Life Across the Ethnic Divide - Two Years onPRISTINA, Mar 19, 2001 -- (Agence France Presse) As the second anniversary of the NATO bombardment of what remained of Yugoslavia dawns this week, one question springs inevitably to mind: How has life on the ground changed in the meantime?
The answer, from the streets of the Kosovar capital of Pristina, on both sides of the ethnic divide, is predictably fragmented, but there is a surprising amount of common ground between Serb and Albanian.
The decision to bomb the Federal Republic of Yugoslavia was nominally to deliver the ethnic Albanian majority from Serbian repression.
But the imposition of international law, administered by the United Nations and backed with the muscle of the multi-national KFOR force, has created an effective mini-republic -- and the results are not entirely to everyone's liking.
On a quiet Sunday lunchtime at the fashionable Dardania district, thronged with bars and cafes, Lulzim Grajcevci, a 20-year-old student of Albanian origin, sips a coffee and contemplates life under the UN masters and the permanent presence of armed police and troops on the streets of his city.
"The bombing had to happen, for our sakes, and it was a great success," he says. "But it hasn't solved all of our problems by any means. For example, it seems to me that most of the people who come here to help do so in their own financial interests, to line their own pockets."
Street vendor Abdullah Miftari, 40, is equally adamant that the bombings were a good thing. "If NATO had not intervened, we would not be here now, so we have to thank them for liberating us. I think it is a good thing they are still here, it is good for business and having the mark (the German currency now used everywhere in Kosovo) means it keeps inflation down and the money retains its value. It will be even better with the euro, although like any independent republic we should have our own money."
But like almost everyone else in the city, he is not optimistic about life returning to normal and the international community packing their collective bags and leaving. "There are still far too many obstacles in the way, sadly," he said, citing high unemployment, closed factories and poor economic performance.
Bukurie Buqeri, 18, a student, was also glad to have lived through the dark days of the bombing. "They really saved us," she said, "and for that reason I think the international crowd will always be welcome here. Especially as it brings money to Kosovo."
She added: "I can't see how life could get back to normal here for a long time to come, because there is too much of a lack of tolerance on all sides."
Less than a mile away, a rundown block of flats in the predominantly Albanian Uljpljanje district stands surrounded by sandbags and sentry posts manned by armed soldiers from the British Duke of Wellington Batallion, is home to around 170 Serbs, who require round-the-clock protection from their neighbors.
They are among the 300 or so who remain from a pre-bombing population of around 100 times that number, and life is a hand-to-mouth existence, says Gorica Nacikc, a 48-year-old translator eking out a meager living by teaching computer skills.
"The bombing was devastating," she says. "We just couldn't believe it was happening, that these people who were not our enemies could be doing this to us. It was a great tragedy.
"Of course it cut all possible links not only between us and the (NATO) Alliance but also between us and our Albanian friends here. We always seemed to get on so well together once.
"If only the politicians were more intelligent, especially he whose name I will not say," she says with a wry smile, obviously referring to Milosevic.
"Life can never be the same again because if you look around all you see is the pollution the bombings caused, and so many of the children are ill with lung diseases and asthma.
"I am not very optimistic about the future because, for us Serbs, we cannot walk freely in the streets of our own city or speak our own language without fear of being attacked."
As to the presence of the international groups, she says: "I am glad they are here, but I would be happier if they did not have to be."
The Serbian community receives food supplies once a month and then only flour, oil and sugar, while Albanian and Serbian children are not encouraged to play together on the small playground between the buildings.
Natasa J., who has found work with the UN, says: "I think Western people are becoming aware of what they did two years ago. It is not a romantic adventure like they thought it was, they realize how many people died. Nothing was achieved apart from shoring up the UN Security Council Resolution 1244."
The effect on her daily life has been devastating, she admits, and compares her life now to that of a captive animal.
Vasilije Aritanovic, 31, has come to terms with the new order. "For two years I didn't do anything, now I have found work with the Kosovo police," he says.
"While we Serbs are together there are no problems. It would be better if more of us were here."
As for the international community, he says: "Maybe they are trying to do something, but they are here for the money, although maybe some of them are here to help the people."((c) 2001 Agence France Presse)
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