When the recollection of seeing his mother and father together for the last
time proved too much for Mr Pasic, the judge called an adjournment. Even
Mladic let out a sigh of relief, though what sentiments lay behind it only
he knows.
Speaking in English, Mr Pasic, now 34, did not so much glance at the accused.
Fixing his attention on the three-man panel of red-robed judges, he
transported the courtroom back to the early days of the ethnic war in
Bosnia-Herzegovina that would claim 100,000 lives and leave 2.2 million
people homeless.
Before the conflict, the children in his Muslim village of Hrvaćani had
attended a nearby school with Serbs and Croats, he said. “We were
playing basketball and football, we used to do everything together. Muslim,
Croats and Serbs, we were all having a great time, respecting each other.”
At that point Mladic nodded his head in agreement.
Things began to change in the spring of 1992, when Mr Pasic first noticed a
convoy of military vehicles with soldiers from the Yugoslav national army
(JNA), giving Muslims the three-fingered Serbian salute.
After his village was shelled by Serbs, he and his mother wandered for weeks
with relatives and neighbours, before circling back to Hrvaćani despite a
warning from two Serb soldiers patrolling nearby who told them “there
is nothing for you to go back to: your home is Turkey, this is Serbia”.
Mr Pasic raced backed to his family house – only to find it had been stripped
and then burned.
The family’s dog had been shot.
In one house they found the burned bodies of five elderly people who they knew
had either refused to or been incapable of leaving.
As they tramped past a nearby Serb hamlet, the mother of a school friend was
among people “cursing and spitting at us” and screaming “I
want to kill some Balijas” – the derogatory term for Muslims.
In November, he joined his father among a group aiming to walk across country
to safety.
On their first night they were ambushed.
As the bullets flew, cousins, friends and neighbours died around him.
When the group was rounded up, Mr Pasic’s father and uncle insisted he go with
the women and children.
That saved his life.
In the town of Grabovica, the women and children were held in the school’s
classroom.
Later the same night the male prisoners arrived.
Mr Pasic passed up a final chance to say good-bye to his father, held captive
in a different classroom.
He was afraid that he would give him away, as his father had told the Serbs he
was travelling alone.
“I didn’t go, I wish I went, I wish I went…,” said Mr Pasic,
breaking down in tears.
Forced onto a bus the next morning, he saw a hand waving from the second floor
window where the men were.
“I didn’t see the body, only the hand, but I still see that hand in my
dreams,” he said.
He never saw his father again.
It is believed he was executed with approximately 150 others.
The 11 charges of genocide, crimes against humanity and war crimes against
Mladic, which he denies, relate to the early effort to purge non-Serbs from
Serb-claimed areas, the terrorising of Sarajevo through 44 months of
shelling and sniping and the massacre of 8,000 Muslim males in Srebrenica.
Thousands lined the streets of Sarajevo yesterday to pay tribute to the
remains of 520 victims, who will be buried on Wednesday, the 17th
anniversary of the atrocity.
So far 5,137 victims have been laid to rest after their remains found in mass
graves were identified.
Former Bosnian Serb political leader Radovan Karadzic is also on trial before
the tribunal, while Mladic’s one-time mentor, former Serbian president
Slobodan Milosevic died in The Hague four years into his own genocide trial
in 2006.
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