Bosnia 1996: #BosniakLivesMatter

  20 years ago I was assigned as an Adjutant to a battalion task force and stationed in Camp Angela. Camp Angela was named for Angelina Jolie but it was dusty enough to resemble Angela Lansbury in the latter seasons of „Murder, She Wrote.“ My purpose in being there was to support the human beings who were carrying out peacemaking operations in accordance with the Dayton Peace Accords.
  The Dayton Peace Accords were a nice thing, a humanitarian thing that Europe conned Mr. Clinton into supporting because he wouldn’t intervene to stop the European-inspired genocide infecting Rwanda and Burundi. Mr. Clinton said we’d be there a year. That was 1995. Another lie at the American Taxpayer’s expense. NATO is the world’s greatest ally – so long as you and I pay for them. European morality is closely tied to your American wallet.
  But thoughts of Euro-self esteem games weren’t my focus in Bosnia in 1996. I was there to fix the problems of pay, personnel performance, and to bring the battery commanders up to the Task Force Commander’s standard for evaluation reports.  I spent some time on the road, and considered Bosnia – absent humans – to be a lovely place: mountains and verdant landscapes and filled with the mist and mystery of a fine gothic tale.
  With humans, Bosnia was a charnel house. The survivors of the Bosniak genocide were no better off than their African counterparts – shocked and in pure survival mode. The dead were everywhere. A comrade whose battalion was tasked with guarding the forensic evidence collectors of the International Criminal Tribunal for Yugoslavia (ICTY) outside of Srebrinica. He kicked over a clod of dirt and exposed a human bone. My comrade was almost relieved, brought up on charges and other threats – all said to make the ICTY folks feel important. My comrade got off with a singed tuckus and the colonel’s stink-eye at meetings for several weeks.
  We would roll through towns of the dead, with shot up homes, desecrated holy buildings, and de-consecrated cemeteries. Only a few pubs seemed to have survived unscathed, ever ready to serve slivovitz and cat-pie. God was important enough to disrespect in the most vile ways, but slivovitz was honored for its peace in the moment.
  Today’s news is much like those Bosnian towns of the dead. In a second tour in Bosnia in 1997, the colonel and his staff played a game of ‚who said that.‘ We took quotes from the Most Reverends and mixed them with quotes from Milosevic, Karadzic and Plavcic. If you think you can tell them apart, you’re welcome to try. Perhaps needless to say, but none of them rose to the heights of oratory as Shakespeare created for Henry V or Lear. Today we read about the heirs of Arkan’s Tigers, the so-called #BlackLivesMatter movement.
  All three sides in the Bosnian war were so inter-married and culturally intertwined that to determine who would be murdered required the victim to cross himself as the Catholics do. If the crossing were done the Roman way, the victim was a Croatian. Done as the Eastern Orthodox do, the victim was Serb. If the crossing was flubbed, the victim was a Bosniak, a Muslim. Atheist communists played the game too, much to their own amusement.
  In America today we play a game too. It’s called „One Drop.“ One drop of blood is all that is needed to determine if one is black. Or Jewish. Pick a hyphenated American – they are in that group because the Social Justice Warriors play the game of One Drop. And yet America is the most racially and ethnically integrated people on the face of the earth. A person of Irish decent marries a Nigerian and their child marries someone who’s family is Guatemalan. That is repeated over the generations by millions of people who are American. But that is a fact provable empirically, so that can’t be permitted to matter. Just that one drop. That is the most important aspect of determining one’s tribe.
  The only thing that negates the safety of being black or other designated tribe is political philosophy. If one is black and believes in Equality of Opportunity? That person is an Oreo! Want to own and carry a legally-procured pistol or rifle? An Uncle Tom! Advocate against abortion? A Race-betrayer! But, if you believe man is responsible for warming the globe you get a pass. In fact, you can fly on a private jet thousands of miles just to proclaim Mankind guilty of Gaia-cide. No bullet in the back of the head for you. You’ve crossed yourself correctly. For now.
  Do the internal and external contradictions ever sting the conscience of a Progressive? If history is any guide, the answer is no. It certainly didn’t bother the Bosniak Commander at Srebrinica as he withdrew without telling the civilian populace or the Serbian Scorpians as they swept in massacre all Muslim males – live and on camera. Psychological warfare at its pinnacle.
  The Crackerocracy must fall. Yeah, okay, heard that before. From Nairobi to Buenos Aires, from the Palestinian Authority to Portlandia the rhetoric is the same: the old racist order must be overthrown. The definition of words is the same too: revenge! Usually that revenge is for something that happened over a century before to people who have zero relation to the person wanting that revenge. It was the same way in Bosnia between the death of Tito in 1980 and 1995. Revenge! on the Bosniaks. Revenge! on the Croats. Revenge! on the Serbs. Vercengetorix and Boudicca said the same thing in the same words.
  The internal and external inconsistencies, some would say ‚bloody-minded hypocrisy,‘ will soon end the #BLM movement. A „Sister Souljah Moment“ is being set up that will both endear a political party as the Voice of Peace & Reason, and absorb the leaders of #BLM back to their dayjobs in the employ of the same old billionaire rabble rousers – bored, evil, and without remorse. And whiter than the lillies in the fields. But first #BLM has to be legitimized, and one does that with martyrs. Not the police officers being murdered around America, but the killers who are military-trained, logistically provided for, and not given viable escape routes in order to kill again. Dangerous, but not too dangerous. After all, there’s a sale at the mall this weekend and the killers‘ employers need new mourning rags for next week’s news interviews.
  I was happy to leave Bosnia, even though it meant exiting through Brcko. Today another BR, Baton Rouge is featured in the news. Tomorrow it may be Boston, or Brawlmore again – wherever people who feel the choices they made in life justify Revenge! 20 years ago we entered Bosnia to make peace. Who will enter America next year to make peace? It is a joy to see that we’ve learned so much about racial harmony since 1996.

Über DaveO

Retired soldier, micro-farmer, raconteur and pet owner from the great state of Oklahoma. Wandered in as a frequent commenter and have been enjoying blogging ever since.
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