– Milovan Đilas –
The following account of the death of the top Yugoslav general during all four years of the Second World War, Arso Jovanović, written by Milovan Đilas, largely aligns with the government statement at the time. It is, however, still valuable in understanding how this version of Arso’s death was constructed and reinforced over time.
The reader will see that this excerpt is characterized by a style fitting defensive and self-justifying memoirs. It is possible to interpret the arc of the narrative — from close wartime friendship, to encouragement on taking the “correct” line, to an emotionless, bureaucratic reaction to his death and to the interrogation of Petričević — as setting up one critical thesis: that he, Milovan Đilas, had no motive to be responsible for Arso’s death. This culminates in dismissing widespread doubt of the official narrative as a simple mass product of an oppressive system, and not legitimate inquiry. This narrative is best read alongside a strong practice of source criticism.
Sava Press
For our adversaries, however — both foreign and domestic — the [Fifth] congress [of the Communist Party of Yugoslavia] meant change. They interpreted its resolutions as extortion and deception by a “Tito clique,” and therefore intensified their pressure and provocation both within and without. Of the pro-Soviet Communists who conspired or emigrated, I shall mention a few with whom I had some indirect connection.
Surely the most notorious was Arso Jovanović, if only because he had headed the High Command during the war and was the top General Staff officer. He had been among the group of high-ranking officers who in 1946 had been sent to attend the best Soviet military institute, the Voroshilov. Koča Popović had taken over as head of the General Staff. Upon completing their studies in the spring of 1948, at the time of the Molotov-Stalin letter to our Central Committee, this group of officers returned to Yugoslavia. The Politburo had already been informed of the differences of opinion and the hostilities that had developed in Moscow among them. The sharpest differences arose between Jovanović and Dapčević. These clashes, however, were not yet perceived as political, pro-Stalin or anti-Tito. In an effort to clarify matters and exert his influence, Tito invited the most prominent officers — four of them, I believe — to visit him at Brdo.
They were there at the time of a Politburo meeting and they attended a joint dinner. Among them was Arso Jovanović. One could tell from the conversation that the generals were abreast of our conflict with the Soviets — Tito had of course informed them — but that Arso in particular was reluctant to make their positions known or to look into the heart of the matter.
My close friendship with Arso Jovanović went back to wartime. He was an open man who made friendships easily. Yet, except for Mitar Bakić, Arso’s high-school friend, few were on terms of such intimacy and warmth with him as I. My friendship extended to his wife, Senka, a sensitive, straightforward woman devoted to her husband. But at Brdo I didn’t have a chance to speak to him privately — nor would that have been appropriate — about relations with the Soviet leadership, since Tito had already said what was necessary.
During and after the Fifth Congress, Arso and I saw each other a good deal, and once, when he was having lunch at my house, I told him in no uncertain terms what I thought about the Soviet attack. He listened in silent embarrassment, then said: “I don’t know what the Russians want.”
I conveyed his indecision to Ranković, who had gotten the same impression, though they saw each other rarely and were not close friends. I also discussed it with Tito. But both men, while sharing my impression, felt that the relationship with Arso must not deteriorate, and that we should bide our time while casting about for a way to help him. Yet, upon his return from Moscow, Arso was not returned to duty as head of the General Staff. Instead, he was assigned command of the top military school (still on the drawing boards). This confirms that Tito and Ranković already had their doubts about his loyalty. Subsequent to the lunch at my house, Arso and I still saw each other, but the relationship was under a pall. By pure chance, I dropped in at his house a couple of days prior to his death, but he was not there.
At about 11:00 A.M. on August 12, Ranković phoned me to come see him immediately (our offices were close). There had been a “terrible accident,” he said: Arso Jovanović had been killed. “How? Where?” I asked. “On the Rumanian border, while hunting,” he replied, in a voice that feigned more shock than his words conveyed. Regaining my composure, I said, “He must have been trying to escape!” He made no reply, simply repeating his request that I come to see him.
With Ranković was Otmar Kreačić, Vukmanović-Tempo’s deputy in the army’s political administration. He repeated briefly what he had already told Ranković: Arso Jovanović, Colonel Vlado Dapčević, brother of Peko, and General Branko “Kadja” Petričević, also an assistant to Vukmanović, had gone hunting wild boar on the government estate of Sočica, on the Rumanian border. They ran into a militia patrol at night. In the confusion there was firing, and Arso was killed. The story had come from Petričević, who had returned to the city and was now at the army’s political administration headquarters.
The three of us realized that the incident would provoke all sorts of interpretations, especially from pro-Soviet propaganda sources, but not one of us — myself least of all — felt especially upset or grief-stricken. Ranković and I both knew that Arso was not a hunter, and I knew that he possessed no weapons for hunting. I was certain that he and the others had been trying to escape to Rumania. Ranković said that Petričević would be arriving at any moment to give a more detailed report, to which Kreačić asserted, “I’d go through fire for Petričević!”
Just then, Petričević arrived, in a muddy, rumpled uniform. His story contained nothing that we didn’t already know. We kept plying him with questions. More upset and uneasy by the minute, he answered that the three of them had agreed to go hunting wild boar, and set off at night with the estate manager so that dawn would find them in position. They had stumbled on a border patrol. In the confusion, people started firing. He fled. In the morning he met State Security patrols, who told him of Arso’s death. Arabjac, the estate manager, was also killed. So he returned to Belgrade immediately to report.
He had not even finished his story before I was pressing him with more questions. “How come Arso decided to go hunting for wild boar, when he was not a hunter and had no hunting weapons? Did the two of you, you and Dapčević, have such weapons? No, you didn’t. Do you know what sorts of weapons are employed in hunting wild boar? A special carbine; not a shotgun. And where is Dapčević, what happened to him?” Petričević: “We had no hunting weapons, only pistols. Well, it was more like a hike. We were bored and we wanted to take a little walk. Dapčević? In all the commotion he disappeared. He’s bound to turn up.” One question led to another; I would have kept on had I not noticed Ranković frowning. So I concluded by saying, “You’ve really put your foot in it!” Petričević agreed. Then Ranković said, “Go get cleaned up, Kadja, take a rest, then we’ll talk some more.”
He left, and I turned to Kreačić: “Would you go through fire for him now?” He replied quickly, with a smile, that he would not.
Kreačić also departed, leaving Ranković and me to put our own interpretation on the incident. I did most of the talking, carried away by the torrent of my thoughts, while he kept shaking his head and interjecting comments. In the end he picked up the phone and quickly and decisively said to Kreačić: “Listen to me, Kreačić. Send two officers to arrest Petričević at once.”
That same day Petričević confessed. Arso, Dapčević, and he had long realized that they shared the same views regarding the dispute with the Soviet Union. After the Fifth Congress, the conflict was exacerbated to such an extent that they saw no possibility for any opposition activity. So they decided to flee to the U.S.S.R. across Rumania. They planned to seize a tank in Vršac and make a run for it with the help of a sympathetic officer, Vukan Božović. But as ill luck would have it, Božović was not in Vršac on the day chosen, so they decided to cross the border on foot, on the pretext that they were hunting boar. Arabjac, the estate manager, suspecting nothing, put himself at their service. Our border with Rumania was not well secured, but since gypsies from both countries traditionally engaged in horse stealing and smuggling, militia patrolled the vicinity. The fugitives stumbled on one of these patrols, and when ordered to halt — had they done so, nothing would have happened — Arso Jovanović opened fire with his pistol. The fire was returned, he was fatally wounded in the head, and the innocent Arabjac also was slain. Petričević and Dapčević ran off. Petričević came back to Belgrade, hoping to get by with his simple-minded cover story. Dapčević hid out in Belgrade, only to be apprehended on the Hungarian border three months later.
One of the most frequent questions posed to me after I was removed from power was: “Why did you people kill Arso Jovanović?” Because of the closed and oppressive nature of our political system, nonparty and even party people took the truth to be a fabrication. A conviction spread that Arso was killed in Belgrade and that his body was transported to the Rumanian border. The official statement may have contributed to this rumor; it was not announced until several days after Arso’s death and it did not explain all the circumstances. Disclosure of the facts at the trial of Dapčević and Petričević also failed to quell doubts and misgivings. I gather from a trustworthy former Cominform émigré that Vlado Dapčević gave an accurate account of the incident later, in exile in the Soviet Union.
(Djilas, Milovan. Rise and Fall. Macmillan, 1985, pp. 212-216.)