was a known paramilitary and criminal leader in the city of Peja (Peč, in Serbian). His real name was Nebojsa Minic. He was directly implicated in the murder of six family members on June 12, 1999, but the siblings tell me: “He killed sixty-eight people.” They repeated the number: “Sixty-eight.” When I asked how they knew, the kids said theyheard it somewhere. They added, “He killed our neighbor the same day he came to our house.”
“When he came with the paramilitaries,” Alice continued, “the minute they came, my mom gave them ten thousand Deutschmarks, rolled in a tube like a cigarette. She told him it was for all the other houses, too. But he didn’t care. He burned our neighbor’s house with twenty-four people hiding inside.”
The people got out of the house, and saw that the paramilitaries had killed one of their other neighbors. They were looking for all the men.
“Captain Death came back a second time. He took my mother’s hand and said, ‘You survived because you could pay.’ My mother doesn’t remember this because she’s traumatized,” Eric told me matter-of-factly.
“He came back a third time and asked to see the basement because he thought someone might be hiding there. People had been hiding in other basements, and he wanted to find my father because he was rich. He was marked for execution.”
The children understood that it was not just that they were Albanian that put them at risk, but that they were wealthy. They knew that they had survived because they had money—their mother’s bribe to the captain—but they understood that their wealth might also endanger them.
“When they came back that third time, my dad and my uncle were on their way to hide on the roof. When Captain Death and the other Serbs came through the door, my aunt was closing the attic, so my mom came clomping down the stairs, making as much noise as she could to hide the sounds upstairs. Death asked my mom, ‘Where are you going?’ ‘Leaving,’ she said. ‘Oh no,’ Death said. ‘Not yet.’
“Then he lined us up.
“Right there,” Eric said, pointing out of the living room into the foyer at the base of the stairs. “There were my cousins there too. Thirteen people he lined up.”
Captain Death put a gun in Eric’s mother’s back, and she told him that she had a Mercedes in the garage. He could take it if he wanted. Captain Death replied that he already had some Mercedes and didn’t need another one, but that they would go inspect the garage together. He shoved her there with the gun in her back, in case someone was hiding to ambush him.
“Once he saw it was all clear, he left again,” Eric told me. He did not know how long they spent in the garage, and I did not want to push the question. Whatever happened in that garage was none of my business. I knew what the paramilitaries did to Albanian women.”
Some time passed in our conversation. This was not an uninterrupted narrative that Eric gave me. I have edited down a conversation over several hours with the usual asides, meanderings, even a discussion about a popular Spanish soap opera. In that time Alice left the room to go watch television and gossip with her cousin. Eric continued.
“The people from the burning basement came out and saw our dead neighbor. They were screaming and yelling. At the same time, we heard gunfire somewhere. We thought we were all dead. My oldest sister went out to check what had happened. She saw that our neighbor was dead, shot. She called out and everyone came and saw. They wrapped him in a blanket and buried him in the yard.
“We stayed up all night. The men patrolled the area. Early in the morning the next day, we got some things to leave. My father and uncle argued about the Mercedes. My father wanted to leave it, my uncle said we needed another car. So he drove it and my father disguised himself and drove in the Peugeot.During the drive to Montenegro we were stopped many times by the Black
“When he came with the paramilitaries,” Alice continued, “the minute they came, my mom gave them ten thousand Deutschmarks, rolled in a tube like a cigarette. She told him it was for all the other houses, too. But he didn’t care. He burned our neighbor’s house with twenty-four people hiding inside.”
The people got out of the house, and saw that the paramilitaries had killed one of their other neighbors. They were looking for all the men.
“Captain Death came back a second time. He took my mother’s hand and said, ‘You survived because you could pay.’ My mother doesn’t remember this because she’s traumatized,” Eric told me matter-of-factly.
“He came back a third time and asked to see the basement because he thought someone might be hiding there. People had been hiding in other basements, and he wanted to find my father because he was rich. He was marked for execution.”
The children understood that it was not just that they were Albanian that put them at risk, but that they were wealthy. They knew that they had survived because they had money—their mother’s bribe to the captain—but they understood that their wealth might also endanger them.
“When they came back that third time, my dad and my uncle were on their way to hide on the roof. When Captain Death and the other Serbs came through the door, my aunt was closing the attic, so my mom came clomping down the stairs, making as much noise as she could to hide the sounds upstairs. Death asked my mom, ‘Where are you going?’ ‘Leaving,’ she said. ‘Oh no,’ Death said. ‘Not yet.’
“Then he lined us up.
“Right there,” Eric said, pointing out of the living room into the foyer at the base of the stairs. “There were my cousins there too. Thirteen people he lined up.”
Captain Death put a gun in Eric’s mother’s back, and she told him that she had a Mercedes in the garage. He could take it if he wanted. Captain Death replied that he already had some Mercedes and didn’t need another one, but that they would go inspect the garage together. He shoved her there with the gun in her back, in case someone was hiding to ambush him.
“Once he saw it was all clear, he left again,” Eric told me. He did not know how long they spent in the garage, and I did not want to push the question. Whatever happened in that garage was none of my business. I knew what the paramilitaries did to Albanian women.”
Some time passed in our conversation. This was not an uninterrupted narrative that Eric gave me. I have edited down a conversation over several hours with the usual asides, meanderings, even a discussion about a popular Spanish soap opera. In that time Alice left the room to go watch television and gossip with her cousin. Eric continued.
“The people from the burning basement came out and saw our dead neighbor. They were screaming and yelling. At the same time, we heard gunfire somewhere. We thought we were all dead. My oldest sister went out to check what had happened. She saw that our neighbor was dead, shot. She called out and everyone came and saw. They wrapped him in a blanket and buried him in the yard.
“We stayed up all night. The men patrolled the area. Early in the morning the next day, we got some things to leave. My father and uncle argued about the Mercedes. My father wanted to leave it, my uncle said we needed another car. So he drove it and my father disguised himself and drove in the Peugeot.During the drive to Montenegro we were stopped many times by the Black
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