In Balkan culture, grown men don't cry. Yet Rexhep Pajazitaj, 63, cried as he sat in a hut near the village of Golubovac in Kosovo. Three months ago, the Serbs destroyed his native hamlet to drive out ethnic separatists. Now Pajazitaj, 17 members of his family and most of his former neighbors live in a rough camp, too terrified to go home. "We thought we would be back home in a week or two, but the police are still everywhere," he says. "Now we're almost out of food, and I don't think the children will survive the winter."
His plight is familiar across the Yugoslav province. From Podujevo in the north almost to the suburbs of the capital of Pristina, Kosovo is ablaze as Serbian security forces pursue their deadly dismantling of the ethnic-Albanian rebellion. First comes artillery fire, targeting suspected Kosovo Liberation Army bases in a village. Then armored infantry rolls in to take over the town. Finally foot soldiers arrive, looting and burning, to strike terror among ethnic-Albanian villagers. Despite the first snows in the mountains, hundreds of thousands flee their homes. Some find shelter with relatives, others in neighboring Albania or Montenegro, but tens of thousands are still in the remote hills and forests of the embattled province, where they huddle in rough outdoor camps. During the past three months, 26,000 Yugoslav soldiers and security police, heavy guns roaring and combat helicopters whizzing overhead, have systematically pillaged more than 400 ethnic-Albanian villages to root out guerrilla strongholds.
International aid groups are running out of food and medicine for the displaced Kosovars, and Serb soldiers are blocking distribution of what little is left. "Unless the West intervenes in the next few weeks, they will be stacking frozen babies like cordwood," warns John Fox, who directs Washington's Open Society Institute.
At least the aid agencies are making an effort. A lot less has been done to put out the ravaging political fires and deal with the root causes of the Balkan mess. The Kosovo catastrophe has been unfolding for months, the Western strategy for unifying Bosnia stumbled from the start three years ago, and the next-door nation of Albania has been cracking for more than a year in vicious political polarization. Yet the West has been largely looking the other way while the crises fester at high geopolitical and humanitarian cost. Nothing much will get done without the leadership of the globe's sole superpower, but the scandal in Washington is eating away at U.S. foreign policy along with everything else.
In Albania, as two rivals struggle for power in the streets, the U.S. hopes its stern words will calm the clashes. But officials fear that if former President Sali Berisha returns to power, he might bring Albania into the Kosovo war.
In Bosnia, by not sticking to the spirit of the 1995 Dayton peace accord and allowing the wartime leadership of Republika Srpska to put down roots in the postwar power structure, the West left room for much of the war scum to float back to the top. These men pumped out heavily separatist and anti-Western propaganda while they obstructed the implementation of Dayton's provisions for reunification. Two weeks ago, as the delicately stitched-together nation seemed to be recovering, the Serbs in their republic voted out moderate President Biljana Plavsic, a key part of Western plans to build a unified Bosnia.