Morale among UN mission members in Kosovo is at an all-time low.
Comments on the mission from its own employees include "desperate",
"a joke" and "directionless".
BERKELEY Dragoslav Basic was a
university professor specializing in
earthquake engineering - a discipline he
learned at the University of California,
Berkeley, on a Fulbright scholarship.
But Basic was born a Serb and he
chose to leave a career in Berkeley and
return to his native Kosovo in 1990 with
a dream of working for harmony
between Serbs and ethnic Albanians.
On Nov. 29 he died at the hands of
an ethnic Albanian mob in Kosovo as he
attempted to drive his wife and her
mother to their home in suburban Pristina.
All three were beaten savagely.
Then Basic was shot. He was 63. He had
been fired from the university where he
chose to stay, his homeland was in chaos.
The mob ruled.
His wife and her mother remain
hospitalized and Basic's friends are
mourning. The man is dead, but his
dream will not die, his Serbian friends in
the East Bay said Wednesday. They plan
a memorial service on Jan. 16 at the Serbian
Orthodox Church in Moraga.
His death is a history lesson about
the troubled region that Americans need
to learn, they said. It is not a simple
place, there are no simple answers.
NATO bombs could not clear away the
debris of history.
"He was a noble soul," said Nick
Tomasevic, who met the Basic family
days after they moved to University Village
in Albany in 1988.
"It was a terrible tragic end in a
tragedy that never ends," said
Tomasevic, who was pilot in the former
Yugoslavia before coming to the United
States.
"He didn't believe that anybody
would ever hurt him, because he
wouldn't bother anybody. To him -
nationality and ethnic background, they
were like family names. 'We are all
human beings - part of the same hand,' he
would say."
"But what does a mob know? A few
people or thousands - the mentality is the
same. He was in the wrong place at the
wrong time," Tomasevic said.
He died as hundreds of people
looked on and did nothing.
Basic was a poet, an educated
renaissance man and he believed he
could help Kosovo, Tomasevic's sister,
Desa Wakeman of Berkeley, said. "I
knew his children." His daughter, Nikoleta,
graduated from Albany High in
1989, and son Tomislav attended grade
school in Albany. Both now live in Kosovo.
Basic spoke Serbian and Albanian
and had friends everywhere in Kosovo,
Wakeman said. His family had lived in
Kosovo for hundreds of years. Basic
(pronounced BASH-ich) is a historic
name in Kosovo.
As a student at the University of
Mississippi in the late 1970s, Basic saw
the blossoming of the movement for
racial equality in the American South
and he was inspired, Wakeman said.
Another friend, Snezana Landau of
El Cerrito, said the family debated the
issue with great passion before they
decided to return. "He believed in his
country. But they had a nice life here,"
she said. "But his wife Dragica's father
had just died and she was very upset that
she could not return for his funeral.
"Ten years ago - they could not
imagine it would ever get this bad," Landau
said. "We owe it to him to remember
him, to see that he doesn't just go like
that — killed in the streets by a
mob."
UC Berkeley Nuclear Engineering
Professor Jasmina Vujic, a native of Belgrade,
came to Berkeley after Basic
returned to Kosovo. But as a leader in
the East Bay Serbian community, she has
spoken to his children since his death.
"His daughter told me she didn't
recognize her mother in the hospital.
They had put firecrackers in her mouth
and exploded them. She had several ribs
broken. Her grandmother is not
expected to live."
Nikoleta said her father could have
stayed at Berkeley, but he wanted to go
back. He knew the history of the region,
but he was a very gentle man, an educator.
He wanted to work in Pristina University...
"It is very sad - this region has seen
many wars. This is the fifth in this century.
Anyone who knew that should have
known not to interfere" [Vujic said.]
Tomasevic, who visited and kept in
touch with Basic during the last nine
years, said his final conversation with his
friend came hours before the NATO
bombing began last spring.
"He wanted 20,000 United Nations
peacekeepers," Tomasevic said. "He
expected them. But all he got was
bombs."