As Kosovo prepares to declare independence, Serbs are preparing for the worst, writes Daniel McLaughlinin Mitrovica
Surveying the second-hand instruments piled up around his tiny office, Milos Drazevic takes a sip of strong coffee and wonders if they will ever be played. "Our organisation has been trying for almost six years to bring the Albanian and Serb kids together for a music class, but it still hasn't happened. Now, who knows if it will?"
Drazevic lives among fellow Serbs in northern Mitrovica, and crosses the Ibar river to work in the Albanian southern half of town. He is one of the few who venture out of their ethnic stronghold in Mitrovica, the likely flashpoint for any violence sparked by the declaration of independence that Kosovo's 90 per cent Albanian majority demands, and Serbia vows never to recognise.
"If trouble happens, it will happen here, around this bridge that was supposed to be a symbol of the link between Albanians and Serbs and now means the opposite," says the 26-year-old musician. "The riots, the killing, they always start in Mitrovica."
With the failure of a last planned meeting between Serb and Kosovar leaders, tension is building towards this Monday, when envoys from the European Union, the US and Russia are due to report to the United Nations on months of talks that achieved nothing.
It is also the day after which Kosovo has pledged to proclaim sovereignty, regardless of Serb anger and protests from Russia, which threatens to veto any UN resolution acknowledging Kosovo as the latest chunk of former Yugoslavia to break free from Belgrade.
"Crossing the bridge in Mitrovica is always tense, there is always a feeling that things could explode, but it is getting more edgy as December 10th approaches," says Biljana Todorovic, another Serb who lives in the north of the town and works in the south. She and most other Serbs with a job in southern Mitrovica are planning to stay at home on Monday, fearing a repeat of the 2004 ethnic riots that killed 19 people in the worst spasm of violence to grip Kosovo since the 1998-99 war.
"Among Serbs there is fear, uncertainty and a huge lack of trust towards Albanians," says Todorovic. "Everybody expects violence, because it is the one constant here. Whatever it is that happens always seems to be accompanied by violence."
SPILT BLOOD RUNS deep through Kosovo's history, from the defeat of Serb princes by the Ottoman sultan in an epic battle in 1389 to Slobodan Milosevic's crackdown on separatist rebels that killed 10,000 Albanian civilians, displaced 800,000 more, and ended with Nato bombing Serbia and replacing Belgrade's oppressive rule with UN administration in 1999. The aftermath saw Nato forces fail to prevent Albanian reprisals which forced 200,000 Serbs and Roma to flee Kosovo, and left historic Orthodox churches in ruins.
Only about 120,000 Serbs now live in a region that their nation considers its historic and spiritual heartland, and many more are expected to leave when Kosovo declares independence. Few doubt that when Kosovo's president or prime minister makes that historic speech - not on Monday or immediately after but before the end of January, according to senior officials - Serb leaders in northern Kosovo will sever ties with the rest of the new country and declare their own independence or unification with Serbia.
"You can be sure of that. It will happen the very same day or the next day," says Oliver Ivanovic, a moderate Serb politician in northern Kosovo.
"Belgrade won't openly support it but will do so indirectly. A sense of hopelessness among Serbs elsewhere in Kosovo will prompt at least 10,000 of them to abandon their villages. How could they stay? They don't trust the Albanians, who killed us, or the Western powers, who bombed us. All Serbs in Kosovo are worried and in some way prepared to leave."
In his cramped office by the bridge that divides Mitrovica, Drazevic agrees that the flight of fearful Serbs from their ancient villages - now isolated enclaves in a 90 per cent Albanian region - is almost inevitable.
"In northern Mitrovica, I'd say 99 per cent of Serbs have a bag packed or at least documents ready in case they have to flee. Here we can easily get to Serbia, but it's tougher in the enclaves, where they could be stopped from leaving by a blockade on a single road."
FOR THE FLEDGLING independent state of Kosovo, thousands of people gathering their belongings and heading for the area around northern Mitrovica or Serbia would be a public relations disaster, as well as a potential security and humanitarian nightmare.
"Serbia will encourage a mass exodus from the enclaves. They want to win over world opinion and they know how bad it will look for Kosovo if BBC and CNN are showing convoys of Serbs on tractors leaving home," says Dukagjin Gorani, a chief aide to Kosovo's prime minister-elect, Hashim Thaci.
"Serbia will also blockade us, there will be more power cuts because they will exclude us from the electricity grid, and there will be actions in northern Kosovo to cut it off from the rest of the country. Things are going to get worse here before they get better."
The early months of independence will be a huge challenge for Thaci, whose journey from the rebel Kosovo Liberation Army (KLA) to political leadership has seen him dubbed "Kosovo's Gerry Adams".
"The first half of 2008 will be a time of blockades, obstacles, threats of violence real or imagined, and we will survive it with the international community's help, understanding of the situation and patience to see it through and stop things getting out of control," says Gorani. The 16,000 NATO peacekeepers stationed in Kosovo will remain, but the UN administration will be replaced over a three- or four-month period by an EU mission, led by a powerful diplomat, to oversee the governance of Kosovo and its police force and judiciary.
DESPITE FEARS IN Spain, Greece, Cyprus, Romania and Slovakia that Kosovo's declaration of independence could embolden their own restive minorities, officials say EU members will agree to send the 1,800-strong mission - which will include some 1,400 police officers - even if they do not unanimously recognise a sovereign Kosovo.
"Russia and Serbia will cast everything here in a bad light," warns Gorani. "But we need the West to give us hope, to invest in and subsidise our non-existent economy, to make sure we get through this period of change and massive political pressure with as few casualties as possible."
Belgrade and Moscow predict instability across the Balkans and declarations of independence from separatist regions such as Abkhazia and South Ossetia in Georgia and Transdniestr in Moldova - all of which are supported by Russia. Kosovo's breakaway is also likely to strengthen far-right forces in Serbia, where the ultra-nationalist Radical Party won this year's election, but has been kept out of power by a ramshackle coalition of more liberal groups that could collapse under the mounting strain.
Across Kosovo - a region blighted by at least 50 per cent unemployment, daily power and water shortages, creaking infrastructure and the grim legacy of war - independence could also seal the estrangement of two peoples who have lived side by side for centuries.
In Mitrovica, Drazevic hopes to run separate music classes for Serb and Albanian children next year and bring them together if independence comes peacefully. But he is also planning to leave Kosovo and start a new life in Serbia. Todorovic says she will keep trying to forge links between Kosovo's people, but admits to being too scared to speak Serbian in a region where a fast-growing Albanian population threatens to overwhelm an ageing Serb one, and Milosevic's segregated school system created a language barrier between communities that grows higher each year.
For Albanians, whose fight for greater rights within Yugoslavia was crushed when Milosevic came to power in 1989, the long wait for freedom appears to be almost over.
"No one will declare independence for us, we have to do it ourselves. Washington and Brussels have given us positive signals and now we have to answer," says Gorani. "I expect that between December 15th and January 15th a "We, the people of Kosovo" speech will be made. The word independence will be in the text, and its message will be clear for anyone who wants to see it. This uncertainty can't go on any longer - no one wants Kosovo to become another Palestine."
That impatience is palpable in villages such as Racak, scene of an alleged Serb massacre of Albanian civilians that spurred the West into bombing Milosevic's troops out of Kosovo.
"We have no patience left. The deadline is now," says Islam Mustafa, who claims to have fought with the KLA, in front of the mosque where 45 bullet-riddled bodies were laid out in January 1999. Two of his cousins were among the dead, all of whom, according to Serbia, were actually KLA rebels.
"More talks are pointless and we don't care what the Serbs do. There can be no going back to Belgrade's rule after what happened here," says Mustafa, as a breeze from the snowy hills stiffens the scarlet and black Albanian flag flying from the minaret.
"When freedom comes, we will know at last that our people did not die in vain."