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Copyright © 2000 CBC (Canada)
Pristina: Six months after the bombing stopped
By Edith Champagne
CBC Television News
 
In December 1999, CBC Television producer Edith Champagne, reporter Don
Murray and a crew visited Kosovo. They spent some time in city of
Pristina. Edith wrote about her trip and took pictures for CBC News
Online
Pristina, the main city in Kosovo, was until a few months ago an
ethnically mixed city. Serbs and Albanians, Serb Muslims, Albanians,
Christians and Gypsies did not mix much, but they did tolerate each
other. Not any more. Today the city's population of nearly 800,000 is
mainly Albanian Muslim. It is actually dangerous for non-Albanian
Muslims to move around the city without a military or police escort.
When our CBC crew first arrived in Pristina on June 5, the day NATO's
KFOR troops marched into the province, the city was a ghost town. The
Albanians who hadn't fled or been forced to go to Albania or Macedonia
spent their days indoors, waiting for the conflict to end. They had some
food and electricity and water, but no freedom or security.
 During that conflict, some Serbs helped their Albanian neighbours. This
was true for the Krasniqi family. The family of five lived in an
apartment block in the centre of town that was home to Serbs and
Albanians. To make some money, Rahim Krasniqi rented the CBC his
top-floor apartment. Over time, we were to learn that from the day KFOR
entered the province, these Serb and Albanian neighbours stopped talking
to each other. Their experience was a microcosm of what would happen
throughout the city and the province.
The arrival of KFOR signalled an end to what had been a polite rapport.
When the NATO forces arrived, the balance of power shifted away from the
Serb minority toward the Albanian majority. The decade-long repression
of the Albanians ended, only to be replaced by repression of the Serbs.
Five months later, officials estimate there are no more than 50,000
Serbs left in the province. There were none living in our building. Most
have gone to Serbia or Montenegro. Some managed to sell their property.
Others just left theirs, unsure whether they would ever be able to
return.
Flying over Pristina in a helicopter, our pilots, who were well versed
in the ethnic history of the area, told us that Pristina had been spared
much of the systematic and indiscriminate destruction seen in other
parts of Kosovo. Much of the damage done in and around the city was
caused by NATO bombs attacking Serbian targets, including a "chicken
farm" that NATO believed also had a military purpose.
 The ride also revealed the immense open-pit coal mine, a vestige of the
communist era, which supplies power to the city. The coal is transported
to the power plant on rubber conveyer belts that are kilometres long.
However, maintaining a steady flow of electricity has been one of the
UN's biggest challenges. The Serbs had been in charge of the station.
When they fled the province, they took their expertise with them.
When our crew returned to Kosovo a few weeks ago, we arrived in
darkness. Ten days later, we packed and left in darkness. Service was
intermittent and unreliable. We had to edit one of our television
stories by candlelight and with battery power.
The Krasniqi family always left candles in the hallway to help us
negotiate the six flights of stairs we had to climb every day. The
family is slowly rebuilding their lives as best they can. Jhkeljius, the
eldest son, is working as a translator for the Organization for Security
and Co-operation in Europe. Kushtrium, the second son, and Arta, the
only daughter, have been able to return to school full time. Mr.
Krasniqi has a job working at a nearby plant, but they make ends meet by
having tenants in their apartment.
 Like many other Albanian students, our fixer, Arta Plollozhoni, has
been able to go back to university to complete her dentistry course.
Before the UN took over administration of the province, she was forced
to study in private homes because Pristina University was mainly for
Serbian students. Now it is only for Albanian students.
Life in Pristina is far from normal. Ethnic integration is virtually
inconceivable. Law and order is inconsistent. Traffic jams are
horrendous. UN police officials admit that drive-by shootings,
kidnappings and murders are not uncommon. Even more frustrating, there
is no justice system to try those who have been arrested and charged.
The rebuilding of a civil society will take years, and the UN's hope of
creating a multiethnic society seems distant and overly optimistic. Even
tolerant Albanians such as our fixer and our host family will tell you
that the idea of living alongside Serbs again is not possible right now.
Maybe later, but not now.


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