WE ARE STARVING!

In Caprag, a settlement near Sisak, in neglected sheds that sometimes in the past belonged to the company Tehnika, 119 returnees, mostly Serbs, are patiently waiting to move back to their own homes. Some of them have been living in the "temporary accommodation" for more than a year, trying to survive on two meager meals a day: the lunch is the same as the snack received by the workers of the Sisak iron works, for dinner they get two small pieces of cooked meat, and they get half a pound of bread per day on top of that. "You should have seen what we ate before. One could count peas in the soup. We wanted to go back to our homes and they brought us to this camp," says Dragan Klasnja.

by Milivoj DJILAS

Feral Tribune, Split, Croatia, July 19, 2000

Children, women, several adult males, and many elderly persons, at the moment 199 of them, are literally starving, living in fear of everything and everyone, and are sick of empty promises; most of them do not get any financial assistance, and live in the conditions more akin to a collection center then "temporary accommodation", patiently waiting to again start a life worthy of a human, that they haven't had for years. Most of them are Serbs, besides a few "mixed marriages", who decided to return to their homes. Today they are housed in Caparg, a suburb of Sisak, in about fifteen wooden sheds that used to belong to the company Tehnika. The competent officials in the institutions told them to wait, as their case would be solved at some point! Some of them have been waiting for a month, some for more than a year and a half, and all together have been transformed into 119 cases that will be resolved one day, but no one knows when. Sheds that were converted into a refugee center nine years ago are today, as we found out in the Office for Refugees and Returnees, referred to as "the collective temporary accommodation for Serb returnees". The present 119 returnees (that is their official status), were brought there from different parts: from Kosovo, Bosnia-Hercegovina, and most of them lived in Eastern Slavonia. The so-called "multidirectional return" extended their tragedy so that, instead of returning to their homes, as those whose homes they freed, today, in conditions that can in no way be referred to as normal, they are patiently waiting for a solution of their problems that, however, seems increasingly further away with every new day.

Superfluous People

They are from all over the place. From Zupanja, Gospic, Pozega, Virovitica, Rijeka, Knin... Most of them had to leave their apartments and houses, some of them at the very beginning of the aggression on Croatia, after which they headed to Yugoslavia, where they were greeted as undesirable foreigners. A handful of them ended up in empty Serb houses in Kosovo, some in by force emptied Croat and Muslim houses in the Republic of Srpska, and a majority in the houses of expelled Croats from the Danube valley region. All of them were aware that their previous accommodation was also "temporary accommodation", until "the conditions for return [were] established", but none of them, as they say, even in their worst nightmares, expected to end up in the kind of accommodation they are in, condemned to daily malnutrition, literally on the edge of starvation, and perpetual pilgrimages to various offices in which a promise has a long time ago become a meaningless term. "The food is so-so," says Ljubica Sekulic from Rijeka, "but the worst thing is that there isn't enough food. Above all, we do not get enough bread, and those who do not receive any financial aid are starving." The director of the regional Office for Returnees in Sisak, Branka Cindric, and the head of the center in Caprag, Durda Kovacevic, portrayed Sekulic as the biggest trouble maker in the camp, the person who is always visited by representatives of non-governmental organizations and international institutions. However, Sekulic is the only person who dares tell the truth in the presence of the two bosses: the food is bad, there is not enough bread, many inhabitants do not receive any assistance and are condemned to starvation, and no one can tell them when their "cases" will be solved.

Ljubica Sekulic lived for 24 years in Rijeka. In 1991 she left Rijeka together with her husband and two sons after numerous death threats. She had 24 years of work experience, her husband 32, and they picked up only the basic necessities and headed to Yugoslavia. In Yugoslavia they sent them to Eastern Slavonia and found them accommodation in an abandoned Croat house. The apartment in which they had lived and had tenancy rights to was immediately confiscated by the city of Rijeka, and today a man from the island of Rab lives illegally in that apartment.

Yearning for Milk

After the reintegration of Eastern Slavonia, the true owner started to visit the house in which they lived. During his third visit he threatened them, again by death, after which the Sekulics "voluntarily signed" their acceptance to be moved to Caprag. They sent their sons to Backa Palanka [in Yugoslavia], and the two of them have been waiting for thirteen months already for a resolution of this case. To get back their tenancy rights or another suitable housing. They also had a vacation home in Karin near Benkovac, but they cannot go there either. The house has been damaged and looted. During their first six months in Caprag, they received 100 kunas each as assistance, but that was later abolished.

Just like other "returnees" they get two meals a day. The first meal, at 11am is called lunch, although it is actually a snack distributed to the workers of the Sisak iron works, where the food comes from. At the same time they receive a dinner, two pieces of cooked meat, one each. In addition to that, every inhabitant of the center receives half a pound of bread daily, and all of this is referred to as "warm meals" within "organized nutrition in the center". Afterwards the inhabitants of the camp take us to meet Rade Topic, who is housed with wife and six children in two rooms in one shed. They point them out as an example of what real life in the camp is like, as well as a clear indication of the consequences of malnourishment, especially morning hunger of the children, which haven't seen milk in ages.

The UNHCR has rebuilt the house of Matija Vujasic, but she still hasn't returned to it. The house was finished a few weeks ago but it is totally empty. There is no bed and no stove. Vujasic also does not receive any assistance any more. The same applies to his wife. "We have two small children, aged 4 and 6. How are we supposed to feed them? How are we going to live in the house without even a cooking stove?" They have been in the camp for almost a year and hope that the UNHCR, as they have promised, will provide at least the most basic furniture for the house. After that, they hope to settle down and find some sort of work.

An elderly gentlemen from the Petrinja region, introduced as Mr. Biljkovic, arrived to Caprag in September of last year. His house has also been repaired, but that is the only rebuilt house in his village, which is totally empty "apart for the snakes". His wife died 11 years ago, his two daughters live in Serbia and he has lost touch with them. His grandson was killed by the Serbs at the very beginning of the war in Croatia. He has a pension but cannot think of what he could do with it in an empty village. "I am old and sick, I can hardly move. I do not know what will happen to me when I leave," he says leaning against his cane.

Destroyed Houses

Ljubisa Stambolija is also from the Petrinja region. He is aged 37 and is in the camp with his mother, who is 62. Until 1991 he worked as a guard on the Croatian TV in Zagreb, but he had to return to his mother in Petrinja. Later he went to Belgrade, from where he was sent back to Dvor in 1993. A year later he again escaped to Belgrade. His mother had to in 1995 leave her home with other refugees and they found accommodation together in Beli Manastir, where they stayed until the reintegration, obtained Croatian documents and were sent by the Office for Returnees to Caprag.

He has been registered at the Employment Office in Sisak, his mother does not receive a pension, they do not receive any other assistance, and at the same time are suing Ljubisa's father who exchanged their house with Croats from Bosnia-Hercegovina. However they need money for the suit and they do not have any.

Milica Krnjeta is from Dvor, and returned from Bosanski Novi in a UNHCR convoy. She does not receive any assistance and after her return someone thoroughly devastated her house. Furniture, doors, windows, everything was stolen... She has a daughter in Serbia, who contacted her once. Her late husband worked in Bosnia-Hercegovina but she cannot receive his pension because Croatia and Bosnia-Hercegovina are yet to sign a treaty on this issue. "They tell me to wait for the treaty, that I will get a pension, so I'm waiting for them to sort that out. I have submitted a request to the UNHCR to have my house repaired. I am waiting for that as well."

Sofija Markovic from Trnjani is also waiting. Her house hasn't been severely damaged, but it has been looted. Her village is completely abandoned and she even does not know where here husband is. "He disappeared when the Muslims caught him," she says, "and I don't know where he is. I only want to return to my house." Miroslava Bebic is probably the most horrendous example of the effect of the past war on the people. Miroslava is today a skinny person, emotionally distraught and with uncoordinated moves. She bears no resemblance to the strong and healthy woman from a photograph on her personal identification card. Her husband had sent her a guarantee letter based on which she returned to Croatia, but he threw her out of his home in Metkovic after three months. She has her own home in Plasko, but she cannot go there because Croats from Banja Luka live there. She mostly responded to our questions by crying. Especially when we asked her about her children. After throwing her out, her husband kept their two children.

"They told me that they would give me my children back if I returned to my house. But I cannot return because people from Banja Luka live there." Miroslava used to smoke a lot, and a box of cigarettes that a photographer gave to her was regarded as a precious gift. She did not complain much about the camp. "It's not too bad. But, there's no bread."

Empty Promises

Zorka Macak, a sister of Srecko Bijelic, a representative in the [Croatian] Parliament, also lives in the camp. "I am from Dalmacija, from Benkovac. My house has been burnt and I would like to move a retirement home," she says. "I have a pension, but there is no one who could help me, so I would like to go to a retirement home. I have one son, but we do not get along." Zorka came to the camp from Tenja [in Eastern Slavonia] late last year. In Tenja she shared a house with another eight individuals, but all of them had to move out because the original owner came back. In Zagreb they told her that they would fix her house, which had been burnt, and in the meantime she was supposed to stay in the camp. Thus, Zorka has been counting her ninth month of "return", she has fallen out of touch with her brother Srecko, and is patiently waiting that someone remember her and her fate.

Next, we were approached by Jadranka Vojnovic form Okucani, who is here with her husband Tanasije Maric. "Let me tell you about my tragedy. Until the start of this year we were in Gasinci, and on January 8 we were moved here, to Caprag. In Gasinci we received more food, even fruit and cakes in Sunday. They took care of us and we had it much better." She and her husband cannot return to their home because, as she says "people from Hercegovina have moved in."

"Sir, let me tell you, I was for three years in Kosovo. When I got my documents, I immediately wanted to return home. And look, see where I ended up. I came back more than a year ago, they promised to repair my house, but nothing has been done to this day. After six months they abolished the financial assistance I was getting, 100 kunas a month, and now I get one meal a day and half a pound of bread per day. For dinner they leave us a slice of salami. Are we allowed to leave the camp? Yes, we are, but what's the point if I don't have enough money to even buy bread?" says Duro Sarac, from Slunj.

Dragan Klasnja from Knin has a similar story to tell. He has been in the camp for 15 months and also returned to Croatia from Kosovo. I had a two-floor house but everything has been looted and taken away. There's nothing left but bare walls. I do not receive any assistance. They do not even pay my pension. I do not have detergent, nor money to buy bread. If you came earlier, you would have seen what we eat. One can count the peas in the soup. We demanded to be returned to our houses, and they brought us to this camp!"

Many of these people have family members in Yugoslavia. They came back hoping to be able to sort some things out, get documents, pensions, some sort of assistance, arrange to have their houses repaired or freed of present occupants... None of that has happened. "My house is occupied by a man whose son lives in the house next door," says Pantelija Lalic, from Glina, who has been in the camp for months. The director of the camp and the regional office tell us that these people did not want to move to Sasina Greda, a camp with much better conditions. When we told that to the returnees they all confirmed that that was not true.

A bigger woman says: "Of course we would like to move to Sasina Greda, but no one has ever asked us what we want. Here they threaten us that we will spend winter in only four sheds, because there will be no heating. You see, one of our women is pregnant, and they just keep lying to us. We had to leave Gasinci so that Kosovo Albanians could be housed there. They told us, 'sign for transfer, 'cos otherwise you'll get nothing'. We signed and see where we ended up!" She says that her name is not important, and actually all of the interlocutors appear to fear problems because of the conversation with journalists.

Potemkin's Gardens

They take us to the shed in which Jela Vurunic lives. She was born in 1921. Her room is full of bags containing all of her property. She lives without any assistance and she and her fellow camp inhabitants are only guessing what her real surname is. They decided on Vurunic, although no one is sure about that. Radojka Jovanovic lives across the hallway from Jela with her daughter and two granddaughters. They live in a crowded, stuffy and dark room. The daughter is disabled and needs constant medical care. They are from Daruvar and were moved to the camp from Gasinci a month ago. They also do not receive any assistance.

Radojka says that "the food is not too bad, but we do not get enough. Children keep asking for food and we have nothing to give them. They eat for the first time around noon. They are hungry. Just look at the little one!" she says pointing at her granddaughter Snezana, who holds a teddy bear hung between two trees growing on the bank of the canal full of garbage and still water that stinks so bad it makes one nauseous.

While the governmental employees Branka Cindric and Durda Kovacevic were in the camp, almost none of these people dared say that he or she was hungry, let alone something more "radical". The two of them picked out people "recommended" for contact with journalists, trying in that manner to create the truth that has nothing to do with what these people are going through. Later it turned out that there is no laundry in the camp, as Cindric and Kovacevic claimed, that "planted gardens" are three tomato plants growing next to one of the sheds, and "free movement from the camp to the city" mostly boils down to spending of pensions received by certain "returnees" in "temporary accommodation" for food.

These 119 individuals are living their "returnee" destinies spending days in seeking shade and relief from heat in the wooden sheds, starving until noon, and contemplating whether they would have anything to eat for dinner. This is not a return but, as elderly Radojka said, a continuation of a tragedy. "And the only way out I can see is death."

Translated on December 6, 2000