Under the Gun in Sarajevo

By ZLATKO DIZDAREVIC/SARAJEVO Zlatko Dizdarevic is an editor at Oslobodenje, Sarajevo''s sole surviving daily newspaper. Translated from the Serbo-Croatian by Ammiel Alcalay.

A day after the notable and -- as Manfred Worner said on Wednesday evening -- "historical" decision made by NATO in Brussels, I bumped into a good friend on the street. He greeted me with a hearty, "Hello, happy fellow," quite unusual given the conditions in Sarajevo these days. It wasn't easy for him to hide the devilish cynicism in this greeting, nor could we keep from breaking up completely.

We both knew, of course, what the meaning of this "happy fellow" was. Everyone in Sarajevo who managed to watch TV on Wednesday night -- meaning those who had enough juice left in the old car batteries to power a set -- knew that the reference was to a much commented-on piece by a member of the foreign press corps. Amid the general madness following the news of the ultimatum directed at the Serbs, the reporter had come to the conclusion that Sarajevans were very happy and satisfied with this "historical event," that the tormented city found itself overwhelmed by an unexpected sense of optimism and, one could almost say, good fortune.

How can we tell the world that we are far from happy and that we are not optimists at all? On the contrary, we're desperate because of the obvious fact that, once again, nothing will be done. Again, the cunning Serb President Slobodan Milosevic, along with Bosnian Serb leader Radovan Karadzic, will just take advantage of the situation for the umpteenth time to prepare new fortifications. When such powerful TV networks determine that we are pleased and optimistic in Sarajevo, then we simply have to become optimists.

I must say that I was even a little sorry seeing so many good and conscientious journalists from all over the world getting so excited, rushing around Sarajevo like little kids, sincerely convinced that they were participating in some great and fateful event. We can't really get angry at all these folks who take their work so seriously. Personally, I'm not even upset about the reporter, who had declared me a happy optimist. All we ask is that these reporters listen a little less to what the "historical figures" at "historical gatherings" have to say and rely a little more on their own eyes and their own intelligence.

That acclaimed night in which -- so they say -- the page of history turned for our stricken land, we were, my friends and I, at Asha's cafe. Asha -- doctor, pilot, race-car driver -- is now a cafe owner. As we stared at a miniature TV screen, not quite believing what a fuss the world was making over the latest great swindle, one of our companions seemed to be melting into ecstasy over everything he was hearing.

When the news report was over, he turned to us as if he were carried off by a dream. "Imagine how beautiful the fountain near the cathedral would be with all those colors and watery figures," he said. We looked at him, dumbfounded. We reminded him that this was a historical moment and that the war -- so they say -- is coming to an end. "Oh that," he replied. "I heard about that. I'll buy five kegs of beer tomorrow and call 50 of our friends, and we'll all get good and smashed from joy. But forget that for now. Let me tell you about this fountain I saw once a long time ago in Rome. I'm almost sure we could put . something like that up in Sarajevo, over by the cathedral, because it would really look super there." And then we continued talking about the fountain.

Later on, Mr. Worner seemed quite serious and extremely angry at his press conference in Brussels. We found it very moving when a journalist advised him to be extra careful, since Mr. Worner, believe it or not, had come to the "historic" meeting against doctor's orders. And we were even more moved when he answered that same journalist's question about the fate of Karadzic's weapons in the so-called Serb capital of Pale -- weapons that would not come under the control of the U.N. Not even the journalist understood the answer, nor did we happy campers at Asha's cafe.

This, of course, is not important. The important thing is that we had already been identified as optimists so that from our optimistic corner we could discuss that fountain and think about drinking those five kegs of beer. We then heard that on this "remarkably calm and peaceful day" in Sarajevo, as one foreign reporter put it, "only" 18 people, including three children, were wounded by "a few wayward bullets." Truly a peaceful day.

The next day I tried to verify our lack of feeling. Who knows, all our emotions have been dried up to such a point that maybe we Sarajevans are really doing the world an injustice, a world that thinks victory over the forces of evil has finally come to pass, a world that believes there is true reason for rejoicing. At Muhammad the barber's, in "the street where the President no longer lives," as the barber likes to advertise, I encountered a strange atmosphere. Totally oblivious, like in the old days, people were talking about a soccer game broadcast from Germany, and then about whether or not some idiots from a pirate radio station should be arrested after they called for retaliation against the Serbs still living with us in Sarajevo for the massacre in the marketplace.

Muhammad the barber went on and on about the best thing to do with the pile of wood he had gathered from digging up tree stumps all last summer: now there was gas, and it wasn't even that cold, so he had all this extra wood on the terrace. Should he sell it, or save it for next year? "Next winter everything will be back to normal, the occupiers are on the way out, it's all signed, and peace is coming," I said, half seriously and half in jest. Everyone stared at me, and a young soldier in camouflage fatigues scornfully waved his hand: "What kind of 10-day ultimatum? Are you nuts? So they can say they've agreed to everything, and they are no longer the problem. It will turn out that we are the occupiers whenever we go out on a mission."

Actually, Sarajevo no longer believes anyone. Sarajevo no longer reacts to any decisions, whether they be truly or only quasi-historical. Nor does Sarajevo react to any promises, even if the intentions behind them are sincere and serious -- despite the fact that such intentions haven't been displayed for quite some time. Sarajevo has seen everything there is to see till now, and it has felt the worst there is to feel upon its very skin.

The results are obvious. Until six or seven months ago, every true Sarajevan needed at least an hour to walk from the Holiday Inn to the cathedral. You had to stop and say hello to so many people, to ask after everyone. Now that same distance takes just 15 minutes because no one stops. No one has anything left to ask anyone.

And there are fewer familiar faces. A year ago, days and even weeks would go by before you heard about someone you knew who was killed by a sniper's bullet or a shell. Now this kind of news comes every day. That's precisely why it would be so nice to build that fountain by the cathedral, full of water and light. And to be happy, smiling and optimistic, just the way we have already been envisioned by all those who carry out great decisions and great ultimatums in the name of historical happiness.

The only thing I can't figure out is why all this is happening right now. As if the massacre at the marketplace is any different from the massacre that has been carried out already against all of us here. Sixty-nine innocent people were killed at the market, yet that's exactly how many people die every single week in Bosnia. Ten people a day for a week: there you have it, just like the massacre at the market. That's how it's been for 660 days of this war. And nobody gave a damn. In these 23 months, more than 200,000 people have been killed, and still nothing. Maybe all those bodies really were just plastic dummies, like Karadzic says.

The citizens of Sarajevo, offending everyone as usual, think the so-called historical event in Brussels is no more and no less than a great lie. That is why we are neither happy nor optimistic but completely desperate and full of sorrow. It is not because no one wants to help us. We don't even pay attention to the big lie that this is a case of crimes against humanity. On the contrary, it is clear to Sarajevans that this is a crime that humanity itself has afflicted upon simple, unassuming people.

Sarajevans think this business of pulling back the tanks, the mortar launchers and the other big guns is an absolute farce being carried out simply to show that, finally, something is being done. But the whole operation simply marks significant new gains for Slobodan Milosevic and Radovan Karadzic. What can a distance of 12 miles mean for those who have missile-launching systems, aircraft and howitzers? What would the withdrawal of 50 or 100 tanks mean for those who can, with half an hour of maneuvering, bring in 100 more tanks and an additional 500 cannons? But the significance of taking 20 guns and both tanks from our army is all too well known. What does it mean for the army of Bosnia-Herzegovina, an army that has had to put together practically every bullet piece by piece?

Finally, and this is the most important aspect, what do we get out of this when the operation has been completed? We get a blockade of Sarajevo moved 12 miles from the city, instead of 3 miles away as we have now. What this really means is that all the occupied territory will remain in the hands of those who occupied it by force. But now the newly marked out borders will be watched over carefully and responsibly by the blue helmets. Slowly but surely, the demarcation lines will dissolve into a border line between different "states." This will cement what has always been the ultimate goal of Milosevic and Karadzic. Those interested in knowing what this really means can go and take a look at the place where the Berlin Wall was or the place where a similar wall stretches across Nicosia in Cyprus.

Maybe I should be even more explicit: Sarajevans truly think that for Karadzic, a speedy agreement to withdrawal from the mountains above the city is only a way of saving his own skin. It is only a way of saving his army and weapons, only another ploy to gain time until the world's attention span, now fixed on the horror of the marketplace, fades, and the story begins all over again. Soon the idea of a division of Bosnia and Sarajevo as the only solution will come back in through the front door, right to the table around which various war criminals will be seated.

Where, actually, does the misunderstanding lie, if there is a misunderstanding at all? It is in the very assumption that moving the guns will change the minds of those who have been firing the guns at innocent civilians these two years. Of course we can disagree about whether 1,000 or 5,000 or 10,000 innocent people killed constitutes a greater or a lesser crime -- if a crime can even be measured in such a way. As far as I am concerned, it is totally irrelevant to me after meeting a child whose leg was amputated. He had gone to bed before Christmas with the hope that Santa Claus would bring his leg back.

What do you think -- did he get it? And what do you think it will be possible to talk about with that child one day, and with thousands of other Sarajevo kids whose hair turned gray before they even went to school, if they ever did get to school? It's all the same to me after talking to an 80-year- old grandmother who, amid the worst bombardment of Sarajevo, walked through the middle of the main street and at the frantic warnings to hide because she could get killed, quietly but clearly answered, "That is why I am crossing the street like this, my son. But unfortunately, I won't get hit."

In the so-called historical decision from Brussels, those who talked about plastic dummies cynically placed at the market in Sarajevo are not even touched. Maybe they have divined the real truth: we in Sarajevo are truly nothing more than plastic dummies with whom anyone can play.

We can only dream about fountains and sparkling water, those of us with the strength to dream, endlessly indulging in those colors and the flowing water. It is no small thing to hear a boy whose father was killed say, "Last night I dreamt about my father. I dreamt about him on purpose." Somebody will one day have to watch out for boys from Sarajevo who dream about their murdered fathers on purpose.

Maybe all of this is actually senseless and no use to explain to anybody outside Sarajevo. Nothing here can be explained to anybody who isn't here. The questions that reach us from outside, even from our closest ones scattered around the world, seem ever more meaningless, less reasonable, more stupid. We have less and less nerve or ability to answer those questions, to say anything, to explain anything. We have become a ghetto with its own logic, its own laws, its own morality and its own imagination. And of course, its own malice, intolerance and nastiness.

Between us and the world, the rift is becoming ever more difficult to bridge. Joy and optimism in the Holiday Inn where journalists stay are not the same thing as the joy and optimism in the homes of Sarajevans. When the outsiders sit around a table sipping wine, and laugh and feel optimistic, they have a reason for it: it is not a small thing to be part of the big Sarajevo story. And after that they can head home.

If there are any traces of smiles left on our faces after all this, they surely must be the smiles of idiots, smiles that mean absolutely nothing since true laughter does not live among us anymore. It is difficult to explain this to people who have been gathering their precious energy for such a long time only in order to set an ultimatum, an ultimatum that reminds us of that joke about a husband who finds his wife in bed with another man and shakes his finger at her: "If this ever happens again, I'll really get angry."

The real mistake made in the big world out there in explaining our feelings and our reactions stems from the fact that it is difficult for people to realize that we do not expect anything and almost feel nothing. How can we expect anything from a world that in the name of politics and grand strategy refuses to defend the most elementary principles on which its own foundations rest? We can no longer be helped by any movement forward or backward, no matter how many miles it is measured in. We've already got to the point where it doesn't matter if those above us continue to shoot or not. It has already been a long time in Sarajevo since people have stopped running across streets marked WARNING: SNIPER.

The other day I heard the following from a university professor I know. "A friend of mine and I agreed to leave Sarajevo," he begins, "at least for a bit, just the day when at the train station, you could buy, like before the war, a train ticket and sit in the train and actually get somewhere. Until recently, the two of us had only one problem: when would that ticket booth open again and when shall we get into a train? The more I think, the clearer it is that the real problem is this: Where can the two of us go from here? There is nowhere to go. Except to Podlugovi, 12 miles from here."

In Podlugovi, to be honest, express trains never stopped, they speeded on to other distant stations.

It is important to preserve the smile, even an idiotic one. And to be an optimist, waiting for the train to Podlugovi. The important people in the world shouldn't think we are unhappy about having our legs pulled by all these "historic" moves. Even plastic dummies should show a little respect for history.