To learn more about 'The Bosnian Straitjacket,' please click here.

In 2016, high school students from Jajce, a town in central BiH, fought a successful grassroots campaign to prevent further segregation of education. After sustained protests, the Central Bosnia Cantonal authorities scrapped a plan to create a separate high school for Bosniaks on the existing premises of the Nikola Šop Secondary Vocational School. Through broad mobilisation and powerful symbolism, they countered the nationalistic and divisive rhetoric. For their courage and creativity, the OSCE High Commissioner on National Minorities awarded them the 2018 Max van der Stoel Award.

Samir Beharić played a pivotal role crafting the movement’s philosophical and practical opposition to the so-called ‘two schools under one roof.’ ‘It is not right to segregate students,’ he says in a persuasive tone, ‘it is unfair, it is immoral, it is unjust.’ 

Samir then poses a rhetorical but poignant question, targeted at those politicians intent on fomenting division; namely, ‘where do you derive your right to separate children from our generation when your generation went to school together?’ In the former Yugoslavia, most would have mocked suggestions that classes be formed according to such criteria. Today, however, it has become more widely accepted. 

Yet, as Samir is keen to stress, ethnicity is only part of the equation, one which manipulates and monopolises understandings and portrayals of motivations in BiH. ‘People also weren't aware of the real reason behind why politicians are trying to segregate schools, even if they themselves were trying to sell the story about ethnic rights or whatever,’ he proceeds with the purposefulness of a prosecutor carefully building their case, adding, ‘we told ourselves - “let's check the money flows!”’ Splitting schools up into separate entities creates a whole new set of dependencies on which politicians can leech, forging what Samir describes as a form of ‘obedience.’

Most analysis, however, focuses on the superficial; on the supposedly ethnic dimensions of everyday life. ‘Whilst there are ethnic tensions,’ Samir clarifies, ‘it should be kept in mind that the SDA and HDZ have been united in a strong coalition for sixteen years now.’ Though these parties have voted together on almost every issue, journalists and others ‘only report about ethnic divisions, sectarianism, blah, blah, blah;’ the ‘blah, blah, blah’ capturing the countless euphemisms used to describe the supposedly governing rationale of BiH. As Samir reminds, such co-operation happened not ‘behind the scenes,' but ‘through official, public channels.’ There is no mystery, no clandestine nature, to their daily dealings, and yet they continue ‘selling this story about ethnic rights, that someone is endangered.’ 

Samir draws upon his childhood and experiences of attending a segregated primary school. His friends from the neighbourhood would play football before going to ‘separate classrooms reached by separate entrances of the same building belonging to the same school.’ One friend, Dragan, would be on the upper level, whilst Samir was confined to the ground floor. Yet it is these bonds of friendship from which the resistance of young people has flowered. Samir is keen to stress that Jajce is ‘de facto not a divided city - it has mixed neighbourhoods, mixed villages, people celebrate Christmas and Bajram together, they mix in coffee bars - the people here do not look upon themselves as needing protection from someone else.’

These social realities continue to be supplemented by the existence of a vibrant civil society that brings together children from, in particular, the existing segregated schools. ‘There is a new generation of musicians learning to play instruments - trumpets, horns, flutes, clarinets - for free, plus other youth and sports clubs,’ Samir explains, ‘and most have no idea about the profound contribution they are making to bring society together.’ 

The sum of each of these small, daily acts is to ‘make it harder for politicians to promote narratives and policies of division.’ It forms an invisible layer of resilience that reveals itself most prominently and profoundly in such moments of crisis. ‘What I find most surprising is the vocal support of Jajce’s various religious communities, who argued against segregated schools from their own religious perspectives,’ Samir says, ‘including by reciting verses from the Quran.’ 

Samir is sober and clear-sighted when reflecting upon the magnitude of what they have achieved, drawing an important distinction between their own success in preventing further division and the challenges of undoing the deep-seated segregation that already exists. It is a distinction designed not to discourage the pursuit of the latter, but to focus minds on what efforts are ultimately required. Even their achievements cannot be taken for granted. The act of establishing a new school has never been annulled and, as Samir warns, ‘they might even be waiting for another moment when they could strike.’ He and his fellow protesters remain on guard. 

Samir is unequivocal when he states that ‘those young people fighting segregation need to enter politics,’ explaining that ‘the effects of civil society end where the political will of politicians begins.’ His message is clear - segregation can be undone, but young people need to win seats in their municipalities to do it. He thinks the next decade is key for getting young people into politics, ‘otherwise, we’ll be screwed.’ 

‘And anyway,’ he adds almost sardonically, ‘we don't have enough children for segregated schools.’ Time is of the essence. The country cannot afford another lost generation.

To learn more about 'The Bosnian Straitjacket,' please click here.

Ian is a writer based in the Balkans. He is the author of 'Dragon's Teeth - Tales from North Kosovo' and 'Luka'. Follow Ian on Twitter @bancroftian.

Currently in: Belgrade, Serbia —  @bancroftian