Onderstaand stukje heb ik geschreven naar aanleiding van 75 jaar vrijheid in Nederland.

On this very day, 75 years ago, Auschwitz was liberated. Today I choose to liberate myself and to change the course of my life. For no specific reason, except that I am ready. For years I have been hiding behind my professional life. I have been a financial account manager, business economist, tax consultant, educational expert, lecturer and researcher, but from this moment on, I am first of all a genocide survivor.

Once upon a time there was a city with a beautiful name and a glorious history. My beloved hometown, called ‘The Silver City’. The city was full of life and joy. The green nature, mountainous landscape, the red river named Guber, which owes its color to the many minerals in the ground. The green lake Perucac, no traffic, no crowds and the hospitality of the city attracted people from all over the world. People visited the silver city for peace, relaxation and healing. I remember happy times with friends and family. A childhood that was pretty much carefree. My biggest concern was my annoying brother and cousins who used to tease me. That is the memory I have of my childhood in my hometown. Nothing special, just an ordinary city with ordinary people, I thought.

Suddenly, like a bolt from the blue, something outrageous happened and at the age of 14 I was forced to leave my hometown. Almost 25 years later, I still find it difficult to talk about my hometown and what happened there. I worked hard and I tried to build a new life in a different city, in a different country that I now call my home. Although this city is beautiful too and full of life and joy, and despite my professional and personal achievements, I do not feel complete. Inside of me there is a hole and it feels like it will never heal. That hole has a name. It is called Srebrenica. 

My beautiful silver city, what is left of your silver glory days? Srebrenica means literally ‘the silver city’ and it owes its name to the Romans, who discovered large amounts of silver hidden in the Guber Valley. The Romans used a very similar name, Argentaria, which means ‘silver city’ as well. Through the centuries it was a symbol of well-being, but by 1995 my silver city had turned into a ghost town. People from all over the world still visit Srebrenica today, only for a very different reason. Although it bears the same name, the city is no longer silver. It turned gray and black, it carries no life, no joy, no friends, no cousins’ who used to tease me. Instead there is only sadness and the white tombstones that are silent witnesses to the largest (and hopefully last) genocide after WWII on our European territory, not even 25 years ago. People used to come to Srebrenica for vacation, for peace, relaxation and healing not that long ago. Nowadays Srebrenica only has to offer sadness, sorrow and tears. What once was beauty has turned into ugliness. Srebrenica is a silver city no more 

I survived the Srebrenica genocide, I was lucky. Many of my relatives and friends did not have this kind of luck. This has become a burden on my shoulders and it was very hard for me to talk about everything that has happened. I didn’t want to be seen as a victim. So I worked hard and became a financial account manager, business economist, tax consultant, educational expert, lecturer and a researcher, I would definitely not become a victim of the Srebrenica genocide. I didn’t want people to see me as weak I guess, I would be strong at all costs… but Srebrenica continues to haunt me for several reasons and just today I realized that not talking about Srebrenica is weak. Being strong means being able to cry, to feel, to care about things we value the most. In my case that would be definitely the commemoration and recognition of Srebrenica genocide. And like I said at the beginning, today seems like a good day to change the course. I won’t flee anymore. This is my destiny, if such a thing exists. I will embrace it.

I am not a writer, not a poet, but I like to read, so I have borrowed this beautiful poem by Mak Dizdar to express how I feel right now. 

“Here one does not live

to live.

Here one does not live

to die,

Here one dies

to live”

And because many had to die so I could live, I will live to speak for them. For my dad, Rizo Mustafic, murdered at the age of 41 years old. He was taken away from us in a horrible, inhuman way. He would never see me, my brother or my sister graduate, getting married or having children. My dad didn’t get the chance to see his youngest one grow up. She was only 2 years old at the time. My youngest one is 2 years now. Big blue eyes, blond hair, he looks happy and healthy. At first glance it looks like he has everything he needs. One would say that he is a typical Dutch boy. But even he experiences the consequences of genocide every single day. While other kids enjoy being with their grandfather and grandmother, my baby boy and his 9 years old sister don’t even know what it means to have a grandfather. They never had one. They don’t understand why he had to be murdered? How to explain it to my children? To you? He had a ‘wrong’ name, he belonged to ‘wrong’ group of people according to people like Karadzic. 

For my dearest cousins, brothers Esnaf(27) en Esad(18) Sulejmanovic. I always thought that they were old at the time of their execution. I was only 14 and when you are 14 then 18 seems old, let alone 27. Only now I realise how young they were. Esnaf married young and he was expecting his second child. He never saw his son come to this world. He was born a few months after the genocide in Srebrenica. Esnaf’s children grew up without a father, uncle or grandfather. When I see his son now, it’s like I see Esnaf. Esad is a different story. He just left us our memories of him. The green Perucac lake reminds me of him the most. It is beautiful, large and quiet, just like Esad was. I remember one time that we didn’t have money to pay the ferryboat to take us to the other side of the lake. Nowadays that side of the lake is another country but back then it was one country, our Yugoslavia, and we really wanted to go there. I’m not even sure why, I think there was a girl he wanted to see. He was supposed to babysit me, so he was stuck with me. We walked to the narrowest part of the lake and we swam to the other side. Just like that. It was clear that he had done it more often, but I couldn’t swim at that time. So he swam with me around his neck. I wasn’t even scared.

For Hazim Hodzic (30) husband of my dearest niece Elvedina, sister of Esnaf en Esad. Elvedina and Hazim married during the aggression and they were expecting their first born. Hazim didn’t get the chance to see his daughter being born. She, Emina, was also born just a few months after the genocide in Srebrenica. She grew up without any male relative. She is a great student and I know we will be hearing of her in the future. Her dad must be very proud of her, I know I am. I’m also proud of her beautiful mam. It is difficult to raise a child on your own, let alone in her situation. She had to be a father and mother at the same time. But she did one hell of a job. Even though life hasn’t treated her well, she is a mess I must admit, but she never gave up, she kept going on. If her life was terrible, she tried to give their daughter a better life, as far as that is possible. She lost the man she loves, two brothers, her father, her uncles (my dad), practically every male in her family.

For my cousin Amir (20) and his dad Asim Mujic. They lived next door to us. I used to spend a lot of time at their home when I was young. Tahira, Amir’s mother, used to babysit me when my parents were working. She was basically my second mom and Amir was just like another brother to me. For Nedzad Hrvacic (26), niece Raza’s husband, Amir’s sister. Nedzad did get the chance to see his firstborn. But she was just a baby when he was executed in the Srebrenica genocide. It tooks years to find enough of his remains so he could be buried. Parts of his body were found in several mass graves. His daughter Nerma also grew up without a father, uncle and grandfather.

For my beautiful cousins brothers Alija (23) and Asim (16) and their dad Reuf. I always thought that Alija was very old. He didn’t want to play with us. But he did let us watch movies we were not supposed to watch. For the husband of my cousin Kadefa, sister of Alija en Asim. He did see the birth of his son. But a few months after his son was born, the little baby’s father would be executed in the Srebrenica genocide. Most of those children grew up without any male relatives, in refugee camps, far away from their home and loved ones.

For my dear cousin Edin (16) and his dad Ibro (44) Osmanovic. We used to play a lot when we were kids. Edin was too big for his age. Beautiful blue eyes, blond hair, his younger sister, Sahza, looks a lot like him. Even though he was the same age as my brother, he looked much older. I loved him because he always stood up for me and because he teased my brother.

For my cousin Adnan(16). How difficult and short his life was. They were forced to leave their home after their village was set on fire. I remember the day that they came to our place. Their father came with 4 children: Alma, Adnan, Tima and Pasa. They had lost everything. They saw their house and all their possessions go up in flames. They had absolutely nothing. They had even lost their mother and older brother previously. They were looking for a place to stay and their father knew he had a distant cousin in Srebrenica, so they came to our door. Alma (we share the same name) was only 15 and she took care of everyone. She was cooking, washing, she was like a mom to the younger ones. But she was a child herself. Since we spent a lot of time together during the war, we became good friends. Adnan, at the age of 16, was also killed in the Srebrenica genocide. I am not a religious person, but at moments like this I would like to be one. I would like to believe that he is in a better place, reunited with his older brother and their mother. Unfortunately, my father’s atheist indoctrination was very effective.

For other Pitarevic family members: Memis, Ermin and Mevludin (Soko), relatives of my father who lived in our house after they were forced to flee their own. For members of the Osmanovic family: Safet, Mehmedalija and Jusuf, relatives of my mothers. They were all killed in july 1995. For friends like Nesib Fejzic, who also lived in our house with his family after they had fled their ruined village. He was murdered too. Luckily his son, Elvir, managed to survive although he was 16 at that time and most boys of that age were killed. For my uncle Nurija Sirucic, who was such a nice man. I don’t even remember I ever saw him without a smile on his face. He was always very positive and willing to help.

For our dear neighbor, Esad Bosno, certainly the nicest and kindest human being I ever met. He definitely never harmed anyone or anything. He was loved by al his neighbors. He made everyone feel good during our most difficult times. And we, the children, were happy to see him because he would always manage somehow to surprise us with a candy or something sweet. This was almost impossible, because stores in Srebrenica had been closed for ages. He loved to laugh. He liked being among people. I guess he missed his wife and children and didn’t want to be alone at home. His wife and children left Srebrenica before the war. His son Edis was my age, we were good friends, we still are.

For my dad’s dearest friend, Mirsad Kavazbasic. This man loved to make jokes. He was never serious. When my father would come back from the Dutchbat HQ, where he was working at that time, Mirsad would always ask: what did you eat today? Tell us everything, was it chicken this time? My dad said; half of a chicken. Mirsad continued: and how was it? Was it good? Did you enjoy it? My father said; Mirso (a nick name), how can I eat knowing that my children don’t have enough to eat, knowing that you don’t have enough to eat? Mirsad would say something like; idiot, if we can’t eat, that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t eat either. But my dad couldn’t. In the beginning, when he started to work for Dutchbat, he was allowed to take his lunch home, so he did. He would take everything home with him and we would eat it together. But at some point it wasn’t allowed anymore. We loved Mirsad and his wife Naira. They became like family to us. They talked about their children all the time. They were not together because their children were staying elsewhere due to circumstances. After Srebrenica turned into an open air concentration camp they couldn’t be reunited with them. Their son was the same age as I was and Mirsad thought he would be a perfect match for me. He teased me that I would become his daughter-in-law. We met a few years later and we became friends. Mirsad also used to teach my brother how to hit on women. That was always very hilarious. Such nice memories of those two beautiful human beings. Mirsad was killed in the genocide too.  

For my neighbor boy Dino (16) and his dad Dzemaludin Halilovic. With his sister Dzemka we played together always. Dino was my brother’s age. My brother survived, Dino didn’t. When the body of Dino was found in one of the mass graves and he had to be buried, his mother asked my brother to put his body in the grave. She said: you always played together, would you please put my Dino in his grave…

This is the first time that I tried to make a list of relatives that I have lost in Srebrenica genocide and I can’t continue, it’s too hard. There are more. Maybe one day I will find the strength to complete this list. Every name raises so many memories. We have buried so many friends and relatives. They were only murdered because they belonged to the ‘wrong’ group of people according to the likes of Milosevic, Karadzic and Mladic.

How can I feel complete after all this and losing all those people? How can that hole inside of me heal? How could I ever think that I could build a new life far away from my hometown, without the people I love and never have to look back? How could I ever think that I am weak if I cry talking about the loved ones that are no longer among us? I want to talk about them, I have to talk about Srebrenica, I have to talk about this genocide for several reasons.

First of all I have to talk about Srebrenica because most of you don’t even know that this genocide took place. And secondly I have to talk about Srebrenica because of people who are trying to downplay or even deny what happened in Srebrenica.

There are many forms of denial. In addition to real deniers, there are some people who try to downplay the Srebrenica genocide by calling it by a different name, like mass-killings or massacre. In Srebrenica a genocide was committed. Genocide is the gravest crime against humanity. It is the mass extermination of a whole group of people, an attempt to wipe them out of existence. That is the judgment of several courts and councils. Men and boys were murdered, systematically executed. Even women have been murdered. The ones that weren’t killed, were deported. By 1995 full ethnic cleansing was completed in Srebrenica. Using a different name or term won’t make it less evil.

So why is Srebrenica important to know and to learn about? For one thing, Srebrenica is in the heart of Europe and for another it happened to be the last and largest genocide on our continent after WWII. Most important of all, the people who have survived this genocide are still alive and can tell us, can educate us, about genocide with all its suffering. Regardless if it is Armenian, Rwanda, Holocaust, Jasenovac, Srebrenica or any another genocide. We all bleed when we are cut. If you don’t know your history, you are doomed to repeat it.

So we need those survivors to tell us their stories and to remind us of how horrible human suffering is. And we need to hear those stories often, not just once a year, not just on this very day, but every single day. But it’s not enough just to tell the stories, we have to try to understand the mechanisms that drive us to ultimately commit such horrible crime. How else can we explain that Srebrenica could happen so soon after the Holocaust?

It took me almost 25 years to realize that I am not a victim, I am a survivor and I as long as I get to live I should talk and educate about genocide. As long as there are people who are willing to listen and to learn from our past to prevent a future genocide, there is hope for humanity and I will be heard. I will speak for those who cannot speak anymore. I will speak because I want this genocide to remain the last one in Europe.

Don’t forget Srebrenica 11.07.1995

Neka tuga bude NADA

Neka osveta bude PRAVDA

Neka majcina suza bude MOLITVA

Da se nikada i nikome ne ponovi SREBRENICA

Alma

Utrecht 27.01.2020