Anonymous, 57
Niska Glava, Bosnia-Herzegovina
“And that is so eerie…. When you pass by a big village and [there isn’t] a soul. [No] civilians. [Maybe] a soldier here and there, wandering. Some cows, some animals, and an eerie feeling. It is such a strong feeling. A feeling of sadness, a feeling of depression, like it’s the end of the world.”
Interview originally conducted in Bosnian-Croatian-Serbian
Tell me about yourself and where you grew up. What was life like there? How did you spend a typical day?
In my youth? I was born in a village. It is called Niska Glava, near Prijedor, in 1963. I had a good family. A good mother, a good father. There were four children in the family, three sisters and me. I remember my life as ... beautiful, good ... carefree. I never felt such beauty nor have I felt so carefree after that, the way I [felt] those years as a child, as a teenager. Meaning up until the war.
I was 30 years old when the war began. My typical day depended on whether I’m going to school or am I not going to school. When I wasn’t in school, for either summer or winter break, we were at the village. We had a farm with cattle, but that was all easier work. We had some machines, something to do.
I remember that as one really beautiful part of my life.
When did the war start for you? Do you remember a specific moment when the war arrived and what was that feeling?
That was an ugly feeling. You could sense the war, over there. Even though many of us didn't want to accept it. I just thought "Well it won't happen here." It started a little in Slovenia and Croatia before it did in Bosnia and Herzegovina. So I'm thinking: "It won't [happen] here.” I [thought], “People aren't crazy. They know that [war’s] dangerous, that people die.”
I remember when the news from Slovenia started. There was some sort of an attempt by JNA (Yugoslav National Army) at the time to occupy the borders in Slovenia, towards Austria, towards Italy. And I remember on the TV of Yutel Plaza-- Yutel TV was a sort of an attempt to salvage Yugoslavia. There were reporters from all the republics. The headquarters were in Sarajevo. [It was] an attempt to keep Serbia, Croatia and Bosnia without a war... but it didn't succeed. And I remember that name: Yugoslavian Television, YuTel.
I remember a sight where some young men from Slovenia died. [They showed] some sort of a tank on the TV and a young solider. The army was all youth, 18, 19, 20 year olds in that action. That reporter from Yutel asks [the soldier], "Well, what's happening? What is this?" and he replies: "It’s hell." The other [soldier] says, "They're apparently attacking and we are apparently defending ourselves."
That for me is the beginning of the war.
Was it a shock when the war came to Prijedor as well? What was that experience like?
It was a big shock. It’s a great shock. Especially when the war just came near to you. My village, where I was born and where I lived, wasn’t affected. But, it was just on the border of the two sides. Two sides at war, meaning Bosnian and Serbian. Sometimes villagers escaped to Prijedor and remained [there] for about a week or 10 days and then we returned. I remember when the war was happening in Kozarac, which is next to Prijedor.
There were also crimes there. There was the Serb Territorial Defense against the Bosniaks in Kozarac. In that time, we would pass the magistral road which connects Banja Luka and Prijedor. It passes through Kozarac and enters Prijedor. We [used that road] to get to Prijedor and then afterwards to the village. Kozarac had maybe around 6,000 habitants back then.
And that is so eerie…. When you pass by a big village and [there isn’t] a soul. [No] civilians. [Maybe] a soldier here and there, wandering. Some cows, some animals, and an eerie feeling. It is such a strong feeling. A feeling of sadness, a feeling of depression, like it’s the end of the world.
Were you in the same place, the village, during the entirety of the war?
No. I was a medical technician, and I worked in the army at that time. There was mobilization, so even if you didn't want to, you had to go [to the army]-- or run away to another country. I stayed. o first there was the JNA. After the JNA, there was some Army of Republika Srpska. We stayed there [in Niska Glava]. Later, when the action "Koridor" towards Derventa started, our unit was stationed in Odžak for a long time. Our medical clinic treated both soldiers and civilians. That is important. Many times, when you come to a place where you have maybe 500 civilians and 3,000 soldiers, there are no doctors for those civilians. No technicians. No ambulance, nothing… and we covered those civilians and the army. I switched [locations]. I was at Laktasi for a while, and then Aleksandrovac. We were in Banja Luka for a while, in the barracks. Later we went to Odžak. We were near Orašje for a while. After that, in Modric. That’s when the war ended, somewhere in '95. Then it was all over.
What was life like during the war? What was a typical day like?
I was a technician in the clinic, and I was mostly in the ambulance where I had, say, 20-30 dressings, injections, infusions, and removal of surgical sutures after small operations every day. That was the schedule. I start work at eight in the morning and then until one-two-three o'clock…while there are patients. I was on duty every other day. Then after three o’clock, when someone came to me at four o'clock, at five, at 10 at night, at 12 at night, at 2 in the morning, I have to get up and see what it’s about. If I can't solve it, I call the doctor. And so on.
So when did the war end for you? Were you there in Bosnia at the end of the war?
Yes, yes. That was ’95. Meaning, I was in Modrica. [The Dayton Peace Agreement] was already signed, and that was the end.
Do you think that the war ended then (when Dayton was signed) or did it continue?
The war really ended then because there were no killings afterwards. No military actions. Soon came observers from the European Union and then the Americans as well, I think. Contingently. So there wasn't really a chance [for the war to continue]. The world was saturated with war. It was enough, you know.
Then when did you come to America?
We came in... 2003, through the organization IUM. We [were supposed to come] even earlier but there were some issues, when NATO [took] action against Serbia began, because we [were traveling] through Belgrade.
And then, because… in ’99, I think…. The war between NATO and Serbia… We were supposed to have the main interviews then and come. That began, then stopped. And then we waited until 2003 to come [to the United States].
When you came to America, did you ever go back to Bosnia? What was it like, when you left [Bosnia] and then came back? Did you notice any change? In culture or--
I went there five years ago. I was there for two weeks. I noticed that a lot of new things have been built. Like buildings, apartments, houses. I noticed that. And that people ... became a bit like in the West. It used to be different. Even before the war, the system was socialist where people cooperated more and helped each other. Now it's like that Western system where everyone [works] for themselves… they changed a bit which I don't like.
What was life like or the process like when you came to America?
There were big differences. Big differences. I have never lived outside my country before. This one (America) was very, very unusual for me and difficult. My wife also had a hard time withstanding the change of culture. Starting from the language, starting from the system, starting from the school, from the children, everything is quite different. Some things are better, some things are worse. For example, it's better for me that there are good schools here, that there are good hospitals. I like that part. I don't like that people are alienated from each other. I don't like that there are a lot of murders. I don't like that the police kill 900 people a year. In America, there are averages of 26,000 homicides a year. By weapons. There is constant talk of gun control, [but no one changes it]. Because if there are more weapons, there are more murders. Fewer weapons, fewer murders. And why shouldn't we protect the lives of the young, the middle, the old? That means reducing the number of weapons. Now that's the job to do, but politicians won't. I dislike it terribly.
I know that you are going to move back to Bosnia now. Do you think it is going to be the same as before?
Well, I follow a lot through the news and through some of our televisions. I know the situation there is not the same. I know it won't be the same. I prepared myself for some inconvenience. That people have changed, more than I think.
[The change] is not important to me. It's [more] important for me to go back [to Bosnia], to feel that freedom that I felt before.
I'm a little wound up here. A lot of rules, bosses. I don't like that and I want a bit of freedom.
What do you think should change in Bosnia or Serbia or Croatia, today? What should they do to be able to come together?
The biggest problem of these states today is corruption. Politicians, civil servants, the police, the courts, the prosecution. There's not enough honest work. For the first time in my life, I experienced [government transparency], meaning those who work in positions show everything to those who choose (citizens). Everything, there is nothing to hide. And one such politician appeared, a young man named Draško Stanivuković. He lives in Banja Luka, and at the age of 27, he became the mayor of the second largest city in BiH. He made such changes in Banja Luka. A man who works without pay. He distributes his salary to people who do not have it because his family is well-off. And he lives from [his family’s] money. He works voluntarily, 6 days a week, for maybe 10-12 hours because there are a lot of things that need to be solved: a lot of crime, taking state money, unsolved murders. There are two or three unsolved murders in Banja Luka, to which politicians are connected. Old politicians who are in power.. That's the problem. [Draško Stanivuković] introduced a city budget of 150 million marks with 15-20-30 screens or monitors in the city so you see what [the budget] is spent on. This is transparency so a man has confidence in his authority. To your country.
What is something you want Americans and then also students to know about the war?
Americans know little about war. When asked, when talked about, very little is known. For example, those Americans who know something, they know a lot from that news, from CNN. At that time, CNN gave some quite bombastic news. Like news in which things were magnified to make a story. Because CNN is not The New York Times. The New York Times is a notion of how journalism works pretty well. But, usually Americans know CNN, what it says. For example, CNN said that 300,000 people died in Bosnia. But independent researchers in Sarajevo have determined that there were 100-some people killed. It seems to me 102,000 or so people. The only difference is that there is no knowledge. Or there is no desire to present the real truth. I know the truth. But things are pictured in quite a distorted way in BiH. There was the same distorted picture from Croatia. There is no interest there, [from] individuals [laughs].
And for the last question: is there anything specific that you want other people from the Balkans to know about the war? Who didn't have your experience or are from another ethnicity?
This war was like every war. [For] the Second World War, I read about what was happening, and what crimes, inhumanities [took place]. For example, how many crimes were in Jasenovac. This war seems to me like it is not terrible when I look at few places like Obolin, in Gospić.
When you look at that and Kosovo also, you think that people should be a little bit more humane in modern times. [From]'41 to '45, that was the time when people who didn't have elementary school grades became unit commanders. Such commanders ordered terrible crimes and committed terrible crimes. It is not always the measure that if you are educated, you will be a good man. But a lot of times, it means that.
If a man feels the suffering of another, he won't impose that pain on others.