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AHP PERSPECTIVE April/May 2000 Table of Contents

WAR IN YUGOSLAVIA AND PSYCHOLOGICAL STABLITY
— Mario Knezevic

I am a psychologist from Yugoslavia and a member of AHP. I wrote this text in September and October of l999, a couple of months after the war in Yugoslavia. That war was the event that changed my life, and, I think, the lives of all people in Yugoslavia.

I was in Belgrade for the entire war. It wasnt Kosovo, where different sides made terrible bloodshed, but it was less then 1 km from the hill that was hit tens of times, in a building that dangerously swung with every bomb. We had many broken windows from explosions.

Before the bombardment, I and my friends in Belgrade thought that the Yugoslav government would sign the contract demanded by the "West" and that we would start on the way that [much of] the rest of the world already walked. Then, the first explosion happened. We didnt know what it was, it sounded like a bomb put under a car in some clash of local gangs irritated by political tensions.

From then on until the end of the war, there were more and more explosions, and they were stronger and stronger. However, that increase was not proportionally followed by an increase in psychological instability. After the shock caused by the first bombings, people adapted themselves to this "changed reality." Frankl observed in concentration camps in the second world war that the start and end of camp stays were especially important moments. In Yugoslavia, the start and end of bombardment were two great changes to which people adapted gradually. After the first shock, people who were put out of their everyday routine were trying to form a new "picture of reality." It was less important how much that picture was true. Much more important were: 1) the degree of resemblance to a subjective picture of the pre-bombardment time, 2) the emotional safety that the new picture of reality carried.

Objectively looking at the new picture would have meant accepting the possibility of death (you can be bombed in your own house by mistake, you can pass by, for example, a civil factory or coppice where the army has hidden ammunition; or if there was a TV antenna, that might be a potential target; or you could be mobilized by force for fighting at Kosovo, etc.). It meant accepting the horrible stories coming from Kosovo, including the heavy sins of "our" Serbian side, accepting the possibility that you had someone, close to you, at some very dangerous place, and you knew nothing about him and his position. All of these carried only a minimal possibility for the reduction of danger by your own activity. Additionally, there was the difficulty of getting information. Independent media were sharply censored, those who did not obey were subjected to force or exposed to great danger. Telephone and Internet connections were bad. People rarely left their homes. In my neighborhood, as in other places, people mostly gathered in the entrances of buildings, ready at any moment to run into shelters, as soon as anybody noticed signs of approaching bombardment.
Some played cards or tried to get some drink, almost everybody tried to get cigarettes (there was a shortage), but the great majority were looking to the sky searching for planes, and talking. It was a good opportunity for a psychologist to observemore than 200 people live in my building. But if I had done it in that way, I would not have behaved authentically. It was necessary to take part, to be completely present, alive. Our daily routine disappeared, our lives completely changed and were full of uncertainty, but they were still human lives.
"Man is the being who adapts himself to everything," said Dostoevsky. How did people adapt here? A small number of them succeeded in accepting a new, constantly changing reality. Most people quickly adopted a contorted picture of reality in order to keep some kind of coherence and continuity with their previous identity and picture of reality. Their new picture was full of contradictions. There was comfort in not thinking, and in going out in front of the building where it was safer, and in enjoying any kind of contact, conversation, continuously talking about the present situation, but never too deeply, so as not to disturb the hastily created new pictures of the world. There was always light conversation and joking. The joke can be an excellent defense mechanism and an excellent sublimation.
I remembered the war with Croatia: the military authorities invited us for exercise, but it was a trick. We were driven away to Croatia. We were leaving Belgrade, passing through groups of our scared, fearful parents who tried to stop trucksand groups of chauvinists, who shouted: "Bravo, heroes! Go and win!" We in the trucks were not conscious of any of them, we were defending ourselves from fear by telling jokes. I laughed as never before.
During the bombing, joke-telling was very often full of sharp irony, aimed at any authority, and especially authority in Yugoslavia (mostly the president). That humor wasnt aggressive, inimical, and it wasnt the humor of self-realized persons that Maslow talked about, benevolent and philosophic. Rather, it was closer to Rabelais, the humor of disappointed persons, who, by reconciliation with the loss of everything, maybe even their own life, try to place themselves in a superior position, in that they werent interested in the ideology involved, or even any values of earthly existence.
Different from the experiences of Frankl and Dostoevsky (concentration camp and banishment to Siberia), we were alive and free, and it was spring in Serbia. I had no possibility for planning, and I felt easier without plans. Free of thoughts, I suddenly began to enjoy wonderful moments around myself that I hadnt noticed beforetrees, flowers, faces, and the tiny movements of people. Yet, it was very far from the happiness of a healthier time.
Somewhere inside was always the fear of hopelessness. How it could be fought? Crisis implies the danger of a psychological breakdown, and also the possibility of growth. I remember the words of a Yugoslav psychologist who had become a spiritual explorer: "Only important is: accept, accept, accept!" Exterior circumstances created change, regardless of my acceptance or rejection. I had not much choice: I could open myself to change, or drown. There was the necessity for courage and experience. I questioned myself: What had been my experience? Besides the war with Croatia? Many books that I read earlier in my life, especially the psychological, what is their real practical value? My friends, my girlfriends? What I had learned from them? Sports? I remembered the concentration and peace that I had had in my training in free-climbing, when I was alone with rock, ready to conquer it and myself.
In a short interval between two air-attacks, I went into my room full of books to find some important things. There had not been much time for reading. I was surprised to find that it was sufficient to cast a glance, or only to touch the cover of a book, and in my consciousness, the part that I needed appeared. (Wonderful example of conditioning or, better, of the "anchoring" technique from NLP). Which texts had I needed? Maslows description of self-realized persons, Eriksons theory of development through crises over a lifetime, Kellys and NLP-relativistic-constructivistic conceptions, psychotherapeutic techniques of self-development that were easily applied in concrete life, and, especially, works and classical literature close to religion and spirituality.
During the bombardment, most people kept firmly in mind any fixed date that might mean the end of chaos and the beginning of change in our current situation. All these dates, which were assigned by "quasi-important persons" and by self-proclaimed prophets, had really no literal meaning, but presented a rationalization in peoples mind, and they felt safer if they knew of such a date.

Many of us figured the bombardment would be replaced with ground intervention. That would have meant complete chaostotal forced mobilization (and possible execution of deserters). Stories circulated that all males able for army duty would be sent to the border, and NATO would start with "clearing the field" to make a path toward Belgrade. I know that there always exists some hidden way out, but, this time, death would become quite possible. And, we began seriously to thinkhow to accept death? In Los Angeles, there is the graffiti: "Death is the strongest hit, and therefore it is left for the end." Again, I started searching through the bag of experiences, mine and other peoples. An Indian spiritual teacher I remember, said: "We must learn to die every day, in order to be ready when the time comes." I was dying many times, and I had been left: by towns, deceased relatives, friends, girlfriends, ideals ... why not this time too? One night, we had no electricity and I listened to artillery and the air cannonade in the sky. I slept restlessly. After awaking, I looked out toward Avala Hill and its TV tower, the symbol of Belgrade. The tower had disappeared, as if it had never been there. I looked around me in the house. My known things looked strange to me. I felt like a stranger in my own home. Maybe, indeed, the time for departure had come. After all, the famous Serbian writer Crnjanski said: "There is no death, only migrations." I do believe that only the ego dies.
How did people around me behave in this new situation? Some of them retired completely into themselves, becoming more and more desperate. Others denied everything, running away into some kind of amusement. Finally, there was a third group, who were, even in such a moment, distinguished by high presence of mind. In this extreme situation, the difference between immature people and those advanced on the way to self-realization became much more evident. The latter knew that they simply were obliged to be serious and calm. They said: "If everybody is faint-hearted, at least I should not be like that," and "For my family, I have the responsibility to remain calm, if my children see that I am cheerful and resolute, they will not be scared either." These people are ethically and cognitively independent from the generally accepted attitudes in society, but they were not revolutionaries and acted simply and honestly on the personal and the local level. Regarding Maslows characteristics of self-realized behavior, they distinguished themselves on almost all points. It is interesting, however, that these people were rarely accepted as authorities. Persons who were seen as leaders were those less deviant from the average, and especially those who behaved self-importantlyoften only a mask, compensation for their deep inner problems or their immoral attitudes.
Then, ground intervention did not happen. We could get our breath.
The peace has come. But no problem is solved. On the contrary, new centers of crisis are being created. Also, unusually, during the war, there was less aggressiveness and more altruism. Different people rested upon one another, made friendships, but, after the peace had been established, mostly it was forgotten. The crisis in Yugoslavia has been strengthening, there is enough energy for change. But the energy is poorly directed. People are apathetic and empty; nobody believes in anything; people become more and more pessimistic, the smile is visible almost nowhere. After the war, I was invited to Bosnia and Bulgaria, and I was surprised how people there looked, how they behaved and conceived of life, in a different and healthier way than at home. Only from that perspective did I realize the full dimensions of the psychological crisis in Yugoslavia. We must hold out our hands to others, to everybody. The more we do so, the more hands we shall find held out to us.

Mario Knezevic is a postgraduate student of personality psychology at the Institute of Psychology and on the Faculty of Philosophy in Belgrade. He is at work founding an AHP center in Yugoslavia. He leads many workshops and is also an NLP teacher/trainee. He invites dialogue at mknezevi@bg.ac.yu

AHP PERSPECTIVE April/May 2000 Table of Contents

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