February 28, 1996

In Sarajevo Suburb, Quest to Heal War's Hatred

By KIT R. ROANE

OGOSCA, Bosnia-Herzegovina -- Every evening, after walking his beat in this suburb newly transferred from rebel Serbian control, Radovan Zidovic, a police officer for the Bosnian-Croat Federation, drives to a hospital in Sarajevo. He weeps at the bedsides of his daughter and father, who were gravely injured by a Bosnian Serb grenade, and wonders why he spends his days cheerfully greeting his former enemies, offering them his hand and the reassurance that they should stay in their homes.

"That is what I do, but sometimes I think that I really want them to leave because of what they have done to my family, what they have done to my country," said Zidovic, scratching at his mustache and pointing to some of the few apartments still occupied by Serbian residents.

"I feel for the old people who are left here and have nothing," he said. "And I know they are innocent of the crimes that have been perpetrated over the last four years. But my heart still bleeds for my own,"

He added: "It is especially hard for me. I am a Serb. I am here to be a symbol that the Federation wants them to stay."

Convincing the thousand or so elderly Serbs stuck in Vogosca that they will not be killed in their sleep or harassed during the day has become one of the main tasks for the Federation police officers now making their rounds here. It is a difficult job, because many of the officers find it hard to offer condolences.

Many of them have watched loved ones killed during their country's 43-month war. Nearly all have lost friends or seen the deadly aftermath of a hit by a Serbian shell. And as they walk amid their former enemies, it is sometimes a challenge to hold back from swinging a billy club out of anger or uttering words of retribution.

"At first I wondered if I had the nerves to do this job," said a fellow officer, Bojan Marjanovic, who is also a Serb, one of the minority who remained on the government side during the war.

"We just have to keep in mind that these are people too," he said. "These are not the war criminals who tried to destroy us." Marjanovic added that he is looking forward to the "liberation" of the suburban town of Grbavica, his former home and where his mother lives. The last of the five Sarajevo towns scheduled for transfer under the Dayton peace agreement, Grbavica is to come under Federation control on March 19.

So far, the Federation officers patrolling Vogosca have offered forgiveness and taught the necessity of inclusion. And they have done their job with a professionalism that has surprised not only the foreign journalists who watch their every move, but also the few Serbs who found themselves trapped in the town.

"When I found out that the Federation was coming on Friday, I started to shake with fear," said Dragan Knezevic, 72, a Serb who immediately began packing up his small apartment into neatly arranged boxes. "But no one would help me move without money and I figured that I could only go if I left all my things. I was on my last box when I decided to stay and give this new time a try."

He added: "I am not afraid of the Federation anymore. Some of these officers came to my home yesterday and gave me bread. Then they asked that I stay and this freed my mind."

Eighty-five Federation policemen, including 30 Serbs and 8 Croats, now patrol the town. All of the officers have at least eight years previous experience, were screened and are monitored by the International Police Task Force.

Though the new officers were culled from the Bosnian police force and a Bosnian flag hangs outside the new police station, they are called Federation officers in preparation for the new Muslim-Croat republic envisioned in the Dayton accord. The shaky alliance between the two groups was preceded by their own bitter 10-month war that ended in February 1994 and has so far been put to little practice.

The town is populated mainly by former residents making day trips from Sarajevo to gawk at the scenery or see if their old homes are still standing. The officers admonish the visitors to watch for booby-traps and mines, though none have been found.

Often, they have little work other than directing traffic.

"Really the cold is the only problem here," Marjanovic said. "And of course there are no coffee shops. We cops really like to sit and drink coffee."

Nearby, a fellow officer ran through a book of traffic signs. "Just brushing up while I've got the time," he said.

They expected much worse. Upon arriving last Friday, they clustered around the police building, fingering their pistols and darting their eyes suspiciously over the few Serbs turning up for bus service to Pale, the Bosnian Serb regional headquarters. At first, they made only token efforts at patrols, preferring instead to set up checkpoints in front of the police station. It was all a no-man's land, mysterious ruins that could hold snipers and mines. And no one wanted to be killed on the first day on the job.

"For me it was like I had just joined the force," said Sakilo Omeragic, Zidovic's Muslim partner. "I was so excited, I couldn't sleep. I don't know what I expected, but I thought it would be more damaged and dangerous."

He added: "Now that we're here, its great. You don't know what it's like to return to a place like this after four years of war. This is the happiest day of our lives."