Does Serbophobia exist?

A few days ago, I came across several nationalist arguments from the Balkans on social media. As is usually the case with such debates – filled with almost everything except empathy and understanding – some users called for certain problems to be resolved through summary measures or, as one Serbian lady minister recently suggested, through “ethnic cleansing”.

And the lady minister knows exactly what she’s talking about. The easiest and most effective way to achieve ethnic homogenisation is precisely to remove minority communities and groups that refuse to assimilate.

Ethnic cleansing pays. Andrej Nikolaidis made that case convincingly in his latest column. It is particularly useful to autocrats, who find ethnically homogeneous societies easier to manipulate and control.

During the Balkans’ most recent cycle of bloodshed, Serbia was the main sponsor of ethnic cleansing. In places where the Serbian nationalist project prevailed, the territory was, to a large extent, cleared of other ethnic groups. At the same time, where that project failed, those areas were also largely ethnically cleansed – only, in those cases, of Serbs.

In such circumstances, it’s difficult to discuss Serbian victims of the recent wars without understanding the broader context. That context is essential in order to avoid historical revisionism and the relativisation of crimes, as in attempts to equate Bratunac with Srebrenica.

For precisely that reason, it’s extremely important to speak about Serbian victims, but in a right way and respectfully. It’s also important to speak about Serbophobia, which has, on more than one occasion, inspired some of the worst crimes committed in the region. This matters both for the dignity of the victims and for preventing the same, or even worse, atrocities from recurring during the next outbreak of violence in the Balkans.

Hatred never appears without an explanation. There is always a supposedly “justified” reason. In Srebrenica, Ratko Mladić claimed to be taking revenge against the “Turks” for centuries of perceived historical injustice.

Serbian nationalism justified – and continues to justify – the occupation of parts of Bosnia and Croatia by invoking the fear that Jasenovac and Jadovno might happen again.

The Handschar Division, the Albanian Balli Kombëtar movement and various Muslim militias justified their crimes against Serbs during the WWII by citing fear of the Chetnik knife. The Chetniks, in turn, claimed that their violence was committed in defence of Serbian women and children. And so the cycle continues.

Anti-Serb sentiment exists. It’ alive. It seeks justification in the existence of those who call for ethnic cleansing, denial and murder. But what distinguishes anti-Serb sentiment from legitimate criticism of Serbian nationalism – criticism that many in Serbia routinely dismiss as “Serbophobia”? It’s not difficult to make the distinction. Serbian ethno-nationalism has clear political messages. It has identifiable representatives and institutions. Criticising those individuals, movements and institutions is one thing. Generalising about an entire people, or claiming that a nation is inherently “genocidal,” is something else entirely. That is prejudice directed against a people.

Every reference to “converted Serbs” or “converted Muslims” as terms of abuse is an expression of hatred. So is the use of ethnic slurs such as Vlach or Škija, or any attempt to humiliate people because of their ancestry. Such hatred and prejudice have no justification.

You don’t treat an illness with a larger dose of poison. Instead, you use medicine. In this case, the medicine is dialogue and mutual respect. The fact that someone else spreads poison doesn’t mean you must do the same. Just as another person’s theft doesn’t justify your own.