ON THE CURSED BOSNIAN LAND (2)

THE SERBIAN KRAJINA - KLADUSA - BIHAC AIM, SARAJEVO, JULY 2, 1994.

When I asked at UNPROFOR Headquarters in Zagreb for information on the current situation in the region of Bihac, they only gave me a cold onceover and "cut" me short at the very beginning: - We estimate that it is exceptionally dangerous, armed conflicts between the Moslem forces loyal to Fikret Abdic and those of Alija Izetbegovic are intensifying. The general recommendation that we have already sent to our staff is "not to travel". Anyway, you have no chance since not a single "local" has managed to get in there for a year now. Only officials with foreign passports travel to that war zone. - What do you think could happen? What is the risk? - No one can guarantee you safety. You would probably be sent back from the first control point.

Experience had taught me that such official positions were always slightly exaggerated. Far from not believing that no danger was involved, but I also suspected that it was not as risky as it had, for example been in Sarajevo in the last two years.

The road to Kladusa and Bihac is truly specific. Probably no region lends itself better to a picturesque description of the absurdity of this war. Namely, in the space of only about a hundred kilometers you cross as many as four "state borders": first you exit Croatia, then enter the Republic of Serbian Krajina, then the Autonomous Region of West Bosnia and finally the Bihac region controlled by the B&H Army. Four different state signs, just as many border controls, different uniforms and insignia on them, juxtaposed flags, signs...

I could never understand the urge of our people for drawing borders. I always dreaded them and avoided as much as possible. Unfortunately, they always caught up with me.

Only a few miles from Karlovac, at Trunj, it is possible to cross from Croatia to Krajina. It is the same road which was once the shortest way to Zagreb via Plitvice. -Do you know that an offensive is in full swing? How do you intend to pass? - asked me a Croat policemen. - There is no harm in trying. I'll find my way somehow.

Traces of battles waged not so long ago are seen as soon as one enters a small place. When the war once ends all these houses will have to be razed to the ground because they are so bullet-ridden and damaged as it is that no repairs would make sense. Years of human sacrifice thus vanished after only one tank missile or fire. At UNPROFOR control posts the soldiers just wave us on up a slope on which , by the side of the road, there is a signpost reading: "The Republic of Serbian Krajina". The Serbian flag is displayed there. The ramp is down. A girl in uniform approaches. - Can I see your documents? - Of course (said in Serbian). You speak our language? A bit - I made a joke

• it must not be easy to be on guard in this heat. Why don't your colleagues relieve you a bit - I point to soldiers in recognizable, dark blue uniforms, carefully watching her work from the garden of a nearby house. We work in shifts. We bear it somehow. We have to. But, where are you going? - To Kladusa and Bihac. Now I've heard everything. Everyone is running away from there, and you are going. Here are your documents, and good luck.

This is my first visit to Krajina since the outbreak of war. The landscape seems tame. Everything is blossoming, bent down villagers are tilling their fields, on the roads there is almost no traffic... If someone from outside were to come, and did not know of this inferno of ours, he would, seeing this landscape, not believe that he was in a war zone.

At a crossroads - a petrol station. Numerous cars and tractors crowding a small space so as to get this precious liquid somehow. Petrol is evidently a problem - probably because of dependence on Serbia and Montenegro who have to contend with the sanctions.

I come to Vojnic, a small place which has in the war become an important centre of this part of Serbian Krajina. I stop at the market. Walking around the counters, I see that there is no scarcity of food. The prices are not high either. You pay like you want: in German marks or new Serbian dinars. I drop by at the nearby post office hoping to be able to call colleague George who was in Banjaluka when war broke out and of whom I have had no word for two years now.- How do you dial Bosnia? Just dial the area code of the town you want. You do not need a dial code for Bosnia

• explains the clerk. Evidently, a lot has been done on linking all "Serb lands". All parts are slowly beginning to function as a whole. The phone rings, but no one answers. A pity.

After twenty more minutes of driving I come to the border crossing of the Autonomous Province of Western Bosnia. Soldiers just register the licence plates number. Beside the road rows of tables for customs inspection.For some time now "Agrokomerc" busses have been coming in and going out of this surrounded zone three times a week. It is the only link to Croatia and Western Europe.

Crowds in Velika Kladusa. The market is full of re-sellers- all the goods here come from Croatia and the prices are just a bit higher. On the grounds of the school nearby kids playing football. I call at the UNHCR to get some information. The personnel are accommodating.

• The information is rather controversial.There was fierce fighting in the last few days, and the detonations could be heard this far, in town. It seems that the Fifth Corps of the B&H army took several villages in the vicinity of Pecigrad and Todorovo. There were many killed. What is the reason for that offensive? - As far as we know, it seems that one of the best-loved commanders of the Fifth Corps was killed. After that no one could stop his soldiers when they charged forward. They say that he fought against the Serbs for two years, and not a hair on his head was missing, and now he was killed by a Moslem bullet.- What do you think, how will things develop? - It's hard to say. All humanitarian convoys have been suspended, and if that continues the situation will become critical for the civilian population. There is also controversial information coming in that Avdic's men have taken hostage several hundreds of civilians and put them on the front lines, fearing the further advancement of the B&H Army.

These conflicts have a special weight: the people are mixed, often it is brother fighting against brother, cousin against cousin. These inter-Moslem conflicts are really difficult to explain.- Can one go across to the region of Bihac? - The crossing is open today. Drive between UNPROFOR's transporters. Bullet-proof vests and helmets have to be worn.

I sit in the car, but their interpreter stops me for a moment. He is from Kladusa. - I see you are here for the first time. When you go back tell those outside that Babo gave us all this. Not a single shell fell on our town during the entire war. And that Alija led Bosnia to its death. Tell that to everyone - he speaks overwhelmed by emotions.

There is no doubt that Babo has grown into the inviolable leader here. What he has done for this poor region is visible at every step: everywhere advertisments of the "Agrocomerc", a powerful firm he is head of. For the people here he is the synonym for a succesful man, some sort of hope that poverty will not last forever.

After several minutes of driving - a large sign by the road: "Obligatory to stop and wait for the shuttle (a white UNPROFOR transporter). Obligatory equipment..."

I always feel stupid putting on a bullet-proof vest. The aversion was born in Sarajevo when I watched foreign journalists strutting around the streets of the town. The transporters come. A moustached Frenchman, probaby a sergeant, looks out of his tower, and with a strong accent, barely allowing his English to be recognized says: - A sniperist is shooting from the surrounding hills. Do not take off your equipment during the drive and stay close by us.

A steep ascent, several hairpin curves and we come to a restaurant marking the exit from Abdic's region - a bit lower and we pass into the area under the control of the B&H army. Everything has passed without a hitch.

As soon as you move away from the first lines, you are again surprised by the fact that no signs of battle are visible anywhere. I pass beside an old fortress, a large Bosnian flag drawn on the lateral wall: on a white background a blue shield and six lilies in separate fields. Finally, the Una river. Probably the most beautiful river of the former Yugoslavia.

I was warned that this lap is dangerous, because a large part of the road is controlled by Serb forces from Bosnia from the surrounding hills. On my left remains Bosanska Krupa, a town on two banks of the river: the Serbs over there and the Moslems on this side of the Una. I wonder whether anyone has counted the number of cities divided like this by rivers in Bosnia and Herzegovina: Mostar, Krupa, Sarajevo, Gorazde...

I drive beside railroad tracks, rusted a long time ago. Will a train ever whistle here again? I come to Bihac. In the past months I followed what was happening in this town only on the radio, and I could not imagine the actual situation. Now I realized that the position of this surrounded city does not differ much from that of others: all dominant positions around the town are under Serb control, and from there they have it all in the palm of their hand.

Scars of the war are visible here: houses damaged by shrapnels, tree trunks lined along the sides of houses, broken windows... Beside the bridge joining the two banks of Bihac I watch a crowd of children bathing in the Una. Children will be children even in war. It is summer, their season.

I pass beside the city fortress. Landmarks from World War II everywhere, memories of the ZAVNOBIH session. I find a room in the only city motel. The International Red Cross is also stationed there.- Have you anything to eat - I timidly ask the girl working in the motel. - And why wouldn't we have- she retorts almost insulted.- I am sorry, but I thought that you were under seige and that you have problems in getting food... - Don't worry, we manage. -How?

• We trade - she smiles intriguingly, and then continues - we buy almost everything in the Serbian Krajina. The only problem is fuel, nothing else.

To be frank, I did not expect a different answer. As everywhere in Bosnia, big money is made on human misery and misfortune. - That is nothing - a man at a table next to me joined the conversation - we buy ammunition from Krajina in the same way. And then we fight the Bosnian Serbs across the Una with that. Understand this war if you can.

Really, what an absurd, and who could have imagined all these possible combinations in this region: the Croats fighting against the Krajina Serbs, the Moslems against the Moslems, the Serbs against the Moslems... what else will happen to the end?

That same afternoon I meet Asmira, a nice girl working as an interpreter. Together with her friends we discuss the current situation. - You know, more people were killed since inter-Moslem conflicts broke out, over five hundred, than in two years of war against the Serbs.- This area is mostly ethnically compact. Are there other nations?

• Some Croats and about a thousand and a half Serbs, mostly older people who did not want to go to the hills at the beginnimg of the war. They are gathered around their humanitarian society. An old woman was recently killed in the field. A local hero "went crazy" and started exacting revenge, but quite accidentally came across her. He did not even know that she was a Serb.

You don't seem to be feeling the war much. I saw much worse off areas in Bosnia. - In the Bihac region there are something over three hundred thousand inhabitants. We had a large influx of refugees, expelled from cities along the Una. Their stories are horrible. We are fortunate in that every other inhabitant of this region was abroad before the war. So that they are sending a lot of money.... - This isolation is the worst thing. Ejup Ganic was flown in a month ago, and that was the first visit of anyone from outside. And they say that it was possible only as a return favour, because Fikret Abdic had previously used a while UNPROFOR helicopter, so that they could not refuse him .- It seems that you are not fiercely fighting with the Serbs. -Mainly skirmishes along the first lines. A shell occasionally falls, but mainly towards Grabez, Golubic. The last big battles were when they tried to cross the Una, near Krupa and in the vicinity of Buzim.

We had few fighters, but they were fanatically resolved to die to the last man. Cries of "Allah uegber!" echoed in the midst of fire from all sides. - Do the soldiers really believe in that? - No. Simply, they realized that the Serbs are afraid of that cry. When they chased them away, we watched a programme of Serbian television that same evening, asking their soldiers how it had been. "How what had been, fuck your mother. Do you want me to send YOU there. Every other beech tree is shouting "Allah uegber"! - replied an angry combatant.

• True, there were attempts to broadcast these pro-islamic songs and war cries over our radio, but without much success. - We heard stories about cutting off ears, noses... but you can probably hear that in other places also. - True- I agreed. In all territories, under different control, I could hear such monstrous stories. In every war, probably, you come across those who enjoy it. - There are stories that many people are trying to run away from here, via Kladusa. - Yes, but that is very difficult. If you do manage to reach Kladusa you first have to get papers to enter Croatia and then make a deposit of 2-3 thousand marks, as a deposit for travelling abroad. They say that about ten thousand people have already left in this way. That is a profitable business.

More and more people in the streets as evening falls. Mainly young people. The much larger number of girls is striking. -It is like this every evening. Cafes are the only escape from reality. The one across the street belongs to Alen Islamovic, the former singer of the "Bijelo dugme" band. - There were rumors that he had been killed. -Wrong. He has been in Germany from the beginning of the war. Several days ago our people here proclaimed him a war deserter.

A group of girls joins us. They are curious about everything in Sarajevo. They ask if I can take letters to their friends and relatives. - And what are you by nationality, finally asks one of them, who had been looking at me suspiciously all the time. - What do you think? - I am a Moslem, said she, ignoring my question - an extreme one. - Those are the ones I like best. Everyone started laughing.

That night, while I was trying to go asleep, an awful bang. It did not seem like a shell. Someone had thrown a hand grenade into the yard of the motel. Several Red Cross vehicles were damaged. People say it was probably because of the owner, ordinary people are envious, because his business is doing well even in war.

The next morning they report that fighting has been renewed on the line of demarcation between the Moslems. I have to go back by a different route, via Plitvice to Slunj and then to Karlovac.

While driving towards the control point, on my left I watch mount Pljesivica above the valley. Once, one of the most modern airports of the YPA was at its foot. It was blown up by mines before the war. They say that everything shook like an earthquake from the strength of the underground detonations.

I leave the territory of the B&H army, pass the UNPROFOR checkpoint, and then the Serbian ramp. Only a routine inspection of papers. The road from Plitvice towards Slunj brimming with visible traces of former battles. Several hamlets burned to the ground and abandoned. Everything somehow ghostly and deserted.

A surprise in front of Slunj. A sign in two languages on the road: the name of the town in the Cyrillic and Latin alphabets. The name of the river - the Korana - written alike. It is hardly likely that anyone in Croatia would believe that, but it is so. If there had been only a bit more tolerance on both sides...

An hour of driving and I am in Karlovac again. Now everything seems like a dream. How strange: I passed through four states in a single day, and I still have the feeling that I trod one land.

It seems like a nightmare.

GORAN TODOROVIC