Article in International Herald Tribune, published on 12 January 1994
	Hope in the First Hour, But the Faith Is Gone. SARAJEVO - It was below freezing in the buildings here, which have lacked heat, electricity and running water for most of the winter. In the streets, people warned me to stay close to high buildings for cover, and to move quickly through exposed areas. Snipers were not taking any time off for the holidays. I wore a heavy bullet-proof vest, and a helmet from the UN High Commissioner for Refugees, which didn't make me feel much safer; it hadn't, after all, helped the young French soldier who was shot in a UN truck on Dec. 30. He is paralyzed for life. The people of Sarajevo lack even this protection. About 9,000 civilians have been killed in the city since the war began; 1,000 of those were children. One of my new friends, Izabela, age 9, has been lucky - she is still alive. She sang in the children's choir during the concert I gave at the Sarajevo Winter Festival on Dec. 31 at midnight - "The First Hour of the Day" of the New Year, which is the name of the association I formed with Dr. Bernard Kouchner, the French humanitarian, after a similar concert in Dubrovnik two years earlier. The road to the cold, dark television building from the colder, darker Holiday Inn where I stayed was a dangerous one, and the driver drove quickly and with determination, as if we could by sheer will put off the hand of destiny. Most of the buildings we passed were bombed-out and desolate, yet here and there we saw laundry hanging outside of taped-up windows. At the first rehearsal, I was taken aback by the sounds I heard from the orchestra - they were without body or center, as if from another world. The notes had a hollow core, like a distant memory. As I looked into the musicians' faces, tight and drawn from the loss of an average 30 pounds (14 kilos) since the war began, I felt too healthy, as if my singing was too robust. The ensemble had lost many members since the beginning of the war; a 26-year-old trombonist who was to have played with us had been killed only days before. But as the rehearsal went on, the sound grew into something more alive. I realized that theses people had not lost all hope, and I marvelled at the strength of the human spirit, able to endure the worst deprivations and indignities. The people of Sarajevo have, however, lost faith in the outside world. We have come and gone and made too many promises that have not been kept, too many times. We have failed them. And we must bear this shame for all time. Why organize a concert in these conditions? Because the intellectuals, the musicians, and the ordinary citizens of Sarajevo insisted that we come. It was the city crying out in desperation to the world and, through the concert, expressing the determination to survive. I did not have the arrogance to believe that a concert could stop this war. But the musicians, others present during the concert, and people who had heard it on radio or who were able to see it on television told me I had left them with something precious, perhaps a small flame of hope that they have not been totally forgotten. The vivid images still before my eyes, the constant sound of near-by sniper fire and bombing, but also the smiles, the tears and the hugs will help me to continue my struggle for tolerance, human rights and solidarity with new determination and humility. In my conversations with Lieutenant General Francis Briquemont and General André Soubirou of the UN forces, as well as representatives of the UN High Commissioner for Refugees, I was made painfully aware of the frustration of trying to carry out their tasks under the most ambiguous and hostile conditions. They lack the power even to protect the thousands of courageous young men under their command. The many UN resolutions and the lack of will and determination to enforce them only add to the absurdity of the war. One can never be prepared for the realities of every day life here. Freedom and democracy do not come without a price. They demand constant vigilance and the responsibility and determination to defend them when necessary. There is nothing more worth living for than love and nothing more worth dying for than freedom. It is not only the soul of Sarajevo that is at stake, but our own as well. This is why I have called on the leaders of the United Nations and the United States: Please, for the sake of Izabela and all the other children, for all the victims, for all who cling to life, who still manage to sing and smile - do something now to stop the barbarism.
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