Bosnia Town Faces Difficult Period of Reconciliation

GORNJI VAKUF, Bosnia-Herzegovina —  Once a model of integration, this town is now so polarized it has two mayors, two police departments, two school systems, even two currencies.

Its people, primarily Bosnian Muslims and Croats, are divided into opposing camps and separated by a wasteland of rubble: block after block of bullet-riddled hulks that were once houses, apartments and shops.

Now, their war interrupted, the citizens of Gornji Vakuf face a difficult reconciliation. Can neighbors who until recently were trying to annihilate one another overcome their differences and forge a lasting peace?

“We know that we have to live together, but the wounds are still fresh,” said Rasema Mrsic, 35, a Muslim hospital administrator. “There is hate in the souls of people here.”

The future of Bosnia-Herzegovina, as envisioned in the Dayton, Ohio, peace agreement, depends on the Bosnian Muslims and Croats forgiving each other and living again side by side.

While the rebel Serbs have carved out nearly half of Bosnia to call their own, the Muslims and Croats are expected by the Dayton accord to share the remaining territory under a joint federation.

“We are not happy, but there is no alternative,” said Zdravko Batinic, the mayor on the Croatian side. “It is in the interests of both people.”

The complexities of the Bosnian peace quickly become evident in places like Gornji Vakuf, a once-pleasant town of 25,000 tucked in a valley in mountainous central Bosnia.

Although Bosnia’s main conflict has been between the Muslim-led government and the rebel Serbs, this region of the country was devastated largely by fighting between Muslims and Croats.

The war in Bosnia began in 1992 when Serbs, seeking to fulfill their vision of a greater Serbia, seized large parts of northern and eastern Bosnia from the country’s Muslim-led government after it declared independence from the Yugoslav federation.

Many Croats--both in Bosnia and in neighboring Croatia--were inspired by the Serbs’ example and, dreaming of a greater Croatia, followed suit by attacking Bosnia’s west and south.

From 1992 to 1994, Bosnian government troops and Croatian forces fought fiercely in places such as Gornji Vakuf and the city of Mostar, to the south. Mostar’s famous 16th century Turkish arched bridge and much of its ancient city center were demolished by Croatian shelling.

In Gornji Vakuf, more than 60% of the city was destroyed in three hard-fought battles, but neither side was able to take the town.

“It is hard to understand, for every normal person, why the fighting started, because we know that in this war there is no winner,” said Mrsic, whose hospital office wall still has a hole in it from a Croatian shell. “I know that on both sides, all of us want a normal life, to live and work normally.”

Croatia, under pressure from Washington and facing the threat of international sanctions, finally agreed to make peace with Bosnia. In 1994, the two signed a pact and formed a federation to fight together against their common enemy, the Serbs.

While brutal mass killings and “ethnic cleansing” by the Serbs stand out as the worst atrocities of the Bosnian war, the Muslims and the Croats committed similar acts against each other on a smaller scale.

And in a country where people still seek vengeance for grievances that are centuries old, the bloodshed by the Croats and Muslims in the 1990s seems almost certain to breed new conflicts.

“Have blacks forgiven whites in America?” asked Julia Demichelis, project manager in Gornji Vakuf for the United Methodist Committee on Relief. “In this town, the teachers, and the mechanical engineers and the parents, became soldiers and fought against each other, so it will take time.”

Before the war, Gornji Vakuf was completely integrated. The Muslims, with 56% of the population, and the Croats, with 43%, worked together, went to school together, and lived side by side.

But with the outbreak of war, each formed its own group on opposite sides of the town--with Muslims moving into houses vacated by Croats and Croats moving into houses vacated by Muslims.

Gornji Vakuf’s main street became the center of the battle zone as soldiers and residents blasted away at each other from close range. The armies on both sides fired artillery on the town, and on some days, 2,000 shells would land.

The battle turned the town center into a mile-long strip of ruins. Gutted buildings line the roadway, and bullet holes seem to riddle everything: homes, cars, trees, light poles, satellite dishes and tombstones. More than 75% of the town’s housing stock was damaged or destroyed; both mayors lost their homes.

Now, both sides are warily rebuilding their town and their relations with one another. But no one is moving back to their original homes across town--and parents are not ready to send their children to integrated schools.

“Both sides don’t want kids in school together,” said Demichelis, the American relief worker. “Teachers on both sides killed the parents of kids on the other side.”

The two mayors--friends before the war--say they are working together to try to heal the town.

“Muslims are a people who always have forgiven,” said Abdulah Garaca, 33, the Muslim mayor, his office wall marred by bullet holes and his ceiling scarred by shrapnel. “It is one of the parts of the Koran.”

Across town, Batinic, the Croatian mayor, expresses a similar sentiment. “As Christians, our religion teaches us that we have to forgive,” he said. “But we will remember. It is better that we don’t forget--it is a way not to repeat what happened.”

Like many of the townspeople, Batinic blames Gornji Vakuf’s tragedy on leaders at the national level. “We were tools of politicians,” he said. “We didn’t want to fight, but we were under their control.”

During the fighting, Ana Juricic, a 43-year-old Croatian teacher, was committed to the war--and her children. Each day, she would travel through the war zone to teach a class of refugee Croatian children. Then she would return to help feed the Croatian fighters.

Her house of 24 years was just a block from the front line, and many of her neighbors’ homes were damaged or destroyed. Even when a Muslim shell landed in her garden and blew out the front wall of the house, she did not leave.

“It was my duty to teach the children,” she said.

She repaired her house 17 times after it was hit by Muslim fire, but she is no longer angry.

“That was part of the war. Now I have forgiven them,” she said. “Yes, we can be together again, but it will take a long time.”