This summer, 11 Students and two faculty members are traveling to Croatia, Serbia, and Bosnia to learn about the 20th-century history of the countries formerly known as Yugoslavia and begin to unravel the complex reverberations of Conflict. Please enjoy this blog post below from Tim ’27 who reflects on the group’s final day in Sarajevo, where they explored the physical and emotional remnants of war—from the life-saving Tunnel of Hope to conflicting personal narratives about the past.
Our last day in Sarajevo started with a visit to the Tunnel of Hope, a narrow passage beneath the airport that was once the lifeline for the besieged city. Constructed in 1993 during the Siege of Sarajevo, the 800-meter-long tunnel made it possible for the people of the city, including Arna’s father, an officer in the BIH Army, to re-supply themselves before returning to the frontline in the mountains south of the city. Arna spent time with us describing maps, showing us video images of the siege, and taking us through the tunnel, which opened into house owned by a family whose name, fittingly, translates from the local language to “Liberty” – though the tunnel was often the final passage for soldiers killed, or wounded, as well.
As Arna spoke, commercial planes took off from the international airport, connecting Bosnia to the world. But just a few decades ago – and just eight years after the city hosted the 1984 Winter Olympics – this same airport was a “no man’s land” preserved by UN forces who, according to Arna, delivered supplies greatly insufficient for the struggling Sarajevans. Beneath these grounds, the Bosnian forces had dug a tunnel using only hand tools, to save themselves.
We then travelled about 40 minutes to a beautiful ski resort in the Republic of Srpska – the second of two political “entities“ along with the federation of Bosnia and Herzegovina – perched high above Sarajevo. There, we were welcomed by Melica, a Bosnian Serb who runs a restaurant and works as a ski instructor. Talking with her, we encountered a drastically different perspective on the Srebrenica genocide, along with other issues related to the impacts of the Bosnian War. She explained that there were “casualties on both sides” and she told stories of “Muslim” atrocities on Serb civilians. (Arna later pointed out to us that rather than use the term Bosniak, which suggests that Muslim citizens of the country have some hold on national belonging, Melica had instead reduced Bosnian Muslims to a religious identity.)
While Melica herself comes from a “mixed” family – one parent was Muslim, another Eastern Orthodox – and while she had Muslim relatives who evacuated Sarajevo during the siege we’d heard about earlier – she insisted that to move forward, it was better to “focus on the future instead of talking about the past.” She agreed that there were people who should be held responsible for criminal actions during the war, but she resisted the term genocide and insisted that she remained respectful of people from all backgrounds, who could get along if they just avoided talking about history. “I don’t want to talk about the past,” she said, “Let’s talk about the future and build a better future together.” One point of agreement she had with the many others we met during our time in the country: she blamed the political leaders for the country’s ongoing tensions and economic lack of growth. Furthermore, she showed hope for fixing the situation but was unsure if change could take place.
As we said our goodbyes, Arna, a Bosnian Muslim, and Melica, a Serb, shared a casual hug like two friends would, which was confusing. The two women were from groups that had once fought in brutal conflicts – and who disagreed on the importance of acknowledging that conflict- but perhaps this simple hug was a glimpse at what reconciliation might look like.
To conclude the day, we travelled to the war-torn bobsled track used during the 1984 Winter Olympics, which was now overgrown with moss and graffiti. Hiking up the mountain, it was impossible not to be awed by the picturesque and tranquil scenery. Yet just a decade after the Olympics, what was once a vibrant celebration of unity and sports turned into the frontline of a bloody and ethnically rooted war.
Throughout the day, we were surrounded by beautiful scenery, from the forested, sweeping mountains to the panoramic views of Sarajevo. Each destination told a different piece of Bosnia’s past. At the Tunnel of Hope, I saw the resilience and determination of the Bosnians who fought to survive. Through Melica’s words, I recognized the divergence of historical narratives, but also the shared hope for peace. Finally, at the bobsled track, I witnessed the intersection of beauty and scars and how it reveals the country’s volatile history.
The day was one of admiration and reflection, exposing many facets of this country’s complicated past and uncertain future.
