Ethnic Cleansing, Continued

YOU see a lot of barbed wire here. Orahovac used to have more than 3,000 Serbs, but only 500 are left, and the barbed wire, which runs the length of the single street on which they live, helps protect them from their Albanian neighbors. Beyond the street is a no man’s land whose only inhabitants are the thick weeds that grow through untended cobblestone and the charred skeletons of burnt-out homes. As we reach the edge of the ghetto, our guides tell us through translators that they must stop talking. It is not safe to speak Serbian in the Albanian part of town.

I am in Orahovac (or, as the Albanians call it, Rahovec) with the New Atlantic Initiative, at the invitation of the Serbian presidency. The car in which we arrived bears Hungarian diplomatic plates; our handlers made sure of that, as Serbian license plates could have provoked an attack. The U.N. guards who escort us stand nearby, armed with machine guns.

About the Author

Jason Lee Steorts

Jason Lee Steorts is a former managing editor of National Review.

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YOU see a lot of barbed wire here. Orahovac used to have more than 3,000 Serbs, but only 500 are left, and the barbed wire, which runs the length of the single street on which they live, helps protect them from their Albanian neighbors. Beyond the street is a no man’s land whose only inhabitants are the thick weeds that grow through untended cobblestone and the charred skeletons of burnt-out homes. As we reach the edge of the ghetto, our guides tell us through translators that they must stop talking. It is not safe to speak Serbian in the Albanian part of town.

I am in Orahovac (or, as the Albanians call it, Rahovec) with the New Atlantic Initiative, at the invitation of the Serbian presidency. The car in which we arrived bears Hungarian diplomatic plates; our handlers made sure of that, as Serbian license plates could have provoked an attack. The U.N. guards who escort us stand nearby, armed with machine guns.