Post by MiG on May 13, 2010 12:09:28 GMT -5
Croatia's fragile progressive voice
The apology by Croatia for its role in the war and subsequent backtracking shows the ongoing power of nationalist narratives.
Ivo Josipovic's apology for Croatia's role in the wars of the former Yugoslavia drew a divided response from Croatian politicians. Photograph: Hrvoje Polan/AFP/Getty
Last week, Croatia's President Ivo Josipovic's groundbreaking apology for Croatia's role in the wars of the former Yugoslavia seemed to signal a break with the nationalist narratives of the region.
As well as acknowledging the role that Croatia's actions in the 1990s played in creating political instability in Bosnia, Josipovic took the unprecedented step of paying tribute to Bosnian Muslim victims of the 1993 Ahmici massacre, in which more than 100 Bosniak civilians were killed by Bosnian Croat forces. This seemed to be the kind of progress Josipovic had promised in his 2009 election campaign: with the question of EU accession at the forefront of Croatian political discourse, his campaign centred around a "new justice" promoting individual rights, anti-corruption and social justice.
But while the president's speech was welcomed in Bosnia and abroad, the divided response among Croatian politicians forced Josipovic to backtrack, highlighting how the region is caught between old and new political languages. Croatia's prime minister Jadranka Kosor condemned his speech, arguing that "Croatia never fought an aggressive, but a defensive war".
That Josipovic then retreated – claiming he hadn't apologised for Croatia's wartime role, only "expressed regret" – shows the fragility of progressive voices, and the continued power of narratives which insist only one side suffered during the brutal breakup of Yugoslavia. This is perhaps unsurprising: post-Franjo Tudjman, many political figures still draw their power from exclusivist rhetoric – acknowledgement of the suffering of other sides breaks the logic of their power, and must be decried, like Josipovic's speech, as "national betrayal".
In his speech, Josipovic called for Bosnian political parties, "the international community in general, and our neighbour Serbia in particular … to bring our heads and hands together for Bosnia and Herzegovina". The emphasis on Serbia seems pointed, when Serbia is also visibly struggling between progressive voices and stagnant nationalist rhetoric. Serbia's resolution condemning the 1995 mass killings in Srebrenica this month was as unprecedented as Josipovic's speech. As Slavenka Drakulic has written, the resolution matters "because Serbia, from Slobodan Milosevic downwards, always strongly denied any involvement in the war in Bosnia and responsibility for this massacre".
But compromise with the old narratives was more overt in Serbia's Srebrenica resolution: by taking pains to avoid the word genocide, the resolution was widely interpreted in Bosnia as a further affront to the victims and a meaningless gesture.
That Serbia's Srebrenica resolution was welcomed internationally yet set back Serbia-Bosnia relations is perhaps not as contradictory as it seems: the move was undoubtedly a step forward in Serbian political language, yet simultaneously part of continued genocide-denial. The negative reaction in Bosnia to Serbia's Srebrenica resolution must also be seen in light of the arrest of Ejup Ganic in London last month. That Serbia requested Ganic's arrest just as Radovan Karadzic's trial reopened was read by many Bosnians as a sign that Serbia was back in retaliatory mode.
Yet despite the Ganic case and Serbia's lukewarm Srebrenica resolution, Bosnia's problem isn't the residue of old narratives in Croatia and Serbia, but Bosnia's own entrenched wartime frameworks.
And in Bosnia the 1990s narrative is more literally entrenched: thanks to its constitution – a leftover of the 1995 Dayton agreement – the country lives in a kind of frozen purgatory of a peace treaty. Under the Dayton constitution, rights of the individual are subordinated to the group-rights of the "three constituent peoples" – Bosnian Croats, Bosnian Serbs and Bosnian Muslims/Bosniaks – and with government positions reserved for representatives of each of the "national groups", the Dayton constitution has crystallised and reinforced the wartime nationalist narratives.
That no attempt is being made to build a stable Bosnian identity is demonstrated in the fact that citizens must officially identify as belonging to either one of the three constituent peoples or as ostali ("other"); to identify as "Bosnian" categorises a person as an ostali, leaving them open to discrimination in employment, so it pays to identify first and foremost as a member of your "group". Bosnians who wish to dis-identify from the rigid constituent peoples framework face a prisoner's dilemma based on how others will vote, as parties campaigning on ethno-religious lines are privileged both by the constitution and by the Dayton mentality of compulsory identification. This purgatory can be seen starkly in education, where children are now segregated for history, religion and language classes.
Segregated education entrenches literally different narratives in the next generation of Bosnians – who are being taught to not think of themselves as Bosnians at all, only part of a "constituent nation" with nothing in common with their neighbours. The buildup to this year's election harnesses this climate of compulsory identification.
And nationalist rhetorics in Bosnia can be slow to respond to more moderate tones from their neighbouring kin-states: even as Serbia's President Boris Tadic insists (for the sake of Serbia's position on Kosovo) that Republika Srpska must accept its fate as one of Bosnia's two entities, Republika Srpska's politicians continue to indicate their lack of commitment to the entity's existence within the sovereign state of Bosnia.
It is in this climate that Josipovic's recognition of Croatia's role in the war was so refreshing, and his subsequent retreat in the face of old rhetorics so disappointing. For if there is one element that unites Josipovic's backtracking, Serbia's bungled Srebrenica resolution and Bosnia's stagnation under the Dayton constitution, it is in how each concede to nationalist narratives, narratives which were constructed by political elites, for political elites, and which continue to serve the interests only of those who need them to hold onto power.
The apology by Croatia for its role in the war and subsequent backtracking shows the ongoing power of nationalist narratives.
Ivo Josipovic's apology for Croatia's role in the wars of the former Yugoslavia drew a divided response from Croatian politicians. Photograph: Hrvoje Polan/AFP/Getty
Last week, Croatia's President Ivo Josipovic's groundbreaking apology for Croatia's role in the wars of the former Yugoslavia seemed to signal a break with the nationalist narratives of the region.
As well as acknowledging the role that Croatia's actions in the 1990s played in creating political instability in Bosnia, Josipovic took the unprecedented step of paying tribute to Bosnian Muslim victims of the 1993 Ahmici massacre, in which more than 100 Bosniak civilians were killed by Bosnian Croat forces. This seemed to be the kind of progress Josipovic had promised in his 2009 election campaign: with the question of EU accession at the forefront of Croatian political discourse, his campaign centred around a "new justice" promoting individual rights, anti-corruption and social justice.
But while the president's speech was welcomed in Bosnia and abroad, the divided response among Croatian politicians forced Josipovic to backtrack, highlighting how the region is caught between old and new political languages. Croatia's prime minister Jadranka Kosor condemned his speech, arguing that "Croatia never fought an aggressive, but a defensive war".
That Josipovic then retreated – claiming he hadn't apologised for Croatia's wartime role, only "expressed regret" – shows the fragility of progressive voices, and the continued power of narratives which insist only one side suffered during the brutal breakup of Yugoslavia. This is perhaps unsurprising: post-Franjo Tudjman, many political figures still draw their power from exclusivist rhetoric – acknowledgement of the suffering of other sides breaks the logic of their power, and must be decried, like Josipovic's speech, as "national betrayal".
In his speech, Josipovic called for Bosnian political parties, "the international community in general, and our neighbour Serbia in particular … to bring our heads and hands together for Bosnia and Herzegovina". The emphasis on Serbia seems pointed, when Serbia is also visibly struggling between progressive voices and stagnant nationalist rhetoric. Serbia's resolution condemning the 1995 mass killings in Srebrenica this month was as unprecedented as Josipovic's speech. As Slavenka Drakulic has written, the resolution matters "because Serbia, from Slobodan Milosevic downwards, always strongly denied any involvement in the war in Bosnia and responsibility for this massacre".
But compromise with the old narratives was more overt in Serbia's Srebrenica resolution: by taking pains to avoid the word genocide, the resolution was widely interpreted in Bosnia as a further affront to the victims and a meaningless gesture.
That Serbia's Srebrenica resolution was welcomed internationally yet set back Serbia-Bosnia relations is perhaps not as contradictory as it seems: the move was undoubtedly a step forward in Serbian political language, yet simultaneously part of continued genocide-denial. The negative reaction in Bosnia to Serbia's Srebrenica resolution must also be seen in light of the arrest of Ejup Ganic in London last month. That Serbia requested Ganic's arrest just as Radovan Karadzic's trial reopened was read by many Bosnians as a sign that Serbia was back in retaliatory mode.
Yet despite the Ganic case and Serbia's lukewarm Srebrenica resolution, Bosnia's problem isn't the residue of old narratives in Croatia and Serbia, but Bosnia's own entrenched wartime frameworks.
And in Bosnia the 1990s narrative is more literally entrenched: thanks to its constitution – a leftover of the 1995 Dayton agreement – the country lives in a kind of frozen purgatory of a peace treaty. Under the Dayton constitution, rights of the individual are subordinated to the group-rights of the "three constituent peoples" – Bosnian Croats, Bosnian Serbs and Bosnian Muslims/Bosniaks – and with government positions reserved for representatives of each of the "national groups", the Dayton constitution has crystallised and reinforced the wartime nationalist narratives.
That no attempt is being made to build a stable Bosnian identity is demonstrated in the fact that citizens must officially identify as belonging to either one of the three constituent peoples or as ostali ("other"); to identify as "Bosnian" categorises a person as an ostali, leaving them open to discrimination in employment, so it pays to identify first and foremost as a member of your "group". Bosnians who wish to dis-identify from the rigid constituent peoples framework face a prisoner's dilemma based on how others will vote, as parties campaigning on ethno-religious lines are privileged both by the constitution and by the Dayton mentality of compulsory identification. This purgatory can be seen starkly in education, where children are now segregated for history, religion and language classes.
Segregated education entrenches literally different narratives in the next generation of Bosnians – who are being taught to not think of themselves as Bosnians at all, only part of a "constituent nation" with nothing in common with their neighbours. The buildup to this year's election harnesses this climate of compulsory identification.
And nationalist rhetorics in Bosnia can be slow to respond to more moderate tones from their neighbouring kin-states: even as Serbia's President Boris Tadic insists (for the sake of Serbia's position on Kosovo) that Republika Srpska must accept its fate as one of Bosnia's two entities, Republika Srpska's politicians continue to indicate their lack of commitment to the entity's existence within the sovereign state of Bosnia.
It is in this climate that Josipovic's recognition of Croatia's role in the war was so refreshing, and his subsequent retreat in the face of old rhetorics so disappointing. For if there is one element that unites Josipovic's backtracking, Serbia's bungled Srebrenica resolution and Bosnia's stagnation under the Dayton constitution, it is in how each concede to nationalist narratives, narratives which were constructed by political elites, for political elites, and which continue to serve the interests only of those who need them to hold onto power.
www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2010/apr/21/croatia-fragile-progressive-voice