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Friday, February 23, 2001

Serbs in isolated Strpce, Kosovo, find
fear beyond their town's boundaries

By Kevin Dougherty
Kosovo bureau

STRPCE, Kosovo — How sad that in a place endowed with such beauty and splendor live people saddled with isolation and fear.

The Serbs of Strpce feel hemmed in. There are mountains to the north, a massive snowcapped ridge to the south and a major road running east to west that is flanked by KFOR checkpoints on the outskirts of town.

While there are a few thousand Kosovar Albanians living in Strpce municipality, which is similar to a township or county in the United States, the town itself is predominantly Serb. And most of its 3,000 residents wouldn’t dream of venturing past the Polish and Ukrainian guards without some sort of escort.

Strpce may well be the most isolated Serb enclave in the province.

"When the snow falls, we are safe for six months" said Ivica Puzic, assistant secretary of the Yugoslav Red Cross in Strpce.

But the snow is melting as spring approaches, replenishing the area’s picturesque Lepenac River. And while the mountains retain their charm come snow or sunshine, the road running through Strpce is fraught with danger.

Last week, a sniper ambushed a bus returning from Serbia about 10 miles east of town. A 42-year-old father of three was fatally shot and two other passengers were hit before the shooter disappeared into the woods.

The bloodiest attack came in northern Kosovo near Podujevo last Friday, when a remote-detonated bomb blew up a bus. The death toll has been revised upward, from seven to at least 11. Dozens more were injured.

Both buses were part of convoys escorted by armored KFOR vehicles.

"The convoy is our only link with mother Serbia," Predrag Grbic said through an interpreter.

Grbic, an unemployed metal worker, spoke at midday in a small, smoky village cafe. Several men, clad mostly in black, were parked at the bar, chain-smoking and seemingly in a trance, except when the door swung open and an acquaintance strolled in.

The convoy, Grbic continued, "is our main source for food, supplies, medicine and health care."

The fatal bus shooting was the fourth murder of a Strpce Serb since KFOR arrived, said Grbic, who heads the Serbian Movement Renewal Party in Strpce. Besides the killings, 11 people have been kidnapped, he added.

The NATO-led peacekeeping force in Kosovo routinely provides an armed escort for Serb convoys as part of the U.N. mandate to insure "a safe and secure environment." But the mere presence of an escort doesn’t deter strikes.

"This place is like a prison," said Dietmar Behrendt, a U.N. community police officer from Germany who works in Strpce. "If they want to go out from this location, they need an escort."

That wasn’t what the international peacekeepers had in mind when they entered Kosovo in June 1999. Their arrival followed a 78-day NATO bombing campaign that forced Yugoslavia to halt its brutal crackdown against the ethnic Albanian majority.

Now the tables have turned, and it’s the Serbs who feel oppressed.

"We can’t move freely," said Milan Djurinac, who heads the Yugoslav Red Cross in Strpce.

"Tensions are certainly higher than they have been in the past," said Army Col. Gene Kamena, deputy commander of U.S. forces in Kosovo.

The residents of Strpce, which is in the U.S.-controlled sector, are greatly disturbed over the recent attacks.

Up at Podujevo, there were more than 100 Strpce residents, including 10 students returning from a ski vacation, in peril. The two buses bound for Strpce were parked on the Serb-Kosovo border waiting to cross when a bus headed for Gracanica exploded about a mile ahead of them.

"We were very fortunate," said Zeljan Stojcetovic, a teacher who was on the first bus going to Strpce. "If we had lost those kids, there would have been a catastrophe here in the municipality."

Following the sniper attack, residents rioted outside the U.N. police station, burning cars and throwing rocks and Molotov cocktails. Grbic and other village leaders managed to keep a lid on things following the bus attack, but it’s clear the Kosovo Serbs’ patience is wearing thin.

"Most Serbs are not confident they can drive where they want without a convoy," Kamena acknowledged.

And faith in KFOR’s ability to protect the convoys is dwindling.

"We know this is not the last act of terrorism against the Serbs," Grbic said of the bus bombing. "It’s so clear the international community can’t or doesn’t want to solve this problem with the Albanian terrorist."

Kamena, who has Grbic’s respect, believes it is incumbent on KFOR to find a better way to safeguard these convoys. He said that may include staggering the days and times the convoys run, increasing the number of escort vehicles, temporary checkpoints and possibly using helicopters.

"Whatever we do," he said, "we have to make sure we can sustain it."

That’s all the Serbs in Strpce seem to want — sustainment.

They want to stay put and build a better life for themselves and their children. That shouldn’t be too difficult if Kosovo ever gets straightened out.

Prior to the fighting, Strpce produced cheese and had some light industry, Grbic said. But Strpce’s main source of income was tourism. In addition to the network of hiking trails, the Brezovica ski resort boasts 14 pistes. Back in 1984, Strpce was chosen as the alternate site for the Olympic downhill race.

Years ago, there was talk of expanding the resort to bring it up to World Cup standards, according to Stojcetovic, who teaches physical education. Except for Slovenia in the north, he said the Shar Mountains are the highest range in all of the former Yugoslavia, with peaks well over 8,300 feet.

If these mountains and slopes were in the Western Rockies of the United States, there would probably be a few resorts. But Strpce is not in America, and talking about a World Cup site seems frivolous when folks are getting shot and people can’t drive to the next town because of their ethnicity.

"A lot of things now depend on the convoy," Grbic said, "but if the convoy doesn’t go into Serbia any more, our survival is not assured. If the convoy doesn’t go anymore, it’s going to bring shame on the international community, not on us."


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