The Fixer by Joe Sacco

The Lies of Myth

A review of “The Fixer” by Joe Sacco

The work feels like an afterthought. It is more of a human interest story, one that relies primarily on character and the myths that emerge after historic episodes such as the Balkans wars of the early 1990s. It is not a novel that purports to explain this conflict, as with other works such as “Safe Area Gorazde” or “Palestine”, and doesn’t have share in the explanatory, journalistic style that we saw in these previous works. We relies, perhaps, too much on the charisma of the title character.

The title refers to a man named Nevin, who ostensibly hails from the state of Bosnia-Herzegovina and who fought against the Serbians despite the fact that his father was an ethnic Serbian. This is part of the mythology that is erected around this character, and is faithfully related by the author. We are never quite sure what to believe, and indeed, as the story proceeds, we are made privy to information which contradicts the claims made by this individual. And yet a compelling story trumps all, as is the case, during this election season of 2012, of the scurrilous attack ads that are crafted by political operatives and feature, as always, many distortions.

Neven served as a guide to the journalist, and we find frequently an inclination towards trust. This is, thus, an investigation of how the journalist can himself fall prey when he has little recourse to verification, and instead, decides to rely on what can only be a protective figure who offers a form of companionship that the journalist found immensely appealing.

It turns out that the character is a former soldier, and in the years after the Dayton accords that put an end to the Balkans conflict, he earns his post as an interpreter and guide as well as a go-between. His aid is much appreciated by Joe, even if it is immediately apparent that he is being used. This should have raised all manner of flags, and indeed it does, but the journalist chooses to ignore them, caught as he is in the web of the legend that is presented to him.

I wonder that Mr. Sacco chose to return again and again to the Balkans, and yet remained so manifestly helpless as to never be able to learn the language, even a few phrases, enough to  be able to understand the cost for the services being provided. He relies utterly on Nevin and on his subjects and informants, and is told how much to pay, how much to tip, etc. It must, indeed, be very bewildering to find oneself in such an environment, feeling totally helpless, and this explains in part the attraction of the companionship that is offered by this ex-soldier. He feels protected, he feels guided, and he exults in the aura of shared respectability because he sees that everyone seems to respect Nevin. It feels as if he is motivated by some deep insecurity, perhaps some form of psychological need that comes from the fact that the author is himself a foreigner, and furthermore, small and weak and lacking in charisma. (Mr. Sacco always insists on drawing himself in what seems to be a very unattractive way, with a fleshy and wide face and thick, protruding lips that resemble that of a fish out of water.)

He listens to the stories, to the mythology of the Bosnian military units that resisted the attacks of the nationalist Serbians (known derisively as “Chetniks”). There was something grand about them, although as his informant related to him, they almost always came from a background of petty theft and criminality, and some of them were known for their extreme violence and brutality. In these circumstances, in a cosmopolitan city such as Sarajevo, with a cowed population that lacked not only the means but the psychological willingness to accept their plight, it is not surprising that these figures seemed glamorous. Even if, at the same time, they were robbing the civilians of their food and shelter, and forcing them to dig trenches and thus courting a sure death, and raping and abusing women as they settled in to carve out their small kingdoms in this city under siege.

We thus hear of the two “Celas”, of Ismet Bajramovic and Ramiz Delalic, and of other warlords who are the protagonists of Nevin’s accounts of heroism, but also, have a shady side that of course can’t help but compromise Nevin as well. There was no high idealism in this military commanders, and if Nevin was their companion and brother in arms, are we not to question his own motives? Sacco seems to be aware of these contradictions, and as he finds out in his interviews with former government security ministers as well as journalists, almost everything that he has been told by Nevin seems to involve much fabrication. These were thugs, through and through, and yet, somehow, they were involved in the fight against the encircling Serb soldiers, and were the only line of defense in a period when the central Bosnian authority lacked the means to prepare their own soldiers. Sarajevo, quite manifestly, might have suffered what happened in the eastern regions of Bosnia-Herzegovina. It might also have been cleansed of all Bosniaks, and it might have been the sight of major massacres.

The warlords are guilty of their own massacres, as it becomes apparent. They may perhaps better be apprehended as a band of mercenaries serving under the command of their protective leaders, those who fed them and who acceded to some of their worst impulses. They had harems, they expelled Serbians and confiscated their homes and possessions, they robbed and looted, and yet, they were the only line of defense against the opposing forces that were arrayed against the city. They were glamorous Mafiosi with automatic rifles.

There is thus a whole list of heroic deeds that are related by Nevin, deeds that indeed seem to shape the stature of these figures. One such deed is the episode of how the soldiers managed to destroy several tanks that were being brought to bear against Sarajevo. A band of soldiers with rocket propelled grenades being able to stop tanks. Could it be any more implausible? And yet, Sacco wants to believe, and we want to believe also. We want stories of heroism and magnificent deeds, and we are hard-pressed to believe it when witnesses contradict these stories. Such, perhaps, were the exploits of all heroes magnified. Such, indeed, must have been what happened with El Cid, and with Almanzor, and with Roland, and with other epic figures. We want to believe in heroes, because this is fiction, and because it represents a reprieve from mundanity. And, all the while, we see how Nevin exploits the journalist, charging for his information and making him feel obligated.

In the epilogue, we see a warm reencounter between Sacco and Nevin. Of course, they have both aged. Nevin is not quite the heroic figure he was before, and the narrative weaves between different historical moments. The ex-soldier is now pudgy, and is furthermore ill, seeming to suffer from some sort of heart ailment that forces him to take medication on a regular basis. Might he have had a heart attack by now? Well, when you smoke as compulsively as he does (he is inhaling and exhaling smoke in almost every frame in which he is drawn), it is not surprising.

They fall back on their familiar patterns. Sacco needs Nevin, and Nevin needs him. The storyteller needs his audience, and the truth, as always, is hard to find. Maybe the reputation of those thugs who defended Sarajevo will be rehabilitated in the future, because the reputation was destroyed when the central government asserted control over these military figures. They were captured and neutralized, and many were killed. But any institution will need its own mythology, and the war is prime material, for it represents the moment for the foundation of the new state. It must be a grandiose occasion, unsullied by pettiness and larceny and murderous impulses. It must have its own George Washingtons, in other word, even if we must question to what extent the heroic perception of our own foundational figures is also a story.

So, the Celas are ripe to be reincorporated into the national mythology, more so since they have been killed and are not there to embarrass the authority figures. We will sweep aside the stories of their atrocities, for a nation needs heroes, in the same way that our Saccos need their Nevins, even if the last image we have is of a journalist who has become wistful as he considers how he himself has collaborated in the fabrication of a myth.

But it was a wonderful story. How is it that Nevin is still around?, wonders another of Sacco’s informants.  He had a reputation for being a brave fighter.

Myth has made him larger than life, and we yearn for myth and for heroes.


Eternal Observer -- ORomero (c) 2013
Copyrights ORomero 2013