MONTPELIER, VT. -- Sometimes at night as grenades boomed across the front lines in Bosnia, voices flitted back and forth, staccato bursts of humanity crackling from ham radios. Muslims talked to Serbs, and Serbs to Croats, about seemingly mundane matters: rock music, the price of coffee, the moon rising on a clear night.
'This is the stuff you start out with when you're trying to bridge
a huge chasm with people who are shooting at you," said Gary Shapiro, a
Vermonter whose volunteer organization helped arrange the radio contact.
Conversation between ordinary people, Shapiro argues, is key to solving
the problem Bosnians face now that the 4 1/2- year war has ended: people
living together peacefully. And so, from a small office in Montpelier,
a group of idealists-- including Shapiro and another full-time staffer who
works without pay-- is taking on the daunting task of making peace stick.
Shapiro's organization, called Conflict Resolution Catalysts, has sent 15
volunteers to the former Yugoslavia since 1995. Six more volunteers, who
must pay for their trip and who are asked to stay at least two months,
will go in September.

So far, volunteers have opened a community center
in Serb-controlled Banja Luka that welcomes people of all ethnic
backgrounds. Others produced a radio show in Sarajevo to which
listeners could call in with their problems. They also ferried taped
messages between friends who lived on opposite sides of the front lines.
Now volunteers are preparing to train dozens of Bosnians to
resolve conflicts in their neighborhoods nonviolently.
"We're trying to fill a gap that exists in the Dayton agreement, which is a
very top-down traditional type of agreement," said Bruce Hemmer, a
28-year-old volunteer from Charlottesville, Va., who will fly to Bosnia
next month.
Still, in a country ruled by a Communist regime almost
until the war began, some tenets of conflict resolution -- which tries to
bring together ordinary citizens from all sides-are foreign. "It's a
different culture, a different history," says Shapiro, who has traveled
to the former Yugoslavia seven times in three years.
The group's
biggest success, Shapiro says, is the Banja Luka community center,
which opened in 1995. Many of its programs target children, with
volunteers teaching English and art. Next month, volunteers plan to start a
radio station for young people. Its programming will include a call-in show
moderated by a clinical psychologist.
"One of the things that really stick
out is the sense of loss over their childhood being taken away," says
project coordinator John Crownover, a 29-year-old from Fairfax, Va.
"They say, 'We have new friends now, but there's nothing like a friend
you grew up with.'"
Crownover finds comfort in small victories. One
day last week, about 30 young people -- Serbs, Croats, and Muslims -- sat
on the grass outside the center and sang Bosnian folk songs they had learned
as children. It was a simple act, but a meaningful one: During the war,
even the music had become politicized. "It was almost like the taboo had
been broken," he said.
In September Hemmer, who has a master's degree in international
relations, plans to open a second community center in Ilidza, a suburb
if Sarajevo controlled by Serbs during the war. Tensions run high:
although two-thirds of the population is Serb, the predominantly Muslim
government now controls the town.
"The success of Serbs and Muslims
being able to live in those areas is largely going to determine whether
those groups can live together anywhere," Shapiro said.
Conflict Resolution Catalysts trains its volunteers to be impartial to all
Bosnians. That principle sometimes vexes other volunteer groups; Shapiro,
for instance, has been called an agent for Serb fascists. Volunteers are
trained to listen to the Serbs, rather than debate history with them.
"If you look at the statistics, of course, there have been more Muslims
killed," Shapiro said. "But when you're with the ordinary Serb in Banja
Luka and they tell you how much they've suffered, you cannot say,
'You haven't suffered as much as the Muslims. What are you complaining
about?'"
Shapiro founded Conflict Resolution Catalysts in 1987, after a visit to the
Soviet Union convinced him that the country, still in the throes of
Communism, needed more grass-roots activism. His group linked organizations
in the Soviet Union with the professionals who had similar interests in the
United States. It was a new kind of political activism for Shapiro, a former
botanist and tour guide who studied conflict resolution at Montpelier's
Woodbury College. His group still struggles to raise money through grants
and donations. Last year it brought in $71,000, a third of what it had
hoped.
"In earlier years I was into more common political activism,
where you pick up a cause, protesting against something," Shapiro said.
"But I began to feel like the us-versus-them approach was not effective."
When the war broke out in Yugoslavia in 1991, Shapiro wanted to help.
Like many people he was reminded of the Holocaust, in which some of his
own relatives died. Shapiro first visited the region in 1993 with a busload
of peace activists headed for Mostar, an ancient city on the emerald-green
Neretva River nearly destroyed by brutal fighting between Croats and
Muslims. As the bus snaked through the small villages of
Herzegovina, its passengers discussed what to do if the bus was fired
upon. They learned how to treat wounds, and they piled their backpacks
along the windows for flimsy protection.
Shapiro returned safely from
Mostar. A few months later he went to Sarajevo and began talking to
locals about setting up a community center in the city, which was being
shelled by the Serbs.
During another trip, in November 1995, Shapiro was celebrating a
religious
holiday with friends in Banja Luka when news came over the radio that the
Dayton peace agreement had been signed.
"People applauded and cheered and hugged each other," Shapiro said.
"I was crying. It was hard to believe the nightmare was finally ending."
The war was over. But as Shapiro noted, the peace was just
beginning.