Bosnia

‘I know this bear. He knows me. We’ve met several times.” Our guide for the day points to a damaged sign in Sutjeska national park, at the beginning of the trail that descends to the forest of Perućica in south-east Bosnia. The wooden post is covered in scratches from large claws. “Bears are the sharks of the land, because they have the keenest sense of smell on the mountain. They are highly intelligent. I’m deeply persuaded that they know who is a friend and who is a foe. I come often to the forest, so this guy knows my smell. But there was one incident, a hunter who came here to kill, and a bear peeled off his face like an orange.”

With that image, Dejan Elez commands our full attention. A Bosnian Serb law graduate turned ranger and now mountain guide, he is a born storyteller and raconteur. My travel companion, Chris, and I are rapt as he describes the famous battle that was fought near here, when Yugoslav partisans broke through a German encirclement in 1943, taking the Wehrmacht by surprise under cover of a violent storm – “the wind was rising and the lightning was like a strobe” – but after that, Dejan’s narrative leads much further back in time, into the depths of one of Europe’s most ancient forests.

Scientists estimate Perućica – which spreads across the slopes of a canyon in Republika Srpska, the autonomous Serb-majority region of Bosnia and Herzegovina – has grown without human interference for 20,000 years. Along with Białowieża, which straddles Poland and Belarus, it is considered the last true remnant of the primeval wildwood that once covered the continent. But Perućica, says Dejan, is much better preserved. It has never been inhabited, and rough terrain and precipitous slopes have saved its trees from logging. Its 1,434 hectares (3,543 acres) are now under strict protection – no one can enter without a guide – and the site’s importance is recognised by Unesco.

From a viewpoint on a rocky ridge, dense greenery spreads below, clinging to the sheer canyon walls above a river. The river is fed by Skakavac, a 75-metre waterfall thundering into a mist of spray, and far above shines the white summit of a mountain. Originally, Chris and I had hoped to climb Maglić – at 2,386 metres, the highest peak in Bosnia – but it snowed a couple of weeks ago and we have been warned that conditions in early spring are perilous. We’ll save going up for another time. Today we are going down.

Dejan leads the way along the winding trail through groves of mixed beech, fir, spruce, pine and maple. He admits he does not know the names of all the trees, but what he does know, intimately, are the tracks of animals. The forest, he says, is “legible”, and he reads it like a book. Circular patches where the humus has been grubbed away are made by chamois foraging nutritious roots. Roe deer do the same, but their holes are precise and deep. “Look” – Dejan points to a wet log – “those scratch marks were made by a canine, either fox or wolf. But there, on the same log, something even more exciting.” The wider, deeper scratches were made by a passing brown bear. Nearby is a larger hole where a bear has raided a honeybee hive. Of course, sightings are never guaranteed, but they are always possible at this time of year, when bears emerge from hibernation to gorge on wild garlic – known in many Balkan languages as “bear’s garlic”. “If I stop, you stop! Now we are in stealth mode.”

Every few minutes of descent seems to bring us to a different realm as the temperate rainforest grows taller and more tangled. Deadwood lies everywhere – paradoxically a sign of health. Lichen, moss and fungus drip from the branches. The astonishing biodiversity protects Perućica from epidemics such as spruce bark beetle infestation, which has devastated old-growth forests elsewhere. With about 170 species of tree and shrub and more than 1,000 plants, it’s little wonder that our guide doesn’t know them all.

During the last ice age, Perućica escaped the freeze, acting as a refugium, an isolated region in which many species were preserved. From here, the trees expanded their range northwards when it thawed. The forest’s name, Dejan believes, is connected with Perun, the pre-Christian and pre-Islamic Slavic god of lightning. Certainly, it feels as if we are wandering in a temple.

He has packed sandwiches – cheese and ham in thick white buns – which we eat on a grassy ledge overlooking the waterfall. Chamois clearly dine here too, as their droppings are everywhere. We don’t see the herd – neither do we see the wildcats, lynx or wolves that also call the forest their home – but the knowledge that they are here, perhaps even very close to us, brings a sensation I can only describe as reverence. Each of us goes quiet with awe. Maglić and the other mountains disappear behind white cloud and it begins to rain. The wetness doesn’t matter.

With his legal background, Dejan is clear-eyed about the threats. The ancient forest may be safe, but hunters come to the wider national park and the rangers are sometimes bribed to look the other way. Most visitors to Sutjeska stay in the village of Tjentište, a scattering of guesthouses and modest restaurants along the main road, but increasingly there is encroachment at the borders of the park. Even our cosy timber-frame cabin near the entrance gate is, in his opinion, too close.

It’s not that people shouldn’t come here, he tells us as we walk back up. What matters is how they come, as respectful guests. We are not the owners of the forest, not even the owners of this trail, which is walked by and shared with many other feet. He stoops to brush aside some leaves and identifies flecks of bone that have passed through a wolf’s digestive tract, and further on, wolf excrement filled with chamois hair. “This was left on the trail deliberately to tell us it’s their territory. They don’t do anything by accident. Everything has a meaning.”

After almost five hours, we emerge on the gravel road that leads towards Tjentište. The absence of so much tangled life is vaguely shocking. Both of us feel changed by our glimpse into Europe’s wild past – and perhaps we have been subtly changed on a biological level, too. Dejan announces when we part: “You two gentlemen have been exposed to a universe of micro-organisms you will never find in England. This forest gets inside you.” Perućica clings to us as we leave the national park and return to Sarajevo, a two and a half hour drive, going north as the trees once did when the ice age ended.

Guided tours of Perućica with Outdoor Bosnia or Wild Balkan Trails from £50pp. Mountain View, Tjentište, sleeps two, from £44 a night. Alternatively, Apartmani Šarović, also in Tjentište, sleeps two, from £47 a night

WASHINGTON — If agony in high places is any measure, the war in Bosnia is already President Clinton’s Vietnam.

The President says that it is the issue he cannot stop worrying about at the end of the day; he takes the problem home at night and hashes it over with his wife, Hillary Rodham Clinton. The tragedy in the Balkans is “not only heartbreaking,” he said this week, “it’s infuriating.”

And Secretary of State Warren Christopher, a notably unemotional man, throws up his hands at the subject. “This is a problem from hell,” he declared. On Wednesday, Christopher met privately with author and Holocaust survivor Elie Wiesel to discuss the issue’s moral implications.

Clinton’s advisers have huddled for hours over the last three weeks to thresh out options for diplomatic and military action–and still have not reached a decision.

Like Lyndon B. Johnson, whose presidency was wrecked by the American military intervention in Vietnam, Bill Clinton faces an agonizing conflict between his international ideals and the potential cost of achieving them.

Beginning in last year’s presidential campaign, Clinton declared that the United States had a responsibility to stop the onslaught of Bosnia’s Serbs against the republic’s other ethnic groups, the Croats and Muslims. “We have an interest in standing up against the principle of ‘ethnic cleansing’ . . ,” he said earlier this month. “If you look at the other places where this could play itself out in other parts of the world, this is not just about Bosnia.”

Yet the President’s attempt to stop the Serbs through diplomatic pressure has failed. So Clinton, only three months into his presidency, faces an unpalatable choice between escalation and retreat–that, and a swelling national debate over the limits of American responsibility.

Since the fall of Saigon in 1975, Americans have argued over every potential military intervention in terms of Vietnam, whether the battlefield was Lebanon, Central America, the Balkans and even Desert Storm in its early days. Is Bosnia another quagmire, a war America should not enter because its price in blood will inevitably run too high? Or is it, as Christopher has asked, another Holocaust–a tragedy America must stop because the cost in innocent lives–and to America’s moral conscience–is too great to ignore?

All historical analogies are inexact, of course. But Vietnam and the Holocaust are the twin phantoms that haunt the Clinton Administration’s debate over what to do in the Bosnian highlands.

Last week, at the opening of Washington’s new Holocaust Memorial Museum, Clinton found himself confronted directly with one of history’s unwelcome ghosts, when Wiesel appealed to him to stop the war in Bosnia: “Something, anything must be done,” Wiesel pleaded.

At the same time, members of Congress and senior military officers are increasingly warning of the other pitfall. “All of us want to stop the tragedy in Bosnia,” said Sen. John McCain (R-Ariz.), a former pilot who spent five years as a prisoner of war in North Vietnam. “But . . . I’m not willing to risk another Vietnam.”

Clinton has tried to defuse such fears by promising that he is only considering the use of air power in Bosnia, not the introduction of ground troops. Responds McCain, “The fact is, militarily, if you want to affect the situation, you have to inject massive (numbers of) ground troops.”

The President and his advisers do not like the Vietnam analogy but they cannot escape it. Their own careers, their ways of thinking, were forged in the crucible of the nation’s longest war.

White House National Security Adviser Anthony Lake resigned his first White House job–under Richard M. Nixon, in 1970–to protest the relentless escalation of the war. Defense Secretary Les Aspin served as a young Army lieutenant on the Pentagon staff that planned the conflict. Secretary of State Warren Christopher, then a Justice Department official, was assigned to quell the sometimes-violent protests that followed.

And Clinton spent his college years struggling with the issue of the war–whether to volunteer, to resist the draft or, as he finally chose, to maneuver his way out of military service.

On the ground, diplomats and military experts say, Bosnia is not much like Vietnam at all–except, perhaps, for its mountains. In Vietnam, the United States faced a well-armed guerrilla army hardened by years of war against the colonial French. In Bosnia, the Serb militias are said to be ill-trained and ill-disciplined, and their weapons, while effective against their lightly armed Muslim foes, would have little effect against U.S. air power.

In Vietnam, the Communists had an important strategic ally in the Soviet Union. “That had a restraining influence on Johnson, who didn’t want to risk a nuclear confrontation with Moscow,” noted Patrick Glynn of the American Enterprise Institute. “The Serbs don’t have a big brother with nuclear weapons.”

Where the Vietnam analogy is most telling, officials said, is not in the hills of Bosnia but in the corridors of official Washington. Once again, an Administration is thinking about intervention in a tangled civil war–and hoping to find a low-cost way to do it.

“Are we looking at a pattern of decision-making that looks like Vietnam?” asked Glynn, who has advocated military intervention in Bosnia. “I worry that the Administration is falling into an old pattern–a gradualist approach that commits us to action but takes only small steps that don’t solve the problem.”

“The idea of taking only intermediate steps is very dangerous,” agreed John Steinbruner of the Brookings Institution.

“I really do sympathize with Clinton’s dilemma,” he added. “This could blow him out of the water. But I don’t think he can stay out and get away with it. And I don’t think he can do it the easy way. I’m afraid he’s going to have to organize an international coalition and intervene in a big way.”

So far, no one in the Administration has publicly called for that kind of massive intervention, which would presumably include the use of U.S. and allied ground troops. Instead, Clinton and his Cabinet appear closely divided over more limited options–principally, lifting a U.N. embargo to allow the Bosnian Muslims to import weapons and launching air strikes against the Serbs to stop their offensive and force them back to peace talks.

Clinton himself initially tried to stay away from the issue, aides said, hoping he could avoid being diverted from his ambitious domestic agenda. But in recent weeks, he has reluctantly concluded that he cannot escape. “I think it is a challenge to all of us . . . to take further initiatives in Bosnia,” he declared at the Holocaust museum last week. “I accept it.”

And Clinton has accepted the argument that a small, symbolic military action would be worse than none at all. “That shouldn’t be done just to say that people . . . will feel better that we did something,” he said in an interview with the Boston Globe earlier this week.

But he has not worked out how to enforce those high principles in practice. “The essence of the matter isn’t just punishing the Serbs. It’s establishing a principle that this is a breakdown in the world’s civil order and the world has to respond,” said Steinbruner.

Clinton, Christopher and others like to note that the dilemma in Bosnia is one that they inherited from the previous Administration of President George Bush.

But that is becoming cold comfort, as the problem rapidly becomes theirs as well.

“If Bush were in power, he’d be facing the same problems,” Steinbruner noted. “But Bush ignored the problem. The Democrats are reacting the way they do because they have a harder time writing these things off. They’re less ruthless about it. They worry more about the moral questions in foreign policy . . . and so they fall into the natural trap of trying to do something, but not too much.”