VOLVIENDO A KOSOVO DESPUES DE LA GUERRA

 

AN EFFECTIVE RECIPE FOR RETURN

Serbian notes

If I forget thee, O Kosovo my Jerusalem, let my right hand be forgotten. Let my tongue cleave to my throat if I forget thee, O my Metohija, if I do not have thee as the opening of my song.

Bishop Atanasije (Jevtic)

Vranje. St. Nicholas Monastery.Vranje. St. Nicholas Monastery.    

Babylonian captivity is a recurring phenomenon, not a singular event. This can be seen in the example of Kosovo and Metohija. Serbs no longer feel that their own land belongs to them, and visits to Kosovo have become practically impossible for Russians. Much has been said about the reasons for captivity and the humiliation of peoples—both in the ancient Jewish days and in modern-day Serbia. Prophets, holy hierarchs, venerable fathers, and martyrs have even shouted about this: Our troubles are the direct consequences of our own sins and forgetfulness of God. The antidote has not changed a bit; it has remained relevant since ancient times: change your life, become a real Christian, put Christ first in your life—and all other things will fall into their proper place. To put it simply, active repentance is required. Easier said than done…

The Serbs have an answer: while realizing your unworthiness, help your neighbor, work conscientiously, and pray. “The remedy is old but effective. It does not spoil and is proven by centuries,” say my conversation partners, Nikola Vasic and Stefan Mirkovic, staff workers of the Kosovsko Pomoravlje charitable organization, who specially arrived in the border city of Vranje in the south of the country. Now our “Kosovo talks” take place either here or in nearby monasteries. I handed over aid from our readers to them, and they shared the latest news.

The happiest news was shared by Nikola, who was stuttering with excitement: Maria Vasic, his wife, has given birth to a baby girl named Nadezda, who is truly a bundle of joy.

“Imagine—I’ve become a father! I felt both scared and happy. At first I was afraid to take the baby into my arms, but now it’s fine, and I’ve gotten used to it. Maria feels well, now everyone is at home. As you see, the girl’s name was chosen purposely—Nadezda means ‘hope’. We really need to place our hopes on Christ.”

Vologda felt boots, a gift to a young Serbian woman from the skilled shoemaker Nikolai Alfeyevich Saikin, who is concerned about our sister nation, brought delight. "Rest assured that now we are not afraid of any cold," he said. However, there was also some bad news. At the beginning of January, just before the Nativity, the barn and livestock fodder of Aleksandar Jevtic from Kosovska-Kamenitsa was burned. Nikola said, "It was a great blow to him. A thirty-year-old peasant, he has lived for years solely by sheep farming. With a heavy heart and embarrassment, he turned to our organization and to everyone who can help with a request to assist him with repairs. Restoration costs, according to our estimates, will be around 3,000 euros, and it will be a great support for Aleksandar. I repeat: the peasant lives by sheep breeding; farming is his main occupation. In our opinion, this occupation is a very worthy one. The guy does not wear out the seat of his pants in coffee shops to chat over rakia but works hard from morning to evening. So we really want to help him and call on our friends to do the same. God willing, it will work."

I wondered whether the Serbs could move around their native land and whether there were any obstacles put up by their "dear Albanian neighbors" and their American bosses. "Actually," they answered after thinking, "you can drive relatively easily, observing safety precautions. After all, you see, this is Kosovo, and you can't go wherever you want. You won't be received with outstretched arms everywhere. Recently we visited Serbs in the south of the region, in Metohija. Would you like us to tell you this story?" Of course, I did. This is what they told us

Stefan Mirkovic and Nikola VasicStefan Mirkovic and Nikola Vasic    

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Serbian "downshifting"

Not far from the village of Istog live most of the Serbs who returned to Kosovo and Metohija. During the war in 1999 and the unrest of 2004, people left their homes. Some left with the army, others fled later, when the tyranny of the new authorities began. Now they are slowly returning, despite the difficulties. To return to your home in an occupied region requires superhuman will, strength, and courage. But, as these people say, it's worth it: they feel that their youth is returning, and that life, after so many years of wandering, has a purpose again.

As you drive, you look around and see ruined empty houses, walls riddled with bullets and shrapnel, and neglected fields -- such a "greeting" from the recent past. You understand that you have come to a place where the war has never ended thus far. Chaotically overgrown bushes cover the empty windows in the once rich village of Zac... It's probably like finding yourself in the Old Testament when the first captives released by the Babylonian king had just come to the destroyed Jerusalem.

We arrived in Istog early in the morning and were very tired. We felt like a cup of coffee and just relaxing. But Petko Miletic was already waiting for us. He waved his hands, shouting, "Come here, I've prepared everything!" We drove along the bad road up to his house. Petko is raising his daughter Tamara and son Lazar alone. Both of them go to school. What do they do for a living? They cultivate land and breed livestock and poultry. How else can you stay afloat in this area? There are no jobs for Serbs. But they hold on and do it seriously; they work conscientiously.

They sell their produce at the market in Kosovska-Mitrovica when they can travel there safely. It's almost 95 miles away, so it's 190 miles there and back. But they hold firmly to their native land—their grandparents and great-grandparents lived here, and according to Petko, "there's nothing to do in a foreign land where you're like a tree without its roots." Incidentally, he was born in Belgrade, and the house and land in Metohija belonged to his grandmother.

"But, you see, I couldn't sleep when I lived in the capital with its hustle and bustle, realizing that my real homeland was in Kosovo and Metohija. Here we are at home. As for Belgrade, it's so-so. I can't be a resident of the capital--I want to live in my native village." Such is the Serbian "downshifting."

Of course, for his children, everything is new and interesting here. It's good that their father is a handyman and works hard—he tends the household so that they don't starve and don't complain.

"I will stay here anyway. I want my children to truly love their native land and to be the masters here. I do all in my power to ensure that they have everything they need both at home and at school. When they grow up, they will decide for themselves whether to stay here or not."

Tamara is going to study psychology at the University of Pristina (now in Kosovska-Mitrovica), while Lazar concentrates more on programming. They don't long for life in the capital; there is hustle and bustle there, while it is beautiful here. And their peers from Belgrade are jealous; they respect such a serious and selfless choice.

We are heading to Osojane, a village that was burned to the ground during the war, and all the Serbs were expelled. However, the Serbs are a stubborn nation, and two years later, they returned and began to restore houses and farms. Everyone looked at them as if they were crazy—they slept in barns and worked during the day, persistently building walls, roofing houses, glazing windows, and painting. The monks from surviving monasteries and the bishops considered this return a miracle. Now, there is a secondary school in Osojane with forty students, two more branches in other villages, and a school named after St. Sava of Serbia, thank God, with a sufficient number of students from this area.

Right in Osojane, there is St. Nicholas Church, which was first mined and then destroyed during the war. After the Serbs' return, the church was restored, and now services are celebrated in it. The rector, Fr. Dalibor Koic, welcomed us cordially. In the church's courtyard, there is a monument to all the fallen and missing residents of the Istog community. The list of names is long, and alas, still incomplete.

    

A village of heroes is located in this region that, like a real hero, overcame all attacks and attempts to expel the Serbs. It is called Crkolez and lies in the lowlands near the Mokra Gora Mountain. There has been a joke about Crkolez since the war: a KFOR (the Kosovo Force) soldier asks an Albanian what kind of people live in Crkolez. They are being attacked from all sides, but they are defending themselves, as if there were a whole Serbian division in the village, and not a handful of locals. The Albanian replies: "I have lived here all my life and know these Serbs well. If they were sane, they would have fled long ago." Such are the "insane" Serbs. This naturally makes us glad. The self-irony of locals, their willingness to defend their churches, their honesty, and knightly dignity—they will never take anything that doesn't belong to them. That is why the Albanians both respect them and are somewhat afraid of them, we must admit.

Working on their native land quietly and conscientiously and breeding livestock, the villagers have never thought of selling a single meter of their land. "If there was no land, there would be no us," they say. "Our business is to work and not lose heart." There is also a school with eleven children there, and a dispensary in the school building. "We don’t need much--we have everything we need, and there’s nothing to complain about." They speak calmly, look straight ahead, and live soundly.

The village Church of St. John the Baptist was built back in the fourteenth century. In 1355, it was set up by Voivode Radoslav, who was tonsured with the name Jovan. The church became the metochion of the Athonite St. Panteleimon’s Monastery. Tradition has it that at the entrance to the church, a sapling of a tree from the Patriarchate of Pec Monastery, one of the major shrines of Kosovo and Metohija, has been growing for centuries. "Our church keeps us as long as we keep it," a boy near the church said. We noticed that here, in Crkolez, most residents are young, and this inspires hope.

Love and consent in response to thefts and robbery

The last village in the south of the region, where we arrived that day, is called Ljubozda. Thirteen families returned here in 2017, and they convince us by their example that nothing can ever be achieved without love and consent.

As is the case with the vast majority of Kosovar Serbs, the villagers' occupation is farming. According to them, the main trouble is thefts and the destruction of property. Sometimes they are away for a short while (for work matters or to go to a doctor), and they always keep in mind that their "dear neighbors" can steal or spoil something. For instance, they like stealing equipment.

“Well, we are already used to it and have become more cautious. If you have nothing but your hands, they have nothing to steal,” one local man jokes. His jokes are sad, but he smiles.

The people of Ljubozda know what mutual help is, and they appreciate it. They will always support each other, so no one seems to be discouraged.

    

There are some people who have returned to their homes. Every evening, the whole village meets at someone's house--there is always a reason for a good meeting. True, they remember the olden times and trials, but they aren’t hung up on them. They talk more about how to properly develop the village, what needs to be done, say, tomorrow or this week so that such-and-such a street can look better. In addition to the households, they have renovated and cleaned several churches and cemeteries and started collecting local folklore, legends, and stories--both new and old.

One of the oldest churches in Serbia is here, along with an ancient cemetery, which is carefully looked after by locals. The medieval Monastery of the Mother of God of Hvosno (Hvostanska) is known as Khvostanska Studenica, or Mala (Small) Studenica--only its foundations have remained. There also used to be a sixth-century basilica. When the Serbian Church became autocephalous in 1219, the monastery was the residence of seven Primates of the Church. But, of course, there is also an active church in Ljubozda--spiritual life does not only consists of sad ruins.

Metohija is monastic soil, a land of holy monasteries. Because it belongs to holiness, both the land itself and the people inhabiting it have suffered and continue to suffer. It is not easy to be a Serb and Orthodox in your native land--the price for your faithfulness to Christ and the Fatherland is often very high, sometimes even life itself. But, as our those with whom we spoke during the last trip around the region say, “How can we renounce the truth?” There is only one truth here, although it is not engraved in golden letters on monuments or in epitaphs: “Without Christ you can do nothing.” With God alone the Serbs can overcome all troubles and sorrows.

Nikola hurried to his family. Stefan and I looked at each other knowingly—a father's duty! We agreed to meet again, God willing. The guys rushed off to Kosovo and Metohija--the border is very close. As I walked around the city I recalled their words: "Without God, without repentance, without labor we will not achieve anything." I completely agree with them.

Stepan Ignashev
Translation by Dmitry Lapa

Pravoslavie.ru

3/20/2023

 

KOSOVO AND METOCHIJA: CHILDREN AFTER THE WAR

We are writing these notes during our regular trips to Kosovo and Metochija where we deliver the humanitarian aid to our Orthodox brothers and sisters. By writing these short stories and articles, we aim to ensure that the sufferings of the Orthodox people in this holy land will never be erased from our memory.

A girl from the village of Grizime in Kosovska KamenicaA girl from the village of Grizime in Kosovska Kamenica    

We dig ditches with our own hands to wash ourselves and do our laundry, while during school breaks, we tend the grazing cattle”

The village of Grizime is located in eastern Kosovo and Metohija, on the right bank of the South Morava River. It is divided into an upper and a lower part. The village is believed to have originated as a resting place for pilgrims traveling between the monasteries of Tamnica and St. Mark.

We were looking for someone who could tell us about life in this small village. Then, we stumbled upon two tough-looking, happy boys playing in the yard and also tending the piglets. Children know really well how to combine business with pleasure. They are Daniel and Jovica Miljkovic, one of them twelve years old and the other fourteen. We noticed them even earlier: they were digging a small ditch on a hill. At first we thought it was also some kind of game. But no: It turned out that the boys were working here practically every day, and that their goal is to bring water to the house for washing and laundry. They lost their father two years ago, and there are thirteen of them in their household... They can’t imagine themselves anywhere else in the foreign lands, just as they can’t imagine their lives outside the house, and so they work in the fields. They were saying that the household and the family should have everything they need. They do all the housework together with their mother, and they help her take care of the younger ones.

This family’s life is about their house, their yard, their fields, the woods—everything else is a foreign land

It’s even hard to imagine that what we casually call the “everyday life” can actually look the way it is in the Miljkovic household. This family’s life is centered around their house, the yard, the fields, the woods, and everything else is just a foreign land.

The villages around Kosovska Kamenica seem not to have changed at all in the last century and a half. If you go a few kilometers away from the center of Kamenica, you won’t see any paved roads, let alone lighting or public transportation; you should be happy that you reached your destination safely on foot! Now, more and more people are leaving their homes, the villages are empty, and there are practically no young people left. Even those who have lived all their lives in the midst of these hills, fields, and forests are leaving—the houses stand empty, dilapidated, and crumbling to ruins, the yards and fields are overgrown with weeds, the gates and shutters are closed, while the wild grasses are as high as the roofs. The Serbs lived here until the war in 1999, when most of them were driven out. The remaining Orthodox people subsist here solely by farming and a tenacity that can probably be described as unrelenting, and they stay because of their faith. I guess there is also some hope still left to receive help from good people.

The last house in Manuta

The last one—in the sense that it is the last Serbian house in this village near Novo Brdo. This is where the Jovic family lives – Siniša, Razije, Mihajlo, Marina and their grandmother. They live two kilometers away from the main village road, but it seems much farther because only a tractor or an armored personnel vehicle can get through. Needless to say, there are no street lights.

Their relatives left long ago. There are none of them left; as they say, they fear some unknown strangers attacking their children. Aha, right, “uknown”...

“A couple of years ago, that Albanian beat up the boy. He beat him up really bad. The child went outside to play, and his neighbor from the Shqiptars beat him up. The boy returned home crying: “Mama, my neighbor beat me up! How come?” God forbid we should have neighbors like that,” said Razije, Marina and Mikhajlo’s mother.”

A shepherd girl, Novo BrdoA shepherd girl, Novo Brdo  

Mikhajlo and Marina don’t walk to school—they are driven there. Every day, they make their way through the village to the bus stop and the bus picks them up to take them to school. Once they reach the fifth grade, they will have to travel even farther, to a distant village far away. Marina’s class has only two students, while Mikhajlo has as much as three. It also happens that they don’t descend from the hills to the village for months, and as for the nearest town, it is just a big unknown for them. They spend their summer breaks here at home, in their native hills. They rarely venture more than a few hundred meters from the gates of their own house. They play in their yard and take care of the eight (!) cows that feed their whole family. Such is the idyllic shepherds’ life in our Kosovo.

The only student

Nikola Stankovic at the school entranceNikola Stankovic at the school entrance  

Nikola Stankovic attends the fourth grade of the “Petar Kocic” elementary school located in the village of Sljivovo.

Nikola has a teacher, who is with him during class, but at recesses, Nikola is all alone—he is the only student studying in this first through fourth grade school and would probably be the last one to attend it.

The “Petar Kocic” school is located in a private house. No computers or digital learning tools, nothing of the kind! Just benches, a blackboard, chalk, and old textbooks—that’s all they have for didactics.

A quiet, close-mouthed child. We ask him, “How’s school? He replies briefly, “Boring.” He’s withdrawn and doesn’t like to talk much. Can one be talkative here under these circumstances! I have great doubts.

Nicola spends the rest of his time with his father and brother, helping them with the household chores. He practically never plays. “What’s interesting about playing alone?” he replies with his question to our question. Enough said.

Two Nikolas: Stankovic and VasicTwo Nikolas: Stankovic and Vasic  

Sljivovo is near Pristina, and there are still a few Serbian houses left here. Is there any point in talking about the living conditions of these Serbs? I would simply call them humble. Fr. Negovan says he no longer expects any help from anyone, much less from the state. “I have resigned myself to the idea that my sons will leave this area, which is so full of hopelessness. The boys will have to work somewhere.” We ask him what life is like in Sljivovo. He chuckles: “Its so good that you shouldn’t even have asked about it”...

Maria Vasic, humanitarian organization, “Kosovo Pomoravje”
Prepared by Stepan Ignashev
Translation by Liubov Ambrose

Pravoslavie.ru

6/17/2023

CRISTO HA SIDO EL UNICO QUE NO NOS TRAICIONÓ HABLA UNA MONJA DE KOSOVO

 

ONLY CHRIST WILL NEVER BETRAY US”

Kosovo Serbs talk about their life at home and in comfortable but foreign lands

I often happen to travel on business to Belgrade, our capital. But even the mere thought of moving there for good sounds disgusting—my forefathers lived in Kosovo and Metohija, I was born and reside here. Why on earth should I abandon my motherland? Is it hard to live in Kosovo? Yes, absolutely. But it’s better here, at home with all the hardships, than anywhere else with their pies in the skies and false businesslike air,” says Jovan Zafirovic, Serbian journalist, and writer of songs and one-liners.

Jovan ZafirovicJovan Zafirovic    

Many young Serbs from Kosovo and Metohija attempt to balance out the need of their heart, on the one hand, and the voice of reason, on the other. Their heart calls out: “Stay, live here;” the coldness of the head insists: “Leave.” There wasn’t such an inner conflict before, but the expulsion of the Orthodox Serbs from their towns, the economic crisis, and desolation of wartime did their part: Those who couldn’t imagine in their wildest dreams that they would have to abandon their homes, dismissing the mere idea as nonsense, are actually leaving Kosovo. Only the toughest, the most stubborn, and the hopeless optimists are here to stay.

“What drives me away from my homeland? The absence of even primitive, decent living conditions, and I think the majority of us will agree with this. What else? The unknown. Well, maybe even the darkness lying ahead. A dark future, the unknown, is like some evil power, steeped in fear. When you simply don’t understand certain things, you work to figure it out to add clarity – but when, for years, you see how all your attempts to figure things out end in failure and your work is doomed, you feel something akin to bottomless, unrelieved sorrow,” says Jovan.

For the younger generation, the stories about people in Kosovo and Metohija living well before and without any war, when some were even able to acquire some wealth, sound like legends or a fairy-tales. Were Serbs really able to safely travel around in Kosovo, reside in their towns, work at the factories, or travel and visit their faraway friends across the province? You mean, really? They did have jobs? Right here, at home? And no one spat at them? Right, tell me another!

Maria VasićMaria Vasić

We have to admit that nowadays, going to a nearby town is a wild ride—and not the most pleasant one—for the residents of the remaining Serbian villages and settlements, like Gnilane. That is, it isn’t a regular trip of a villager to a nearby town with all the necessary preparations and pleasant excitement—nothing of the kind. Say what you like, but you won’t get that. You either drive or walk to your former home, trying to make it look as if everything is alright. Your house has new inhabitants, their grown up children stare at you as if you were an alien, while their little offspring openly laugh at you. You can surely walk around your native town—no one will specifically bully you, especially if you are shopping at a small shopping center at the outskirts (because you are the customer, after all!). But there’s no way you can sit down with your friends at a café and talk about life or find out what’s new with them, speaking Serbian to boot; sure, you can do all of that, but only when you return to your village. But then, there’s absolutely no violence here; everything is “good” here. What an interesting rule: You spent your money—no one blew at you in the face, and now go! Bye-bye! And don’t say that some ethnic minorities suffer in Kosovo (aha, it was yours once!). But you should be thankful for anything you ethnic minority, pfft.

Speaking of ethnic minorities. The mass media—be it local, the so called “independent,” or the international, media sources—will never mention that the Serbs in the southern Kosovo, in Pomoravlje, still make up a third of a total number of Serbs in the province. This “minority” still resides, despite all the hardships, in the communities of Kosovo Kamenica, Gnilane, Novo Brdo, and Vitina.

Unfortunately, many of them are abandoning their native land. The homes built by their great-grandfathers, where grandfathers and fathers resided, are empty because the son has gone and resides with his family someplace abroad. There are many abandoned homes like that in our province and they reek of sorrow, grief, and despair. One can also see a lot of burned homes – they stand like a symbol of broken dreams, humiliation, and affliction of the generations.

All of this resulted in a situation wherein the Serbs of Kosovo and Metohija have to live under the stress of making a hard decision: Should they leave their motherland, and if yes, then where to. Jovan belongs to the postwar generation and presumes to know the answer:

“I was born just before the war, and I can only tell you about the life in Metohija and our villages the way it was remembered by our elders. From their stories I know that life was filled with joy, everything was in full swing, and people stood for each other, supporting, helping out, sharing joy and sorrow together. Following the NATO bombings everything remained the same for some time, but these days, things have changed radically: We are divided and isolated from one another. The older generation is dying off and those who are younger are leaving Kosovo for many reasons. Those who stay behind live in an atmosphere of distrust and hopelessness. But those who stay knowingly, out of principle, so to speak, place their hopes solely in God entrusting their lives in Him. ‘Christ is the only One who will never betray us,’ That’s what they say today and that’s what they experience in their lives.”

The Serbs’ distrust for the Albanian authorities of “independent Kosovo” and those who support these authorities in the West is easily understandable since it is well founded. The residents of Pomoravlje recall today with sweet sadness those Russian and Greek soldiers who were based not far from Gnilane and Vitina. The majority think that the presence of the Russian troops was the main reason why the Serbs were able to stay in their villages then. Besides, everyone treated the Russian soldiers as their own and not as foreigners. Nowadays, since the Russians left, the attitude to those foreign forces that “ensure safety,” is quite different to put it mildly.

The Russians in KosovoThe Russians in Kosovo  

It is just like relationships with one’s “dearest” neighbors. “Where do you live, huh? What language are you speaking here?! Learn the Albanian first, and then come get your paperwork!” Do you think this is a unique case? Come on, the same dialogues, or rather, monologues, are held almost daily in the offices of that “truly independent Kosovo,” when those “obnoxious Serbs” dare to apply, say, to get some information, ask for a benefit, or file a request to protect their rights—be it property or other rights. You see, they were robbed. They were beaten, you know. Their Church was desecrated. So what of it! Learn Albanian, you minority!

Delivery of assistanceDelivery of assistance  

Many members of the so-called the “minority” who reside in the vicinity of the formerly Serbian Kamenica, Gnilane, or Priština, are left to their own devices. The villages inhabited by Serbs often lack decent roads, sewage, and cellular connections. As we are delivering humanitarian help to those villages, we often know we have reached our destination when the road suddenly switches from asphalt (laid for that “titular ethnic group”) to either a footpath or a phantom of a path. Poverty, desolation, gloom and doom. For such families, our arrival and the assistance we collected (often with help from the readers of Pravoslavie.ru) is like a light at the end of the tunnel. Sure, they thank us. Of course, they pray. And cry often. Well, we also often can’t hold back our tears either.

“How are you doing? “Good.” “Good” is a humiliatingly low benefit, below all and any poverty threshold that no one has ever recalculated or raised, of course. So, educate your children, buy food, and do everything else on it. “Everything is good.”

At a Serbian enclaveAt a Serbian enclave  

The Serbs in Kosovo and Metohija are careful about their wishes and plans, and they have learned not to get caught up in illusory daydreaming. Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof—that would probably be the name of the game here.

It is quite difficult to compare the life of the people in Kosovo and Metohija with other places in Serbia. Sometimes such a comparison is really frustrating—especially for those who have had to forsake their heart at home, in their beloved Kosovo:

“Belgrade is like a bird in the sky while Kosovo is like a bird in a cage—and by no means golden one. The difference is huge. People from well-fed Belgrade can make plans and daydream; as for the Kosovo Serbs, the chief concern is to see, as soon as you get up, if your home and the church are in one piece, your livestock is still in the barn, and the tractor isn’t stolen. Our priority here is to breathe freely. We are often misunderstood, unfortunately. Behind the daydreaming and making plans, those in Belgrade don’t hear a trumpet call sounding from Kosovo and Metohija,” says Jovan Zafirovic.

I think that real life is actually here, in Kosovo. It is full of hardship, sans pies in the skies or daydreaming and fake business-like manners. Instead, there is an often-inconceivable faith, an unbroken spirit, and patience. Against all odds.

Jovan Zafirovic was born and resides in Kosovo and Metohija. He is a journalist and the author of songbooks dedicated to his native land. He transferred the award money he has received for writing the best one-liner in a competition at the “Politika” newspaper to the kindergarten in Kosovo Pomoravlje. His work’s major objective is a non-biased portrayal of the life of Kosovo Serbs, their problems and joys; the suffering and faith of people who simply by their physical existence obstruct the politically correct official version of “a worthy choice to achieve Western values in independent Kosovo.”

Maria Vasic,
Kosovo and Metohija
Prepared by Stepan Ignashev
Translation by Liubov Ambrose

Pravoslavie.ru

6/8/2022

P.S. Dear brothers and sisters, we continue to assist the Kosovo Serbs, the churc

UN CANCILLER ESE DE LAS GAFITAS REDONDAS ORONDO PERSONAJE MEDIO METRO DE ESTATURA Y QUE ES TONTO DEL CULO. RETIRESE

 

Son muy conocidas las imágenes televisivas que en 2010 protagonizó el entonces presidente venezolano Hugo Rafael Chávez Frías en la plaza Bolívar de Caracas frente al edificio La Francia dirigiéndose a una joyería.

Más conocida aún fue la expresión que allí mismo pronunció: ¡“ Exprópiese”!

Esas imágenes formaban parte de un programa oficial de la televisión chavista en la que el mismo presidente se promocionaba y a la vez, enaltecía ante sus súbditos su forma de gobierno. Vamos, el proceder habitual de los sátrapas actuales.

Recientemente, en España, sí en España hemos tenido un caso similar, no de tanto calado pero en la línea del que se autodefinía comandante de la República bolivariana de Venezuela.

Hace pocos días hemos conocido que nuestro ministro de Asuntos Exteriores José Manuel Albares, apodado por sus subordinados como , ¿dónde quedamos , ha adoptado una decisión similar en las formas a la descrita anteriormente por el comandante Chávez.

Napoleonchu, imitando al tirano venezolano se ha pronunciado en estos términos: “Retírese”, ordenando que desapareciera un retrato de Francisco Gómez – Jordana y Sousa de la Escuela Diplomática.

El teniente general Gómez – Jordana (1876 -1944) fue un militar y diplomático que sirvió a las órdenes de Alfonso XIII y de Francisco Franco ostentando entre otros cargos el de Alto Comisario en Marruecos en el antiguo Protectorado español. En 1938, en el primer gobierno del entonces bando nacional, fue nombrado ministro de Asuntos Exteriores, cargo que repitió en 1942 sustituyendo a Serrano Suñer.

El general Gómez – Jordana ocupó por segunda vez el cargo de ministro de Asuntos Exteriores en unos momentos convulsos y muy complicados para España en plena segunda guerra mundial de manera excelente y muy eficaz. En noviembre de 1942 fundó la Escuela Diplomática en la que figuraba un retrato suyo hasta que el comandante Napoleonchu, a modo del tirano Chávez, pronunció el “ Retírese”. Desconozco los motivos del “Retírese” pero intuyo dada la personalidad de este ministro títere de “su puto amo” – Óscar Puente dixit – que serán los mismos por los que en su día ordenó retirar todos los vestigios de la época del Generalísimo Franco en las Embajadas y hace pocas semanas el cese y retirada de la embajadora en Argentina.

Así es Napoleonchu, nuestro ministro, ni más ni menos que de Asuntos Exteriores, Unión Europea y Cooperación. Un lacayo de Pedro Sánchez incluso antes de que Napoleonchu ocupara como ministro el palacio de Santa Cruz.

El sectarismo, quizá odio, de este aprendiz de Chávez está a la altura de Baltasar Garzón, el que fuera juez estrella y que según él veía amanecer a diario y que luego resultó ser un juez prevaricador. Garzón, en la actualidad abogado de causas perdidas en Iberoamérica,en 2008, cuando aun ejercía de juez imputó por “delitos de detención ilegal y crímenes de guerra” a Gómez – Jordana….hasta que comprobó que el ex ministro de Asuntos Exteriores había fallecido ¡ 74 años antes!

Estas son las personalidades de Albares y Garzón: un ministro títere y sectario con tintes chavistas y un ex juez prevaricador y resentido.

Francisco Gómez – Jordana y Sousa

La Justicia, no obstante, ha puesta las cosas en su sitio, nunca mejor dicho. El retrato del fundador de la Escuela Diplomática Francisco Gómez – Jordana y Sousa ha vuelto a su lugar gracias a las acciones de uno de sus nietos y en su día, el esperpento que organizó Garzón imputando a treinta cinco personas, todas fallecidas, de los gobiernos de Franco quedó archivado pues no se sostenía. Eso sí, él fue expulsado de la carrera judicial posteriormente.

Napoleonchu, ¿para cuándo la próxima?