On Thursday 10 July, the day before the 30th anniversary of the Srebrenica genocide in 1995, there was a special event at Newcastle Civic Centre to commemorate the 8372 men and boys who were brutally murdered in cold blood by the Serbian army. That event also recognised Newcastle’s role in welcoming and supporting Bosnian refugees, who first arrived in the North East in the early 1990’s.
The commemoration included a tree planting ceremony, speeches, and performances by members of the Bosnian community. It began with an introduction from Smajo Beso OBE, who emphasised that the event was a commemoration of what happened at Srebrenica, but also honoured Newcastle’s role in welcoming Bosnians in the 1990s.
The address by Smajo Beso
After some introductory words from Mia Suljic Subramani, Smajo Beso spoke movingly of the compassion of the people of Newcastle who welcomed Bosnians with open arms. Smajo went on to tell us how July is a wound, when Bosnians still wonder how it could have happened and how the international community could have allowed it to happen. He pointed out that among the 8372 men and boys murdered at Srebrenica there was one Catholic, and he was now buried with the Muslims who died.
We were reminded that 100,000 were killed, while Sarajevo endured the longest siege of any capital city in the modern era. Even after all these years there are still more than 7000 missing in Bosnia. The atrocities were not an isolated incident; it was the same army against the same people. What happened in July 1995 at Srebrenica was the culmination of a campaign that had begun three years earlier in 1992. The genocide there was not just a three-day event, but part of a much longer process.
Even the language used, such as ‘ethnic cleansing’ is still hiding the truth. ‘Ethnic cleansing’ is meaningless, being neither a crime or legal term. Words matter when we fail to call genocide by name, and if we don’t call it genocide, we are part of the process of denial. Thirty years on the memories may be beginning to fade, but now we see some Serbs glorifying the war criminals who caused such death and suffering thirty years ago.
Smajo also pointed out that it was not only the Serbs who caused such suffering in Bosnia thirty years ago. The Croats were also responsible for terrible actions, including establishing the concentration camp where his father was taken. He went on to describe how at the age of eight he saw his dad taken away and put in a truck. The next day Croat soldiers came for his uncle. In August 1993, soldiers turned Smajo’s family out of their home and everything they owned had to be handed over to the local council.
He went with his mother and aunt to Mostar, where life was incredibly difficult. With many of the men in camps, the women kept society together. He talked of the resourcefulness of his mother and aunt who tried to make bread from chicken feed. His aunt was later killed by an improvised bomb. Smajo was still only about ten years old.
After the murder of her sister, his Mum could have told him to direct his anger at all Croatians, but she said that they could not do that. Instead, she responded with what he described as moral clarity and great compassion. Since then, he has tried to live a life shaped by empathy.
It was in July that Smajo and his family arrived in Newcastle. He talked of the recognition of their plight from people in Newcastle, including Newcastle Central MP Jim Cousins, who wrote to government about Smajo’s family as his constituents.
Smajo spoke of how once they got to Newcastle, the children went on trips and to parties and had incredible teachers. One of those teachers was Claire Webster-Saaremets, who taught the children in his class at Chillingham Road school a song they could sing in Bosnian to help Smajo feel welcome. He commented that humanising acts like this meant so much to the Bosnians who came to Newcastle.
He told of the links between the North East and Bosnia, which began when miners in Tuzla in Bosnia helped miners in this region during the Miners’ Strike of 1984/5, and of how ten years later the kindness was returned with the establishment of Workers Aid for Bosnia, popularly known as ‘Geordie Aid.’ From that came a new school project, which is going to share stories across Newcastle.
We were reminded that today the rhetoric towards refugees is changing, and there are echoes of what happened in Bosnia. Meanwhile Bosnian Muslims are still discriminated against while murderers from the 1990’s are celebrated. He was glad that he and the people around him did not turn to hatred. He finished by asking us to think of the children living through war today.
For many at the event, it was not just history but a source of deep pain, and a warning. But they carry their pain with dignity.
Tony Parker’s story: by his daughter Erin
Tony Parker organised ‘Geordie Aid.’ The first time Erin heard what her dad was doing was when a big white truck was parked outside her home, filled with donations from shops on Chillingham Road in Heaton. While she was still a child, Erin got to know some of the team. She talked of the way her dad didn’t think twice about going to take aid to Bosnia, he just knew that he wanted to go, and he remembered the 1984/5 Miners’ Strike.
Erin pointed out that she couldn’t imagine what it would be like for neighbours to turn on her, as they did on each other in Bosnia. She said we must all find a way of empathy, and that is the hope for the human race.
She read the following poem, which her father Tony Parker wrote about his experiences in Bosnia with ‘Geordie Aid.’ It is about a bombing that killed innocent young people:
May 25th
A spring May day, shattered by death
Gay young voices gasp a last breath
Evil struck from the skies that day
In Tuzla town on 25th May
72 bodies lie bloody and shattered
Serb, Muslim, Croat – it hardly mattered
to the faceless men, dealers in pain
Clinical death through explosive rain
The innocent lie in a sunny town square
Cordite and coffee smells blend in the air
People stand silent, stare in disbelief
The rest of the town united in grief
Numbed by shock, they can only shed tears
for a lost generation of such tender years
Hate is the reaper, he gathers his crop
When hate is abandoned, the killing can stop.
A mother’s story, by Nura Alispahic
This was read by Irena Mujagic Carlton. The story is of a mother at Srebrenica who packed food for her 16-year-old son, and said ‘go on son’. They would see each other again in Tuzla. The mother cried as she saw him go down the path before he came back to kiss her goodbye. Then her son walked towards the forest to join the column of men and boys. He was only 16 years old.
For years she hoped her son would return, but the hopes ended when she was told that some of his bones had been found. More were found later. She took the bone in her hand and kissed it. (The bodies of the victims of the genocide at Srebrenica were often buried and reburied several times to try and hide the evidence, so their remains are hard to find.)
Then news came on television from the Hague, where the Bosnian war crimes trial was being held. Now on a piece of film, the mother recognised her son. There were soldiers executing group of men and there he was her son, not even 17 years old, but the crime had been caught on camera.
She could not believe her eyes. They had shot her son in the back. Bosnian bodies were being thrown onto a truck, with four executed and the two forced to carry the bodies who were then executed. This murder of her son was broadcast around the world. The mother still visits her son’s grave at Potocari, and every time her heart trembles.
A father’s story, by Habib Rahman
Habib told the story of his father’s murder, and the need for respect to triumph over fear. Habib’s father was brutally stabbed to death in his workplace when Habib was only four years old. Then in 1992 another Muslim man was stabbed to death near where he was living, and it was then that his mother told Habib what had happened to his father. At first he was angry, but then he turned towards eradicating hatred. Habib spoke of forgiveness and not allowing hatred to dictate one’s life, and of speaking out about human rights even when it is uncomfortable to do.
Contributions from other speakers
The Lord Mayor spoke of how we gather thirty years on to commemorate, but the horrors still reverberate through our consciousness.
In a poem by Jimmi James, we heard about the spirit of daring to care, and that he loved Bosnia-Herzegovina with all his life. He emphasised; never again can we say never again.
Irena Mujagic Carlton talked poetically of how Bosnians came here with empty bags but hearts full of tragic stories, and how while everything was different, they found here a place where roots could grow. They grow quietly but are well anchored. The branches still lean towards Bosnia, but they blossom in Geordieland.
Closing remarks by Mia Suljic Subramani
Mia explained what was going to happen next and we followed her outside for a tree planting ceremony. This tree is for remembering the genocide at Srebrenica, all the other innocent victims of the war in Bosnia, and how Newcastle people gave Bosnians such a warm welcome. It was planted outside the Civic Centre facing towards St Thomas’ Church.
Reflections
Mia Suljic Subramani said that the event was:
“… about the Bosnians in our city, and acknowledging the work done to help us, and the educating that needs to be done regarding prevention of similar events happening again.”
Smajo commented on what the day meant to him, remembering what had happened in the 1990s:
“For me, personally, I was rounded up in my Civic Centre in Bosnia and we had to hand over everything to the local council; so, it is very symbolic to have this event here in Newcastle Civic Centre.”
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