Huddled beneath snow-crusted peaks along the country’s rugged border with Kosovo, Bajram Curri is the wildest outpost in the most untamed corner of Europe. For two years the town has been a vital supply point for the Kosovo Liberation Army; it may soon become a staging area for NATO assaults against Yugoslav Army positions just across the frontier. But the town’s strategic importance has been hampered by its growing reputation for rampant criminality. Gunfire echoes day and night through the streets; everybody, even the waiter in the town’s best hotel, packs a weapon. Carloads of gangsters prowl the town, and the influx of foreigners into the region since the war began has only heightened the criminals’ audacity. Over the last two weeks, eight Western news organizations–including NEWSWEEK–and two humanitarian agencies have been ambushed on the road by Kalashnikov-wielding bandits and forced to surrender a total of hundreds of thousands of dollars’ worth of cars and equipment. None of it has been recovered.
Bajram Curri has always been a dangerous place. Named after an Albanian national hero who fought against the Turks during the 1912 war of independence, the town is inhabited by rugged mountain people who have traditionally resisted government authority–and settled their disputes with violence. Citizens toed the line during the 40-year Stalinist dictatorship of Enver Hoxha. Then came the collapse of communism–and a nationwide “pyramid scheme” in 1997 that wiped out the life savings of hundreds of thousands. Albanian soldiers deserted their posts and threw open the country’s armories. Overnight, Bajram Curri’s young men armed themselves with Kalashnikovs. A local mafia began hijacking four-wheel-drive vehicles and smuggling them across the border to Montenegro. Blood feuds took on an even more deadly cast. At least 40 people–about 1 percent of the town’s population–were shot dead in the town in 1997, and an equal number died violently last year. “We never dare go out at night,” says Jordan, a 19-year-old student.
Authority in the town now rests in the hands of Fatmir Haklaj, the bearded, fatigue-wearing police commander. Haklaj, 30, is no typical law-enforcement officer. A legendary gunman who spent five years hiding in the Albanian mountains with his brothers after fleeing a multiple-murder charge in 1992, Haklaj has facilitated the transport of KLA weapons into Kosovo. Two years ago, with the KLA’s blessing, he signed on as police chief to try to bring order to the town. But Haklaj’s tenure hasn’t been smooth. In May 1998, a KLA source says, local gunmen ambushed and murdered a senior guerrilla commander, creating a rift between Haklaj and the insurgents that wasn’t mended until the gunmen were themselves executed. Months later, the source says, Haklaj’s brother was slain in a feud. The commander turned in his badge, stalked the suspects and allegedly shot them dead, then disappeared back into the hills. He was later exonerated by a local court, and returned to work.
There’s little prospect that Bajram Curri will soon clean up its streets. Although sources say that Haklaj is not corrupt, just deadly, some of his deputies are widely believed to moonlight as bandits. Indeed, one local cop was seen driving a four-wheel-drive Nissan Patrol that had been stolen at gunpoint from NEWSWEEK a week earlier. Recently a team of Albanian Special Forces was dispatched from Tirana to restore order to the town. The commander reportedly told Albania’s government that it would require killing 20 of the town’s top gangsters to do so. The team was called back to Tirana, mission unaccomplished. Meanwhile, the crime wave goes on. Late last week an Irish relief convoy, guarded by seven Kukes policemen, entered Bajram Curri carrying flour for Kosovar refugees. The convoy was pinned down outside town for an hour by small-arms fire. A contingent of troops chased off the gunmen. NATO may have more to fear from the locals than from the Serbs dug in across the border.
