I don't ask him what he did to become wanted and hunted by the Hague tribunal. I can't imagine him murdering cold bloodedly or raping. He has a good face, the wrinkles of many smiles and kindly eyes. When he laughs softly, they light up in black fire and his handshake is warm and firm. Instead I say: "And now it's Montenegro's turn should they declare independence?"
There is uneasy silence. The Serbs among us move in their chairs, glance warily at each other, as though co-ordinating an as yet unspoken answer. Finally: "There will be no war in Montenegro. The Serbs will not attack the Montenegrins – but there will be a civil war among the Montenegrins themselves, if they declare independence."
"Today" – says the ex militiaman – "they are all better off than the Serbs in Serbia. The Slovenes, the Croats. Look what we achieved in a decade of 'Great Serbia' – shortly, only Belgrade will remain in the Federation, even Sandjak and Vojvodina will leave." "The problem is that we have no leadership. There is no one to replace Milosevic. Avramovic is way too old. Dzindzic and Draskovic we cannot trust..." "Political whores" – says someone – "Once with Milosevic, once without..." "...and who else is there? All the young, capable people are out and away, far far away as they can get..."
Like in all the other countries of transition, they are adherents of the cult of youth. The belief that the old – old people, old culture, old institutions – have been so heavily corrupted that they must be discarded thoroughly and mercilessly. That all has to start over again. That only the young can cope with the timeless riddles that Balkanian sphinxes are in the habit of posing. That the young are the only bridge to the promised land of the zeitgeist of capitalism.
"And Macedonia?" – I ask.
"Macedonia" – a Serb chorus around the dinner table – "Every village wants to become a country. Macedonia cannot survive on its own, it is too dependent on Serbia, it is too tiny."
"But only 17% of its trade is with Serbia" – I correct them, as gently as I can. "Including Kosovo?" – says one in great astonishment – "I see only Macedonian trucks in Serbia, it cannot be..."
"It cannot be" – they all conclude – "Macedonia is nothing without Serbia."
As the clock strikes midnight, we kiss each other on wine flushed cheeks and shake hands solemnly. In the rest of the world, a new millennium may have dawned. But in the Balkans it is perhaps the end of the beginning – but hardly the beginning of the end.
(Article written on January 8, 2000 and published January 17, 2000