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

Senada Demirović, an architect from Mostar who played an important role in the reconstruction of the city’s Old Bridge, offers a sobering assessment. ‘The situation is worse than at any juncture since the end of the war,’ she insists in a calm, considered tone that belies the urgency of her message.

‘In the post-war period, there was a mix of optimism and relief,’ she recalls, peace and tentative foundations for a more prosperous future. That sense has been squandered. ‘Twenty years ago there was energy, strength, and enthusiasm,’ she says, ‘I kept it but the times have changed.’ Senada’s words carry the weight of both personal trauma and professional dedication.

For the people of Mostar, the Old Bridge was never just a physical structure. ‘The core of its meaning derives from the past,’ Senada explains, ‘the Bridge was the main part of the city where people gathered.’ People had what she describes as ‘a generational relationship with the Bridge.’

Its destruction in November 1993, captured in a grainy video, was more than an act of war; it was an amputation. ‘People were crying for the Bridge in the middle of chaos, grieving for something so important - and the end of their hopes,’ she recalls, ‘the major symbol of the town was gone.’ The raw anguish of that moment is still palpable in her voice.

For Senada, the connection was deeply personal. ‘I was dreaming of diving off the bridge to make an underwater documentary,’ she shares, a long-held ambition that fueled her commitment to the Bridge’s reconstruction. ‘My generation needed to be there in the process of reconstruction,’ she insists, to help resurrect the spirit the Old Bridge embodied.

Despite the triumphant reopening of the Bridge in 2004, a symbol of reconciliation to the outside world, Senada speaks of a more sobering reality on the ground. While the two sides of the river Neretva were physically reconnected, profound and formidable divides remain. ‘The war led to separation on every single layer,’ she observes, ‘with a social, emotional, and spatial dimension.’ The seamless urban experience of her youth is a distant memory.

The city’s segregation - with Bosniaks predominantly on the east of the river, and Croats on the west - is not as overt as the ‘Peace Walls’ of Belfast, a city to which Mostar is often compared. ‘Strangers to Mostar - those visiting for the first time - don't feel this division,’ Senada insists.

This separation is insidiously woven into the fabric of daily life, starting from childhood. ‘While developing emotionally - in primary, secondary school - your life is captured in the same stream,’ Senada says, describing an educational system that segregates children along ethnic lines. ‘Your friends are Catholics, Croats - next door lives someone different, but you’ve never had the chance to meet them,’ she reflects, ‘a fear of difference starts to appear, but it is all artificially made.’

Senada's story is a testament to the pre-war plurality she mourns. ‘I was raised in a totally plural society - I'm a child of the seventies, better to say eighties, and from that point of view I can no longer compare today with what it was like in my youth,’ she reflects. The war shattered this world. Senada and her family were held captive in the notorious Heliodrom detention camp. Her brother was left with a debilitating injury, losing the use of his left hand.

This harrowing experience, however, did not sow seeds of hatred. Instead, it solidified her resolve. ‘Maybe I would have the right to hate someone, but I don't,’ she states with a quiet defiance. The foundations of her philosophy and her work lie in this deeply personal journey. It is a philosophy that seeks to bridge divides, not build walls.

Upon her return to a war-torn Mostar in 1995, she was struck by a surreal and fleeting moment of unity in destruction. ‘It looked so romantic - ruins, but happiness at the end of the war - some kind of nirvana,’ she remembers, ‘people were so good and pleasant - they enjoyed the fact that they were alive.’

For Senada, the fight for Mostar's soul is intrinsically linked to the preservation of its heritage, a concept she believes is often treated superficially. ‘The notion of heritage is deep and complicated - it is tangible and intangible - but there is a superficial approach,’ she argues. She sees the city's historic core being ‘overwhelmed in favour of tourists - an exploitation of heritage.’ The question she poses is a critical one - ‘What is the profit for the city? There is no originality. We need to revive the authenticity - we have disoriented ourselves.’

This battle over memory and meaning is starkly evident in the fate of the Partisan Memorial Cemetery, a sprawling monument to the anti-fascist fighters of World War II, designed by the visionary architect Bogdan Bogdanović. The cemetery has been repeatedly vandalized, its gravestones smashed, a calculated desecration aimed at erasing a history of multi-ethnic resistance. For Senada, this is not mere hooliganism, but ‘calculated attempts to erase the memory of the Partisan resistance.’

Preserving the Cemetery is, for Senada, ‘not merely a matter of conserving cultural heritage; it is a moral imperative.’ It represents the ‘original values of what we inherited - not commercialisation - to be sold to tourists.’ She sees a direct link between the neglect of such sites and the rise of divisive ideologies. ‘Anti-fascism is the underlying dimension of the EU,’ she reminds, "though many don’t see the connection.’

The weight of this ongoing struggle is immense. ‘It is a big burden - we don't have the luxury to be tired, and I am tired - socially, emotionally, physically,’ Senada confesses, a rare crack in her composed exterior. Yet, she remains steadfast - ‘we have just one Mostar, we are not making a Bosniak and a Croat version of the city.’

Her vision is one of a unified city, where citizens are defined not by their ethnicity, but by their shared responsibility for its future. It is a vision rooted in the belief that the Old Bridge should be a gate, not a wall, opening up paths to a shared future. For Senada, the fight for Mostar's heritage is a fight for its very soul, a struggle to ensure that the city's future is not a fractured reflection of its painful past.

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