Vojvoda Djujich

****JavaScript based drop down DHTML menu generated by NavStudio. (OpenCube Inc. - http://www.opencube.com)****

BLAGO Fund: Archives of Serbian Medieval Orthodox Treasure:
Ravanica . MileÅ¡eva . Manasija . Studenica . GraÄanica . St. Peter's Church . Pillars of St. George . SopoÄ‡ani

history | language | art | library

SO HELP ME GOD! - Vojislav Dosenovich

VOJVODA DJUJICH

Thus far, there has been no real attempt to describe the person credited with creating action or shaping events in a way that benefitted so many in the region of Knin. It is not really my intention now, for such descriptions serve only to throw more light on what was taking place at the time, in this case, the genocide by the Ustashi regime in Zagreb and the forced conversions of Serbs to Roman Catholicism. That person was Vojvoda Djujich.

One day, during the summer of 1942, I happened on a place in Knin where men were playing a popular sport with steel bowls. While standing there watching the game, my companion pointed to one of the players, a large man with gray hair. He told me that the man was a farmer from one of the surrounding villages and that he was the Vojvoda's father. After that time, I only saw him again once or twice.

The Vojvoda was married just prior to ordination, as is the requirement of the Orthodox Church. His wife, Zorka, whom I saw several times, gave the impression that she was a fine person, a loyal helpmate, and a devoted mother. She clearly provided a stable base for this man and their children.

Other people provided me with some details about his life as a seminarian in Sremski Karlovci and, later on, as a young priest of his parish at Strmica. One story was that as a young seminarian, he had fallen in love with a beautiful girl named Emilia. He was so in love with her that he composed many poems expressing devotion for her, but his love went unanswered.

As a young parish priest he was known as a zealous worker who applied himself devotedly to the manifold task of parish and community work. In fact, because of his zeal, those whom he served soon gave him the nickname Pop Vatra, or Fiery Priest. This was how Pane had referred to him the previous year in Drvar.

The first time I saw Pop Vatra was in Strmica, where we met for our first organizational meeting, December 11, 1941. He impressed me

as a thoughtful and serious young man in his midthirties. Events to come required far more experience than this young man could have had at the time, but looking back on the final results of his work, he deserves the highest score possible. His work outlasted his chief opponents on both Ustashi and communist sides, and he has lived to see the fruits of his labor.

Pop Djujich's crowning achievement was that, under his leadership, many Serbs living in the area of northern Dalmatia, southern Lika, and Bosanska Krajina were defended and protected. How did he do this? Simply by using an umbrella to protect his head from inclement weather; that is, he made use of the presence of the Italian occupation. Furthermore, when the Allies, in their shortsightedness, betrayed the patriotic forces, it was Djujich who led ten thousand people, through the heat of battle and communist retribution, toward safety in the West. It was the largest group of emigrants to leave after the war and a singular event in modern Serbian history. The people whom the Vojvoda brought out were resettled throughout the Western world and Australia. The Vojvoda continues his struggle to this very day.

A man of such notoriety, Djujich suffered many accusations from both the Ustashi and the communists. To the best of my knowledge, none of his detractors offered anything of truth. Perhaps there may have been some isolated incidents on the part of some members of his organization, but this was neither Djujich's policy nor the policy of his organization.

This is not to imply that he was above reproach, for often he was called upon to act as a person in the seat of judgment. He never hesitated to express his opinion and often lacked the patience necessary for a sound judgment. Nevertheless, he continued to live a modest life with his wife and children. A simple village priest who answered the challenge of a perilous crisis, Djujich never lusted for anything beyond his modest means.

As far as military discipline was concerned, Djujich knew how to follow orders, just as he expected no less from those under his command. The following story illustrates his loyalty to his superiors. One day just after the capitulation of Italy during the summer of 1943, Mihajlovich's captain in charge of intelligence came to me with the news that the Vojvoda had delegated me to accompany the captain some distance, in order to establish contact with a certain Huska, who commanded a large force of Moslems in the region of Cazin toward the northwest. We set out immediately.

The first leg of our journey called for us to stop in Bihac. There we were received into the home of a Serbian woman, a teacher who was apparently expecting us. While we were there, I questioned the captain, whose name was Kapetanovich, about the wisdom of having anything to do with the Moslem element of the region, for on the basis of my experience this was a very risky thing to do. The captain informed me that the order had originated in the headquarters of General Mihajlovich. I questioned what the Vojvoda's personal assessment of this order might be, and the captain assured me that the Vojvoda was in line with Mihajlovich's order. Despite the doubts provided by my personal experience with the Moslem element in my region, that is, their quick willingness to support the new state, there was little left to do but continue our risky and perilous mission.

Later on our journey, I expressed my doubts more strongly to Kapetanovich, advising him that it would be more prudent to consider Huska and his men as opponents. The captain voiced his disagreement but confessed that the Vojvoda had expressed doubts to Mihajlovich's people similar to mine. The Vojvoda had told Mihajlovich that the group we were to contact should be regarded the same as the Ustashi. Headquarters became highly provoked by the Vojvoda's words, but they ignored his advice and ordered the directives to be carried out immediately. Apparently, it was the position of Mihajlovich that Huska's group be integrated into the Yugoslav Army of the Fatherland; therefore, there could be no prejudice or discrimination of any kind.

By the way, I should mention here something about the work I had done since arriving from Drvar early in 1942. It should be understood that there was no obligation or pressured recruiting of people to join the fighting force. The choice was freely made. In my case, I thought it best that, as someone who has witnessed the enemy's methods of violence, suffering, and death, I should offer my information and insight for future missions and investigations. I mentioned this to the Vojvoda, who became very enthusiastic and supportive of the idea. My function would be somewhat along the lines of intelligence gathering, in support of the official intelligence operation headed by Captain Kapetanovich.

Returning to our arrival at Bihac, we were met by two elderly women at an appointed place. They escorted us one at a time, at thirty-minute intervals, to the teacher's home. I waited as the captain went first.

The teacher was a widow whose husband had been executed in the first wave of the Ustashi pogrom in this region. As soon as I arrived, I

was immediately escorted upstairs and ushered through a small door in a brick wall. The outline of this small door was artfully made to follow the mortared joints of the bricks, so that it closed with no visible signs that it was there.

There we were in the attic of a house on the outskirts of Bihac. From a small round opening toward the northwest we could see the double bridge on the west bank of the Una River that came together at the east bank. Suddenly I remembered this scene from my school days, which then seemed so long ago.

Our instructions were to wait for three young men. They had been students before the war broke out but now were to come from Huska's side in order to escort us to their commander's headquarters. The poor teacher, who fearfully anticipated the hour of her death at any moment that she might be exposed, nevertheless was happy to do whatever she could for the cause. We waited for two days. By the third day, the three young men still had not arrived. We decided to move on, if for no other reason than to free the woman from her fearful anxiety. As we readied ourselves to leave, she came to the door to inform us of her opinion that the young men must have encountered foul play at the hands of Huska's men. We learned later that this proved to be the case.

We said our good-byes and made our way back toward the south. By afternoon of the following day, we had arrived at Knin. Captain Kapetanovich went directly to Kosovo headquarters to make his report, while I looked forward to returning to my room for some needed rest. Our travel had been difficult, and I was exhausted.

The first thing I did upon entering my room was fill a pot with water so that I could soak my tired feet. I had no sooner settled into a relaxing position when the door suddenly burst open. Standing before me were three men, armed with guns that were all pointed in my direction. The man in front was smaller than the other two. It was Mane Rokvich, the man who had rebelled against his communist comrades at the Ostrelj front when they approached him about liquidating Ilija Desnica from behind during the fighting. Mane was a high-tempered and hasty man. Often he carried out his decisions on the spot, and for that reason he was feared and avoided.

Apparently, Mane had felt himself slighted because of the action the captain and I had attempted to carry out under orders of the high command, although I had no time then to make such rationalizations. Despite my surprise and alarm, I did my best to calm him down, as he continued

threatening me with his automatic and shouting abusive language at me. Somehow I succeeded in creating in my assailant an island of hesitation, enabling me to buy a few moments for him to reasonably consider his next move.

I was relieved when he rested his gun on the chair beside him, although his friends kept their weapons pointed at me.

"What happened in Bihac?" he demanded.

"Nothing," I responded assuringly. "Our mission was a complete disaster. We came home with nothing but our lives."

I told him about our journey‹it was no compromise of intelligence‹even about our belief that the students had met their deaths. Mane's mood gradually changed from hostile to inquisitive. It was then that I began to realize that Mane considered this region his own domain of operations, especially following the death of Ilija Desnica, and that he had simply felt left out of such an important operation.

About ten years after that incident, while I was serving as a parish priest in Omaha, Nebraska, a man came to me and asked me to baptize his newborn son. His name was Vojin, like mine. The more I looked at the man, the more I seemed to think that I knew him from somewhere. His foxlike eyes and tentative half-smile challenged me to recall him.

Following the baptism, he invited us for the customary dinner at his home. He had just moved to Omaha from Chicago, purchasing an older home in the neighborhood and taking a job at a smelting plant. Well into our meal, the man stopped, looked at me directly, and asked me whether or not I remembered who he was. I responded that although he looked somewhat familiar, I couldn't place the name or face.

I was shocked when he began to describe my encounter with Mane in my room at Knin.

"Do you remember the two men with Mane," he asked, "the ones with guns pointed at you?"

"How could I forget?" I responded.

"Well, one of them was me," he said matter-of-factly. Then he added, "It's been a little difficult for me to look at you."

"Why is that?" I asked.

He paused a moment before answering.

"Because our orders were to kill you on the spot," he explained. "I can tell you now it is a miracle you are alive!"

Indeed, that was the way Mane acted. The impatience and violence that filled his followers with fear often transferred itself to them. At the

end of the war, Mane himself met a violent end. He and the men who were with him at the time were captured and executed by Ustashi and German troops.

The jealousy that Mane had displayed over what he considered to be his territory was not all that uncommon in the early days of the uprising. There were others as well who, in the absence of someone stronger whom they felt they could trust, established themselves as sovereigns over their home territories. Indeed, it would be difficult to imagine someone as independent as Mane Rokvich simply falling in line with any leader of promise during these suspicious times.

Pajo Popovich was one of those early leaders, but Tito's partisans managed to liquidate him early after our organizational meeting at Strmica.

Then there was Brane Bogunovich from the Bosansko Grahovo region. Unlike Mane, Bogunovich thought that a reasonable approach to any situation could be worked out. In addition, his "folksy" manner made him very popular and well liked by his followers. He respected Djujich and accepted his leadership, never displaying a single instance of dissent.

Bogunovich preferred to remain at home when the main force of Djujich's fighters and their families followed the retreat toward the west. Remaining in Split, Bogunovich perhaps hoped that his actions would be understood or, if not, he would at least be pardoned on the basis of other merits. Such was not the case. A few days after partisan forces entered Split, Bogunovich was tried before a "people's court," adjudged, and put to death. Unfortunately, he had not taken a lesson from the previous assassinations of people in positions like his own.

At the very end, it was Djujich alone of the original leaders who managed to survive and lead his people, even if only into final exile. His courage and leadership in the struggle paid handsome dividends for the Serbs of this region. People who remained behind under the communist regime looked toward Djujich and his fellow exiles with hope. These people kept alive the hope of seeing an end to communist violence, and the harsh exercise of power over them, by keeping an eye toward Djujich as a beacon of hope for many throughout the country.

It happened that I chose to go my own way, traveling first to Belgrade at the end of 1943. When I came to the United States, I attempted, as much as my refugee status would allow, to help Djujich and others immigrate to the United States. We met on several occasions. The last

time was in Cleveland, Ohio, at which time he reproached me on the way to a cafe for my association with a certain Branko Horvat, at a time when the Germans moved in to replace the Italians that had surrendered to the Allies. This charge came as a surprise to me, since there was nothing compromising or secretive about the few days of my association with this man. The nature of this contact was in the interest of helping my sister, by sending her some money. It turned out to be a mistake.

My only other interest was in obtaining a travel document for Belgrade. After a few days, I received a piece of paper with my picture on it. There was a line and a half typed in German near the photo, which I could not read at the time. Before handing me the document, Horvat asked me to sign my name on it, which I did with great reluctance. I thought as I signed it that I would use it to reach my destination, then destroy it. I hardly recognized my own signature. I could only hope that this was indeed the kind of document that I had requested.

I traveled for twenty-four hours through Croatia with this document, then reached Belgrade in the evening of the next day. I was escorted to some military command. The document was scrutinized and confiscated, but I was free to go wherever I wanted. That was the end of it, although there were more important details, which will be recounted later.

VOJVODA DJUJICH

Library | Contents