text:
Recounting the Batajnica Mass Graves through the Art of Film | Balkan Diskurs
Stephanie Sugars
August 2nd, 2017
“How does one archive or record the details of the massacres of a state that wants to hide its massacres?” Serbian director Ognjen Glavonić attempted to do just that with his latest film.
In his keynote address at the 2017 WARM Festival’s “Why Remember?” Conference, artist Vladimir Miladinović asked, “How does one archive or record the details of the massacres of a state that wants to hide its massacres?” Serbian director Ognjen Glavonić attempted to do just that with his latest film, Dubina Dva (Depth Two).
Screened in Sarajevo on 30 June at Kino Meeting Point, Depth Two (2016) is Glavonić’s first feature-length documentary. Using a combination of spoken testimonies documented by the International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia (ICTY) and images depicting the locations of the crimes, the film recounts a massacre of ethnic Albanians during the Kosovo War from 1998-1999 and the transfer of their bodies to a mass grave outside of Belgrade.
This experimental documentary shows no faces, has no named characters and has no narrators. Instead, formless voices carry the audience through the narrative alongside meditative scenes that are both tranquil and eerie. While we hear the Danube lap the sides of a boat, a narrator tells us with a startling memory for detail, “I noticed a crack in the rear of the truck. I saw two human feet and one arm sticking out of the crack.”
Beginning with the discovery of a freezer truck filled with the bodies of victims, the film follows their removal, transfer, and the cover-up that followed, eventually recounting the massacre as told by both a survivor and a soldier who were there that day. Civilians discovered the truck on 6 April 1999 near the Serbian town of Tekija. After exposing its contents, the interior ministry ordered the bodies be removed and the truck destroyed as it was to be kept a state secret in order to avoid inciting additional NATO airstrikes.
The 53 (mostly) in-tact corpses and three heads were transferred to Belgrade and their belongings documented: a child’s purse with a UNICEF notebook, wooden crayons, and a little doll; a comb; a gold wedding band; and, of course, the bullets found in their bodies.
The survivor—who lived by pretending she was dead after she had been shot at least four times—describes how her family was ordered from their home and fled Serbian soldiers armed with automatic rifles before ultimately being forced into a pizzeria that was then filled with grenades and rifle shots.
All told, more than 700 bodies were relocated and buried in Batajnica, a suburb of Belgrade. Discovered in 2001 and 2002, the mass graves included women, children and elderly, all civilians. Under orders not to speak about his role in burying the bodies, one perpetrator—whose voice had been distorted for his testimony—recalled being told, “Be careful or the darkness will eat you.”
Documents recovered from the war revealed that the operation was part of a larger program—“Dubina Dva”—to destroy evidence of massacres in Kosovo. Knowledge of the program extended all the way to Milošević, whose handwriting on one of the documents states a clear directive: “no body, no crime.”
By not giving them a face, Glavonić’s conveyance of the perpetrator’s stories humanizes them—they could be anyone, any soldier following orders. By approaching the atrocities in this way, he challenges the narratives of victims and perpetrators promulgated by politicians and in history texts. From these testimonies, it is clear that the soldiers carrying out the orders were themselves, victims. One narrator describes how he was unable to fire during the massacre and was told to drink alcohol in order to relax (a common coping technique among soldiers ordered to commit crimes). Another describes the nightmares that leave his nights restless.
The crimes remain a guarded topic that many in Serbia know little about or refuse to discuss. “Everybody knows something,” artist Vladimir Miladinović said, “but they don’t know exactly what they know.” This is in part due to extended media blackouts and deliberate cover-ups of the event.
The first to report on the discovery of the truck was a local crime magazine—Timočka krimi revija (Timok Crime Review)—though its articles weren’t published until two years later. Further, the owner of the magazine, Dragan Vitomirović, died under mysterious circumstances not long after, a case that also remains unsolved.
While initial hopes that the “freezer truck case” might finally end denialism and begin the process of public recognition and responsibility taking in Serbia, this has yet to take place. In the 15 years since the mass graves were discovered, there have been no domestic prosecutions for participation in the massacre or the cover ups, despite the extensive coordination necessary for an operation of that size.
The lack of a widely known and recognized history of the events spurred Miladinović’s search for references and sources from his own knowledge and memory. To this end, testimonies of victims, perpetrators, witnesses, and those who blur the lines of those categorizations are invaluable. They must be heard and recognized, for there’s nothing worse, Miladinović says, than “to suffer, to survive, to tell, and then not to be believed because it is unimaginable.”
As a nationalist tide has risen around the world, the Balkans too have felt its pull. In the face of these attitudes gaining purchase among youths, interest in these topics and finding the truth becomes vital. Glavonić has spent years researching the massacre and the mass graves recounted in the film, and both he and Miladinović have used ICTY archives to bolster their work and understanding. While there remains no accountability and no public history of the crimes, Miladinović says, “We are surrounded by proof.” It’s just a matter of digging it up.
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“Depth Two” was screened during the WARM Festival in Sarajevo that took place from 28 June to 2 July 2017. Organized by the WARM Foundation in collaboration with the Post-Conflict Research Center (PCRC), the WARM Festival brings together artists, reporters, academics and activists around the topic of contemporary conflict.

created: August 2nd, 2017

author: Stephanie Sugars


text:
Philippines War on Drugs: The Nightshift | Balkan Diskurs
Brooke Ward
August 8th, 2017
“Each night, every night someone dies. Sometimes one, three, five, ten, twelve… the most I think in one night was 24.”
“Each night, every night someone dies. Sometimes one, three, five, ten, twelve…the most I think in one night was 24.”
– Raffy Lerma –
While the international community has condemned the extrajudicial killings of suspected drug users in the Philippines, Filipinos have largely resisted this condemnation. Traditional media sources have contributed immensely to the creation and legitimization of a toxic narrative that posits killing as the only option in this so-called war on drugs. This vicious war has resulted in vigilante killings, secret jails, and immense fear. A group of photographers, writers, and filmmakers have been working to counter this narrative by documenting the violence and the impact of the killings on local communities. Their goal is to open the eyes of Filipinos who would rather ignore or do not believe what is happening every night on their streets.
‘Philippines War on Drugs: The Nightshift’ is a photography and video exhibition that displays the extreme violence caused by the government’s war on drugs. The exhibition features work from twelve nightshift regulars: Ezra Acayan, Alyx Arumpac, Dante Diosina, Kimberly Dela Cruz, Vincent Go, Eloisa Lopez, Carlo Gabuco, Brother Jun Santiago, Basilio Sepe, Jes Aznar, Raffy Lerma, Jay Ganzon, and Linus Escandor. On 30 June 2017, one year to the day since President Rodrigo Duterte took office, the exhibition was opened at the 2017 WARM Festival by photographers Raffy Lerma, Eloisa Lopez, and Ezra Acayan.
Drug-Free By Any Means Necessary
The war on drugs began a little over a year ago with the election of President Rodrigo Duterte. Duterte had a larger-than-life persona as a strongman before his rise to the presidency. He was nicknamed “The Punisher” and “Duterte Harry,” both references to violent vigilante killers. He earned these monikers through his association with alleged death squads during his time as mayor of Davao. This narrative of Duterte as vigilante hero has been furthered by claims that crime rates have dropped drastically in Davao. Stories of Davao being rated as one of the safest cities in the world circulated throughout the Philippines. However, this ranking was achieved through a public opinion poll with no statistical data behind it. Philippine National Police statistics for 2010-2015 reveal Davao had the highest murder rate and second highest rape rate in the country.
Throughout his presidential campaign, Duterte utilized his Punisher persona to convince Filipinos he could clean up the entire country, just like he cleaned up Davao. He promised to cleanse the country of drug addicts and drug dealers through any means necessary. This included vowing to issue shoot-to-kill orders to police and to provide bounties for the bodies of addicts. He also encouraged regular Filipinos to do their part in ridding the country of criminals: “If you know any of addicts, go ahead and kill them yourself as getting their parents to do it would be too painful.” The killings started before his inauguration and, in his one year as president, Duterte has waged a bloody all-out war on drugs resulting in at least 7,000 deaths. Human Rights Watch reported the police are responsible for at least 3,116 of those deaths.
The Nightshift
Traditional media was hesitant to report on the deaths occurring each night. Local photojournalists have taken it upon themselves to document and report what is happening on the ground in this war on drugs. Each night, they document the bodies of suspected drug users and dealers that are spread across Manila. Some are shot, others strangled, and some have their wrists bound. Many are left with cardboard signs identifying them as criminals and warning others to avoid their fate. They move from crime scene to crime scene, racing to arrive before the police cordon off the area and forensics removes the body. The majority of the victims are young males from poverty stricken communities. Those working the nightshift face a constant battle between objectivity and compassion. Reports of the bloodshed occurring each night are met with condemnation. They are perceived as support for the drug trade and an attack on the government.
The nightshift differs greatly from the daily grind of traditional journalism. It is not ruled by competition or a need to one up your fellow journalists. It is a collective of photographers, filmmakers, and writers working towards the common goal of documenting and reporting the drug killings. They help each other by sharing sources and giving tips on the latest crime scene, “In the nightshift, I really feel everyone has each other’s backs,” (Eloisa Lopez, photojournalist). In the nightshift, it does not matter which news organization you work for as long as you are working towards greater public awareness of the drug killings.
Shifting Narratives
In March 2017, an inquiry into the allegations of Duterte’s use of death squads in Davao was dismissed due to lack of evidence. The photographers, writers, and filmmakers working the nightshift are determined to prevent this from happening again by documenting this nightly war.
Raffy Lerma
Raffy Lerma is a veteran photojournalist based in Manila, Philippines. He currently works as a staff news photographer for Philippine Daily Inquirer and has been documenting the violence since Duterte took office. Lerma has taken a clear stand against the killings, “I am for the drug war, but not the killings.” Lerma’s work served as a turning point in traditional media’s hesitation to report on the violence. His most iconic photo of the war on drugs was posted on the front page of the Philippine Daily Inquirer, along with an article questioning the morality of the violence. This piece opened up the public dialogue on the events unfolding.
It was the third killing of the night. As a standard procedure, a police cordon blocked journalists and bystanders. The scene, however, was not standard. Jennelyn Olaires was inside the cordon cradling her husband’s lifeless body. Michael Siaron, a pedicab driver, was accused of being a drug pusher. He was shot and killed by masked men on motorcycles. Family members are normally not allowed inside the scene, a forensics protocol to preserve the integrity of evidence. Forensics arrived late to this location, however, after processing earlier crime scenes. Lerma described, “feeling like a vulture” covering the scene, “I remember her saying ‘stop taking pictures already, please help.’ I asked the police ‘what are you doing?’ The police said ‘he is already dead nothing can be done.’” Lerma could tell this was going be a strong photo but did not know if it would be published. The photo was published in the Sunday edition of the Philippine Daily Inquirer with the title ‘Thou Shall Not Kill’.
The story elicited a strong reaction, one that had not previously been inspired. The photo took on a life of its own as people compared it to Michelangelo’s sculpture ‘Pietà.’ Even the president reacted to the story. During his first State of the Nation Address, Duterte called the photo overly dramatic and claimed it was not real. His supporters alleged the media took the photo in a studio with the use of actors. This was the first instance of major public opposition to the war on drugs.
Eloisa Lopez
Eloisa Lopez is an independent photographer and writer based out of Manila, Philippines. Her work has been featured in The New York Review of Books, TIME (online), Der Spiegel, and Philippine Daily Inquirer. Her work focuses on human rights, women, children, and religion.
On her first nightshift, Lopez went to Tugatog Public Cemetery in Malabon. She was expecting a bloody scene, guns, and several packs of meth – she was expecting the typical scene reported by the media. Instead, Lopez was met with the body of a 7-year-old girl who had been raped, murdered, and left naked in the cemetery. Next to the body was the girl’s grieving family. Police reported the assailant was the father’s friend, an alleged drug addict and alcoholic. Lopez followed the suspect to the police station. In that moment she understood why people supported the drug war killings, “I was already feeling like this drug suspect needs to die now.” On further reflection, Lopez realized this horrible crime did not justify the killing of all drug addicts. To have no due process, to have no human rights would make her like just like the suspect she hated.
Ezra Acayan
Ezra Acayan is an independent photojournalist who has previously worked for Reuters. Acayan has been covering the most recent killings. He has challenged normative perceptions of the killings by posting photos and stories of those who have been killed on social media.
Trolleys are a staple of Filipino society. The trolley system was started by impoverished people as a way to make money. They are an inexpensive alternative to taking a bus or a train. Two bodies were left near trolleys Acayan regularly rode. He was called to the crime scene and had to take a trolley to reach it. The ambulance that arrived to take away the bodies could not reach their location; they were forced to put the bodies on a trolley to bring them up. Acayan then rode in a trolley traveling directly next to the bodies. He described the night as surreal. This was a community he knew, a trolley he rode. What was normally used to transport commuters and brought livelihood to the neighborhood was now carrying corpses. Acayan used to have happy memories of Manila, now he sees the bodies he photographed everywhere he goes.
Government Response
The government has pushed back against the stories of carnage and despair. In addition to creating an illusion of widespread support, Duterte has put together an ‘army of trolls’ to discredit and harass dissenters online. Acayan has been a large target for online harassment. His posts are met with messages calling him a liar or a supporter of the drug war. He also receives hate messages wishing for his death or for the rape and murder of his female relatives by drug addicts. Online trolls also post propaganda messages supporting Duterte’s authoritarian rhetoric. Acayan and his colleagues view these attacks as a sign of their effectiveness; the more attacks you receive, the more effective you are.
Duterte recently held a press conference reiterating the need to reduce the drug trade. He assured citizens the volume of drugs would be at its lowest by the end of his term in 2022. Duterte also reminded police to kill only those suspects who resist and fight back. He joked, “If the suspect refuses to fight, make him fight you anyway.”
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The Balkan debut of “Philippines War on Drugs: The Nightshift” took place during the 4th annual WARM Festival in Sarajevo from 28 June to 2 July 2017. Organized by the WARM Foundation in collaboration with the Post-Conflict Research Center (PCRC), the WARM Festival brings together artists, reporters, academics and activists around the topic of contemporary conflict.

source: news-balkandiskurs

created: August 8th, 2017

license: Creative Commons - Attribution - https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/

author: Brooke Ward


text:
Boko Haram: Origins of Evil | Balkan Diskurs
Balkan Diskurs
September 27th, 2017
When people hear about Boko Haram, what usually comes to mind? Many would recall the 276 Chibok schoolgirls who were kidnapped by the terrorist organization followed by the international campaign to ‘bring back our girls’. Yet what are the motivations behind such a reprehensible act, who is behind Boko Haram, and what are the origins of this Islamic extremist group?
When people hear about Boko Haram, what usually comes to mind? Many would recall the 276 Chibok schoolgirls who were kidnapped by the terrorist organization followed by the international campaign to ‘bring back our girls’. Yet what are the motivations behind such a reprehensible act, who is behind Boko Haram, and what are the origins of this Islamic extremist group?
Amid turmoil, death, and changes in sect leaders, Film Director Xavier Muntz provides a historical perspective on the evolution of Boko Haram as the insurgency in Nigeria persists. In his documentary Boko Haram: Origins of Evil he includes testimonies from victims, foreign aid workers, and people close to Boko Haram’s founder Mohammed Yusuf. In addition to these testimonies, archival footage is interwoven to display the charismatic influence of the group’s leaders and the atrocities that innocent civilians have been forced to face.
The film is set in Maiduguri, Nigeria: the birthplace of Boko Haram. The audience is introduced to Mohammed Yusuf, an eloquent speaker who rose to power through a targeted campaign denouncing political corruption and hypocrisy of Nigeria’s Borno State. In a region with a poverty rate as high as 69%, Yusuf was quickly able to gain the support of the population’s disadvantaged and youth, playing off of their frustration and mistrust. An alliance was formed between Yusuf and Borno’s former Governor Ali Modu Sheriff and an alleged agreement was made: in exchange for the support of Yusuf’s followers as a means to help secure his election to the governorship, Sheriff would introduce Sharia law into the province. Shortly after the alliance failed, Boko Haram’s increased radicalization led to a violent uprising and conflict broke out between the militant Islamic group and Nigerian security forces. It was during the 2009 uprising when Yusuf was executed by Nigerian police forces outside of the police headquarters in Maiduguri. Following his execution, Yusuf’s deputy leader, Abubakar Shekau, assumed control of the sect. The group’s radical tendencies were made clear as it carried out terrorist attacks and pledged to the black flag of the Islamic State (IS). What was once a group organized to target elites and ‘bad Muslims’ now broadened their purview to also include Christians and their campaign of violence has left more than 32,000 dead and 2 million people displaced.
Following the Balkan premiere of Boko Haram: Origins of Evil at the 2017 WARM Festival in Sarajevo, Muntz, who works for the French-German TV network Arte, provided insight into his motivations for making the film. He discussed how Arte, which provides cultural programming aimed to foster understanding among Europeans, had broadcast a film on ISIS during one of their regularly scheduled theme nights. The broadcast spurred questions among viewers that revealed a lack of historical knowledge about Boko Haram and the group’s origins, which catalyzed his desire to fill in some of these gaps. Providing historical context is crucial in understanding how radical groups like Boko Haram are able to rise to power and turn ideological principles into massacres and acts of terrorism. The documentary thus gives its audience a glimpse into the ideological appeal of ISIS as well as the group’s current reputation in Africa. During the discussion, Muntz also pointed out other parallels between the groups such as the increasing resemblance of Boko Haram-produced online videos to those being produced by ISIS.
In addition to providing insight into his motivations behind the making of the film, Muntz discussed some of the challenges he faced during its production. With only 30 in which days to obtain permission to film in Maiduguri and conduct all interviews, he lost his passport, was subjected to arrest and expulsion from the country, and was held in detention while his documents were processed. Muntz was also met with push back from Nigerian government officials as they actively interfered to discourage him from making the documentary, yet he rose above the countless obstacles to obtain the testimonies of witnesses and victims, many of whom were living in camps for the internally displaced. His interviewees faced immense pressure and intimidation from army members and Boko Haram operatives who were stationed within the camps, so Muntz had to find a way to effectively conduct the interviews without intimidation. He, thus, brokered a deal with the guards to take the witnesses out of the camp to the nearby hotel where he was staying. With regard to the interviewee selection process, Muntz stated: “those people were chosen because they wanted to talk, they wanted to tell their story.”
Muntz provided witnesses and victims an outlet to come forward and speak about their experiences to the world and to inform people about the suffering that has been forced upon them by a group whose name when translated means: “Western education is forbidden”.
In addition to providing an account of the rise of Boko Haram, the film also sends a message about the importance of accountability and places emphasis on education as a tool that gives meaning to children’s lives as they grow up. Community leaders advocate that it is the responsibility of the State to provide a space for children to express themselves, but the Nigerian government contributes only 1.5 percent of its GDP and 6 percent of its budget on education. Further, as its name suggests, combatting Western education is one of Boko Haram’s primary goals and its actions have successfully obstructed more than 10 million children from attending school. Such a figure represents the largest number of out of school youth in the world and will serve to perpetuate cycles of poverty. This situation also leaves children vulnerable to Boko Haram’s recruitment methods, which will perpetuate the cycle of violence and oppression.
The eradication of Boko Haram will prove a difficult feat to overcome. Yet, Muntz believes it is possible and that a greater emphasis on education and on the elimination of corruption and injustice is necessary in order to combat the evils that continue to affect the region.
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The Balkan premiere of “Boko Haram: Origins of Evil” took place during the 4th annual WARM Festival in Sarajevo from 28 June to 2 July 2017. Organized by the WARM Foundation in collaboration with the Post-Conflict Research Center (PCRC), the WARM Festival brings together artists, reporters, academics and activists around the topic of contemporary conflict.

created: September 27th, 2017

author: Balkan Diskurs


text:
Bribery: A Standard Practice Among Bosnian Doctors? | Balkan Diskurs
Andrea Aleksić
October 16th, 2017
It’s no secret that residents of Bosnia and Herzegovina have to use bribes in order to receive certain medical services, and it’s been that way for years. The medical profession is supposed to be one of the most humane, but it is being undermined by bribery and malfeasance.
It’s no secret that residents of Bosnia and Herzegovina have to use bribes in order to receive certain medical services, and it’s been that way for years. The medical profession is supposed to be one of the most humane, but it is being undermined by bribery and malfeasance.
According to Olivera Mikić, a nurse who works in the surgical wing of a Banja Luka hospital, it is no secret that doctors and other medical staff are happy to accept bribes in the form of gifts or money. She claims that exchanges primarily happen in the privacy of doctors’ consultation rooms, away from the public eye.
“The most common form of bribery is money. The patients and their families who offer bribes to doctors often do so because they think money will motivate the doctor do a better job, therefore, they are just as responsible for this problem as are the doctors who accept the money. Maybe the doctor will pay more attention to the patient. Maybe they will run a couple extra tests that are likely not necessary just to make it seem like they are taking a greater interest,” explains Mikić.
Mikić adds that it is a common belief in Bosnia that it is a matter of honor to give “something extra” to doctors and medical staff that do a good job. She says that doctors rarely ask for money, but also rarely decline to accept it when offered.
Given Bosnia’s difficult economic situation, many residents are not able to set aside money for bribes outside of what they must spend on medications. According to Ana Đukić (64), who lives in Banja Luka, when it comes to bribing, each case is different and it is easy to find examples of both good and bad doctors.
“Once, I tried to give my doctor a drink and a candy bar after my surgery, but he was not very comfortable with that so he invited the nurses in and gave the gifts to them. I also had a negative experience when my daughter needed surgery and the doctor said that we needed a thousand euros just to talk to him. I didn’t have that kind of money so we went to another doctor,” Đukić explains.
She adds that although patients are at fault for creating a habit among doctors of receiving gifts that the government is also to blame for not providing medical practitioners with decent salaries.
“If the government paid them what they deserved, they wouldn’t need to accept bribes and the laws would be stricter towards such practices,” Đukić says.
Retiree Milan Aleksić (80) shares a similar opinion. He is unable to set aside money from his pension for bribes.
“Pensions here are small and medication is expensive. I can take some chocolate to my doctor every once in a while, but I have no money to give him,” he explains. He adds that doctors usually examine patients who are elderly and ill first so that they don’t have to wait long and that other patients are usually happy to let them cut in line.
Many doctors take a strong stance regarding the practice of bribing. Family physician Predrag Subotić says that bribery is not present in family medicine because, according to him, the work of doctors and nurses is very transparent and patients are able to easily notice and report any wrongdoing. He adds that it is important to distinguish between a patient who is trying to compensate his doctor with a chocolate and a doctor who is looking for money in advance of any treatment.
“I personally believe that only 10% of these bribery stories are true. I don’t believe that a doctor who spent his best years and a lot of money on his studies and building a reputation in this noble field would throw all of that out the window for money and gifts. It takes many years to build a career and gain patients’ trust and I think it’s ludicrous to get involved in such matters, especially in today’s world of mass media and the Internet where such stories can spread like wildfire,” Subotić explains.
He reiterates that money and gifts are not worth destroying one’s career over and that the only people who can accept bribes are those with political connections that can protect them from losing their jobs.
Olivera Mikić shares similar sentiments and reveals that she has been in situations where she was offered money and had to decline the offer.
“Patients have offered me bribes, mostly in the form of juices, bananas, or pralines, which I did not refuse out of politeness.” Laughing, she adds, “I have also been offered money, which I never took because I am paid for my job and those situations make me very uncomfortable. I know that accepting bribes is a severely punishable offense, and I would not want to lose my job, and ultimately my reputation, over someone else’s money.”

created: October 16th, 2017

author: Andrea Aleksić


text:
‘Islam: It‘s Also Our History!’: Sparking the Dialogue Surrounding Diversity in Europe | Balkan Diskurs
Chris Much Bermudez
October 18th, 2017
While discussion about Islam’s role in European culture has been ongoing, their shared history goes back much further. Recognizing this history raises questions on how people will live together on this diverse continent.
While discussion about Islam’s role in European culture has been ongoing, their shared history goes back much further. Recognizing this history raises questions on how people will live together on this diverse continent. Balkan Diskurs correspondents Sophie Faulstich and Luis Christian Much Bermudez sat down with two of the creators of “Islam: It’s Also Our History!” to discuss the vision behind the exhibition and its aims. The correspondents also spoke to the director of the host institution in Sarajevo to learn more about the exhibition’s significance to Bosnia-Herzegovina specifically.
From France to Poland and Sweden to Switzerland, recent public debates on immigration and terrorism have led to widespread inquiries about the legitimacy and role of Islam in Europe. Based on the claim that Islam is a ‘foreign’ religion new to the continent, there are some demanding a stately limitation of Islamic religious practices and sometimes even pushing for the acceptance of policies that promote systematic discrimination against Muslims. The presentation of the narrative of a European history separate from and in opposition to the so-called ‘Muslim world’ has served to sustain an ‘othering’ dichotomy between European kingdoms and their Arab and Ottoman counterparts, which, in the past, was used to fuel rhetoric useful for geopolitical disputes. Now, this dichotomy characterizes the difficulties Muslims face when seeking to integrate into European society and further contributes to the emergence of nationalist identity policies.
‘Islam: It’s Also Our History!’ aims to challenge the misconceptions and misunderstanding surrounding Islam’s history as it relates to Europe. The exhibition, created by the Museum of Europe and the Tempora Agency, both based in Brussels, was recently brought to Sarajevo in cooperation with the Caen-Normandy Memorial Museum and the WARM Foundation and unveiled at the Bosniak Institute on 29 June 2017 as part of the 4th annual WARM Festival. The exhibition presents Islam’s integral role in Europe’s history not only during the times of Colonialism, the World Wars, and recent trends in migration, but dating back to Islam’s early days in the 8 century. It presents major focal points throughout Europe’s thirteen-century-long Islamic history using an accessible and simplified structure, underscoring the legacies of the Arab empire, the Ottoman period, and the Colonial Era while highlighting how Islam has shaped the intellectual, cultural, and spiritual landscape of contemporary European life.
The exhibit’s creators expressed their desire to raise critical questions about coexistence in Europe: ‘What are the future prospects for cultural and religious diversity, inclusion, and conversely, discrimination, in Europe?’; ‘What will Europe’s social fabric look like in the coming decades?’ and; ’In what ways will Islam contribute to these developments?’ Another pressing question of note is why there is such a deficit of knowledge across the continent surrounding Europe and Islam’s shared history. Curator of the exhibition, Isabelle Benoit, points out, “The Islamic history of Europe was largely removed from public memory in many places. In Western Europe especially, the ancient roots and influences of Islam have been widely forgotten.” With these questions in mind, ‘Islam: It’s Also Our History!’ aims to not only spread awareness related to Islam’s influences on European culture, but to build a shared European identity as part of a larger series of exhibitions titled ‘It’s (also) Our History!’, created for the Museum of Europe by Tempora as a means to confront historical narratives important to European identity and social cohesion.
The selection of Sarajevo for the exhibition’s Balkan premiere was no coincidence: the city represents the essence of the exhibition’s title like no other place in Europe. Eli Barnavi, scientific director of the Museum of Europe in Brussels, explained that Bosnia-Herzegovina, and particularly Sarajevo, is a site of significant historical juxtaposition: it has a long history of peaceful, multi-religious coexistence that stands in direct contrast to its experience of severe ethnic and religious conflict. The Ottomans’ significant impact on Sarajevo’s culture and customs have made it is a place where a European manifestation of Islam has been flourishing for centuries.
While the exhibition presents information that may seem provocative to audiences from Sofia or Brussels, to a Sarajevo audience, it can serve as a looking glass into common European sentiments related to the politicization of European history and current events and the uncertain nature of the Europe-Islam relationship. Amina Rizvanbegović-Džuvić, director of the Bosniak Institute, offers a perspective on the exhibition that supports this claim. She believes the exhibit is not necessarily groundbreaking to a Bosnian, specifically a Bosnian Muslim, audience. Knowledge about the history and presence of Islam in Europe is not uncommon in Bosnia because it is an integral part of the customs and public memory of the country, particularly in Sarajevo. However, the exhibition offers a Bosnian audience new insight into the varying perspectives that exist related to European history: perspectives that lend themselves to a less than symbiotic relationship between present-day European and Muslim cultures. Such insights can, thus, help to fuel further discussion surrounding the topics related to Islam in Europe. Whether this objective display of the European-Muslim relationship will be considered by visitors from other Eastern European cities as positively as by those from Sarajevo has yet to be seen. Either way, the exhibition brings together voices that have thus far been separate and this can lead viewers to open their minds to a broader picture of European history.
Following the exhibition’s time in Sarajevo, it will travel to additional locations across the region. Benoit explains that plans have been confirmed to display subsequent editions of the exhibit, each specially tailored to the local context, in Bulgaria, Germany, and Italy. In addition, a large-scale version will be presented to the Brussels public in October 2017 and an expansive 3D version, featuring previously unreleased materials, will be made available online shortly thereafter.
Ultimately, Barnavi and Benoit hope the exhibition will further the public discourse surrounding the topic of European Islamic history and that its content can be introduced into school curricula in the near future. As questions about Europe’s multiculturalism and future relationship with Islam remain open-ended, ‘Islam: It’s Also Our History!’ provides a tool to educate and remind us of the interwoven and integral relationship between European culture and Islam and also to challenge us to reevaluate the relationship between a Judeo-Christian Europe and its Muslim-European ‘cousins, brothers and sisters’.

created: October 18th, 2017

author: Chris Much Bermudez


text:
A Woman’s Right to Choose | Balkan Diskurs
Sara Velaga
October 20th, 2017
“I was divorced and had one child, I started a relationship with Mirko, who was also divorced and the relationship was over before it started. My period was late. I called him to tell him the news and first thing the next day, without even a second thought, he decided – abortion.”
“I was divorced and had one child, I started a relationship with Mirko, who was also divorced and the relationship was over before it started. My period was late. I called him to tell him the news and first thing the next day, without even a second thought, he decided – abortion. I was surprised at my own indifference, but then I came across Oriana Fallaci’s Letter to an Unborn Child – ‘It is difficult to be without a mother or a father, but the most difficult thing is to never be born at all.’”
T.S. describes a similar situation regarding her abortion. She wasn’t asked for her opinion because everything was arranged for her and paid for in a private clinic.
She says having an abortion was extremely difficult and after the procedure, she felt guilty about a decision that wasn’t fully her own. One, she believes, someone else had made for her. She feels that situations determine our actions and she was too weak to oppose her boyfriend’s decision and keep the baby.
The legal penalties that are supposed to regulate the records of surgical procedures, including abortions, have not sufficiently influenced changes in practice, which has led to a system where abortions are still primarily carried out in private clinics. This is because many doctors working in public clinics conscientiously object to performing them. Others do perform the procedure but are inclined to pass judgment on the women who choose this option.
Women most often opt for private clinics, where an abortion costs between 100 and 300 BAM (Bosnian Convertible Marks), which is slightly more expensive than it in a public clinic where the doctor’s discretion is more likely. Such discretion is particularly applied to adolescents who are increasingly seeking the services of private clinics. Dr. Mithat Kurtović, director of the Institute for Health Care of Women and Maternity KS, points out that many private clinics in Bosnia and Herzegovina do not meet the necessary legal requirements to perform abortions.
“Bosnian-Herzegovinian society, which is in transition, does not respect women enough, especially not the pregnant women,” says Dr. Rabija Dedić-Nikšić, a specialist in gynecology and obstetrics. Due to the increasingly frequent practice of employers firing pregnant women, many feel they are being forced to have abortions.
D.K., a single mother from Jajce, recounts, “We were in a long-term relationship and we had plans for the future. Then he got a job in another city and decided to erase me from his life. My pregnancy became more and more visible and I had to deal with all of it alone. In the end, I decided to have the baby,”
According to D.K., abortion was one of her options, but she felt that it was not the right one for her. Or: Even though D.K. considered abortion, she did not feel it would be the right decision.
“There is no greater hardship than waiting nine long months for the birth of a child that will be difficult to rejoice in because it will look like the man who left you. The decision to give birth to my baby girl was difficult, but I overcame the biggest battle of my life,” D.K. explains. She adds that being a single mother is not something society looks upon favorably.
Each case is different and a woman should be encouraged and supported to make the decision that works best for her situation without being judged or burdened with other people’s attitudes and opinions. In the end, it is her body and should be her choice.

created: October 20th, 2017

author: Sara Velaga


text:
Real Voice of Journalism | Balkan Diskurs
Balkan Diskurs
October 20th, 2017
Balkan Diskurs and the Post-Conflict Research Center (PCRC) are proud to announce the start of a new research project entitled ‘’Real Voice of Journalism.’’
Balkan Diskurs and the Post-Conflict Research Center (PCRC) are proud to announce the start of a new research project entitled ‘’Real Voice of Journalism.’’ The project aims to improve the overall position of journalists and media activists in Bosnia and Herzegovina (BiH) and to prevent further derogation and violations in the area of freedom of expression. The project will be implemented in cooperation with the Balkan Investigative Reporting Network (BIRN) BiH and the WARM Foundation Sarajevo.
The project will be implemented over a period of nine months, during which time Balkan Diskurs and its partners will work with local journalists to conduct research that reveals their real, everyday struggles to produce unbiased, objective, and relevant content.
This project is funded by the European Union through the small grants programme “Protecting Media Freedom and Freedom of Expression in the Western Balkans” implemented by the Croatian Journalists’ Association as part of the regional project “Western Balkan’s Regional Platform for Advocating Media Freedom and Journalists’ Safety”, which is carried out through the partnership of six regional journalists’ associations – Independent Journalists’ Association of Serbia (IJAS), Association of BH Journalists (BHJ), Croatian Journalists’ Association (CJA), Association of Journalists of Kosovo (AJK), Association of Journalists of Macedonia (AJM), and Trade Union of Media of Montenegro (TUMM).


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Disciplinary Proceedings Against BiH Judges and Prosecutors are On the Rise | Balkan Diskurs
Velma Saric
October 23rd, 2017
The Office of the Disciplinary Prosecutor (ODP) for the High Judicial and Prosecutorial Council (HJPC) of Bosnia and Herzegovina currently has 12 ongoing disciplinary proceedings against prosecutors and judges from state judicial institutions. Every year, the number of proceedings against prosecutors from the Prosecutor’s Office of BiH increases.
The Office of the Disciplinary Prosecutor (ODP) for the High Judicial and Prosecutorial Council (HJPC) of Bosnia and Herzegovina currently has 12 ongoing disciplinary proceedings against prosecutors and judges from state judicial institutions. Every year, the number of proceedings against prosecutors from the Prosecutor’s Office of BiH increases.
President of the HJPC, Milan Telgetija, considers the increase a positive development, however, the holders of judicial office would argue to the contrary. They consider the large number of disciplinary proceedings a source of embarrassment rather than something to brag about.
Among those who share such sentiments is Branko Peric, a judge at the Court of Bosnia and Herzegovina (BiH), who is himself the subject of an investigation by the HJPC’s Office of the Disciplinary Prosecutor.
“How is it possible that disciplinary proceedings are being launched on the basis media reports, instead of beforehand as a reaction to problematic behavior? This is simply inconceivable,” said Judge Peric.
In 2016, 28 legal disciplinary proceedings were finalized, nine of which had been initiated in 2015. A total of 32 disciplinary proceedings were initiated in 2016, which is almost twice as many as were initiated in 2014.
One of the more recent proceedings being led by the HJPC is the case against the suspended chief prosecutor of the Prosecutor’s Office of BiH, Goran Salihovic, who has been accused of obstructing investigations into certain high-ranking political officials, including the president of the Republika Srpska (RS), Milorad Dodik.
While the ODP has requested that Salihovic be relieved of his duties, his defense is convinced that the charges against him will be dismissed.
Charges Filed, Charges Dropped
In reference to the lawsuit against Salihovic, his lawyer Rifat Konjic has said that some of the charges are unfounded and that Salihovic’s actions were in accordance with the law. According to Konjic, the chief prosecutor also delivered the three pieces of information that directly addressed the lawsuit within 24 hours, as requested.
Konjic has also said that no office of disciplinary prosecution, whether it’s in BiH or in Zanzibar, has the authority to determine which prosecution will lead the “proceedings” against a state prosecutor and the same goes for the president of the Court, clearly indicating that BiH’s judicial system is highly dysfunctional.
“My conclusion is that the public has been excluded from these proceeding to hide from them the actual charges that are being brought against the chief prosecutor. In my opinion, his actions have not warranted any kind of proceedings before this commission,” Konjic stated.
The case against Salihovic was initiated as a result of a disciplinary complaint stating that he failed to recuse himself from cases where there was a clear conflict of interest, engaged in inappropriate contact with judges or parties involved with the cases, enabled people to perform prosecutorial duties that were not legally authorized to do so, and interfered in the activities of judges and prosecutors.
In addition to the disciplinary proceedings, a criminal investigation against Salihovic was launched by the Prosecutor’s Office of BiH. The first disciplinary hearing was postponed due to Salihovic’s request for the recusal of Mahmut Svraka, who was presiding over the Commission.
Disciplinary proceedings were initiated against Miroslav Janjic, a prosecutor at the Prosecutor’s Office of BiH, after he excluded “five dead heads” from a war crimes indictment, but these charges ended in a dismissal. This is yet another case of public interest for which the Disciplinary Appellate Commission upheld the decision to drop charges of negligence against Janjic related to his work on a case involving war crimes committed in the Bijeljina area.
Janjic was cleared of any charge of negligent action related to the case against Gligor Begovic, who was sentenced to ten years in prison for crimes committed in 1992 against civilians in the Batkovic detention camp near Bijeljina.
The ODP brought charges against Janjic for his failure to include the five people’s deaths as part of the indictment against Begovic even though there was sufficient evidence to do so, as well as for failing to present evidence for the death of two additional people after the indictment was confirmed.
Acting chief prosecutor, Gordana Tadic, is also facing disciplinary charges. Even a disciplinary report was filed by Prosecutor Janjic himself for, as he puts it, “negligence and carelessness in the performance of her duties”.
“In order to inform the public about the level of negligence related to war crimes cases, which is evidenced by the acting chief prosecutor’s near absence of interest in working on these cases during her time as head of the War Crimes Division, I filed a disciplinary complaint against Gordana Tadic for neglecting to perform her duties,” said Janjic.
Janjic claims that Tadic violated the Rules of Procedure of the Prosecutor’s Office of BiH, i.e. she failed to properly organize and oversee the work of prosecutors assigned to war crimes cases and failed to fulfill her obligation to review war crimes indictments.
Shortly after filing the complaint against Tadic, Janjic withdrew it without explaining why he had done so.
In another case, the HJPC’s Disciplinary Commission recently penalized Prosecutor Nives Kanevcev with a 20% salary reduction for a period of one year. The proceedings against the plaintiff were closed to the public in order to protect the personal data of those whose names were listed in the case documents. Over the course of the proceedings, it was proven that as head prosecutor of the Cantonal Prosecutor’s Office in Sarajevo, Kanevcev had overstepped her authority and undermined the prosecution’s independence when, in 2013, she provided a cross-section of the state of affairs for 16 cases pertaining to the ”Bosnalijek” company to the then federal prime minister, Nermin Niksic.
The ODP previously punished State Prosecutor Dubravko Campara by reducing his salary by 30% for a period of three months. He was the subject of disciplinary proceedings because of his contact with witness Azra Saric during the case against the leader of the Union for a Better Future Party (SBB), Fahrudin Radoncic, and others, which is still pending before the Court of BiH.
On two occasions, the ODP called for the temporary suspension of prosecutor Oleg Cavka of the Prosecutor’s Office of BiH. Shortly after the State Investigation and Protection Agency (SIPA) entered his office and private residences, these requests were denied.
Cavka was suspected of pocketing material evidence from an organized crime case. Media reports state that he allegedly used the confiscated cell phone of convicted felon, Anes Kurbegovic, for private purposes. This is not the first time Cavka has been under investigation – a few years ago he hacked into the e-mail account of the then chief prosecutor of the Prosecutor’s Office of BiH, Milorad Barasin, who has since been removed from office. Cavka was punished with a six-month salary reduction as a result.
It should be noted that the ODP has recently, ex officio, registered a case against deputy prosecutor of the Prosecutor’s Office of BiH, Bozo Mihajlovic, after the media reported the disappearance of a yellow envelope from the Milakovic case – the envelope allegedly contained around 55,000 BAM. This is also being investigated by the Prosecutor’s Office and it is not known when a prosecutorial decision will be made.
Judicial Scandals
One case the public is well aware of is that of Prosecutor Milorad Barasin.
Several years ago, recordings of his conversations during a private, ex parte meeting with international arms trafficker Slobodan Tesic were released.
Almost a year after the alleged investigation into Barasin’s “inappropriate contact” with the international arms trafficker began, one of the biggest judicial scandals in BiH ended in an even worse scandal. The HJPC issued an official announcement that the representatives of the Disciplinary Commission and Prosecutor Barasin had come to a mutual agreement that established disciplinary responsibility stipulating that, as his sentence, Milorad Barasin be a dismissed from his position as chief state prosecutor of the Prosecutor’s Office of BiH and moved to the position of prosecutor in the Special Department for War Crimes. He was to also incur a 10% salary reduction for a period of three months.
In an earlier period, Munib Halilovic, Vesna Ilic, Mirko Lecic, and their long-time boss Vesna Budimir, who has since resigned from the Prosecutor’s Office of BiH, have faced disciplinary measures for their many years of neglect of war crimes cases.
Goran Nezirovic, a member of the HJPC body that elects and appoints judges and prosecutors, believes that in the cases of judges and prosecutors there are often clear indications of violations of ethical standards, but the judiciary simply does not respond in a timely manner and does not recognize, or refuses to recognize, such behavior.
Nezirovic feels that the reasons for this include “conformity, not wanting to step on any toes, and false collegiality and solidarity”.
“The mentality has to change, but that kind of change takes time,” Nezirovic says.
When it comes to proceedings against judges and prosecutors from state judicial institutions, the public is also familiar with the case of Vlado Adamovic, who was charged with sexually harassing a florist. According to the indictment, Adamovic kissed the florist after she had told him she did not want to have any close contact with him.
Adamovic was dismissed from his position as a judge of the Court of BiH in June 2008 after the HJPC Appellate Commission concluded that he had undermined the reputation of the court with his immoral behavior towards the employee of the Sarajevo flower shop, who was a minor at the time. Adamovic now works as a lawyer.

created: October 23rd, 2017

author: Velma Saric


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Monsieur Chat: The Yellow Cat Who Smiles Down Upon Sarajevo’s Passers-by | Balkan Diskurs
Armin Durgut
October 25th, 2017
Monsieur Chat, also known as the yellow cat in Sarajevo, is the work of the French-Swiss artist Thoma Vuille. At first, the cat’s creator was unknown, but he was caught painting the cat and soon became famous for his work.
Monsieur Chat, also known as the yellow cat in Sarajevo, is the work of the French-Swiss artist Thoma Vuille. At first, the cat’s creator was unknown, but he was caught painting the cat and soon became famous for his work. This well-known orange-yellow cat painted mainly with acrylic paint was first created in 1997 in Loiret, France.
The mysterious cat is always smiling and, since 2003, has been painted with white wings on its back. Since its first appearance, the cat can now be seen in public spaces in cities around the world.
In the 2004 movie Chats perchés by Chris Marker, Monsieur Chat, who by that time was already painted all over France, made an appearance. In 2010, the cat’s creator stated that there were around 60 cats in Paris alone.
There are three cats in New York and in Pristina. There are also cats in Vietnam, Belgrade, South Korea, Morocco … and, of course, in Sarajevo.
The yellow cat appeared in Sarajevo in 2005 thanks to France’s Andre Malraux Cultural Center. There are now 12 yellow cats painted in different places around the city and one tram has also been transformed into the Monsieur Chat tram.
In 2013, the Andre Malraux Center merged with the French institute in Sarajevo to work under a unified framework, and the yellow cat continues to smile at the passers-by from the walls of Sarajevo.

created: October 25th, 2017

author: Armin Durgut


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Jews, Tattoos and Taboos? | Balkan Diskurs
Struan Kennedy
October 30th, 2017
‘… your tattoo is a symbol of your bravery and courage to remain Jewish, despite the evils you had to endure.’
“You shall not make gashes in your flesh for the dead, or incise any marks on yourselves: I am the LORD.”
– Leviticus 19:28 –
The above scripture explains the historical prohibition on the act of tattooing, but Jews have a much more recent and heinous association with tattoos: millions were marked, against their will, as they filed through the gates of concentration camps.[1] The numbers running along their forearms were meant to demonstrate to the recipients that they were nothing more than a number – subjects to a bureaucratic system that attempted to control every aspect of their lives.[2] Even after liberation survivors still had that blue branding. Those little numbers were silent yet eloquent witnesses to the systematic process of dehumanization to which they were subjected.[3]
A conflicted conscience befalls survivors given their own bodies disobey their sacred code. This physical paradox is exhibited in religious forums. Sites like Chabad.org and Aish.com contain the following in their ‘Ask the Rabbi’ column: ‘I have a tattoo on my left arm from the Auschwitz camp. Since the Torah prohibits tattoos, should I get it removed?’[4] Trauma of such magnitude embeds itself deep into the folds of the ephemeral generations meaning that some older Jews whose children do tattoo themselves with Jewish symbols worry that they are putting themselves at risk by calling attention to their Jewish identity.[5]
The way forward through this seemingly impassible dogma is to acknowledge that the prohibition is open to interpretation and that Judaism – like other religions – is not a stagnant thing. It can change and evolve with the times. It is this reason, this ability to adapt to monumental and absurd vicissitudes that shaped the Aishi rabbi’s reply to the aforementioned question:
‘In your case, the tattoo is not a Torah prohibition, since it was done under coercion. On the contrary, your tattoo is a symbol of your bravery and courage to remain Jewish, despite the evils you had to endure.’[6]
In recent years, the tattoo has emerged as a puissant emblem for some younger Jews to connect to their past and to assert their identities. Marina “Spike” Vainshtein is a renowned example of such a young person. Born in the Soviet Union, she came to the US when she was four and was raised in California. In the early 1990s, at age 18, she began styling her body with explicit Holocaust imagery. Now, more than twenty years later, almost 90% of her skin, or her ‘canvas’ as she describes it, is strewn with graphically detailed remembrance: a smoke-belching crematorium, an escaped inmate dying on an electrified fence, a can of Zyklon B (used in gas chambers) and a skeletal angel sitting on a coffin weeping.[7]
Reactions to her work have run the gamut from complimentary to fascination to utter disgust. I would argue that the latter is symptomatic of a first-time viewing, which may miss some of the more subtle elements. One such element is Spike’s individual attachment to the Holocaust— she is the granddaughter of survivors, whose portraits are a part of her corporeal gallery.[8] Another element is the degree of detail in her tattoos, not only the consummate illustration and technique but also her ink’s capacity to shed educational light on a horrific history. For example, ‘Adagio’, a piece on her right arm, depicts a man playing the violin—seemingly innocuous enough—represents the orchestra that was placed at the gates of Auschwitz to fool the herd of incoming prisoners into thinking that it was a resort rather than a death camp.[9]
With an appearance so drastically different to others, Spike believes she can open up a dialogue on history’s barbaric treatment of people, which has fastened itself to other genocidal episodes in Armenia, Sierra Leone or the Balkans. Finally, for those still questioning Spike’s choice of tattoos, they should perhaps ruminate on these words: ‘Why not have external scars to represent the internal scars?’ With this sentiment, Spike is transposing the unseen hurt from within onto the bare surface of flesh-disrobing an ostensibly ameliorating amnesia.
While her early pieces focus on suffering, recent additions have ushered in a revitalizing optimism. On her neck is the intricate leaf-work of a Hamsa whose intricate pattern symbolizes how ‘the Jews after almost complete European extinction took root and flourished, each leaf getting stronger than the last’.[10]
For Spike, the most important principle of her Jewish faith is the concept of the mitzvah. Mitzvoth are generally understood as ‘good deeds’ but can also be interpreted as a performed act that fulfills a commandment from the Torah. Since her tattoos are indelible and serve as a public commitment to her Jewish identity, they ironically constitute such a performance because, according to the Torah, it is a mitzvah to be seen in the world as a Jew.[11] So maybe one day even the hair-raising tattoos of the camps, those numerical nightmares that once symbolized the attempt to eradicate identity, could shift in meaning and become a heroic mark of survival.[12] How successful this may be – only time will tell.
(Cover Photo: Ian Waldie/Getty Images)
—–
[1] Yona Zeldis McDonough, ‘Marked Woman’ (7/8/13) <http://lilith.org/blog/2013/08/marked-woman/> [accessed 7/7/17]
[2] Stefany Truesdell, Jews and Tattoos: ‘Rooted in Conflict’ Harvard Divinity Bulletin Summer/Autumn vol. 43 no. 3 & 4 (2015) <https://bulletin.hds.harvard.edu/articles/summerautumn2015/jews-and-tattoos-rooted-conflict> [accessed 5/7/17]
[3] McDonough, ‘Marked Woman’
[4] Truesdell, ‘Jews and Tattoos…’
[5] Andy Abrams essay “Kosher Ink: The Emerging World of Tattooed Jews” in Truesdell, ‘Jews and Tattoos…’
[6] Ibid
[7] McDonough, ‘Marked Woman’
[8] Ibid
[9] Ibid
[10] Verena Hutter, ‘So That They Never Forget the Holocaust’ Memorial Tattoos and Embodied Holocaust Remembrance in ‘Sentient Performativities of Embodiment: Thinking alongside the Human’ edited by Lynette Hunter, Elisabeth Krimmer, Peter Lichtenfels Lexington Books (2016) p. 283
[11] Truesdell, Jews and Tattoos…’
[12] Hutter, ‘Sentient Performativities…’ p. 284

created: October 30th, 2017

author: Struan Kennedy


text:
Mitrovica Rock School - Sit Back and Enjoy the Music of Kosovo’s Rock City | Balkan Diskurs
George Foden
November 15th, 2017
The fuzzy, metal-infused guitars and punk rock attitude of Mitrovica Rock School alumni, Proximity Mine, stand for much more than just youthful attitude and rebellion. Hailing from Mitrovica, the new band joins the ranks of a long line of influential rock musicians from Kosovo’s “Rock City”.
The fuzzy, metal-infused guitars and punk rock attitude of Mitrovica Rock School alumni, Proximity Mine, stand for much more than just youthful attitude and rebellion. Hailing from Mitrovica, the new band joins the ranks of a long line of influential rock musicians from Kosovo’s “Rock City”. They, along with the six other currently active bands at the Rock School, are carrying the torch forward for a city steeped in musical heritage that somewhat lost its way in the wake of the bloody Kosovo War of 1999.
In the 1970s and 80s, the Rock City was home to a buzzing music scene that spawned some of Kosovo’s most influential bands, including the ethnically Albanian TNT and bi-ethnic MAK, and hosted several music festivals. However, with the steadily increasing tensions of the 1990s and the outbreak of war in 1999 the music scene in Mitrovica was replaced by aggressive ethnic rivalry. As a city so close to the Serbian border, with a sizeable Serbian minority but boasting an ethnically Albanian majority, it became a symbol of the ethnic divisions that were tearing Kosovo apart. After the conflict, a deep rift remained, with the River Ibar that runs through Mitrovica’s city center serving as a physical barrier that separated the Serb enclave in the North from the Albanian-dominated South.
In the years following the conflict, the city’s precarious situation has resulted in occasional outbreaks of violence and it is still considered dangerous to cross the New Bridge that spans the Ibar. People on both sides of the river have suffered as a result of the continued animosity and the city bears the emotional scars of nearly two decades of ethnic confrontation. Despite seeing some progress in recent years, there are still few signs that the underlying drivers of conflict are being appropriately addressed at the political level, and the division of Mitrovica remains an impediment to the cultural, emotional and economic growth of the city.
Understandably, this tense and often dangerous environment is not conducive to the creative atmosphere required for the Rock City to flourish. Talented musicians with similar tastes in music, who may have otherwise met at a rock venue and started a band organically, do not mix because they do not venture to the opposite side of the river. The visitors that once flocked to the cities for concerts and festivals have been replaced by international organizations. EULEX police and K-FOR troops stationed to keep the peace now appear alongside NGOs working towards rebuilding community ties across ethnic lines. However, the problem with many of the transitional peace initiatives aimed at bridging divides is that they continue to shine a spotlight on the differences between the cultures of the people involved; the very issue they are trying to overcome.
The Mitrovica Rock School was founded in 2008 as an alternative to the more traditional methods of peacebuilding being implemented in the area. The central idea behind the project, founded by INGO Musicians without Borders and local NGO Community Building Mitrovica, is that music is a tool that brings people together and creates a sense of shared identity, irrespective of ethnic heritage or language spoken. As Emir Hasani, Project Manager and Band Coach at the Rock School, points out, the great ethnically mixed bands that came out of Mitrovica in the 1970s and 80s were not referred to as ‘mixed bands’, but just bands. They were not Serb or Albanian musicians, but rock stars. The toxic identity politics that has clouded civil life in Mitrovica does not change the fact that many of the city’s youth still listen to the same music and want to play the same instruments.
Because of the continued ethnic tension in the area, the only way the Rock School could function at its outset was from two separate locations – based on either side of the river – that provided classes for musicians of all skill levels. In order to facilitate socializing across ethnic lines (something that would have been impossible in Mitrovica at the time) the school began to hold summer schools in Skopje, Macedonia, in addition to band camps and training weeks. This meant that for a couple of weeks throughout the year the students of the rock school could interact, talk about and play music together without fear of the reprisal they might have faced at home. Out of this experience, bands began to form, across ethnic lines.
Since 2011, the Rock School has been fostering ethnically mixed bands that are writing, recording and performing together, some playing gigs as far away as Italy and The Netherlands. In 2016, some of these bands had their first gigs in Kosovo, playing both in Priština and Gračanica. The next step is to put together a concert in Mitrovica itself, which proves a more difficult task due to the city’s ongoing divisions. Band members are currently only able to practice together one week out of every two months, with the school providing secure transport for students wanting to cross the river to the other side of the city. It was only in the last year that some of the students felt safe enough to cross the bridge by foot. Nevertheless, this demonstrates just how far the school and the city have come.
The new generations of artists making their way through the school are pushing the boundaries even further than their predecessors. While the previous bands were exceedingly cautious about the hometown concert, the new bands are committed to making it happen. Their drive to perform in Mitrovica is not borne out of political desire, but a desire to play music for their friends and family, to show off what they have learned at the school and to display what they and their bandmates have created. Although the school is indeed a project with reconciliatory and political aims, it does not like to purely define itself as such, noting its primary source of pride relies on the fact that it is one of the only alternative music education institutions in South-Eastern Europe.
Music is an escape. It is a celebration of what people can achieve when they come together. Music is not about ethnicity or culture or language. It is about humanity. And as long as there are young people in Mitrovica willing to follow their passion rather than concern themselves with the identity politics of the past the city will continue to heal. In a city where everybody is preoccupied with the issues of ethnicity and nationality, Mitrovica Rock School’s message is simple: sit back and enjoy the music together.
Listen to Proximity Mine’s debut single “Mwah”:
Cover Photo: The ethnically diverse rock band, Proximity Mine (Credit: Mitrovica Rock School)

created: November 15th, 2017

author: George Foden


text:
The Humanity of Perpetrators: Reflections on Joshua Oppenheimer’s “The Act of Killing” (Part I) | Balkan Diskurs
Katarina van Alebeek
November 17th, 2017
How do we heal when the past is wrought with violence while the present offers perpetrators impunity and survivors little to nothing? Joshua Oppenheimer’s two films, “The Act of Killing” and “The Look of Silence”, each offer some insight into helping answer not only this question but the many questions that linger after incidents of genocide.
How do we heal when the past is wrought with violence while the present offers perpetrators impunity and survivors little to nothing? Joshua Oppenheimer’s two films, The Act of Killing and The Look of Silence, each offer some insight into helping answer not only this question but the many questions that linger after incidents of genocide. His films, screened as part of the Sarajevo Film Festival’s Dealing with the Past project, served as a tribute to the filmmaker’s journey to provide answers to such questions.
Joshua Oppenheimer is originally from the United States, where he was born into a family of refugees. His mother comes from Vienna and his father from Frankfurt—both escaped the Holocaust. He attended Harvard University, graduating with a Bachelor of Arts summa cum laude in filmmaking. He went on to receive a Ph.D. from Central Saint Martins College of Art and Design, University of the Arts London and now teaches as a professor of film at the University of Westminster. He is also a 2014 MacArthur Fellow.
In 2001, Joshua travelled to Indonesia to make a film about a community of oil palm plantation workers struggling to establish a union in the post-dictatorship climate. It was during this time that he began making The Act of Killing and The Look of Silence, both of which grapple with the post-genocidal legacy in Indonesia. The two films would eventually go on to win countless international awards and receive Oscar nominations.
The Perpetrators Then and Now
In 1965, the Indonesian government was overthrown by the military to establish a military dictatorship. Anyone opposed to the new regime under President Suharto was at risk of being labeled a communist and targeted for extermination. In the end, more than one million alleged communists, which included union members, farmers, ethnic Chinese, and intellectuals were captured, tortured, and murdered in a wave of mass killings. Though the killings lasted for only three months, those who committed the violence are still largely in power today. The Act of Killing follows a few of those gangsters, or “free men” as they call themselves, who carried out the genocidal acts just over forty years ago.
What is perhaps most startling as The Act of Killing begins is how the perpetrators openly and boastfully describe the horrific ways in which they tortured, brutalized, and eventually killed their victims. One of the first scenes features the film’s disconcertingly charismatic Anwar Congo revisiting where he used to murder “communists”. The former leader of a powerful death squad that operated in Northern Sumatra leads the camera around his office and to an outdoor patio where he casually describes how the executioners switched from slitting throats to strangling with wire, as slitting throats left too much blood and a bad smell. He then proceeds to wrap the wire around his fellow perpetrator confederate and demonstrates the method they used to strangle their victims. Later in the film, it is revealed that Anwar himself is estimated to have killed around 1,000 people. Many of those killings occurred on that outdoor patio.
Though it may seem as if Anwar lives without remorse for the people he murdered, the film slowly reveals the cracks in this facade. In many ways, The Act of Killing functions as a meditation on how perpetrators live with themselves after committing such atrocious acts, and the ways in which they come to terms with their past as killers. Even at the outset of the film, Anwar speaks about how he turned to alcohol, drugs, and dancing as a way to avoid going crazy. As he cha-chas on the patio where he performed so many executions, he explains that they were “killing happily”, in some ways.
The Lies We Tell Ourselves
The screening of The Act of Killing was followed by a Q&A session, during which Oppenheimer spoke about the lies perpetrators must tell themselves in order to live with what they’ve done. He explained: “The human capacity for evil depends on our ability to lie to ourselves.” The film reveals these lies to the audience, while the process of making the film reveals this reality to Anwar and his perpetrator co-stars. Oppenheimer has uniquely structured the film so as to feature both unscripted documentation and scripted reenactments of the killings written by Anwar and the other perpetrators. These dramatizations reimagine interrogations, beheadings, and the pillaging of a village based on the perpetrators’ memories of those events.
Though it may be initially appalling that the perpetrators go about dramatizing their actions and boasting about the evil deeds they committed, it is slowly revealed that these are merely distractions; lies the perpetrators tell themselves to suppress the need to admit they have done something morally abhorrent. Their boasting is a form of escapism, through which they spend their days in avoidance of acknowledging the immorality of their actions. Oppenheimer explained, “The boasting of the perpetrators really is defensive,” and admitted to his audience, “When I boast I’m feeling small. I’m like a bird who’s puffing up my feathers to look bigger because I know I’m small.”
When viewed through this lens, the boastful nature of the perpetrators becomes less shocking and more understandable to the viewer as an expected psychological response to the murderous roles they once played. Furthermore, because those who committed the acts remain in control of the government, they have the power to rewrite the history in an effort to make their actions an easier pill to swallow. However, Oppenheimer asserts that their boasting and avoidance tactics do not provide real solutions to their subconscious sense of guilt, and “…most find that this cloud of shame and guilt worms its way into their sleep and gives them nightmares.” They spend their days trying to outrun their evil past, however, deep down, they know what they have done is wrong. Anwar reveals this truth, telling the camera about the recurring nightmares he often has.
A Capacity for Empathy Among Evil Doers?
As the film progresses, there are several instances in which we see a shift in Anwar. In one scene, he plays the role of a prisoner who is strangled with wire. There are two attempted takes of the strangling, both of which Anwar cuts short. He takes a break to catch his breath and get a drink of water, eventually deciding he no longer wants to attempt another reenactment the performance. Later, he addresses the filmmaker, asking, “Did the people I tortured feel the way I do here? I can feel what the people I tortured felt.”
During the Q&A, one audience member questioned whether these perpetrators had any empathy. Oppenheimer responded that their demonstrated struggle to cope with the atrocities they committed provides evidence that they, in fact, do possess the capacity for empathy. He goes on to say that he could not speculate about “what [he] would have done in 1965 if [he] had grown up in Anwar Congo’s family.”
Oppenheimer explained that he does not believe people are born monsters who lack empathy and that a large part of their actions may be attributable to incentive structures such as the feelings of self-worth Anwar obtained from living a gangster lifestyle. Incentives are just one of the many facets that can lead to an ordinary person’s devolution into a perpetrator of violence and genocide. Oppenheimer also explained to audience members how in Indonesia, and perhaps also in Bosnia and Herzegovina, perpetrators were often rewarded and encouraged to kill people and their families. And would wake up the next morning feeling sick with what they’ve done. To cope, the justifications and lies would begin. Then, when they were commanded to kill again, they had to in order to uphold the initial lie that they had used to justify the first killing.
Though this is no excuse for the actions of those perpetrators and in no way belittles the harm they caused their victims, it does provide some clues as to how and why ordinary people can be capable of committing acts of genocide and how to best go about healing a society suffering its traumatic after effects. As a whole, The Act of Killing draws attention to the intense psychological damage that is suffered by those who take part in genocide. It illustrates how both lying to oneself and lying to the society at large can provide fleeting relief, but in no way solves the underlying problems.
In the film’s final scene, Anwar returns to the patio where he executed so many. While attempting to once again recount his actions from more than twenty years ago, a very different man emerges—one that is physically sickened by the mere thought of what he’d done. His story is now continuously disrupted by his body’s physical response to the memories of that past and his uncontrollable retching renders him unable to continue.
Stay tuned for Part II of this article series: Reconciliation as a Universal Concept: Reflections on Joshua Oppenheimer’s “The Look of Silence”
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The Sarajevo Film Festival’s Dealing with the Past project is dedicated to increasing dialogue, promoting peace through raising awareness and confronting all the parties involved with indisputable facts. The project is supported by the Robert Bosch Stiftung Foundation and presented in partnership with Al Jazeera Balkans and the United States Embassy to Bosnia and Herzegovina. The Post-Conflict Research Center served as a local project partner through its Regional Civil Society Network for the Prevention of Genocide and Mass Atrocities.

created: November 17th, 2017

author: Katarina van Alebeek


text:
Access Denied: Desperate Circumstances for One Ilijaš Family | Balkan Diskurs
Myles Wallingford
November 25th, 2017
In the small town of Ilijaš just north of Sarajevo, a Roma family wearily explains the severe hunger they face after they have been persistently turned away from the local soup kitchen.
“My children and I have nowhere to go and the municipality won’t even let us use the soup kitchen. ” – Husnije Iljazi –
In the small town of Ilijaš just north of Sarajevo, a Roma family wearily explains the severe hunger they face after they have been persistently turned away from the local soup kitchen.
Living without consistent meals is a fact of life for the Sadiki family, a circumstance evidenced by the faded packages of snack food that lie empty in their yard. In addition to the hunger they must face, they have now also been evicted from the residence that they’ve called home for over a decade. The family’s only option was to move across the street into a dilapidated building without water, heat, electricity, doors, or even windows. The children have been forced to beg in the streets and, due to their lifestyle, experience a higher risk of becoming victims of human trafficking.
Shortly after hearing of the family’s plight, Balkan Diskurs paid a visit to the Sadiki family at their former residence in Ilijaš, a town 20 minutes north of Bosnia and Herzegovina’s capital city of Sarajevo. Upon arrival, their current conditions were made painfully clear.
A lone, dirty spigot provides this family of six with their only available resource and means of survival: water drawn from a hand-dug well. Trains pass nearby, making the ground shake while drowning out Husnije Iljazi’s voice as the mother of four explains how none of her children have ever attended school. From the scent, it is apparent that many weeks have passed since the children were able to bathe or change their clothes. Despite the biting cold, the children walk around without shoes or jackets. Neighbors passing by look upon the scene with contempt and skepticism, treatment to which the family has become accustomed.
Their lives are in a state of chaos, a stark contrast to the beautifully kept, brown leather case that holds their official documents consisting of passports, ID cards, and birth certificates. In palpable distress, 57-year-old grandmother Nevrije Sadiki explains the content of the papers through her tears. In their perpetual visits to the municipality-run soup kitchen, the family is turned away on the grounds that they do not possess the official documentation to support their eligibility to access the food program or to secure public housing. They need documents that prove they are BiH citizens and residents of the municipality, which, given their exclusion from mainstream political and social life, is no easy feat.
This refusal comes despite the fact that three of Husnije’s children were born in Bosnia and Herzegovina and their late father was a BiH citizen. Thus, they are legally considered citizens. Regardless of their citizenship, the State is obligated under international law to ensure equal enjoyment of human rights to all individuals within its territory. In addition, the soup kitchen’s status as a government-funded program means that it must supply food to all eligible individuals regardless of their race, ethnicity, language, religion, and national or social origin.
Centar za socijalni rad (Center for Social Welfare) is the local government-sanctioned organization responsible for assisting the family to secure their needed, and all-but-guaranteed, credentials, but they have thus far not met their obligations to the family.
The family’s ethnicity is believed to be a factor for discrimination, especially in light of the systematic exclusion of Roma people throughout Bosnian society. Furthermore, the socially benevolent soup kitchen’s refusal to feed four young children is, at the very least, ironic and is at odds with their legal obligation to provide for this family in need.
This particular family’s situation is symptomatic of a much larger problem occurring throughout Bosnia and Herzegovina and the Balkans region: the denial of access to social services on the grounds of what appears to be ethnic reasons.
Balkan Diskurs is currently working with the relevant authorities in an effort to help the Sadiki family secure access to food and housing.
If you would like to help the Sadiki family, please contact the following entities through phone calls, letters, and emails requesting them to provide immediate access to their services for the Sadiki family:
Please also mention the matters of this issue on your relevant communication platforms, including social media.
*Cover Photo: Husnije Iljazi’s son Berin stands in the doorway of the dilapidated building in which his family currently resides. (Photo: Myles Wallingford)

created: November 25th, 2017

author: Myles Wallingford


text:
Reconciliation as a Universal Concept: Reflections on Joshua Oppenheimer’s ‘The Look of Silence’ (Part II) | Balkan Diskurs
Katarina van Alebeek
December 1st, 2017
Joshua Oppenheimer’s companion films The Act of Killing and The Look of Silence cinematically explore the enduring consequences of large-scale violence. Last year, both films were screened as part of the Sarajevo Film Festival’s Dealing with the Past project. Read Part I of ‘Reflections’ here. While Oppenheimer’s The Act of Killing interrogates the role of …
Joshua Oppenheimer’s companion films The Act of Killing and The Look of Silence cinematically explore the enduring consequences of large-scale violence. Last year, both films were screened as part of the Sarajevo Film Festival’s Dealing with the Past project. Read Part I of ‘Reflections’ here.
While Oppenheimer’s The Act of Killing interrogates the role of the perpetrators, The Look of Silence questions the possibility of coming to terms with the past. Indeed, the two films work to illuminate several sides of the same story. The Look of Silence follows Adi Rukun and his family as he confronts the man who had murdered his older brother, Ramli, in 1965. Unlike the brazen, boasting perpetrators depicted in the previous film, this one zooms in on those who prefer to remain silent. It is not easy to broach the subject – in the first scene. Adi asks a woman to recall something of the time, only to be told that “nothing happened.”
Despite the widespread reluctance to speak, Adi insists that confrontation is the first step toward healing. Only when perpetrators apprehend the far-reaching consequences of their actions can they recognize their wrongdoing. Perhaps, then, the atmosphere of fear would give way to an understanding tempered with compassion and the willingness to forgive.
But this may have been too idealistic an aim. In many of Adi’s encounters, the perpetrators refuse to assume responsibility, let alone apologize. Posing as a door-to-door optometrist, Adi approaches the collaborators under the pretext of an eye exam. Tensions arise as his interrogative stance puts them on their guard. One man boasts about the murders he had committed before recoiling from Adi’s ‘too-political’ questions. One of the men blatantly refuses to revisit history. “It’s covered up,” he says, “Why open it again? The past is past.” Another becomes menacing, saying, “if you keep making an issue of the past, it will happen again.” Seeking to restore the humanity of the victims, Oppenheimer orchestrates a situation that encourages the possibility of reconciliation. Their hostility proves narratively and cinematically significant – a defensive reaction Oppenheimer had intended to capture on film.
All is not lost, even though redemptive instances are few and far between. One such moment occurs between Adi and the daughter of a man involved in Ramli’s murder. She expresses her pride in her father’s role as an ‘exterminator’, prompting him to share some gruesome memories. Indeed, in local schools, these collaborators are not condemned but glorified as national heroes. Tension arises when Adi reveals his relationship to Ramli. The former perpetrator replies threateningly, “it’s getting late,” hinting that he should leave. However, his daughter surprises the screen. She asks Adi for forgiveness, apologizing on behalf of her father. This is one of the few attempts at atonement in either film. Ironically, however, such exchanges only occur between people indirectly affected in the aftermath of violence. This scene demonstrates the enduring legacy of tragedy, as well as the need for intergenerational dialogue – two important concerns that frame the film.
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Public response to the films have been overwhelmingly positive. Although both films were barred from commercial release, The Act of Killing was screened in Indonesia more than 3,500 times at the risk of military backlash. The films have since been downloaded and streamed by many millions of local people, prompting the Indonesian Teacher’s Union to revise the school curriculum. Its impact also reverberated on a global scale – following the film’s release, The International People’s Tribunal (IPT) was established to end the impunity for the crimes against humanity committed in Indonesia in and after 1965.
The films directed public attention to what was previously unsaid, paving a significant step towards national reconciliation.
They also transcend the particularities of culture and history. In 2017, Oppenheimer was honored with a personal screening at the Sarajevo Film Festival (SFF). This was part of the festival’s Dealing with the Past program, where the film drew cinematic parallels to what happened in Bosnia and Herzegovina.
Indeed, his films touch upon major themes within Bosnia’s post-conflict conversation. In a follow-up Q&A session, Oppenheimer observed that many of the Indonesian massacres that he documented had claimed tens of thousands of victims, a violence comparable to what happened in Srebrenica. But tragedy cannot be quantified through sheer numbers alone. The films also illuminate the complex, protracted process of grief, healing, and acceptance, aims central to SFF’s Dealing with the Past. The program aims to prompt meaningful dialogue through cinema, both local and foreign. In the words of director Mirsad Purivatra, the program “believe[s] that Dealing with the Past can lead to cinema that achieves its ultimate, perhaps noblest aim – cinema that opens a door to genuine empathy, to peacebuilding in its truest sense.” The Act of Killing and The Look of Silence has certainly created such a space. Purivatra further highlights the merits of film-as-medium, namely its accessible, far-reaching nature, as well as its potential to spur productive discussion. Hopefully, films screened for Dealing with the Past continue to “stir up thoughts and inspire dialogue throughout the Balkans and beyond.”
The Act of Killing and The Look of Silence do not merely depict the aftermath of events, but the consequences of failing to learn from history. Genocide and mass violence are not isolated instances of the twentieth century – they leave a violent legacy that we must grapple with, lest they happen again. Oppenheimer notes with pride the “transformation in how [Indonesia] talks about its past”. Indeed, the films are largely credited with breaking the national silence regarding its almost-forgotten genocide. However, repression still remains. Since The Act of Killing, Oppenheimer has been subject to numerous death threats that impede his return to Indonesia.
The questions explored in Oppenheimer’s films reverberate throughout the history of large-scale conflict. What do we make of perpetrators? Is it possible to achieve reconciliation? How are these efforts being undermined? There are no easy answers, but Oppenheimer’s work serves as a powerful catharsis. His films, ground in place and history, illuminate universal themes – they emphasize the enduring effects of loss, and the humanity that persists through past violence.
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The Sarajevo Film Festival’s Dealing with the Past project is dedicated to increasing dialogue, promoting peace through raising awareness and confronting all the parties involved with indisputable facts. The project is supported by the Robert Bosch Stiftung Foundation and presented in partnership with Al Jazeera Balkans and the United States Embassy to Bosnia and Herzegovina. The Post-Conflict Research Center served as a local project partner through its Regional Civil Society Network for the Prevention of Genocide and Mass Atrocities.

created: December 1st, 2017