Bruce Lee, uniter of divided Bosnia

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"In the city where everything is divided, we want to remind everyone that there are numerous things outside the magic circle of national conflict that are common to all Mostarians. Bosniaks, Croats and Serbs, left-wing and right-wing, everyone likes Bruce Lee." - Mostar Urban Club

The story goes that young activists on both sides of divided Mostar decided to bring old Croat and Muslim enemies together with a unity monument in the city centre. After much debate, the only thing they found that they had in common was an unabashed devotion to kung fu hero Bruce Lee.

I had heard about plans for the statue before coming here, and last week I read in the newspaper that the official unveiling would be on Saturday. A couple of friends and I decided that the event was unmissable, not only for its comedic value, but also because it was an historic, once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Saturday, November 26, marked the unveiling of the first ever Bruce Lee statue in the world -- in Mostar, Bosnia. The second statue was unveiled on November 27 in Hong Kong to mark Bruce's would-be 65th birthday.

The first Bruce Lee statue in the world... in Bosnia??!! How could we not go? So on early Saturday morning we hopped in the car and headed south. I began to worry when we got caught in a traffic jam on part of the only 12 kilometres of four-lane highway in the entire country. But in the end we made it with enough time to first take a quick look at Mostar's UNESCO heritage site: the rebuilt, historic sloping bridge which unites the Croat and Muslim sides of town. The destruction of that bridge during the war was seen as emblematic of the disintegration of centuries-old multiethnic harmony in Yugoslavia.

When we arrived at the city park, a crowd of some 300-odd people had already gathered, mostly young Muslims and Croats. In the middle of the crowd stood the statue covered with a white sheet and protected by Bosnians clad in orange kung-fu suits, presumably Bruce Lee disciples. I had read that there had been some controversy as to whether to point Bruce east (towards Muslims) or west (towards Croats) with his offensive stance, but eventually they had settled on north, presumably where there is no one to offend (although the Serbian Republic is north... hmm).

The air was thick with anticipation. TV cameras and lights hummed; shutters clicked. At one point, a man who had climbed up a tree to get a better view came crashing down with a loud crack, the branch striking me on the shoulder. The crowd laughed uproariously and the uninjured, blushing fool took a bow.

Curiously, the ceremonies began with extensive martial arts demonstrations. Bruce Lee followers from around Bosnia had shown up to demonstrate the wicked moves and devastating attacks their hero had pioneered. We saw sword-fighting, staff jousting, flying kicks, flips, and plenty of kung fu screeching. At one point, the evident sensai of the group, who had been sitting on his lawnchair throne for most of the performance, finally got up and demonstrated how one could disarm a handgun-toting opponent by having one of his pupils hold a gun to his head, back and then chest.

I began to wonder whether this was all a joke, and it seemed the crowd agreed. There was plenty of chattering, raised eyebrows and laughter. A couple of 12 year-old kids continuously yelled apparently hilarious taunts from up in a tree. And then came the politicians. A gray-haired man gave a long winded speech no one could understand because he neglected to speak closely enough to the microphone. Then the Chinese ambassador took the stage, prattled on in a quiet voice in seemingly broken Bosnian, and was received with polite applause.

And then finally the main event! The organizer of the whole thing, a young Croat named Veselin Gatalo, got up and gave a rousing speech. I later found out he said: "This does not mean that Bruce Lee will unite us, because people are different and cannot be united and we will always be Muslims, Serbs, or Croats," Gatalo said. "But one thing we all have in common is Bruce Lee!" An article in today's newspaper reported: "(Gatalo) said Lee - a hero to Bosnian young people in the 1970s and ’80s - epitomized justice, mastery, and honesty, virtues the town had badly missed."

Gatalo then walked to the statue and, as the applause mounted and the crowd whistled, he slowly pulled off the sheet to reveal... a shiny gold, polished Bruce Lee! Bruce was holding nunchucks in his right hand and had his left outstretched in an offensive stance. The inscription at the base said only: "Bruce Lee 1940-1973. Your Mostar."

Just at this moment, the rain began to pour down. Nevertheless the crowd rushed in -- everyone wanted a picture with the man himself. An old lady stoically held an umbrella over Bruce's head. Eventually the mob dispelled and we headed back to Sarajevo, chuckling all the way.

Looking back, this was truly one of those events where I can say that I don't know whether to laugh or to cry.

A sad footnote: the newspaper mentioned today that on Saturday night the Bruce Lee statue was vandalized -- apparently his nunchucks were stolen. Wine bottles were found littered around the park. I am flabbergasted. How could they defile something so pure and so good?

See some more photos from the unveiling.

Another sunset

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Sunset over the Bosnian countryside.

Plitvice National Park

The weekend before last I traveled to Plitvice National Park in Croatia with my good friend Knute and his father. It is famous throughout Europe, and deservedly so as you can see from the pictures here.

Like everything else around here, even the Park has a war story attached to it. In 1991, tensions between Serbia and Croatia were mounting and armies began to mobilize. The spark hit tinder when Croatian Serb paramilitaries backed by Belgrade occupied the Park, demanding its tourist revenues and a removal of the Croat administration. The Croatian police responded with force and a Croat policeman was killed in the ensuing gun battle. This is largely recognized as the very first casualty of the Yugoslav Wars.

Thankfully, I didn't see any signs of war -- just totally groovy waterfalls.

Bosnia's other war & the Ahmici pig farm

(Not my picture)

On our way to Plitvice National Park we passed through northwestern Bosnia, where some of the fiercest fighting of the war took place. First a little history. The Yugoslav Wars began in 1991 with battles between Serbia and Crotia, largely on Croatian turf. In 1992, war spread to Bosnia, with Serbia and Bosnian Serbs pitted against the Bosniaks (Muslims) as well. In 1993, Croatia turned on their nominal allies the Bosniaks, attacking them from the west in what was essentially a land grab while the Muslims were weakened and occupied fighting the Serbs. At that point, Bosnia had become one large battlefield for a three-way war, with Bosnians caught in the crossfire between Serbs and Croats while at the same time defending themselves on two fronts. But the Bosnian-Croat conflagaration lasted just under a year before the two sides again joined forces against their common Serb enemy.

Today Bosnia is divided into two entities: a Muslim-Croat Federation and a Serbian Republic. Nevertheless, animosity between Croats and Muslims lingers even today. Some of the worst atrocities of the war were committed by Croats against Muslims and vice versa, and some of the most notorious pictures and stories of modern concentration camps come from Croat camps holding Muslim prisoners.

As we passed through the town of Ahmici, Knute's father Merritt, who has been working for the US government in Bosnia for the past 10 years, told me an interesting story. Ahmici is a divided Croat-Bosniak town, infamous as the site of the Ahmici massacre, when 100 Muslim men, women and children were brutally murdered on 16 April 1993 by Croat militia and former civilian neighbours. Ahmici is perhaps even more famous for pictures of its toppled minaret (shown above), which was shattered on that same day. As we drove through the town, Knute excitedly pointed out that the minaret had been re-erected.

Just 5 years ago, the minaret was still on its side as Merritt came to Ahmici to coordinate an American project to build an elementary school. It was to be situated on the impoverished Bosniak side of town, where Muslim refugees had returned to reclaim their homes. Planning for the school had been in the works for weeks, but when he arrived at the site on the morning of the ground-breaking he found a group of Croat men with guns slung across their backs building a wooden fence.

"What the fuck are you doing? We're putting up a school here."
"No you're not. We're building a pig farm," they said.

Knute's father was incensed, and marched to the Croat mayor to demand an explanation. The mayor claimed to have no control over the group. The next day, Merritt met with the Muslim community and was alarmed to find they were already dusting off their old war rifles, retrieved from under beds and behind refrigerators, as well as their old war rhetoric. They saw no choice but a return to blood-letting. Merritt convinced them to hold back while he negotiated a solution, but over the next few days violence broke out and a man was killed.

Eventually, Merritt was able to persuade NATO to bring a few troops on the scene as Madeleine Albright was scheduled to visit Bosnia in a couple weeks and would want to see the fruits of US investment. The "pig farmers" were forced to leave after Merritt promised investment in a Croat school on the other side of town. And so in 2000, war was barely prevented from returning to Ahmici.

There was an article in Bosnia Daily yesterday about elementary schools with both Muslim and Croat students. Part of the Dayton Peace Agreement stipulated that joint schools be created in Bosnia, but people have found insidious ways to pass their hatred on to their offspring. Although Muslim and Croat children have school in the same building, they have separate entrances, attend classes on separate floors, and even the schoolyard is divided by its own Berlin wall -- they never even see each other. I am not sure whether the Ahmici school which was almost a pig farm is one of these.

Bosnian economics 101

Among Bosnia's long list of problems is, of course, its economy. It is ahead of only Moldova and Albania among the poorest countries in "Europe," and its unemployment rate is Europe's highest, hovering at an unbelievable 44%. Although Sarajevo is vastly better off than the mostly decrepit, polluted rural towns, the effects can still be seen here. A simple demonstration of the unemployment rate, for example, can be had by standing on a corner of the main walking street at any time, any day of the week and watching the hordes of people strolling back and forth. Bosnians love to walk for the sake of walking, strutting up and down the sidewalks with no destination in mind, simply chatting away or engaging in a little of the old "see and be seen." I used to think there was some kind of Richard Simmons-esque obsession with light aerobic exercise here -- now I realize that many just don't have anything better to do.

Almost all of the young people I meet here are enrolled at university in any number of subjects, ranging from medicine to mechanical engineering to English literature. Those with real jobs are the exception. And even for the university students it is unclear whether their education will ultimately amount to employment. They all take their studies very seriously, but I've encountered so many people who are just going back "for one more year," even though they were already supposed to have graduated. Perhaps they are postponing the harsh reality of the real world -- kind of like me, the unpaid intern, or employee of my parents if you want to look at it that way. Anyway, a guy I met named Hrag (incidentally, a member of the miniscule Bosnian Jewish community) admitted to me that of those enrolled in his management economics degree, a significant percentage will not find jobs. Nevertheless, mysteriously they all seem to have some kind of disposable income to be able to go out and get coffee whenever they please and adamantly refuse to allow me to pay for even one drink.

Of course, the 44% unemployment statistic is somewhat misleading as a large proportion of "unemployed" people work for organized crime. Most educated locals will tell you with a disgusted scowl that the entire political establishment is dominated in one way or another by the mob. The mafia has an enormous influence in Bosnia, and it is hard not to notice the mafiosos themselves. Many of the Sarajevo strollers referred to earlier are brawny men in leather jackets doing what they do best: skulking around town, stroking their gelled hair, puffing on classy cigarettes and making sure you don't make eye contact with them.

There are also a large number of people unaccounted for in the informal economy, i.e. the black market. I in fact stumbled upon The Black Market itself last week, a vast conglomerate of little huts down an alleyway near the main square where you can purchase Gucci jeans for $5 and Microsoft Office for $2. Governments of the world: if you're looking for it, I found it.

A Bosnian friend named Adnan, who goes to university in Austria, explained to me that one of the best things about living in a poor country is the incredibly cheap price of Playstation games. But this in turn leads to too much time spent on video games and less on working or finding a job, thus weakening the economy even further, which in turn cheapens video games yet again --and the vicious cycle continues...

Sarajevo sunset

Sarajevo is constantly hazy. As the air cools, fog descends from the mountains.

Today it snowed for the first time. Zima (winter) is here!

All-purpose mechanic / mess-creator

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I came upon this man's shop while strolling around the old part of town.

At left is a carton of the eponymous Drina cigarettes, the local brand, which I find to be an odd name because it refers to the Drina River that divides Bosnia and Serbia -- not to mention the fact that the Srebrenica massacres were carried out by Mladic's Drina Corps. Not that it really matters -- I'm sure a Bosnian would smoke a pack of cigarettes even if they were labelled "Mass Murder." Come to think of it, that would probably be an appropriate name for a tobacco company.

By the way, a pack of Drina cigarettes costs 1.70 kM, or around $1 US.

Reminders of war, 10 years later

Clockwise, from top left: A mortar shell impact crater with shrapnel spray, a common sight beneath your feet. Those that caused casualties are filled with red paint and called "Sarajevo roses"; inhabited appartment block riddled with bullet holes; one of Sarajevo's few tall buildings, shelled out; man rakes fall leaves in front of destroyed buildings.

God designed Sarajevo for a siege in modern warfare. Its orange-rooved buildings are bunched together amongst narrow alleys, surrounded on all sides by green hills with perfect vistas. One day driving into town, I stopped at a popular outlook and wondered at the marvelous view. I was told it was formerly a primary artillery position and, indeed, watching a war documentary the other day I jumped up as I recognized the very spot, this time featured in footage of enormous guns thumping away rather than as a tourist viewpoint. It is strange to stand there and imagine that instead of admiring the landscape, it instead occurred to someone to think that this would be a great vantage point from which to lob explosives at defenseless civilians.

Approximately half a million shells were fired into Sarajevo during the 4 years of the war. This amounts to around 1 shell per resident. 12,000 people were killed and 50,000 wounded. It was the longest siege in the history of modern warfare. If there were any doubt as to whether the siege was a war crime, one need only listen to the audiotape of Bosnian Serb General Ratko Mladic issuing the order to "Target Muslim neighborhoods - not many Serbs live there. Shell them until they're on the edge of madness."

Sarajevo tourist guides tell visitors that it was the policy of the Serbian Army to kill only a few civilians every day, lest they attract too much international media attention. Indeed, when large massacres took place, it was often the result of one bomb in peculiar circumstances, as it was with the Sarajevo "market square massacre" when 68 civilians were killed because the shell happened to explode on a plastic awning a dozen feet above the ground, spraying hot shrapnel over a crowded marketplace. For some reason, the world is capable of differentiating between 68 killed in one day and 1 killed each day for 68 days. Indeed, the "market square massacre" prompted worldwide media attention and gave Clinton the public backing necessary to intervene. At that point, approximately 200,000 people had already died in the war.

Sarajevo buzzes with the sounds of construction work. The city is definitely on the mend, but war damage persists. I wonder whether they should leave some of it as it is. Of course, it would be impossible for the residents or their children to ever forget, but visitors should be reminded lest Sarajevo become another Dubrovnik: a cleaned up, smiley-faced, tourist dollar machine. Presently, the tourism industry is stagnant and most foreigners you meet are working in development agencies or for governments. But mark my words, 10 years from now Sarajevo will be bustling with tourists, just as it was when it hosted the Olympics in 1984. It's as if people still believe there's a war going on here, an ignorance about which I have heard many Bosnians profess deep bitterness. Indeed, my Canadian friend joked before I left home: "Try not to get shot!" But in fact Sarajevo is safe, cheap, lively, beautiful, and each footstep is soaked in history. One day soon it will rise again.

Giving back

Bosnians are famous for their hospitality and openness. In Canada, as children we are always taught "Don't talk to strangers," much less accept candy from them. But in Sarajevo they must tell the kids, "Go on, chat 'em up! Strangers are cool, and I've heard their candy is damn tasty too!" A guy I met named Ibro makes it a habit to approach bewildered looking foreigners in the street and invite them to whichever bar he's headed to. Invariably, they take a half-step back and the thought "What kind of scam is this Eastern European trying to pull on me?" is written on their foreheads. I thought the very same thing when within minutes of arriving in Sarajevo at 5:30am a woman approached and bombarded me with advice on settling in. It is not considered strange to exchange phone numbers and offer to meet up with someone shortly after first meeting them. We Canadians are used to keeping our heads down and getting to where we're going. In Bosnia, every walk is a social opportunity.

It has become cliche to talk about the welcoming attitude of Bosnians, but it's definitely true. I have met a couple guys who claim that it's all a facade, that outwardly Bosnians are friendly but inwardly are elitist and petty. But I have found that said belief is usually accompanied with a story about how "I took this girl out for like 17 coffees, and never even got a bloody kiss!"

As a result of all this kindness and hospitality, I have been fortunate enough to meet many locals. I learn much in my work at the Court, but what I am learning about this country through the people who live here is invaluable. So, out of a sense of charity towards those who welcomed me with open arms into their country, I decided to donate my iPod and wallet to the region. The former I gave away on the train from Budapest to Sarajevo, a decision made while I was sleeping. I'm sure it ended up in needy hands and that its new owner is now enjoying my fine music collection far more than I did. The wallet was donated on a crowded tram on the way to work. I had been walking around with it in my pants pocket, an open offer to some poor soul who I figured would take it when they really needed it. I never got to meet the receiver of my gift, nor his friend the old lady who accidentally bumped into me at the same time he secured my donation. But I'm sure they'll write me a thank you letter some day. It feels good to be good.

Waterfall in the fall

Skakavac waterfall, just outside of Sarajevo. See more photos from the hike.

Srebrenica

Yesterday I visited Srebrenica, site of one of humanity's worst crimes. During the war, Srebrenica was a Muslim enclave just over the Serbian border which was declared a "UN Safe Area" and "protected" by Dutch peacekeepers. On July 1995, it fell to the Drina Corps of the Serbian Army, under the command of General Ratko Mladic. Serb forces proceeded to massacre approximately 8000 Bosniak males. Mladic is said to have used a special paramilitary unit called "the Scorpions" to perform most of the killing, and a number of Scorpion bit-players are on trial or have been convicted at the Hague. But although Mladic has been indicted for genocide and war crimes, he remains free and in hiding. Radovan Karadzic, the Bosnian Serb political leader, was also indicted for war crimes at Srebrenica and he too remains free and in hiding. He recently released a book of poetry, published by a Serbian company.

It is easier to talk about the visit in pictures:



The Srebrenica Memorial is located outside the city, in a town called Potocari. There are roughly 2000 graves at the Memorial, consisting of all identified bodies from the massacre. Enormous warehouses full of unidentified corpses exist north in the town of Tuzla, where the International Committee for Missing Persons continues to analyze remains. Pictured here as well is the quasi-mosque structure at the Memorial, with tiles representing each of the victims.

Next we drove to the town itself. Many Bosnian towns have oversized chessboards in their parks. In Sarajevo, they are surrounded all day by crowds of old men. In Srebrenica, the town square is littered with garbage and the chess pieces are scattered.











Left: Srebrenica means "silver city," and was once a mining town for the company Energoinvest. Here, the old Energoinvest building lies abandoned and decaying. Right: just another Srebrenican house.


Left: This hotel was called "Hotel Fresh Air" by the locals during the war because of the constantly shattered windows. It is abandoned and, of course, still full of plenty of fresh air. Right: This was the de facto hospital during the war. In front are some journalists doing an interview. They were travelling with a large group of Muslim high school students.


Left: A Serbian flag flies beside a Bosnian and cantonal flag at the UN Development Project headquarters in Srebrenica. Right: This is the mountain road south of town where Dutch UN troops maintained observation posts. Facing the Serbian offensive in July 1995, the Dutch retreated without firing a shot. In 2002, the Dutch government resigned over a report detailing their failure at Srebrenica.


Left: one encouraging sign was the presence of a mosque in Srebrenica, along with a banner wishing a happy Bajram to all. The mosque is counter-balanced by a large Serbian Orthodox Church a couple blocks away. Right: the main square of Srebrenica.

The Memorial was certainly depressing, but at least its very existence can be seen as a positive development. The town of Srebrenica, on the other hand, exudes hopelessness. "Srebrenica" is a name that almost everyone in the West recognizes, and yet its current and former residents must feel completely forgotten. It is a desolate, foul, decaying ghost town.

One of the sad truths of the war is that the ethnic cleansers won. Eastern Bosnia was largely vacated of Muslims, of which Srebrenica is one example. Often the UN was complicit in this, as their mandate was to evacuate the towns for humanitarian reasons. In the end, this was exactly Milosevic's ultimate goal. Srebrenica, once a vibrant Muslim city, is today largely inhabited by Serbs. Before the war, 37,000 people lived in Srebrenica, 73 percent of them Muslim Bosniaks and 23 percent ethnic Serbs. Today, 6,000 Serbs and 4,000 Muslims live there.

On the drive in through the beautiful countryside, we stopped at a gas station where, out of curiosity, I purchased an audiotape with pictures of Mladic and Karadzic on the cover. We of course couldn't understand the lyrics, but it was essentially classic Serbian folk music. Later, as we walked through the town square, I recognized -- though I can't be absolutely sure -- that same style folk music emanating from a cafe where a small crowd had gathered to eat and dance. Anywhere else I might have been encouraged by this small, innocent celebration going on around so much sadness. But in the context of history, I couldn't help feeling nauseous as the cheery tunes echoed through Srebrenica's empty streets like twisted carnival music.

Old men and chess

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All day you can find a crowd of old men smoking and playing chess near the centre of town, by the bombed-out shopping centre. Shortly after I took this picture, the man on the board cursed, kicked over his pieces and stormed off shouting angrily.

Happy Bajram

Last night was Bajram, the final day of the holy month of Ramadan, throughout which Muslims eat and drink only after sundown and before sunrise (including water!). I actually fasted a few days ago in order to join some Bosnian friends for iftar, the daily breaking of the fast at sundown. It wasn't so bad, really -- the only thing I truly missed was coffee. Let's just say I did a lot of staring at my keyboard that day.

Anyway, many Muslim residents of Sarajevo also give up drinking alcohol for Ramadan. But on Bajram, the restrictions end. What this means: PARTAY!! Indeed, Sarajevans were out in force last night, the women wearing their finest outfits and the men in full suit and tie. I of course was not aware of said dress code and showed up in jeans and a t-shirt, yet again singling myself out as a stupid tourist. This is not exactly rare, considering that the relative looseness of my pants, and the fact that I do not immerse my head in the requisite one litre of shiny hair gel, usually allows the locals to immediately label me a Westerner.

I was warned that Bajram is the most raucous night of the year. With all those burly men returning to their beloved pivo (beer) after a month's hiatus, it is a situation latent with bar brawl potential. I did not witness any fights however, only crowds of rosy-faced, jolly Bosnians. I wonder how different Sarajevo will be for me now, considering I arrived here only just after Ramadan began.

At this point I should say a bit about religion here. Bosnia is essentially the last enclave of Islam in Europe, the only comparable region being the south of Spain around Granada, though most of the Muslims there were expelled hundreds of years ago. Bosnia gets its Muslim character from its ancient status as the Western-most province of the Ottoman Empire 550 years ago. The brand of secular Islam practiced here is quite unique. Aside from the architecture and loudspeakers blaring the daily calls to prayer, Sarajevo is in many ways just another lively European city. Most people wear Western dress, drink, smoke, date, etc.

I have no way to verify this, but I've been told that since the war, people have clung to their religion more feverishly, but not in the way that you might think. Religion in the former Yugoslavia is less about the faith itself and more about national identity. Serbs are Orthodox Christians, Bosnians are Muslims, and Croatians are Roman Catholic. Prior to the war, Milosevic had orchestrated a massive church-building program, a way to boost Serbian pride. The other ethnic groups responded in turn. Around Sarajevo today, you can still see new mosques under construction, often with bizarre modernist features. Religion, essentially banned under the 35-year Communist rule of Tito, saw a resurgence with his death and the birth of extreme ethnic nationalism.

So, many Muslims here who otherwise lead secular lives, and do not consider themselves very religious, take Ramadan seriously. Party animals forego their beloved booze for weeks. Nicotine addicts (i.e. everyone) tap their feet all day, waiting for the cursed sun to flee. And obeying the rules of the fast is a matter of personal honour. Of course, there are many devout Muslims here, such as the old women with headscarves who shuffle about the old part of town, but as far as I can tell they are the exception. One need only note the masses who turn out at the clubs and bars for Bajram to prove this, as in truly religious circles the last night of Ramadan is a night of family gathering and prayer. But in Sarajevo, it's time to get jiggy!

I do greatly admire the restraint and ideal of purity embodied by Ramadan, as well as the shameless other side of the coin: the spectacular hedonistic, Bacchanal celebration that is Bajram. But overall it is hard for me not to conclude that the rebirth of religion in the Balkans is anything but just another arbitrary line in the sand between arbitrary enemies.

Subscription fixed

Sorry, the subscription thingy at right sent out drafts of some things I had written rather than real posts. Should be fixed now.