by Eleanor Beardsley

26 September 2001

Pristina, Kosovo: When the message popped up on Rick Rutledge's computer screen he first thought it was a joke. But within a few weeks of double-clicking on it, the 38-year-old locomotive driver from western Canada was on his way to Kosovo. Rutledge, a train engineer at BC Rail in British Columbia, took three months off from his own job to come to Kosovo as a UN Volunteer, lending his expertise to the province's struggling railway operations.

"I was so scared in the beginning, I'd never even been abroad before," says Rutledge. "I backed out three times before getting on that plane. But in the end I wanted to come. I saw it as a way to try to pay back some of my dues in this world." Once in Kosovo, Rutledge's mission was to drive the "Freedom of Movement Train." This passenger train, often referred to locally as the "Serb Train," helps transport those in Kosovo who are no longer able to move about freely.

After NATO's 1999 bombing campaign put an end to dictator Slobodan Milosevic's ruthless policies toward ethnic Albanians in Kosovo, the United Nations came in to administer the province, setting up a provisional government. Unfortunately, when the hundreds of thousands of Albanians who had been forced out of Kosovo by the Yugoslav army returned, revenge attacks began on Kosovo's Serb population. Since then, tens of thousands of Serbs have fled the province and those that remain live in enclaves guarded by KFOR soldiers.

A Moving Target

For these Serbs, the train is their only link to the outside world. For KFOR, who is responsible for security in Kosovo, the train is a moving target.

"What really blew my mind was getting on the train that first time and being surrounded by Greek, French and Italian soldiers and all those tanks and guns and helicopters," says Rutledge. It is completely overwhelming."

To run the train, which falls under the UN mandate "of ensuring freedom of movement for all residents of Kosovo," KFOR has mounted one of it's largest security operations in the province. Accompanying the train on its 80-kilometre round-trip are no fewer than 75 soldiers - both in the train and at each of the stations - several dozen tanks that patrol the route and a helicopter that hovers above it. This security protects the more than 1,000 passengers a day from the would-be acts of extremists.

"On my second working day KFOR stopped the train because they said they had found two anti-tank mines underneath a bridge. That really made me think," says Rutledge. I did not want to be some kind of hero at the expense of my kids. It wouldn't be fair to leave them without a father. I took the next day off just to clear my head."

The Fruits of His Labor

But Rutledge came back the day after and kept on going. And things got a lot smoother. Rutledge's job puts him in the way of seeing a lot more of Kosovo than do many of the internationals who work behind desks in Pristina. He crisscrosses the heartland of Kosovo twice a day, beginning at a small train depot near Pristina, in central Kosovo, and ending in the northern city of Mitrovica. Along the way he stops to pick up passengers at 12 rural stations. So far, the situation in Kosovo is still too sensitive to employ a Serbian or Albanian conductor to drive the train. Without the help of UNV train drivers like Rutledge, the train wouldn't go at all.

As he powers his locomotive through the pristine countryside, Rutledge looks out on small villages, farmers in their fields and houses razed to the ground during the recent conflict. "The people here still need so much," sighs Rutledge. "Sometimes I wonder if I'll really ever see the fruits of my labor."

This Train is a Priority

One only has to venture back to the passenger cars to see that the fruits of Rutledge's labor have already ripened.

35-year-old Suzanna Stefanovic, who takes the train to work, says she feels safe during her commute. "For us Serbs this train is so important. I can't even imagine what kind of life we would have without it," she says.

Miloslav Drajkovic, father of three, uses the train to take his eldest child to the hospital in North Mitrovica. "Because all of us Serbs are now forced to live in enclaves, this train is a priority," he says. I do not want to leave Kosovo. Kosovo is my home. But I worry for the freedom of my children."

Unaware of how far Rutledge has come to help them, Serbs and Roma pile into the train at every stop. For the more than 9,000 passengers who take the train every week, it is a lifeline. They use it to visit friends, go to jobs or to stock up on provisions in the Serbian dominated north of Kosovo.

Up in the locomotive, Rutledge concentrates on the track before him. It's the end of August and in a few weeks his time in Kosovo will be over. He says he is looking forward to seeing his kids again, but that things will be different because of his experience in Kosovo.

"When I get back to Canada, a lot of the material things won't be so important to me anymore," he says. This experience has changed the way I see my life." "I want my kids to realize how lucky they are. And another thing: I will never again prejudge immigrants who come to Canada. We're all just looking for a better life."