Serbs On The Other Side

The policeman on the Serbian side says the border regime hasn't changed, all you need to do is show an ID card and the contents of your car trunk. On the other side of the Drina in the Bosnian Serb Republic, the police are more numerous and rowdy. They don't want to talk. One shouts: ``Karadzic is going to be President of all the Serbs. We'll be recognized before you!'' The customs officer tries to be an analyst: ``The people are on the right side, our side. But all those arguments and misunderstandings are a public game, tactics to gain time.'' A volunteer from Serbia has another story: ``There's no ceasefire. They screw it up. The Serb Republic won't give up any more land.'' A vital 60-year-old who said his name was Popovic, a refugee from Tuzla had this reaction to the disagreement: ``If you don't help us it'll only get worse. In Serbia they think the embargo will be lifted if you stop helping us. Nothing doing. If they narrow us down, they'll narrow down Vojvodina, Kosovo. You can't fit a liter into a half liter bottle. They've been threatening us since the start of the war, let's see how far they'll go.''

Under the bridge, on the Bosnia side, a lot of bathers in the Drina. There are no women from Loznica on the Serbian side. They threw flowers into the river while the Serbian TV filmed them to show support for their brethren when the last threat of bombing Bosnian Serb positions was made.

Two Zvorniks lie 30 kilometers up the river (Mali Zvornik in Serbia and Zvornik in B-H). The pedestrian bridge has ramps on both sides. The Serbian policeman is playing Tetris and waving us away. At the other end of the bridge Serb Republic policemen and a police dog prevent journalists from entering the town. Journalists have to go to the Karakaj crossing to meet regulations.

The Bus station in Mali Zvornik, just by the bridge. In the shade is an old couple, refugees from Zenica. I asked them how they were. The wife replied: ``What can we say, misery.'' The husband speaks: ``If they sign the Serb Republic loses a lot. If they don't sign Serbia and the Serb Republic both suffer. I couldn't decide what to do. Milosevic's statement is OK but the division is bad. It turns out the people fought and died for nothing.''

A 40-year-old soldier from Bratunac is much more direct: ``Most people want peace, they've had enough. The same people are on the front, and the leaders are following their line, so since they decide...'' I asked him if there was a Mosque in Zvornik and he turned around calmly. ``There's no Mosque where it was (there were eight once---ed. note) and the one in Divca can't be seen.'' His last words seem to sum up his helplessness: ``Is it good? No, but what can we do. The curse caught us up; who wants war let it come to his home.''

Two kilometers downriver, as you enter Zvornik, lies the Karakaj crossing. On the Serbian side, ramps and spikes and an antiaircraft gun. Pointed over there. The police erected a tent over it. The other side is more numerous but there's no problem in getting through. Everything is under control and the trucks full of Bosnian lumber go through quickly.

Until this war, Zvornik had a majority Moslem population. Today most of its inhabitants are refugees. Serbs. From Zenica, Tuzla, Kladanj, Srebrenica... The people are either in uniform or wandering aimlessly. The police, cafes, local radio work, as well as the hospital and Red Cross. The police beat you after 10 PM, after the curfew, one young man tells me. ``The patients'' often end up in Belgrade military hospital after those treatments.

Zoran Novakovic (22) is one of Seselj's volunteers. He lost a leg last year at Divoselo. He's angry with everyone, especially the Socialist Party of Serbia (SPS). He says he sees honest people condemned to life in uniform and a salary of 20 Dinars while robbers are now making money. He speaks like a true Seselj man about the peace plan: ``That would be treason. We have to fight and die. If we sign or don't we have what is ours and we won't give it up. The war is a burden to everyone who hasn't lost anyone.''

But there are those who have lost someone and think differently.

Under the trees near the local first aid station, a large group of old men. All refugees. They're here, they say, to see the dead and wounded arrive, exchange information, memories. Memories of homes, families, land. Today they live in small rooms on pensions of between eight and 20 Dinars.

``What can I say,'' says one. That seems to draw the others out, they accept the cigarettes I offer and start. ``Radovan (Karadzic) and Momcilo (Krajisnik) don't care, they're not at war and I'm here hungry in a cellar.'' They look at each other in approval. ``It's best to stop the war. My brother and his son are buried. What should I wait for, the others to die. What do I want with freedom when my children are gone. Fuck the state without any children,'' says an old man from Zenica. Another from Tuzla joins in: ``Stop it, stop it. When it calms down we'll mix. I'll go to a Turk to buy a cow.'' Others warn him he can't deal with Turks (As Bosnian Serbs call Muslims). He waves his hand: ``There are bad ones among us, and among them.'' A man from Kladanj ends the talk: ``I don't know what Karadzic thinks. Screw the territory. We can't go on alone. Without Serbia we're nothing. If they let us go it's over. What do I want a referendum for. Thy want to lay the blame on the people.'' A long stare, then he asks: ``What do you think?''