Foreign Policy
Spring 1998

On, Ona, i mi
(He, She, and We)
by Slavoljub Djukic, Beograd: Radio B92, 1997 (in Serbian).

Reviewed by: Dusan Velickovic.

In He, She, and We, Slavoljub Djukic, one of Serbia’s best-known journalists, interweaves political historiography with biography to tell the intimate tale of Slobodan Milosevic—the former leader of Serbia and current day president of the territorial remnants of what now constitutes the Federal Republic of Yugoslavia—and his wife Mirjana “Mira” Markovic—founder and leader of the JUL (Yugoslav United Left), a small but influential procommunist party. The book not only chronicles the most important events and personalities of recent Serbian history but reveals the phenomenal influence that the omnipotent “He” and “She” have wielded over their country’s political landscape. The author traces Milosevic’s career from his humble beginnings as an anonymous communist apparatchik, through his carefully orchestrated climb to the top of the party hierarchy, to the uncertain present. Milosevic not only survived the collapse of communism, the violent disintegration of his country, and worldwide ostracism—he emerged from these experiences even more powerful. And as his influence grew, so too did his wife’s. As Djukic observes, wedded bliss with Milosevic allowed Markovic to assume the mantle of “the most powerful woman in Serbian history.” Once a person gains her trust, “everything else goes without saying, whether it be access to ministerial or ambassadorial positions, or the highest levels of government security.” Slobodan Milosevic and his wife are at the apex of a pyramidal society that can be classified neither as democracy nor dictatorship. It is a unique hybrid that could be named “Serbian democracy” or “soft totalitarianism.” Djukic, on the other hand, describes it in a different, picturesque way, claiming that even though democratic institutions exist in Serbia, “only the institution of Slobodan Milosevic functions.” It is a society in which the mechanism of personal power is based less on open and harsh force than on political unscrupulousness and propaganda aimed at acquiring not only the support of the oligarchy but of the masses. Consequently, the personal traits that “He” and “She” exhibit, and even the most trivial details of their life together, take on added significance. She has Lenin’s and Tito’s photographs in her study; he keeps her photograph where Tito’s once used to be. She says that he is a perfect man; he says that she is a perfect woman. He has no friends; she thinks that her friends ought to be his most reliable collaborators, and that her enemies should have nothing to do with him. She always showed open intolerance towards Bosnian Serb leader Radovan Karadzic. Whenever Karadzic rang up their home phone number, at the best of times with Milosevic, her answer invariably was: “Slobodan is not at home.” Markovic once declared to European envoy Lord Owen that her husband was not a nationalist, citing as conclusive evidence: “Had he been a nationalist I would never have married him.” But Djukic sees Milosevic as an ideological chameleon, who can play the role of both “good” communist and “good” nationalist, and simultaneously be both a belligerent leader and an ardent peacemaker. Apart from power, nothing is sacred to him. In fact, Milosevic’s leadership style allows him to thrive in a country where perpetual crisis has become the typical state of affairs. “When conditions are normal he is paralyzed,” Djukic writes. “He creates disorder and is successful at assuring people that he is the only one who can save them. He is an arsonist and a fireman at the same time.” Perhaps that explains, in part, why Milosevic and his wife managed to survive their greatest crisis ever: the widespread street demonstrations that erupted in Serbia during the Winter of 1996-97, after revelations of local balloting fraud. Observing these events, Djukic predicted that the end of the regime was soon approaching. Instead, as matters turned out, the opposition coalition in Serbia fell apart, and Yugoslavia’s most formidable husband and wife team managed to maintain their grip on power. Djukic does not lay all the blame for his country’s woes at the feet of the Serbian leader. He observes that the Serbs themselves “committed their destiny to Milosevic, crowned him with glory, gave him force,” and hence became “accomplices and victims.” For his part, Djukic proves that he is unwilling to be either accomplice or victim. Piercing through the armor that encloses information in Serbian society, this book represents a decisive, and perhaps inevitable, step toward democratization. The official media has never mentioned He, She, and We—after all, the regime has already tried to abolish the book’s publisher, the leading opposition radio in Serbia, quite a few times—but that has not dampened widespread public interest. The first printing of 6,000 copies sold out immediately and received considerable publicity in the opposition and independent presses. Meanwhile, Djukic has announced that he will publish a new edition of his book, complete with unpleasant details concerning the clandestine political life of opposition leaders and their attitudes toward the ruling couple. It is all but certain that this new edition will not fare well with the regime. What is less certain is how Yugoslavia’s first couple will fare in the next chapter of Serbian public opinion.