A Life Half Lived Page 5

  This is the context of the law, but what of the facts on the ground? In 1997 there were 10,000 non-military expatriate staff in Sarajevo alone, apart from the rest of Bosnia. At this time, other than the ICRC, and perhaps Médecins sans Frontières (MSF), most non-government organisation humanitarian staff had a deep scepticism of dealing with any military organisation. Likewise, many in the military were sceptical about co-operation with humanitarian Non-government Organisation (NGO) staff.

  One of my roles supported by Regional Armed Forces Delegates was to build bridges between the two worlds of humanitarian and military. Today, most of the world’s leading military forces and NGOs have civil military coordination offices to ease that process and build those relationships. Back in 1997 this was new.

  Paul Muggleton, the Regional Armed Forces Delegate and I made a number of trips with the Yugoslav senior officer corps. We also visited the Cela-Kula Monument. Cela-Kula was built in 1809 when the Serbs, then under Turkish rule, rebelled. The Turks won and built a grizzly monument of 959 severed heads to warn Serbs against uprising. The Serbs have preserved the monument as a warning, somewhat ironically given events in Bosnia, of the dangers of extremism.

  On another evening of the IHL course we were conducting, the army were our hosts on a visit to a former German concentration camp in Nis. There we heard stories of Nazi atrocities during World War II. I couldn’t help but get angry, not only at the Nazis, who deserve the anger, but at the Serbs. At this site, Paul Muggleton gave a speech about how we must remember the history and hope it is not repeated, a subtle reference to current activities in Bosnia. Yet the atrocities had been repeated.

  Many elements of the Bosnian war can validly be compared to that of the Nazis. In this region, history had not become a lesson from which the people learnt in order that they might avoid future mistakes. Instead, the history had become a reason for the hate that leads to the future mistakes. It is said that he who forgets the past is condemned to repeat it. That may sometimes be true. But here, those who remember the past use it to justify its repetition. In this region things would improve if all traces of the past from the year 900 onwards (after the first Slavic nation state) were ploughed into the earth and forgotten. Only then may we not repeat history here again.

  Even in the military though, we could find people with their own tragic story. My main liaison officer, Colonel Memisevic’s own son emigrated to South Africa as he had married a Croat. He often expressed sorrow that the break-up of his country had also broken up his family.

  Colonel Spasiovic, our other liaison officer, introduced me to Milosevic. In doing so he asked “MacLeod, so you want to meet our President?”

  “Honestly, Colonel Spasiovic,” I said, “no”.

  “Don’t worry, I hate him too”, said the Colonel.

  In April 1997 Paul Muggleton, Bruce Oswald and I, conducted an IHL course with the Yugoslav First Army led by the chief of operations GeneralMajor Georgi Churchin. The course was held in Belgrade, in the old residence of the King, later converted to the barracks of the headquarters of Yugoslavia’s First Army. I sat next to General-Major Churchin, toasting to his good health, while in the room next door a plaque on the wall reminds the visitor that this was the room that Tito and Kruschev signed the Yugoslav – USSR Normalisation Agreement.

  Paul Muggleton and Bruce Oswald conducted most of the course with their usual flair. We were to later find out that every one of the officers that participated in a training session refused the orders of Milosevic to ethnically cleanse the Albanian population in Kosovo in 1999. Our work sometimes had impact.

  The Protection of the Red Cross Emblem One of my roles was to spread an understanding of the meaning of the Red Cross Emblem. The Red Cross is a non-religious organisation and the emblem of the cross is merely the reversal of the Swiss national flag, a white cross on a red background. The use of the Red Cross emblem is often mistaken as being one of first aid or a hospital. This is not true. The meaning of the Red Cross is much more powerful. Under international law it acts as a protective symbol to recognise those ‘out of combat’ in conflict zones and requiring protection. Protection applies to doctors, medical workers, members of the ICRC or victims and civilians outside of military forces. Misuse of the emblem in a time of peace undermines that organisation’s ability to work as a protective device in times of war, therefore one of the most important roles for a Dissemination Delegate is to expand the understanding of the role of the Red Cross symbol and ensure that it is not misused in times of peace.

  The emblem is a critical component in the protection of aid workers. When the law is breached this may be horrifically recognised.

  I returned to Belgrade from Bosnia in the early hours of December, 17 1996, to the news that six delegates of the International Committee of the Red Cross were assassinated in a brutal attack by gunmen at the ICRC hospital in Novye Atagi, near Grozny, Chechnya. Speculation and strong evidence pointed to the murder being perpetrated by the Russian special forces as the field hospital was not seen by them as neutral. Earlier in 1996 three delegates had been targeted and killed in an ambush in Burundi. They were also not seen as neutral. In late summer 1996, the ICRC had decided to open a field hospital in Chechnya because the main hospitals in Grozny had been seriously damaged, leaving large numbers of war-wounded without adequate care. This perception of non-neutrality started in the 1990s, and grew.

  But why kill aid workers?

  In simple military terms, one attacks an enemy where the enemy is most vulnerable. Take Iraq and Afghanistan. Disorder and disruption to aid supplies increases disquiet within the civilian populations. If the aid agencies scale back or pull out as a result of their employees being attacked, it puts the pressure on the military forces to deliver the aid needed by the population. Aid delivery stretches scarce military resources and requires the force to move bulky cargo in strategically vulnerable convoys open to easy attack.

  Anti-coalition forces may think that attacks on the UN and the Red Cross disrupt aid supply, increase disquiet in the community, enhance the opportunity for recruitment to their cause, and increase the number of vulnerable soft military targets on the road. Not a bad result, from their perspective. A more frightening way of looking at this is to say that the more efficient and effective a humanitarian organisation is, the more important a target it is in the eyes of the belligerents. The effective delivery of humanitarian supplies is what makes the UN a target, precisely because the delivery undermines one side of the conflict and helps the other. So what do we do?

  Do we ask humanitarian workers to do their work, knowing that they are unarmed and undefended targets? In short, the answer is yes. And this is why the protection of the emblem is so important.

  It is the emblem that protects the true heroes, heroes like Michael Fry. His story explains why Red Cross delegates must be pedantic in their protection of the emblem.

  A Hero in the Middle of War My counterpoint in Zagreb, Bruce Biber, organised a dinner of ICRC national staff from Serbia, Croatia and Bosnia. It was a night to celebrate heroes and humanity. It was on that night that I came to understand one of the many heroes and one of the many horrific stories that came from the Bosnian war.

  During the closing days of the Bosnian war, operations ‘Flash’ and ‘Storm’ marked the final cleansing of Serbian civilians in the western parts of Bosnia and the Serbian Krajina in Croatia. At its heart was a town called Kladusa, and in its centre was a Swiss-German ICRC delegate named Michael Fry. On August 8, 1995, Mike wrote an urgent message to headquarters. Kladusa was about to fall and soldiers had stolen everything of use, including his bicycle. Mike stood in the Kladusa Delegation, staring at his message knowing that the town was caught up in one hell of a storm. As a Swiss-German, Mike had a sense of humour uncharacteristic of his countrymen. He worked hard on it in the belief that his good humour could raise the spirits of those around him. Now, in the heat of a battle, he looked at the faces in front of him, and realised they needed every
ounce of good humour they could get. His dark hair and brown eyes stood out on a face that could light a room. Those who knew him would always remember Mike’s regular ‘good-good-good morning’. Afraid, but scared to show it, he reflected on the recent events that had placed him in this position.

  Kladusa was more or less the capital of the ‘Republic of Western Bosnia’, as it became known. This little known enclave-within-an enclave was surrounded by lush green hills more like those of central England than the rough mountains further south. Kladusa and the Western Bosnian Republic were bordered to the north and west by the predominantly Serb areas of Croatia. To the southeast was the ‘Bihac Pocket’ – a Muslim enclave inside Serbian Bosnia. The self-proclaimed Muslim republic was run by Fikret Abdic, who, after his split with Izetbegovic to create the Republic of Western Bosnia and his separation from the rest of Muslim-controlled Bosnia, found himself in a pocket within a pocket.

  To the local Serbs, Abdic and his Muslim colleagues were respected due to the fact that the Muslims of this region fought against the Croats in World War II, and also for simple monetary reasons. Abdic employed the local Serbs, and as the war in Bosnia dragged on, and money and jobs were harder to find, loyalty to Abdic became greater. In addition, Abdic, although watching the war closely for business opportunities, stayed fairly clear of the fighting, at least initially. After he formed his Republic of Western Bosnia, Abdic had to defend his town and often brutally as it pitted Muslim against Muslim – often brother against brother – and father against son, eyeing each other across the frontline and over the gun barrels. With the support of the Serbs in the Serb Krajina however, Abdic could hold his town.

  On May 1, 1995, the Croatian forces launched Operation ‘Flash’ against Sector West in Croatia, forcing all Serbs to leave.

  Known as the Republic of Serb Krajina, these sectors bordered Abdic’s Western Bosnia. ‘Krajina’ means ‘military frontier’ and in the 16th and 17th centuries, the Austrian Emperor invited Serbs to settle the region to defend the empire from the Turks. The area forming the Krajina enjoyed special self-governing status within the empire. It was large, stretching from the Dalmatian coast, along the Una and the Danube rivers and into Transylvania. To the Serbs of the region this was their home, and they considered themselves special.

  The Serbs in Sectors North and South should have prepared for an attack against them, but for some reason preparations remained small. On August 4, 1995 the attack came with ruthless brutality. The Croatians then launched Operation ‘Storm’. On Sunday August 6, 1995, two days after the launch of the Croatian Operation ‘Storm’ in the Serb Krajina, the Muslim Fifth Corps did indeed push for their ‘brothers’ in Kladusa.

  That morning Mike had sent a message to his headquarters saying that things were tense, but calm. Power and water in the town had been cut at 8.10 am and medical staff had been evacuated. Others residents had begun to flee, but the ‘storm’ had not yet broken. Writing his message to headquarters, Mike remembered feeling hopefully optimistic and fatefully pessimistic. On the morning of the August 7 Mike noted the defences hastily being reinforced around the town. All the reservists had been called up and frontline troops withdrawn to the town. It seemed all were preparing for the onslaught of the Fifth Corps. No one seemed to think that the town would survive. The Republic of Western Bosnia would soon die and the town would be surrounded.

  Mike was relieved that the Fifth Corps had been informed of the ICRC Delegation’s position. Relying on the ICRC’s neutrality for protection, Mike would not evacuate. By afternoon, Mike’s message revealed a quickly deteriorating situation. His message read…

  “Fifth corps troops appear to be moving close, a belt of tanks has been set up by WB [Western Bosnian] forces south of the town in order to secure the mass exodus of the population out of Kladusa to the North. Some 20,000 to 30,000 people are on the move, perhaps more, some are walking out with crutches, others are bare footed, children hanging from shoulders of frantic mothers, just all are running for their life, tractors, horses and carts are used for transport of belongings and food, cattle is being moved out, massive panic has broken out, it is a terrible picture to describe….

  A little girl living in the house adjoining the delegation was heard screaming, as she dragged her two-year-old sister into the street, and her mother was still nowhere to be found. Others were crying and running around, confusion is all over the place, in particular nobody knowing where they were going. Some military persons were clearly angry at the situation and were pointing guns at everyone; persons from the LRC [local Red Cross] and from the authorities came to say bye to us, some sporadic shooting can be heard, there is definitely another humanitarian disaster taking place here…

  … Soldiers of WB have come to the delegation. They requested something we did not understand. We brought the keys of the car, but they shot around in anger, and also at the tyres of our cars. We faced some violent talks with some nervous soldiers barely in control of their anger. They forced the Red Cross field officers to leave with them. We do not know what will happen to them…

  …The situation is difficult to describe, sporadic shelling and shooting can be heard, a lot of soldiers are moving closer to our house as we are on the main road of Kladusa. …This will probably be the last message for a while….”

  What Mike was describing was the fall of Kladusa. Hidden in his basement with his colleagues he could not know of the chaos outside. He didn’t know of the brutal hand-to-hand fighting taking place a few hundred yards away. Blood flowed down the streets and anyone who had remained behind truly fled for their lives.

  Mike was significantly worried about the immediate future of local staff. Local staff are always the key to the ICRC operation. The risks they take are greater than those of foreign staff since in the heat of a conflict a soldier may believe a foreigner when he says he is a neutral observer, but may be more reluctant to believe that information from local people. Mike feared for their lives, his only consolation being that they left with the soldiers who were fleeing, not those arriving.

  By Tuesday August 8, the town had fallen and the Fifth Corps moved in. The brutal attack of the town and the view that the inhabitants were traitors ensured that those who remained would be harshly dealt with. For Mike, the morning, though tense, brought relief that the town had fallen quickly. He guessed, correctly, that the Muslims fleeing Kladusa into the Serb Krajina would run right into the Croatian troops storming up from the regional town of Knin in Croatia. Mike could only wonder what might happen in the impending conflict.

  As his report showed, the arrival of the Fifth Corps did bring problems. Aside from the shooting and shelling in the morning, the visiting soldiers had taken personal belongings and communications equipment from the delegation including the last car. Soldiers arriving later took the bicycles.

  Mike had a number of priorities now. He had to register the new POWs in accordance with the Geneva Conventions. He had to make a medical assessment of the Kladusa hospital, which had been hit by shells during the day. And he had to try and find 20,000–30,000 fleeing refugees, all without a car.

  An amazing series of radio communications began to the ICRC office in Bihac, a few hours’ drive away, which had three spare cars – although that office was reluctant to release one. His frustration and rage, followed by various communications going higher and higher up the ICRC chain of command, finally secured a vehicle for Mike by the morning of the 9th – five days after ‘Storm’ and nearly three days after the exodus of people had begun.

  Mike guessed that the refugees would be somewhere between Vojnic and Tusilovic, the main road to Zagreb and he could think of no other place the Muslims of Kladusa could go. Then again, he was fairly sure they would not be welcome there either. The Muslims of Kladusa were now everybody’s enemy. Mike feared for them. Wherever they were, they were under the control of the Croats – who had their blood lust at full charge. He wrote… “Concerning these thousands of refugees, urgent steps have t
o be taken in order to understand the fate of these people who most probably are just leaving and sleeping under trees as they had left in panic without taking clothes and food with them. We need urgently steps be taken towards getting access to these people…”

  Mike knew his move would have to be drastic. He left Kladusa, heading northwest towards the areas of confrontation. His borrowed vehicle grumbled along the highway toward Vojnic although he only got as far as Kristinja a little over 30 minutes away. Here Mike was met, as he had feared, by Croatian forces. This 30 km of road began in Bosnia in a Muslim enclave, continued into the Serb Krajina and ended up in front of the advancing Croatian troops. The problem for Mike was that in this short distance, which covered two confrontation lines, he had not yet seen those that had fled Kladusa.

  His urgent requests for access to the area beyond the troops where he thought the refugees must be were prevented for ‘military reasons’; a euphemism usually reserved by warring factions for situations when the slaughter of civilian populations is imminent. Now Mike really had cause to fear. The area was controlled by Croatians, was being purged of Serbs, and the Muslims were stuck in the middle, unsupported. Reluctantly Mike turned back towards Kladusa, convinced that the ICRC had to make urgent requests in Zagreb for access to this area, so he would need to hurry. He hadn’t gone far when, coming in the opposite direction was a Croatian troop-carrying truck heading towards where he assumed the refugees were. On instinct, Mike swung his land cruiser around and followed the truck, driving so close that his vehicle could not be seen in the side mirrors of the troop carrier. With its rear flap down, those inside could not see him either. His hunch was that the vehicle would not be stopped at the checkpoint and that he could sneak through on its coat tails. Mike hoped that those on the checkpoint would not fire on him, or care, either.