On Bosnia

By

Stuart Yates

Pick up the scalpel, now The man perceived that his leg was infected with gangrene and he raised his knife to hack the leg off, in order to save the rest of his body. Those whom he regarded as his friends, however, took the knife from him and promised that they would care for him. They were stronger than he, so in spite of doubts, he had no option but to accept. Although his friends had the means to save him, they spent much time debating on which treatment to use.

The gangrene marched on.

As it spread, the man pleaded for the necessary surgery, but no-one was prepared to use the scalpel.

The gangrene marched on.

The man pleaded again and again, saying “how much of me will there be left, either use the scalpel or let me use it on myself”. The friends refused, assuring him that they would care for him and they would not let him die.

The gangrene marched on.

With an ever weaker voice the man continued his pleas. The committee passed the scalpel around, but could not agree how to use it.

The gangrene marched on.

As the man lay dying, he bitterly asked why he had been betrayed. The spectators said they were afraid of being infected, that they were sorry, that they would have liked to have helped him, but there was nothing they could do now.

The gangrene marched on and on and on as the man lay dying in the fields.

There is a great evil in the heart of Europe, gorging itself gangrene-like on the bodies of men, women and children, and the world looks on. The world looks on as it did not look on when the Spanish Civil War raged. The world looks on as it did not look on when Hitler was carrying out his cleansing. The world looks on as it did not look on when Saddam Hussein raped Kuwait. The world looks on as the United Nations transforms itself into the League of Nations. The world looks on as the Western leaders (sic) rehearse and perfect their Pontius Pilate role. The world looks on as Serbs rage through Bosnia, as Serbs cleanse Bosnia, as Serbs rape Bosnians. Politicians are become spectators at a hideous throwback to the Roman arena. Statesmanship dies with Bosnia, whilst fearful self-interest slithers out from under a stone.

Spanish and Polish lives are evidently worth infinitely more than Bosnian lives. German Jews are clearly worth infinitely more than Bosnian Muslims. Kuwaitis are obviously more deserving of protection than Bosnian civilians. I have yet to read why the Bosnian Muslim is less than human, why the Bosnian Muslim is not worthy of help, why the Bosnian Muslim should be denied the means for self-defence, why the Bosnian Muslim should be pushed and prodded like cattle across the fields and be exterminated like vermin.

The Bosnian Muslim is a part of the human race, a normal member, no better, no worse, than any other race or creed. Not especially earning protection, but equally not deserving mass torture, rape and murder. In the twentieth century, in the midst of Europe, fifty years after the holocaust was forcibly brought to a halt, the word genocide should strike at the hearts of those with the power to act as if the Black Death had returned, so that action to cut out this evil Serbian sickness is not only taken, but that no debate is required on if or why. Only how and how quickly.

The Bosnian gangrene can and will spread from body to body. If there is no compassion, no anger, no grief, no shame, no positive argument that will galvanise the West to act, let the words of Donne speak: Ask not for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee.