Frozen Peace: Bosnia’s Unfinished Reckoning with Genocide

Graves at the Srebrenica–Potočari Memorial Cemetery in Bosnia and Herzegovina, where more than 8,000 Bosniak men and boys killed in July 1995 are buried. The site stands as a reminder of the genocide’s enduring legacy and the nation’s struggle for truth and reconciliation.

Photograph by Majdi, Islamic Relief.

It happened on the first day of camp.

I was in Bosnia with Islamic Relief’s Inspire program, helping run a summer camp for orphaned children from Tuzla. That afternoon, we took the children down to the gymnasium in Sarajevo to play football. I sat on the side, watching, while two of the younger kids who did not want to play sat in front of me and talked. I remember focusing closely on their words, trying to follow their mix of Bosnian and English, when a ball came from across the court and hit the right side of my head. The impact dented my glasses and pushed me sideways. My vision blurred immediately, and I could see only shapes and flashes of color. One of the boys who had kicked the ball ran over, repeating, “I didn’t mean it, I didn’t mean it,” while others helped me up and guided me into another room. My head felt too heavy to carry and then everything faded.

When I woke up, my head was throbbing and my vision still was not clear. We discussed going to the hospital, but the local staff advised against it. The wait times were long, they said, sometimes five hours or more. Bosnia’s healthcare system was still shaped by the country’s political divisions. Every policy or budget had to be approved by representatives of the three dominant ethnic groups: Bosniak, Serb, and Croat. Each group held veto power, and disagreement often meant that nothing could move forward. I waited until I returned to Canada to seek medical attention, but the experience left me with a question that stayed with me for the rest of the trip. How does a country heal when even its hospitals are caught in the aftermath of war?

A few days later, our group visited Srebrenica. At the Srebrenica–Potočari Memorial Cemetery, thousands of white marble headstones stretched across the hills. The air was heavy with silence. Walking through the rows, I noticed that the names were carved alphabetically. Some family names repeated several times in a row: fathers, sons, brothers, entire generations erased in a single month. Standing there, surrounded by the evidence of loss, I began to understand that the war’s end had not brought peace in the way we imagine it. Bosnia’s recovery was still unfolding, its wounds visible not only in its memorials but in its daily life.

A stone memorial at the Srebrenica–Potočari Memorial Cemetery lists the names of Bosnian towns affected by the 1995 genocide, alongside the number 8,372 — the estimated number of Bosniak men and boys killed in July 1995. The inscription notes that the final number of victims is not yet complete. Behind the memorial, rows of white headstones stretch into the distance, marking the resting place of those who lost their lives.

Photograph by Majdi, Islamic Relief.

The 1995 Dayton Peace Agreement ended the war that killed more than 100,000 people and culminated in the genocide of over 8,000 Bosniak men and boys at Srebrenica.¹ While it succeeded in stopping the violence, it divided Bosnia and Herzegovina into two political entities: the Federation of Bosnia and Herzegovina and Republika Srpska. Each was given its own government, parliament, and ministries, while a three-member presidency representing the Bosniak, Serb, and Croat populations was tasked with making national decisions. In practice, this system institutionalized ethnic division and made governance dependent on consensus that rarely existed.

Nearly thirty years later, these divisions continue to shape Bosnia’s political and social landscape. Schools across different regions teach separate curricula, often presenting conflicting versions of history.² Hospitals and clinics operate under divided administrations, producing uneven access to care and inconsistent quality of service.³ Corruption remains deeply rooted, functioning as part of the political system rather than an exception to it.⁴ During the COVID-19 pandemic, the country’s fragmented governance made it nearly impossible to coordinate a national response.⁵

Islamic Relief Inspire Bosnia 2025 volunteers stand together on a wooden bridge at Vrelo Bosne Park, surrounded by the park’s flowing streams and lush forest landscape. The team spent time in Bosnia supporting orphaned children through summer programs, assisting the local Islamic Relief team in serving vulnerable communities through initiatives such as essential food kits, and visiting sites of historical and humanitarian significance.

Photograph by Majdi, Islamic Relief.

Beyond the structural issues lies a deeper struggle over memory and truth. In parts of Bosnia, denial of the genocide remains widespread, and some convicted war criminals are publicly celebrated as heroes.⁶ Remembrance itself has become political. The graves at Srebrenica are more than a memorial; they are a test of whether the country can confront its past honestly.

International oversight has helped maintain stability but not resolution. The Office of the High Representative still holds broad powers to impose legislation and remove officials, and Bosnia’s aspirations for European Union membership continue to stall.⁷ The country exists in a fragile balance, peaceful but deeply divided, sovereign in name yet dependent on external intervention.

My concussion is slowly healing, but Bosnia’s reality stayed with me. From the noise of that Sarajevo gym to the silence of Srebrenica, I saw how war lingers in systems, spaces, and people. Bosnia’s story is one of endurance rather than closure. It is a reminder that the end of violence does not guarantee peace. True healing requires justice, accountability, and the courage to face history without denial.

To read the full research paper, Frozen Peace: The Enduring Legacies of Genocide and Governance in Bosnia and Herzegovina, which provides an in-depth analysis of Bosnia’s post-war governance and institutional divisions, click here.

Footnotes

1. Mulaj, K. (2017). Genocide and the ending of war: Meaning, remembrance and denial in Srebrenica, Bosnia. Crime, Law, and Social Change, 68(1–2), 123–143. https://doi.org/10.1007/s10611-017-9690-6

2. Kovač, V. B. (2025). “Us” vs. “Them”: A systematic analysis of history textbooks in post-war Bosnia and Herzegovina across three ethnic educational programmes. Journal of Curriculum Studies, 57(3), 271–286. https://doi.org/10.1080/00220272.2024.2436353

3. Miggelbrink, J., & Meyer, F. (2023). Geopolitics, paralysis and health policy: On the implications of the Dayton Peace Accords for Bosnia & Herzegovina’s transplantation system. Geopolitics, 28(4), 1562–1588. https://doi.org/10.1080/14650045.2022.2078705

4. Divjak, B., & Pugh, M. (2008). The political economy of corruption in Bosnia and Herzegovina. International Peacekeeping, 15(3), 373–386. https://doi.org/10.1080/13533310802058927

5. World Health Organization. (2021, April 30). COVID-19 situation report 44: Bosnia and Herzegovina. WHO Regional Office for Europe. https://www.who.int/europe/publications/i/item/WHO-EURO-2021-1865-41623-57487

6. Bećirević, E. (2010). The issue of genocidal intent and denial of genocide: A case study of Bosnia and Herzegovina. East European Politics and Societies, 24(4), 480–502. https://doi.org/10.1177/0888325410377655

7. McCulloch, A. (2014). Consociational settlements in deeply divided societies: The liberal-corporate distinction. Democratization, 21(3), 501–518. https://doi.org/10.1080/13510347.2012.748039