(Infernal machines1 and the massacre in Kočani)
When I was transferred from Kočani in 1903, I wished never to see that nest of Bulgarian komitas again. However, against my will, in 1911, I was transferred from Bitola to be the school administrator in Kočani.
In Kočani, I found the metropolitan emmissary, priest Petar Milić, originally from Priština. There were no Serbian houses left in Kočani. In the eight years since my departure, the actions of the Bulgarian četnik organisation2 had destroyed everything. No one dared to call themselves by a Serbian name. However, the village of Nivičane, although halved, managed to hold out. The teacher was Jordan Jevremović, and the priest was Milan Popović from the Kumanovo district.
I moved into the school building, for which we paid rent. The school had its large sign (much larger than the Bulgarians had). which bore the large sign “School of the Serbian People, subjects of the Ottoman Empire,” but there were no students. Once—twelve years ago it was my duty to inform myself about the work of the Turkish authorities and the actions of the Bulgarian organisation and send reports. Petar Milić, as the metropolitan emmissary, attended the mejlis3 three times a week to represent the interests of the great church of the Holy Patriarchate and the 33 houses of the Cincars,4 who had a Greek school, a teacher, and a Greek priest and considered themselves full-blooded Hellenes. As such, the Bulgarians did not touch them, as they regularly paid taxes for the četnik organization. And that tax was much higher than the state tax and surtax. And so I spent my days writing two or three reports a week, the rest of the time in the barracks with Turkish officers and officials.
Before Easter in 1912, I was in Skopje for my salary, and on that occasion, I learned in confidence that an agreement was being worked out between Serbia, Bulgaria, Greece, and Montenegro in case of action against Turkey. Among them, the Bulgarians from Kočani dedicated to the četnik organisation told me on one occasion that it was a done deal and that the alliance already existed. And from that time on, priest Petar and I could move more freely.
II
On July 195 of that year, on the eve of St. Elijah’s Day, it was a market Thursday in Kočani. Around 9-10 o’clock in the morning, when the market was at its peak, in the square where green peppers, melons, and other goods were sold, right in front of the Turkish café where Turkish officers and prominent beys sat during the summer, a shot rang out like nothing I had ever heard, as if ten cannons had fired from one muzzle; it seemed to me that the ground shook. I was at the market where pots were sold, 60-80 meters away. Confused like everyone around me, when I turned to the market from where the shot was heard, the whole square was in fog. The Turks shouted bomb and drew their knives. I collected myself, pulled out my revolver, and in the shortest run, I started to flee home. Two Turks with cudgels were coming towards me, not knowing what I was doing with my revolver aimed, I shouted as loud as I could: “…”6 they stepped aside, and I rushed past them home. And so my revolver saved my life, otherwise, they would have beaten me like many others who lost their lives that day. I arrived home without a soul.7 Just as I closed the door and went to the yard to pile stones and beams to barricade the door, another shot rang out, shaking the whole house. My wife and children trembled in fear. I told them to help me pile the stones, of which there were plenty in the yard, and when I finished that, I ordered the curtains to be drawn in the rooms facing the street. Determined not to open to anyone and to remain silent as if there was no one in the house.
This second infernal machine exploded in the grain square near the Turkish café, about 20 meters away from the Turkish school. In this café, mostly officials and prominent Turks gathered. The interval between the two explosions was 5 – 10 minutes, although both infernal machines were set to explode simultaneously.
Instantly, the entire marketplace emptied, with not a soul left in it. Christians fled to their homes, while villagers sought refuge in inns and with their known friends and families.
After the first explosion, local Turks and villagers attacked any Christian they encountered with knives, revolvers, and cudgels. In this hunt, an 18-year-old student of the VIII grade at the Bulgarian gymnasium8 in Salonica9 was killed – Todor Langa. He was murdered by Muslim Gypsies while fleeing near a blacksmith’s shop. They smashed his head with blunt weapons. His mother went mad from grief. His father went blind from crying for his only son and is still alive. However, after the second explosion, out of fear that the komitas would attack the town, they scattered in all directions.
For almost two full hours, there was complete silence on the street. Then military patrols appeared, led by a gendarme and an officer. They went from tavern to tavern, dragging out hidden Christian peasants and taking them to the site of the bomb explosions, where they killed them. They also searched suspicious homes of citizens for peasants, taking the heads of households and killing them. Such was the case with the Bulgarian teacher Koce Andonović.10 He was found hiding in the toilet of his house, and there, in front of his wife and children, he was killed and dragged away to the crime scene.
I hear a terrible wailing outside my house on the street. I climb to the upper floor and peek behind the curtain: a horrific sight, two Turkish soldiers are driving three bound peasants and mercilessly beating them with rifle butts. The peasant in the middle seemed to be dead, his legs dragging on the ground, while the two bound on either side were stumbling as they dragged him until they too fell. My wife fainted from horror. Fortunately, I recognise a soldier. He was an Armenian by nationality. When I recognised him, I felt like shooting him with my revolver: that Armenian dog, trying to curry favor with the Turks, look at what he’s doing! And involuntarily I sighed! Ah, if I survive, you will pay for this. I notice that my neighbour priest Koce Darić is also peeking out from behind the curtains. Good! Two witnesses will suffice. There will be witnesses if needed.
Our metropolitan emmissary Petar Milić was in the marketplace near the pharmacy when the first explosion occurred, and he barely escaped death. A certain Efendi Fayik, a Turkish military captain, drew his sword and struck anyone he could several times on the head, and knowing that all Turkish officers carry sharp swords, one can imagine the terrible injuries this madman inflicted. And poor priest Petar barely managed to hide in the pharmacy.
About two hours after noon, the voice of the town crier can be heard, shouting through the streets and calling for all citizens who have their shops in the marketplace to open immediately, while many of them were already open. Rarely did anyone, in that fear, remember to close their shop; instead, everyone left their half-closed businesses and hurried home. Furthermore, the crier shouted for women and relatives whose household heads had not returned home after the explosion to go to the site of the explosion and check for the dead and wounded among them. Likewise, anyone who recognised a deceased or wounded villager was to inform their family at home. Naturally, all those concerned, with fear and trepidation, rushed out of their homes, followed by others. And thus, the town came to life. I dared to go out and head to the site of the first and second explosions. A horrifying sight. There is no painter who could depict or pen that would describe all the horrors I saw. Immediately, a commission was formed to ascertain that there were: 48 dead; 94 seriously injured; 120 lightly injured. Christians took their dead to the church, while the seriously injured were placed in both Bulgarian schools, and the lightly injured were distributed among homes. Meanwhile, the Turks had already removed their dead and wounded. Later, it was learned that their number amounted to only: 5 dead; 6 seriously injured; and 28 lightly injured. If add to that number that there were just as many Christians who were killed and wounded, it remains that the remaining dead and wounded Christians were: 38 dead; 82 seriously injured; and 96 lightly injured, who fell as victims of the enraged Muslim mob led by officers and soldiers. This was confirmed the next day by the testimonies of the wounded.
At the authorities’ request, several military and civilian doctors from Štip and Veles came to provide first aid to the wounded.
The dead were buried modestly and in the greatest silence.
The first infernal machine weighed 24 kilograms of explosives. It was brought in a sack filled with peppers. When the peasant unloaded the sack from the horse, he placed it next to the other sacks of peppers that were lined up there and asked a Turkish peasant, who also had peppers for sale, to keep an eye on the sacks while he took the horse to tie it up at the inn.
The peasant did the same with the other infernal machine weighing 18 kilograms, which he brought in a sack of grain, unloaded in the grain market, left the sack next to the other sacks of grain, and then ran off into the mountains.
The lightly wounded peasants, who were in close proximity to the first explosion and, by a fortunate chance, survived, tell this interesting story: sitting on the sack of peppers containing the infernal machine was a Turkish man, and just before the explosion, a minute earlier, he heard something buzzing like an alarm clock. That Turkish man, surprised, turned his head back and forth to hear where the sound was coming from. We around were also looking to see where this sound was coming from, but we couldn’t see it anywhere. In that moment, the Turkish man flew into the sky, and we were thrown 5 to 10 meters aside. Parts of his body were found 30 – 50 meters away.
No window remained intact in buildings even 100 – 150 meters away from the explosion site. My first concern was to see what happened to our priest, Petar Milić. Since he was also looking for me, we easily found each other and shared what we had seen. We agreed that, since we were allied with Bulgaria, we should testify to what we had witnessed if needed.
That same night, I wrote a detailed report and, as much as my eloquence allowed, described in detail the bloody scene of Turkish vandalism.
My report as a correspondence from Skopje was published in all Belgrade newspapers. In that report, I asked whether it was necessary for priest Petar and me to appear as witnesses if needed. I received a response from Skopje recommending that it was essential for us to testify to what we had seen.
In the meantime, other officers informed priest Petar not to joke about testifying against Efendi Fayik. Because of this, Father Petar asked me to inform the authorities that he would testify if he was allowed to flee Kočani with his family immediately; otherwise, he should not testify.
The order came to testify and immediately relocate to Skopje; and that the governor of Kriva Palanka Atanas Popović would take his place.
As for me, I believed that my testimony was not of so serious a nature (since it pertains to an Armenian) that I should remove myself. But I was greatly mistaken, as will be seen later.
After this bloody event, i.e., the massacre, three or four days later, the Reformist officers from Russia and Austria came to Skopje; Neofit, the Bulgarian metropolitan, some professors, doctors, and photographers.
At the invitation of the Bulgarian metropolitan Neofit, I went to see him with priest Petar. He welcomed us very kindly and thanked me for the article in the Belgrade newspapers from which the first reports were drawn by the Bulgarian press. I defended myself by saying that it was not my work, to which he remarked: then whose could it be if not the two of you, i.e., me and priest Petar.
On that occasion, we recounted to him that horrifying event and as witnesses, we were determined to testify to it. He sincerely thanked us and praised our humanism.
III
In response to the protests of the Serbian and Bulgarian governments to the Sublime Porte in Constantinople, a special commission of several senior officials from Constantinople was sent, headed by Şükrü Pasha. (This Şükrü Pasha, after leaving Kočani, was appointed as the Commander of the fortifications in Edirne and surrendered to the Serbian army in 1913).
In mid-August, this Commission arrived in Kočani and began its work.
Besides me and our metropolitan emmissary priest Petar Milić, it was previously reported before the arrival of the commission that 50-60 citizens and peasants, who had suffered lighter wounds, would testify.
However, when called to the hükûmet,11 only 10-15 of them showed up.
The first to testify was our priest, Petar Milić. His testimony against Efendi Fayik, the military officer, provoked outrage to the point of fury due to the boldness of this brazen Serbian priest.
The rest of us witnessed after him. However, since none of us could name the first and last name of the person in question, the statement indicates that we could recognize him if we saw him, we were ordered to come to the barracks tomorrow morning at 8 o’clock.
In the morning, I went to the barracks with my neighbor Koce. There we found only six of them. They were trembling like reeds. They were looking around, clearly wanting to escape. And how could they not? When a soldier or officer passed by us, they gritted their teeth and one would shout to the other: this scum that has come to testify falsely should be killed like dogs. Hey, Aćim, you’ve come! – I thought to myself: what did you need that green cap on your head for?12 If I ever get out of this alive – next time remember – don’t do such foolish things. At that moment, we were called to enter the courtyard of the barracks.
In the courtyard, a company of soldiers with officers stood lined up in front of us. Şükrü Pasha came out with two or three members of the commission and ordered us to follow him and to pay close attention, and if we recognized anyone, to inform him immediately. Koce and I were carefully watching to spot the Armenian or the other soldier, while the others walked ahead, lacking the courage to look anyone in the face. After we passed through all the ranks, they brought out another 10-15 soldiers from other sections: the kitchen, stables, etc.
When Şükrü Pasha asked if we recognized anyone – we answered in unison: no one! Good – he said to us – come back in the afternoon to the hükûmet.
When I arrived at the hükûmet in the afternoon, except for Koce, the others did not dare to come. First, I was taken into the hall before the Commission. In front of the Commission, officers and soldiers were seated in two rows on the defendant’s bench. At Şükrü Pasha’s signal to approach the table where the Commission was sitting, when I approached, one of the Commission members ordered me to place my hands on the Gospel that was on the table. Then everyone stood up, and I took the oath that Şükrü Pasha dictated to me.
After the oath, I turned as ordered to see among the officers and soldiers sitting on the defendant’s bench if I would recognise anyone. I scanned all of them and, feeling lucky, I spotted the Armenian among them, pointing my finger at him and saying: this is one of those two. The Armenian, pale as a rag, looked at me menacingly. I glanced again at the others and recognized the other soldier, who was the third in the second row behind the Armenian; I recognized him too. They told me I could leave. I exited. After me, it was Koce’s turn, who also confirmed the same. As can be seen from this main Commission, we three testified, i.e. myself, priest Petar, and Koce.
Priest Petar Milić immediately left for Skopje with his family the day after the testimony, before dawn. I locked myself at home and did not dare to go out.
Around the first of September, I was summoned by the authorities in Skopje for the settlement of receipts and various announcements and orders. I stayed in Skopje until September 15, then returned to Kočani.
Traveling from Veles via Ovche Pole, I was surprised to see tent after tent. The entire Ovche Pole was pressed by the army. There were over 100 thousand soldiers. And this army quietly gathered from Thessaloniki, Bitola, and Skopje to prepare for the main battle if war were to come.
The news of the massacre in Kočani echoed around the world. The entire diplomatic network and world politicians came to the conclusion that the Constitution proclaimed by the Young Turks does not apply to Christians.
When the army and police threaten public safety – there is no equality and justice for the Đaurs!13 They are the rayah,14 for them, there is the whip and the yoke!
And in the end, all of Europe had to bless the action of the Balkan states against Turkey.
And so, the year 1912 brought death to the crescent and Resurrection to the cross.
Skopje
On St. Spyridon15 1925.
Aćim Jelić, retired teacher
- Tran. note: An archaic term referring to concealed explosives. ↩︎
- Tran. note: Guerilla organisation, the term “četnik” was a generic term for a guerilla fighter at this time. Alternatively “komita” or “komitadji” for respectively Serbian and Bulgarian četniks. ↩︎
- Tran. note: A council or place of gathering. ↩︎
- Tran. note: Aromanians. ↩︎
- Tran. note: 1st of August by Gregorian calendar. ↩︎
- Tran. note: The word is illegible. ↩︎
- Tran. note: That is to say breathless. This is one of a few expressions in Serbian where the soul is mentioned with regards to great physical efforts. ↩︎
- Tran. note: At this time, schooling was organised so that elementary schooling was 4 years and middle and high schooling was separated out into an 8-year period. Eventually, this would be re-organised so that elementary and middle schooling is done in one 8-year period, increasing the minimum number of years one spends in education. ↩︎
- Tran. note: Thessaloniki. ↩︎
- Tran. note: In other writings, Jelić refers to him as “Koce Andovski”. ↩︎
- Tran. note: Turkish for “government”, here meaning the building of the local government or court. ↩︎
- Tran. note: An expression about drawing attention, stemming from the medieval ban on non-Muslims wearing the colour green. ↩︎
- Tran. note: From Turkish gâvur, an insult for non-Muslims meaning “infidel”. ↩︎
- Tran. note: A term from Ottoman administration, denoting tax-paying lower classes. The term stuck around to denote the poor and oppressed. ↩︎
- Tran. note: 12.12. OS, 25.12. NS. ↩︎
