05-17-2008, 02:47 PM
After Kosovo declared independence, Prosecutor of the International Criminal Tribunal for the Former Yugoslavia (ICTY) Carla Del Ponte raucously quit her position at The Hague. She slammed the door so loudly behind her that the ceiling plaster cracked at parliaments across the European Union. After her exile to Argentina as Switzerland's ambassador, Ponte said the new Kosovo was run by butchers who made a fortune trafficking organs extracted from kidnapped Serbs. In her book titled, "The Hunt: Me and the War Criminals," Ponte describes how a black organ market formed during the Kosovo War. Meanwhile, she says, the European Union played dumb paying no attention to the crimes. KP journalists went to Kosovo to learn more about the crimes.
Iron Carla's revelation
Hardly a day goes by without fragments of Ponte's book hitting Belgrade newspapers. Here is a commonly quoted section that details the horrors of Kosovo organ trafficking:
"According to the journalists' sources, who were only identified as Kosovo Albanians, some of the younger and fitter prisoners were visited by doctors and were never hit. They were transferred to other detention camps in Burrel and the neighboring area, one of which was a barracks behind a yellow house 20 km behind the town.
"One room inside this yellow house, the journalists said, was kitted out as a makeshift operating theater, and it was here that surgeons transplanted the organs of prisoners. These organs, according to the sources, were then sent to Rinas airport, Tirana, to be sent to surgical clinics abroad to be transplanted to paying patients.
"One of the informers had personally carried out a shipment to the airport. The victims, deprived of a kidney, were then locked up again, inside the barracks, until the moment they were killed for other vital organs. In this way, the other prisoners in the barracks were aware of the fate that awaited them, and according to the source, pleaded, terrified to be killed immediately.
"Among the prisoners who were taken to these barracks were women from Kosovo, Albania, Russia and other Slavic countries. Two of the sources said that they helped to bury the corpses of the dead around the yellow house and in a neighboring cemetery. According to the sources, the organ smuggling was carried out with the knowledge and active involvement of middle and high ranking involvement from the KLA (ed. Kosovo Liberation Army).
На митинге в Косовской- Митровице студенты юрфака филиала Приштинского университета продемонстрировал& #1080; свое видение настоящего правосудия. На вилах был сожжен шкиптарский наряд, олицетворявший отпущенного Гаагой албанского «мясника» Рамуша Харадиная.
Law students from Prishtin University at a rally.
"A few months after [October 2002] the investigators of the tribunal and UNMIK reached central Albania and the yellow house which the journalists sources had revealed as the place where the prisoners were killed to transplant their organs. The journalists and the Albanian prosecutor accompanied the investigators to the site.
"The house was now white. The owner denied it had ever been repainted even though investigators found traces of yellow along the base of its walls. Inside the investigators found pieces of gauze, a used syringe and two plastic IV bags encrusted with mud and empty bottles of medicine, some of which was of a muscle relaxant often used in surgical operations. The application of a chemical substance revealed to the scientific team traces of blood on the walls and on the floor of a room inside the house, except for in a clean area of the floor sized 180x60cm.
"The investigators were not able to determine whether the traces they found were of human blood. The sources did not indicate the position of the grave of the presumed victims and so we did not find the bodies."
However, Serbian journalists began conducting their own investigations into the purported organ trafficking. Correspondents from the Press newspaper were said to have found the barracks described by Ponte. However, they refused to share detailed information with KP. The tabloid published several photos related to the incident, but many local media representatives believe their authenticity is dubious.
"They wanted to fabricate this huge story, but they ended up with a piece of crap," said Aleksandr Bechich, deputy chief editor of the Pravda opposition newspaper. "Press has been caught lying on more than one occasion. But there is truth to the article. Many Serbs heard about these crimes even before the book's publication. Serbia's Justice Minister Vladan Batich gave Ponte numerous materials about executed and kidnapped Serbs. There was also evidence, but no one was sure if the organs had actually been trafficked. I originally heard about this 5 years ago from Serbia's former head of Military Intelligence. But no one listened to special agents at the time. The Serbian special forces had documents that certified that medical equipment had been brought to camps in Albania. This evidence was given to Western intelligence agencies. 'We can't work in Albania,' they said. 'Help us with this.' But no one did a thing. U.S. and German special forces knew that Serbs had been kidnapped in 1999. As they didn't do anything to fix the situation, we should assume they were also were involved in the trafficking network. How was the system organized? The KLA received huge sums of cash for the organs. This money was used to buy drugs from Afghanistan, which were later sold in Western Europe. The KLA bought arms using this money. Enough facts had been dug up to indict Kosovo's former Prime Minister Ramush Kharadinay, current head of state Khashim Tachi and other prominent Albanians. But as opposed to being sent to prison, Kharadinay was released from The Hague in early April even though he had been charged with murdering Serbian civilians. They said he wasn't guilty. But we have documented facts proving that Kharadinay personally executed 60 Serbs and ordered 300 more to be killed. Kharadinay's release was a severe blow for the families of the deceased."
The tribunal's decision to set Kharadinay free was as hurtful for Serbs as when the West recognized Kosovo's independence. The KLA's field commander was the equivalent of an Albanian Shamil Basaev — cruel and uncompromising. Nine witnesses were lined up to testify against Kharadinay at The Hague. But they were all killed under various circumstances during the trial. Two were killed by a sniper, one died in an automobile accident in Montenegro, two were stabbed, two were burned to death in their car while serving in Kosovo's Police and two were killed in a village cafe in Kosovo.
Many people in Serbia believe that Ramush Kharadinay was a key figure in the organ trafficking network.
"Tachi was a criminal," Deyan Mirovich, a radical party deputy in Serbia's parliament, told KP before our trip to Kosovsku-Mitrovitsu. He spouted off his version of a brief history of modern-day Serbia. "First, Tachi was involved in drug trafficking, then he headed a gang and later a terrorist group. Now he's a U.S. and EU ally. Kharadinay is the same story. He was a bouncer at a night club and ended up running a terrorist organization. In the forward to his book 'Peace and Freedo,' he wrote: 'I've killed Serbian policemen. I've killed civilian Serbs and Albanians who were disobedient.' This is why I believe everything Ponte wrote. We know all about this in Serbia. Kharadinay had a camp on Lake Radonich in Metokhia. People were taken there from Prizren, Pecha and Djakovitsa. Many were executed. People were also selected for so-called medical centers. They were kept captive while their organs were systematically extracted. You want proof? Look for their relatives in Kosovo. That's the only way. All the other e
vidence is destroyed."
Nothing to lose for Serbs in Kosovo's enclaves
Many people have heard the phrase "humanitarian catastrophe," but few have actually seen one. Serbian enclaves in Kosovo fall into this category. Homeless children roam the streets. Adults loiter in the sun, or wait for clients who never come in self-styled cabs. Piles of trash lie by the roadside. Disfunctional state services that won't do anything even if they're asked to.
Обелиск погибшим сербам у моста, разделяющего православную и мусульманскую части Митровицы. Здесь всегда дежурят солдаты КФОР и «хранители моста», в любой момент готовые встать на защиту своей части анклава.
Forty last names of deceased Serbs are written on an obelisk on the Serbian side of the bridge dividing the town along ethnic lines. The Albanians have tried to annex the Serbian section of the city on numerous occasions. The bridge has served as a stage for bloody wars.
KP traveled to the Kosovsku-Mitrovitsu enclave in north Kosovo to learn more about the enclave phenomenon. Our journalists sat in a dilapidated cafe waiting for the Kosovo Serbian rally to begin. The cafe's windows were covered in bullet holes. The rally was to commence at 12:44. The number has a special subtext. It's the number of a UN resolution on Kosovo declaring the territory an indelible part of Serbia.
Romanian soldiers from the NATO Kosovo Force (KFOR) took the cover off the machine gun on the small armored car. They knew they had to be ready. Meanwhile, we drank coffee behind the UN courthouse. Shrapnel had killed a Ukrainian peacekeeper there only a week before. He had been on a peacekeeping mission to introduce constitutional order in the country. But Serbian lawyers weren't a part of that order. They had been asked to leave the courthouse and were later replaced by Albanians. Those who refused to leave were arrested. The peacekeepers hadn't realized Kosovo Serbs had been on the edge of an explosion for several years. They had nothing to lose. Their country had been taken from them, and they had been left in poverty waiting for a miracle. As we were told numerously, many Kosovo Serbs consider a miracle to be 250,000 Russian volunteers. Russian journalists, like us, were taken for spies or advanced detachment.
"Sweet life" of guardian's of the east
Mitrovista isn't really an enclave. It practically borders Serbia, but a bridge divides the city into Albanian and Serbian sections. Unofficial guards man the Serbian side. This small detail shows who is the aggressor in the situation and who is on the defense.
Forty last names of deceased Serbs are written on an obelisk on the Serbian side. The Albanians have tried to annex their section of the city on numerous occasions. The bridge served as a stage for bloody wars. It's quiet on the Serbian side. Muscular men sit in a pink 24-hour cafe. They're officially called the bridge's guardians, as their job is to stop Albanians attacking from across the bridge. They greeted us cautiously. The waiter approached us slowly and indifferently.
"One coffee, one bottle of water," we asked in Serbian, adding in Russian that we were Russian journalists writing about Kosovo Serbs. The demeanour of the waiter and the guards changed immediately. They offered us the table with a view of the bridge. Soon after, the leader of the local branch of National Serbs Union, Neboysha Iuvovich, came to the cafe and greeted us.
"Many politicians are straying from their positions and writing about the truth," Neboysha said. "Carla Del Ponte didn't want to write about what really happened before because she would have had to launch investigations into crimes connected with organ trafficking. It would have been career suicide for an EU politician in Kosovo. We have enough facts to prove genocide. We have information confirming 1,200 Serbs were kidnapped and 1,700 killed. No one can say for sure. Serbs were kidnapped all over Kosovo. People disappeared — and not farmers but doctors. Several were kidnapped. One was the famous surgeon Andrea Tomanovish. His body was never found. Try going south to the Albanian border. Don't think about talking about this with the Albanian administration, though. You'll disappear. And only speak English with the Albanians."
In the morning we saw we were almost in the mountains. The enclave was overtaken by a thick icy mist. They came to pick us up. A red jeep poked through the clouds. The numbers on the Kosovo license plate were cardboard. Our driver, Dushko, a Serb, took off the numbers before crossing the bridge onto the other Albanian side. Two-hundred meters, barbed wire fences, a KFOR outpost... Then everything changed. All the sudden we saw clean, swept streets, bright signs, shop Turkish- and Roma-style windows. And U.S. flags. The new Albanian Kosovo is still celebrating victory.
Big laundry mat
Kosovo was once considered Yugoslavia's poorest province. However, the situation has recently changed thanks to the world's most progressive democracies. Of course, myriad sacrifices were made along the way. Many Kosovo residents were exiled or sent to reservations, which the European Union refers to as "enclaves." Humanitarian mission representatives don't like visiting Serbian ghettos. The reservations are an unpleasant sight — especially compared to the rest of Kosovo which is a perfect example of good peacekeeping.
Kosovo is crammed with cash. EU and U.S. humanitarian organizations are making significant contributions to the economy. Albanians are also sending huge annual remittances from Western Europe. Part of this money is earned from criminal activities. But Kosovo can't yet cope with these substantial money streams. The funds are poorly managed and large sums are invested in outlandish construction projects, such as 100-meter swimming pools in entirely uninhabited areas. Thousands of consumer goods stores stand by the road. The average Kosovo village has 5-10 supermarkets for every 500 residents, as well as three car washes and mechanic’s shops. The country's elegant agrarian landscape now has tens of thousands of newly built elite homes. Scattered among them are the skeletons of Serbian homes in ruins, covered in weeds. Albanians are dismantling these homes and using the materials to build more multilevel mega markets. One theory why these stores are built is that they are used for money laundering. They have few customers and the assortment is always e — nuts and mineral water. It's interesting to think how long these stores would have to run before covering their costs. The average land plot for these mega markets sells for 100,000 euro.
The EU can't explain why the Albanian mafia was given a republic to rule after massacring the Serbian population. But the Albanians know how to play the democratic game. Each mega market boasts a collection of small EU and U.S. flags, although the well-being of Kosovo residents is divided purely along ethnic lines — a mockery of the democratic values that the country pretends to uphold.
When Kosovo declared independence, automobile amnesty was given to all vehicles stolen from the EU. The automobile business has served as an economic engine for Kosovo.
When Kosovo declared independence, automobile amnesty was given to all vehicles stolen from the EU. The automobile business has served as an economic engine for Kosovo.
Istok
A Western humanitarian mission employee based in Prishtin recapped the events that had transpired in the Kosovo village, Istok. He said that Albanians had misbehaved a bit in the summer of 1999, but everything fell into place shortly after. Moscow built 48 homes in the village for the Serbians whose houses had been burned down. Today, he added, Istok is the pinnacle of peaceful coexistence of Albanians and Serbs.
Lawyer Lozanka Radoyvich told us an altogether different story in Belgrad. A massacre had ensued for a week in Istok in 1999. All the homes of Serbs were burned down or seized. Forty-three people were kidnapped. They have never been found.
As we made our way through Kosovo, we couldn't imagine the danger facing two Russian Orthodox journalists. We relied on our Serbian driver to handle all our safety issues. At first, Dushko refused to go to Istok. But we told him that as a refugee of the Grachanitsa reservation he could help us to put together an article about the real situation in Serbian enclaves, or sit at home waiting for his enclave to be cleansed.
Our jeep had already been riding for half an hour in the mountainous village Istok. Passers-by stared at us intensely. Doshko gripped the wheel tightly. His large hairy paws whitened from stress and he whispered through his teeth: "Albanians, Albanians."
Doshko visually screened everyone around us, looking for his fellow Serbs. But he didn't find any. All the sudden, the car backed up, he turned down an alley and we stopped at a house with a satellite dish that read: "Total-TV."
The Moscow government built these houses in the Istok village after Serbian homes were burned down by Albanians. We managed to find one family living in the area.
The Moscow government built these houses in the Istok village after Serbian homes were burned down by Albanians. We managed to find one family living in the area.
"It's Serbian TV," Doshko said. "Albanians don't watch it."
We exited the car. Destroyed walls of old homes surrounded us. New smaller houses had been built among them. Typically Albanians don't live in such modest residences. And in Istok the Serbs don't either, although these homes had built especially for them by the Moscow government.
All the homes sat empty and silent. The windows were covered by rags. We walked around the homes and stood next to the crumbling walls that had eroded beneath the rain. Snakes warmed themselves under the sun on concrete blocks. We were looking for the only remaining Serbian family. And we found her. An elderly Serbian woman stood looking at us cautiously.
Doshko asked her in Albanian: "Are you a Serb?"
"Yes. So?" she answered in the same tongue.
"No, really tell us, are you a Serb?" he asked again, only in Serbian.
"And so?" she repeated, only in Serbian.
"I'm a Serb from Grachanitsa! These are Russian journalists from Moscow!" he said.
In half a moment we were already in her kitchen. The coffee boiled on the gas stove. Milavitsa put shot glasses and rakia on the table. The home was half-dark. All the windows were covered in blankets. She told us how she had run away from Istok, but later returned.
"I came back when I learned that Moscow had decided to help us. But the Russians outsourced the work to a German company that hired Albanians to fulfill the contract. In effect, the Albanians made money off the Russians, by building our homes and not providing us with electricity or water. This was done on purpose. But I'm still happy the house was built. Before I was living in a shed with a cow."
Milavitsa's family had lived in Istok for nearly a century. In the summer of 1999, Albanians blew up a home, fish restaurant, wine cellar and four-car garage in the village. They also stole a tractor and land. Her family home was burned. She named the dead, counting them on her fingers.
"Did you know that Serbs were kidnapped and their organs trafficked?" we asked her cautiously.
"Yes, we all knew! We knew that only young, strong men went missing. On June 10, the Albanians rounded up about 50 people here in Istok and took them away. No one ever saw them again. We appealed to both the Serbian and EU authorities for help. But they said that we didn't have any evidence. As if you can just go to a clinic where organs are being trafficked, take photos and leave!"
When we left, Milavitsa complained that the humanitarian aid in Mitrovitsa was subsiding from Russia's Emergency Situations Ministry. She added there was no communication among the enclaves. We told her that service was being held again at the Grachanitsa Monastery and some enclaves were holding up well.
Tsveta's son may have been a victim of underground organ trafficking. But she hopes to find him alive.
Tsveta's son may have been a victim of underground organ trafficking. But she hopes to find him alive.
Serbs give birth in enclaves
Try to imagine a Russian village in a mountainous district of Chechnya in the mid-1990s. There's poor communication with mainland Russia and transport is unreliable. The local population has no one to rely on in an emergency.
It's a long hike to the Serbian border from the Shtripts enclave. The 10,000 or so population doesn't have any employment opportunities. They're farmers, although portions of the land border with Albanian villages and locals don't let Serbs work the fields.
"They shoot farmers," said Mile Popovich, a member of the local administration. "Almost everything in our enclave is completely natural. The economy is ruined and the Albanians don't buy anything from the Serbs."
"Doesn't Belgrade help you?" we asked.
"It's hard to call it 'help,'" Popovich said. "Their policy is to move all the educated people to Serbia and help them find work. Belgrade helped all qualified workers leave. Only we farmers and workers remain. But that's okay. We'll win Kosovo back the same way we lost it. And our friends will be stronger by then. I don't think we should drag Russia into a war right now. In the meanwhile our kids are growing up."
"Do Serbs really have children in the enclaves?" we asked.
"People just understood what they need to do," Popovich answered. "There's an average of three children per family in the enclaves."
"Have Albanians tried to take Shtripts?" we asked.
"They're too afraid. We can call 5,000 men to arms in a moment," Popovich said. "The KFOR soldiers already tried to disarm us. The Poles came first. They walked through the enclave, spoke with locals and later told their commanding officers they wouldn't do it. Then the Americans came with their search dogs on helicopters. They went to each home looking for arms, but we sent our shepherd dogs after them. Then the Americans climbed back into their helicopters and took off. For some reason, they haven't rushed to disarm the Albanians... But the KLA has shot at our buses. People have died in the thousands. A lot of people have disappeared without a trace. We used to worry during kidnappings in 1999. My neighbor was kidnapped and they never found his body. The kidnapping started as soon as NATO forces came to Kosovo."
A government employee told us how to find the mother of a kidnap victim. We went to see her.
"They kept telling me my son's alive."
It wasn't easy to find her home. We wandered the streets until a local woman carrying groceries offered to escort us to Tseta Dogandjich's house. As we walked, we read the many death notices glued on the fences and lampposts. The woman caught us staring and said in good Russian: "There aren't many of us left..."
Dogandjich's story is typical in Kosovo. Her son Yakov disappeared in 1999.
"He was coming home and had to pick up some shepherds along the way," she said. There was an old Soviet TV in the corner of the room.
"Someone stopped Yakov. They found his car by the road with the doors half open. I went to the KFOR for help, but they said calmly: 'Your son was kidnapped by an independent criminal group.' The authorities didn't look for him at all. But then word came that Yakov was still alive. We asked a foreign journalist who was preparing to meet Albanian criminals to help us find him. They again told her that Yakov was alive. About one month later, some people contacted me and asked me to give them clothes and money for food for my son. Albanians have contacted me several times saying that he was alive, but they couldn't release him. Why did they want him to begin with?"
"Have you continued searching for your son?" we asked.
"Yes. We were continuously told he was alive. We met with Major Taylor who commanded KFOR in our region. He told us they couldn't find and free our son. But he added we should try to buy him back through our Albanian acquaintances. A good Albanian friend of Yakov's said that if he tried to intervene, he and his whole family would be killed. Other Albanians refused to help us, although we've managed to set aside a good amount of money to buy him back."
Soldiers of the enclave self-defense movement explained why prisoners were often sent from one area to the next speaking on the condition of anonymity.
"Many kidnap victims were found in mass graves," they said. "But they were mostly older. Young healthy men were kept in special camps. When international commissions headed to the area, the Albanians relocated their prisoners. And this is how the victims live until the Albanians receive an order for a specific organ. Then the victim is taken from Kosovo to an underground clinic."
Our investigation was nearing an end. Most importantly, we had learned that Ponte's scandalous statements were true. Many Serbs were kidnapped at the same time in the summer of 1999. The majority were young healthy men. Also, they weren't killed immediately, but kept in special camps. KP came across a woman who was examined by doctors working for the underground organ trade. She was saved by a astounding chain of events.
General's list
Deputy in Serbia’s parliament and General Bozhidar Delich told us that no Serb was left alive who could testify to the KLA's organ trafficking.
"We received information about the concentration camps holding Serbian prisoners," Delich told KP. "We passed these materials along to international organizations. But the terrorists had their own links in the KFOR and UN missions. Whenever the commission intended on checking a specific location, the prisoners were quickly transported to another camp. Back then, we had high hopes we would see the prisoners alive. In 1999, Serbia released 2,000 Albanian prisoners to Kosovo, hoping to receive kidnapped Serbs in return. But the Albanians didn't send one! Of course not! They would describe the horrors they were subjected to, including organ extraction. The KLA had about 10 concentration camps for organ donors in south Kosovo. The largest were Budak, Yablonits, Ponoshevets, Zrsts and Nashestk. There was a huge camp in Prizren near a bank building, but it's very dangerous traveling there."
Naturally, the first thing we did was visit these 10 locations. But there were no signs of war or museums honoring genocide victims. All we saw was new buildings, dumps, car parts clearance sales and hundreds of monuments honoring KLA heroes. We stopped to take a closer look at one of the monuments. Kosovo’s state myth about the righteous KLA was developing quickly.
"Who's your hero," we asked a young boy in English in Yablonits. He looked about 15 years old.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"Reporters from Scotland,” we said.
"Where's that?" he asked.
"Great Britain," we answered
The boy smiled and started running around us with his dog. "English is good, Europe is good, America is our friend! And Ramush Kharadinay is the best!" the boy shouted, getting back to my first question.
"Well who isn't good, then?" we asked.
"Serbia," the boy said straight away. "And Russia," he added. "I hate Russia the most. It's the farthest away."
Some adults nearby joined in the political debate. But when asked about the concentration camps, they answered: "The Serbs were never here. There was never a war here. We always lived here." And we heard the same things in every town.
After visiting the last location on the general's list, we knew there was little hope to find witnesses to the KLA's organ trafficking. Driving around the mountain roads, we drove by the Holy Archangels Monastery that had been burned down by Albanians. During the last wave of the genocide in 2004, monk Khariton was kidnapped. Several days later, his naked body was found in the mountains. He was severely tortured and his severed head was never found. Today, the Middle Age monastery has a modern-day martyr. Restoration works have commenced at the monastery only inasmuch as they have begun cleaning the ruins. The monks haven't been persecuted in recent years.
The monastery's members are few. One is a Serbian from Prizren where the general advised us not to go.
Evitsa Dzhovevich and her daughter Militsa take a cab to the monastery on holidays. But they walk all the way back to Prizren. It's a form of protest. Two-year-old Militsa is the only Serbian child in the ancient capital of Orthodox Kosovo. There aren't any more Serbian children. And there probably won't be anymore. The nuns told us that Eva and Militsa haven't left their apartment in two years. And Eva refuses to move to Serbia. She promised God she wouldn't leave Kosovo after being miraculously saved twice. However, she'll most likely end up moving for her daughter's sake.
Eva and Militsa live in the center of Prizren in an apartment building. But she didn't tell us her apartment number. She wanted to check that our intentions were sincere. And so we ran up and down the stairs knocking on all the doors. Essentially there were two types of doors. The first was ornate steel doors with Albanian last names. The second was wooden doors covered in a layer of cheap paint, the majority of which had been beaten in.
"I believed in God, but I didn't leave Kosovo"
Eva and Militsa live behind a thick steel door. Eva installed the door a long time ago, and she's regretted doing so on more than one occasion. Militsa is bright-eyed and enthusiastic upon seeing us. She's never had so many guests over before. And we're having a difficult time coping with the situation. Imagine playing with the last Russian child in Novgorod or Tver. That's a good way to understand what the Serbs have lost.
Usually the only person who comes to the apartment is an 80-year-old Muslim Serb. He's brought them food to the apartment for two years now. Militsa's father, a Greek who worked in Prizren, sends them money each month. He didn't want to stay in Kosovo, and Eva didn't want to leave.
"I was first kidnapped on Sept. 14, 1999 at 11:50," Eva said. "I was buying vegetables at a stall near my house. Albanians had just entered the city at the time. Fifty people were killed before the KFOR came. Around 30 children had also disappeared. An Albanian walked over to me in a military uniform and asked to see my documents. But he didn't even look at them. He knew right away that I am a Serb. Then he dragged me to his car. I was screaming and fighting. Soon a second Albanian ran over to help him. They picked me up and shoved me in the trunk. The next thing I knew I was at their headquarters, where they held me three days. Later, a man came to see me who gave me a thorough medical examination. He measured my blood pressure, took blood and started asking me a bunch of questions. He wanted to know how healthy I was and I didn't understand why."
Eva was devoid of emotion. It was clear she had put the incident behind her long ago.
"Who was this man? Was he a Serb or an Albanian?"
"I don’t know. He spoke both languages equally well," she said. "He wrote down everything I said in his notebook. He was surprised when I told him how old I was. I was born in 1960."
"You look wonderful for your age," we said. We couldn't resist the compliment.
Eva smiled for the first and last time at our meeting.
"That's what saved me. Then the man who inspected me left immediately. Later I was taken to their chief, who was sitting in the office of a bank director. He said: 'Pray to God and thank him for being so old. Now get out of here.' And he threw me my passport. Ever since I have believed in God. But I haven't left Kosovo."
Eva said sadly that Prizen was a Serbian city in the 1990s. Most resident Serbs said they'd never live anywhere else. But then they started leaving one by one. Only Eva stayed. She refused to leave in 2001 when Albanians tried to kick in her apartment door, or shot at her in the street.
"There was a massacre on March 17, 2004. Serbian homes were burning in the city. The day before, the KFOR soldiers had come to our homes and hung signs on the doors reading 'This apartment is protected by the KFOR forces.' I ripped the sign off right away. And on March 18, Albanians came and started kicking in my door. I called my Greek friend who works for a charity mission and asked him to call the UN Police. But someone told the Albanians that a patrol car was on the way and they escaped. The police helped me pack my things. I lived for an entire year at a military base before going home.”
We got ready to leave Prizren before dark. But my driver Doshko couldn't hold back. "Eva, don't you understand? You can't live this way. Think about your daughter. Here is my number in Grachanits. Call. I'll help you move to our enclave."
Eva took the number, but made no promises. We didn't judge her. Maybe Eva and Militsa are paying the price for their nation's wrongdoings. They're forced to live in torment in what was once a Serbian city. But someday the tide may change. That's something worth believing in.
Doshko was quiet on the way back to Grachanits. All he said was: "It's a shame God doesn't have time for all of us."
"I spoke with Carla. She waved us off"
We traveled to Belgrade to complete our investigation. We had learned about a group at a refugee camp near Obilich that was collecting information on kidnapped Serbs. We were given the number of the group's head Simo Spasich at a KFOR wagon inhabited by exiled Serbs. Spasich had tried to get The Hague to investigate the organ trafficking.
Spasich met us in a yellow T-shirt with the motto: "Why have Belgrade and Prishtina forgotten kidnapped Serbs?"
Monuents dedicated to the Kosovo Liberation Army (KLA) have been built along the roads — one every half kilometer.
Monuents dedicated to the Kosovo Liberation Army (KLA) have been built along the roads — one every half kilometer.
"I don't want people to forget their brothers," Spasich said, smiling sadly. He spoke in earnest. In 1998, both his brothers disappeared — Zharko and Belko. He still hopes to find them. "Several weeks after they disappeared, I received the first news about them. A Turk told me he saw both my brothers in Albania. They were both alive. I was even able to talk to them by phone. And that was the last time we spoke. My brother says he doesn't know why he was kidnapped. They don't force him to work and they don't demand ransom. I could kidnap an international bus and demand they return my brothers, but I hoped they'd trade them instead. Serbia released 2,108 Albanians. But no one was offered in return."
"Ponte writes in her book that Russian volunteers also disappeared. Have you heard anything about this?" we asked.
"There's one Russian in the list of kidnapped individuals — Igor Sergeevich Nifontov born in 1968," Spasich said. "We don't even have his photo. He disappeared in July 1999. There were probably more Russians. Volunteers fought under different names. Maybe the relatives of kidnapped Russians will read the article and contact me?"
"What happened to the Serbs who were held hostage?" he asked.
"The Albanians didn't kill everyone at once," Spasich said. "We found bodies in mass graves and the mountains. But the fate of many other Serbs was unclear until several facts later came to light. I first spoke with Ponte about this in 2001 in Belgrade. We gave her a list of 1,300 kidnapped individuals and the letters that were dropped over Kosovo by NATO planes signed by Tachi. They called all the Albanians to leave the country before the bombings began. The Albanians left in masses guarded by KLA soldiers. Our kidnapped Serbs were seen among them. The Albanian's used this maneuver to get the kidnapped Serbs out of the country under false pretenses as refugees."
"Why?" we asked.
"To take their organs before killing them," Spasich said. "I know this is why over 1,000 people were taken to Albania. Ponte only mentions 300 Serbs. In 2004, I received a call from The Hague that all the Serbs who were on the list were killed."
"Did you know that the Serbs were kidnapped for their organs?" we asked.
"I assumed so," Spasich said. "We received information in this regard. I learned from military personnel that this happens in western Macedonia, too. When Ponte told us the Serbs on our list had been killed, she knew that their organs had been stolen. We're preparing a lawsuit against her for masking these crimes. We could have punished the guilty four years ago. But Kosovo's independence was dearer to The Hague than some Serbs. They were willing to close their eyes to the horrors committed by the Albanians. It's a big political game. If everyone knew about the brutalities committed against the Serbs, no one would have recognized Kosovo's independence."
A Call to Brussels
Dmitry ROGOZIN, Russia's Representative in NATO: "It's real-deal politics"
"The international community always knew about the organ trafficking as described in Ponte's book. These are things that everyone knows who's ever been involved with Kosovo's problems. There is serious evidence discrediting Tachi, the KLA's head, who's still respected in the West. Everyone knew that the KLA is a terrorist organization financed by drug trafficking. For the West, acknowledging these facts meant breaking their plans for dividing Serbia, changing the power scheme in the Balkans and weakening Russian influence. My partners in Brussels call it 'real-deal politics.
Iron Carla's revelation
Hardly a day goes by without fragments of Ponte's book hitting Belgrade newspapers. Here is a commonly quoted section that details the horrors of Kosovo organ trafficking:
"According to the journalists' sources, who were only identified as Kosovo Albanians, some of the younger and fitter prisoners were visited by doctors and were never hit. They were transferred to other detention camps in Burrel and the neighboring area, one of which was a barracks behind a yellow house 20 km behind the town.
"One room inside this yellow house, the journalists said, was kitted out as a makeshift operating theater, and it was here that surgeons transplanted the organs of prisoners. These organs, according to the sources, were then sent to Rinas airport, Tirana, to be sent to surgical clinics abroad to be transplanted to paying patients.
"One of the informers had personally carried out a shipment to the airport. The victims, deprived of a kidney, were then locked up again, inside the barracks, until the moment they were killed for other vital organs. In this way, the other prisoners in the barracks were aware of the fate that awaited them, and according to the source, pleaded, terrified to be killed immediately.
"Among the prisoners who were taken to these barracks were women from Kosovo, Albania, Russia and other Slavic countries. Two of the sources said that they helped to bury the corpses of the dead around the yellow house and in a neighboring cemetery. According to the sources, the organ smuggling was carried out with the knowledge and active involvement of middle and high ranking involvement from the KLA (ed. Kosovo Liberation Army).
На митинге в Косовской- Митровице студенты юрфака филиала Приштинского университета продемонстрировал& #1080; свое видение настоящего правосудия. На вилах был сожжен шкиптарский наряд, олицетворявший отпущенного Гаагой албанского «мясника» Рамуша Харадиная.
Law students from Prishtin University at a rally.
"A few months after [October 2002] the investigators of the tribunal and UNMIK reached central Albania and the yellow house which the journalists sources had revealed as the place where the prisoners were killed to transplant their organs. The journalists and the Albanian prosecutor accompanied the investigators to the site.
"The house was now white. The owner denied it had ever been repainted even though investigators found traces of yellow along the base of its walls. Inside the investigators found pieces of gauze, a used syringe and two plastic IV bags encrusted with mud and empty bottles of medicine, some of which was of a muscle relaxant often used in surgical operations. The application of a chemical substance revealed to the scientific team traces of blood on the walls and on the floor of a room inside the house, except for in a clean area of the floor sized 180x60cm.
"The investigators were not able to determine whether the traces they found were of human blood. The sources did not indicate the position of the grave of the presumed victims and so we did not find the bodies."
However, Serbian journalists began conducting their own investigations into the purported organ trafficking. Correspondents from the Press newspaper were said to have found the barracks described by Ponte. However, they refused to share detailed information with KP. The tabloid published several photos related to the incident, but many local media representatives believe their authenticity is dubious.
"They wanted to fabricate this huge story, but they ended up with a piece of crap," said Aleksandr Bechich, deputy chief editor of the Pravda opposition newspaper. "Press has been caught lying on more than one occasion. But there is truth to the article. Many Serbs heard about these crimes even before the book's publication. Serbia's Justice Minister Vladan Batich gave Ponte numerous materials about executed and kidnapped Serbs. There was also evidence, but no one was sure if the organs had actually been trafficked. I originally heard about this 5 years ago from Serbia's former head of Military Intelligence. But no one listened to special agents at the time. The Serbian special forces had documents that certified that medical equipment had been brought to camps in Albania. This evidence was given to Western intelligence agencies. 'We can't work in Albania,' they said. 'Help us with this.' But no one did a thing. U.S. and German special forces knew that Serbs had been kidnapped in 1999. As they didn't do anything to fix the situation, we should assume they were also were involved in the trafficking network. How was the system organized? The KLA received huge sums of cash for the organs. This money was used to buy drugs from Afghanistan, which were later sold in Western Europe. The KLA bought arms using this money. Enough facts had been dug up to indict Kosovo's former Prime Minister Ramush Kharadinay, current head of state Khashim Tachi and other prominent Albanians. But as opposed to being sent to prison, Kharadinay was released from The Hague in early April even though he had been charged with murdering Serbian civilians. They said he wasn't guilty. But we have documented facts proving that Kharadinay personally executed 60 Serbs and ordered 300 more to be killed. Kharadinay's release was a severe blow for the families of the deceased."
The tribunal's decision to set Kharadinay free was as hurtful for Serbs as when the West recognized Kosovo's independence. The KLA's field commander was the equivalent of an Albanian Shamil Basaev — cruel and uncompromising. Nine witnesses were lined up to testify against Kharadinay at The Hague. But they were all killed under various circumstances during the trial. Two were killed by a sniper, one died in an automobile accident in Montenegro, two were stabbed, two were burned to death in their car while serving in Kosovo's Police and two were killed in a village cafe in Kosovo.
Many people in Serbia believe that Ramush Kharadinay was a key figure in the organ trafficking network.
"Tachi was a criminal," Deyan Mirovich, a radical party deputy in Serbia's parliament, told KP before our trip to Kosovsku-Mitrovitsu. He spouted off his version of a brief history of modern-day Serbia. "First, Tachi was involved in drug trafficking, then he headed a gang and later a terrorist group. Now he's a U.S. and EU ally. Kharadinay is the same story. He was a bouncer at a night club and ended up running a terrorist organization. In the forward to his book 'Peace and Freedo,' he wrote: 'I've killed Serbian policemen. I've killed civilian Serbs and Albanians who were disobedient.' This is why I believe everything Ponte wrote. We know all about this in Serbia. Kharadinay had a camp on Lake Radonich in Metokhia. People were taken there from Prizren, Pecha and Djakovitsa. Many were executed. People were also selected for so-called medical centers. They were kept captive while their organs were systematically extracted. You want proof? Look for their relatives in Kosovo. That's the only way. All the other e
vidence is destroyed."
Nothing to lose for Serbs in Kosovo's enclaves
Many people have heard the phrase "humanitarian catastrophe," but few have actually seen one. Serbian enclaves in Kosovo fall into this category. Homeless children roam the streets. Adults loiter in the sun, or wait for clients who never come in self-styled cabs. Piles of trash lie by the roadside. Disfunctional state services that won't do anything even if they're asked to.
Обелиск погибшим сербам у моста, разделяющего православную и мусульманскую части Митровицы. Здесь всегда дежурят солдаты КФОР и «хранители моста», в любой момент готовые встать на защиту своей части анклава.
Forty last names of deceased Serbs are written on an obelisk on the Serbian side of the bridge dividing the town along ethnic lines. The Albanians have tried to annex the Serbian section of the city on numerous occasions. The bridge has served as a stage for bloody wars.
KP traveled to the Kosovsku-Mitrovitsu enclave in north Kosovo to learn more about the enclave phenomenon. Our journalists sat in a dilapidated cafe waiting for the Kosovo Serbian rally to begin. The cafe's windows were covered in bullet holes. The rally was to commence at 12:44. The number has a special subtext. It's the number of a UN resolution on Kosovo declaring the territory an indelible part of Serbia.
Romanian soldiers from the NATO Kosovo Force (KFOR) took the cover off the machine gun on the small armored car. They knew they had to be ready. Meanwhile, we drank coffee behind the UN courthouse. Shrapnel had killed a Ukrainian peacekeeper there only a week before. He had been on a peacekeeping mission to introduce constitutional order in the country. But Serbian lawyers weren't a part of that order. They had been asked to leave the courthouse and were later replaced by Albanians. Those who refused to leave were arrested. The peacekeepers hadn't realized Kosovo Serbs had been on the edge of an explosion for several years. They had nothing to lose. Their country had been taken from them, and they had been left in poverty waiting for a miracle. As we were told numerously, many Kosovo Serbs consider a miracle to be 250,000 Russian volunteers. Russian journalists, like us, were taken for spies or advanced detachment.
"Sweet life" of guardian's of the east
Mitrovista isn't really an enclave. It practically borders Serbia, but a bridge divides the city into Albanian and Serbian sections. Unofficial guards man the Serbian side. This small detail shows who is the aggressor in the situation and who is on the defense.
Forty last names of deceased Serbs are written on an obelisk on the Serbian side. The Albanians have tried to annex their section of the city on numerous occasions. The bridge served as a stage for bloody wars. It's quiet on the Serbian side. Muscular men sit in a pink 24-hour cafe. They're officially called the bridge's guardians, as their job is to stop Albanians attacking from across the bridge. They greeted us cautiously. The waiter approached us slowly and indifferently.
"One coffee, one bottle of water," we asked in Serbian, adding in Russian that we were Russian journalists writing about Kosovo Serbs. The demeanour of the waiter and the guards changed immediately. They offered us the table with a view of the bridge. Soon after, the leader of the local branch of National Serbs Union, Neboysha Iuvovich, came to the cafe and greeted us.
"Many politicians are straying from their positions and writing about the truth," Neboysha said. "Carla Del Ponte didn't want to write about what really happened before because she would have had to launch investigations into crimes connected with organ trafficking. It would have been career suicide for an EU politician in Kosovo. We have enough facts to prove genocide. We have information confirming 1,200 Serbs were kidnapped and 1,700 killed. No one can say for sure. Serbs were kidnapped all over Kosovo. People disappeared — and not farmers but doctors. Several were kidnapped. One was the famous surgeon Andrea Tomanovish. His body was never found. Try going south to the Albanian border. Don't think about talking about this with the Albanian administration, though. You'll disappear. And only speak English with the Albanians."
In the morning we saw we were almost in the mountains. The enclave was overtaken by a thick icy mist. They came to pick us up. A red jeep poked through the clouds. The numbers on the Kosovo license plate were cardboard. Our driver, Dushko, a Serb, took off the numbers before crossing the bridge onto the other Albanian side. Two-hundred meters, barbed wire fences, a KFOR outpost... Then everything changed. All the sudden we saw clean, swept streets, bright signs, shop Turkish- and Roma-style windows. And U.S. flags. The new Albanian Kosovo is still celebrating victory.
Big laundry mat
Kosovo was once considered Yugoslavia's poorest province. However, the situation has recently changed thanks to the world's most progressive democracies. Of course, myriad sacrifices were made along the way. Many Kosovo residents were exiled or sent to reservations, which the European Union refers to as "enclaves." Humanitarian mission representatives don't like visiting Serbian ghettos. The reservations are an unpleasant sight — especially compared to the rest of Kosovo which is a perfect example of good peacekeeping.
Kosovo is crammed with cash. EU and U.S. humanitarian organizations are making significant contributions to the economy. Albanians are also sending huge annual remittances from Western Europe. Part of this money is earned from criminal activities. But Kosovo can't yet cope with these substantial money streams. The funds are poorly managed and large sums are invested in outlandish construction projects, such as 100-meter swimming pools in entirely uninhabited areas. Thousands of consumer goods stores stand by the road. The average Kosovo village has 5-10 supermarkets for every 500 residents, as well as three car washes and mechanic’s shops. The country's elegant agrarian landscape now has tens of thousands of newly built elite homes. Scattered among them are the skeletons of Serbian homes in ruins, covered in weeds. Albanians are dismantling these homes and using the materials to build more multilevel mega markets. One theory why these stores are built is that they are used for money laundering. They have few customers and the assortment is always e — nuts and mineral water. It's interesting to think how long these stores would have to run before covering their costs. The average land plot for these mega markets sells for 100,000 euro.
The EU can't explain why the Albanian mafia was given a republic to rule after massacring the Serbian population. But the Albanians know how to play the democratic game. Each mega market boasts a collection of small EU and U.S. flags, although the well-being of Kosovo residents is divided purely along ethnic lines — a mockery of the democratic values that the country pretends to uphold.
When Kosovo declared independence, automobile amnesty was given to all vehicles stolen from the EU. The automobile business has served as an economic engine for Kosovo.
When Kosovo declared independence, automobile amnesty was given to all vehicles stolen from the EU. The automobile business has served as an economic engine for Kosovo.
Istok
A Western humanitarian mission employee based in Prishtin recapped the events that had transpired in the Kosovo village, Istok. He said that Albanians had misbehaved a bit in the summer of 1999, but everything fell into place shortly after. Moscow built 48 homes in the village for the Serbians whose houses had been burned down. Today, he added, Istok is the pinnacle of peaceful coexistence of Albanians and Serbs.
Lawyer Lozanka Radoyvich told us an altogether different story in Belgrad. A massacre had ensued for a week in Istok in 1999. All the homes of Serbs were burned down or seized. Forty-three people were kidnapped. They have never been found.
As we made our way through Kosovo, we couldn't imagine the danger facing two Russian Orthodox journalists. We relied on our Serbian driver to handle all our safety issues. At first, Dushko refused to go to Istok. But we told him that as a refugee of the Grachanitsa reservation he could help us to put together an article about the real situation in Serbian enclaves, or sit at home waiting for his enclave to be cleansed.
Our jeep had already been riding for half an hour in the mountainous village Istok. Passers-by stared at us intensely. Doshko gripped the wheel tightly. His large hairy paws whitened from stress and he whispered through his teeth: "Albanians, Albanians."
Doshko visually screened everyone around us, looking for his fellow Serbs. But he didn't find any. All the sudden, the car backed up, he turned down an alley and we stopped at a house with a satellite dish that read: "Total-TV."
The Moscow government built these houses in the Istok village after Serbian homes were burned down by Albanians. We managed to find one family living in the area.
The Moscow government built these houses in the Istok village after Serbian homes were burned down by Albanians. We managed to find one family living in the area.
"It's Serbian TV," Doshko said. "Albanians don't watch it."
We exited the car. Destroyed walls of old homes surrounded us. New smaller houses had been built among them. Typically Albanians don't live in such modest residences. And in Istok the Serbs don't either, although these homes had built especially for them by the Moscow government.
All the homes sat empty and silent. The windows were covered by rags. We walked around the homes and stood next to the crumbling walls that had eroded beneath the rain. Snakes warmed themselves under the sun on concrete blocks. We were looking for the only remaining Serbian family. And we found her. An elderly Serbian woman stood looking at us cautiously.
Doshko asked her in Albanian: "Are you a Serb?"
"Yes. So?" she answered in the same tongue.
"No, really tell us, are you a Serb?" he asked again, only in Serbian.
"And so?" she repeated, only in Serbian.
"I'm a Serb from Grachanitsa! These are Russian journalists from Moscow!" he said.
In half a moment we were already in her kitchen. The coffee boiled on the gas stove. Milavitsa put shot glasses and rakia on the table. The home was half-dark. All the windows were covered in blankets. She told us how she had run away from Istok, but later returned.
"I came back when I learned that Moscow had decided to help us. But the Russians outsourced the work to a German company that hired Albanians to fulfill the contract. In effect, the Albanians made money off the Russians, by building our homes and not providing us with electricity or water. This was done on purpose. But I'm still happy the house was built. Before I was living in a shed with a cow."
Milavitsa's family had lived in Istok for nearly a century. In the summer of 1999, Albanians blew up a home, fish restaurant, wine cellar and four-car garage in the village. They also stole a tractor and land. Her family home was burned. She named the dead, counting them on her fingers.
"Did you know that Serbs were kidnapped and their organs trafficked?" we asked her cautiously.
"Yes, we all knew! We knew that only young, strong men went missing. On June 10, the Albanians rounded up about 50 people here in Istok and took them away. No one ever saw them again. We appealed to both the Serbian and EU authorities for help. But they said that we didn't have any evidence. As if you can just go to a clinic where organs are being trafficked, take photos and leave!"
When we left, Milavitsa complained that the humanitarian aid in Mitrovitsa was subsiding from Russia's Emergency Situations Ministry. She added there was no communication among the enclaves. We told her that service was being held again at the Grachanitsa Monastery and some enclaves were holding up well.
Tsveta's son may have been a victim of underground organ trafficking. But she hopes to find him alive.
Tsveta's son may have been a victim of underground organ trafficking. But she hopes to find him alive.
Serbs give birth in enclaves
Try to imagine a Russian village in a mountainous district of Chechnya in the mid-1990s. There's poor communication with mainland Russia and transport is unreliable. The local population has no one to rely on in an emergency.
It's a long hike to the Serbian border from the Shtripts enclave. The 10,000 or so population doesn't have any employment opportunities. They're farmers, although portions of the land border with Albanian villages and locals don't let Serbs work the fields.
"They shoot farmers," said Mile Popovich, a member of the local administration. "Almost everything in our enclave is completely natural. The economy is ruined and the Albanians don't buy anything from the Serbs."
"Doesn't Belgrade help you?" we asked.
"It's hard to call it 'help,'" Popovich said. "Their policy is to move all the educated people to Serbia and help them find work. Belgrade helped all qualified workers leave. Only we farmers and workers remain. But that's okay. We'll win Kosovo back the same way we lost it. And our friends will be stronger by then. I don't think we should drag Russia into a war right now. In the meanwhile our kids are growing up."
"Do Serbs really have children in the enclaves?" we asked.
"People just understood what they need to do," Popovich answered. "There's an average of three children per family in the enclaves."
"Have Albanians tried to take Shtripts?" we asked.
"They're too afraid. We can call 5,000 men to arms in a moment," Popovich said. "The KFOR soldiers already tried to disarm us. The Poles came first. They walked through the enclave, spoke with locals and later told their commanding officers they wouldn't do it. Then the Americans came with their search dogs on helicopters. They went to each home looking for arms, but we sent our shepherd dogs after them. Then the Americans climbed back into their helicopters and took off. For some reason, they haven't rushed to disarm the Albanians... But the KLA has shot at our buses. People have died in the thousands. A lot of people have disappeared without a trace. We used to worry during kidnappings in 1999. My neighbor was kidnapped and they never found his body. The kidnapping started as soon as NATO forces came to Kosovo."
A government employee told us how to find the mother of a kidnap victim. We went to see her.
"They kept telling me my son's alive."
It wasn't easy to find her home. We wandered the streets until a local woman carrying groceries offered to escort us to Tseta Dogandjich's house. As we walked, we read the many death notices glued on the fences and lampposts. The woman caught us staring and said in good Russian: "There aren't many of us left..."
Dogandjich's story is typical in Kosovo. Her son Yakov disappeared in 1999.
"He was coming home and had to pick up some shepherds along the way," she said. There was an old Soviet TV in the corner of the room.
"Someone stopped Yakov. They found his car by the road with the doors half open. I went to the KFOR for help, but they said calmly: 'Your son was kidnapped by an independent criminal group.' The authorities didn't look for him at all. But then word came that Yakov was still alive. We asked a foreign journalist who was preparing to meet Albanian criminals to help us find him. They again told her that Yakov was alive. About one month later, some people contacted me and asked me to give them clothes and money for food for my son. Albanians have contacted me several times saying that he was alive, but they couldn't release him. Why did they want him to begin with?"
"Have you continued searching for your son?" we asked.
"Yes. We were continuously told he was alive. We met with Major Taylor who commanded KFOR in our region. He told us they couldn't find and free our son. But he added we should try to buy him back through our Albanian acquaintances. A good Albanian friend of Yakov's said that if he tried to intervene, he and his whole family would be killed. Other Albanians refused to help us, although we've managed to set aside a good amount of money to buy him back."
Soldiers of the enclave self-defense movement explained why prisoners were often sent from one area to the next speaking on the condition of anonymity.
"Many kidnap victims were found in mass graves," they said. "But they were mostly older. Young healthy men were kept in special camps. When international commissions headed to the area, the Albanians relocated their prisoners. And this is how the victims live until the Albanians receive an order for a specific organ. Then the victim is taken from Kosovo to an underground clinic."
Our investigation was nearing an end. Most importantly, we had learned that Ponte's scandalous statements were true. Many Serbs were kidnapped at the same time in the summer of 1999. The majority were young healthy men. Also, they weren't killed immediately, but kept in special camps. KP came across a woman who was examined by doctors working for the underground organ trade. She was saved by a astounding chain of events.
General's list
Deputy in Serbia’s parliament and General Bozhidar Delich told us that no Serb was left alive who could testify to the KLA's organ trafficking.
"We received information about the concentration camps holding Serbian prisoners," Delich told KP. "We passed these materials along to international organizations. But the terrorists had their own links in the KFOR and UN missions. Whenever the commission intended on checking a specific location, the prisoners were quickly transported to another camp. Back then, we had high hopes we would see the prisoners alive. In 1999, Serbia released 2,000 Albanian prisoners to Kosovo, hoping to receive kidnapped Serbs in return. But the Albanians didn't send one! Of course not! They would describe the horrors they were subjected to, including organ extraction. The KLA had about 10 concentration camps for organ donors in south Kosovo. The largest were Budak, Yablonits, Ponoshevets, Zrsts and Nashestk. There was a huge camp in Prizren near a bank building, but it's very dangerous traveling there."
Naturally, the first thing we did was visit these 10 locations. But there were no signs of war or museums honoring genocide victims. All we saw was new buildings, dumps, car parts clearance sales and hundreds of monuments honoring KLA heroes. We stopped to take a closer look at one of the monuments. Kosovo’s state myth about the righteous KLA was developing quickly.
"Who's your hero," we asked a young boy in English in Yablonits. He looked about 15 years old.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"Reporters from Scotland,” we said.
"Where's that?" he asked.
"Great Britain," we answered
The boy smiled and started running around us with his dog. "English is good, Europe is good, America is our friend! And Ramush Kharadinay is the best!" the boy shouted, getting back to my first question.
"Well who isn't good, then?" we asked.
"Serbia," the boy said straight away. "And Russia," he added. "I hate Russia the most. It's the farthest away."
Some adults nearby joined in the political debate. But when asked about the concentration camps, they answered: "The Serbs were never here. There was never a war here. We always lived here." And we heard the same things in every town.
After visiting the last location on the general's list, we knew there was little hope to find witnesses to the KLA's organ trafficking. Driving around the mountain roads, we drove by the Holy Archangels Monastery that had been burned down by Albanians. During the last wave of the genocide in 2004, monk Khariton was kidnapped. Several days later, his naked body was found in the mountains. He was severely tortured and his severed head was never found. Today, the Middle Age monastery has a modern-day martyr. Restoration works have commenced at the monastery only inasmuch as they have begun cleaning the ruins. The monks haven't been persecuted in recent years.
The monastery's members are few. One is a Serbian from Prizren where the general advised us not to go.
Evitsa Dzhovevich and her daughter Militsa take a cab to the monastery on holidays. But they walk all the way back to Prizren. It's a form of protest. Two-year-old Militsa is the only Serbian child in the ancient capital of Orthodox Kosovo. There aren't any more Serbian children. And there probably won't be anymore. The nuns told us that Eva and Militsa haven't left their apartment in two years. And Eva refuses to move to Serbia. She promised God she wouldn't leave Kosovo after being miraculously saved twice. However, she'll most likely end up moving for her daughter's sake.
Eva and Militsa live in the center of Prizren in an apartment building. But she didn't tell us her apartment number. She wanted to check that our intentions were sincere. And so we ran up and down the stairs knocking on all the doors. Essentially there were two types of doors. The first was ornate steel doors with Albanian last names. The second was wooden doors covered in a layer of cheap paint, the majority of which had been beaten in.
"I believed in God, but I didn't leave Kosovo"
Eva and Militsa live behind a thick steel door. Eva installed the door a long time ago, and she's regretted doing so on more than one occasion. Militsa is bright-eyed and enthusiastic upon seeing us. She's never had so many guests over before. And we're having a difficult time coping with the situation. Imagine playing with the last Russian child in Novgorod or Tver. That's a good way to understand what the Serbs have lost.
Usually the only person who comes to the apartment is an 80-year-old Muslim Serb. He's brought them food to the apartment for two years now. Militsa's father, a Greek who worked in Prizren, sends them money each month. He didn't want to stay in Kosovo, and Eva didn't want to leave.
"I was first kidnapped on Sept. 14, 1999 at 11:50," Eva said. "I was buying vegetables at a stall near my house. Albanians had just entered the city at the time. Fifty people were killed before the KFOR came. Around 30 children had also disappeared. An Albanian walked over to me in a military uniform and asked to see my documents. But he didn't even look at them. He knew right away that I am a Serb. Then he dragged me to his car. I was screaming and fighting. Soon a second Albanian ran over to help him. They picked me up and shoved me in the trunk. The next thing I knew I was at their headquarters, where they held me three days. Later, a man came to see me who gave me a thorough medical examination. He measured my blood pressure, took blood and started asking me a bunch of questions. He wanted to know how healthy I was and I didn't understand why."
Eva was devoid of emotion. It was clear she had put the incident behind her long ago.
"Who was this man? Was he a Serb or an Albanian?"
"I don’t know. He spoke both languages equally well," she said. "He wrote down everything I said in his notebook. He was surprised when I told him how old I was. I was born in 1960."
"You look wonderful for your age," we said. We couldn't resist the compliment.
Eva smiled for the first and last time at our meeting.
"That's what saved me. Then the man who inspected me left immediately. Later I was taken to their chief, who was sitting in the office of a bank director. He said: 'Pray to God and thank him for being so old. Now get out of here.' And he threw me my passport. Ever since I have believed in God. But I haven't left Kosovo."
Eva said sadly that Prizen was a Serbian city in the 1990s. Most resident Serbs said they'd never live anywhere else. But then they started leaving one by one. Only Eva stayed. She refused to leave in 2001 when Albanians tried to kick in her apartment door, or shot at her in the street.
"There was a massacre on March 17, 2004. Serbian homes were burning in the city. The day before, the KFOR soldiers had come to our homes and hung signs on the doors reading 'This apartment is protected by the KFOR forces.' I ripped the sign off right away. And on March 18, Albanians came and started kicking in my door. I called my Greek friend who works for a charity mission and asked him to call the UN Police. But someone told the Albanians that a patrol car was on the way and they escaped. The police helped me pack my things. I lived for an entire year at a military base before going home.”
We got ready to leave Prizren before dark. But my driver Doshko couldn't hold back. "Eva, don't you understand? You can't live this way. Think about your daughter. Here is my number in Grachanits. Call. I'll help you move to our enclave."
Eva took the number, but made no promises. We didn't judge her. Maybe Eva and Militsa are paying the price for their nation's wrongdoings. They're forced to live in torment in what was once a Serbian city. But someday the tide may change. That's something worth believing in.
Doshko was quiet on the way back to Grachanits. All he said was: "It's a shame God doesn't have time for all of us."
"I spoke with Carla. She waved us off"
We traveled to Belgrade to complete our investigation. We had learned about a group at a refugee camp near Obilich that was collecting information on kidnapped Serbs. We were given the number of the group's head Simo Spasich at a KFOR wagon inhabited by exiled Serbs. Spasich had tried to get The Hague to investigate the organ trafficking.
Spasich met us in a yellow T-shirt with the motto: "Why have Belgrade and Prishtina forgotten kidnapped Serbs?"
Monuents dedicated to the Kosovo Liberation Army (KLA) have been built along the roads — one every half kilometer.
Monuents dedicated to the Kosovo Liberation Army (KLA) have been built along the roads — one every half kilometer.
"I don't want people to forget their brothers," Spasich said, smiling sadly. He spoke in earnest. In 1998, both his brothers disappeared — Zharko and Belko. He still hopes to find them. "Several weeks after they disappeared, I received the first news about them. A Turk told me he saw both my brothers in Albania. They were both alive. I was even able to talk to them by phone. And that was the last time we spoke. My brother says he doesn't know why he was kidnapped. They don't force him to work and they don't demand ransom. I could kidnap an international bus and demand they return my brothers, but I hoped they'd trade them instead. Serbia released 2,108 Albanians. But no one was offered in return."
"Ponte writes in her book that Russian volunteers also disappeared. Have you heard anything about this?" we asked.
"There's one Russian in the list of kidnapped individuals — Igor Sergeevich Nifontov born in 1968," Spasich said. "We don't even have his photo. He disappeared in July 1999. There were probably more Russians. Volunteers fought under different names. Maybe the relatives of kidnapped Russians will read the article and contact me?"
"What happened to the Serbs who were held hostage?" he asked.
"The Albanians didn't kill everyone at once," Spasich said. "We found bodies in mass graves and the mountains. But the fate of many other Serbs was unclear until several facts later came to light. I first spoke with Ponte about this in 2001 in Belgrade. We gave her a list of 1,300 kidnapped individuals and the letters that were dropped over Kosovo by NATO planes signed by Tachi. They called all the Albanians to leave the country before the bombings began. The Albanians left in masses guarded by KLA soldiers. Our kidnapped Serbs were seen among them. The Albanian's used this maneuver to get the kidnapped Serbs out of the country under false pretenses as refugees."
"Why?" we asked.
"To take their organs before killing them," Spasich said. "I know this is why over 1,000 people were taken to Albania. Ponte only mentions 300 Serbs. In 2004, I received a call from The Hague that all the Serbs who were on the list were killed."
"Did you know that the Serbs were kidnapped for their organs?" we asked.
"I assumed so," Spasich said. "We received information in this regard. I learned from military personnel that this happens in western Macedonia, too. When Ponte told us the Serbs on our list had been killed, she knew that their organs had been stolen. We're preparing a lawsuit against her for masking these crimes. We could have punished the guilty four years ago. But Kosovo's independence was dearer to The Hague than some Serbs. They were willing to close their eyes to the horrors committed by the Albanians. It's a big political game. If everyone knew about the brutalities committed against the Serbs, no one would have recognized Kosovo's independence."
A Call to Brussels
Dmitry ROGOZIN, Russia's Representative in NATO: "It's real-deal politics"
"The international community always knew about the organ trafficking as described in Ponte's book. These are things that everyone knows who's ever been involved with Kosovo's problems. There is serious evidence discrediting Tachi, the KLA's head, who's still respected in the West. Everyone knew that the KLA is a terrorist organization financed by drug trafficking. For the West, acknowledging these facts meant breaking their plans for dividing Serbia, changing the power scheme in the Balkans and weakening Russian influence. My partners in Brussels call it 'real-deal politics.
![[Image: albanian5zo0em.png]](http://img234.imageshack.us/img234/7264/albanian5zo0em.png)
lurp
