Will Kosovo blow up? UNLIKE law students the world over, "Zana" and "Teuta" are not
looking forward to their first courtroom clash. The way things are in Kosovo, they and their
fellow students are more likely to find themselves in the role of defendants, not lawyers.
Both of them are studying at the University of Pristina's law school, which holds classes in
a cramped private house. They do not mind that their diplomas will be worthless in
Yugoslavia, where they live. Their dreams are modest: to finish their law degrees "for
ourselves"; and to return to the university buildings from which Albanian professors were
ejected seven years ago. "Zana" says she may end up working as a waitress.

Her prospects for a better career depend on one of two things: Kosovo's peaceful re-
integration into Yugoslavia, or its independence. Either would involve a momentous
change in the Balkans' architecture. The first would be preferable, for two reasons: it would
democratise Serbia in a way that would make the Balkans an altogether safer and
pleasanter place, and it would end the domino effect of secession by one minority leading
to secession by another. Since next-door Macedonia has a restive Albanian community
that makes up a quarter to a third of its population, independence for Kosovo might well
lead to its break-up.

The prospects of the sort of war that was fought in Bosnia, however, seem remote.
Albania, the mother country to Albanians in Kosovo and western Macedonia, is no Serbia,
and Fatos Nano, its newly elected prime minister, is no Slobodan Milosevic. He wants to lift
Albania out of anarchy, not invade his neighbours on behalf of their Albanian minorities.
Bulgaria, for its part, is no Croatia. Its lingering ambitions to merge with Macedonia's Slavic
lands have been controlled by a combination of poverty and democracy. Bulgaria and
Albania are both on World Bank and IMF-funded life support, which could be switched off if
either menaced regional peace. If their economies recover (still a big if) there is reason to
hope that newly acquired democratic habits will keep their ambitions at bay. Greece,
another potential troublemaker, has turned markedly less nationalistic since the death of
Andreas Papandreou, its long-serving populist leader. Its new government is keener to
join Europe's monetary union than to make regional mischief. What is dangerously close
to happening, however, would be bad enough: an outbreak of low-level war between
Kosovo and Serbia that could spread to Macedonia.

After Mr Milosevic abolished Kosovo's autonomy in 1989, stripping the province of its
separate representation in Yugoslavia's government and most Albanians of their jobs in
the state apparatus, the two sides settled into a hostile peace. Kosovo's 2m Albanians
established a parallel state, with a parliament, a president, taxation and an education
system. Remittances from half a million Kosovars abroad keep money flowing into
Albanian-owned shops and restaurants and into the coffers of the ruling party, the
Democratic League ( LDK ). The authorities tolerate an opinionated Albanian press. Serb
officialdom is more venal than nationalistic.

Degrees of independence

A referendum in Kosovo in 1991 (organised by the Albanians without Serbia's approval)
endorsed independence. Would it stop there? Kosovars, tireless cartographers like all
Balkan tribes, dream of union with Macedonia's Albanian lands and, eventually, with
Albania itself.

Albanian leaders in Kosovo are unanimous in their support of independence, but differ in
their degree of patience. The president, Ibrahim Rugova, and the bulk of the LDK think
diplomacy and time will liberate them. Albanians already account for more than nine-tenths
of Kosovo's population. Serbian attempts to reverse the demographic balance smack of
desperation. Serb refugees from Croatia and Bosnia are dumped there, but leave at the
first opportunity; Serbs are prohibited from selling land to Albanians. The Albanians' high
birth rate will go on tilting the balance in their favour.

But Mr Rugova has little to show for his moderation, and patience is running out. An
agreement he and Mr Milosevic signed in 1996 to get Albanian students back into state-
school buildings, which looked like the first sign that there might be room for compromise,
has not been implemented. The martial-law regime is becoming more brutal and less
effective. In October police injured 500 students demonstrating for the right to return to
university buildings. Albanians arrested on charges of terrorism claim to have been
tortured. Some of Kosovo's restless youth (the average age of Kosovo's population is 25)
is turning to violence. A shadowy Kosovo Liberation Army seems to control some areas of
Kosovo, and there is no shortage of excitable young men eager to join up. Mr Rugova's
moderation will be put to a severe test in March, when new elections are scheduled.

Is the same nightmare in store for Macedonia? Compared with Serbia, Macedonia treats
its Albanian minority decently most of the time. An Albanian party is a member of the
present governing coalition, and Macedonia's president, Kiro Gligorov, says that it should
always be represented. Albanians are relatively prosperous and have their own schools,
using Macedonian textbooks translated into Albanian. They live separate but not brutalised
lives.

Yet Albanian speakers charge that Macedonia treats them like second-class citizens.
Macedonia's constitution describes the country as "a national state of the Macedonian
people" in which minorities enjoy "full equality". Albanians increasingly demand recognition
as a distinct "nation" within the state of Macedonia, which might open the door to some
kind of autonomy. This is becoming highly contentious. Last June parliament passed a
reasonable enough law banning the display of foreign flags in government buildings. The
government's use of troops and tanks to enforce the law in the western town of Gostivar
provoked riots and left at least three Albanians dead. A court made matters worse by
imposing a 14-year prison sentence on Gostivar's Albanian mayor. He has appealed.

As in Kosovo, Albanian moderates are now on the defensive. The Democratic Party of
Albanians, which wants the constitution to recognise Albanians as a nation, is gaining
electoral support at the expense of the moderate Party for Democratic Prosperity, which is
a member of the government. If there is more than an echo here of Kosovo's discord, that
is partly because Kosovo Albanians are becoming leaders of Macedonia's Albanian
community.

But this is not the only assault on Macedonia's nationhood. Bulgaria, for example, insists
that Macedonia's language is a variant of Bulgarian. As often happens in the Balkans, that
apparently academic point has political consequences. A package of treaties between the
two countries languishes unsigned because Bulgaria does not want to foreclose forever
the possibility of a Greater Bulgaria. Greeks, fearing that Macedonia will claim their own
province of the same name, insist on calling the other one the Former Yugoslav Republic
of Macedonia, or Fyromia when they are feeling especially nasty. A two-year Greek
embargo to punish Macedonia for appropriating the name of a northern Greek province
suffocated its economy. Macedonia and Yugoslavia have still not settled their border.

Now the buzz in the southern Balkan capitals is about what will happen when Mr Gligorov,
a still-vigorous 80, retires in 1999. Mr Gligorov is widely credited with seeing off the
Yugoslav army peacefully and defending his new country's sovereignty adroitly. Will his
going start another Balkan carve-up? The popular answer is, "America won't let it happen."
It would be more accurate to say that the United States and its allies are the main bulwark
against chaos, but not a secure one.

Their strategy starts with Kosovo. Even if Yugoslavia were a democracy in the
conventional sense, the Kosovo issue would be maddeningly difficult to solve. Almost any
concession to the Albanian majority can be made to look like a recognition of sovereignty.
The education agreement is in abeyance in part because the Serbs have understandable
misgivings about blessing schools that issue diplomas stamped "Republic of Kosovo". And
no concession short of sovereignty will satisfy the Albanians.

The West is not asking Mr Milosevic to concede independence for Kosovo. It wants
dialogue, a quick solution to the education dispute (letting Albanians back into the schools)
and, eventually, some sort of autonomy. Above all, it wants Mr Milosevic to end the brutal
and venal rule that is fanning the secessionist flames. He knows that without progress he
will get no foreign capital. Is he desperate enough to listen?

An explosion in Kosovo may not be preventable, but it may be containable. A 700-strong
United Nations force stationed in Macedonia, UNPREDEP, is supposed to seal the border
with Serbia should conflict break out. UNPREDEP has been accused of serving Serbia's
interests by standing ready to isolate Kosovo's Albanians. Against that, though, such a
"tripwire" deterrent force might be able to prevent the sort of slaughter that took place in
Bosnia. The decision to withdraw UNPREDEP next August therefore seems ill-conceived.

Regional peacekeeper

Surprisingly, Albania itself is becoming a stabilising influence, at least in diplomatic terms.
After its descent into anarchy last year, it is still a smuggling centre for weapons, drugs and
cigarettes, but it is now on more western life support than any Balkan country bar Bosnia.
It is getting about $1.5 billion in aid to restore its shattered economy, as well as help with
retraining its police from the Western European Union, a European defence alliance; for its
armed forces from NATO; and for its prosecutors and judges from the OSCE and the
Council of Europe. Part of the price of all this help is that Albania play its part in promoting
regional tranquillity.

The idea is not as far-fetched as it may seem. The Albanian movements in Kosovo and
Macedonia are quite independent of Albania (although less so of one another). During the
Bosnian war Albania's now ousted president, Sali Berisha, helped the West by making
available bases for NATO warplanes. It has been a long time since "Greater Albania" was
a regional menace.

In Fatos Nano, the new prime minister, Albania's sponsors have an enthusiastic regional
do-gooder. Mr Nano, leader of the (ex-communist) Socialist Party, fancies himself as the
Balkans' Tony Blair. Like the British prime minister, he is keen to export his ideas beyond
his own borders. When he met Mr Milosevic at the Balkan summit in Crete in November, it
was the first time in half a century that Serbian and Albanian leaders got together. The
post-Gligorov era "will not be characterised by irresponsible people," he insists. "Albanians
will play their role to prevent that from happening."

That promise depends on Albania's stability, which is still not assured. This poor and
violent country remains on edge. Mr Berisha has taken a nationalist turn in opposition. His
Democratic Party echoes charges by Kosovo Albanians that Mr Nano betrayed them in
Crete by meeting Mr Milosevic and negotiating over their heads. It is now boycotting what it
calls a Kalashnikov parliament, installed, it says, by ex-communists and criminals at the
points of hundreds of thousands of looted Albanian guns.

If the hopes raised by Mr Nano's election are dashed, Mr Berisha could seize power in the
next elections. Without western backing, he might want to do for Albanians in Kosovo and
Macedonia what Mr Milosevic tried to do for Serbs in Bosnia and Croatia. Albania has to
work out "how to go from a primitive society to a civil society without using the bridge of
nationalism", says Fatos Lubonja, a writer who spent 17 years in communist jails. Mr Nano
thinks he knows how: by building a democracy along western lines at home and
shepherding Albania into Europe.