Kosovo: A UMBS student's human perspective

A Kosovar Albanian sheepherder and his son in the Sar Planina mountains on the Macedonia-Kosovo border.

by Tim Derrick, MBA1

I do not have a television at my house on Michigan Street. No South Park, no NCAA Tournament, no CNN, no Monica Lewinsky. Some of these losses are more acute than others. I do get a newspaper but have done a terrible job of reading it. In general, business school has provided splendid isolation from world events and, yes, I have enjoyed the break.

But as rumors of violence and U.S. intervention in Kosovo have spread, something has drawn me back to the TV, the newspapers, the web sites. MAP team 3614 wonders why I am glued to the screen lately. Based on their many questions, I thought I would relate a few stories from my fourteen months of experience on the border of Kosovo as an Army officer. Beyond the smart bomb footage and internet clips, these stories may help communicate some human aspects of the Kosovo crisis.

The phone rang at my parents' house in November 1995. It was a message that Army officers have come to receive with a certain solemnity ­ a call to active duty in the Balkans. The Dayton Peace Accords had just been signed, a NATO peace-keeping force was on its way to Bosnia, and a smaller U.S. military strategy was being implemented in a lesser-known corner of the Balkans called Macedonia and Kosovo. While CNN cameras focused on the smoldering ashes and hopeful emergence of peace in Bosnia, fresh sparks of ethnic hatred spread unobserved in Kosovo. I was assigned to a team of four military officers that worked directly as advisors with the armed forces of the Former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia. A battalion of U.S. troops patrolled the Macedonia-Kosovo-Serbia border with the U.N., but otherwise all seemed quiet on the southern Balkan front. That didn't lessen the knot in my stomach as I packed my gear on a blustery November day in Vermont.

Today's events in Kosovo anger some and confuse many. Our bombing of Serbia is an ad hoc declaration of war on a sovereign European state. As Americans, we are perplexed by the Balkans, as well we should be. Kosovo lies in a forgotten corner of Europe, without strong economic ties or vast oil reserves, with few cultural links and fewer vacation destinations. The part we least understand is the Balkan tradition of ethnic and religious hatred that has historically resulted in extreme fits of violence.

My first day inside the dark corridors of the Macedonian army headquarters left an indelible impression on me. As a history major, I remember eagerly asking my Macedonian interpreter and colleague, Captain Vladimir Popovski, for an introduction to Southern Balkans history. Vlado replied with a smile, "I would love to explain; let me know when you have three hours and I will begin to tell you." We met in a smoky café not far from the grand mosque on the winding cobbled streets of Skopje, Macedonia's modest capital. Four hours later I emerged having received the first of many tutorials from Vlado in Balkans history and culture. I learned quickly that the people of the Southern Balkans wear their history like a coat of medieval armor; they are deeply proud of this suit that paralyzes more than it protects. This lesson marked the beginning of a gripping assignment in a fascinating part of the world.

Some of Vlado's story - though it began in 350 BC with Alexander the Great - included modern day Kosovo. This province of Serbia lies just north of Macedonia and is comprised of 90% ethnic Albanians who are largely Moslem. They have been harshly governed by a 10% Serbian Orthodox minority. It has been a dysfunctional political arrangement not unlike apartheid in South Africa. The world knew this system would unravel; the question has been how quickly and peacefully the transition would occur. Like Bosnia, ethnic divisions in Macedonia and Serbia do not correlate with national boundaries loosely drawn in Paris 90 years ago. Both countries share a large and contiguous ethnic Albanian Moslem minority. So why not redraw the borders, you may ask? Kosovo is sacrosanct to the Serbs as the homeland of their people, endeared to them as the site of devastating and final defeat at the hands of the Turks in 1389. A battle fought 600 years ago is passionately recalled like it happened yesterday.

Serbia's current leader, Slobodan Milosevic, was soundly defeated in democratic elections last year. He annulled these election results and has repeatedly wielded a dangerous form of Serbian nationalism ­ formerly in Bosnia and now in Kosovo - to maintain his tenuous grasp on power. He possesses the strongest military force in Southeastern Europe and has used it to brutally police Kosovo. Systemic abuse of Kosovar Albanian human rights has resulted in violence and atrocities committed by both sides, but particularly by the powerful Serbian Army. Milosevic's refusal to restrain his forces and negotiate with Western leaders resulted in NATO's intervention this past week. Our primary objective is to protect the Kosovar Albanians but there are other reasons.

The tension was palpable in our train compartment as we rolled up to the Serbian border in April 1996. U.S. military personnel were not allowed to enter Serbia so I had deliberately left my military identification and dog tags at home. As an American tourist with a short haircut, I received a brusque look over and visa stamp from the guard and the train rattled north towards Belgrade. I was on my way with some friends to run the Belgrade Marathon. Organized by the Serbian military, this was one of the world's most efficient marathons. I expected prejudice in the Serbian capital, the "heart of darkness" ­ a term I heard this week ­ but when people learned I was American, their faces warmed. If they could say nothing else in English, it was usually, "You like Michael Jordan?" One young Serbian student pulled me aside and delivered a moving address: "You must understand that our political leaders do not represent our people. We want peace. We want American goods ­ maybe a Zippo lighter for me. We need your help."

One can only hope that our actions bring the Serbian people closer to their long deserved democratic government. We must also accept that there is no guarantee of this success. The Serbs are a very proud people. Their strong nationalist feelings make them vulnerable to sophisticated propaganda from the Milosevic regime. They may unify behind their leader and grow recalcitrant in the face of a Western military attack. U.S. ground forces may be committed indefinitely in order to effect a lasting peace in Kosovo.

My team's favorite weekend activity was to lay out our military maps and head for a remote area usually in the Sar Planina, the beautiful mountain range that divides Macedonia and Kosovo. These mountains reminded me of my home in Vermont, especially in the fall when the Macedonian trees are alive with color. We were wary of trespassing and occasionally encountered an angry tenant with a shotgun (also not so unlike Vermont). One day it couldn't be helped as we climbed up a narrow valley. The sheepherder, rather than showing anger, waved us eagerly over to his humble dwelling. He was an ethnic Albanian and we each spoke enough German to communicate. He told us of his brother on the other side of the mountains in Kosovo. Both brothers had been born in Kosovo, but to find work, our friend had moved to Macedonia with his wife. "I earn 200 Deutsche Marks a month from my sheep," he said. "I know it's nothing for you, but I can send some money and food each month to my brother. There is no way for him to make a living in Kosovo." He sent us on our way with a broad, toothless smile and an obligatory toast of Rakia, the local brandy.

Our actions can move the Kosovar Albanian people toward a more peaceful and prosperous life. Equally important, decisive action in Kosovo can prevent further escalation of this conflict across the mountains to Macedonia and beyond. The web of ethnic hatred and potential for greater regional conflict only expands from Macedonia.

Master Sergeant Dennis Barney, U.S. Special Forces, arrived in Skopje to join our team on December 26, 1996. Dennis' story was not unlike many U.S. soldiers. He had finished a tour of duty in Northern Iraq a few weeks before, spent one week with his family at Ft. Carson, Colorado, then left for Macedonia on Christmas Day. I remember helping him mail Christmas gifts to his daughters that he had been unable to give them. Dennis became a close colleague and friend. He is a professional soldier who loves his job and does it extremely well, but the long arm of U.S. foreign policy keeps him constantly on overseas missions away from his family.

We read polls about America's willingness to accept the loss of American lives in Kosovo. These numbers are telling but they don't acknowledge the lives of servicemen and women that are sacrificed in lesser ways. Don't get me wrong: the U.S. military is an incredibly professional force that is dedicated to serving our country. But the losses to families like Dennis' do not always show up in the latest polls.

President Clinton's decision to strike in Serbia has far-reaching impact on our future role in Europe and the Balkans. In my humble opinion, it was the right decision, a "moral imperative" which our European allies would be unwilling to undertake without us. Our actions must bring an end to the killing in Kosovo and cease the spread of violence to neighboring Balkan countries. Though our American media may not notice all the human costs, especially as this conflict endures, we must bear in mind responsibility for these costs, and remember to ask ourselves a greater question: what would be the price of not acting decisively now?

As for life at business school, my hiatus from following world events is over. I may even get a TV and read the news beyond the finance section to quietly show support for friends ­ American, Macedonian, Albanian, and Serbian ­ who find themselves in the middle of this tragic episode.

(Tim Derrick is a Captain in the U.S. Army Reserve.)