Colonel Ivan Matović’s Deathbed Confession

– Budo Simonović, Vesti Online –

(1): In Peace the Poor, in War the Refugees

At the New Bežanija Cemetery in Belgrade, Ivan “Ivo” Radojev Matović was recently laid to rest. A retired colonel of the Yugoslav People’s Army, he was one of the veterans of Yugoslav — and later Serbian and Montenegrin — journalism. He was one of the most prominent voices in military journalism, a respected publicist, and a direct participant and reliable witness to the many upheavals that swept across the Balkans in the latter half of the previous century.

Though his health had been failing (he spent his last few years in a retirement home at Crveni Krst in Belgrade), until his final breath he closely followed the events unfolding in the land that was once his great homeland. He suffered deeply through both its bloody disintegration and the many shocks, collapses, political upheavals and turmoil that have shaken the region ever since.

This is why his final wish — to be buried beneath a red five-pointed star and to the sound of the march Partizan sam tim se dičim (I am a Partisan and Proud of It) — cannot be interpreted as anything other than his last protest against the revived evils and hatred that destroyed a once great, respected country. A country which, as he used to say, had been a beacon among the world’s smaller states, a banner-bearer and the first and strongest supporter in the fight of enslaved and humiliated peoples for liberation from colonial yokes and the chains of imperialism.

Even though his hand had grown weak and he struggled to form letters on the page, during one of our last meetings — before his sudden death — he told me he had managed to write down some memories from his relatively long life (he died at the age of 87), a life rich in experience and full of interest. He left these as a legacy, asking that parts be published. The following account is based on that confession, as well as my own recollections and notes from our years of friendship and companionship.

Life in Piperi

“My ancestors lived in the northern part of the village of Radeća, in Piperi, above Podgorica,” Ivo Matović recalled, “but sometime in the late 19th century, they moved to the lower, southern part of the village. There, my grandfather Pero — or Mujo, as he was renamed according to the old custom for an only son — built a new house, arranged a small estate and planted a modest vineyard.

“He had two sons — Radoje, my father, and Milisav — and four daughters. The elder, Radoje, was chosen to inherit the estate and stay on the land, to carry on the family tradition, while the younger, Milisav, was sent off to school. As far as I know, he finished some kind of business school and, after the war, became a high-ranking official in Podgorica, including a stint as director of an agricultural complex.

“My father married Milosava Filipović around 1925 — the granddaughter of the renowned Piperi and Montenegrin hero Luka Filipov Dragišić. They quickly started a family and had four children: two sons and two daughters. My sister Mileva was born in 1927. Three years later came Stana, and then three years after that, in 1933, I was born. Four years after me, in 1937, our brother Momčilo came into the world.

“I was named after a famous ancestor who was killed in a charge on Spuška Glavica — an impregnable, cursed and blood-soaked Turkish fortress wedged into the heart of the Bjelopavlići plain, between Podgorica and Danilovgrad, on the left bank of the Zeta River near Spuž.

“My father, Radoje, was self-taught, but hardworking and curious. Aside from tending to the estate, he also worked as a mason and road builder. He laboured along the coast and later became known as a self-taught house builder, a master who would take on turnkey projects — from the foundation to the roof.

“Our mother Milosava — or Mika — was also incredibly industrious, a tireless worker and homemaker. I remember how every Monday and Thursday, rain or shine, she would rise at dawn and head for Podgorica, carrying a heavy load on her back and another on the donkey, to sell fruit, vegetables, dairy products, honey, wine, rakija — whatever was in season and could be turned into money — at the market.”

Constant Flight

“That’s how the two of them managed to keep the family going and raise four children to find their way in life. With only a small amount of livestock, just enough to be kept on the modest estate in Piperi, we would take them up to Radovče in early spring, and later to the more distant Lukavica. But when we children grew up and scattered on our own paths, that tradition came to an end out of necessity.

“Still, I spent my early, pre-war childhood and the years of the Second World War — like nearly everyone else in my region — in sheer poverty and hardship. In peacetime, before the war, we lived in Pobrđe — the name of the area where our home and land were. But during the war, we fled constantly, hiding in the mountains from Lukavica and Durmitor, across Sinjajevina to the Komovi range — always on the run, evading occupier and Chetnik raids and reprisals.

“For four years we never found peace. As soon as we moved on, behind us lay nothing but devastation we could not return to. Our shelter was burned down three times. What little we had as poor folk was plundered each time, so we were forced to start over again and again. The greatest burden, of course, fell on our mother, as our father was away at war.”

Luka Vatipaša

“Luka Filipov Dragišić, my mother Milosava’s grandfather, captured the Turkish general Osman Pasha in the famous Battle of Vučji Do in 1878. He stripped him of his ornate belt while still alive, bound his hands with a sash and delivered him like a prisoner to Prince Nikola. For his courage, Prince Nikola awarded him the highest military honour and gifted him ten hectares of land in the newly liberated Zeta plain.

“From then on, he was known as Vatipaša. The famous Nikola Tesla considered him one of the greatest Serbian heroes — some say Tesla even had a monument to him built in America. But this mountain warrior, used to elevation and fresh air, couldn’t adjust to the flatlands of Zeta, the mosquitoes and malaria. So, he returned once again to his home in Piperi.”

(2): Soviet Ideas in Montenegro

The Matović family from Piperi — relatives of Ivo Matović — were especially targeted by the occupiers, first the Italians and later the Germans, as well as by the Chetniks. The reason was that both Ivo’s father Radoje and uncle Milisav joined the National Liberation Army from the very first day, and his eldest sister Mileva was a well-known member of the Communist Youth.

“Just before the war and the collapse of the former Yugoslavia, both my father and uncle were called into the reserves,” said Ivo Matović. “My father went to Bar, my uncle to Nikšić. After the capitulation, both returned home with their rifles, following a directive from the Communist Party. It was far harder for my father, though, because he had to get back to Piperi on foot, mostly at night, crossing from Bar via Rumija and Rijeka Crnojevića without being detected.”

Surviving the Hell of War

“They later joined the partisans, while we did our best to manage and endure like most people during the war. Fortunately, we all survived that hell. My father returned from the war as a disabled veteran — he was seriously wounded in some of the first battles against Pavle Đurišić’s Chetniks in the Vasojevići region.

“Our family’s commitment to communist ideas began, it seems, as far back as 1921, when Dr. Vukašin Marković — a well-known Montenegrin revolutionary from Stijena Piperska — appeared in Piperi.

“This remarkable man, born in 1874 in Piperi, was determined to get an education. He set off to live with relatives in faraway Jagodina to attend secondary school. After only two years, however, he was forced to drop out, as his family couldn’t support him financially. He then resolved to get to Russia at any cost. Under circumstances that remain unclear, he managed to get aboard a ship to Russia as a stoker — the very ship that was transporting Montenegrin Prince Nikola Petrović.

“Of course, once he reached Russia, he dropped the shovel, disembarked and disappeared into the vastness of the country. For two years, his family received no word from him, until one day a letter arrived from Kharkov.

“He resumed his education. Some say he completed the Don Theological Seminary in Kharkov, others that he studied medicine or veterinary science. Whatever the truth, the most significant point in Vukašin Marković’s turbulent biography — always prefaced with the title “Doctor” — is that he became a member of the Russian Social Democratic Labour Party in the early 20th century (around 1901 or 1903) and actively participated in the first Russian Revolution of 1905. For that, he was imprisoned multiple times in Tsarist jails, but it also forged him into a formidable revolutionary. As a mature man and close friend, associate and comrade of Vladimir Ilyich Lenin, he played a prominent role in the October Revolution.”

A Thorn in the Side of the Authorities

Dr. Vukašin Marković was also the founder of the Yugoslav Communist Group within the Russian Communist Party and the first editor-in-chief of Revolucija, a newspaper for Yugoslav communists in Moscow.

“In 1921, he came to Montenegro,” said Ivo Matović, “with the aim of spreading the fire of communist ideas here as well — of creating a Soviet Montenegro. Naturally, he immediately became a thorn in the authorities’ side and had to go underground.”

Still, he found strong support among the youth, especially in his native Piperi — so much so that the area soon earned the nickname “Little Moscow.”

“My uncle Milisav and father Radoje were among Dr. Vukašin Marković’s supporters. One night, while Marković was holding a meeting in our house, the gendarmes surrounded the building and tried to arrest him. There was gunfire, and to this day, bullet holes can still be seen on the window bars. But Marković, all the meeting attendees and my father managed to escape. Only my grandfather, grandmother and uncle Milisav were arrested. He had been ill and unable to run, so they all later claimed that Dr. Marković had come to the house as a doctor, not as a revolutionary. It seems the story held — they were released shortly after…

“Not long after that, Dr. Vukašin Marković was captured, but with the help of the communists, he managed to escape from prison and return to Russia via Austria. There, in 1930, after consistently upholding Lenin’s ideas and defending the truth about the October Revolution, he openly clashed with Joseph Vissarionovich Stalin during a debate — and was, unsurprisingly, sent to the notorious Gulag, where he spent ten full years. He died under still-unresolved circumstances — some say in 1940, others in 1943, either in Kuybyshev or in a sanatorium in the Urals.”

Marković on Himself

“My family is the proletariat of the whole world,” Dr. Vukašin Marković once said. “I don’t own a spoon or a cat. My nationality is mankind. I speak French, English, German, Italian, Bulgarian. By profession: teacher, agitator, doctor of medicine, veterinary doctor, educated in Russia. Eight years of military service, participated in many battles. Member of the Russian Communist Party from the very beginning. Earlier activities in Russia, the Balkans, Europe, Asia and America. Subjected to repression many times over a span of 25 years. Served in the Red Army and fought on various fronts: Eastern, Southeastern, Southern, Northern, Western, Southwestern…”

Uncle of Ivan Milutinović

It is less known that Ivan Milutinović — one of the most prominent Montenegrin and Yugoslav revolutionaries and communist leaders of the pre-war and wartime period — was Dr. Vukašin Marković’s nephew, the son of his sister Stefa. A National Hero and one of Josip Broz Tito’s closest and most trusted associates, Milutinović died tragically on the eve of liberation. In October 1944, while attempting to cross from Pančevo to newly liberated Belgrade, the small cargo boat he was travelling on struck a submerged mine. He perished in the waters of the Danube.

(3): Poverty Sent Me into the Army

Ivo Matović began school only after the liberation of Podgorica in December 1944. After the Italians, in retaliation for the July 13 Uprising in 1941, burned the entire village — including the school and the church — classes were held in a renovated private home, with grades one and two in one room, and grades three and four in another.

There were no issues while he was completing the first four grades, as the school was close to home. The real hardships began when he enrolled in primary school beyond grade four and then in secondary school — since he had to walk roughly ten kilometres to Podgorica and the same distance back, every day.

“Because I lost four years during the war, I completed four grades of elementary school and the first two grades of lower secondary school — as it was called back then — in just three school years,” Ivo Matović recalled.

“I was a successful student at the Podgorica — or rather, by then, Titograd — secondary school, where I completed my final exams. I was especially strong in the humanities and stood out particularly in Serbo-Croatian language classes. My essays were even read aloud in class. That’s why my classmates nicknamed me ‘the romantic.’”

Blažo Popović, a well-known and respected Serbo-Croatian language teacher — not just at the school — sent Ivo’s essays to other secondary schools in Titograd as examples of excellence. This would likely have a great influence on Matović’s later career choice.

He had no aptitude for math, so professors Koka and Radovan Medenica, a married couple, gave him some leeway, rewarding him instead for his marks in other subjects, especially his top grades in Serbo-Croatian…

As a strong and exemplary student, Ivo Matović was elected president of the youth organization at the school and became part of the inner leadership of the youth movement in the Titograd district.

“With the secretaries Milan Milić and Musa Mugoša, I visited youth action groups nearly every day and often at night. I participated in three youth work actions while still in school, and before that I helped build the Nikšić-Titograd railway and drain the plains of Strganica and Drezga in my native Piperi.

“I participated in the construction of New Belgrade for two years in a row, once as commander of a mixed ‘student-peasant’ brigade named ‘Ivan Milutinović.’ The brigade returned from the action with top honours, as they did from two youth work actions on the ‘Brotherhood and Unity’ Highway.

“The achievements and recognition earned during the construction of that major transportation route linking Belgrade and Zagreb served as a significant springboard for me. One person who especially took notice was Spaso Drakić, then secretary of the District Party Committee and a National Hero. Along with another National Hero and prominent leader, Vlado Božović, and with the support of my comrades from the youth actions — Milić and Mugoša — he would later recommend me for the Order of Labour. The award was personally presented to me by fellow Piperi native, National Hero and then Commander of the Yugoslav People’s Army Air Force, Božo Lazarević, during a ceremony at the Main Headquarters.

“That recognition gave me a strong moral obligation to continue contributing. So even as a JNA officer, I joined one more youth work action during his first annual leave. In total, I took part in eight youth work actions — both federal and local — something held in high regard at the time. If I had not chosen a military career in 1952, I would have probably joined at least three more, even as a student.

“I entered the eighth class of the Military Academy in Sarajevo in September 1952, though I personally believed it was a mistake. I didn’t think I had the talent, basic disposition or even the desire for a military career — but I had no other option. I put on the uniform to escape rural poverty, knowing full well that my parents couldn’t afford to send me to university.

“I graduated in 1955 in Belgrade, but even as a cadet, I began writing for military publications, primarily Narodna armija (People’s Army), and also published in civilian outlets, including the then-prestigious NIN.

“In the autumn of 1954, while still a cadet, I had what would prove a life-changing meeting with Colonel Mirko Kalezić — then director of Narodna armija, wartime political commissar of a division in the National Liberation Army, and later a respected diplomat. Kalezić had read and greatly appreciated several of my published pieces. The meeting came at Kalezić’s request and was arranged through General Petar Mendaš, a prominent political figure at the top of the Military Academy’s command at the time. They agreed that once I finished the academy and completed my unit service, if I still wished to continue writing and pursue journalism, I could join the military press and build a career there. It was clearly stated that the choice would be mine alone.

“Although I always suspected that the initiative may not have come solely from Kalezić — that it might not have been just based on what Kalezić had read — I never discovered if anyone else had influenced the process. I often thought that it might have been my brilliant teacher Blažo Popović, who had, in different periods, taught both myself and Kalezić.”

His Brother Followed in His Footsteps

Interestingly, the same day — and for what were likely the same reasons — Ivo Matović’s younger brother, Momčilo, followed in his footsteps.

“Ivo was four years older than me,” said Momčilo Matović, a retired lieutenant colonel of the Yugoslav People’s Army who now lives in Ljubljana.

“I was always four years behind him in school. We graduated at the same time — I finished the so-called lower secondary school exam, and he completed the full secondary school diploma. I remember Ivo wanted to study diplomacy, but that faculty was shut down in 1952. So, it seems the wishes of the youth leaders from the work actions, along with the Party’s recommendation, prevailed, and he went to the Military Academy. As for me, I still can’t say why I enrolled in the Engineering-Chemical NCO School in Karlovac. Our father tried to steer me towards carpentry or the agricultural high school in Bar — probably hoping I’d stay close to home and the estate. But civilian schooling meant expenses our family simply couldn’t afford. That, I believe, was the key reason we both chose the military path. Though Ivo also felt that wartime general Vojin Popović — our cousin, the son of our mother’s sister Milena — had an influence as well.

“I remember it like it was yesterday. On August 18, 1952, a messenger from the local committee arrived with summonses for both Ivo and me to report immediately to the military office in Titograd and collect our travel tickets — Ivo to Sarajevo, me to Karlovac…”

Although Momčilo Matović successfully completed his training in 1954, he did not stay in Karlovac as initially planned. At his request, he was reassigned to the command of the 5th Army, headquartered in Ljubljana. He served in the Slovenian capital, as well as in Kranj and Tolmin. He later completed two more grades of secondary school through evening classes, which qualified him to take the exam for the rank of second lieutenant. He rose to the rank of lieutenant colonel and, during the armed conflicts in Slovenia and other parts of Yugoslavia in the 1990s, he removed the uniform and went into retirement.

(4): A Meeting with Emperor Selassie

“When I finally graduated from the Military Academy with top marks,” Ivo Matović recalled, “I was assigned to the Virovitica garrison, near the border line along the Drava River.”

There, as commander of the anti-tank unit in his regiment (which had two 57 mm anti-tank guns and four 88 mm bazookas), he experienced a harsh baptism by fire.

“It was the autumn of 1955 — cold and rainy. It was the time of the Hungarian uprising, which the Russians were brutally suppressing with tanks, pushing towards the Drava, right in front of us. Civilians and rebels, in a panic, fled directly towards us — towards our trenches, which we had to dig again in the frozen and waterlogged ground. So for months, we and the border guards waited in frozen, muddy trenches, in ice and snow, under the constant battering of fierce Pannonian winds — receiving Hungarian civilians, refugees and soldiers, terrified, panicked, left with nothing.

“We had very little fuel and were strictly forbidden from cutting down trees for firewood. Though forest rangers strictly enforced the rule and reported any violations, we had no choice — we cut wood despite the risk of harsh penalties. We were staunchly defended by our humane commander, then Lieutenant Colonel Mile Trbović, a well-known insurgent from Lika. Also on our side, without hesitation, was the divisional commander based in Bjelovar — General Opsenica, also from Lika.

“After that ordeal on the Drava, I was transferred — first as a platoon commander, then as a company commander at the Infantry Training Centre in Pula. Although the work was demanding, especially with the rotating recruits every three months, it was a respite compared to what I had endured on the border.”

For a year, Ivo Matović also served as head of the soldiers’ club and as a correspondent for Za domovinu, a military newspaper of the Zagreb and Ljubljana army districts. By mid-1960, he became the editor of the paper, based in Zagreb. It was a significant milestone — his dream of pursuing journalism professionally was finally taking shape, just as he had discussed years earlier with Colonel Mirko Kalezić, then editor-in-chief of Narodna armija.

“I was transferred to Belgrade by order of General Rade Hamović, then commander of the 5th Army, whose headquarters was in Zagreb. He had just been appointed as the new Chief of the General Staff of the JNA. He regularly read the paper I was editing and would often send feedback to the editorial board — mostly positive comments on the quality of content. That was without doubt the main recommendation for my transfer to Belgrade.

“I arrived in the Yugoslav capital in 1961, right during the 1st Summit of Non-Aligned Countries. Assigned by the Narodna armija editorial office, I accompanied Colonel Vaso Cerović — the newspaper’s third-in-command — and during the event, met Ethiopian Emperor Haile Selassie. Selassie was so impressed by my speed and professionalism in preparing and presenting a photo album from the emperor’s arrival at the Batajnica airport that he gifted me a gold coin with his likeness.

“Later, while visiting Addis Ababa — again on assignment for Narodna armija — I received the Emperor’s Gold Medal for Military Merit. Selassie remembered our earlier meeting in Belgrade thanks to a reminder from his personal secretary — a lieutenant whose name I have forgotten. If I’d had the chance, I would have asked the emperor for another medal — or at least a gold coin — for my colleague and friend, photo-journalist Captain Dušan Radašinović, a Banija native and Second World War partisan fighter. He made it possible for me to act quickly and professionally during that first encounter with Selassie. Thanks to Dušan, I gained the emperor’s favour — though, as it turned out, even the emperor’s goodwill had its limits.

“I was immediately assigned to the most prestigious and high-profile journalistic position at Narodna armija — that of freelance field reporter. The role had previously been held, with great success, by seasoned journalist and colonel Slobodan Brajović — a pre-war law student and Second World War political commissar in the Proletarian Battalion of Sava Kovačević’s division. His reputation commanded deep respect in the newsroom.

“This popular and widely quoted column in both military and civilian media — ‘People of Our Army’ — featured stories about national heroes, war commanders and couriers, fearless fighters and their bravery and sacrifice, but also about exemplary soldiers and officers in peacetime, their deeds and their deserving parents. Many stories also highlighted civilians — those who had distinguished themselves during the fight for freedom or the rebuilding of the country.

“I had the privilege of being published in every other issue — often more frequently — which largely depended on my initiative and drive. I believed that the praise and cash bonuses I received were evidence I was doing my job well.

“In search of stories and subjects, I travelled all over Yugoslavia, writing field reports that were consistently illustrated by the well-known graphic artist Đorđe Gorbunov — son of a White Guard officer who had fled to Serbia after the October Revolution.”

Permission to Marry

While stationed in Virovitica, the young second lieutenant Ivo Matović, despite all his duties and hardships, fell for a local woman — a postal clerk named Ana Šenberger. She was also taken with the tall, rugged Montenegrin in uniform, and mutual love soon blossomed. They married on June 1, 1957.

“Back then, officers needed written permission from the relevant military security and political body to get married,” Matović recalled. “It was a matter of military security and ideological purity within the army.”

Fortunately, there were no issues — the permission came quickly from his regiment’s command. After consultations with the local civilian security authorities in Virovitica, it was confirmed that Ana’s family had behaved honourably during the Second World War, which was the key and decisive factor. So the couple married without delay and soon welcomed a son — Igor.

(5): They Tried to Take Away My Pen

After several years as a freelance reporter for Narodna armija, Ivo Matović was promoted to the position of political editor, replacing the exceptional journalist, Colonel Vaso Cerović.

“That was part of a plan to rejuvenate the editorial board,” Matović said, “especially pushed by the then editor-in-chief, Major General Mišo Radulović. (He was also a wartime officer — a commander of one of the Vojvodina shock divisions during the National Liberation War, and director of Narodna armija. The editor-in-chief was the well-known journalist Colonel Meho Tockić, who would later also lead Komunist — B.S.).

“In 1971, I was transferred from Narodna armija to the Military Publishing Institute. There I became an editor in the ‘Contemporary Military Thought’ section — within the ‘Our Writers’ edition — where, under the leadership of Colonel Gvozden Vuković, alongside Captain Dr. Nikola Popović and Lieutenant Colonel Professor Bora Pejčinović, I prepared dozens of manuscripts for publication. All of them were later published as books.

“These were mostly works on the National Liberation War and military skills. Among the many well-known authors I worked with were generals Petar Tomac, Zlatko Rendulić and Peko Dapčević…

“Despite the interesting work at the Publishing Institute, the transfer from Narodna armija and separation from journalism was hard on me. I sensed that it hadn’t happened by chance or out of any real necessity. My suspicions were quickly confirmed: it turned out that the move was prompted by the findings of an officer from KOS (the military counter-intelligence service — B.S.) in the Political Department of the Federal Secretariat for National Defence.

“I won’t even mention his name. He was a colonel, originally from Slavonia. He discovered that I had secretly been preparing material on the life and fate of Colonel-General Arso R. Jovanović — wartime and post-war chief of the Supreme Headquarters of the National Liberation Army, and later of the General Staff of the Yugoslav People’s Army — a tragic figure and one of the first victims of the Cominform Resolution.

“Arso Jovanović was my fellow countryman from Piperi — a pre-war General Staff captain, first class, and an undeniably significant figure in the history of the National Liberation War and the immediate post-war years. But because of his never-fully-explained death during the turbulent period of the Cominform conflict, he had become a forbidden subject. One of my key sources for the story — and at that time also a banned figure — was Aleksandar Ranković, also known as Marko.

“Both Jovanović and Ranković had been among Tito’s closest and most trusted associates during the war and early post-war years. But both, at different times and under entirely different circumstances, fell from his favour — Jovanović lost his life because of it, while Ranković lived the rest of his days in exclusion, erased from public life, surrounded by a wall of silence.

“I realized what ‘crime’ I’d committed and why I was being transferred — stripped of journalism — when military security officers came to my door and confiscated all the material I’d collected for the story about Arso Jovanović. After that, I was openly and directly informed that I would be reassigned to a border unit in Berovo, on the far southern edge of Macedonia. I was also told my career advancement was over — that the two lieutenant colonel stars on my shoulders were the highest rank I would ever achieve.”

These were probably the darkest days in Ivo Matović’s life — a sudden collapse of all his personal, professional and family dreams and ambitions. He understood that leaving Belgrade, the centre of events, meant the end of all illusions — that he’d have to bury his pen and say goodbye to the profession to which he had devoted himself fully. He would spend the rest of his service sidelined, on the periphery, with no chance of fulfilling the major plans he had developed in Belgrade — plans that had once seemed entirely within reach.

But fortunately for Matović, there were still people with the courage to stand up for him — people who appreciated his past work and dedication, who recognized his loyalty and commitment, and who understood his journalistic, intellectual and human curiosity and love of truth — qualities that posed no danger to the military or the state.

“I was saved and kept at the Military Publishing Institute by my immediate superior at the time, the honourable Slobodan Brajović, along with two highly influential colonel generals — Mirko Jovanović and Mlađo Marin. They were men who, it seems, had their own unresolved issues with KOS and were more than ready to push back against the overreach and unchecked power of that service.

“Thanks to those men, I remained in Belgrade and in the same position at the Publishing Institute. However, I was officially reminded once again that I should not expect promotion beyond the rank of lieutenant colonel. Even that, as it turned out, did not come to pass — the plans of those who wanted me gone ultimately failed.”

High Honours

For his dedicated work and service, Ivo Matović received around ten major national decorations and awards. The ones he most valued were the Order of Labour with Golden Wreath and the Order for Military Merit with Chain.

He also received four significant foreign decorations — medals from foreign leaders, great and renowned advocates for peace and global prosperity — whom he met in various contexts as a journalist and editor of Narodna armija. These included summits of the Non-Aligned Movement or while accompanying President Josip Broz Tito on his so-called “peace missions” across Africa and Asia. In addition to the already mentioned medal from Ethiopian Emperor Haile Selassie, Matović proudly wore decorations awarded by Egyptian President Gamal Abdel Nasser, Indian Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru and Russian President Vladimir Putin.

(6): He Saved My Life on Radovče

Despite everything that had happened to him — all the pressure and threats — Ivo Matović never gave up on his intent to write a book about General Arso Jovanović, one of the earliest and most thunderous victims of the Cominform conflict. A wartime and post-war Chief of the Supreme Headquarters — later Chief of the General Staff of the Yugoslav People’s Army — his name had, since his death in 1948, been literally banned from mention, let alone serious investigation.

“I kept quiet for a year or two, then resumed my research in even deeper secrecy,” Matović recalled, “delving into the life and work of this famous clansman of mine — especially the many conflicting versions of his tragic end. But it couldn’t stay hidden, nor did it escape the eyes and ears of those tasked with monitoring my every move — even though I tried to speak only with people I trusted completely. I realized that when my new superior at the Institute, the thoughtful General Nikola ‘Nikica’ Pejnović, quietly pulled me aside one day and whispered: ‘They up there know everything. Continue — but do it wisely.’

“And so I continued. I couldn’t, nor did I want to, abandon what I felt was a great debt and obligation to a remarkable man — undoubtedly one of the most significant figures Piperi had produced in modern times. It was a sense of duty that went back to my childhood and early youth.”

After the great July 13 Uprising of 1941 — when, aside from a few fortified towns, almost all of Montenegro was liberated within days — a brutal counter-offensive followed. The occupiers unleashed bloody reprisals, as Mussolini and his powerful Italian empire could not accept that a handful of poorly armed Montenegrin ribeli (rebels), driven more by heart than weapons, had routed their “invincible” army. Villages were torched, especially in areas known as centres of resistance.

In August 1941, Radovče — a barren highland plateau above Piperi, poor but free — was heavily bombed. It was then serving as the main base for Montenegrin partisan forces and would remain so for some time. That hellish day, Ivan Radojev Matović — not yet eight years old — was on Radovče.

“As the Italian Savoia planes swarmed overhead, dropping bombs and spewing machine-gun fire,” Ivo Matović often recalled, “we all fled in panic, trying to find shelter in the open. Suddenly, a tall, long-legged man caught up with me, grabbed me by the neck and shoved me beside a large boulder sticking up from the field. Then he threw himself over me. A terrifying explosion went off nearby, showering us with dry earth and pebbles.

“When the attack subsided and the planes flew off, the man stood up, brushed off the dirt and, without a word, rushed off towards the house where the headquarters was located. All I noticed was that he was young — though very serious for his age, only 35 — in a uniform with no insignia. It was only later that my father explained to me that the man who saved my life was Arso Radivojev Jovanović, ‘the commander of all partisans in Montenegro.’

“I saw him again in March 1945, this time in a general’s uniform. Jovanović had come to visit the homes of two fallen fellow warriors and clansmen — Generals Ivan Milutinović and Vlado Ćetković — after touring the devastated ruins of Podgorica.

“He also stopped by our humble village school. You could see how moved he was by everything he had witnessed. When he entered and saw the war-weary students huddled around a pot of thin gruel, the teacher and a local councillor urged him to join us for a portion and a piece of coarse cornbread. I had the impression that he only accepted out of courtesy — not to offend us, ragged, skinny and grieving children, most of us wearing black for relatives lost in the war. He also knew — and could see — that there was enough food not to starve to death, but never enough to truly live.”

Three and a half years later, on August 19, 1948, the Feast of the Transfiguration, the people of Piperi gathered at the Brojalovica spring and were officially informed that Arso Jovanović — the most celebrated son of their region in modern times — had “died at the border with Romania while attempting to flee the country… like a common horse thief.”

“Yes, those were the exact words — ‘like a common horse thief’ — and it was strictly emphasized that no one was to mourn him or mention his name again. (This message — and those exact words — were delivered to the people of Piperi by Blažo Jovanović, then the ‘ruler of Montenegro,’ who, three decades later, would explain from his sickbed to Matović that he had spoken that way to protect his clansmen from the ruthless UDBA — B.S.) Of course, those who ignored that order or even whispered doubt that Arso was a traitor were often sent to Goli Otok or locked up in prisons designed to ‘re-educate’ the disobedient and those ‘too fond of Russia,’” Matović recalled bitterly.

Honours from Stalin

“Arso Jovanović was eliminated from public life at the age of 42,” Matović wrote. “He was in the peak of both intellectual and physical strength — just before the very events when the people and their army needed him most. For his proven service, he had received Yugoslavia’s highest honours and, uniquely among Allied commanders, the Order of Kutuzov and the Order of Suvorov, both first class. Upon his death, he was — by order of Generalissimo Stalin — honoured by five million soldiers of the Soviet Union, standing at attention from Sakhalin to Berlin. This was a privilege granted only to the most glorious — those most deserving in the fight against the forces of darkness and oppression, the true chosen sons of the people…”

(7): Commander with a Halo of a Martyr

The news of General Arso Jovanović’s death was a shock — a bolt from the blue that shook all of Yugoslavia, especially Montenegro and his native Piperi. Many received it with disbelief. How could it be that a man who had been, until yesterday, one of Tito’s pillars, his right-hand man, the strategist and top commander of the revolution, could suddenly turn his coat overnight, betray that revolution and abandon his comrades to the fierce winds blowing from the Urals?

“I was young and idealistic,” said Ivo Matović. “I couldn’t accept that my general and saviour could be called a horse thief and executed like some lowlife or criminal. Nor could I understand why it was a crime to even mention his name — a name once crowned with so much glory. None of it made sense to me — not even two years later, in the spring of 1950, when we were assigned a writing task at the Titograd high school by our Serbo-Croatian teacher, Professor Blažo Popović. The topic was to describe someone from the National Liberation War who we saw as a role model.

“Naturally, most students chose Tito. A few wrote about Sava Kovačević, Budo Tomović or Ivo Lola Ribar. But I chose to write about my clansman and neighbour, Arso Jovanović!

“I thought I gave convincing reasons for doing so.

“Wasn’t it remarkable that the only son of Radivoje Jovanović — a blinded veteran of the Battle of Mojkovac, a poor man from Piperi — rose to become Tito’s top general? Isn’t that an inspiration for me and for all of us? Something that, at the start of life, gives us hope and drives us to strive for success?

“I described how moved I was when, in 1945, I saw a tear in the eye of this legendary and battle-hardened commander as he visited the deserted homes and thinned families of his fallen comrades in Piperi.

“And I described how he had saved my life in 1941 on Radovče — how I had personally witnessed his courage and sacrifice.

“Carried away by local pride and youthful admiration, I even gave the piece the title: A Tear in the General’s Eye. And in my youthful arrogance and political naivety, I completely ignored the strict order that this name was not to be spoken — let alone glorified — that UDBA was listening for every word, every violation of the ban.

“Strangely enough, my beloved professor Blažo Popović ignored all of that too. He singled out my essay, praised it loudly — read it aloud in class, then in the teachers’ lounge, and later at a meeting of the school’s very active literary club.

“But just when I was basking in my brief literary fame — came the shock. Someone tipped off the all-powerful UDBA that at the Titograd high school, ‘a traitor to the Party, the state and the people’ was being praised and celebrated. And things began to unravel.

“It was a grim and absurd time, when my peers were arrested for far lesser ‘offences.’ But I was spared harsher consequences thanks to my neighbour, Luka Marković, then a powerful head of UDBA in the Titograd district. He justified it by saying I was just a naive, uninformed youth. For my part, the whole thing ended with two stinging slaps delivered by one of Luka’s men — probably with his approval — ‘to cool my hot head,’ as they said.

“The school principal also gave me a severe dressing-down — as well as my completely innocent homeroom teacher, Professor Pavić Đukić, a good man and fellow clansman. The school Party cell immediately postponed my candidacy for membership in the Communist Party of Yugoslavia.

“There’s no doubt that even the respected Professor Blažo Popović didn’t go unscathed — he was surely criticized for his ‘political negligence.’ But I don’t think he cared much. I could tell because, at one point, he kindly patted me on the shoulder and said, ‘Go through life with your eyes open!’

“I never forgot those words — though to this day, I’m not sure whether they were meant as advice, a warning, encouragement or all three.

“Whatever the case, I think it was then that the idea first matured in me — that I would, someday, dedicate myself to solving the mystery of Arso Jovanović’s tragic end. From the very beginning, I had lived with the belief that not a single soul from his native Piperi truly believed the official version of his death.

“As I’ve said before, that desire never left me — not even after I endured the ordeal in Belgrade many years later, when the Military Security Service discovered that I was preparing a book about Arso Jovanović. That monograph would, after many obstacles, eventually see the light of day — but only in the early 2000s, once many of Arso’s political and personal enemies had passed from the stage of power, politics and life. Those who, it seems, had orchestrated his downfall and had the most to lose if the truth ever came out. Under the title Commander with a Halo of a Martyr, a comprehensive, well-documented volume of 870 pages was finally published.

“It was met with exceptional interest — especially after book presentations in Belgrade and Podgorica, held in the central military halls of the Armies of Serbia and Montenegro, as well as in Vršac, the town allegedly tied to Arso’s final days.”

Resistance and Support

In his pursuit of the truth behind Arso Jovanović’s fate, Ivo Matović encountered constant obstacles — walls of silence, outright opposition and the repeated assertion that Arso, as a “traitor to the fatherland,” deserved no remembrance.

“Unlike those people — sadly far more numerous than many would think,” Matović wrote in his book, “others welcomed both the subject and me as a researcher with warmth, a sense of duty and heartfelt camaraderie. Among them were Aleksandar Ranković, Milovan Đilas, Velimir Terzić and even Koča Popović — all men who had already been cast aside by the same one who had erased Arso: Josip Broz. Seeking to ease their own conscience, and aware that their time was drawing to a close, they repaid — in a deeply human way — the debt they owed their fallen comrade.”

(8): Did Tito Order the Execution?

The core of Colonel Ivo Matović’s most important work — a monograph dedicated to General Arso Jovanović — centres around the question of why, how and where the wartime and post-war Chief of the Supreme Headquarters of the Yugoslav Partisan Forces (and later of the General Staff of the Yugoslav People’s Army), the top military officer beneath Josip Broz Tito, was executed in 1948 — and on whose orders.

According to the official version, to recall, he was killed at the Yugoslav-Romanian border near Vršac in August 1948, allegedly while attempting to flee to Romania with General Branko Petričević and Colonel Vlado Dapčević. In the pitch-dark, rainy night, they supposedly ran into a border patrol that opened fire without warning.

General Jovanović and a local guide were killed, while Petričević and Dapčević retreated. Petričević returned to Belgrade, turned himself in and gave an account of what happened. Dapčević was arrested days later while trying to reach Subotica and cross the border from there.

At the trial — which took place only in June 1950 — both Petričević and Dapčević repeated this version of events, as did several witnesses. However, as Ivo Matović points out in his book, there were discrepancies about what weapons were used and how many shots were fired. Both men were sentenced to 20 years in prison and neither ever retracted their court testimony. Over fifty years later, in February 1999, Vlado Dapčević stated in an interview that he still stood by every word.

Doubting that story, Ivo Matović — after years of thorough research and interviews with those who might know something or claimed to — from the highest officials of the time and Arso Jovanović’s comrades-in-arms, such as Aleksandar Ranković, Milovan Đilas, Koča Popović and Peko Dapčević, to ordinary officers, NCOs, policemen, border guards and their superiors — compiled 29 different versions of Arso Jovanović’s liquidation. All of them agreed on one thing: that such an act could not have taken place without the knowledge and approval of Josip Broz Tito. The names most frequently mentioned as executioners were Svetislav “Ćećo” Stefanović, deputy to Interior Minister Aleksandar Ranković, and General Jefto Šašić, head of KOS — the powerful military counter-intelligence service.

When I asked Ivo Matović, after the book’s publication, which version he believed was closest to the truth, he shrugged and said that after everything, he couldn’t be sure what was true, and what was fabrication or attempts to rewrite biographies and shift blame. But in the book itself, he was more direct. He clearly stated that Arso Jovanović had been removed from the stage of life on the order and at the will of his Supreme Commander — Tito.

Ivo Matović quotes publicly posed questions by historian Professor Branko Petranović: “Is Arso Jovanović the only one condemned to eternal silence? What are the powers that fear the graves of their opponents? Is the graveyard silence over his ‘case’ more fruitful than the analysis of the drama of a man crucified by the storm of old faith and betrayal by former high priests?”

He continues:

“It took me six years of carefully searching for the truth to realize that historian Petranović — despite the promises of dozens of people who swore they would help me discover the truth about General Jovanović’s final days — was ultimately right. In researching relevant material — especially at the Military History Institute in Belgrade, and in archives from Moscow to Washington, Rome to London — I read sources and met people who offered or at least hinted at help in shedding light on this man’s story. That’s how I arrived at those 29 versions of his death. And in the end, finding that none were fully backed by verified documentation, I came to an unambiguous conclusion: That Arso Jovanović was liquidated, unquestionably on the orders of Josip Broz Tito, and that the operation was carried out by a man in whom Tito placed the utmost trust (referring to Jefto Šašić — B.S.). This, after all, was neither the first nor the last victim of Tito’s thirst for autocracy. When it came to politically motivated killings of real or imagined enemies, we had — sadly — already become well-practised in this part of the world. In that regard, both Russian and Yugoslav communists could carry the banner, skilfully drawing on the traditions of the Tsarist Okhrana and the Special Police, the Cheka and OZNA…”

It will be the job of future historians and researchers to build on what Ivo Matović uncovered — first and foremost to determine where the remains of General Arso Jovanović lie. After that, perhaps the easier task will remain: to establish how and where he was truly executed. Was the official version correct — that he was killed at the border while trying to flee to Romania — or was one of the many unofficial claims true, that he was killed somewhere in Belgrade, and only his body was taken to the Romanian border? Or was it all a setup — with Arso as the main and only target?

Dukljan Vukotić

According to one of many versions, Arso Jovanović, Branko Petričević and Vlado Dapčević had planned to cross the Romanian border in a tank, which was to be provided by Colonel Dukljan Vukotić — Arso’s godfather, neighbour and clansman from Piperi, who at the time was head of the Tank Training School in Vršac. But the plan changed — Vukotić was on leave, visiting his wife’s family in Kolašin, Montenegro.

When Petričević was arrested and revealed this part of the plan, officers from UDBA and KOS rushed to Kolašin, found Vukotić and told him what had happened to his godson. He reportedly said he was deeply sorry and that, no matter what, he could not and would not renounce his godson. Naturally, Vukotić was immediately arrested. His father-in-law, Mileta Simonović, though innocent, was also imprisoned. The father-in-law was released after a few months, but Vukotić spent seven years in prison — and even after all that, he never disowned his godson.

(9): They Didn’t Trust the Russian-Educated

At the time of the fierce conflict between the Soviet Union and the countries aligned with it and Yugoslavia and its state and party leadership — specifically, following the publication of the Cominform Resolution and the response of the Central Committee of the Communist Party of Yugoslavia to this verdict on the disobedient “revisionists from Belgrade” — according to data gathered by Colonel Ivo Matović, 1,424 officers of the Yugoslav Army were studying in the USSR.

This was part of military aid and fraternal cooperation, a program that began during the Second World War.

Out of those 1,424 officers — including a large group of the most prominent wartime commanders, who were being trained at the prestigious “Voroshilov” Academy — 1,082 returned home after the Cominform Resolution was issued, while 342 chose to stay in “Mother Russia.”

According to Matović’s data, from April 1945 until the end of 1947, as many as 5,135 cadets from Yugoslavia were trained in military academies in the Soviet Union. After the Cominform Resolution was published, Matović writes, within five to six years, possibly a third of these “Russian students” were branded as Cominformists. This, naturally, was followed by legal and disciplinary consequences, and nearly all of them were considered insufficiently trustworthy. Despite the fact that most of them responsibly and patriotically performed their military duties, the rank of lieutenant colonel — and in rare cases, colonel — was the ceiling for their advancement. According to some reports, only three out of those thousands of “Russian students” ever reached the rank of general.

Worse off than the rest, Matović stresses, were those who, in 1948, either under pressure or voluntarily, remained in military service in the USSR, because after the death of Joseph Vissarionovich Stalin on March 5, 1953, and especially after the reconciliation between the USSR and Yugoslavia — marked by peace declarations signed in Belgrade in June 1955 and Moscow a year later — they became the greatest losers.

Those 1,082 who decided to leave the Soviet Union returned to Yugoslavia via Romania in July 1948, mostly during the 5th Congress of the Communist Party of Yugoslavia (July 21-28 in Belgrade).

The newspaper Narodna armija (and subsequently all other civilian publications) in its July 24, 1948 issue prominently published a long telegram of support for the Congress, the Party and the state leadership. This telegram was sent by the returnees from the USSR while en route. They expressed hope and desire that the 5th Congress would unanimously condemn the slanders directed at the CPY and its leadership, prove their baselessness, preserve and strengthen the unity of the Party, and elevate its authority both at home and abroad. They went on to describe the Cominform Resolution as “a grave insult, a great historical injustice,” but expressed hope that its authors would realize that the resolution was “the result of being misled by false information and ignorance of the situation in the CPY.” They ended by pledging: “From now on, as we have always done and proven in the most difficult days of battle against our common enemy, we will continue to love and respect the great Soviet Union.”

Still, all of that was not enough to earn unconditional trust and additional interviews followed. First, all returnees were personally interviewed by Svetozar Vukmanović-Tempo (reports from these conversations were delivered to Tito daily). Then, Aleksandar Ranković conducted separate talks with the generals. Finally, with the three most hardline figures, including — according to Peko Dapčević and Vladimir Dedijer — Arso Jovanović, Tito himself held a private conversation in early August 1948 at Brdo near Kranj.

Even Ivo Matović, in his comprehensive and detailed monograph on Arso Jovanović, was unable to fully determine what happened in those ten fateful days for Jovanović. What especially raises questions is the fact that most Voroshilov Academy graduates were assigned to high posts, and from among the most prominent, Arso Jovanović was appointed commander of the Higher Military Academy, Milutin Morača and Dušan Kveder became his deputies, and Sredoje Urošević was made head of the Tactics Department, the leading chair at the academy. Peko Dapčević was named chief inspector of the Yugoslav Army, Radovan Vukanović became commander of the 3rd Army, Mate Jerković was made deputy commander of the 2nd Military District, Slavko Rodić and Đoko Jovanić became heads of the 1st and 2nd Directorates of the General Staff, and Momo Đurić was named deputy commander of the People’s Defence Corps of Yugoslavia…

World Traveller

In his capacity as a military press representative, Ivo Matović accompanied President Tito across four continents — Europe, Asia, Africa, and North and Central America. He spent six months on a UN peacekeeping mission in Sinai, edited the United Nations Emergency Force newspaper in Gaza, and made shorter official visits to Addis Ababa, Cairo, Lebanon and Jerusalem, from which he often said he brought lasting and wonderful impressions, “aware that peace is indivisible and that the power of human solidarity is limitless.”

Respect for Stalin Without Love

Matović also notes certain facts indicating that Arso Jovanović, directly or indirectly, did not entirely agree with the delirious praise of Tito and the Party expressed at the 5th Congress, nor did he support the belittling of the Soviet Union’s enormous contribution to the defeat of nazism and the liberation of Yugoslavia, nor the dismissal of Soviet military doctrine. He was particularly disturbed by the severing of deep, rich spiritual ties with Russia.

“He held Stalin in high regard as a military leader,” says Ivo Matović about Arso Jovanović, “but he did not love him, ‘because he wasn’t a soulful Russian, but a cunning, devious and cruel Asiatic.’ At the same time,” Matović adds, “no one ever publicly said — no matter how much they slandered him — that after his return from Moscow until his removal from life, Arso Jovanović held informal meetings, contacted any Soviet embassy representative or representatives of other ‘brotherly countries’ in Belgrade, or in conversation prioritized Stalin over Tito, or Russia over Yugoslavia.”

(10): A Split Among the Voroshilov Graduates

In the story of General Arso Jovanović and his tragic fate, a particularly important chapter is his time spent in the Soviet Union and his studies at the Voroshilov Academy — right when tensions between Moscow and Belgrade were beginning to rise — because the roots of what would happen to him a month after returning to Yugoslavia seem to stretch back to that very period.

Among that group of prominent wartime commanders and high-ranking political and military officials, a split occurred that escalated to the point where Puniša Perović, the CPY Central Committee representative in Moscow with special authority, apparently acting on direct orders from Milovan Đilas, then the most powerful and influential political figure after Tito, convened an emergency meeting of the Voroshilov Party cell in early January 1948 to resolve the conflict.

Ivo Matović uncovered the detailed, long-hidden report by Puniša Perović entitled “On the state of the party group of generals at the Voroshilov Academy, and especially the case of Peko Dapčević,” sent to the CPY Central Committee on January 12, 1948.

Peko Dapčević, the celebrated and legendary military commander of the National Liberation War, and at the time the secretary of the party cell, was accused of being the main source of tension, creating an atmosphere of “distrust, jealousy, hostility, boastfulness, gossip…”

“All the Voroshilovists, joined in their second year by the chief of the Military Mission in Moscow, General Branko Poljanac, spoke openly and sharply condemned General Dapčević’s behaviour,” writes Ivo Matović, relying on Perović’s report, “especially his ‘improper, intolerant and dismissive, and above all arrogant attitude’ towards Arso, which stemmed from their wartime days, when he considered the Chief of the Supreme Headquarters incompetent, avoided him in communication, and now, according to S. Urošević, ‘painted him in the darkest colours, as if aiming to humiliate him and set him up.’”

“Peko admitted,” Matović continues, quoting Perović, “that he didn’t think well of Arso, that he believed Arso was of little use to our army, that he couldn’t stand him, considered him cunning and stubborn, and that they could never be close comrades or friends…”

Matović also notes that Perović emphasized in his report that “the comrades had a good opinion of Arso, as did the people at the Academy,” and that between Peko and Arso, “there existed a deep animosity, based on Dapčević’s own attitude.”

“That attitude, in my opinion,” Perović wrote, “is not limited to Arso, but extends to other officers from the former Yugoslav Army as well. In conversation with him, I confirmed that he held similar views towards Terzić and Apostolski. Comrade Dapčević claims that he feels this way about only those three, that he cannot stand them, but I believe there’s more to it…”

According to Matović, rumours about Peko Dapčević’s misconduct in Moscow circulated for nearly two years, albeit with caution and restraint, even fear — especially as the end of their studies and the return home approached. Peko, notably, was in charge of writing performance reviews and evaluations for the others, and he loudly claimed that these would determine what positions each of them would receive in the Army.

“Because of these and other missteps,” Matović writes, Puniša Perović, using his authority, removed Peko Dapčević from the position of party secretary, and — on the proposal of Ambassador Vlado Popović and pending a final decision from the CPY Central Committee — appointed Radovan Vukanović in his place, a move soon confirmed by Belgrade.

What exactly happened after their return to Belgrade remains a mystery — who reported what to whom and what was acted upon. What is certain is that Arso Jovanović, though appointed commander of the Higher Military Academy, was soon removed from the stage of life under, at the very least, controversial circumstances — despite the praise and positive assessments he received in Moscow from none other than Puniša Perović, a trusted Party official.

Peko Dapčević, on the other hand, despite his Party reprimand and an unfavourable Moscow record — which, it seems, was much worse and more compromising than what Perović officially reported — was appointed Chief Inspector of the Yugoslav Army and remained in power, even though two of his brothers — both decorated fighters in the National Liberation Army and recipients of the 1941 Commemorative Medal, Colonel Vlado Dapčević, wartime political commissar of artillery at the Supreme Headquarters, and Colonel Milutin Dapčević, a wartime division commander in Macedonia — served long prison sentences on Goli Otok.

(11): Why Is Serbia Silent About the National Liberation War?

Ivo Matović was transferred from the Military Publishing Institute to the General Staff, specifically to its Centre for Strategic Research, which at the time was headed by the very strict and highly educated General Boško Ranitović.

He was tasked with launching and editing the journal Contemporary Strategic Issues.

“I launched it and edited it for about four years, bringing in experts from military science at both operational and strategic levels, from the top of the JNA General Staff, as well as from diplomacy, the social sciences and technical fields. I was then transferred to the Military and Press Centre, where I led publishing operations for years, mostly publishing books by prominent domestic authors and high-ranking military officers. That’s how 87 books came to be — all dedicated to contemporary military thought.

“Then came an initiative from the Republican Board of the Serbian SUBNOR, with the task of, together with the Veterans’ Board and editorial teams led energetically by Generals Janić and Stanimirović, assembling researchers, consultants, columnists, archivists, already established authors and other experts in the events surrounding the development of the National Liberation Movement across all uprising regions of Serbia — everything related to the units of that movement, from partisan detachments to ten divisions and two corps.

“In the late 1980s, the publishing arm of the Military and Press Centre was at full creative capacity. The editorial team consisted of young, skilled, responsible and ambitious individuals who eagerly embraced the vast and very serious task of realizing the publication plan for the ‘Serbia in the National Liberation War’ series, aware that this republic had, for reasons unknown both to them and to me, been deprived of this quality literature and invaluable testimony — primarily for future generations — about the war and revolution in Serbia from 1941 to 1945.

“Yes, the project was launched too late, with what I must stress was a strangely and inexplicably great delay, but it was the last possible moment to shed light on this period in modern Serbian history, as the number of living witnesses and authors who had worked on this topic was rapidly dwindling — just as public interest in the subject was fading — not to mention the drying up of funding sources for such an expensive project.

“Still, most of the planned books were completed, while others were at various stages of production — but then came a new era of war in our region, a time of deeply destructive ideological shifts and divisions. Public interest and funding disappeared, and the project could no longer be fully realized.

“Nonetheless, despite the inexplicable delay and all the difficulties and misfortunes that plagued it, most of this vast, complex and immensely valuable historical task was completed just in time. Had it not been, I’m sure that gap in modern Serbian history would have remained forever, because what followed was a twisted time of multiparty division, splits along national and ideological lines, bloodshed and war, the breakup of Yugoslavia, and total disinterest from the new authorities and state in this vital historical undertaking.

“Time will show, I am convinced, the importance of more than 60 books published as part of this project — all written by the direct participants in events during a pivotal, revolutionary period — as a powerful and invaluable testimony to the anti-fascist and freedom-loving Serbia of July 7, 1941 to May 9, 1945, from the preparations for the Uprising to Victory Day…”

In the late 1980s, just as the “Serbia in the National Liberation War” project was being more or less wrapped up at the Military and Press Centre, Ivo Matović received a call one day to report urgently at noon the next day to the Office of the Federal Secretary for National Defence.

“The call came directly from the then Federal Secretary, that is, the Minister of Defence, Army General Veljko Kadijević, which told me something suspicious was afoot. When I arrived, whether by chance or not, I found retired Admiral Branko Mamula there — whose manuscript I had just the day before edited and prepared for publication with him. That was the third of his books I had edited and published through the Military Publishing Institute and the Military and Press Centre. Also present were Admiral Petar Šimić, the Party President in the JNA and a good friend of mine, and General Marko Negovanović.

“Without mincing words or giving broader explanations, General Kadijević, immediately after a cordial greeting, told me that he and the present high-level colleagues were extremely dissatisfied with the work and behaviour of the current editor-in-chief of Narodna armija, as well as with the content being published in the paper. They told me there had been increasing and serious complaints from readers and from Party leaderships within units and institutions. The editor had been removed from the editorial board the day before, and they had decided I should immediately take over the position, convinced I would, in the very complex period ahead, cooperate constructively with the Yugoslav military leadership to strengthen its unity and defence.”

The Hell of Petar’s Pit

Ivo Matović established that from Montenegro alone, in addition to Arso Jovanović, fifteen other officers of the former Royal Yugoslav Army who joined the National Liberation Army rose to the rank of general and held top military and political positions during and after the Second World War and the National Liberation War.

Many of them, like Arso Jovanović, suffered in 1948 following the publication of the Cominform Resolution. True, unlike Jovanović, they did not pay with their lives for their real or perceived love of Russia — but they endured the horrors of imprisonment on Goli Otok and in other prisons set up for Cominformists. Among them was Arso’s comrade-in-arms, General Đoko Mirašević, perhaps the most distinguished figure to survive the tortures of Goli Otok and the hell of the so-called Petar’s Pit.

This major of the former Yugoslav Army — on whose broad chest, alongside countless domestic and foreign decorations for demonstrated heroism and military virtues in the First World War (which he joined at only 19), shone the French Legion of Honour, three Obilić Medals, the Order of the Karađorđe Star with Swords and the Order of the White Eagle with Swords — did not hesitate in 1941 to choose a side. And when Bajo Stanišić, a colonel of the former Yugoslav Army and commander of all Chetnik forces in Montenegro, offered him the position of his deputy if he defected to the Chetniks, the proud Kuč from Doljani replied without hesitation: “I wouldn’t be the first, let alone the second, traitor in Montenegro!”

(12): In the Hell of Dobrovoljačka Street

While the Federal Secretary for National Defence — then Yugoslavia’s Minister of Defence — General Veljko Kadijević, was explaining his decision to appoint Colonel Ivo Matović as the editor-in-chief of the leading military publication Narodna armija, Matović, stunned, was quickly trying to come up with a solid reason to reject the offer and avoid accepting that hot potato in an already turbulent political atmosphere, as dark clouds were already gathering over Yugoslavia and the ominous rumble of war could clearly be heard.

“Without asking for my opinion, General Kadijević listed the tasks: I was to immediately resolve the personnel situation, carry out a rapid staffing overhaul in cooperation with personnel officers, political commissars and legal officers — especially of the correspondent list in republican centres, particularly in Ljubljana, Zagreb, Split and Sarajevo — from where groups of open Yugoslavia-haters were increasingly speaking out, hoping for its dismantling and demise. In the selection and staffing process, Kadijević emphasized, I would have full autonomy and the full support of the JNA’s personnel department.

“Everyone present added something of their own, all insisting in the end that I accept the Federal Secretary’s assessment and decision. I resisted as best I could, trying to avoid this heavy and highly responsible burden.

“They were all, I could see, surprised by my refusal — but I also understood they grasped my reasons, especially the obligations I had undertaken in the publishing sector and the scope and responsibility tied to the ‘Serbia in the National Liberation War’ series. Still, I didn’t get the impression they were swayed or that they would accept my reasons.

“The matter stood: everyone was displeased, and my duty was to call General Kadijević the following day at noon and inform him of my final decision. I knew right away — to be honest — that I had no choice, that I had to accept. I spent the entire sleepless night angry at myself for not agreeing immediately.

“My close friend Admiral Šimić lightened the burden the next morning by sending a message through his secretary — just one rhetorical question: ‘Well then, Ivo, can no one give you an order?’

“‘They can, Pero, they can — they really can!’ I replied, also via the secretary. At noon, as agreed, I called General Kadijević and told him I accepted the task. Clearly satisfied that I had finally acknowledged his decision, he simply said: ‘Thank you, Comrade Colonel Matović, and good luck.’

“And so I took on the role of editor-in-chief of Narodna armija and, in collaboration with the political-legal department, reorganized the editorial staff, filled key positions, restructured the correspondent network — particularly in the republican centres — and increased the number of reliable contributors, especially in those areas from which the followers of destructive leaders — Milan Kučan, Franjo Tuđman, Alija Izetbegović, Azem Vllasi — were more and more frequently speaking out, in both word and (in)action.

“Not long after, the dramatic and tragic war to break up our shared homeland of Yugoslavia began — clearly a plan and decision of foreign powers and our old and ever-present cross-border enemies, with local executioners raised on the wings of harsh nationalist, religious and ideological divisions.

“The Ustaše, Slovenian aggressive nationalists, Muslim fighters and Albanian separatists also began speaking out — louder and more brutally. And in such troubled times, of course, other destructive and dangerous forces began to raise their heads — all the dogs of war, emerging from their dens the moment they smelled blood and sensed a chance to profit.

“We followed all of this closely in the newspaper, fighting as best we could — alongside the military leadership — especially when it came to defending the country’s vital interests, protecting constitutional order, affirming the JNA’s legitimacy, and defending its units and each of its members. We called out the leaders of aggressive anti-Yugoslav forces — especially Tuđman and Alija Izetbegović — and found ourselves under attack from the most extreme destructive forces. They openly threatened the Editorial Office, me and my family. During wartime operations, our reporters — officially assigned to journalistic duties — were arrested, detained and mistreated.

“On May 3, 1992, in Sarajevo, on the infamously remembered Dobrovoljačka Street, a major and a captain first class — reporters from Narodna armija on assignment — were arrested, disarmed, mistreated and humiliated. Major Miladin Petrović, in addition to being disarmed and degraded, was savagely beaten.

“I immediately informed the international journalist leadership and demanded urgent intervention, which, in truth, quickly followed. But for Major Petrović, it was already too late — he died soon after from the serious injuries he sustained. Alija Izetbegović personally, along with his bloodthirsty Green Berets, bears direct responsibility for his death.

“During the conflict, we had three correspondents stationed in Slovenia and Croatia, one of whom was in Vukovar. Narodna armija journalists were generally the last to leave their posts — though, admittedly, some defected to the other, enemy side. For example, two captains first class — correspondents from Sarajevo and Zagreb — were among those who switched sides.

“From barracks in Ljubljana, Varaždin and Vukovar, from positions near Dubrovnik, Split, Cavtat and Šibenik, Narodna armija used its pages to publicly and sharply defend the legitimacy and lives of JNA units and personnel — especially the soldiers sent there by the homeland to defend it. And they did so — resolutely and bravely — dying without hesitation or complaint, day and night.”

Books to Remember

In the rich biography of journalist and publisher Ivo Matović, it is recorded that he was also the editor-in-chief of the “Legends” series by Dečje novine in Gornji Milanovac, where he published as many as 63 books on prominent revolutionaries, scientists (Pupin, Tesla, Ruđer Bošković, Milutin Milanković…) and distinguished Serbian military commanders from past wars (Radomir Putnik, Živojin Mišić, Petar Bojović, Stepa Stepanović…). He received high literary and social awards for this series as well. In retirement, he spent years editing the Borac newspaper, the publication of Serbia’s SUBNOR.

(13): I Leave Sad for a Better Life

“Two-thirds of the editorial staff were constantly in the field,” recalled Ivo Matović, then editor-in-chief of Narodna armija, “on the frontlines, literally across the entire country, covering the places where the army was dying to defend the homeland and protect their own lives.

“We looked the truth in the eye and left testimonies on the pages of Narodna armija, which no one writing about the civil war across much of the former Yugoslavia — about the collapse and brutal upheaval during the period 1990-1993 — will be able to overlook or ignore.

“There you will also find examples of our delusions, inconsistencies, mistakes — such was that cursed and controversial war in its entirety — but it is undeniable that Narodna armija stood by the Army it served until May 20, 1992, when I, in the midst of the war in Bosnia, received orders from the Supreme Command to shut down Narodna armija, in accordance with the military-political situation, and to establish a new magazine for the needs of the Army of Serbia and Montenegro.

“We carried out that task and created the publication Vojska, and I was soon transferred from there to the position of director of the Military and Press Centre, which combined press operations, publishing and the production of military-technical literature, along with about a dozen military-technical journals. The centre also included two military printing houses — in Belgrade and Split. The latter was soon seized by the Ustaše, though it had been the most modern and high-capacity printing facility.

“The Military and Press Centre became and remained a major news and publishing house, employing around 1,000 people, with the journalists of Vojska standing out for their youth, expertise and energy. They carefully produced and updated the magazine, which was soon replaced by Odbrana, a publication that has served the interests of the Serbian Army for over 20 years, based on the best traditions of our military journalism — just as Narodna armija and Front, both launched in 1945, had once honoured the field. I contributed to both, in one way or another, from 1961 until their final days of notable and responsible public engagement.

“I retired with full age and service (60 years of life and a full four decades of service) on the Day of my Yugoslav People’s Army, December 22, 1993, satisfied with my life and the people who succeeded me at the Military and Press Centre.

“I was particularly proud that, in an extremely dark and tragic time, I preserved my family and even my health. I was content with the rank I attained, the decorations and other honours I received for — modestly speaking — what I believe was successful work. I was aware that, as a journalist, I was able to most effectively fulfil duties within the JNA, where I was promoted to the ranks of major and colonel without having to pass the mandatory examination in theory and practice of the armed forces. I was even offered general’s posts — to head the political-legal sector, first in the Skopje, then the Sarajevo military district — but for family reasons and my love for journalism and writing, I turned those offers down.

“Towards the end of my career, the military leadership intended to award me the rank of general, meaning I would retire with that title. In addition to all the official appraisals marked ‘outstanding,’ I had already been placed in the fifth (general’s) pay group. Although this was officially communicated to me by generals Ljubo Domazetović, deputy chief of the General Staff, and Risto Matović, the JNA’s head of personnel, the war moved faster — and so it happened that I never received that rank. What mattered most to me, however, was the feeling — the certainty — that I had proven and fulfilled myself as a person.

“So I retired. And despite all the good I had achieved and experienced, I retired — and will remain until my final breath — deeply sorrowful over the breakup of Yugoslavia, my great country and homeland. Especially because that collapse cost thousands of lives, most of them my fellow officers and young soldiers, whose mothers wore black forever, whose sisters were left without brothers and whose fathers lost their heirs.

“They were brave patriots, naive and innocent young men, sent to defend their country — and they perished through no fault of their own. Meanwhile, those who sent them to a one-way journey into a human slaughterhouse now gloat and call for new wars, preparing new killing grounds for the flower of our youth, calling for death.

“I especially condemn those dark foreign forces that deliberately and criminally dismembered Yugoslavia — those who pushed us into a bloody war, relying on monstrous and bloodthirsty local executors from all of our national communities, emboldened and strengthened by the silence and inaction of the forces of patriotism and anti-fascism.

“When I think of this today, the images come alive — from the killing fields of Vukovar and Sarajevo, where corpses were trampled underfoot, or from Ptuj, where ‘peaceful and civilized Slovenians’ doused innocent JNA conscripts in gasoline and set them ablaze — to the cheers of a bloodthirsty mob…

“That’s how it was — that’s how it is remembered — and with those images, I leave for some better life,” concluded Colonel Ivan “Ivo” Matović, resignedly, in his deathbed confession. In the end, he left his son and grandsons a final legacy: to remain honourable and upright in every life situation, to be decent and blameless, hardworking, respected and responsible men — model patriots and good stewards of their family traditions — because that, as he emphasized, would also be a kind of record of his own existence in a turbulent era.

“Convinced that you will remain faithful to this legacy,” he added in closing, “I will peacefully go to my shining star, the one you chose for me when we once walked across our little meadow in New Belgrade, near the Boulevard of the great cosmonaut and celestial traveller Yuri Gagarin…”

Dedication

Ivo Matović dedicated his most important work — the book about Arso Jovanović — to his grandsons Stefan and Luka, with, as he wrote, a sincere wish that they would never experience a time or conditions similar to those in which the main character of this story — written for remembrance and for learning — was sacrificed without trial or judgement and, with the presence of the authorities, driven from life. He adds that the dedication — like the entire book — rests on the firm belief that such a dog-like time, marked by brutal purges and executions of dissidents, with Goli Otok as the paradigm of the greatest crime of the 20th century, has no parallel in the recent history of the peoples of this region.

(14): He Was the Measure of Humanity and Integrity

Ivo Matović was buried at the New Bežanija Cemetery with all the honours due to a soldier of his rank, accompanied by countless friends he had gained over 86 years of life and tireless, dedicated creative work — by colleagues and associates, primarily those from Narodna armija, Front and other military publications that grew from the foundations and traditions of those papers, as well as those he had worked with in the military publishing houses he once led.

At the memorial service held at the Army Hall, General Vidosav Kovačević said goodbye on behalf of SUBNOR Serbia, and Professor Dr. Mile Bjelajac, director of the Institute for Recent History, spoke as well. Representing the journalists, Dragana Marković, editor-in-chief of Odbrana, gave a warm and heartfelt address that moved all present.

“He taught us how to write,” said Marković, among other things, “gave us the freedom to spread our wings, and likewise took responsibility for our youthful defiance. From him, we learned that the measure of our freedom was the quality of the work done, that general knowledge and awareness were prerequisites for journalism… We entered the wars of the 1990s under the wing of an experienced officer and editor — strict, but just. His personal charisma shaped the life and work within the editorial offices of Narodna armija and later Vojska. And back then, the newsroom was where we lived and worked. Beneath each of our texts, he would personally write a comment by hand. Insightful — what to add; positive — ‘Take this to editor Miloranka to read’; or crushing — ‘Rewrite this from the beginning.’

“About ten years ago, one evening my phone rang. Colonel Matović was on the other end of the line, telling me he was making a list for his funeral, and had called to check whether I would come and say a few words. That was so like him — to leave nothing to chance. That is why I’m here today, speaking before you. Travel well, Colonel Ivo Matović… There will always be someone to remember you and write about you.”

Although it hadn’t seemed that Ivo Matović’s life would end so suddenly, Dragana Marković had already said farewell to him in an unusual way in the September issue of Odbrana. In the editorial, she described how, in the early 1990s, when she was first preparing to travel to Moscow on official duty, Colonel Matović — then editor-in-chief of Vojska — invited her for a conversation. Alongside official editorial instructions, he also made a personal request.

“He asked that, when I found myself on Red Square, I stop at the centre, look up to the sky and say: ‘Mother Russia, Colonel Ivo Matović sends his greetings.’”

Of course, she granted his wish.

“Many years later,” writes Marković, “I found myself in Ryazan, intending to write a report on Russian Spetsnaz (special forces — B.S.), whose garrison and training centre are located there. On my last day, a military vehicle pulled up in front of the hotel where I was staying.

“‘You are expected by the garrison commander,’ a soldier announced curtly. What followed was all part of a typical journalistic assignment. The conversation lasted quite a while. When it ended, the colonel led me to the exit, paused, opened a side door in the corridor and said, ‘This way, please.’ After just a few steps, I found myself on a stage. In front of it, seated in the hall, were around one hundred VDV (Airborne Forces) cadets. Camouflage uniforms, blue-and-white striped shirts underneath. All tall, blond, elite soldiers. The colonel introduced me as a military journalist from Serbia, asked me to address the audience, and then to stay for a short artistic program prepared for the occasion. After a few moments of thought, I decided to tell them the story of Colonel Matović. When I finished, the hall echoed with the sound of sudden standing — almost in unison — followed by a thunderous: ‘Three cheers for Colonel Matović!’ I returned to Belgrade. Colonel Ivo Matović was no longer editor-in-chief. I visited him and told him about the event in Ryazan. He was silent for a long time — and in that silence, a few tears traced their path down the furrows of his always stern face.”

And General Radovan Radinović, saying goodbye to his closest and dearest friend in the chapel at Bežanija Cemetery, recalled how he and Ivo had once made a pact — that whoever outlived the other would deliver the eulogy.

“I’m not saying I’m in a rush to the other side,” said the general, “but I regret, and will continue to regret, that those who one day follow me to my resting place, especially my loved ones, will be denied the kind of wise and heartfelt words that only Ivo Matović could craft. As for our friendship, I am convinced that it was more the product of his inner, human need to be sociable and generous, truthful and selfless towards others, without expecting anything in return, than of anything I ever did to deserve it. Kindness and generosity were defining traits of him as a man. From him, you could learn what it meant to be a human being — in every full sense of the word — and I, as his lifelong friend, could always look someone in the eye and say: ‘If you don’t know what it means to be honest, ask Ivo Matović!’”

A Rich Legacy

As a publicist, Ivo Matović published seven books. His most important and major work was Commander with a Halo of a Martyr, a monograph chronicling the life of General Arso Jovanović. While researching the tragic fate of this officer, Matović also traced the life paths of another hundred of his colleagues — men who, like Jovanović, had once worn the uniform of the former Royal Yugoslav Army, and who, in July 1941, as patriots and anti-fascists, chose to join the National Liberation Army, rose to high ranks during the Liberation War, and held top military and political positions. Among other things, they commanded no fewer than 43 divisions and served in senior roles within the General Staff of the National Liberation Army, and later the JNA. Alongside Jovanović, the most prominent among them were Rade Hamović, Mihajlo Apostoleski, Božo Lazarević and Rajko Tanasković. Matović also wrote a compelling book about them, which earned him the first-ever award from the Dragojlo Dudić Foundation.

He also published five biographies of national heroes and revolutionaries: Sava Kovačević, Ivo Lola Ribar, Ivan Milutinović, Vlado Ćetković and Vladimir Perić Valter. In addition to all that, he wrote five extensive and well-documented serials, among which the one about our people in the Spanish Civil War (1936-1939) holds particular value.

(Translated from the 14-part serialized article by Budo Simonović in Serbo-Croatian, which began on November 11, 2019 and ended on December 4, 2019 on vesti-online.com)