hier habe ich ein paar schoene stellen aus dem buch des franzoesischen autors Henri Possi "Black Hand Over Europe" ausgesucht. sie zeigen den genozid ueber das bulgarische volk nach den balkankriegen in Makedonien und in Ostserbien und die vorbereitung des bodens fuer schaffung einer makedonischen nation. ich warne den leser, dass die texte gewalt und sexuaellen misbrauch enthalten.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The silence was absolute.
An unexpected sight suddenly made me seize my field-glasses. Five or six hundred yards to the left a slender black silhouette stood out against the flaming sky; a helmeted soldier with a tapering bayonet.
My companion pointed his arm towards the apparition.
" Serb sentinel ! " he said laconically.
It was then that I saw in the dry grass ahead of us a narrow ditch, which constitutes the line of the Bulgaro-Yugoslav frontier.
Behind the ditch (which is but two feet in width and about eighteen inches in depth) on the Yugoslav side are the barbed wires.
Imagine a wall of steel wire six feet in height and seven feet thick. Imagine a hedge of wire whose twigs are so crossed and intercrossed, so stretched by iron stakes which maintain them, so interspersed and entangled from the ground to the top that even a little dog could not get through. That is the Yugoslav frontier.
Every eight feet in the centre of the wall are round holes, a yard in diameter, two in depth, half hidden by dry bushes. In the centre of each hole is the sharp point of an iron stake. Disaster to him who seeks to slip under the wires ! Six weeks before my visit, near Guechevo(Gecevo), a woman, tired of being beaten and violated, tried to get through, and spent two agonised days impaled on one of these points.
Behind the barbed wires are six, seven or eight parallel rows of pits, and reinforcing the barbed wire is a wall of cheval de frise, a yard in height, and a yard and a half in thickness.
Every two hundred yards there are thatched shelters, each about the size of a large dining-room table. They are arranged to slope downwards towards the frontier in such a way as to enable men to crawl under from the Yugoslav side and to fire towards the Bulgarian side from two loop- holes provided at ground-level. Under each shelter is a rough dugout. Each evening, from twilight, a sentry mounts guard there. …,
……I saw cemeteries cut in two by the frontier. Better still, even graves where the head of the dead was in the centre of the barbed wire and his feet on the outside. I saw Bulgar mothers, whose children were in Yugoslavia, come to weep a few yards from the tombs of their dearly beloved which they were forbidden to approach.
What a grand thing, peace, when the conquerors understand it thus !
There is a bullet for anyone coming from the Yugoslav side to the barbed wire, even though it be only some old woman or little child who has come to try to see from afar their parents, children, or husband.
On 11th August, 1931, somewhere between Besica and Nasalopsi, was to be seen the corpse of a little girl of twelve years of age, who had remained in annexed Macedonia after her parents had fled to Bulgaria. The pathetic little corpse lay four days on a mound, a hundred yards from the barbed wire, under a temperature of over a hundred in the shade. She had been killed by a machine-gun while she was throwing kisses to her mother standing on a neighbouring eminence on Bulgarian territory. …..
……One fine morning, a Sunday preferably, when all the inhabitants are assembled for church, the gendarmes arrive, reinforced by bands of irregulars, and shout : " Let's get going ! Ouste ! En route ! "
For those who protest or resist, there are twenty- five cudgel blows on the buttocks, or a sound beating with rifle stocks. "If I had as many ten-dinar notes as I have horse-whipped these louts," said the inspector of police, Djoganetitch, to me last year at Veles, " I wouldn't have to wait for my pension ! "
Yet Inspector Michel Djagonetitch, smiling, affable, inexhaustibly complacent, has nothing of the brute in him-so long as he is kept away from the Macedonians.
I saw an old man near a frontier blockhouse in the region of Petritch whose hands were nothing but sores as a result of having stretched barbed wires.
A few kilometres from Tzaribrod, I saw Serb gendarmes, jokingly throw some young Bulgar peasants head first into the midst of a network of barbed wire. The victims, their faces lacerated, rose without a word.
Working on the mantraps near Nasaloksi, I saw a young girl thrown on the ground, her skirts tucked up to the waist, and given fifteen blows of a horsewhip because she didn't work fast enough. Blood streaming down her thighs, she started again with her digging…….
……It is true that the barbed wires have almost entirely halted the incursions of the volunteers of the ORIM into annexed Macedonia. Henceforth they are obliged to cross Roumania and to take a train at Belgrade for Skoplje; Bitolj or Guevgueli: This is not so easy.
It is also quite true that the barbed wire has transformed Serbian Macedonia into an immense prison, into an indescribable hell of violence and misery, from which it is no longer possible to escape, no longer possible to enter without special permission from the Yugoslav authorities. The jailors in this prison are not responsible to anyone. …….
…….Near Priboz(Priboj), two young lads fled into a cornfield upon seeing the khaki uniforms. They were chased by the horsemen and harshly beaten in the face with riding whips because of their suspicious conduct. …….
……My guide, I will not give his name, took me to a house where I found a mother nursing a little girl of ten or twelve years of age. I learned that this child, having been surprised talking Bulgarian with one of her little friends, had been bound to a bench before the class, and whipped until the blood came. Her back, her hips, and her thighs were covered by great sores. She could hardly walk, and she cried with pain when she sat down. They had warned her, however, that if she missed school or arrived late the punishment would be renewed.
"Do you employ corporal punishment in your schools?" I asked Jovanovitch that same evening at the Grand Cafe. "Never!" he replied. "Do you take us for Germans ? " …….
…….The man hobbled about painfully, and his fifty years appeared seventy. His legs had been broken with the butt-end of a musket in the prison where he had been put for two years simply because his brother had fled from Macedonia. In this prison he had to polish pencils and metal penholders. He had to polish a thousand each day, and was not allowed to sleep until he had made the count. Twice a week, in the dead of night, the gendarmes would lead him to the torture chamber where each prisoner was given twenty-five cudgel blows on the balls of the feet and on the hands, which had been previously soaked for half an-hour in warm water. Food consisted of two pounds of black bread each day, and two glasses of water at noon. The chains on his ankles weighed forty pounds.
His deformed feet and hands bore frightful scars. The broken bones had knitted together above the knee without having been set in place, and they protruded through the skin. ……
…….I saw an accused at Ochrida who had had his natural issues ‘ buckled’ both before and behind , and was then forced to eat and drink copiously for three days. He howled with pain, but he confessed nothing-which is of little importance, since, probably, he had nothing to confess. Then they beat him unconscious in such a manner that not a tooth remained in the front of his mouth." …..
……the smallest letter in Bulgarian may cost its writer anything from six months to five years in prison, and a dose of cudgel blows before, during, and after. ….
……In Macedonia the Serbs confiscate, imprison, torture, violate and assassinate, continually, tranquilly and abominably.
Last August, at Topsider, a French official, whose name I cannot, to my great regret, publish, said to me : "They send down there the scum of the Yugoslav administration, all those whom it has been impossible to break or maintain elsewhere. They are a rabble of thieves, of sadists and extortioners. Their ignorance, their vanity, and their immorality is unimaginable."
Here are a few more of the things I saw in Macedonia. In one of the busy streets of Bitolj I heard frightful cries coming from the open window of a primary school. Two masters were beating half a-dozen young boys, who were tied to their benches " Dirty Bulgars ! " yelled the masters. " Sons of Macedonian sows ! I'll teach you Serb, I will ! "
A Croat lieutenant from Zagreb was with me at the time. " What these chaps are doing here, they would like to do with us at home," he said. "Devils, they are, not men ! "……
……Near the village of Orasac, between Kumanovo and Novoselo, I saw a peasant attached to a tree with his trousers down. His face, his back, and his belly were covered with blood. Three gendarmes and a non-commissioned officer stood round him. A fourth gendarme came out of a house. He was carrying a cat in a sack. They tied the cat above the peasant's knees, and then pulled his trousers up over the furious cat. All the village, men, women and children, looked on in silence. The man, his flesh torn by the enraged beast, screamed in agony. "
Let's get out of here ! " said the Frenchman who had driven me there in his car. " If we intervene they will let him go, but they'll only blow his brains out as soon as we have turned our backs." …….
…….In all the cemeteries and churches of annexed Macedonia, Belgrade has removed all the Bulgarian inscriptions from the altars, from the walls and from the tombs. In many cases they have emptied the tombs and the crypts of their contents.
At Skoplje, for example, more than forty corpses were torn from the Church of Saint- Dimitri.
" What have they done with them? " I asked Mr. Jovanovitch's assistant who was showing me the church.
"They heaved them into the Vardar," he replied.
At Veles, the Bulgarian officers who fell in the course of the last battles of the Franco- Serb offensive of September, 1918, had been interred in the old Church of Saint- Pantaleimon. Their remains were exhumed by the Serbs and cast on to the rubbish heap. ……
……He was a charming man, this Inspector Djaganetitch. He took me to his office later on and told me of his campaigns against the comitadjis of the ORIM.
"Do they still come as far as Veles?"
"We took the last nearly three years ago, near the village of Katzibego(Kacibeg)," he replied. "Fourteen men and two women. Fine slips of girls they were too. They kept us company all night ! "
" That must have amused you ! " I said tactfully, but ironically.
"Oh yes! In the morning when we had to get en route they couldn't stand up. But we knew the remedy for that ! A few cracks of a horsewhip on the seat, and they ran like she-goats !
"The main thing, however, was to make the dirty curs talk. You can bet they hadn't come all the way from Bulgaria without being hidden and aided along the route. We wanted the names and addresses of their friends.
" Well, believe me, sir, we tried everything ; iron wire twisted round the head or the knees with a stick, big toes crushed with a hammer. It's a rar
e thing if a chap doesn't confess before the second foot. It's even better than the one with the teeth! You know the one, I reckon. It's this way! You put the man in a chair with his head bound to the back of it. You pry open his mouth and drill one, two, three teeth. I've seen huskies collapse at the second tooth ! At the third they tell you all you want to know. It's worth more than fifty cudgel blows.
"But this last gang we caught simply wouldn't talk. No, sir. They made a sign to stop, and then when we stopped they said nothing. The women were the worst ! We drilled four teeth, two in front and two big ones. They went a bit white, but that's all. One of them spat in my face ! I could have killed her ! I wanted to set them on burning coals, as M. Lazitch had us do near Kratovo.
" Well, all of a sudden, I found this."
He plunged his hand into a drawer and held out to me an old rusty razor.
" With that in two hours I made the dirty curs denounce more than twenty traitors ; peasants, shepherds, women, even kids ! I didn't have the time to write it all down…….
……."Do you intend to visit Kratovo?" he asked. "When you get there go and see Lieutenant Mina. He's a veteran of the armies of King Peter who dared go all alone to a region infested with revolutionaries and traitors. A real Serb ! He had a score of his old comrades at Kratovo. He installed them on the abandoned lands and in the houses. M. Jovanovitch didn't tell you the story of the marriages, did he? Ah! you must hear it. It's one of the things for which His Majesty complimented Mina.
"Mina and his bachelor comrades at Kratovo could find no one to marry, because the women would not have a Serb. But that wasn't for long! One Sunday, Mina assembled the village and told his comrades to choose a girl each. They took eleven women whose husbands had fled to Bulgaria, and who cried that they were already married.
" ‘ I annul your marriage !’ said Mina. They refused. So Mina had them tied to benches. They were whipped by their future husbands until they could cry no longer. Then Mina warned them that they would do it again the following Sunday, and each Sunday after, until they gave in.
" For three Sundays Mina thrashed them thus, and then they said ‘Yes.’ Mina had a minister come from Serbia, and they were married."
I met one of the "re-married" women. She was playing on the doorstep with the son of her Serb husband, a fine lad of three or four years of age. She showed such a tenderness for him that I, knowing the story from my guide, was stupefied.
In answer to my question she replied : "I want my son to love me so much that it will be I, living or dead, who aims his rifle on the day of our liberation."
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The silence was absolute.
An unexpected sight suddenly made me seize my field-glasses. Five or six hundred yards to the left a slender black silhouette stood out against the flaming sky; a helmeted soldier with a tapering bayonet.
My companion pointed his arm towards the apparition.
" Serb sentinel ! " he said laconically.
It was then that I saw in the dry grass ahead of us a narrow ditch, which constitutes the line of the Bulgaro-Yugoslav frontier.
Behind the ditch (which is but two feet in width and about eighteen inches in depth) on the Yugoslav side are the barbed wires.
Imagine a wall of steel wire six feet in height and seven feet thick. Imagine a hedge of wire whose twigs are so crossed and intercrossed, so stretched by iron stakes which maintain them, so interspersed and entangled from the ground to the top that even a little dog could not get through. That is the Yugoslav frontier.
Every eight feet in the centre of the wall are round holes, a yard in diameter, two in depth, half hidden by dry bushes. In the centre of each hole is the sharp point of an iron stake. Disaster to him who seeks to slip under the wires ! Six weeks before my visit, near Guechevo(Gecevo), a woman, tired of being beaten and violated, tried to get through, and spent two agonised days impaled on one of these points.
Behind the barbed wires are six, seven or eight parallel rows of pits, and reinforcing the barbed wire is a wall of cheval de frise, a yard in height, and a yard and a half in thickness.
Every two hundred yards there are thatched shelters, each about the size of a large dining-room table. They are arranged to slope downwards towards the frontier in such a way as to enable men to crawl under from the Yugoslav side and to fire towards the Bulgarian side from two loop- holes provided at ground-level. Under each shelter is a rough dugout. Each evening, from twilight, a sentry mounts guard there. …,
……I saw cemeteries cut in two by the frontier. Better still, even graves where the head of the dead was in the centre of the barbed wire and his feet on the outside. I saw Bulgar mothers, whose children were in Yugoslavia, come to weep a few yards from the tombs of their dearly beloved which they were forbidden to approach.
What a grand thing, peace, when the conquerors understand it thus !
There is a bullet for anyone coming from the Yugoslav side to the barbed wire, even though it be only some old woman or little child who has come to try to see from afar their parents, children, or husband.
On 11th August, 1931, somewhere between Besica and Nasalopsi, was to be seen the corpse of a little girl of twelve years of age, who had remained in annexed Macedonia after her parents had fled to Bulgaria. The pathetic little corpse lay four days on a mound, a hundred yards from the barbed wire, under a temperature of over a hundred in the shade. She had been killed by a machine-gun while she was throwing kisses to her mother standing on a neighbouring eminence on Bulgarian territory. …..
……One fine morning, a Sunday preferably, when all the inhabitants are assembled for church, the gendarmes arrive, reinforced by bands of irregulars, and shout : " Let's get going ! Ouste ! En route ! "
For those who protest or resist, there are twenty- five cudgel blows on the buttocks, or a sound beating with rifle stocks. "If I had as many ten-dinar notes as I have horse-whipped these louts," said the inspector of police, Djoganetitch, to me last year at Veles, " I wouldn't have to wait for my pension ! "
Yet Inspector Michel Djagonetitch, smiling, affable, inexhaustibly complacent, has nothing of the brute in him-so long as he is kept away from the Macedonians.
I saw an old man near a frontier blockhouse in the region of Petritch whose hands were nothing but sores as a result of having stretched barbed wires.
A few kilometres from Tzaribrod, I saw Serb gendarmes, jokingly throw some young Bulgar peasants head first into the midst of a network of barbed wire. The victims, their faces lacerated, rose without a word.
Working on the mantraps near Nasaloksi, I saw a young girl thrown on the ground, her skirts tucked up to the waist, and given fifteen blows of a horsewhip because she didn't work fast enough. Blood streaming down her thighs, she started again with her digging…….
……It is true that the barbed wires have almost entirely halted the incursions of the volunteers of the ORIM into annexed Macedonia. Henceforth they are obliged to cross Roumania and to take a train at Belgrade for Skoplje; Bitolj or Guevgueli: This is not so easy.
It is also quite true that the barbed wire has transformed Serbian Macedonia into an immense prison, into an indescribable hell of violence and misery, from which it is no longer possible to escape, no longer possible to enter without special permission from the Yugoslav authorities. The jailors in this prison are not responsible to anyone. …….
…….Near Priboz(Priboj), two young lads fled into a cornfield upon seeing the khaki uniforms. They were chased by the horsemen and harshly beaten in the face with riding whips because of their suspicious conduct. …….
……My guide, I will not give his name, took me to a house where I found a mother nursing a little girl of ten or twelve years of age. I learned that this child, having been surprised talking Bulgarian with one of her little friends, had been bound to a bench before the class, and whipped until the blood came. Her back, her hips, and her thighs were covered by great sores. She could hardly walk, and she cried with pain when she sat down. They had warned her, however, that if she missed school or arrived late the punishment would be renewed.
"Do you employ corporal punishment in your schools?" I asked Jovanovitch that same evening at the Grand Cafe. "Never!" he replied. "Do you take us for Germans ? " …….
…….The man hobbled about painfully, and his fifty years appeared seventy. His legs had been broken with the butt-end of a musket in the prison where he had been put for two years simply because his brother had fled from Macedonia. In this prison he had to polish pencils and metal penholders. He had to polish a thousand each day, and was not allowed to sleep until he had made the count. Twice a week, in the dead of night, the gendarmes would lead him to the torture chamber where each prisoner was given twenty-five cudgel blows on the balls of the feet and on the hands, which had been previously soaked for half an-hour in warm water. Food consisted of two pounds of black bread each day, and two glasses of water at noon. The chains on his ankles weighed forty pounds.
His deformed feet and hands bore frightful scars. The broken bones had knitted together above the knee without having been set in place, and they protruded through the skin. ……
…….I saw an accused at Ochrida who had had his natural issues ‘ buckled’ both before and behind , and was then forced to eat and drink copiously for three days. He howled with pain, but he confessed nothing-which is of little importance, since, probably, he had nothing to confess. Then they beat him unconscious in such a manner that not a tooth remained in the front of his mouth." …..
……the smallest letter in Bulgarian may cost its writer anything from six months to five years in prison, and a dose of cudgel blows before, during, and after. ….
……In Macedonia the Serbs confiscate, imprison, torture, violate and assassinate, continually, tranquilly and abominably.
Last August, at Topsider, a French official, whose name I cannot, to my great regret, publish, said to me : "They send down there the scum of the Yugoslav administration, all those whom it has been impossible to break or maintain elsewhere. They are a rabble of thieves, of sadists and extortioners. Their ignorance, their vanity, and their immorality is unimaginable."
Here are a few more of the things I saw in Macedonia. In one of the busy streets of Bitolj I heard frightful cries coming from the open window of a primary school. Two masters were beating half a-dozen young boys, who were tied to their benches " Dirty Bulgars ! " yelled the masters. " Sons of Macedonian sows ! I'll teach you Serb, I will ! "
A Croat lieutenant from Zagreb was with me at the time. " What these chaps are doing here, they would like to do with us at home," he said. "Devils, they are, not men ! "……
……Near the village of Orasac, between Kumanovo and Novoselo, I saw a peasant attached to a tree with his trousers down. His face, his back, and his belly were covered with blood. Three gendarmes and a non-commissioned officer stood round him. A fourth gendarme came out of a house. He was carrying a cat in a sack. They tied the cat above the peasant's knees, and then pulled his trousers up over the furious cat. All the village, men, women and children, looked on in silence. The man, his flesh torn by the enraged beast, screamed in agony. "
Let's get out of here ! " said the Frenchman who had driven me there in his car. " If we intervene they will let him go, but they'll only blow his brains out as soon as we have turned our backs." …….
…….In all the cemeteries and churches of annexed Macedonia, Belgrade has removed all the Bulgarian inscriptions from the altars, from the walls and from the tombs. In many cases they have emptied the tombs and the crypts of their contents.
At Skoplje, for example, more than forty corpses were torn from the Church of Saint- Dimitri.
" What have they done with them? " I asked Mr. Jovanovitch's assistant who was showing me the church.
"They heaved them into the Vardar," he replied.
At Veles, the Bulgarian officers who fell in the course of the last battles of the Franco- Serb offensive of September, 1918, had been interred in the old Church of Saint- Pantaleimon. Their remains were exhumed by the Serbs and cast on to the rubbish heap. ……
……He was a charming man, this Inspector Djaganetitch. He took me to his office later on and told me of his campaigns against the comitadjis of the ORIM.
"Do they still come as far as Veles?"
"We took the last nearly three years ago, near the village of Katzibego(Kacibeg)," he replied. "Fourteen men and two women. Fine slips of girls they were too. They kept us company all night ! "
" That must have amused you ! " I said tactfully, but ironically.
"Oh yes! In the morning when we had to get en route they couldn't stand up. But we knew the remedy for that ! A few cracks of a horsewhip on the seat, and they ran like she-goats !
"The main thing, however, was to make the dirty curs talk. You can bet they hadn't come all the way from Bulgaria without being hidden and aided along the route. We wanted the names and addresses of their friends.
" Well, believe me, sir, we tried everything ; iron wire twisted round the head or the knees with a stick, big toes crushed with a hammer. It's a rar
e thing if a chap doesn't confess before the second foot. It's even better than the one with the teeth! You know the one, I reckon. It's this way! You put the man in a chair with his head bound to the back of it. You pry open his mouth and drill one, two, three teeth. I've seen huskies collapse at the second tooth ! At the third they tell you all you want to know. It's worth more than fifty cudgel blows.
"But this last gang we caught simply wouldn't talk. No, sir. They made a sign to stop, and then when we stopped they said nothing. The women were the worst ! We drilled four teeth, two in front and two big ones. They went a bit white, but that's all. One of them spat in my face ! I could have killed her ! I wanted to set them on burning coals, as M. Lazitch had us do near Kratovo.
" Well, all of a sudden, I found this."
He plunged his hand into a drawer and held out to me an old rusty razor.
" With that in two hours I made the dirty curs denounce more than twenty traitors ; peasants, shepherds, women, even kids ! I didn't have the time to write it all down…….
……."Do you intend to visit Kratovo?" he asked. "When you get there go and see Lieutenant Mina. He's a veteran of the armies of King Peter who dared go all alone to a region infested with revolutionaries and traitors. A real Serb ! He had a score of his old comrades at Kratovo. He installed them on the abandoned lands and in the houses. M. Jovanovitch didn't tell you the story of the marriages, did he? Ah! you must hear it. It's one of the things for which His Majesty complimented Mina.
"Mina and his bachelor comrades at Kratovo could find no one to marry, because the women would not have a Serb. But that wasn't for long! One Sunday, Mina assembled the village and told his comrades to choose a girl each. They took eleven women whose husbands had fled to Bulgaria, and who cried that they were already married.
" ‘ I annul your marriage !’ said Mina. They refused. So Mina had them tied to benches. They were whipped by their future husbands until they could cry no longer. Then Mina warned them that they would do it again the following Sunday, and each Sunday after, until they gave in.
" For three Sundays Mina thrashed them thus, and then they said ‘Yes.’ Mina had a minister come from Serbia, and they were married."
I met one of the "re-married" women. She was playing on the doorstep with the son of her Serb husband, a fine lad of three or four years of age. She showed such a tenderness for him that I, knowing the story from my guide, was stupefied.
In answer to my question she replied : "I want my son to love me so much that it will be I, living or dead, who aims his rifle on the day of our liberation."
