BANJA LUKA -- The bedtime ritual for Muslims here in the largest city in Serb-held Bosnia is elaborate. Houses are locked and double bolted at 5 p.m., couches and tables piled high to reinforce doors, and axes, bricks and bread knives are tucked under pillows. The few remaining minorities here are braced, but hardly ready, for "spring cleansing" by Serbian gangs and military policemen.
Despite the rare quiet around Sarajevo, the Serb-Croat cease-fire scheduled to take hold this week in neighboring Croatia, and talk of peace in Bosnia, a rapacious reign of terror is underway. Like much of the 70 percent of Bosnia conquered by Serbs, this city is now under the thumb of zealots intent on purging non-Serbs. Serbian inhabitants simply drape "Republika Srpska" flags over their balconies to ward off the late-night assaults that terrorize the unwanted.
More than 10,000 Serbs are expected to vacate the new Croat-Muslim federation and head to this area. These refugees simply finger the Muslim or Croat house of their choice, and within weeks they have been relocated. "They tell me if I don't leave, I will be killed and my house taken," says local Muslim leader Serdat Sirbegovic. "For us, peace means more and more problems."
It also means major difficulties for international protection officers, and evacuation has become the only answer. Every week the 60 Bosnians deemed "most imperiled" board a Croatia-bound bus. "The screening process is crazy," notes Christian Brunner, the local head of the International Committee for the Red Cross (ICRC). "If you have been beaten up once, that's not enough. Twice? Not enough. But three times? OK, now that's enough." Despite a longstanding determination of the human rights agencies to avoid abetting "ethnic cleansing," the situation is so desperate that the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees and the ICRC may soon begin uprooting entire villages.
The man who acts as a "real-estate agent" for Serbian newcomers is Branko Rajak, an avuncular 56-year-old Serbian refugee from Travnik, who allegedly orchestrates beatings, robberies and killings to free up homes. "It is ugly work," admits Rajak, "I don't enjoy it." It is doubtful that the 75,000 Muslims and Croats remaining in this region will ever enjoy their daily lives. The lawlessness -- and the laws -- make life impossible, and an estimated 80 percent want out. Only two of the area's 202 prewar mosques still stand, and non-Serbs are prohibited from moving freely and from comprising more than 5 percent of the work force. While older men fulfill "work obligation" by digging trenches on the front lines or harvesting crops in minefields, younger people have already fled -- the men to avoid army service, the women to avoid abuse by Serbian soldiers. "If my daughter had stayed," says one elderly Muslim woman, "she would have been raped at the local checkpoint."
Until every Muslim and Croat who wants to leave departs, the suffering will continue. "When morning comes," says another resident whose brother was shot in broad daylight, "we just thank God we are still alive."
