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I don't know who the real "Bugsy" was, nor how he looked. I don't think anybody knows that, here in Belgrade. Here in the tribunal against organized crime, a protected witness, Dejan Milenkovic, known as "Bugsy," climbed the podium for three days. A protected witness -- not personally indicted -- Dejan told us a story with remarkable differences from some well-known events. His testimony regarded several attempted murders, and the final successful murder, of Serbia's Prime Minister, Zoran Djindjic, back in 2003. I knew Zoran Djindjic before he became THE "Zoran Djindjic." After that political event, I had to stop actually knowing Zoran, since he became the property of the Serbian public domain. Seeing, in the courtroom, gruesome forensic details of Zoran's body blown to pieces by one potent bullet, I must say that I feel rather lucky. Zoran took a bullet for me and for Serbia. But was his sacrifice necessary? Hearing Mr. "Bugsy" -- as they call him, not even ironically – this sly little creature with his pinched shoulders and sour mouth -- transforming an organized crime trial into a state political trial, by publicly naming some of the closest foes and friends of Djindjic as the covert accomplices in his assassination -- well, I just don't believe a word the man says. In point of fact, nobody believes him. His opponents, the lawyers of the family of the late Mr. Djindjic, the lawyers of others accused – nobody believes what this protected witness says. This world is a terrible place. I know that. I especially know it today, on this foggy Belgrade day, in this isolated spaceship called the "special court." I am sitting cheek by jowl with members of the Zemun gang, who came here to hear their Worm publicly spill the beans. Why is this witness protected? He is a small-time criminal, who conspicuously failed to murder our Prime Minister before other, more accomplished criminals did that deed properly. He is lying to all of us. He should be indicted himself. The judge is a determined woman who took the place of another, famous male judge who dropped this case some months ago. Allegedly, his mother was threatened with death due to his involvement. Our new, undaunted judge warns us all: Protected witnesses are usually common criminals. They not decent people from libraries and theaters. Nevertheless, we all mingle together today in real life. The best books in Serbia today are being written in our courts. Our transcripts may be our only real literature. It is sure that "Legija," that hero of the criminal underground, is writing his own books. His third publication was heavily promoted at the recent book-fair in Belgrade. I've yet to read this masterpiece of his, but I know that it sold like crazy. It certainly outsold, by far, a prize-winning, factual book by an actual Serbian journalist Zoran Janic, which detailed a sinister war crime by Milosevic, in which that recently-deceased dictator, as one part of his gaudy panoply of war-crimes, sent sixteen Serbian TV technicians to meet their certain doom in a building bombed by NATO. "Legija," a Serbian and former French Legionnaire, is the" close friend" of Ceca Razanjatovic, a pop star and the widow of Arkan. In order to confront the little "Bugsy," "Legija" himself has appeared in court today. In the solemn suit he wears for court appearances, Legija strongly resembles a penguin. His elegant shiny black get-up is a size too small for his handsome body, which seems to have swollen in prison. His head is losing hair, and his feet are slightly clumsy as he takes up the mike. He carries a notebook in his hand. Before he personally ordered the killing of the nation's Prime Minister, Legija wrote an open letter, declaring his intent to some crucial members of the Serbian government. He made his sentiments clear: the proud people of Serbia don't want to be the servants of the New World Order. This Djindijic, a traitor to our people, is attempting to coax us into that situation. So let us unite and take action. So, the conspirators did Zoran in. Before that moment, Zoran Djindjic had chosen to publicly play down the danger he faced. He declared: even if they kill me, they cannot undo what has already been accomplished. After me, others will come. Tonight on Serbian television I heard certain public voices echoing Djidndjic's clear mind. They spoke eloquently for themselves, but I knew at once, in point of fact, that Dr. Djindjic was not correct in his assessment. After his sudden departure, dark voices are ruling here. The accomplices of the assassins: writers, politicians, public heroes – they still dominate Serbian media. Legija tells Bugsy: You are a prostitute of this court. You trample over dead bodies in order to save your own life. I would prefer to serve in prison 40 years ( a sentence Legija has already received) than to live as a worm like you, saving your miserable skin. Our remarkably worm-like Bugsy does in fact have miserable skin, plus an ugly haircut, that is true...but why does this loud and bold criminal penguin, dressed like some hotel bellboy, appeal so much to the audience within this court? My neighbour in the court is an obvious Legija wannabe. He is loud and bold and bulky, just like his hero. Zvezdan ("Starry"), the assassin who pulled the trigger and sent an exploding bullet into the body of Djindjic, is a wannabe philosopher. He is not a mere killer-for-hire but a Balkan ideologue. He wanted his rifle preserved for a history museum. "Starry" wears a penguin suit in a boring shade of beige, and he is even more bald than Legija. Bugsy whimpers: Before God, I am clean. Starry screams at him: Don't mention God in front of me! One of these days you will have to face the truth! Starry has appointed himself as Bugsy's God of justice. The threat is obvious: the sacred patriots will do him in, too. Later, we see photos of the indicted, and photos of the protected witness while in hiding. Bottles of local wines. The best local mineral water. Fancy Rolex watches. Their favourite newspapers: the junkiest, cheapest, most sordid scandal rags. This is not the organized crime of Moscow, Petersburg, Palermo Naples, Bombay, Dubai, Karachi, New York, Chicago, Los Angeles: this is Belgrade, right here and right now. Ratko Mladic is a Hague-indicted war criminal charged with genocide, and one door down the hall, his accomplices are being tried for hiding their hero from global justice. All over this uncertain city, in certain hidden places... It was no secret, says an indicted general, proudly. Ratko Mladic is our hero... but for some reason, his global fate is a Top Secret of the local State. Only Bugsy, that "worm," has broken the local rules and is talking so anyone can hear. Little Bugsy is nothing more than a common criminal. He is lying. Where have the Serbian people gone, those decent people Djindjic tried to address? There is one woman in the audience today who looks very much like the living mother of our dead Prime Minister... but I know it cannot be her. I myself am not the woman I used to be. I see it, and I write -- but I know I am politically invisible. ——— |