Notes from the Forgotten Colonies

By Christian Hummel | Monday, April 23, 2001

The bomb in Zagreb was unexpected. Not that my fellow '01 Religion major and I didn't think we would hear about bomb attacks, only we thought we would hear about them in Bosnia. A pressing need to visit a few sites and people in order to complete thesis research prompted the trip to the region. Also, Delta was offering cheap fares to Budapest from Boston.

The train from Budapest to Zagreb was unremarkable. But, the early spring evening which cast a warm, embracing glow on the shore of Lake Balaton, struck me as especially tranquil. The soft light made the homes and ugly resort structures indistinguishable from any other shorefront in Europe. It was still too early in the year for them to open up, but one could see the workers, with hopes of a good summer season in their eyes, beginning to put a fresh coat of paint on the decaying buildings.

We had elected to travel to Bosnia at a particularly heated moment. In the six years since the signing of the Dayton Accords that ended fighting, the international community has done an inconsistent job at best of enforcing the Accord's provisions. Nationalist leaders continue to dominate the politics in Banja Luka, the capital of the Republika Srpska, and inSarajevo, the capital of the Federation, and the country as a whole. Divided into two separate 'entities,' a legalistic label if there ever has been, the various ethnic groups continue to view each other with great suspicion. For example, while we were in the country, a group of Croats, claiming to represent the entire population, declared their own autonomy. The sack of the Croat nationalist leader by Wolfgang Petritsch, the international community's High Representative prompted this declaration. When the agreement was signed in a hangar at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base, it seemed like a good compromise to give both entities their own military. Now, with the two armies opposing one another, the idea stands as patently unconstructive, even dangerous.

In Banja Luka we had to switch buses, and I was curious to wander around a bit, having never been in the Republika Srpska. The city is a dusty crossroads, lacking any historical significance. In fact, the best things in town, a series of Ottoman-era mosques, were demolished—the space turned into parking lots. A large Orthodox church was in the works, but it looked as if it had a long ways to go. Just as we were about to give up on the town, we found a stand selling bootleg compact disks. We loaded up on such classics as 'Pearl Jam: Best Of 2001' and 'Metallica: Ballads' and were on our way.

Sarajevo is still an occupied town: occupied by the legions of foreign aid workers, SFOR troops, and other development specialists. The white trucks with various acronyms like UNHCR or OSCE buzz about intermingling in the traffic queues with camouflaged troop carriers. Rumor had it that an Irish band was going to play in one of the two Irish pubs—it being St. Patrick's Day. Our efforts to hail a cab proved fruitless, so my companion and I resigned ourselves to spending the evening in a hard-rock bar full of teenaged Bosnians listening to AC/DC at full blast.

We got a taste of excitement on the bus ride to Mostar, in the heart of Croatian-controlled Herzegovina. Rising up and over the mountains that ring Sarajevo, we eventually reached the rocky plains leading to the city. Suddenly there was a large explosion, and the back of the bus where I was sitting filled with smoke and dust. I immediately thought we hit one of the million or so landmines still remaining throughout the country. As we pulled off the road, I realized that had we hit an actual landmine, there would have been more damage. The reality was more pedestrian—one of the tires had blown out. We limped into the city, covering the last 10 kilometers in about 45 minutes.

Mostar still retains the classic war-torn look one sees in films like Saving Private Ryan or Full Metal Jacket. Unfortunately, it is not a set. On one side of the river, the Croats lived; on the other the Muslims. As we passed behind the nicest hotel in town, I saw the main street that had served as the frontline lined with uninhabitable buildings, pockmarked by shelling and bullets. Local residents don't feel comfortable crossing from one side to another. Croatian flags with the old Ustase iconography wave in the shadow of a giant steeple under construction. The steeple is truly ludicrous, dominating the skyline, littered with damaged minarets.

The two streets leading up to the church complex are lined with shops that sell religious trinkets—from rosaries to holy water containers. Buses pull in from Split and Dubrovnik disgorging elderly men and women for a few hours. Rather than attending the six o'clock service when the Virgin's message of the day is read, my friend and I hoped for a few beers.

In 1981 a few teenagers had a vision of the Virgin Mary in the hills outside of the village of Medugorje. Ever since that momentous day, millions of devout Christians, and not a few skeptics, have ventured to the site—either to prove their faith or to assuage their curiosity. The Vatican has not ruled on the veracity of the visions, which come daily, leaving local ecclesiastical officials and pilgrims the opportunity to decide for themselves.

The war in Kosovo means that popular media attention is no longer paid in the popular media to Bosnia. Even with several thousand international peacekeeping troops, experts don't completely discount the possibility of violence flaring in the future. Consider the little things. In the southern part of the country, the Croatian kuna is as widely accepted as the official Bosnian konvertible marka. Towards Banja Luka and other parts of the Republika Srpska, the Yugoslav dinar is accepted. Telephone cards purchased in one part of the country are useless in others; a card from Sarajevo won't do any good in Mostar. In Medugorje, the Marian pilgrimage site, the Croatian government, not the Bosnian, operates the post office. That there are ATMs throughout Bosnia, some of which actually work, doesn't mean that serious commitment to multi-ethnicity exists.

President Clinton blatantly lied when he told the American people that our troops would return home in a year. They will not, and it is unclear when, even if, we will be able to withdraw completely from the region.

For all practical purposes, we have a new set of colonies, far away from our shores and devoid of anything of value, notable only for their penchant for causing problems and for inventing the term Balkanization. It is not mercantile colonialism in the classical sense, rather, it is the beginning of a new post-modern colonialism. It is 'white man's burden' only insofar as we hope to keep the sides apart long enough for the television crews to find other wars and disasters to cover.

Back in Zagreb, at the fine Old Pharmacy Pub, we meet with Bill, an unemployed ex-pat, who complains at length about the local business that fired him. According to Bill, the hotel-casino for which he was a consultant refused to implement the business plans he designed. They could not face that the hotel was unprofitable since tourism still had limited potential in Zagreb. He says he was fired for having a bad attitude.

He invites us to a Hash Harriers pub crawl the next day, and we ponder the offer.

Late into the night, we venture over to the new Sheraton Hotel, not far from our own accommodations. In the piano bar we eavesdrop on Americans and British discussing their projects for bringing the country up to Western European standards. They marvel at the inefficiency of the region and swap tales on how to better manage their local staffs. Marines from the US Embassy strut in, beginning another night of heavy drinking at the nearest thing to an American bar in town.

Not amused by the overpriced whiskey and not on an expense account like everyone else, we left to go to bed.

Notes from the Forgotten Colonies

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