Srebrenica Memorial
I visited the site of the Sebrenica Massacre last year. It’s been 30 years since the mass slaughter of innocent men, women, and children. Mass rape, genocide, killing, killing, killing. The memorials location sits right next to the site where these innocent Bosnian muslims were held before they were about to be slaughtered. The United Nations offered a false promise of intervention by forcibly disarming the Bosnians and leaving the Croatians and Serbians to their own designs. They failed to stop the endless slaughter of our Bosnian muslim brothers and sisters, the word ethnic cleansing was invented instead of using the word genocide. They did not want to admit to their culpability in the massacre. Sarajevo was placed under siege. The inhabitants were starving. The Bosnians were able to get the food, weapon, and supplies they needed to prevent Sarajevo from being over run. The tunnel of hope met in the middle. The site of the massacre at Sebrenica was a large warehouse building that used to be a factory for batteries. I didn’t feel like I had time to soak in all the details I wanted to at the pace I wanted too because our bus arrived late. We first sat and watched a documentary we were warned that the scenes were going to be very graphic and they were graphic but I was already desensitized by watching similar violence play out against Palestinians every single day. The videos made my blood boil, I felt a type of anger not for myself but that this was allowed to happen. Muslims must be prepared to defend themselves and they should never be unarmed or unprepared in this situation. The wolves, the devils, will all pounce the moment they smell weakness and thats exactly what happened at Sebrenica. The exhibit housed telephones, I thought that was very clever and analog, where you can pick up and hear the recordings of Bosnians crying out for help or being evacuated. The documentary was played on six seperate yet interconnected screens to add to the immersion.
We were then free to explore the first memorial for about 30 minutes. I saw the horrific way the dutch UN soldiers viewed the Bosnian’s with such hatred and disdain. It must have made it easier for them to give these Bosnian muslims up. If anyone were to be spared from genocide, it would be the white skin, light eyed, blond haired, Bosnian people. But they were not spared because they were hated for their Muslim faith. These people were killed for no other reason than professing my God is Allah (SWT). The anger stayed with me throughout the exhibits. I tried to take pictures but no matter how wide or close the shot, no matter how much I zoomed in and out, I could not capture the feeling that was portrayed by me being there.
The United Nations is called United Nothing by the Bosnians and I will honor that name and take it with me wherever I go. Their presence only emboldened and caused more confusion at Sebrenica to allow the massacre to occur. In several instances, Serbians posed as UN forces to lure Bosnians out of their positions only for them to be massacred. We watched a video where a Bosnian man was forced to call out his son to say the Serbians were safe and nothing was going to happen to them. Then we heard the mother’s testimony at The Hague learning that they both had died. We saw mass graves. The graves were dug up and taken to secondary and sometimes even third sites. Satellite images helped to uncover some of these remains but they are still being found to this day.
In a brief reprieve we went to a school that was housing and taking care of orphans and had cafeteria style lunch. The houses were colorful and everything was neatly organized. One of our travel companions remarked that Bosnia really did look like Paradise on earth there was so much beauty to be found everywhere. Crystal clear blue rivers, abundant fruit trees growing everywhere, herbs growing out of cracks in the walls, grapes hanging from people’s balconies. But in this same paradise a type of hell occurred a genocide.
After lunch we got to preview a new exhibit being built out that was right inside the warehouse where Bosnians were being kept before they were sent off for slaughter. It was heartbreaking to be just be there you felt a monumental sense of loss and my heart felt like it was on the floor. A Bosnian man whose father was murdered in the genocide was giving the presentation on the history of what happened in one week in July. Some shoes that were found in the forest near the mass graves were placed on the table. It was very haunting to think that these once belonged to innocent men women and children.
After this exhibit we walked to the memorial where 8,000 Bosnians were commemorated and the remains were buried. Shaykh Yasir Fahmy remarked and I felt the same that it felt like we were walking in Jannatul Baqi. We prayed Salatul Dhur and Asr together in congregation and we hard some advice from Shaykh Yasir on how to proceed. What to do, how to make dua, and to find a couple of names to make dua for. I was trying to take pictures of the memorial but like I said in the beginning of my reflection I could not capture it. It started to rain and thunder. But the rain was light and almost gentle. The thunder was near by but no one was scared of the lightning. I took shelter in some trees that covered me perfectly from the rain when I needed to.
I was reminded about the verse of lightning where Allah (SWT) says he sends down the lightning as a way of fear and hope and the rain to give life to a barren earth. It was a true miracle, an ayat for all of us to see, the lighting was a sign of Allah (SWT) power, his reminder, I am here, and this is my domain, and I will avenge my servants. His hope, hope in his power, his power to change all the oppression that we were seeing. It is only Allah (SWT) that is truly capable of brining justice to this people. And Allah (SWT)’s rain which was falling so gently on the graves that I could not capture it with my camera, a sign of brining life to the dead. A sign that these men, women, and children who paid the ultimate price for their Islam were bought by Allah (SWT) and were now living a far better life than anyone can imagine.
We came back from the trip to reflect and I didn’t get a chance to share my reflections with the group but I remembered that I scanned a photo of my father before leaving. It was one of him protesting the genocide in Bosnia. I don’t think my father ever got to visit Bosnia but I did. He would have loved to see pictures of it and hear stories but he is gone as well. His legacy being carried on, his work being carried on by his family, and by me. The Bosnian man in the museum was also carrying on the legacy of his father I thought to myself. I shared the picture of my father protesting with some of our beloved Bosnian guides who were so happy and thrilled. One of them was moved to tears, one of them was amazed, and one of them said he felt a chill down his spine. I told them we are brothers and dont think we weren’t aware of what was happening. I was a young child when I marched for Bosnia. One of the guides lovingly referred to me as his Bosnian soldier and saluted me. Being in their presence was a reminder that this genocide was all to real, I was talking to people who were directly affected by it, and were so quick to joy that there muslim brothers and sisters cared enough to come visit them. I was reminded of my own anger my own naps, when these Bosnians have to live side by side with people who openly and secretly hate them to the point of killing them. To be Bosnian is to be Prophetic, to live beyond your own nafs, to put aside your worldly aspirations for a dream of a better future in service to Allah (SWT).
My father protesting back in 1993. We absolutely care about our brothers and sisters in Bosnia and we will continue telling their stories.
