text:
A Measure of Humanity in a Moment of Risk | Balkan Diskurs
Mirza Halilčević
August 3rd, 2015
There was a moment of risk that occurred that was great enough to become a measure of humanity. Đoko made a sacrifice…for you, for me, for those sons and daughters waiting for their fathers’ return. A moment of risk for a man that neither you nor I will ever know, which marked an era of humanity.
Guided by words uttered by Charlie Chaplin in the movie “The Great Dictator,” in which he explains the paradox of human advancement, I have written an essay on human duty that is solely dedicated to bringing back the spirit of togetherness.
A story from the period of war in Bosnia and Herzegovina about Smail Ribić and Đoko Stevanović, which serves this purpose, provides a true example of humanity.
Smail’s family fled to Germany before the Serbian army occupied the city of Brčko. He did not leave with them, and was soon convinced that this was a mistake. Realizing that things were becoming unsafe and threated one’s very existence, he started planning his departure. Đoko Stevanović stepped forth to try and help him.
Smail Ribić was a Bosniak (Bosnian Muslim) and Secretary of the Party of Democratic Action (SDA) of the Brčko Municipality. Stevanović was a Bosnian Serb and a representative of the Serbian Democratic Party (SDS) in a village near Brčko.
Ribić contacted Stevanović to help him carry out his departure. Despite being part of the Serb Army, Stevanović had managed to transport several Bosniaks to safety. The plan was to transport Smail over the border and let him continue to Germany on his own. Đoko would then immediately return to Brčko.
However, people at the border had their own plans, which did not include transnational cooperation. Đoko and Smail knew this, but decided to try anyways.
Because of his name, Đoko had no problems at the border, Smail, however, wasn’t so lucky. There was a very different set of problems associated with crossing the border at that time than there are today. Then, luggage was insignificant. Instead, it was your name and ethnicity that was under investigation, and the penalty could be your life.
There was a moment of risk that occurred that was great enough to become a measure of humanity. Đoko made a sacrifice…for you, for me, for those sons and daughters waiting for their fathers’ return. A moment of risk for a man that neither you nor I will ever know, which marked an era of humanity. Đoko’s sacrifice was made in the hopes that a new time would arrive, a time when we would not forsake ourselves nor run in fear, because for Đoko, who was he if not a man that would stand and defend the innocent?
It was this day that Đoko and Smail were captured at the border, forced into handcuffs, brutally beaten, and taken to the Luka detention camp in Brčko. They were shot in the head. Executed. One for wanting to live, the other for believing the first deserved an equal right to live.
Many men and women were imprisoned in the Luka detention camp in Brčko. They were tortured, beaten, sexually abused, and some did not survive.
Bitter are the words of war, but the story of Đoko and people like him should find their place in this mournful present.
This piece was recently awarded an honorable mention in the Post-Conflict Research Center’s “Srđan Aleksić Youth Competition,” which challenges young people in Bosnia to discover, collect, and share stories of peacebuilding, moral courage, and interethnic cooperation from their local communities, and is kindly funded by the National Endowment for Democracy. Through the competition, the center hopes to inspire youth to take an active role in the promotion of positive examples of people who are making a difference in the lives of others in Bosnia-Herzegovina.

created: August 3rd, 2015

author: Mirza Halilčević


text:
The Silent Courage of a Man from Kratina | Balkan Diskurs
Amila Avdukić
August 10th, 2015
At a time when men were wolves, Vojislav was not afraid of war itself. He was not afraid of weapons. He was instead afraid of the human condition. He asked Hajro to only tell his story after his death.
Vojislav Petrović is the last inhabitant of the village Kratina located just north of Ahmići (Vitez municipality). There is no one left in the village to remember him or to be proud of the actions and bravery he demonstrated during the war. He did not want anyone to know that he saved the lives of Hajro Osmančević’s parents, out of fear for his own life and the condemnation of his neighbors. At a time when men were wolves, Vojislav was not afraid of war itself. He was not afraid of weapons. He was instead afraid of the human condition. He asked Hajro to only tell his story after his death.
Before the war, Hajro lived with his parents in Zenica. In search a more peaceful surrounding, his parents decided to buy some land in the village of Kratina. Their house, as he says, became a place where neighbors gathered and spent time with each other. However, the war did not bypass Hajro’s parents. According to their son, they experienced something that happens frequently during wartime – friends turn their backs on friends and neighbors raise their weapons on neighbors.
Hajro says their next-door neighbor turned his back on Hajro’s parents. Hajro was told that this next-door neighbor tried to kill them in order to seize their property. The Osmančevićs managed to save themselves by escaping to the nearby woods, where they met another married couple in hiding.
According to Hajro’s testimony, Vojislav Petrović, another neighbor from the village, found them hidden in the woods and frightened for their lives. He took them to his house where he lived with his 83-year-old mother, and kept them safe there for 43 days.
“Do you know what it meant at that time to feed four people for 43 days?” asks Hajro, who affectionately calls Vojislav “Vojo.”
After 43 days Vojo was unable to feed them anymore, so he dressed them in his mother’s old clothes and secretly took them to Busovača, where Hajro’s parents were sent to UNPROFOR.
Today Hajro speaks of Vojislav proudly and honestly. He believes that Vojo’s soul is what makes him a hero. According to Hajro, the story about Vojislav should be told and preserved so that Vojo’s bravery and sacrifice may be celebrated. This is the story of a man who was willing to risk everything he had in order to save another. Hajro believes there exist many more stories similar to this one that have never been told. These types of stories should reach the younger generations in order to teach them not to hate one another. Hajro feels that we must not allow the echo of evil to influence the up and coming generations.
This piece was recently awarded an honorable mention in the Post-Conflict Research Center’s “Srđan Aleksić Youth Competition,” which challenges young people in Bosnia to discover, collect, and share stories of peacebuilding, moral courage, and interethnic cooperation from their local communities, and is kindly funded by the National Endowment for Democracy. Through the competition, the center hopes to inspire youth to take an active role in the promotion of positive examples of people who are making a difference in the lives of others in Bosnia-Herzegovina.

source: news-balkandiskurs

created: August 10th, 2015

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

author: Amila Avdukić


text:
“My Body, a War Zone”: Breaking the Silence Surrounding Sexual Violence in Conflict | Balkan Diskurs
Zuzana Pavelková
August 13th, 2015
A new photographic exhibition in Sarajevo documents the use of sexual violence as a weapon of war. It aims to help survivors transform from victims to participants in the struggle for justice.
The photographic exhibition My Body: A War Zone was unveiled in the heart of Sarajevo’s city center on 1 July 2015 as a part of the War Art Reporting and Memory (WARM) festival. My Body: A War Zone features the portraits and testimonies of survivors of wartime sexual violence from Bosnia-Herzegovina, Nepal, Colombia and the Democratic Republic of the Congo.
The exhibition, developed by PROOF: Media for Social Justice in partnership with the Sarajevo-based Post-Conflict Research Center (PCRC), aims to bring individual stories of injustice to the broader public in an effort to overcome the silence and stigma associated with crimes of sexual violence. The exhibition is also aimed at replacing the culture of impunity for sexual violence with one of deterrence.
Award-winning photographer, Paul Lowe, opened the exhibition, discussing the importance of making the stories of sexual violence more widely accessible to the general population.
“Displaying these stories in such a visual and public manner is a strong approach to overcoming the stigma associated with such crimes,” Lowe explained.
PCRC and PROOF partnered with photographers Midhat Poturović, Blake Fitch, NayanTara Gurung Kakshapati and Pete Muller to capture the images of survivors from the respective countries. Due to the sensitivity that continues to surround the topic of sexual violence, emphasis was placed on the survivors’ security, well-being and ownership of the final result. Many of the women who shared their stories wished to remain anonymous, which resulted in powerful imagery that, while successfully concealing their identities, captured the cultural nuances of each location and conveyed the gravity and depth of each woman’s struggle.
In his speech at the unveiling ceremony, the British Ambassador to Bosnia-Herzegovina, H.E. Edward Ferguson, stated that “the United Kingdom has been proud to support this exhibition.” While highlighting the UK’s global approach to ending sexual violence in conflict, the Ambassador emphasized that “the UK believes that we must all do more to tackle this problem of wartime rape, to support survivors and to bring criminals to justice.”
Each project photographer used his or her own unique approach to create the intimate portraits of the women who came forward to tell their stories. Bosnian photographer, Midhat Poturović, plays with shadow, light and reflection, to symbolize the plight of Bosnian survivors who are struggling to step out of the dark with their stories. Blake Fitch reveals the intricacies of a woman’s hands, which themselves convey a story of shame and fear, but also of resistance and strength. NayanTara Gurung Kakshapati from Nepal captures dorsal images of each survivor that depict moments of reflection and remembrance. Utilizing the colors of traditional dress and his surroundings, Kenya-based photographer Pete Muller’s photography embodies the vibrancy of Congolese culture, while illustrating the beautiful vulnerability and femininity of each subject.
During the unveiling ceremony, Poturović explained that the Balkans has a history of repeating its past mistakes. “Documenting and preserving these powerful stories for future generations can help us to avoid a recurrence of such atrocities down the road and can serve as a tool to end impunity for perpetrators.”
Also included within the exhibition is background information about each of the countries from which the stories originate, providing the viewers with the context of each conflict. PCRC and PROOF believe that bringing this topic into the public arena can inspire other victims to come forward and tell their stories, which can open the door to improving the current status of victims worldwide.
In an emotional address to the audience, H.B., who survived rape, torture and detainment as a teenager during the Bosnian war, then highlighted the ongoing struggle of women victims of war: “We have been left to our own devices on the margins of society, with no options for psychological, financial or legal support. I urge the Bosnian government to adopt a state law that will regulate our status so that we may have the chance to experience a normal life.”
Sexual violence as a weapon of war
It is estimated that between 20,000 to 50,000 people, predominantly women, were raped during the 1992-1995 war in Bosnia. In the most extreme cases, special camps were established where women were forcibly held and systematically raped over the course of several months. Although women were more likely to fall victim to this sort of institutionalized and systematic discrimination, it is important to note that men were also subjected to sexual violence during the Bosnian war.
Unfortunately, Bosnia is no exception in the widespread recurrence of sexual exploitation during conflict, and there are numerous examples of this throughout history. Sexual violence against German women was exercised by the ‘liberating’ allied forces during and after the end of WWII. In 1971, between 200,000 and 400,000 women were raped during the battle for Bangladeshi independence. Rape was also a common practice during the Peruvian conflict from 1980-2000.
The case of Bosnia differs from other cases, however, in that it resulted in a monumental step forward in defining international humanitarian law. In February 2001, and for the first time in human history, the International Criminal Tribunal for the Former Yugoslavia (ICTY) recognized rape as a powerful tool of war, used to intimidate, persecute and terrorize the enemy. In the various judicial proceedings that followed, the ICTY enabled the prosecution of sexual violence as a war crime, a crime against humanity and genocide.
Despite such progress in the field of transitional justice, sexual violence continues to be an intrinsic part of war and conflict today, and its consequences have long-lasting and far-reaching impacts that must be continuously addressed.
Breaking the taboo and empowering the victims
It is alarming that twenty years after the end of the war in Bosnia, victims of sexual violence continue to face stigmatization and social exclusion, which often originates within the circles of even their closest relatives. Even more disconcerting is the fact that many of these victims must continue to cross paths with the perpetrators in their everyday lives.
By placing the exhibition in front of the BBI Center, one Sarajevo’s most trafficked areas, PCRC aimed to bring these stories into the public arena in an effort to break with the prevalent practices of victim blaming and silence surrounding rape.
“We need a change of attitude. It is the support of families and communities that can make a key difference in whether survivors of such crimes can regain their dignity and make a positive contribution to their societies,” highlighted Ambassador Ferguson.
Including the general public in the dialogue on post-war justice is an important step in demanding accountability from the perpetrators and breaking the taboos associated with crimes of sexual violence. Most importantly, exhibitions like My Body: A War Zone bear the potential of empowering the victims to speak up and thereby evolve from mere objects of violence to active participants in the struggle for justice.
Beyond the Exhibition
In 2010, PCRC’s Executive Director, Velma Šarić, began working with UNHCR Special Envoy, Angelina Jolie, in an attempt to further catalyze the discussion surrounding survivors’ rights. With the discussions elevated to an international level, the International Protocol on Investigation and Documentation of Sexual Violence in Conflict finally emerged. Partnering with the British Embassy in Sarajevo, PCRC was involved in a range of local activities that brought together representatives of public institutions, civil society organizations, youth, academia and the media to raise awareness on this important matter and to introduce international standards for the documentation and investigation of sexual violence in conflict. PCRC assisted in the organization of the Protocol’s launch in the Parliamentary Assembly of Bosnia-Herzegovina and was in charge of bringing it to public audiences across the country. Together with the Protocol, the exhibition was presented in Mostar, Banja Luka, Brčko and Zenica.
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Exhibitions like My Body: A War Zone make up only one part of PCRC’s approach towards empowering women and advocating for the rights of survivors of sexual violence. Additional PCRC projects that contribute to these aims include the photographic exhibition Warriors of Peace and the documentary films I Came to Testify and Unprotected.
PCRC believes that incorporating the use of multimedia to address human rights issues can prove highly effective in bringing to light the injustices of contemporary conflict that remain neglected by politicians, misrepresented in the press and often ignored by the public.
Paying testament to the women who came forward to share their experiences with the world, PCRC’s project developer, Tim Bidey, brought the exhibition opening to a close, concluding: “Without your bravery, all that we are talking about and trying to achieve today would not be possible.”

created: August 13th, 2015

author: Zuzana Pavelková


text:
Wartime Sweets | Balkan Diskurs
Đuldina Kurtović
August 17th, 2015
That is how on one March morning in 1993, fates intertwined to fuse the threads of a friendship that would defy all differences and borders. It was on that morning that I met a man who became my inspiration and my role model in life.
Whistling missiles and damp shelters were commonplace to me in those days. Wherever you turned you were confronted by the fear in the eyes or others and frantic looks, but also by the will to live, especially for the youngest ones. Children were children, running around in the streets, between the houses, and in the fields in search of abandoned raspberry and strawberry plants. Sometimes they sprinted after convoys, especially those with the letters “UN” (United Nations) because they had a source of treats sweeter than raspberries and strawberries. In their hands, they had chocolate, and their good will determined the children’s happiness. That is how on one March morning in 1993, fates intertwined to fuse the threads of a friendship that would defy all differences and borders. It was on that morning that I met a man who became my inspiration and my role model in life.
My friends and I spent the days of war in shelters and, as soon as it got dark, we would meet in the neighborhood and play a game called “dark people.” Even today, the rules of that game remain unclear to me. During the daytime, we would go out only when necessary. And sweets were a necessity to us. Everything would happen as we ran next to the convoys; we would seize the chocolates, some of which we’d never tried before. So new, and much tastier.
One snowy morning I returned with my friend from the maktab (elementary school). It didn’t take long for us to notice the two UN transporters next to my house. Even less time was needed for us and other children from the neighborhood to climb up on to the transporter. I felt as though we’d found the greatest treasure, and we didn’t even think of climbing down until we got some sweets.
Something was broken on this transporter, so two soldiers were trying to solve the issue. We introduced ourselves to them. Their names were Jed and Ian. They said where they were from a few times, but there was a misunderstanding. It sounded like they said England, so we went on assuming they were from England. We later found out that they were actually from Northern Ireland.
The soldiers gave us a rucksack full of candy. What a joy and delight that was for us! It was a great feeling when that treasure made it into our hands. I remember in that moment that I decided to ask for something else, a kilogram of sugar, because my mother wanted to make some cakes. I quickly took the sugar to my mother and, as a gesture of her gratitude, she made tea and gurabija (short-bread type biscuits) for Jed and Ian. In the beginning they were reluctant, but they later accepted the gift. Jed promised to return the next day.
The next morning, I met up with the other kids in the neighborhood. Even now when I close my eyes, I can hear the sound of transporter 14A and the excited screams of the children. They didn’t lie to us; they came back. For the next few months Jed would return almost every day and bring us candy and toys. During that time, we also learned a little English, like how to say hello and how to introduce ourselves. An English phrase I still cherish to this day is “see you soon.” We did not play during the night anymore. Instead, we ran through the neighborhood in the early mornings and waited for Jed, sometimes for hours on end.
Those foreigners with the blue berets on their heads did not bring about death, but joy. The light of their friendship was shining upon us and the “dark people” disappeared. Sometimes, we children and the UNPROFOR soldiers would even run for cover together. Jed was a man who always kept us smiling. He enjoyed eating sirnica (cheese pie), and something I most remember about him is how he would always tell us that peace would come to our country and that we must continue to be hopeful.
The time eventually came when Jed had to leave. We were sorry to see our light leave us to go warm other places, but Jed sent us packages of candy via convoys a few more times. We even became pen pals. I remember the blue envelopes I would give to unknown soldiers in the hopes that Jed would receive them. A period came when the letters stopped arriving. I was very sad, but that sentence “see you soon,” gave me hope that I would one day again meet my savior. After five years, that day did, in fact, come with the arrival of a letter from Jed. Many letters followed from 1998 to 2003. We did not allow our friendship to come to an end. Jed invited me to Northern Ireland to meet his wife and two children and, after ten years had passed, I went there.
The man who followed his humanity, who showed me what it means to be human, to help, and to extend the arm of friendship, the person I call the savior of my childhood, is more than worthy of my story about him. He spoke a different language, bore a different name, was a different religion, but he was, above all, a man who believed in peace and friendship. Nurturing these values gives true meaning to our lives.
This piece was recently awarded an honorable mention in the Post-Conflict Research Center’s “Srđan Aleksić Youth Competition,” which challenges young people in Bosnia to discover, collect, and share stories of peacebuilding, moral courage, and interethnic cooperation from their local communities, and is kindly funded by the National Endowment for Democracy. Written by high school teacher Đuldina Kurtović (34), “Wartime Sweets” was specially selected in recognition of the author’s work as a role model for youth in her hometown of Kladanj. Djuldina is actively involved in inspiring youth from the local community and helping them overcome ethnic divisions.

created: August 17th, 2015

author: Đuldina Kurtović


text:
Imaginary Walls and Holograms of the Past | Balkan Diskurs
Robert Budimir
August 26th, 2015
In the Bosnian media, war seems to have never ended. It simply seems to have continued through other means. Above us looms the hologram of war that prevents our confused minds from making sense of oft repeated and empty phrases.
Inter-group reconciliation, war heroes and benefactors of the three constituent ethnic groups, have all been well-covered topics in Bosnian society over the past 20 years, but the truth is, we seem to be unable to grasp the entire story.
For the past 20 years, Bosnia-Herzegovina has been waging a new kind of war using different and more sophisticated techniques. The institutionalized nature of this new war has allowed ethnic and political structures to continue their immoral endeavors. The sophisticated methods of war in the post-conflict era are truly amazing. We – the citizens – participate in this war without even knowing it. We suffer the consequences without even recognizing their origin; we instead recognize the increasing levels of poverty and unemployment, the increasing crime rates, and the decreasing security rates as the natural consequences of peace.
For more than 20 years, an imaginary wall has been created between Bosnian citizens; a wall that has been strengthened by the numerous social, political and religious stakeholders. This stonewall, with all its imaginary powers, seems much stronger than the actual historic walls, and creates a deep divide between not only the constituent people of Bosnia, but also between them and the outside world. These walls brazenly stand between us, and one might think, truly divide us. They make us believe we have nothing in common with “them”—those on the other side of the wall. But then a flood or a catastrophe quickly reminds us that it takes very little to tear down such walls. It’s surprising to hear that the flooding took away everything, including that damn wall. It’s surprising to see TV images with people from the “other side” begging and going through trash looking for food. It’s surprising to hear how on the other side of the wall people cry and laugh in the same way. In the end, it makes you wonder whom are we fighting against when we are all suffering the same injustices and heartaches on all sides
Walls are not truly walls
The first question a sensible person would ask is: “What is the purpose of these walls if not to protect me from the people on the other side?” The second question would be: “Why do we all suffer so much if I have not attacked them and they have not attacked me?” Other equally important questions may be: “Who destroyed us so profoundly? Who stole our dignity? Who has pushed us into hardship and poverty if we ourselves are not responsible?”
When a reasonable person thinks about these questions and looks upon the faces of the supposed protectors of his or her vital national interests, only then does he or she realize that one’s vital interests lost their vitality a long time ago. Only then does one realize that those walls are not truly walls and that their would-be protectors are, in fact, their greatest enemies. It is then that we also realize that those beyond the wall are actually our brothers and sisters through suffering and hard-earned knowledge. Only then does one understand the brutal nature of the recent war, in which people were killed by bullets and shrapnel wounds, and its sophisticated extension, in which people are now dying from anguish and indignity.
When rational people become the majority, the imaginary walls will crumble and the hologram of war will disperse into a whirlwind of collective consciousness. Only then will corrupt leaders fall, causing a political earthquake that will destroy the remnants of their fascist regime. Once this happens, the real post-war period will begin, and the doors to a better future for a country currently unaware of its potential will open.
We are a long way from changing the collective awareness of the uneducated masses that have been poisoned by fear. It’s an even longer journey toward tearing down the walls among poor people, to changing the kleptomaniacal government and the democracy that reeks of oligarchy. Luckily, hope arises when we think of the selfless and courageous people who have ignored these walls and who see only people.
Let us remember the heroic and humane act of Srdjan Aleksic who saved the life of another who was only guilty of having the wrong name. This brave young man Srdjan saved Alen, but was not able to save himself. Srdjan not only saved Alen, he redeemed our hope in humanity and caused irreparable harm to those trying hard to maintain the walls of improper identity and division among people—walls that stand on the foundations of unenlightened minds and weak souls.
The flag of common Interest
In order to awaken the hope of a better future for our children we can take a look at more recent events. Let’s recall the rainy spring of 2014 when terrible floods and mudslides aroused the long forgotten humanity, bravery and selflessness of people across the region. In a time of collective hardship, the walls, both real and imaginary, crumbled. One man rushed to the aid of another without a doubt or second thought. In those difficult days, the names written on the doors of the flooded houses no longer mattered; all needed help equally. And help was given.
If we stop for a moment and think about the two instances mentioned, which both rouse the hope for a brighter future in all Bosnian citizens, we will recognize some fundamental principles that are necessary for us to achieve our common and universal needs and aspirations. We all need food, water, employment, shelter, personal security for ourselves and our families, protection of fundamental rights, equality, dignity, and so on. If we start listing the things that unite people, we could go on forever.
Let us unite the flag of common interest, cooperation, tolerance, respect, friendship, and love. Let us dispose of the toxic and malignant politics of exclusion and concentrate on the benefits of a healthy society that takes care of our children and allows them to grow and learn in a healthy and prosperous environment and to fulfill their own needs.
We need to improve ourselves, raise awareness, and wholeheartedly and reasonably work towards improving the quality of our lives and society. This kind of thinking emerges as a consequence of brave acts such as Srdjan’s and those brave men and women who rushed to the aid of people in need during the floods. These are the underlying principles of a healthy society, and this is the only way to a better tomorrow for all of us.
In Bosnia, there certainly exists an entire society that does not belong to its political reality. This is a society that does not hate and that learns. This is a society that works and trains and that respects and cherishes good people. However, this healthy tissue of Bosnian society is politically underrepresented, censored by the media, and physically disjointed. Only when this tissue unites to become a healthy and strong political and social body will Bosnia enter a true post-war period marked by the progress of all its citizens.
This piece was recently awarded an honorable mention in the Post-Conflict Research Center’s “Srđan Aleksić Youth Competition,” which challenges young people in Bosnia to discover, collect, and share stories of peacebuilding, moral courage, and interethnic cooperation from their local communities, and is kindly funded by the National Endowment for Democracy. Through the competition, the center hopes to inspire youth to take an active role in the promotion of positive examples of people who are making a difference in the lives of others in Bosnia-Herzegovina.

created: August 26th, 2015

author: Robert Budimir


text:
BalkanThemes Volume 1: Issue 4 - Human Trafficking | Balkan Diskurs
Balkan Diskurs
September 3rd, 2015
The fourth issue of BalkanThemes focuses on the challenges organizations and individuals face in dealing with human trafficking cases in the former Yugoslavia and beyond.
Since we published the first issue of BalkanThemes in September 2014, we’ve been thinking of ways to improve the reader experience and to engage more critically with the subject at hand. In this issue, we present the challenges organizations and individuals face in dealing with human trafficking cases in the former Yugoslavia and beyond. An in-depth interview by the Post-Conflict Research Center volunteers Chloé Gaillard and Clara Fantoni with the Indian organization Manav Seva Sansthan – third-prize winner of the 2014 UN Alliance of Civiliztions and BMW Group Intercultural Innovation Award – highlights the difficulties in and prospects for reducing and discouraging human trafficking practices along the Indian-Nepalese border. This issue also features a comparative article by PCRC intern Karim Sultan on the legal framework or lack thereof surrounding human trafficking in both Libya and Bosnia and Herzegovina.

created: September 3rd, 2015

author: Balkan Diskurs


text:
Human Trafficking in the Balkans | Balkan Diskurs
Chloé Gaillard
September 3rd, 2015
Human trafficking is endemic in the Balkans. The region offers ideal conditions: political instability; social and economic malaise; a prevalence of organized criminal networks; and a culture of corruption.
Human trafficking is endemic in the Balkans. The region offers ideal conditions: political instability; social and economic malaise; a prevalence of organized criminal networks; and a culture of corruption. In addition, most countries in the region have inadequate systems in place to monitor and document cases, leading to ineffective countermeasures that are further undermined by the lack of a coordinated regional response.

author: Chloé Gaillard


text:
Nikola Čvoro: Building Trust among Bosnian Youth | Balkan Diskurs
Mladen Lakić
September 7th, 2015
In a country such as ours, where young people don’t go to other parts of the city where they were born solely because they were taught not to, Nikola is a hero.
Nikola Čvoro, 25-years-old, lives and studies in Pale (East Sarajevo). He is currently completing his Master’s thesis at the Law Faculty of the University of East Sarajevo. If being a hero today means thinking for yourself and listening to your conscience, without regard to “law of environment,” then our Nikola is an ordinary hero. He is ordinary in the sense that he is not featured in media, he does not take money for what he does, and he is not a typical representative of his surroundings.
“When you live in Pale, you find it difficult to deal with all the negative things associated with this place, whether you hear them in media or in person,” Nikola begins his story. He explains that whenever he introduces himself to someone and tells them where he’s from, Radovan Karadžić and war-related events are mentioned without fail.
“It is not pleasant to listen to things like that about the place where you live, especially when you know that you can represent a different, brighter side of Pale,” adds Nikola, noting that this is one of the reasons he became actively involved in reconciliation in our country.
Nikola is an active member of debate club at his university. “It’s an interesting hobby, not only for the socializing, but also because you can learn how to use arguments and rational approaches to various subjects, which are things we generally lack in this society,” explains Nikola. He says that debate club was his introduction to his engagement in the NGO sector in Bosnia-Herzegovina.
“It may seem silly, but when you step out of your surroundings, you realize how many young people in Bosnia think like you do, and that they share the same aspirations and the same problems,” says Nikola.
Attaching a label
According to Nikola, the state of society is unfavorable and, as such, initiatives coming out of Sarajevo or Banja Luka are viewed with mistrust. He explains that when reconciliation is mentioned there is always someone who will be bothered by it. He admits that it’s not pleasant to be working in an environment where someone can label you as a mercenary or a traitor, even though he has never directly experienced this problem himself.
Nikola says that he has met a lot of young people through his work who are trying to initiate change in society. “As a student of law, I worked on some proposals for justice system reform,” says Nikola, adding that he participated in various projects that connected youth from across Bosnia.
“I was very fond of the debate club gatherings at our faculty because it was a real example of how young people of this country can and should work together,” says Nikola. He recalls how, when he was a student in high school, it was not common to have friends from the other entity.
“When I remember that period, I see that some things have gotten better, but we young people still have a lot of work to do,” he states. He believes that young people must abandon their passive attitudes, not towards the society and the state, but towards themselves.
“The saying that all is good until there is a shooting, is not something we can and should be using. We have very little now and we must change that.” Nikola is determined when he says politicians should help young people, but he also believes that if we don’t vote, we don’t have any right to ask them for help.
According to Nikola, thanks to informal processes the trust is slowly being built among young people who are separated by entity and other lines. “It must be emphasized that the strengthening of trust among the youth will help us to cope with and confront serious issues—ones for which there are no agreements,” he says.
Forgotten Trust
Nikola points out that trust is often forgotten. “It is implied that trust exists when that is not, necessarily the case. Only when we young people trust each other, regardless of what the politicians, the media or anybody else says, can we hope for serious change,” he concludes.
For these reasons, I have identified Nikola as an ordinary hero. In a country such as ours, where young people don’t go to other parts of the city where they were born solely because they were taught not to, Nikola is a hero. Sarajevo and East Sarajevo do not carry that unfortunate epithet of an incident city, like Mostar does. On the other hand, there are many differences dividing these two young cities. Nikola tries to overcome these differences and is an example of what is possible.
In his free time, Nikola is a talented reciter and a member of the youth amateur theater in Pale. “Reciting is something I enjoy a lot and, because I’m not shy, I am happy to share it with others,” adds Nikola, smiling.
Nikola believes that Bosnia has enough young people that do not fit into the existing patterns. “If I said young people in Bosnia are uninterested in society or politics I would offend all those wonderful, creative and capable young people I met,” says Nikola. He adds that those are the people – his colleagues and acquaintances, in which he sees the chance for a better Bosnia. “We cannot change ourselves or our country overnight, but we can make a decision overnight, and that is a way to start,” says Nikola, full of belief in the people around him.
It is certain that at least every other street in this country has a Nikola on it. Maybe we won’t read much about them, or see them on the front pages, but that does not mean that their efforts are in vain. On the contrary, if we all did something for someone else at least once a day, even if it was only symbolic, we would create a better world for ourselves.
This piece was recently awarded an honorable mention in the Post-Conflict Research Center’s “Srđan Aleksić Youth Competition,” which challenges young people in Bosnia to discover, collect, and share stories of peacebuilding, moral courage, and interethnic cooperation from their local communities, and is kindly funded by the National Endowment for Democracy. Through the competition, the center hopes to inspire youth to take an active role in the promotion of positive examples of people who are making a difference in the lives of others in Bosnia-Herzegovina.

created: September 7th, 2015

author: Mladen Lakić


text:
Azra Bešlagić : Youth Competition Winner | Balkan Diskurs
Balkan Diskurs
September 17th, 2015
Azra Bešlagić was recently awarded third place in the Post-Conflict Research Center’s “Srđan Aleksić Youth Competition.” Balkan Diskurs spoke with her about the main challenges and opportunities for Bosnia-Herzegovina.
Azra Bešlagić is a young, persistent, friendly and free-spirited activist from Tesanj, Bosnia-Herzegovina. At 22 years old, she is also a student at the Faculty of Law, University of Sarajevo.
Growing up in a small town with her mother and sister, Azra grasped early on that life is a constant struggle and that to succeed we must find strength within ourselves.
Although a student of law, Azra is a strong advocate of non-formal education as a way to overcome the prejudices and stereotypes that young people face on an everyday basis.
Azra considers the process of dealing with the past to be a prerequisite for the continued development of society, as well as a way to discover truths and avoid repeating the mistakes of history.
“The biggest obstacle to reconciliation today is rooted nationalism, which does not allow young people to feel free to leave their communities and work together,” she explains.
Azra also emphasizes that high unemployment rates and a lack of opportunities for the development and training of young people are the main problems facing young people in Bosnia today, especially those living in smaller communities.
“Young people are not satisfied, because after completing many years of study it is still difficult to find a job. Young people see successful careers in the EU and so, unfortunately, are leaving the country,” says Azra.
She considers her country a treasure trove of unique cultural heritage and untapped natural resources, which could – if used correctly – revive the economy and contribute to a stronger economic position.
In the future, Azra sees herself as a successful, young, enterprising woman and hopes for better job opportunities and living conditions within Bosnia.
Azra’s message to young people in Bosnia is to invest in their education, but also to use it wisely. “The changes are necessary. And they start within ourselves,” she concludes.
Read more: “The Brave Heart of An Artist“

created: September 17th, 2015


text:
The Brave Heart of an Artist | Balkan Diskurs
Azra Bešlagić
September 17th, 2015
Ahmet did not care about the consequences because her name and religion were irrelevant to him. The only thing that was important was to provide a safe home for her, which he did.
The intimacy of a family night, with an abundance of food and socializing, was interrupted by sadness of my 70-year-old grandmother. I approached her and she started telling me how, that day, she was unexpectedly visited by Rada, who she had shared an office with 10 years before the war, in a now failed company.
She told me a story about Rada and an artist named Ahmet Hundur, people, who until then were unbeknownst to me. The events surrounding war in Tešanj brought them together, and their story demonstrated bravery and perseverance to help others, no matter their ethnic belonging.
During the war Rada, who is an Orthodox Christian, decided to stay in her hometown of Tešanj with her five-member family, even though she knew that she would face resentment from her family and friends who had decided to go over to “the other side.”
Because of the war Tešanj was blockaded, so Rada went to the municipality office to ask for any kind of assistance she could get to feed her family and provide them a shelter for at least one night, since the house in which they lived was so close to the front lines.
The mayor of the municipality during that time listened to her, but before he could respond, Ahmet spoke out. Ahmet was at the mayor’s office to deliver a painting, which was to be traded for a convoy of food that would be delivered to Tešanj later.
Ahmet’s paintings were used to help get food to Tešanj even before the war. He took his paintings off the wall to provide a kilogram of flour for someone.
His paintings had a mission to feed a child or to give them candy that would elicit a smile on their frightened face.
In front of the mayor, Ahmet offered Rada accommodation in his family house, as well as food and everything her minor children needed.
Rada was in disbelief regarding this offer and explained that it could bring about problems for him. Ahmet did not care about the consequences because her name and religion were irrelevant to him. The only thing that was important was to provide a safe home for her, which he did.
As the conflict escalated, many warned Ahmet that Rada was a traitor or an informant and that he should “mind his own business.” Ahmet ignored these comments and stories, and Rada remained in the Hundur house with her family until the end of the war, after which she moved them to Germany.
Even during the most difficult period, Rada and Ahmet had good intentions and pure hearts, demolishing the boundaries of nationalism, cultural and religious differences. On this note, my grandmother ended her story. The whole family listened and the question was raised: Why did neighbors, friends and compatriots go to war against each other in the first place? Grandmother simply shrugged her shoulders.
This piece was recently awarded third place in the Post-Conflict Research Center’s “Srđan Aleksić Youth Competition,” which challenges young people in Bosnia to discover, collect, and share stories of peacebuilding, moral courage, and interethnic cooperation from their local communities, and is kindly funded by the National Endowment for Democracy. Through the competition, the center hopes to inspire youth to take an active role in the promotion of positive examples of people who are making a difference in the lives of others in Bosnia-Herzegovina.

author: Azra Bešlagić


text:
Remembering Srebrenica at the Sarajevo Film Festival | Balkan Diskurs
Marta Vidal
September 21st, 2015
A new film focusing on survivors of the Srebrenica genocide premiered at the 21st Sarajevo Film Festival last week. Alessandra Goio and Marta Vidal report.
On 17 August 2015, Bosnian director Samir Mehanović presented his documentary film The Fog of Srebrenica to a packed cinema hall the 21 Sarajevo Film Festival.
The film tells the story of Mehmed, Hatidža, Ahmed and Zinahida, four of the survivors of what most define as the worst crime committed on European soil since the Second World War. Over seven days of July 1995, more than 8,000 Muslim Bosnians were killed in and around the city of Srebrenica. By reporting the characters’ personal experience of this tragedy, the film makes the audience reflect upon many important questions about humanity, memory, and forgiveness.
On stage with some of the film’s characters, survivors of the Srebrenica genocide and victims’ family members, Mehanović talked about the importance of remembering Srebrenica and the need to build hope for future generations in Bosnia-Herzegovina.
“I started making this film 20 years ago,” said Mehanović, who was raised in Tuzla and still remembers the events of July 1995, when countless refugees were arriving from Srebrenica, forty miles from his town. “The memories are haunting. By making this film I opened a Pandora’s box,” he added.
Mehanović wanted to study directing before the war, but when the conflict started he established a theatre company instead. “When the war was around we were doing shows like The Little Prince,” he remembered.
In May 1995, Mehanović escaped the Tuzla massacre, in which about 71 young people died, and left Bosnia in August of the same year, seeking asylum in Scotland after being invited to perform at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival.
“I went to Edinburgh and I stayed there, but I was continuously linked to Bosnia,” he told the audience.
In 2013 he directed The Way We Played, a film about two boys from different ethnic backgrounds in the beginning of the Bosnian war. But for The Fog of Srebrenica, Mehanović’s motivation came simply from the desire to tell the story of the people who died and disappeared.
Whilst making the film he conducted extensive research on the genocide, which opened old wounds. “It questioned my position on humanity,” he explained, and forced him to ask himself, “Is man really worse than an animal?” However, making the documentary also gave him hope.
“The beautiful thing was that I did not feel hatred in the characters,” Mehanović explained, adding that he believed that forgiveness played a very important part in his film. Even though most of the documentary’s characters lost several family members and witnessed extremely violent situations, they were still able to forgive and stated they did not seek revenge. “People do forgive, they are not full of hatred,” the director claimed.
Mehmed Hodžić, one of the film’s characters and a hairdresser living with his wife and two sons in Srebrenica, lost 67 family members during the massacre. He moved to Sarajevo, but after the war, he decided to return to Srebrenica. He described that life in Srebrenica is now peaceful and just as normal as in any other small city.
Yet Srebrenica is an event that should never be forgotten, especially by future generations. In the words of one of the film’s characters: “Srebrenica is never a finished story.” As such, Mehanović is planning to make a feature film. “I feel like I did not tell enough,” he said.
Mehanović also used his speech to highlight the importance of justice in reconciliation processes. “If you commit a crime, you need to send the future generations the message: you will not go without punishment,” he stated.
In his research, Mehanović used archives and reports from the International Criminal Tribunal for the Former Yugoslavia (ICTY). Set up in 1993 by the UN Security Council, the institution had the primary aim of prosecuting the perpetrators of the crimes committed in the former Yugoslavia. “The ICTY had the best judges from around the world,” Mehanović noted, however, that “in the last twenty years they prosecuted only a few people for their involvement in the Srebrenica genocide.”
The director also affirmed that the situation remains “unbearable” for the survivors.
“They are deprived of the basics and they live on just €5-10 a day. The government doesn’t take care of them, nor do normal people. Now people seem blind eyed as they turn their back to issues such as Srebrenica. I believe,” he continued, “that there is a conspiracy of silence. People do not talk about this stuff.”
Mehanović believes that future peace in Bosnia rests on the existence of a dialogue that enables people to learn how to live together. But although his movie is about Bosnia and the Yugoslav war, the message is addressed to the world. “Sadly, horrors such as Srebrenica can happen everywhere and anytime,” he explained.
“We must not let this happen again,” he concluded.

created: September 21st, 2015

author: Marta Vidal


text:
Sara Velaga: Youth Competition Winner | Balkan Diskurs
Balkan Diskurs
September 28th, 2015
Sara Velaga was recently awarded second place in the Post-Conflict Research Center’s “Srđan Aleksić Youth Competition.” Balkan Diskurs spoke with her about the main challenges and opportunities for Bosnia-Herzegovina.
Persistence, ambitiousness and honesty are all words that describe Sara Velaga, a student of communications and a youth activist from Jajce. She is one of those young people in Bosnia-Herzegovina who believes that changes are possible and that youth should start them.
Her enthusiasm is boosted by the adversity she faced as a child, such as growing up without a father, which she has since turned into a challenge to improve herself and her surroundings.
As a student of the Communications College in Banja Luka, Sara has acquired a working knowledge of journalism and objective reporting, which she has continued to develop through the civic sector and a variety of different seminars and courses on media literacy and honoring of ethical codex. Sara also writes for a blog and webzine Crna Ovca, and is an active youth correspondent of Balkan Diskurs since late last year.
Growing up after the war, Sara managed to develop herself as a multicultural woman, who knows and values differences in society. She lives, in her own words, with the aim of helping marginalized groups of today.
“The best way of dealing with past is to invest in youth that need education, to be objective and efficient, and emphasize that [it] is necessary to work together to solve problems and to stop with unnecessary divisions,” says Sara.
Sara considers a lack of motivation and devotion to work and improvement to be one of the main issues among young people in Bosnia. Sara sees a lot of problems with her country, Bosnia, but she also thinks that there are plenty of opportunities for improvement.
“Opportunities are everywhere, but motivation is not,” adds Sara.
She lists education as one of the biggest problems in Bosnia. She explains that the educational system is incompetent compared to other systems and overproduces unnecessary personnel in certain fields of study.
Sara thinks that the civic sector should have decisive role in Bosnia, as it not only has the ability to launch initiatives for change, but can also “fill in the holes” in existing provisions through informal education and youth projects.
In the future, she sees herself as a successful woman that does the job she loves and continuously contributes to the society. She reminds us that the roles typically adopt in today’s society are still very patriarchal, often restricted to that of a housewife and mother.
“Many women remain in the shade of a man, simply because they are women. That is why the role of women in contemporary society is to change these stereotypical attitudes and influence the betterment of their position in society,” says Sara.
Her message to youth is to invest their strength and knowledge into work, improvement and changes.
“A small group can contribute a lot, and together we should all be a part of building a better and more successful for Bosnia-Herzegovina,” concludes Sara.
Read more: “Great Sorrow Seeks great Souls“

created: September 28th, 2015


text:
Great Sorrow Seeks Great Souls | Balkan Diskurs
Sara Velaga
September 28th, 2015
After her benevolence during the post-war period, people did not brand her a hero, but instead a person ostracized by her community. The best possible option for her was to return to Jajce, because, aside from helping Bajro, there was no place for her in Banja Luka anymore. But her return to Jajce was not salvation, only consolation.
Her thorny path started with her birth in 1947. Although she lived with her father, mother and two brothers, she did most of the heavy lifting around the house. She played the role of mother, housewife and teacher. Seemingly frail, yet so strong, she devoted her life to the calling for which she was born, pedagogy.
She raised my mother, my younger brother, and me. She made a little go a long way, in contrast to those who had a lot, but did little for it. She divided everything fairly, and often set herself to the side. For her, there was no such thing as division based on skin color, religion or ethnic belonging. There were good and bad people, and she helped both. She does that even today, in her small attic apartment in Jajce where she provided living space for the four of us. And the path to providing this was very tough.
It was especially hard during the war. She wandered the streets of Banja Luka with her daughter, as things went “from pillar to post,” or “from bad to worse,” as they say. All her property fit into two cardboard boxes. Moving from one foreign threshold to another. Carrying cardboard boxes, holding the memories of Jajce in her soul.
On a street named Orlovački put they were given a cottage to use. Although it was heavy with moisture, she said: “The balcony is superb. We will never have a prettier one. Let’s spend time on it whenever we can. Let’s turn the moisture into sun.”
One morning they were awoken by the sound of chainsaws. Locals decided to widen the road even though many would say it was fine, but because the owner of those tall trees that were standing in the way wasn’t around anymore, they decided to go ahead with these plans. In front of every house, there was around 20 cubic meters of timber. A huge quarrel started. She listened, but laid low. No one even considered her opinion, or that she may have needed firewood.
On the third day she decided to go to Vaso’s house where she bought milk for Sara, whose father was on the battlefield. Her father was never happy about having a child, but she was. Sara’s menu consists of breadcrumbs sprinkled with sugar and milk or salted breadcrumbs and milk. Some would say, “Poor child,” but she would always say “My defiant little sunshine, getting healthy and progressing in spite of those who did not value your existence.”
She asked Vaso about firewood since he had the upper hand in deciding who gets such things. After a few days, she got the firewood. Even though people pitied her and her difficult life story, she decided to hand the firewood over to a man named Bajro and his wife because she thought they needed it more.
“They were returnees, living in their shack. Bajro had gone blind, and their daughter had become mentally ill. Only Bajro’s wife was well. They waited for three months to get electricity, which would never happen. Bajro was sitting in a wheelchair. It was good that he couldn’t see because it would hurt him knowing they didn’t have electricity,” she remembers, while explaining her decision to give the firewood to Bajro’s wife so that she could wash the laundry because there was no electricity to heat the water on stove.
She also invited Bajro’s son over and told him to take everything. She would get by. People were shocked and told her she was crazy, but she didn’t care. It was the talk of the village for a few days.
Suddenly, news arrived that the refugees who were living in her apartment had returned home and she could now return to Jajce to her newly liberated accommodation.
“Is there a God? I don’t know. Sometimes I think it is some cosmic force that circles in nature, like water. I did something good for Bajro, someone else does something good for me, and so the cycle continues. Dare to do it, even if it’s dangerous to even think about doing it. Be a four-leaf clover. In a sea of three-leaf clovers, you will be seen,” she says.
After her benevolence during the post-war period, people did not brand her a hero, but instead a person ostracized by her community. The best possible option for her was to return to Jajce, because, aside from helping Bajro, there was no place for her in Banja Luka anymore. But her return to Jajce was not salvation, only consolation.
Years passed, but we [Bosnians] did not move forward: we were stagnant. Even today people see a threat in others, in strangers. We do not help strangers because of this fear. No matter how much we advocate equality in theory, people are still not ready to apply it in practice.
According to the 1991 census, there were approximately 29,000 Bosniaks living in Banja Luka, which was five times fewer than the number of Serb inhabitants. Bosniaks were considered a minority and were treated as such. In Jajce, the opposite situation occurred. Bosniaks were the majority and Serb institutions and religious symbols were almost non-existent.
The events, which occurred in Banja Luka, should have branded Slavica as a courageous and humane woman. However, not even a welcome was organized for her as a returnee. Due to her religion, many doors remained closed to her, including those belonging to local businesses.
She retired in Podbrdo near Mrkonjić Grad, where there is a majority Serb population. She hitchhiked to work every day. She always believed that great sorrow seeks great souls.
The only thing more miserable than her pension is the way today’s system of values is set up.
In order to encourage others she talks about how some women did things differently, even if they were not allowed to.
“I dare. Why wouldn’t I dare? That is the only way I know how to live. I am like a colorful flower, I spring forth and emit my scent even where I am not supposed to,” is her life motto.
That is why I have chosen to write about her, and I will always talk and write about her, because I consider her to be an example of humanity. She is the link of utmost importance in the chain of unity and tolerance.
This piece was recently awarded second place in the Post-Conflict Research Center’s “Srđan Aleksić Youth Competition,” which challenges young people in Bosnia to discover, collect, and share stories of peacebuilding, moral courage, and interethnic cooperation from their local communities, and is kindly funded by the National Endowment for Democracy. Through the competition, the center hopes to inspire youth to take an active role in the promotion of positive examples of people who are making a difference in the lives of others in Bosnia-Herzegovina.

author: Sara Velaga


text:
Nevena Medić: Youth Competition Winner | Balkan Diskurs
Balkan Diskurs
October 20th, 2015
Nevena Medic was recently awarded first place in the Post-Conflict Research Center’s “Srđan Aleksić Youth Competition.” Balkan Diskurs spoke with her about her life, facing the past and a better tomorrow in Bosnia-Herzegovina.
Words such as ‘dreamer’ and ‘optimist’, or phrases such as ‘someone who believes in human solidarity and respect’, describe 26-year-old Nevena Medić. She spent the first six years of her life in Ilijaš (near Sarajevo) and after the Bosnian war grew up in Srebrenica. Today she lives in Bratunac, but her education has also led her outside of Bosnia-Herzegovina.
She completed her undergraduate studies in journalism at the University in East Sarajevo. A few months later she enrolled into a programme of Human Rights and Democracy in South-east Europe at the University of Sarajevo and Bologna. Currently, she is preparing to move abroad and study in Budapest, where she will enroll in studies of nationalism at the Central European University.
She is an active member of civil society in Srebrenica and Bratunac, while her interests range from transitional justice, social and economic rights and facing the past, to art, music and film.
Her interest in transitional justice and facing the past date back to her first arriving in Srebrenica. She remembers the 24 February 1996, when she first saw the destroyed town, dirt, scattered furniture and clothes in the street. With her family she entered an apartment that had UNICEF nylon sheets instead of windows. As a teenager she began to wonder why this was the situation and thus began her journey on her current path.
Regarding the process of facing the past, Nevena thinks that there is no misunderstanding between people on an individual level, but that there is at a collective level because of the existence of three distinct war truths. As a result, people only ever talk about others’ crimes or their own victimhood. In addition, Nevena emphasizes that the process of facing the past has never been initiated by institutions in Bosnia because there are no joint initiatives, laws or political support.
Nevena says that education is the best model for facing the past, because it requires somebody to reach a deeper and wider understanding of cause and consequences. The process of facing the past, according to Nevena, should move from the personal to the community level. The moment, she says, when we all ask ourselves honest questions and answer them, is when we can consider the process of “liberation” to have begun. Regarding the process of liberation, Nevena thinks that people are still slaves to the ideas like who started the war and who is the bigger victim. Aside from education, Nevena also lists art and creativity as ways of facing the past.
Crossing the line
The road to reconciliation, according to Nevena, requires leaving the “box,” something that takes courage. She does not speak about people discarding their identities, but instead about accepting them.
“To cross the line and see that every victim is first and foremost a man – with no nation or religion, is what we lack and what we should aspire to,” says Nevena.
With the help of the Post-conflict Research Center (PCRC), Nevena was able to overcome an environment in which stereotypical and one-sided stories were the norm. She says that the NGO has a different conception and approach to the war, which is similar to her own, so they understand each other well and have collaborated for a long time.
When talking about the general state of affairs in Bosnia, Nevena pointed out that real politics is not about belonging to one ethnic group, but instead concerns everyday life. In Bosnia, politics is unemployment, lack of a roof over people’s heads, lack of quality healthcare and education systems, and ultimately the hunger.
“The pervasive lethargy and negativity in post-war Bosnia has become a social norm. We should fight against it. Fooling ourselves that we are living in a democracy with the ability to choose makes us become accomplices in survival of political elites. The elites and interest groups’ hunger for power is what is keeping this society in scarcity and apathy,” says Nevena, adding that her biggest wish is for the society to stop being silent and become extremely unruly.
Leaving the fortress
Nevena hopes that divergent war truths will one day become one single truth and liberate people from the burden of history.
“The path towards our common truth is very hard and it scares many people. Disenfranchised, marginalized and scared citizens do not have the time or strength to think about or dream of a better tomorrow. Because what we have left is merely day-to-day existence. I hope that in the future we will empower people and give them an opportunity for real political participation. For that good social and economic policies are necessary,” says Nevena.
Her message to young people of Bosnia is to exit their fortresses and find their own ways.
“A fortress is a broad symbol. It separates people: religions, nations, countries, opinions, prejudices, all things that makes an individual and a society close towards others,” says Nevena, quoting Meša Selimović, who wanted to show people through his book “The fortress” a way out of the closed societies in which they have been living for a long time.
Nevena again references Selimović’s words, “Can we leave the fortress and fortresses, can people talk to each other in a different way then through a gun sight? My main protagonist has all conditions to be bitter and closed in himself, and yet he tries to find a way to others. For him, any way except love is unacceptable.”
Read Nevena’s winning story: “Tears falling on bread”

created: October 20th, 2015


text:
Tears Falling on Bread | Balkan Diskurs
Nevena Medić
October 20th, 2015
During the war it was difficult to help friends of another nationality because you were generally characterized as a traitor among your people, but Brankica was sure she had made the right decision.
Brankica Bošković was 17 years old when the war started. As she recalls, her teenage days were spent in school and at gatherings and other festivities in the village of Skelani.
Brankica went to high school in Bratunac, along with her friend Amira. Those school meetings were soon replaced with the painful experiences of war and exile.
With the start of the war came the realization that their dreams had come to a halt and that the society they once knew was gone. These terrible events have left bitterness and scars that we somehow quietly bear to this day.
“When the war started—I don’t even remember when anymore—we fled to our aunt’s house in Bajina Bašta for fear that our village would be attacked,” says Brankica.
According to Brankica, her father came home with two girls one afternoon.
“One was familiar to me, but in that moment I didn’t realize who she was. What I did understand in that moment was that there was war. I knew she was of a different nationality, which is why I wasn’t expecting her to show up. Then, I recognized her. It was my schoolmate from Bratunac Amira Jahić standing in front of me, and next to her was her cousin. They had been captured when my father saw them in Skelani. He knew that this was my friend from school, so he put them in his car and brought them to Bajina Bašta,” remembers Brankica.
Brankica explained that her friend Amira knew about her father from the stories she had told. They had often joked: “Take off your makeup when my dad comes around!” He was strict when it came to wearing makeup, explains Brankica.
Brankica remembers how their childhood had been stolen from them. She explains how their generation did not get to experience the magic of school field trips or 18th birthdays.
“Things changed overnight. Those were the years when you had to grow up in a summer or winter’s time,” says Brankica. She emphasizes how some things get repressed for years, but there were certain memories that have always remained with her—like the day the girls showed up at the door, and the day she tried to get them to the Red Cross.
Tears Falling on Bread
“The two of them spent the night with us that night. We ate and then talked for hours. They were both barefoot. I remember the night well. It was the night I tried kajmak and jam on bread for the first time. Together, we ate the spread on slices of bread, but I still remember the tears that were falling on that bread. I will never forget that. In the end, we couldn’t eat anymore, only cry. There were six of us in the room, including my little brother, and we all cried together,” says Brankica.
She says that, in the morning, she got ready and gave both girls some shoes to wear.
“I gave them shoes and was left with one pair. They changed clothes and bathed so as not to be conspicuous. To get to the Red Cross, we went through some fields so as not to be seen, because my father was already in trouble for picking them up and saving them. We arrived at the Red Cross, but there were some people standing in front of it, so we didn’t want to enter. We hid around the side of the building for a long time. We decided to try again the next day. When we arrived the second time, I somehow managed to get them inside and escape,” Brankica reveals.
If everything were to happen all over again, she says she would still do it all the same.
She believes, however, that the main question is whether, in that moment, you would react with your heart or with a poisoned mind. The decision Brankica made, she made with her heart.
She emphasizes that going with your heart is always the better choice, because the decisions we make with our hearts are often more correct than those that we make with our minds. She believes that more lives would have been saved—and maybe the war would never even have happened—if people were more willing to show their humanity and bravery.
“My father has three daughters, so he knew what it meant to follow your heart. All those who have children know what this means. If people could have related their own children to those who were captured—like my friend Amira or my cousin Mitra who was my age when she was tortured and killed alongside her family member—this would not have happened. There is no shame in saving a person, no matter their nationality. There are humans and there are animals. This will always be the case,” concludes Brankica.
After Brankica secretly took Amira and her cousin to the Red Cross, she had no knowledge of how their voyage had continued. She later discovered that they escaped abroad, alive and healthy. “One day,” Brankica recalls, “the phone rang.” It was Amira.
“I wondered how she got my number because I was still a refugee. She said she was in the Netherlands, married with children. When she called me, it was an incredible feeling, I have no words to describe it,” says Brankica.
She met Amira two or three times in Srebrenica. She said they had coffee, but never talked about the war or its consequences. They needed no clarification; they knew what had happened. Instead, they talked about the present.
Chetniks or Serb Traitors?
During the war it was difficult to help friends of another nationality because you were generally characterized as a traitor among your people, but Brankica was sure she had made the right decision.
“In the end, many people will dislike you. They make themselves feel better this way – not to like you so as to make your actions seem worthless. But I know I made a right decision. Just like my father did,” Brankica adds.
“We as a family experienced many hardships. You are either considered a Chetnik or a Serb traitor, and that remains true to this day. I pay no attention to this. I am not ashamed of anything. And just so you know, I will never forget that slice of bread upon which those tears fell,” says Brankica Bošković.
Brankica is the founder and President of association Podrinje 1. In this underdeveloped part of Bosnia-Herzegovina, hers is the only female association in Skelani that helps employ and empower women. Her organization grows various medicinal plants and herbs. The collection, cultivation, and processing of medicinal herbs is the only source of income for a number of women from Skelani, and Brankica tries to motivate women from various ethnic backgrounds through her endeavors, thus contributing to a community that suffered great losses as a result of war.
This piece was recently awarded first place in the Post-Conflict Research Center’s “Srđan Aleksić Youth Competition,” which challenges young people in Bosnia to discover, collect, and share stories of peacebuilding, moral courage, and interethnic cooperation from their local communities, and is kindly funded by the National Endowment for Democracy. Through the competition, the center hopes to inspire youth to take an active role in the promotion of positive examples of people who are making a difference in the lives of others in Bosnia.

author: Nevena Medić


text:
Jajce – Historical Town of Lost Significance | Balkan Diskurs
Sara Velaga
November 2nd, 2015
A popular destination with locals and travelers alike, Jajce has far more to offer than its renowned 20-meter high waterfall. Sara Velaga and Ognjen Todorović explore some of the city’s sights beyond the beaten tourist trail.
Jajce is a town in Central Bosnia-Herzegovina known for holding the second conference of the Anti-Fascist Council for the National Liberation of Yugoslavia (AVNOJ), but also for other cultural features. It is described as a blend of modern and traditional. Despite all this, today Jajce is “alive” only during the summer when tourists come to visit its sights.
Aside from recognizable places, we found some hidden ones that are unknown to many. One of them is the City Gallery, located in old Kršlak house, on the road to the Fortress. The exact date of the construction of Kršlak house is unknown, but the brickwork style suggests it was in the eighteenth century. Paintings of Jajce’s painters, made during their stay in the town, are part of a permanent art exhibition in the gallery. Other than paintings, sculptures of Duško Rakita, a local sculptor, also make up part of the permanent exhibition. The City Gallery’s activities also include drawing and painting schools and art colonies.
A monument of Nikola Šop is the next attraction that testifies about cultural and art tradition in Jajce. It was erected in 2005 on the 100 anniversary of the birth of the famous poet Nikola Šop. It is located near the town center and represents a symbol of acknowledgement and respect for the very rich opus of this poet. Nikola Šop was born in Jajce in 1904, and he is one of the most interesting Croatian poets of the region in the interwar period.
A unique and rare example in Jajce is the Temple of God Mithras – the Indo-Iranian deity of sun and light. According to his followers’ beliefs, Mithras provides courage to people, peace to countries, protects the righteous, promises thrones to emperors and victories to soldiers. He is the protector of contracts, alliances and friendship. The cult of the undefeatable God of Sun – Mithras – was widespread in all provinces of the Roman Empire, including Dalmatia, which contained most of today’s Bosnia. There are three small sacrifice altars and a headless statue of Cautopates. It is the only example in Bosnia where there are two free Mithraic sculptures next to the depiction of Dadophorus (light-bearer) on the embossment. It is assumed, according to uncovered coins, lamp types and fibula, that the temple was built in the beginning of fourth century.
Many are unaware that there is a hydrometeorological station in Jajce. The history of meteorological service in Bosnia dates back to the 1880s, during Austro-Hungarian occupation. The military set up stations in Sarajevo, Mostar and Tuzla. They were second-class meteorological stations. Afterwards, the government organized a dense network of stations in Bosnia. There were 68 third-class stations, and one of them was this one in Jajce, still located near the Fortress and providing valid data on weather.
From the Fortress towards the Pliva and Vrbas Rivers, defense walls were built with Bear Tower and Travnik Gate in the eastern wall, and Grand Fortress, Džikovac Tower, Papaz Tower, Banja Luka Gate and Šamić Fortress in the western wall. Papaz Tower was used as a sentry tower on the northern wall in town’s defense during the war.
As a sign of remembrance of the Croatian defenders who died during the war from 1992–1995, a monument was erected in the town center on 13 September 1995. The Croatian Defense Council (HVO) and Croatian Army (HV) liberated the royal town of Jajce after 1,049 days of occupation. Since then, September 13 is celebrated as the town’s day and its liberation. This is the place where wreaths are placed and candles have been traditionally lit traditionally for 20 successive years.
After the presentation of these monuments, we hope you will come to Jajce and see its true value.

created: November 2nd, 2015


text:
Flotel Europa: Memories of a Bosnian Refugee in Denmark | Balkan Diskurs
Marta Vidal
November 19th, 2015
Flotel Europa, a documentary directed by Vladimir Tomić, won the Special Jury Mention at the Sarajevo Film Festival on the 22 August 2015
In 1992, Vladimir Tomić was twelve years old when the war in Bosnia-Herzegovina started. He fled Sarajevo with his mother and older brother and sought asylum in Denmark. With refugee camps completely full, the Danish Red Cross began housing refugees on an enormous ship called Flotel Europa, moored in the port of Copenhagen. Young Vladimir was excited about his new floating house, which became a temporary home for about 1,000 refugees from the former Yugoslavia, while they waited for decisions on their asylum applications.
Vladimir Tomić is now an award-winning director living in Copenhagen. He presented his documentary, Flotel Europa, at the Sarajevo Film Festival and received the Special Jury Mention at the closing ceremony on 22 August 2015. Flotel Europa also received the Jury’s Special Mention at the Berlinale Festival, the award for Best Balkan documentary at the Dokufest in Kosovo and the Best Documentary Award at the International Documentary Film Festival in Belgrade.
Flotel Europa is entirely based on footage shot by refugees living on the ship. Families used to send VHS messages and footage of their on-board life to their relatives back home: people in the communal kitchen and laundry room, the TV room, dance performances, big celebrations and people playing music in their small windowless cabins. Drawing on his memories from the two years he lived on-board, the director transforms these images with an autobiographical narrative.
The idea of making a film about Bosnian refugees in Denmark was on Vladimir’s mind for a long time. He conducted interviews with refugees in Copenhagen and together with producer, Selma Jusufbegović, started collecting footage filmed on the Flotel Europa in the 1990s. According to the director, refugees “filmed this material to send in humanitarian convoys”, which also took food to their families in Bosnia. “Some people filmed a lot. There were hundreds of hours of material we had to digitalize.”
The hours of selected material were edited by Srdjan Keča, director of A Letter to Dad, another documentary about the war in the former Yugoslavia. “There was poetry in the images,” Vladimir observes. “You didn’t even need any words for it.”
Yet Vladimir’s narrative is rich with personal insights of life on Flotel Europa. “We didn’t have permission to work or go to school,” the director recalls. “We were allowed to go to the city but had nothing to do there – we had no money to spend.” The film shows Vladimir growing up, making new friends and falling in love, while his older friends are playing rock and dating Danish girls. “They called them passport girls,” he says in the documentary. Young Vladimir falls in love with Melisa, who also lived on-board and danced in folklore performances. “The documentary went to Berlin and Melisa’s picture was everywhere,” Vladimir says. “My producer said maybe we should call her. We gave her the film and it was one of the longest hours of my life,” he remembers with a smile. He was relieved when Melisa told him she liked the documentary and felt honored by it. “She said it was a great thing to her.”
The funny coming-of-age stories of falling in love contrast with a sense of growing nationalism and conflict between the Serbian, Bosniak and Croatian refugees on-board Flotel Europa. “There were 1,000 people, so of course there were some tensions,” Vladimir remembers, “but there were a lot of good people there.”
He tells the story of a man he met on-board, who was drafted by both the Bosnian and the Serb forces, and “had to flee not to shoot himself.” Vladimir laughs at the absurdity, adding, “This is my third film about the war in Bosnia, but this is the first film I use humor. I got older and have a new perspective [on the war] – it can be tragicomic.”
Flotel Europa is a metaphor for the split in identity and the instability and uncertainty of life as a refugee. Living in limbo, the refugees were floating offshore and had yet to be accepted on Danish soil. Today, the director still struggles with identity issues. He often feels “alienized”. He says, “I feel like everybody is my people. Like I belong to nowhere and everywhere at the same time.”

created: November 19th, 2015


text:
Cultural Heritage in the Heart of Bosnia | Balkan Diskurs
Lejla Bečar
December 1st, 2015
Visoko was once the cradle of Bosnia, a royal town where the coronations of Bosnian rulers occurred. Today, it is a municipality in which culture and anything culture related has died. Lejla Bečar explores the decline of her hometown.
According to the 1988 Archaeological Lexicon of Bosnia-Herzegovina, region 14 has 252 registered locations, 50 of which are in the Visoko area. Out of those, six have so far been declared national monuments of Bosnia, and three are on the temporary list of the Commission to Preserve National Monuments. Visoko is a town that was always proud of its rich history; Visoko is a cradle of Bosnia and the home of the Charter of Kulin Ban, a document that is considered a birth certificate of middle ages Bosnia. Visoko is a royal town where the coronations of Bosnian rulers occurred.
A time long gone.
Visoko today is a municipality in which culture and anything culture related has died. It died such a long time ago that most young people today do not even remember better times. I asked 12 friends – students – if they knew how many national monuments we have, and only one person, a student of archaeology, knew the correct answer. But are young people at fault for their ignorance and indifference, or should we blame someone else? I started the tour of national monuments with the one that was most important to me personally.
Not to me as an archaeologist, but to me as a young person from Visoko, a place I visited numerous times with my friends, and alone, spending beautiful days in the nature of the hills surrounding my town. The old town of Visoki.
It was declared a national monument in 2004. Archaeological research was conducted during 2007 and 2008. Afterwards, the restoration and conservation of dug-out walls was undertaken, which can be seen in the photographs. And this is what is present the old town of Visoki today. The photograph shows everything to be seen after one climbs the goat trails that are not adequate for anyone but extreme sports aficionados, not to mention people with disabilities, whose access would be illusory.
A table with basic information, the kind that usually stands next to national monuments, is lacking here. The only signs of literacy are the engraved names of people who thought their visit to the 700-year-old middle-age town of Visoki was so important that it should be immortalized in stone.
But when a royal town looks like this, when access is a challenge to anyone coming to visit, names in stone are the least of the problems; there are also piles of trash around and many remains of bonfires, but not middle-age ones – modern ones. Only in Visoko can you light a fire in a national monument and enjoy the view with some beer and barbecue.
The next location is right under Visočica Hill. The national monument is the Church of St. Procopius (shown above). It is located on the exit from the town, on the road to Kiseljak, and it is known among the youth as a good place to drink at night, write offensive graffiti or smash windows. The Church of St. Procopius was declared a national monument in 2004, and since then it has been decaying due to lack of care from those entrusted to take care of the cultural and historical heritage of Visoko.
Today the church keeps one of the largest collections of icons in Bosnia. They are being kept in an unimaginably inadequate conditions – lying on the floor of the church gallery and on the floor in the room above the Proskomide. The only thing keeping it from vandal attacks, something this building has been experiencing for years, is the layer of dust that covers them. The latest attack on the church occurred in mid-January of this year.
The center of Visoko is where the Tabačka Mosque, which was declared a national monument in 2003, is located. It is estimated that it was built sometime in the seventeenth century by tanners. The original mosque was damaged many times throughout history, mostly by fires and floods. After it was declared a national monument, the Project of Reconstruction, Restoration and Conservation 2005–2008 of the mosque was implemented.
Beside the mosque, a small harem was also declared a national monument, and it contains gravestones of agas, ulemmas and dervishes. These gravestones from early nineteenth century have acquired a new purpose in twenty-first century: people lean on them during the traditional days of trade in Visoko – the event is colloquially known as Vašer. If the visitors are not interested in relaxing in the outdoor cafes, they relax in the shade, leaning on the tombstones in one of the national monuments in Visoko. Of course, any symbols showing that this facility is important not only for the history of Visoko, but also the state of Bosnia, are lacking.
In Arnautovići, near Visoko, there is the archaeological site Mile, the church where Bosnian kings had been crowned and buried. The status of national monument was given to this location in 2003. It is one of the most important medieval locations in Bosnia. The location has been explored several times since the beginning of twentieth century.
When you go to Mile today, you will see butchered national treasures of our country; you will see vague church contours brutally squeezed between houses, cut by the railroad and the local road. You will see continuation of the agony, which lasts for decades, of the people who live in the house almost touching the church in which King Tvrtko I Kotromanić was buried. You will see ploughed fields half a meter from the church walls, in the first zone of protection of this national monument. In fact, you will get a clear picture of how much this state and my town take care of our history.
The first Franciscan monastery, built in 1340/41, after the establishment of the Bosnian Franciscan Vicary, was alongside this church. As time went by it was destroyed, until it definitively disappeared at the end of the seventeenth century. Fortunately for all the citizens of Visoko, Franciscans returned and built the monastery on another location in 1900. The St. Bonaventura Monastery was proclaimed a national monument in 2012. It consists of a monastery building with a gymnasium and seminary, accompanying the church and a part of a moveable legacy – a collection of old paintings.
During the last war, soldiers of the Army of Bosnia were housed in the Convict building. After 1995, the building was given back to the Franciscans, and students and professors, who were dislocated to Baška Voda during the war, returned. The Franciscan monastery today is a shelter of culture and education in Visoko. Their library, containing over 60,000 books, is available for all free of charge. Thanks to it, I, in addition to many other students, passed many exams, wrote term and other papers. A part of the monastery is the ethnographic collection, a collection of modern art and lapidary with exhibits from prehistoric, antique and medieval times.
The registry of prehistoric locations on the territory of the Visoko municipality was made in late nineteenth century. The biggest Neolithic site, which has been a national monument since 2006, is the prehistoric settlement on the location Okolište, in the settlements Okolište and Radinovići. Its exploration lasted five years and ended in 2007. It was concluded that it was the biggest Neolithic location in Bosnia: over 4,500 years old. If you want to go there, you should find the settlement of Okolište, which is not that hard, although there are no signs. After that you should drive to the end of the settlement (according to the instructions that I got from the people who participated in the exploration) and you will see fields – one of the fields is the place where the exploration was done. Which exactly? Well, you choose for yourself – they all look the same anyway.
Arriving at the site of the biggest Neolithic location in Bosnia, we are finishing the tour of visiting national monuments in the Visoko municipality. You should come with your own conclusion about levels of protection, preservation and promotion. Based on my experience, I can tell you that all this looks much nicer on the website of the municipality; therefore, it might be better for you not to spoil the impression by coming to the site and visiting the locations representing important pieces in the puzzle of the history of Bosnia.

created: December 1st, 2015

author: Lejla Bečar


text:
Endangered History: The Story Behind Sarajevo’s Jewish Cemetery | Balkan Diskurs
David Schafer
December 4th, 2015
The dead in Sarajevo’s Jewish cemetery cannot speak for themselves. They cannot protest the damage to which their final resting place has been subjected. David Schafer and Alastair Carr (photos) report.
In Judaism, we recite Kaddish, a prayer, to honor the legacy of a deceased family member. We do this not to speak for, but rather on behalf of, the dead, as they have lost their agency in their passing. We hope to perpetuate the soul’s ability to glorify G-d.
I wrote this article in similar fashion. The dead in Sarajevo’s Jewish cemetery cannot speak for themselves. They cannot protest the damage to which their final resting place has been subjected. In writing this piece, I hoped to draw attention to the degrading state of this historical landmark. No burial ground, no matter the faith or affiliation of its inhabitants, should exist in the conditions you will read about below.
Even in a city abundant with centuries-old treasures, Sarajevo’s Jewish cemetery stands out – for better and for worse. According to Eli Tauber, an adviser on culture and religious affairs for the Jewish community of Bosnia-Herzegovina, the cemetery dates back to at least 1630. Recent findings in once-forgotten archives, however, may show the cemetery is even older, with some burials dating back as far as 1545. Though the last burial occurred in 1966, the cemetery is still a powerful symbol of the limitations faced by the city’s small Jewish community and, even more so, of the price of war.
Despite its history and significance – it is, for example, the “oldest intact, burial ground of any religious group in the city” – the cemetery has remained largely neglected and its condition is rapidly degrading. Many of the tombstones are now obscured from view. Weeds have grown up and around the uniquely shaped headstones, which, according to legend, were designed to resemble the backs of crouching lions. The Hebrew and Ladino engravings of names and dates have long since faded from many of the tombstones. Garbage and graffiti are not uncommon sites, too.
Rather than malice or anti-Semitism, they represent the inability of the city’s Jewish population to renovate the grounds. Tauber elaborated that while the synagogue has an agreement with an independent company to clear and guard the cemetery, it simply does not have the money to restore the grounds to their previous state. This issue stems from a larger problem; one the community has faced since World War II.
Nearly all of the community’s property was confiscated by the occupying powers during the war and the subsequent Tito era. Much of its money was lost, and even with the breakup of Yugoslavia, the ability to reclaim property was restricted, as the Bosnian Constitution, Tauber notes, avoids the issue of restitution. Today, the Jewish community relies on donations from individuals and governments for financial support. Funds from the American and German Embassies, for example, helped to reconstruct and clean small portions of the cemetery.
Scattered soda bottles, overgrown grass and crudely sprayed green lettering aside, the most glaring reminders of the less-than-ideal state of the cemetery are the bullet holes that riddle its Holocaust memorial and many of its headstones. The newly renovated front gate, the product of a 70,000BAM donation from the German Embassy, is misleading: once inside, reminders of the Bosnian War are everywhere. During the conflict, the cemetery was among the many front lines utilized to maintain the brutal siege of the city. Bosnian Serb Army snipers used its strategic position, overlooking much of the city from Mount Trebević, “to shoot at civilians in the city.” Many of the beautiful tombstones, unique in both Sarajevo and Europe, were damaged by the fighting, their elegant structures compromised by three years of heavy shelling and indiscriminate shooting.
Even with its little money and a reliance on donations, the Jewish community is hoping to further renovate the cemetery. Tauber spoke about a group from Germany that was scheduled to come in the summer to help clear the tombstones and clean the grounds. He also excitedly discussed a plan to generate attention and educate people of all backgrounds on its history and current, unfortunate condition. With a focus on the cultural history of Jews in Sarajevo, Tauber hopes to find and unearth the cemetery’s genizah, a storage area found in most Jewish cemeteries that holds Hebrew-language and religious books. In this cemetery’s case, it has been buried for nearly 150 years.
Additionally, the synagogue is in the process of designing an exhibit on the cemetery that will be set up in the small synagogue on the grounds. Tauber is hoping to profile the uniquely shaped tombstones, distinct epitaphs d the cemetery’s role and subsequent degradation during the Bosnian War. Drawing attention to its significance and, more powerfully, its sad state is important. Focus and sympathy generate donations, which are necessary if the cemetery is to be repaired. One day, in a more perfect world, Tauber hopes for UNESCO recognition and protection for the cemetery and its historical and cultural importance. “But,” he concedes, “that’s too far in the future to think about.”
After a long pause, Tauber qualifies his previous statement. Sadly, he notes, though not without some positivity, “We can’t expect it to be better, but we can hope.”

created: December 4th, 2015

author: David Schafer