Cover story
Beautiful Belgrade
Friendships amid the Yugoslav civil wars
Written and photographed by Jahanshah Javid
April 12, 1999
The Iranian
Fall, 1992
I looked at the address I had written down from the Manhattan Yellow
Pages and the skyscraper in front of me. Was this the right place? It was
not the most fashionable section of New York's south-side but I thought
I'd give it a shot.
The modeling agency was just two rooms; the reception area and the manager's
office. I sat and judged the handful of people waiting for their turn:
mmmaybe, forget it, you're kidding right?, Yes!, not bad...
- "Jeehanishe... Yavid?"
- "That's me."
- "You're next. Go on in."
As soon as I stepped in, the manager took one glance and said, "Too
industrial. You're not the type we're looking for. NEXT!"
- "Wait, wait, wait... I'm not looking for a modeling job. I'm
here on behalf of a friend."
The manager grabbed the photo album from my hand and started flipping
the pages quickly, at first.
- "Bring her in."
- "Well, she's not here."
- "Get her here. I might have something for her."
- "She's in Yugoslavia."
- "Where?"
- "Yugoslavia."
- "Listen, I'm very busy. Get her over here and I'll see what I can
do."
- "She can't just come here. She needs a job offer - something to
apply for a visa with."
- "I couldn't promise her a job even if she was standing right here.
She has to do test runs, learn a few skills in the business and get a real
agent. Are you her boyfriend or what?"
- "I'm just a friend trying to help."
- "Well, what can I say... good luck."
I went back home and wrote to Natasha and told her this was the best
I could do. She had a good chance of becoming a model but she had to find
a way to get here. I felt bad that I couldn't do more. The news out of
Yugoslavia was not good. There was unrest in Bosnia, violent demonstrations
in Croatia and pro-democracy rallies in Belgrade. I looked at her pictures
and thought, what a waste:
Summer, 1989
I was in Belgrade covering the Non-Aligned
Movement (NAM) summit for the Iranian news agency. Back then, Yugoslavia
was very much a unified, vibrant and well-respected country.
Leaders of developing countries had gathered in Yugoslavia's capital
to discuss regional and international issues following the collapse of
the Soviet Union. In fact, this was to be last meaningful gathering of
countries who at least claimed they wanted to be independent from the East
and West, even though almost all of them had close ties with Washington
or Moscow. The Yugoslavs were enjoying the
spotlight.
The
Iraqis were there, in a bad mood, as usual. The
Saudis, who did not care much about NAM's often anti-Western rhetoric,
kept a low profile. On the other hand, that very same rhetoric made the
Cubans feel at home. Arafat
loved it: Israel was not a member of NAM and pro-Palestinian resolutions
always got ratified without any objection.
African
leaders were seen as champions of anti-colonialist and anti-apartheid
movements. Central
Americans were cheered for their struggle against oppressive military
regimes. India
was considered a model non-aligned nation. And the
Iranians saw NAM as the perfect venue to preach their "Neither
East nor West" doctrine.
But all the NAM business aside, this was a chance for Yugoslavia to
present itself as one of the most developed of the developing states -
and not just economically, but politically as well.
The Yugoslav federation was made up of six republics with an ethnically
diverse population. Belgrade was confident it could maintain national unity
without a charismatic leader like its World War II hero Marshal Tito. It
was not worried about the demise of socialism as a unifying ideology. This
was the official line and no one had any reason to dispute it. Despite
some minor rumblings among Muslims in Bosnia, the Serb-dominated Belgrade
government seemed in control.
Natasha was a
guide at the NAM conference. As much as she was friendly and helpful,
my Iranian friend and I were uncomfortable and cautious. We were worried
that members of the Iranian delegation would see us talking to a stunning
young foreign woman for more than thirty seconds.
We asked Natasha to join us for dinner in the center of town later that
night. She accepted and gave us a mini tour of Belgrade. We saw fancy shops,
had an incredibly delicious ice
cream, passed well-stocked delicatessens
and grocery
stores, and heard stories about Serbia's past as we walked by historic
monuments. And there was a little
fountain: You would make a wish and the coins and bills would be collected
for the Red Cross.
Belgrade looked like a prosperous capital, be it an Eastern European
one. Even the gypsy
boys begging for money and the homeless
man in the park did not seem to indicate a serious social problem.
If there were any signs of an impending horrific civil war, none were visible.
Natasha cautioned me not to take the train to Vienna; it was full of
rowdy Croat soccer fans shouting obscenities against their Serbian rivals.
January, 1994
I pick up Natasha and her husband Andrea at New York's JFK airport.
They are happy, relieved, anxious, and bewildered all at the same time.
They have escaped their war-torn country and are about to start a new life
in America. They feel very lucky but also sad. Yugoslavia is falling apart.
They stay at my Manhattan apartment for two months. We talk about the
good old days in beautiful Belgrade and the not-so-bright future facing
the people back home. But we also talk about their future here, about how
rewarding it could be, if they work hard. They are terribly worried and
insecure.
March, 1996
I am the official photographer at the baptism
ceremony for Luka -- Natasha and Andrea's infant boy. Andrea
is beaming with joy as New York's Serbian Orthodox priest pours drops
of holy water on Luka's forehead. Natasha
is teary-eyed. It is a rare moment
of happiness. They are going through hard times as an immigrant family
and there's constant bad news coming out of what used to be Yugoslavia.
April 10, 1999
I've wanted to call Natasha and Andrea ever since the NATO attacks began.
But I'm afraid I might hear some bad news about their family. And I don't
want to argue about which warring side is right and which side is wrong.
I finally call.
- "Natasha? Hi! How are you?"
- "Hi! I can't believe it's you. I thought I'd never hear from you
again. You don't return calls, you don't reply to emails... "
- "I'm sorry. I've been really busy. Are you and Andrea okay?"
- "We're fine. But, you know, the news is driving us crazy."
- "Yeah... I'm so sorry... "
- "I feel really bad about the Kosovar kids and refugees but there's
so much propaganda. Nobody talks about the atrocities against the Serbs.
They are blaming all the Serbs..."
- "They're blaming one man."
- "I hate Milosovic too. Most of us do. But our country is under attack.
What NATO is doing is insane. Remember that street in Belgrade where I
showed you all the nice shops? It's been bombed."
- "I hope your mother and sister are okay."
- "They're fine but they're scared."
- "I hope nothing happens to them."
- "Thanks... anyway... how's everything with you?"
- "Oh I'm fine... did you get your Green Card?"
- "Our application has been approved. We're just waiting for the card."
- "Fantastic!"
I then talk to Andrea. He says, half-jokingly, that Yugoslavia will
eventually be reduced to Belgrade itself. Neither of us want to talk about
the war.
We exchange tips on how to reduce the pain in our feet during jogging
(we're both flat-footed). Andrea suggests that every few minutes or so
I should put more of my body weight on my toes to relieve the pressure.
He adds that, of course, if we also lose some weight, we'll experience
less pain. We laugh.
He says he's thinking about taking a computer training course once he
gets his Green Card. "Computers are the future," he says.
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