill but that it had seen our convoy. He was not upset that I had failed to bring in the bodies. I offered with no enthusiasm to stay and assist in their recovery the following day.

– No need, we will have them back before dawn. He did. By dawn we were back in Sarajevo.