“No one can ever know anything about this madness, because all its components are unknown.” – Zlatko Dizdarevic, Sarajevo: A War Journal

Written in real time during the siege of Sarajevo, by Zlatko Dizdarevic, an editor at the only remaining Sarajevo newspaper at that time, Sarajevo: A War Journal is horrifying reading, and essential reading. I was reminded of it the other day when I saw Jessa Crispin’s comment in this post: “Why on earth is Zlatko Dizdarevic’s Sarajevo: A War Journal out of print?” It won all kinds of awards and it is strange indeed that it is out of print, but you can find second-hand copies easily. I read it when it first came out. It is made up of a series of daily dispatches from 1992 to 1994 (and of course the siege continued on for two more years). He describes holing up in the newspaper offices, watching the neighborhood crumble around him (literally). The view would change outside his window on a daily basis because one day a building that had been there would have been bombed out of existence. But it’s difficult to describe the book’s eerie and angry power. Reminiscent of Viktor Klemperer’s I Will Bear Witness, due to its in-the-moment day-by-day description of life under unimaginably brutal circumstances (and knowing that the world is choosing to look the other way) – but different, because these are meant to be public. These dispatches are messages in a bottle, trying to make it to the outer world.

Here’s part of a dispatch written on June 10, 1992, called “The Logic of Chaos”:

New philosophies are born, designed for ourselves and our loved ones. Their objective is to guarantee survival, to protect oneself from oneself and one’s fears. After a shell – one of dozens – exploded close by, I overheard a conversation between two of my huddled colleagues:

“I knew it was going to hit here. Igor is down there, he didn’t want to stay.”

“Come on, how did you know it was going to hit here? How was Igor supposed to know that?”

“Well, obviously he knew. People just know, everybody knows…”

He’s convinced himself: everybody knows. No one realizes that such “knowing” is pure nonsense. No one can ever know anything about this madness, because all its components are unknown. But we’ve been raised by our parents to look for a reason, always and everywhere, and for a black-and-white scheme of things. We’ve always known all the proper responses, and that made us feel strong, almost invincible. This makes the chaos that has overwhelmed us all the more painful, and for some of us, it proves fatal. No one knows how to respond to the real questions of today.

No one knows what is happening, or why, or who has a chance to survive and who doesn’t. Where will the shell drop? Where are the safe places? Who will get in the way of a bullet? Who was born under a lucky star?

It is not surprising that everyone, without exception, searches for a logic, a meaning, a rule in the chaos that has become absolute and, it seems, infinite. Those who think they have found such a rule believe they “know” a lot of things: where to cross and at what moment, what roads are out of the question, what one can do without taking a risk, why the shells are falling here and not over there. These people are perfectly familiar with the rules of life that say who is more likely to win the lottery than be hit by a sniper’s bullet. But the bullets whistle through Sarajevo every day, and only the newspapers tell us about the lottery winners, and their names aren’t ours.

It’s been a relentless morning. Shells are falling close by us, perhaps closer than ever before. The official alert remains in force; so does our private and personal alert. We evaluate our chances, run risks, and keep hoping. We need to find our strength in private ways – by learning not to lie to ourselves anymore, and not to look for logic where none exists. Because if we should find one, it would lead us to find a justification and a logic behind the actions of those who have destroyed all logic.

But I have to move now, because the noise has become unbearable. Once I’ve gone, you can be sure, I’ll feel absolutely certain that a shell will soon hit the spot I’ve just left. But it won’t hit where I’m going. I wouldn’t be a true Sarajevan, full of sangfroid and flaming optimism, if I didn’t believe that. Just as I know that soon this madness will all be over.