Rules of Engagement
As Kali Tribune is read by all kinds of people, some of them even Far Western “New Born Eastern Orthodox Christians”, it is appropriate to clear few things in advance, as we are about to engage analysis of Balkans geopolitics in the light of chaos logic of Euro-Atlantist’s bloc. One significant incitement for this shift in focus is the ICTY verdict releasing foremost clown among cutthroats and foremost cutthroat amongst clowns, Vojislav Šešelj to live out the rest of his days, dancing on the graves of all those who died to make room for “Heavenly Serbia”. This term, denoting the plan that served as an ignition capsule for Balkan’s powder keg in the Nineties, is now solemnly legitimized and downright legalized by representatives of Western Power. I omit the plural intentionally.
In the future – probably a very near one – the release of old nutcase will help igniting new conflicts, rise of nationalisms and all-around chaos we considered to be behind us. For this purpose, it is only natural that Kali Tribune shifts it’s focus at it’s own doorstep, where all this is going to play out. But, to counter in advance the chaos in future debates that may occur – after all, we’ll have enough chaos in our daily lives over here – we are presenting our readers with some terms of debate. Namely, due to collaboration with Soul of the East which is, for all it’s virtues, a site that counts among it’s readership numerous New Born Eastern Orthodox Americans, Serbian nationalists and other unsavory characters, some of which made a mistake of contacting me for collaboration, and all-around pro-Russian stance of most of the Western independent media of whom Kali Tribune is a proud fellow traveler, there will inevitably occur some misunderstandings. Namely, from the vantage point of Balkan it is painfully obvious that good number of people writing and commenting on ex-Yugoslavia, while holding anti-NATO stance, are trying to construct their own “narrative” to counter the “mainstream narrative”. It is fairly understandable, yet, from the vantage point of peoples serving as the content of the “narrative” – the living & breathing “facts” as it were – it is not in any way excusable. The cartoonish image of war in Yugoslavia where now Serbs are consciously or unconsciously portrayed as Eastern European micro-Russians doing the preemptive strike on devious Western “Viennese horse attendants” (Croatians) and “Turks” (Bosniaks) – therefore micro-NATO stooges, is slowly becoming a quite possible “mainstream narrative” of independent media.
And in this narrative proper, dear reader, your humble narrator is dead and somebody is dancing on his grave, as was the case with large number of his compatriots, Bosniaks and others in the Nineties.
In another words, it is precisely the “narrative” that ignited the slaughter called “break-up of Yugoslavia”.
As I am in no way well disposed to serve as a pawn in someone else’s “narrative” – mainstream or otherwise – especially if it is constructed to amend his spiritual emptiness, I will take a pretty ruthless stance on this matter. However, as debates on Internet prevent one from real discussion with people who, from across the ocean and beyond their keyboards, hurl at him “atrocities” committed by Croats, Bosniaks, Turks, Catholics, Muslims and others in order to prove a point that, for instance, Serbs were lambs to the slaughter by NATO and that the Croats are in fact Catholic Serbs, only they don’t know it, I’ll have to lay out some rules in advance.
Namely, when somebody from Far West comes to lecture me about Yugoslavia, Serbia, Bosna, Croatia, Serbian Orthodox Church and so on, I really need to be able to at least pinch his rosy cheeks now and then. As this is impossible via Internet, I hereby restrict any discussion on “Heavenly Serbia”, Serbo-Croat relationships and such to observance of one simple rule.
The aspiring debater has to prove that he understands a meaning of a poem. It was written by the greatest modern Serbian poet Brana Petrović and it bears the title “Dobrovoljni prilog za nacionalnu istoriju” (“A Voluntary Contribution to National History”). It is my contention that one who doesn’t get it’s message cannot speak with any authority on it’s subject, i.e. history of Serbia and especially an idea of “Heavenly Serbia”. One could argue that people of Balkan are habitual liars, but there’s one truth they’ll affirm despite themselves – that their world is built by poets. In this they follow old dictum reiterated by Aristotle, according to which “Many lies are told by poets”. It proves that in these parts, when lie discloses itself for what it is, it cannot but tell the truth.
No amount of “fact checking the narrative” can help you, if you can’t get this.
A Voluntary Contribution to National History
The woman was admitted to a Bee,
Infected by the Demon’s kiss;
And, look, there she is now,
Running through the village,
Until she humps the old man Egon.
Old man Egon, well versed in dying,
Fleecing the living chicken in his backyard;
Ditches the chicken and humps her back;
At long last, they are admitted to their scaffold!
Much the same, when peasant Luka;
Said for Dushan;
That he’s a dog,
Seven new tortures they devised,
And maimed Luka,
Throughout the summer.
They broke his arms and legs;
Dushan himself drank his blood.
Now Dushan lies besides Luka,
Long, long time ago,
The maggots reconciled those two.
And Yelena, the wife of Dushan,
Lithe, like a young knight,
The standard bearer,
By the cry of peasant,
Impregnated in secret;
Presented Tzar with the son;
Weak Urosh, as is the way of all weaklings,
Took the Crime for his banner,
There rode in the light horsemen,
In thirst for glory;
To collect his head.
Some servant whose name was Lazar,
Gathered the army, sheep-hearders and farmers,
The people ignorant, sorrowful and brave,
Such a great feast he presented to Tartars!
They feasted for a few days,
Like ravens when they spot the carrion;
Some man named Milosh killed their Sultan,
What a fortunate turn it was for Sultan’s son.
So he took upon himself to renew,
All darknesses and abysses,
That Dushan put in the Laws,
Ere long ago;
And forbade the sunrises and dawns;
And admitted the sun to the scaffold.
Some man named Vishnich, after many years;
In his blindness found the sun again,
And he told it: Be the guide of the world!
And look: Sun can’t set anymore.
And look: Sun can’t set anymore;
In the deep night it burns deadly.
Poor old man Egon can’t find his thing,
‘Till his wife his underpants doth unwrap.
And those underpants …
Oh, so entangled,
Wife is biting through the threads and knots,
Up until …
There inside them!
Two ancient wounds,
Sublime marks of ancient Serbian Glory!