BERISHA: PD WILL WIN THE ELECTIONS BY A LANDSLIDE On page 2

PARKING LOT FOR STOLEN VANS UNCOVERED On page 15

Among them, women and children UCK ESTABLISHES THE REPUBLIC GUARD IN PRISHTINA On page 5

Here's why they were absent from the PS party On page 3

Reportage From Prizren Carlo BOLLINO Na'im Luniku leaves the Albanian border crossing at Morina behind him and, [the source text is unclear: “thëket e prek”] sets foot on Kosovo soil exactly 43 days after being forcibly driven away. He had been expelled by Serbian soldiers, together with several hundred residents of a neighborhood in his city, Prizren. Until today he had been living in Kukës, in one of the many tents set up with international aid, which, despite all their efforts, will never be able to give these people back the poverty they longed for in their homes. Naim is the first refugee to travel up this sad road, down which 450,000 people were driven by Serbian cities and gunfire to the border with Albania. He travels in our vehicles; NATO soldiers let him pass because we have introduced him as our interpreter and, under military bureaucratic rules, every journalist has the right to take one person. Hundreds of other refugees have been left beyond the line of soldiers, in a chorus of shrieks, applause and prayers. The Serbs left Morina two days ago, shortly before midnight, and as we cross the border we meet them a little farther on, heading back, as they walk along the paved road leading to Prizren. It is 26 kilometers of mines, concrete blocks, craters opened by NATO bombs, empty stretches and, now and then, other columns of the Yugoslav army in silent retreat. Naim thus comes face to face with the enemy part of his people. He looks at these soldiers, who have brought so much hatred upon him, but says nothing. They do not react either. They confine themselves to exchanging hate-filled looks, with such deep anger that it seems it could last for centuries. Seen up close, in fact, this Yugoslav army does not look like the invincible force that Belgrade propaganda continues to portray. Many of them are young conscripts in uniforms that are already worn out, with dirty weapons and mismatched backpacks. When you first meet them, they give you a challenging look; then they lower their eyes and ask for a cigarette. A packet of cigarettes had come to cost 15 marks, and they were given only one a week. There are no heavy military vehicles in sight, and the few vehicles left are ordinary trucks fitted with iron bars and two machine guns. The soldiers look gaunt. The retreating convoy consists of long lines of trucks and tractors loaded with ammunition and other things, because as they withdraw the soldiers are also taking with them the meager spoils they obtained during their war. We entered Prizren after 2:00 p.m. On the outskirts of the city stands the “Pumik” hotel, once a stopping place for tourists, now headquarters for the defeated army. The soldiers in the area have gathered here, but they still have 48 hours before they must leave the area for good. Beside the military vehicles are crowded cars carrying men, women and children, caught between uncertainty and their belongings. They are Serbian civilians seeking protection with their soldiers, who are about to leave the city. The sight of these refugees stirs no compassion in another refugee: “If they haven’t done anything wrong, they’re making a mistake by leaving,” Naim says coldly. German soldiers from the “KFOR” peacekeeping force control the city center, packed with thousands of Albanians applauding their liberators. They throw flowers, shake hands, and even kiss the journalists who have come from far away; until today, even the few who made it here could not speak with them, as if they had been marked out by the Serbs who came from Belgrade and would not let them. On the road, Yugoslav soldiers encounter German soldiers controlling what Belgrade considers its city. Naim takes us to his house. We tiptoe inside because the German officers have warned him to beware of possible mines. The house is empty; everything he had has been looted. A neighbor embraces him in tears and tells him that his family survived and is in Macedonia. Naim picks up a chair lying on the floor. [The source text is unclear: “Instititkioni”] gathers the shards of a windowpane in a corner. For him, life begins again this way.