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Subject: IWPR'S BALKAN CRISIS REPORT, NO. 125
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WELCOME TO IWPR'S BALKAN CRISIS REPORT, NO. 125, March 17, 2000

BELGRADE BULLY BOYS SET LOOSE. A sinister group of regime henchmen are
trying to silence government critics. Daniel Sunter in Belgrade reports.

THE SANDZAK DILEMMA. Sandzak's future looks grim whatever the outcome of the
escalating conflict between Serbia and Montenegro. Miroslav Filipovic in
Novi Pazar reports.

PRISTINA'S POST WAR BOOM. Pristina is enjoying a new lease of life almost a
year after it was turned into a ghost town. Llazar Semini in Pristina
reports.

COMMENT: KURTI'S LONG NIGHT. The sentencing in Serbia of a former student
activist from Kosovo highlights the West's failure to support nonviolent
protesters before the war, and civil development now. Fred Abrahams reflects
on the path from peace to war - and beyond.

****************** VISIT IWPR ON-LINE: www.iwpr.net ******************

BELGRADE BULLY BOYS SET LOOSE 

A sinister group of regime henchmen are trying to silence government
critics.

By Daniel Sunter in Belgrade

Ordinary Serbs are nervous about speaking openly over the phone. They
suspect the police might torture them for the most minor offence. And if
they oppose the regime, they fear falling victim to the "men in black".

Beatings of people critical of the government - students, opposition
politicians and independent journalists - have become a daily occurrence.
Together with the police, the regime is employing groups of thugs whose
appearance and conduct has spread fear among Belgraders.

Unlike the police, they obey no law. And since officially they do not exist,
the state can always deny it has anything to do with them. 

The "men in black" resemble the Serbian criminals who emerged during the
1990s. Typically, they wear black leather jackets, sweatshirts and trainers
- mostly Nike or Reebok. Their hair is cropped and they work out. According
to police sources they come from towns in Serbia, Montenegro and Bosnia. All
have a dubious past and are in debt to the regime.

A decade of sanctions has left a thriving grey economy where fortunes are
made overnight. Huge sums are made from hard currency deals, money
laundering and illicit trade in cigarettes, alcohol, stolen cars, petrol,
oil derivatives and scarce foodstuffs. 

The regime has allowed its heavies to profit from the black market and, in
return, expect them to do its dirty work. "We've got an entire caste of
young people ready to defend the authorities," says an IWPR source close to
the Serbian police.

They operate quite unlike the police. Usually an informer lets them know
that some anti-government activity - a gathering of students, a civic
protest or the defacement of regime posters - is under way. They arrive in
jeeps or in vans, attack the "suspects" and leave. 

According to one member of the government's bully boys, who spoke on
condition on anonymity, students and their "Otpor" ("Resistance") movement
are a particular target.

"It is incredible how persistent these students are," he said. " Unlike the
majority of citizens, they have no fear, they are real fatalists. They are
the only ones we've got any respect for. Ordinary people are cowards and
don't really cause us any problems."

These days, the "men in black" are on alert to deal with "trouble".
According to IWPR sources, the authorities are likely to stop any opposition
organised protest, giving Milosevic's hard men a free hand to do their
business.

Depending on the size of demonstrations, they may have between a dozen to
several thousand people on stand-by at any given moment. They are also able
to draw on plain-clothes police.

Belgraders saw them in action for the first time during several months of
protests three years ago. Then, a group of men in tracksuits showed up to
help police secure the Serbian parliament. They drove their cars and jeeps
into the crowd of demonstrators and threatened them with guns.

Following the implementation of a law that brought universities under the
control of the regime, they began appearing at several faculties as well.
Unidentified men in black leather jackets and sports outfits turned up daily
at the electrical engineering and philological faculties in Belgrade.

They checked the IDs of students, provided security for new state-appointed
deans, threw out dissenting professors or prevented them from entering the
faculty. Some teachers ended up delivering their lectures in the street.

Several months ago, they turned up at the ABC Grafika printing, the
publishers of an opposition newspaper. According to the witness statements,
they fired above the heads of employees and kept the entire building under
surveillance. The owners' attempts to get the police to throw them out
proved fruitless.

They have also recently assaulted people ripping down regime posters.
Student, Milos Dosen was attacked late last month. An eyewitness recorded
the incident on a video camera. The footage was broadcast by nearly all
independent TV stations in Serbia. Both Dosen and another victim, Nikola
Radakovic, vainly complained to the police. 

In early March, a group of Otpor activists and Belgrade citizens set out
towards the municipal board of Milosevic's Socialist Party of Serbia. They
were set upon by the bully boys who chanted, "Slobo [Milosevic's nickname]
the Serb, Serbia is with you!". Once again the police held back and warned
the demonstrators not to be provocative.

A few days before, several people wearing police fatigues broke into the
premises of TV Studio B, beat up two security workers and damaged
broadcasting equipment belonging to the independent radio station B2- 92.
The police denied that the intruders were officers.

One recently retired senior police officer told IWPR that the reported
incidents of regime thuggery are only likely to increase, "I fear this
phenomenon is only the beginning of the regime's harsher settling of
accounts with dissidents. These men will be around for as long as the
current authorities are in power."

Daniel Sunter is a journalist with the VIP agency in Belgrade.


THE SANDZAK DILEMMA

Sandzak's future looks grim whatever the outcome of the escalating conflict
between Serbia and Montenegro.

By Miroslav Filipovic in Novi Pazar

The official in the Novi Pazar passport office is a busy man. He says he
receives more than 100 applications a day.

Muslims from Sandzak are leaving in droves for Turkey and Germany, fearful
of being embroiled in Serbia's escalating conflict with Montenegro. 

The political leaders of this predominantly Muslim region, straddling the
two Yugoslav republics, believe their community could end up as "collateral
damage". 

Rasim Ljajic, the second most powerful Muslim politician in the region, says
war would be disastrous for Sandzak, " It will lead to the disintegration of
Yugoslavia and the partition of Sandzak. The war will be waged here and the
experiences of civil and religious conflict in former Yugoslavia have been
terrible so far."

For the time being, though, Muslim leaders are urging their 250,000-strong
community to stay. Sulejman Ugljanin, a prominent Sandzak political figure,
says relations between local Montenegrins, Albanians, Serbs and Muslims
remain calm despite attempts by leaders in Belgrade and Podgorica to stoke
tensions. 

"The residents of Sandzak should stay together with their families,
neighbours and fellow citizens to demonstrate their solidarity and
allegiance to Sandzak, " he said

Sandzak's geographic location could hardly be more precarious. Internally
divided, it also borders Kosovo, Albania and Bosnia - and has been affected
by all the recent Yugoslav wars.

More than 100,000 local Muslims - who view Bosnia as their mother country
and describe themselves as Bosniaks - have fled Sandzak over the last ten
years of conflicts. 

The emigration began at the outbreak of the Bosnian war in 1992 when the
Yugoslav Army together with Serbian paramilitaries and police expelled
Muslims living along the Bosnian border. The move aimed to stop both weapons
smuggling and the flow of Sandzak men crossing the frontier to fight in
Bosnian units.

There was a second exodus a year ago at the start of the NATO bombardment of
Yugoslavia. Many Sandzak Muslims fled to Bosnia, desperate to escape
military draft and confrontations with federal troops based in the region. 

The latest wave of refugees are fleeing new conflict brewing in southern
Sandzak. It is widely believed that Yugoslav President Slobodan Milosevic
may send his paramilitary units to the region. His Montenegrin counterpart
and rival, Milo Djukanovic, meanwhile, is creating his own security forces,
made up mainly of Muslims from the area.

The war of nerves have been heightened by Belgrade's decision to seal off
the border with Montenegro. "They are hoping to cause social unrest and
civil war, " said Nusret Kalac, the mayor of the predominantly Muslim
municipality of Rozaje in northern Montenegro. Tensions are greatest here.
The Yugoslav Army and the Montenegrin police occupy two neighbouring hotels
in the town. An uneasy stand-off exists.

"Once incident could spark a war in Montenegro, " said one Rozaje resident.
Local leader Harum Hadzic said residents " are expecting war, but hoping for
peace."

But Muslims in the region fear Sandzak will be partitioned whether the two
Yugoslav republics part company by force or by peaceful means.

For this reason they are anxious to preserve the Yugoslav federation. So
much so that despite their identification with Bosnia, they disapprove of
Sarajevo's backing for Montenegrin independence. 

One of Sandjak's main spiritual leaders, Mufti Muamer Effendi Zukorilic,
insists no patriotic Muslims could support the secession of Montenegro.
"It's unacceptable for us," he said.

But even if the federation is preserved, long-term prospects for Sandzak are
not good. Both the Belgrade and Podgorica regimes have refuse to grant its
demand for special political status. 

So despite being a distinct region there are no immediate prospects of
self-government even if the two republics it straddles remain together.

Being ruled by two quarrelsome states leads to severe practical problems.
Recently, for instance, Montenegrin police prevented Muslim clerics from
attending a meeting in Novi Pazar, in the Serbian part of Sandzak. 

Faced with the real prospect of being caught up in a new war between the
Serbia and Montenegro, some Sandzak Muslims are frantically trying to defuse
the tensions in the hope of not only averting a war but preventing the
further disintegration of Yugoslavia. Others though have lost hope.

The immediate impact is clear. The bus operator in Novi Pazar says tickets
for the buses bound for international destinations have been sold out in
advance for the next three weeks. 

Miroslav Filipovic is a correspondent for Danas in Kraljevo.


PRISTINA'S POST WAR BOOM 

Pristina is enjoying a new lease of life almost a year after it was turned
into a ghost town.

By Llazar Semini in Pristina

Happy youngsters clambered over cars, waved Albanian flags and thronged the
streets on Thursday evening, March 16, in celebration of the Islamic feast
of Bajram. 

 "Last year we couldn't celebrate because the bombing had started,"  said an
old man wiping tears of joy from his eyes. "We are free now from 'shkiet'
(Serbs)."

Almost a year after a NATO bombs rained down on Kosovo, liberating the
province from Milosevic's clutches, Albanians are relishing their new found
freedom. 

Over the last year lives have been transformed. People have taken advantage
of opportunities previous denied them. 

Most Albanians were fired from state-owned enterprises and institutions in
the years leading up to last year's conflict, now thousands of them have got
jobs back. The sense of pride often compensating for the low salaries paid
them by the international authorities running the province.

Many though have found more lucrative work with the numerous international
institutions based in Pristina, enabling them to enjoy a relatively high
standard of living.

"I have prospects now, unlike under the  Milosevic regime," says Fatma, a
young economics student. "Before I could only apply to private Albanian
companies for work. Things have changed an now. When I graduate I don't
think I will be unemployed."

Around the capital business appears to be prospering, mainly because
imported goods have yet to be taxed. The result is that you can find
anything you want in the shops. 

"Before we had to bribe or rely on Serb connections to import goods, " said
one shop keeper. "Now we bring them in from anywhere and don't even pay
taxes."

Even street traders are enjoying something of a boom. " If you don't have a
regular job you can still make a living by going out in the street  to sell
small things Albanians love to buy  - jewellery, sunglasses, make-up
products, cheap CDs or books," said Agim a middle-aged man selling books
from his car near Pristina's main hotel.

Bujar, a newspaper seller at the Café Monaco, says business has never been
better. "I'm doing well because there are so many foreigners - but Albanians
are regular customers too, " he said. " Before I sold only local weeklies
and monthlies because it was not safe to been seen with international
dailies critical of Milosevic. That's not a problem anymore."

With so much seemingly going right at the moment, few care to dwell on their
problems. After a little prompting though, people soon complain. 

One bugbear is something they say they never experienced in the past - the
power cut.  People are without electricity for many hours a day. The buzz of
small generators can be heard in the shops and offices across the city.

Pristina's pot-holed streets, long neglected by Belgrade, are also constant
source of complaint. So too is traffic congestion. Cars of every kind, from
as far a field as Switzerland and Germany, cram the streets. This and the
absence of working traffic lights  make driving hazardous. 

Security is the greatest preoccupations. Youngsters fill the local bars at
night and walk home late.  But girls say they would never do so unless
accompanied by male friends.  And while kidnapping cases may have decreased
recently, prostitution continues to flourish, not least because of the high
number of foreigners in the capital.

The teeming coffee bars and fast food outlets give the impression that life
is returning to normal, but the occasional shooting provides constant
reminders of the tensions simmering under the surface. 

 "Pristina's a lawless place, " said one young Albanian. " We have a police
force but what do they do to prevent crime? They fine crazy drivers - but
we've heard that only 40 have paid fines in the last month. They keep
detainees for 72 hours and free them , even if they're murder suspects."

People say they are also worried about the troubles in northern Mitrovica
and "eastern Kosovo" and the 2,000 Albanians languishing in Serbian jails.


But despite all these problems, no Albanian ever imagines they could live
with the Serbs again. That will make life very difficult for the
international community as it attempts to promote co-existence in post-war
Kosovo.

Llazar Semini is IWPR's Project Manager in Pristina.


COMMENT: KURTI'S LONG NIGHT

The sentencing in Serbia of a former student activist from Kosovo highlights
the West's failure to support nonviolent protesters before the war, and
civil development now.

By Fred Abrahams

Of all the coffee conversations one has in the Balkans, some stick in the
memory, floating above the haze of sugar and smoke.

Such was my chat in 1997 with Xhevat, an ethnic Albanian and former
political prisoner from Kosovo. The meeting took place in Tetovo, Macedonia,
but the topic was Pristina.

The Kosovo students were holding nonviolent demonstrations to support
education in the Albanian language. Pacifist observers with white armbands
were beaten and detained by the police. Even Kosovo Albanian politicians
favoured by the West for their passive resistance to Serbian government
oppression were imploring the students to stop their provocations.

Xhevat sipped his coffee, sat back, and uttered a memorable phrase. "There
is no question," he said. "After the students, comes the night."

I appreciated his concern and the importance of the students' peaceful
attempts to shake the scene. After a decade of continued repression, Kosovo
Albanians' patience with nonviolent resistance was thin, and this youthful
activism needed support. But if the status quo was broken, one had to fear
the events that might follow - Xhevat's "night". 

Still, unlike Xhevat, I didn't know how dark that night could be.

Nothing illustrates his point better than this week's conviction of Albin
Kurti, the Kosovo Albanian student who led those demonstrations and then
joined the Albanian insurgency, the Kosovo Liberation Army (KLA), serving as
a political representative.

Now he has been sentenced to 15 years in prison by a Serbian court for
sedition, separatism, and terrorism against the state. From devoted pacifist
with long rock-star hair to defiant KLA activist with a prisoner's shave.
Very dark indeed.

Kurti embodies the spirit of Kosovo youth who craved a better life -
grasping for a way to make a contribution in a complex play. He also reveals
the radicalisation of an oppressed society that was left to fend for itself.

Kurti's imprisonment represents the failure of the West to address the
incendiary issues in Kosovo before they burst into flame. It is presumably
easier to bomb a dictator's cities than to support a student protest. 

When the demonstrations failed in early 1998, it was only a matter of time
before Albanians, denied education or jobs, turned to a more forceful
approach. Nothing illustrates this predictable evolution better than the
intelligent Kurti, who became an assistant to the KLA's political
representative in August 1998.

A pacifist himself, Albin was thrust into a situation requiring other means
of resistance. 

How could you tell students, workers, intellectuals to endure more abuse
without offering any way out? How could you sell nonviolence while
government forces were cracking down on the growing insurgency with
excessive and indiscriminate force? How could you talk of peaceful
resistance when the student union's books on Ghandi and Martin Luther King
Jr. were burned by the police?

Now Albin will spend time behind bars. Notably, the court found him guilty
of "terrorist activities" for his political work with the KLA and role in
"illegal" student demonstrations in 1997-98, that historical moment of dusk.
In the court's eyes, there was no distinction between the two.

He is one of at least 1,200 Kosovo Albanians still in Serbian prisons on
charges of terrorism. Their detentions, and the more than 1,500 missing
persons from the war, poison Kosovo's political scene, and further incite
the current round of Albanian anger and revenge against Serbs still in the
province.

The international community is struggling to break the cycle of violence. It
has failed to provide adequate electricity or water, let alone provide the
police or judicial system that would help stop the violence. As with the
students in 1997, there is not enough attention to preventative measures,
and the tension in Kosovo and the region is rising.

A hundred miles away in Pozarevac, Serbia, Kurti will have time to think and
read. To consider pacifism and the realities that surround it. Might he have
been more effective then and now as an independent defender of human rights?
Did KLA violence achieve its intended aims? What ideals will guide him when
freedom returns? 

Fred Abrahams is a senior researcher on the Balkans at Human Rights Watch.
He is writing a book on Albania since the fall of communism.

****************** VISIT IWPR ON-LINE: www.iwpr.net ******************

IWPR's network of leading correspondents in the region provides inside
analysis of the events and issues driving crises in the Balkans. The reports
are available on the Web in English, Serbian and Albanian; English-language
reports are also available via e-mail. For syndication information, contact
Anthony Borden <tony@iwpr.net.

Balkan Crisis Report is supported by the Department for International
Development, European Commission, and Swedish International Development and
Cooperation Agency and other sources. IWPR also acknowledges general support
from the Ford Foundation.

For further details on this project and other information services and media
programmes, visit IWPR's Website: <www.iwpr.net.

Editor-in-chief: Anthony Borden. Managing Editor: Yigal Chazan. Associate
Editor: Gordana Igric. Assistant Editors: Christopher Bennett, Alan Davis
and Heather Milner. Kosovo Project Manager: Llazar Semini. Translation:
Alban Mitrushi and others.

The Institute for War & Peace Reporting (IWPR) is a London-based independent
non-profit organisation supporting regional media and democratic change.

Lancaster House, 33 Islington High Street, London N1 9LH, UK Tel: (44 171)
713 7130; Fax: (44 171) 713 7140 E-mail: info@iwpr.net; Web: www.iwpr.net

The opinions expressed in "Balkan Crisis Report" are those of the authors
and do not necessarily represent those of the publication or of IWPR.

Copyright (C) 2000 The Institute for War & Peace Reporting

*** VISIT IWPR ON-LINE: www.iwpr.net ***

IWPR'S BALKAN CRISIS REPORT, NO. 125

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