Ratko Mladić

Ratko Mladić, who was found guilty of committing genocide for his role in the Srebrenica massacre, was buried in Serbia on 7 September with military honours. Sarah E. Wagner and Safia Swimelar argue the celebration of Mladić as a hero reflects entrenched denialism that has continued for years under the EU’s watch. On 27 August, Ratko Mladić died a convicted war criminal. Found guilty of genocide by the International Criminal Tribunal for former Yugoslavia in The Hague in 2017, he perished in prison while serving a life sentence for the slaughter of thousands of men, women and children during the 1992-95 war in Bosnia and Herzegovina. Yet on 7 September, Ratko Mladić was resurrected as a national hero, his remains returned to Serbia to great fanfare and burial with military honours. His flag-draped coffin was interred in the heart of Belgrade before throngs of admirers, familial and official dignitaries alike. How can these two sets of facts – pointing to two diametrically opposed worlds of suffering and celebration – be reconciled? How can a man responsible for orchestrating the Srebrenica genocide, the worst atrocity to occur in Europe since World War II, be hailed a hero? What heroism lies in the slaughter of innocents? Dire warnings Mladić’s death and the public celebrations that followed in Serbia and Republika Srpska, the Serb-controlled entity of Bosnia and Herzegovina, are dire warnings – not just for the region or Europe but also for the wider world and humanity. Because when we look but no longer blink at the cynical lionising of a figure like Mladić, we lose something of our own humanity. In so doing, we concede the truth of atrocity to the machinations of denialism. As scholars of the Bosnian war and its aftermath, we were enraged, though not surprised, to see the images coming from Topčider cemetery and, the day before, of the massive banner of Mladić unfurled at a Belgrade football match, his face triumphant above the words “Pravac Potočari” (Direction Potočari). Recorded by his own wartime documentarian, those were the same words Mladić barked at his troops as they stood in the centre of Srebrenica, already crowing over their capture of the city and before they proceeded to Potočari where the genocide began in earnest. The images his videographer captured there at Potočari – of Mladić tossing loaves of bread and Toblerone chocolate bars to terrified refugees crowded outside the UN peacekeepers’ compound, promising that no one would be hurt – were the beginning not just of the atrocities that would follow but their cover up. They were the starting script for denialism: Mladić playacting the hero as he and his troops finalised the details of their systematic campaign of extermination, in which thousands of men and boys were captured, detained and executed in warehouses and fields. In a local cultural centre. It’s the same script of annihilation and denial that produced the web of mass graves filled with commingled remains that to this day forensic scientists labour to uncover and identify. A “magnificent farewell” Yet the spotlight on Mladić’s celebrated repatriation overlooks a crucial element in the alchemy of increasingly mainstreamed denialism and genocide triumphalism: the entwined roles of public and political elites. Mladić was a charismatic figure, but he never acted alone. During and after the war, he enjoyed the support of political accomplices. President of Serbia, Aleksandar Vučić, has made a career of saying one thing to the European Union in Brussels and another to his nationalists at home – and, in the distance, Russia. This political balancing act was on full display at Mladić’s supposedly private (non-state) funeral. But with the state supplying the aircraft and honour guard, and the event awash in national flags and with several state officials in attendance, Serbia made clear whose lives and legacies it claims as its own and which “heroes” it welcomes into the pantheon of national memory. The occasion was nothing short of a “magnificent farewell”, according to the pro-government broadcaster, who omitted any mention of Mladić’s crimes or conviction. Instead, Serbian Orthodox Patriarch Porfirije, presiding over the funeral, pledged that Mladić’s name would remain “deeply etched in the memory and prayers of the majority of our Serbian Orthodox people, who feel and nurture a deep sense of gratitude towards him”. Vučić understands that such omissions and utterances work in tandem to cleanse the political palate. Two days after Mladić’s funeral, on 9 September, he dissolved parliament and announced a snap election to be held on 25 October, concerned that Serbia’s two-year-long student protest movement was weakening his grip on power. The student activists countered, formally entering their own election list on 14 September to challenge Vučić and his party. Then, on 27 September, he announced his resignation, a tactic that would allow him to become prime minister of Serbia, provided that his currently governing party retains its power in the elections later this month. Ever aware of state theatrics, Vučić arrived at the building of the presidency to submit his resignation, as followers gathered chanting “victory, victory” and holding up signs reading “Vučić is a political genius” and “Vučić is the father of the nation”. The fruit of denialism The affair has set the EU’s leadership on edge, prompting European Commissioner for Enlargement Marta Kos to warn the Bosnian Serb commander’s “glorification” is incompatible with EU values. Yet her reprimand may be too little too late: the EU’s policies toward Vučić have been inconsistent at best, with democratic deficiencies repeatedly downplayed in favour of “stabilitocracy” in the Balkan region. Rather, the reprehensible celebrations of Mladić are the fruit of denialism that has continued for years on the EU’s watch. Vučić has become deft at exploiting for political gain the denialist discourses surrounding the Srebrenica genocide. Despite earlier gestures of state acknowledgment, such as apologies issued in the early 2010s by more moderate governments seeking to bolster Serbia’s bid for EU membership, the politics of denialism have only hardened under Vučić. In 2024, he strongly opposed and campaigned internationally and at home against a UN General Assembly resolution establishing 11 July as an International Day of Reflection and Commemoration of the Srebrenica Genocide. (The resolution does not mention Serbia or Serbians.) In the run-up to the October elections in Serbia, we should remain shocked by the crass “state as theatre” promulgated by Vučić and echoed by elites and average citizens alike in Serbia and Republika Srpska. We should remember precisely what “Pravac Potočari” foretold: the slaughter of more than 8,000 Bosnian Muslim men and boys, at Mladić’s command. Because when did it become easier to celebrate war criminals than to remember their victims? From EU officials and US diplomats to publics across the world, that question should fester. It should force us to hold our gaze and to act – that is, to reject efforts to erase the atrocity’s memory, no matter how many decades later. Note: This article gives the views of the authors, not the position of LSE European Politics or the London School of Economics. Image credit: Ajdin Kamber / Shutterstock.com