All the ex-President's men

Days before Slobodan Milosevic's regime fell, vast crowds were still supporting him. Or were they? STEVE CRAWSHAW reports.

BELGRADE - Slobodan Milosevic's Yugoslavia was extraordinary in many respects. It was brutal, paranoid, resentful. In particular, however, it had an unparalleled shamelessness in telling lies.

Other regimes make at least a token effort not to be caught out. Milosevic's henchmen scarcely bothered with such pedantry. They lied in your face - and defied contradiction. Often, that sheer insolence succeeded.

One photograph neatly sums up the attitude: never tell the truth, when a lie will do as well. Published on the eve of last month's elections, it stands as a testament to the Milosevic madness.

The Vecernje Novosti newspaper took a photograph of a pro-Milosevic rally, discovered that the crowds were too thin, and - employing techniques reminiscent of those used by Hollywood special-effects units - multiplied the numbers with a tweak of the mouse.

Why have that snowy-haired man once, when we could see him twice? Why should the woman with long dark hair appear only on the left, when she could be on the right, too? In short, why have half a crowd, when you can have twice a crowd instead? When opponents of Milosevic spotted the lie, the editors insisted simply that there had been a "technical error." It could have happened to anyone.

It was part of a pattern of brazen, institutionalised deceit that in recent weeks had been reaching new heights of absurdity. Football matches were being broadcast with falsified soundtracks, because the favourite chant on the terraces had become: "Slobodan, save Serbia and kill yourself." And when, as part of the national protest campaign at the Government's refusal to acknowledge election defeat, a university boycott was announced, the television news none the less managed to broadcast pictures showing row upon row of eager-looking students - which would have been more impressive had the same pictures not first been broadcast last year.

When Serb state television, RTS, was short of admirers, it simply invented them. To my lasting shame, I myself was once roped in as an alleged fan. Three years ago, I interviewed the editor-in-chief of RTS for a report commissioned by the European Union. He told lies; I argued a little; above all, I did what I needed to do: I took notes. That evening I turned on the television news to see pictures of my politely nodding head - and hear a report about how impressed the man from the Independent was by RTS's impartial coverage. I raged, and demanded a retraction. It was, of course, to no avail.

RTS regularly broadcast a familiar farrago of lies in which the main elements were always the same: Milosevic the statesman (receiving foreign guests, smiles, handshakes); Serbia's booming economy (a red ribbon being cut for yet another new building project, even while the real economy plunged further into the abyss); venal, brutal, and mendacious Western Governments (stories from the foreign press, plus some invented conspiracies); and approving comments from foreigners (Chinese or North Korean, or misquoted journalists like me).

Milosevic seized control of the media when he first came to power, and used it with great effect to create a climate of xenophobia and fear. Serbs learned to think of themselves as innocent victims, and were taught that only Milosevic would stand up on their behalf. When Milosevic suffered defeats - such as the expulsion of Serbs from Croatia in 1995, or the humiliation in Kosovo - the public were told only about victories. They did not quite believe; but their senses were deadened by propaganda. Above all, they were repeatedly assured that Serbs had done nothing wrong.

At the beginning, the stream of hatred against Albanians in Kosovo meant that Milosevic was adored. But the crowds supporting Milosevic soon shrank, while those supporting the Opposition grew. But there was too little solidarity to achieve the necessary change. Beaten down - and incessantly lied to - the Serbs lacked self-belief.

During the winter of 1996-97, when a series of demonstrations threatened to bring Milosevic down, people in Belgrade hung out of their windows at 7.30 pm every evening, banging saucepans to drown out the RTS lies. But the propaganda ground on, unabashed. And despite the heartening din, the truth was that too many Serbs believed at least part of what RTS told them.

Vaclav Havel, in his classic essay The Power of the Powerless, talks of the change that becomes possible when societies start to believe in themselves - in his phrase, "to begin living in truth." Citing the example of a single greengrocer who makes his own a small rebellion by confronting an official lie, Havel concludes that the knock-on effect of confronting lies can be dramatic, creating a "complex ferment" inside the regime. "By the time it finally surfaces into the light of day as an assortment of shocking surprises to the system, it is usually too late to cover them up in the usual fashion." Havel wrote those words 15 years ago. He might have been writing about Serbia in the past few weeks.

Following last month's election, scores of journalists - hitherto loyal to their President - joined the protests against Milosevic's refusal to relinquish power. They began demanding, and soon seized, the right to report freely.

I will never forget the glorious moment 10 days ago when I came in off the revolutionary streets of Belgrade, sat down in the friends' flat where I was staying and switched on the television. Even after all that I had seen outside, I could scarcely believe my eyes. Simple truths began to replace the lies that had oozed from the screen only hours earlier. As one Serb friend said: "That was the moment at which we knew that nothing would be the same again." Another said: "I had been in crowds before, I had been teargassed before. This was different. It was a mixture of pleasure and disbelief."

In future we may reasonably hope that a photograph of a crowd will be just that. That is an important beginning, which can allow much bigger truths to be spoken - and heard.

- INDEPENDENT