You could not tell if you were sleeping or trapped in a horrific nightmare.

My name is Kemal Hodzic. I am a 64-year-old Bosniak living with my family in Canada. I work in a hospital as an engineer. I am also a survivor of Bosnian Serb-run concentration camps in the city of Prijedor, Bosnia and Herzegovina.

Life before the war

Bosnia and Herzegovina (BiH) was one of the six Yugoslav republics. Before the war in BiH began, I grew up in a decent and organised society. I was born in the village of Jabukovac, in the city of Sanica. I lived there until elementary school, with my parents and younger siblings. After elementary school, my family and I moved to Prijedor, in the northwestern part of BiH, where I finished high school. In 1980, I served in the military for a year, and then started University in Zenica, majoring in Mechanical Engineering.

My father worked for a construction and painting company in Croatia and Slovenia, so he was mostly absent during my childhood. People often idealise our pre-war life, but it wasn’t ideal due to a lack of employment opportunities in the rural part of BiH. Many people like my father had to look for jobs far away from their homes, and they would often be away for 2 or 3 months before returning for a weekend.

The beginnings of war

Soon after President Tito died in 1980, things began to change. Economic problems became evident, and nationalist sentiments grew more open and public. It did not take long for Slovenia and Croatia to express their desire to separate from Yugoslavia. At the same time, Serbia, the dominant Yugoslav republic, claimed its borders, encompassing two-thirds of Croatia and all BiH.

In November 1990, the first democratic elections were held in BiH. Three national parties won and formed governments and institutions. Then Slovenia declared its independence, followed by Croatia in 1991. The war in Croatia began the same year, when Serbian separatists, assisted by the Yugoslav People’s Army (JNA) and volunteers from Serbia, fought against the newly formed Croatian army. Many Serbs from Prijedor were recruited as reservists to fight in Croatia as well.

At the time, Prijedor was within 100 km of the major battle zones, so convoys carrying military supplies, arms, equipment, and troops passed through the city daily. When the Bosnian Serb reservists returned home for the weekends, they would harass residents and create chaos in the city. We heard gunfire constantly.

The news of the war in the eastern part of the country reached us in Prijedor. We heard about Serb nationalists taking control of and ethnically cleansing the territories of non-Serbs.

Our Bosniak community became anxious. Our leadership had decided not to take part in the war, and we were trying to stay out of it. Talks of the future of Yugoslavia were still taking place, and different options were suggested, but nothing could keep Slovenia and Croatia from becoming independent states. Serbs did not want to loosen their grip on power, and all the army corps from the Western republics moved into BiH, effectively occupying its cities and people.

In January 1992, Serbian separatists declared independence from BiH and reiterated their intentions to remain with what was left of Yugoslavia. On February 28, 1992, BiH held its referendum, and its citizens voted for independence. Soon after, it became evident that war was imminent. Sarajevo, the capital of BiH, was surrounded by Serbian artillery, and they were looking for any excuse to start shooting. The official siege began in April 1992, on Eid al-Fitr, a celebration after the holy month of Ramadan.

Prijedor during the war

The news of the war in the eastern part of the country reached us in Prijedor. We heard about Serb nationalists taking control of and ethnically cleansing the territories of non-Serbs. Non-Serbs were dismissed from their jobs, and institutions became dominated by a single nationality – Serbian.

The Serbian national party, SDS, took power in Prijedor in an overnight coup on the 30^th of April and proclaimed their authority over the city. Non-Serbs were ordered to surrender any weapons in their possession, which we did; we gave them whatever small firearms we possessed through our duties as army or police reserves. Around the same time, police members and other Bosniak and Croatian nationalities were being rounded up and taken to Omarska, which later became a huge concentration camp.

At one point, I joined a group of around 150 men from my neighbourhood and tried to reach Bihac, but there was a blockade, and we had to return home. Not long afterwards, there was an incident in one of the surrounding villages, and Serbian uniformed volunteers were shot. The Serbs took this as a justification to bomb and burn the village. They killed anyone who did not run for safety.

When they knocked on my door, I answered. My one-year-old daughter was in my arms, and they told me, ‘I wouldn’t need a baby where I was going’.

Keraterm concentration camp

On May 31^st, the Serbs came to our suburb with tanks and troops. They forced the men to line up outside while they started torturing people and burning properties. They also went from house to house and forced people outside. There was no resistance from our side. They did not kill anyone at this point, but they harassed people.

When they knocked on my door, I answered. My one-year-old daughter was in my arms, and they told me, ‘I wouldn’t need a baby where I was going’.  They also handed my 6-year-old a toy gun. We were loaded into buses and transported to Keraterm, an old ceramic tiles factory. I used to work there before the war.

Keraterm consisted of three pavilions, and we were forced into the first one because the other two were already full of people. A large machine gun was positioned outside the door, pointing towards the building. One of the men with us was an employee of a local biscuit and wafer factory, so we negotiated with the guards for him to bring us some of those. That was our food every day.

Then they called for an Imam from Kozarac to go outside, and they started torturing him. We could hear them beating him, his cries and the guards swearing at him as they asked senseless questions that they did not expect answers for. It continued until we could not hear him anymore either.

Everybody was anxious and worried about what was coming next. When night fell, the devil’s dance began outside the fenced door. We could hear everything that happened because the door was not solid, but one of those hangar doors that lets you see the light from outside and hear the sounds. The sounds were horrific.

Serbs brought some poor souls whom they claimed had been caught with weapons.  We knew one of them by the nickname Tsar. They forced him to run in a circle with the machine gun on his shoulder as they hit him on his way around. We could hear his cries, and he kept falling, but he was forced to keep going. It went on for hours, until we could not hear him anymore. The Serb guards were yelling, singing, shooting…it was barbaric.

Then they called for an Imam from Kozarac to go outside, and they started torturing him. We could hear them beating him, his cries and the guards swearing at him as they asked senseless questions that they did not expect answers for. It continued until we could not hear him anymore either.

That night was one of those nights when you cannot tell if you are sleeping or trapped in a horrific nightmare.

I was held in Keraterm for a week. The Serbs were killing people, but at the same time, our families were coming to visit us. It was surreal. My mother and my six-year-old daughter were turned back once, but my uncle brought two packs of cigarettes and said, ‘Don’t worry, they will let you go free, as soon as they do some investigations. I was with a mixed ethnic group of companions last night, and we were having a good time. It’s OK.’ He was trying to explain how he was still able to have fun with his Serbian friends, and all I remember thinking to myself was how naïve.

One day, Dusko Tadic Duka stormed into our pavilion with his group of killers and a military dog. He started beating everyone in his path, and we ran into the corners of the room, leaving the middle empty. He found one poor victim and began accusing him of selling bombs. He used it as an excuse to start beating him with something. I remember the sound of the poor man screaming and crying.

Transfer to Omarska

After my interrogation, I was transferred to the Omarska concentration camp. When we left the buses, we were met with semi-clothed men who were sitting on the hot summer asphalt in between two buildings. Their eyes seemed sunken deep into their eye sockets, and you could see the fear in them. Some of them were topless and you could see their bones and ribs poking through their tanned skin.

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When we ran through them, one of them pulled me down to sit beside me. It was one of my relatives, and he signalled for me to be quiet as I was about to ask him what was going on. He then pointed to the bus we had left, and I saw my uncle stepping out of it. He was the one we were waiting for outside the police station on our way to Omarska. He was the one who had told me everything was going to be all right. So much for his optimism. He was dressed for work and was holding his coat over his shoulder. I waved at him, and he joined us with shock and disbelief in his eyes.

Another time, I was sitting with the others on the asphalt when the guards started beating a man for saying ‘bujrum’ (you are welcome to join) while he was eating a piece of bread in front of the kitchen. The Serbs beat him to death.

I ended up being detained in Omarska for two months. Some days on that hot summer asphalt, some nights in one of the buildings. I witnessed many beatings, torture, and killings.

I was interrogated twice while being tortured to the point that I was not sure if I would live. My father was also brought to Omarska at some point. He was searching for his brother, who had not been answering his calls. The people who ‘arrested’ him told him he would find his brother where they were taking him.

One of the scenes that is etched into my memory is when a mentally disabled young man tried to exit the ‘White House’ (a room where they used to torture us) through the window. We all knew about his disability, and someone even yelled ‘NO!’ to stop him, but the rifle killed him as he fell into the grass.

Another time, I was sitting with the others on the asphalt when the guards started beating a man for saying ‘bujrum’ (you are welcome to join) while he was eating a piece of bread in front of the kitchen. The Serbs beat him to death. He had been a new arrival in the camp.

I witnessed another 5 or 6 murders. Many nights, men were forced out by the Serbs, and they were never seen alive again. There was also nightly torture outside; people were set on fire. We could hear the screams and the gunshots all night.

Transfer to Manjaca

Around July, my father and uncle were transferred from Omarska to Trnopolje concentration camp. A month later, most of us were transferred from Omarska to Manjaca. While we were being transported to Manjaca, we saw Bosnian villages burning along the way. There was a 70 km distance between Omarska and Manjaca, but the journey took a whole day. We were crammed against one another into the buses, and occasionally, guards would run over us, because we were seated on the floor, to hit someone at the back of the bus.

When we arrived at Manjaca, we were not allowed to leave the buses. It was a hot summer night, and it appeared that they had turned on the heating.

At some point, I lost the sense of time and location. It was nighttime, and it was very dark. Occasionally, the bus would stop, and someone would enter the bus to ask if a certain person was inside the bus and ask them to step out. They were looking to finish those who seemed to be on their death list.

When we arrived at Manjaca, we were not allowed to leave the buses. It was a hot summer night, and it appeared that they had turned on the heating. It was so hot that condensation was running down the windows, and some of the men were trying to drink the condensation because we did not have access to water. In the morning, we were organised into groups of around a hundred and ordered to crawl on our knees across a rocky road, and we were beaten on our way into the camp. I saw so many people being killed before we even entered the camp.

We were held in cattle hangars, forced to lie in rows on the floor, shared blankets, there was no hygiene, and so many of us got sick with various infectious diseases. In addition, the torture continued.

Once we were inside, canisters with drinking water were delivered, but no matter how much we drank, we could not seem to quench our thirst. Doctors and medics were checking our conditions before we crossed the fence into the camps, but as they were ‘recording’ our wounds and marks, the guards were beating us and ordering us to throw all our belongings, like our IDs, onto the floor.

The conditions in Manjaca were much better than in Omarska because it was registered with the International Red Cross. Eventually, we even started eating better as the international media and public started to learn about the concentration camps and the horrors happening there. We were registered and received our ID cards with numbers, but the conditions were still horrible. We were held in cattle hangars, forced to lie in rows on the floor, shared blankets, there was no hygiene, and so many of us got sick with various infectious diseases. In addition, the torture continued.

Manjaca was in the mountain ranges. The weather started getting colder as the rain turned to snow. The days became progressively shorter and shorter. The November nights were long, and if we fell asleep during those dark evenings, we woke up thinking it must be close to sunrise, just to find out it was only around 8 PM.

Eventually, we were released. A deal was made that stated we would be released to ‘third countries’ under the condition that we never returned to BiH. On the 16^th of December 1992, my group was loaded into buses, and we were driven to the Croatian borders. On our way there, Serb villagers, including women and children, threw rocks at the bus and broke some of the windows. They even managed to injure some of us.

The importance of learning about the war in BiH

 The war in BiH was the last war of the twentieth century in Europe. Even though it is often referred to as a ‘civil war’, it was not. It was a double aggression against Bosniaks, their land and sovereignty by their neighbours. This aggression was supported by certain internal factors. The international community was also involved; they imposed an arms embargo on the region, which only affected the Bosnian side.

The lesson here speaks to the incompetence of the United Nations and the failure of the international community. If international law could not be enforced in BiH and if the international community could not protect its members, then it’s no wonder that international institutions are at their breaking point today.

The United Nations established ‘safe zones’ which were supposed to be free of violence and fighting to ensure the civil population was protected, but that was never enforced. In Srebrenica, where the UN Dutch battalion peacekeepers were stationed, was handed over to Serb nationalists who went on to commit genocide. Thousands of innocent men and boys were murdered in July 1995.

The lesson here speaks to the incompetence of the United Nations and the failure of the international community. If international law could not be enforced in BiH and if the international community could not protect its members, then it’s no wonder that international institutions are at their breaking point today. Today, we see enormous human rights abuses, refugee and immigrant rights disregarded, the United Nations and its agencies weak and ineffective, threats of aggression, countries being taken over by force, and the undermining of sovereign governments.

Nobody wants to be a refugee. People do not leave their homes without a good reason. War and economic crises are the most common reasons people leave home, but these are usually caused by the injustice and inequality in the world.

Hopes for the future of BiH

BiH is one of the oldest countries in Europe. Even though its history is regarded as a history of wars and conflict, Bosnians can live together and chart their own path, without their neighbours meddling in their internal affairs. The international community could help by recognising the issue as it is, which is the continuous destruction of our sovereignty by external actors, and supporting the autonomy of BiH.

BIH can live in harmony if there is no interference from our neighbours, because the ‘Bosnian problem’ is a result of Serbia and Croatia, who are constantly trying to actualise their historic dreams of creating ‘greater countries’ at the expense of BiH. They also continue to use Bosnian Serbs and Bosnian Croats as their proxies. With this interference eliminated, Bosnians can work out their way internally so they can live in peace and prosper.

~Kemal Hodzic~