© 1999 Global Beat Syndicate. All Rights Reserved.

Letter from Pristina

 
By a correspondent in Pristina*
March 30, 1999
 
PRISTINA, Yugoslavia -- Tuesday night, my parents home was filled with strangers. They had come from Dragoda, the Albanian section of town, desperately seeking a safe place to spend the night.
 
That afternoon the police had entered each of the approximately 600 houses in that neighborhood and expelled everyone. It all happened in just two hours.
 
The police just came in and cleared everything out. While there were no reports of anyone being killed in the incident, some residents were harassed. Armed men wearing black masks and blue police helmets just came and said, "You have to leave."
 
The same thing happened in the Taslixhe section of the city.
 
I watched the people flee their homes through my window. They left all their possessions behind -- they weren't even allowed to take their identification cards. All they had was the sadness in their eyes. Their well-known pride seemed to have been destroyed.
 
Four families came into the building where my family lives. At first, they were afraid; they didn't know if they would find Sorbs or Albanians in the building. But as they met one Albanian and then another and another, they realized they had found people who would help them.
 
My mother gave them some water to help calm them down, and then some tea and coffee. They were embarrassed to ask if they could sleep at our house. There are now four families living in our small apartment.
 
All night long, they stood at the window, looking back at their homes, expecting to see flames. But their homes weren't set on fire. In fact, it was a rather quiet night: just one early morning NATO air attack and a few explosions.
 
Of course, there was the regular sound of gunfire in the streets. No one pays attention to that anymore.
 
In the morning, the families tried to return to their homes but were prevented by the police.
 
I learned Tuesday that my friend and colleague, the editor of Koha Ditore, has been killed. He was an excellent journalist, which is probably why he was killed.
 
What hurts the most is that I had told his family he was in a safe place and that they shouldn't worry. Now I feel such guilt. Thank God his parents' telephone isn't working so l cannot reach them. I hope it was a quick death -- a single bullet to the head. I hope he wasn't beaten; that horrifies me.
 
No one expected it would be this bad. Even though we knew there would be retaliations once the war began, we thought it would mostly happen in the remote villages. No one dreamed Pristina would be like this.
 
The television shows pictures of the refugees that have left. At least they have survived and might return some day. But what about us, the ones that remain? Pristina has become a camp.
 
Some 300 vehicles filled with people left Pristina Tuesday morning. They organized themselves and decided to escape, heading south for Macedonia. Who knows if they will make it their safely? But they were desperate to leave and get as far away as possible from the situation here.
 
Those of us who remain feel there is a price to be paid for Kosovo. The only question is who will make it through to the end. Those who stay don't want to help "them" fulfill their desire to empty Kosovo of Albanians.
 
The situation was bad yesterday. Today it is even worse. What will it be tomorrow?
 

* The name of this journalist, a correspondent for the Institute for War & Peace Reporting's Balkan Crisis Reports, is withheld to protect against reprisals.

 

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© 1999 Global Beat Syndicate. All Rights Reserved. The Global Beat Syndicate, a service of New York University's Center for War, Peace, and the News Media, provides editors with commentary and perspective articles on critical global issues from contributors around the world. For more information, check out http://www.nyu.edu/globalbeat/syndicate/.

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