Veterans of the Bosnian War struggle for their rights
For nearly a year, veteran combatants from the war in Bosnia and Herzegovina have been protesting in front of the government building in Sarajevo, demanding financial aid and access to free medical services. Despite a mass nationwide protest on February 28th, the government has yet to adequately respond. Meanwhile, public support for the protesters continues to increase.
“My name is Amir Sultan, I come from the Sarajevo Canton. At the age of 14, I exchanged a classroom chair for a gun. I joined a special unit, criss-crossed the country and was wounded three times. I survived, but two of my brothers did not.” Seated on an improvised wooden bench outside a tent that he has called home for the past half a year, Sultan recalled the realities of the 1992-95 war in Bosnia and Herzegovina that he fought in: “I gave my all. As a result of the injuries I sustained in combat I am sick and I live with a pacemaker. But, since the war ended, I have not received any assistance from the government, not even one fening.”
April 26, 2018 -
Lidia Kurasińska
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Issue 3-4 2018MagazineStories and ideas
Protesters heading to Vogošća during the February 28th protests - the eve of Bosnia’s Independence Day on March 1st. Photo: Lidia Kurasińska
Sultan is one of a group of around 300 unemployed Bosniak (Bosnian Muslim) veterans of the Bosnian conflict who have taken turns to occupy a grassy patch in front of the country’s federation government building since June 2017 in an effort to draw the government’s attention to their financial hardship and urge it to address their longstanding grievances that have been neglected for over two decades. The protesters accuse the authorities of a lack of transparency in distribution of financial aid and spending large parts of the budget earmarked for veteran assistance on maintaining a loyal voter base. As if they had feared they were in for a long haul, the protesters brought with them a couple of tents and shipping containers, some cabins with portable toilets, and a clothesline. Now, after nine months of the camp’s presence in downtown Sarajevo, the place has become a fixture in the city’s landscape. The locals have dubbed the camp “Heroes’ Square”, and, as the veterans assure, they are not leaving until their demands are met.
“Sell a cow, buy a gun”
The 1992-95 war in Bosnia that the protesters took part in was one of the ethnic conflicts that accompanied the dissolution of Yugoslavia. Following the relative success of the Yugoslav “middle way”, between a planned and liberal economy, came a period of upheaval, compounded by the death of Josip Broz Tito, who had held the federation together. Croatia and Slovenia’s declarations of independence in June 1991 were followed by a referendum in Bosnia in February 1992, in which voters unequivocally opted for full independence from what remained of Yugoslavia. The referendum was boycotted by Bosnian Serbs who promptly began mobilising their military forces to prevent the republic from seceding. Following the Yugoslav People’s Army withdrawal from Bosnia, most of its weaponry ended up in the hands of Bosnian Serbs who used it to support their campaign of terror against the Bosnian Muslim population.
Outgunned by the heavily-armed Serbs and faced with huge human losses, many ordinary Bosniaks took up arms to prop up the army.
“When the war started, my president, Alija Izetbegovic, (the first president of the independent Bosnia and Herzegovina) proclaimed ‘sell a cow, buy a gun’; which meant that we, Muslims, had no chance of surviving unless we defended ourselves by all means possible”, explained Nazil Velić, a 60-year-old protester and the informal leader of the camp who had served in the army throughout the war. “They asked us to not only join the army ranks but also sacrifice all that we owned, including our tractors, machinery and animal stock, to further the military efforts. In the beginning, people didn’t have guns or uniforms, they went into combat bare-handed, wearing trainers,” he continued.
While the fighting initially took place between the Army of the Republic of Bosnia and Herzegovina (ARBiH), composed of Bosniaks and aided by Croats from the Croatian Defence Council (HVO), and the Bosnian Serbs in the Army of Republika Srpska (VRS), tensions between Bosniaks and Croats in late 1992 led to an outbreak of a conflict between the two former allies. “I had a Croatian girlfriend, and my high school friends hailed from all the ethnic groups inhabiting Yugoslavia. But when the bloody war came, politicians tricked us into killing each other,” Velić said.
- The permanent camp of the protesting veterans. The place has become a fixture in the Sarajevo’s landscape. The locals have dubbed the camp “Heroes’ Square” and, as the veterans assure, they are not leaving until their demands are met. Photo: Lidia Kurasińska
- Nail Salihovic, one of the veterans living at the camp, on Women’s Day 2018.
- A protester during the February 28th protest holding a sign that reads: “It’s an election year, what you do to us, we will do to you”.
- Veterans having a cigarette break at the camp outside in downtown Sarajevo.
Three demands
The Dayton Agreement that ended the war in December 1995 created a new administrative and institutional order in Bosnia. The country was divided into the Serb-majority Republika Srpska, and a Bosniak-Croat Federation. The two entities established separate governing bodies. The agreement also became Bosnia’s constitution. Immediately after the signing of the accord, Bosnia embarked on a process of demilitarisation, thus making thousands of former soldiers redundant.
As a result of the rapid imposition of democracy and poor vetting procedures, adequate socioeconomic programmes for veterans and victims of the conflict were not properly implemented. The protesters camping out in Sarajevo also allege that the political elite used the war to enrich themselves and propel their cronies into lucrative jobs while denying the foot soldiers, on all sides, access to basic benefits. There are around 50,000 demobilised veterans of ARBiH and HVO in the federation who do not receive any form of support from the state, including those who are unemployed, disabled or suffering from medical conditions. The former combatants’ financial hardship is compounded by Bosnia’s high unemployment rate (25 per cent) – the highest in Europe and the third highest in the world. Although the law on veterans’ rights in the federation stipulates that former soldiers and their families should have priority access to jobs, in practice there are no mechanisms to enforce it.
Throughout the protesters’ camp, posters plastered on tents and fences remind visitors and passers-by of the veterans’ three core demands. One of them is the introduction of a monthly monetary benefit for unemployed veterans of the ARBiH and HVO to the value of 326 Bosnian marks (167 euros) and access to state-funded healthcare. The protesters also demand that each former soldier be given a monthly supplement of two to three Bosnian marks (one to 1.5 euro) for each month served during the conflict.
The federation government has repeatedly refused to meet this demand as it estimated it would require an additional 140 million euros annually, a sum that is out of reach. As a result of extensive cuts to public services imposed as a condition for further loans from the IMF, the government not only does not consider increasing the budget for veterans but it also began revising the combatants’ disability benefits. So far, over 6,400 disabled recipients had their benefits stopped and more than 6,700 had them reduced. In 2013, a law passed to appease the IMF resulted in a 20-70 per cent decrease in pensions for those veterans who retired between 1997 and 2008.
The former combatants argue, however, that the budget deficiencies could easily be remedied if the government took decisive action to root out false claimants. This claim forms the second and most contentious demand – namely, the establishment of a single, publicly-available register of former soldiers from wartime ARBiH and HVO in order to prevent people who had falsely stated to be veterans from receiving monetary benefits. In February 2017 the federation’s minister for veterans, Salko Bukvarević, released a report compiled by his ministry which claimed that 577,000 people are registered as having served in the two armies, “be it that they served only one day or throughout the entire wartime period”. The release of the figures drew widespread condemnation and ridicule from veterans across the federation who accused Bukvarević of artificially inflating the headcount. They allege that there were no more than 280,000 demobilised soldiers in the federation after the ceasefire, and a large number of them had passed away in the 23 years since 1995.
“Who are those extra 300,000 people, then? If we had a transparent register we could see clearly who has been milking the system over the past two decades, and then strike these people off the list. That would give the government more than enough money to divide between the real veterans who deserve it”, argued Velić.
Bukvarević has maintained that the publication of the register as requested by the protesters would contravene Bosnia’s data protection legislation, but a new register available only to officials employed by state institutions is being compiled. However, the protesters argue that unveiling the names of all former soldiers is the only way to ensure that ineligible claimants will not receive any more money from the shallow pool earmarked for veterans. By law, the only individuals eligible for financial support are those who were left disabled as a result of injuries sustained during the war, the recipients of military awards and the families of fallen soldiers.
The protesters’ third demand is for the government, as well as each cantonal and municipal government within it, to end financing what they see as unnecessary and wasteful veteran associations. They allege that many of the 1,600 associations operating in the federation, at an annual cost of 18 million Bosnian marks (approx. 9.2 million euros), do so on a patronage-like basis, with politicians pumping money into them to keep their voter base loyal.
Emir Sufić, a veteran from Srebrenik, noted that some associations “consist of 4-5 people, and they share the funds they receive from cantonal and municipal governments among themselves. Now, can you see why they do not support our protest?” The protesters also point out that, had the register been made public, it would be possible to verify how many of the associations are operated by actual veterans as opposed to political party activists. Bukvarević responded to the demands by pointing out that, as of August 1st 2017, the federation government ceased funding veteran associations and it was now up to the cantonal and municipal authorities to follow suit. According to the veterans, the move was merely a smokescreen that has allowed the funding to flow uninterrupted.
Brotherhood and unity
Disillusioned by the lack of progress, the demobilised combatants called for mass protests on February 28th this year, on the eve of Bosnia’s Independence Day on March 1st. By 10am of the protest day, the Heroes’ Square filled up with veterans that travelled to Sarajevo from all across the federation. As buses carrying protesters kept arriving and the crowds spilled onto the streets, Bukvarević’s earlier claim that “only a small group of people is unsatisfied” was put to a test.
The protesters were then divided into two groups and tasked with occupying roads leading into and out of Sarajevo. As the temperature hovered around -15°C the first contingent, consisting of around 2,000-3,000 men and women, walked ten kilometres to block a major junction in Vogošća on the outskirts of Sarajevo. The second group set out to occupy the Ivan Sedlo tunnel on the highway towards the city. In a coordinated protest, veterans from other cities and towns across the federation came out on the streets and blocked local roads. By nightfall, traffic to and from the major urban centres in the country had been paralysed, with only emergency response vehicles and those with an urgent reason to travel being allowed to pass. Battling the snowfall and freezing temperatures, reaching -20°C, the demonstrators kept warm by lighting fires and sipping hot drinks delivered by the locals. Although most protesters, including the two Sarajevo contingents, were dispersed by the police the following morning, veterans in a handful of smaller towns carried on for a few days.
As both Bosniaks and Croats came out on the streets to demand their rights, the protest was interpreted as a testament to the former combatants’ rejection of nationalist rhetoric and an embrace of the Yugoslav ideals of brotherhood and unity (bratstvo i jedinstvo) at a time when ethnic tensions in Bosnia and the Balkans are on the rise again. In a direct response to the protest, Bukvarević announced that a new bill on veteran rights, including free healthcare and a monthly monetary benefit, would be sent to the federation parliament for consideration within a month. However, after two decades of defeat, the veterans are not optimistic. On March 15th, Bosniak and Croatian combatants convened at Heroes’ Square and decided to go ahead with further road blockades unless the government addresses their demands by the end of the month.
Gathered outside the tents, the men voiced their dismay at the letters that some of their comrades received in the aftermath of the demonstration on February 28th, and the state’s increasing hostility towards their struggle. Despite not having been asked by the police to identify themselves during the protest, a group of around 40 people, including a local baker who donated bread to the protesters, was fined 600 Bosnian marks (306 euros) each.
“We have three basic demands, and there is absolutely no force that can stop us from fighting for our rights. There are 30 of us in this tent right now. The politicians can threaten us, fine us, send the cops on us, but the only way they can get us out of here is in 30 coffins. We are not giving up on our dignity,” Sultan proclaimed.
Lidia Kurasińska is a freelance investigative journalist based in the Balkans.








































