Latest news with #Croats
The Star
4 days ago
- Business
- The Star
Nearly 70 pct of BiH citizens support EU membership: survey
SARAJEVO, July 18 (Xinhua) -- Around 69.9 percent of citizens in Bosnia and Herzegovina (BiH) would vote in favor of European Union (EU) membership if a referendum were held, according to a public opinion survey released on Friday. However, the rate has declined by 1.3 percentage points compared to last year. The survey, conducted in June 2025 by the Directorate for European Integration, sampled 1,200 respondents across the country. Support for accession is strongest in the Federation of BiH (82.9 percent), followed by the Brcko District (71.3 percent), and lowest in Republika Srpska (46.1 percent). Among the supporters, respondents most commonly cited freedom of movement, peace, and the rule of law as key benefits. However, 36.6 percent of opponents expressed concern over increased living costs and taxes. Others mentioned fears of losing cultural identity, increased emigration, or a growing bureaucratic burden. Skepticism about the EU's intentions also emerged in the findings: 38.1 percent of respondents believe the EU is primarily interested in BiH's natural resources, while 30.9 percent believe the integration process is hindered by political interference. Looking ahead, 34 percent believe BiH could join the EU within a decade, and 58.4 percent recognized the EU as BiH's largest financial donor, the survey noted. BiH is made up of two autonomous entities: the Federation of Bosnia and Herzegovina, with a majority of Bosniaks and Croats, and Republika Srpska, with a predominantly Serbian population. The Brcko District operates as a self-governing administrative unit under the joint sovereignty of both entities. The two entities have coexisted and functioned under a weak central government.
Telegraph
6 days ago
- General
- Telegraph
My cousin was the ‘Angel of Mostar' – 30 years on she's delivering aid in Gaza and Ukraine
My cousin Sally Becker had a strange recurring nightmare during childhood. Someone was about to remove her leg in hospital and she needed to escape. It instilled in her a long-term fear of losing a limb. But it somehow never stopped her from putting herself in countless situations where this might come to pass. Given the existence she has led in the past three decades, repeatedly entering war zones to save the lives of children caught up in bloody conflicts, it feels like a small miracle she's here at all. Since her early 30s, she's been shot in the leg, inhaled chlorine gas, gone on hunger strike in a Kosovo jail and crossed borders under sniper fire. She has helped evacuate civilians from Bosnia, Chechnya, Kosovo, Iraq, Syria, Ukraine and Gaza. Witnessed the worst of human suffering and carried on, even when her freelance humanitarian missions threatened to become engulfed in red tape and resistance. Facing her for the first time in her tidy sitting room in Hove, East Sussex, I'm struck by how much like the rest of my family she is in appearance and manner. And yet how unlike the rest of us, hurling herself into life-threatening environments from which most would recoil in horror. She was dubbed the Angel of Mostar when she first came to prominence during the Balkans conflict in the early 1990s. The story of this plucky British woman driving an ambulance across the frontline in Bosnia to evacuate sick and injured children captured the public imagination. It captured mine too, not least because she's my father's first cousin, and my first cousin once removed. For years I had heard of her exploits and wondered how she did it. Marvelled at the genetic shake-down that meant she fearlessly entered war zones, while I very much did not. Had she always been so intrepid, so undaunted by danger? 'I was a bit worried,' she says, recalling the days before she set off on her very first mission, a typically understated and down-to-earth response. A bit worried is how I feel before a mild-thrill theme park ride. Sally, now in her 60s, is discussing how she felt when she ignored the warning of her father (my great-uncle Jack) and hitched a ride to war-torn Bosnia with a humanitarian aid convoy. 'You can't get insurance for dismemberment!' her dad called to her from the hallway before she left. He thought she'd lost her mind. My cousin was undeterred. After what she calls a 'fairly normal' childhood in Brighton, the second of four children, Sally had spent her 20s travelling and working as an artist. She was living on the Costa del Sol in Spain by the time the break-up of Yugoslavia at the start of the 1990s led to violent struggle between Serbs, Muslims and Croats. As opposing ethnic groups fought for territory, families that had lived alongside each other as neighbours found themselves on opposite sides of a brutal civil war. 'I didn't even know where Bosnia was,' Sally admits. But one April afternoon in 1993, a news broadcast stopped her in her tracks. The moment her life changed direction forever came when a civilian in war-torn Sarajevo – a woman accompanied by a little boy – looked straight into the camera and asked, 'Why is no-one helping us?' Sally took it personally. 'It resonated with me,' she says. 'I felt like she was speaking to me directly, and I thought, 'Well yeah, why aren't I doing something?' So I decided I would.' In her new memoir, Where Angels Fear to Tread, she tells the incredible story of what happened next. It's the story of a life spent going where the need was greatest, however perilous this was. Of taking huge personal risks to help as many people as possible. Of doing what she could to 'make a difference', as it's now known. 'People didn't really use that term then,' she reflects, 'but perhaps that's what I'd always wanted to do but hadn't found a way.' Becoming the 'angel' She had thought of becoming a doctor when she was younger. But when she asked her GP if she could borrow his books, he just laughed. Lacking both medical experience and engineering skills, she was turned away by various humanitarian organisations. Only when she approached a Croatian one called Suncokret was she finally accepted as a volunteer. Suncokret arranged for her to join a convoy of trucks setting off from Godstone in Surrey in May 1993 and travelling overland to the Balkans. 'I thought I'd be there for two or three weeks,' she says. 'Instead, here we are, 30-odd years later.' Delivering aid to a hospital under the control of Croat forces on the west side of the historic Bosnian city of Mostar, Sally saw wards 'filled with scarred and bandaged victims of the war raging less than a mile away,' she writes, in prose that capture the hell of armed conflict and its impact on civilians, as seen from the closest quarters. Lodging in a hotel in Čitluk, 14 miles from Mostar, she was kept awake at night by the sound of missiles. It didn't scare her away, and she spent those first weeks in Bosnia ferrying aid to the hospital and helping a community living close to the frontline. By June, divided Mostar was under siege from the Croatian Defence Council (HVO). They controlled access to the city and international aid organisations couldn't get in. Sally was determined. At the hospital she met the head of the Croatian Military Health Authorities, Dr Ivan Bagarić. She told him she and her colleagues had hired a car, a white Renault 4, but needed permission to pass through the checkpoints in Croat-controlled areas. Dr Bagarić obliged, meaning Sally was able to drive back and forth from Čitluk to Mostar delivering aid – seemingly the only foreign aid worker at that time who could. One day, a member of the UN Civil Police told her of the plight of a three-year-old Muslim boy living in East Mostar. He was suffering a serious heart problem and desperately needed surgery. Could Sally use her apparent influence with the Croats to obtain permission to evacuate him, asked the officer. Dr Bagarić gave her permission to do so, 'Not for one child but for all the sick and wounded children and their mothers,' he said. It marked a turning point in Sally's war work. 'I would have risked my life to save just one child,' she writes. 'Ivan was giving me a chance to save them all.' A ceasefire was arranged and Sally set off in an ambulance, steering around the spikes of deadly mines that protruded from the road. Crossing a disused airfield, she came under sniper fire and terror truly struck her for the first time. She was convinced she would be killed. 'Actually being in control of a vehicle which was being targeted by snipers was awful,' she says. 'I had a ceasefire arranged so I didn't expect to be shot at, it was totally unexpected. I just acted on instinct and decided to carry on driving while ducking beneath the steering wheel and putting my foot down.' She remembered from films how cars swerved to and fro to avoid being hit by gunfire. She did the same and somehow escaped injury. The mission was ultimately a success, resulting in the evacuation of five injured and sick children, who were taken to Italy and then the US for medical care. It made headlines around the world. The 'angel' moniker was coined, and it stuck. I was at primary school at the time and knew nothing of the Balkans and only a little about that side of my father's family. We lived in Leeds, far from the Beckers in Brighton, who my dad used to visit as a child. I heard about the Angel of Mostar and felt proud to be related to her, even if I didn't actually know where Mostar was. We learnt of Sally's exploits from the media, and no doubt also from my grandmother (her aunt). It all seemed exciting, if remote. I had no grasp of the danger she was in. Then, in July 2012, I was watching the opening ceremony of the London Olympics and suddenly there she was. Dressed in white, my cousin was one of eight notable figures carrying the Olympic flag into the stadium while the world watched. She walked alongside Ban Ki-Moon, then secretary-general of the UN , Shami Chakrabarti, then head of civil rights group Liberty and others. 'Oh my gosh,' I said, 'it's Sally Becker! Did we know she was going to be there?' It came as a surprise to me, but perhaps it shouldn't have. She had ended up evacuating about 300 children from Bosnia during the conflict, and had spent the years since then engaged in similar activities in other war zones. The numbers she saved had climbed into the hundreds. It was, she explains, that initial breakthrough in Bosnia that spurred her on. 'Suddenly finding that I was able to save a life changed everything for me,' she says. 'I felt like I was finally doing something worthwhile.' 'I didn't give death much thought' The publicity her work in Bosnia received helped draw attention to the plight of civilians but didn't come without criticism. The UN, she says, made out she was some kind of maverick. 'They said, 'We can't have every granny in a bus turning up.'' (She was in her early 30s at the time.) She describes the negativity she encountered from some as 'frustrating', more because it was unhelpful to what she was trying to achieve than because it was hurtful. Doing what she has done must require immense reserves of mental fortitude. But on the sunny spring day when I visit her, I learn she is far from immune to the inevitable physical hardships of working in war zones. Her friends called her 'the wimp of Mostar', she smiles. 'It's not that I get scared easily, it's that I don't like walking, I don't like being cold, I'm not into camping or sitting on uncomfortable chairs. I'm really a bit of a pain. But out there I had to face all those things and a lot more.' The distaste for uncomfortable chairs is understandable, given an episode in Kosovo, another part of the former Yugoslavia where ethnic tension had been escalating since 1993. It erupted into open conflict in March 1998 between Serb police and the separatist Kosovo Liberation Army (KLA). In December 1997, Sally started a campaign to raise money for aid and medical supplies to help civilians in the province. She appealed for British volunteers to join her on the mission, and set off with them in a convoy of ambulances and trucks from Brighton to deliver several tonnes of aid. In June 1998, after fighting had intensified, the borders to Kosovo were closed so she decided to bring the aid to some of the thousands of refugees who had fled to Albania. With 26 volunteers aged 30 to 65, she drove to the port of Bari in Italy, then boarded a ferry to the country. When the aid had been delivered and the rest of the convoy was returning home, Sally crossed the mountains on foot with a guide, to deliver paediatric medical supplies to a hospital in Junik, a town in western Kosovo surrounded by Serb forces. Here she was asked to evacuate sick and injured children and their families back across the border to Albania. It would be a hazardous journey, but she agreed and set out on foot with two guides and a group of 24 women and children. Those who weren't well enough to walk were carried on mules. Resting in woods at the border, they heard machine gun fire tear through the air. A helicopter gunship appeared overhead. While the rest of the group made it safely back to Junik, Sally stayed to help a woman and two children. After they were pinned down by gunfire for an hour, she surrendered and was arrested and taken to a police station in Gjakova in Kosovo. The Serb paramilitary police interrogated her while forcing her to sit for three days and three nights on a broken chair that could only be prevented from toppling if she balanced using her feet (an ordeal she blames for back problems she suffers today). Brought before a local judge, she was sentenced to 30 days in Lipljan Prison for crossing the border without a visa. She must have known she might not survive some of these situations. Must have reckoned with the prospect of death but somehow either accepted it or pushed it aside? 'I was always an optimist,' she shrugs. 'So I probably didn't give it much thought.' 'I'll do it as long as I can' After Kosovo, Sally became a single mother to a daughter, Billie, now 25. I was informed of this development, oddly, by my GCSE history teacher who had read about my cousin in the news. Looking back now, I realise that while I was sitting through history lessons, she was making history and not just headlines. Billie's father was Bill Foxton, a decorated former soldier who worked in conflict zones around the world and who Sally had met in Kosovo, but the relationship didn't last. If Sally had to go away, she left Billie with her mother back home. But motherhood raised the stakes. 'It became much more frightening because there was so much more to lose,' she says. 'Apart from my mum, Billie only had me.' Still, in 2017, she travelled to Mosul in Iraq, again to help evacuate women and children caught in the crossfire as Iraqi forces fought to take the city back from Isis. 'I didn't tell [Billie] I was going to Mosul until I got back,' she says. 'The possibility that [if I was captured] she might see me being held by Isis dressed in an orange jumpsuit doesn't bear thinking about.' Does her daughter ever try to talk her out of going into conflict zones? 'No, she doesn't, she knows it's pointless,' she laughs. Fortunately she can now help save lives remotely as well as in the field, having set up an app called Save A Child, which connects doctors in conflict zones with an international network of specialist paediatric consultants. It enables doctors in remote places, such as parts of Afghanistan, to upload paediatric case histories and receive expert advice on how to treat a child. The app hasn't kept her at home though. In the last few years she has been to Ukraine and helped evacuate 240 children and mothers, and briefly to Egypt to help evacuate nine injured Palestinian children and their families from Gaza. Sitting in her comfortable home on a quiet and leafy residential street near the southern English coast, I wonder how she adjusts each time she returns. She's done it for so long, she says, that it doesn't feel jarring, not really. 'It's more that when I get back I think, 'Oh my goodness, I can have whatever I want to eat,' because obviously it's always difficult to get nice food in a war zone.' Can she imagine a time when she decides not to go any more? 'It's becoming physically difficult as I get older. But I'll do it as long as I can.' After that, she won't quit altogether; she'll continue her work remotely. My cousin isn't someone who stops, I realise. Wars are still raging across the world and she's still got so much to do.
The Journal
11-07-2025
- Politics
- The Journal
'Europe watched as our children were killed': Bosnia remembers Srebrenica genocide 30 years on
THOUSANDS OF PEOPLE have gathered in Srebrenica to commemorate the genocide committed 30 years ago by Bosnian Serb forces, one of Europe's worst atrocities since World War II. On the eve of the commemorations, thousands of Srebrenica peace marchers who have walked more than 100 kilometres in memory of the victims and survivors of the massacre arrived at the Srebrenica-Potocari Memorial Center. The remains of seven victims of the massacre will be laid to rest during commemorations, marking the bloodiest episode of Bosnia's inter-ethnic war in the 1990s. A child places a flower on a truck carrying remains of the identified victims Alamy Alamy The war broke out after Bosnia declared independence, a move supported by the country's Muslims and Croats, but rejected by Serbs. On 11 July, 1995, after a siege of more than three months, Bosnian Serb forces captured the eastern town, which was at the time a UN-protected enclave. They killed 8,000 Muslim men and boys in the following days and buried them in mass graves. Around 100 women were killed in the massacre, 80 of whom remain missing. So far about 7,000 victims have been identified and buried while about 1,000 are still missing. In a bid to cover up the crime, the Bosnian Serb authorities had the remains removed to secondary mass graves, causing many of the bodies to be shredded by heavy machinery, according to experts. The remains of seven newly identified victims of the 1990s genocide arrive in Potočari ahead of a mass gathering Alamy Alamy Thirty years of pain 'For 30 years we have carried the pain in our souls,' said Munira Subasic, president of the association Mothers of Srebrenica. Her husband Hilmo and 17-year-old son Nermin were killed in the massacre. 'Our children were killed, innocent, in the UN protected zone. Europe and the world watched in silence as our children were killed.' The seven victims buried on Friday at the memorial centre included a 19-year-old man and a 67-year-old woman. The remains of most of the victims are incomplete and in some cases consist only of one or two bones, experts said. Advertisement The families have waited for years to bury their loved ones, hoping that more remains would be found. But Mevlida Omerovic decided not to wait any longer to bury her husband Hasib. He was killed at the age of 33, probably in Petkovci, around 60 kilometres (37 miles) north of Srebrenica. Around a thousand people were transported there and locked up in a school before being executed. It is one of five mass execution sites of the massacre, the only atrocity of Bosnia's 1992-1995 war that was qualified as genocide by international justice institutions. 'Thirty years have passed and I have nothing to wait for anymore,' said Omerovic, 55. She wants to be able to visit the grave of her husband, even though only his jawbone will be in the coffin. Visiting the graves of her two sons Sajib and Sinan, killed in the massacre in their early 20s, enables Nezira Mehmedovic to feel closer to them. 'I like the most to come here to my sons. I talk to them, I cry, I pray, I kiss them … and for thirty years like that,' she told AFP sitting next to her sons' graves. 'My heart aches for them constantly,' the 75-year-old woman said crying. 'They say life goes on … But how?' Graves for seven newly identified victims of genocide in Srebrenica ready for burial Alamy Alamy Serb denial Bosnian Serb wartime political and military leaders Radovan Karadzic and Ratko Mladic were sentenced to life imprisonment by an international tribunal, notably for the Srebrenica genocide. But Serbia and Bosnian Serb leaders continue to deny that the massacre was a genocide. 'The Serbs did not commit genocide in Srebrenica… it did not happen', Bosnian Serb leader Milorad Dodik said this month. Last year, an international day of remembrance was established by the United Nations to mark the Srebrenica genocide, despite protests from Belgrade and Bosnian Serbs. 'July 11 is a day of great sadness and pain,' Ramiza Gurdic, whose husband Junuz and sons Mehrudin and Mustafa were killed in the massacre, told AFP. 'But for me, every day is July 11, every night, every morning, when I get up and realise that they are not here.'
RTÉ News
11-07-2025
- Politics
- RTÉ News
Bosnia commemorates Srebrenica genocide 30 years on
Thousands of people are gathering in Srebrenica today to commemorate the genocide committed 30 years ago by Bosnian Serb forces, one of Europe's worst atrocities since World War II. On the eve of the commemorations, thousands of Srebrenica peace marchers who have walked more than 100km in memory of the victims and survivors of the massacre arrived at the Srebrenica-Potocari Memorial Center. The remains of seven victims of the massacre will be laid to rest during commemorations, marking the bloodiest episode of Bosnia's inter-ethnic war in the 1990s. The war broke out after Bosnia declared independence, a move supported by the country's Muslims and Croats, but rejected by Serbs. On 11 July 1995, after a siege of more than three months, Bosnian Serb forces captured the eastern town, which was at the time a UN-protected enclave. They killed 8,000 Muslim men and boys in the following days and buried them in mass graves. Around 100 women were killed in the massacre, 80 of whom remain missing. So far, about 7,000 victims have been identified and buried, while about 1,000 are still missing. In a bid to cover up the crime, the Bosnian Serb authorities had the remains removed to secondary mass graves, causing many of the bodies to be shredded by heavy machinery, according to experts. Thirty years of pain "For 30 years we have carried the pain in our souls," said Munira Subasic, president of the association Mothers of Srebrenica. Her husband, Hilmo, and 17-year-old son, Nermin, were killed in the massacre. "Our children were killed, innocent, in the UN-protected zone. Europe and the world watched in silence as our children were killed." The seven victims buried today at the memorial centre included a 19-year-old man and a 67-year-old woman. The remains of most of the victims are incomplete and in some cases consist only of one or two bones, experts said. The families have waited for years to bury their loved ones, hoping that more remains would be found. But Mevlida Omerovic decided not to wait any longer to bury her husband, Hasib. He was killed at the age of 33, probably in Petkovci, around 60km north of Srebrenica. Around a thousand people were transported there and locked up in a school before being executed. It is one of five mass execution sites of the massacre, the only atrocity of Bosnia's 1992-1995 war that was qualified as genocide by international justice institutions. "Thirty years have passed and I have nothing to wait for anymore," said Ms Omerovic, 55. She wants to be able to visit the grave of her husband, even though only his jawbone will be in the coffin. Visiting the graves of her two sons, Sajib and Sinan, killed in the massacre in their early 20s, enables Nezira Mehmedovic to feel closer to them. "I like the most to come here to my sons. I talk to them, I cry, I pray, I kiss them ... and for thirty years like that," she said, sitting next to her sons' graves. "My heart aches for them constantly," the 75-year-old woman said, crying. "They say life goes on ... But how?" Serb denial Bosnian Serb wartime political and military leaders Radovan Karadzic and Ratko Mladic were sentenced to life imprisonment by an international tribunal, notably for the Srebrenica genocide. But Serbia and Bosnian Serb leaders continue to deny that the massacre was a genocide. "The Serbs did not commit genocide in Srebrenica... it did not happen", Bosnian Serb leader Milorad Dodik said this month. Last year, an international day of remembrance was established by the United Nations to mark the Srebrenica genocide, despite protests from Belgrade and Bosnian Serbs. "July 11 is a day of great sadness and pain," Ramiza Gurdic, whose husband Junuz and sons Mehrudin and Mustafa were killed in the massacre, said. "But for me, every day is July 11, every night, every morning, when I get up and realise that they are not here."
Straits Times
11-07-2025
- Business
- Straits Times
Bosnia commemorates Srebrenica genocide 30 years on
Sign up now: Get ST's newsletters delivered to your inbox The remains of seven victims of the massacre will be laid to rest during July 11's commemorations. SREBRENICA - Thousands of people are expected to gather in Srebrenica on July 11 to commemorate the genocide committed 30 years ago by Bosnian Serb forces, one of Europe's worst atrocities since World War II. The remains of seven victims of the massacre will be laid to rest during July 11's commemorations, marking the bloodiest episode of Bosnia's inter-ethnic war in the 1990s. The war broke out after Bosnia declared independence, a move supported by the country's Muslims and Croats but rejected by Serbs. On July 11, 1995, after a siege of more than three months, Bosnian Serb forces captured the eastern town – a UN-protected enclave at the time. They killed 8,000 Muslim men and boys in the following days and buried them in mass graves. Around 100 women were killed in the massacre, 80 of whom remain missing. So far about 7,000 victims have been identified and buried while about 1,000 are still missing. Top stories Swipe. Select. Stay informed. Business S'pore to launch new grant for companies, expand support for workers amid US tariff uncertainties World Trump to use presidential authority to send weapons to Ukraine, sources say World Trump nominates 'alpha male' influencer to be ambassador to Malaysia Opinion Whisper it softly, there's a new Japan rising Business Popiah king Sam Goi makes $123.5 million offer to buy rest of PSC Business Company in talks to buy Esso petrol stations in Singapore, said to be worth $1.28 billion: Sources World The $12.8m bag: Original Birkin smashes records at Paris auction Asia Tariffs overshadow diplomacy as Asean foreign ministers press on with meetings In a bid to cover up the crime, the Bosnian Serb authorities had the remains removed to secondary mass graves, causing many of the bodies to be shredded by heavy machinery, according to experts. Thirty years of pain 'For 30 years we have carried the pain in our souls,' said Ms Munira Subasic, president of the association Mothers of Srebrenica. Her husband Hilmo and 17-year-old son Nermin were killed in the massacre. 'Our children were killed, innocent, in the UN protected zone. Europe and the world watched in silence as our children were killed.' The seven victims to be buried on July 11 at the Srebrenica-Potocari Memorial Centre include a 19-year-old man and a 67-year-old woman. 'Unfortunately, the remains of most of these victims are incomplete. In some cases there are only one or two bones,' said Ms Emza Fazlic, spokeswoman for Bosnia's Institute for Missing People. The families waited for years to bury their loved ones, hoping that more remains would be found. But Ms Mevlida Omerovic decided not to wait any longer to bury her husband Hasib. He was killed at the age of 33, probably in Petkovci, around 60km north of Srebrenica. Around a thousand people were transported there and locked up in a school before being executed. It is one of five mass execution sites of the massacre, the only atrocity of Bosnia's 1992-1995 war that was qualified as genocide by international justice institutions. 'Thirty years have passed and I have nothing to wait for anymore,' said Ms Omerovic, 55. She wants to be able to visit the grave of her husband, even though only his jawbone will be in the coffin. Serb denial Bosnian Serb wartime political and military leaders Radovan Karadzic and Ratko Mladic were sentenced to life imprisonment by an international tribunal, notably for the Srebrenica genocide. But Serbia and Bosnian Serb leaders continue to deny that the massacre was a genocide. 'The Serbs did not commit genocide in Srebrenica... it did not happen', Bosnian Serb leader Milorad Dodik said in July. In 2024, an international day of remembrance was established by the United Nations to mark the Srebrenica genocide, despite protests from Belgrade and Bosnian Serbs. 'July 11 is a day of great sadness and pain,' Ms Ramiza Gurdic, whose husband Junuz and sons Mehrudin and Mustafa were killed in the massacre, told AFP. 'But for me, every day is July 11, every night, every morning, when I get up and realise that they are not here.' AFP
