When reading the articles for this past week and having
discussions on memorials in class, I connected to a personal example of a “memorial
landscape.” My mother’s side of the family is entirely Croatian; both my mother and I went to Croatia and other surrounding Balkan countries in 2012 to see
some family. While the “memorial” that I will be talking about is not particularly
Croatian, it encompasses a rich and complex history of the entirety of the
former Yugoslav Republic.
For some concise overview, Yugoslavia was a socialist state
created in southeastern Europe after World War II, and included a range of
ethnically and religiously different groups including the Catholic Croats and
Slovenes, the Orthodox Montenegrins, Macedonians, and Serbs, and the Muslim
Bosnians. This region has had a long history of strife between these groups (that
is a bit too long to detail here), but, Yugoslavia remained relatively peaceful
under the leadership of its first president, Josip Broz Tito, from 1953 until
1980. Unfortunately, Tito died in 1980, which reignited buried tensions between
the country’s ethnic groups. Nationalist groups in each sect rivaled for state
independence from Yugoslavia, with Croats and Slovenes declaring independence
in 1991. During this time, the Yugoslav army was largely controlled by the country’s
Serbs, who immediately entered Croat and Slovene territory and killed thousands
who desired autonomy. After a brief UN ceasefire in 1992, Muslim Bosnians next
declared their independence from the state. However, Bosnia’s Serb population
resisted, and declared a bloody civil war if Bosnia’s Muslim and Croat
population tried to flee. Despite referendum, war began.
In this period of Serb-driven ethnic cleansing, over a
million Bosnian Muslims and Croats were taken from their homes. Families were
split, men and children were often killed at the hands of Serb soldiers, and
women were routinely raped by the armed forces. During this time in the early
1990s, the Bosnian Croats and the Bosnian Muslims (who had previously been in
alliance against the Bosnian Serbs) started to create tensions between one
another. Tensions between the Croats and the Bosnian Muslims resulted in the
Croat-Bosniak War, or a “war within a war” during the wider Yugoslavian
conflict. Two cities were caught under siege during this time: Dubrovnik in Croatia and Mostar in Bosnia. Bosnians and
Croatians bombed each other’s cities heavily, and it became an utter culmination
of the years of tension, war, and ethnic genocide between these struggling
populations. The battle between the two cities came to an alarming head when
Croats, via airstrike, demolished Stari
Most, a beautiful 1500s Ottoman bridge that connected the two river-divided
sides of Mostar. The fall of Stari Most was both the physical and metaphorical
wanton horror of the Yugoslav Wars.
All was not lost, though. During the end of the Yugoslav
Wars later in the 1990s, plans were made to rebuild the historic and
prestigious Stari Most bridge, both as an act to rebuild the war-torn city, but
also to reconstruct the cultural memory of one of Bosnia’s most prized pieces
of architecture. This “memorial landscape” became a UNESCO World Heritage Site
and underwent reconstruction in 2003, 10 years after more than 60 Croatian air
shells destroyed it. During its rebuilding process, Italy, the Netherlands,
Turkey, and Croatia offered funds to
the Bosnians for the reconstruction of the beloved bridge. By July 2004, Stari
Most again stood prominently over the river Neretva and the city of Mostar.
What is Mostar like now? How has the rebuilt Stari Most
contributed to the legacy of the brutal civil wars that occurred in this region
25 years ago? When I was in Mostar with my mother five years ago, one can
immediately tell that it was a city riddled with grief. Even 19 years after the
bombings, Mostar was still rummaged with bullet holes, crumbling ruins, and
visible bombing damage. Parts of the city are still abandoned, and some of those
who are still there are poor, homeless, and begging for change. I remember
walking through many of the street-side bazaars to have little Bosnian children
chasing after tourists for money or for food. There is a visible disparity in
the livelihoods after all this time. However, most of the Bosnians who are
there are friendly and welcoming, and a local tour guide my mother and I had
was more than eager to discuss the brutalities his people had went through two
decades prior. When walking through Mostar, Stari Most is one of the most
prominent architectural pieces on the landscape. Stari Most is a pedestrian
bridge, and even though it was only nine years old when I was there, the stone
was so smooth from thousands of walkers that it was almost difficult to walk
the arches because it was so slippery! Now, it’s interesting to see a city like
Mostar cope and move on from its former identity as a war-torn hellscape.
Bosnians memorialize and respect their place in their recent violent history;
this is apparent through the reconstruction of Stari Most. And, while Stari
Most may be nowhere near as “shocking” a memorial as the Tuol Sleng Genocide
Museum or the Auschwitz Memorial, the bridge serves its purpose as a daily remembrance
of recent atrocities in the region’s recent history. Interestingly, Stari Most
has gained views in popular culture recently with Red Bull and bridge jumping (the
bridge has been used for “sport diving” for quite a while now).
Pictures:
Stari Most - Mostar, Bosnia and Herzegovina - taken June 2012
One of the local bridge jumpers getting ready to go - this is a common sport on this bridge, as well as a tourist phenomenon. To watch the jumper go off the side, a tourist has to pay around $5. If you're standing on the other side, like me, then it's free.
Back up on the bridge from one of his dives
Slippery steps leading up to the bridge!
I loved your personal experience that you put in to your blog post. It was able to give all of the readers a new look into the place you spoke about. I found it very interesting how the bridge was rebuilt and made into a World Heritage site yet is not being used as a place for bridge jumpers. You would think that a spot like this would be more respected by it's native people. I'm a big proponent of memorial landscapes staying memorialized and not demeaned through other ways. Interestingly enough this brings about the question on memorials and their uses, especially in different countries. It's very interesting to see how other countries deal with memorials compared to us. I could never see someone jumping off the Washington Memorial in D.C. but societal differences do play a part in this. It was very nice to see a different side of memorial landscapes than what we have come to know in our country.
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