Nedzad Avdic stood on a gravel plateau in Srebrenica, Bosnia, with four other captured men, bound and awaiting execution. At just 17 years old, he had been taken by Bosnian Serb forces. He recalls hearing gunfire, feeling a sharp pain, and then blacking out. When he woke, he was surrounded by more prisoners facing a similar fate. By some chance, he managed to escape and, after days of hiding in the woods, made his way to safety.
Last week, Avdic shared his harrowing experience with German parliament members during a memorial event for the victims of the Srebrenica massacre, which occurred 30 years ago. International courts recognized the systematic killings of male Bosnian Muslims—at least 7,000—as genocide, marking this atrocity as the first of its kind in Europe since World War II.
However, some members of Germany’s far-right Alternative for Germany (AfD) party have disputed this claim. They argue that the killings don’t constitute genocide because women and children were largely spared. The far-right’s perspective reflects a broader trend of disinformation that has gained traction in recent years. Experts point to an alarming rise in denialism surrounding war crimes, not just in Bosnia but in current conflicts in Ukraine, Israel, and Gaza, as well as past atrocities like the Holocaust.
Denialism often turns political. The AfD recently won significant parliamentary seats, indicating that this narrative resonates with some voters. In Bosnia, leaders like Milorad Dodik spread conspiracy theories about the events at Srebrenica, even dismissing DNA identification of victims as a hoax.
Organizations that focus on human rights, like the Kigali Genocide Memorial in Rwanda, stress the financial motivations behind such denialism. There’s a growing concern that spreading lies about war crimes may stem more from profit than ideology.
Amid this backdrop, Avdic’s mission becomes critical. “Denialism is increasing, and I feel a strong need to speak for those who can’t,” he says. His voice rises above the chaos to tell the stories of the men killed 30 years ago, reminding us of the past and the ongoing struggle for truth.
Reflecting on the safe area of Srebrenica, it’s important to remember that in 1995, the region was declared protected by the United Nations. Yet, when Bosnian Serb forces attacked, they were met less with protection and more with indifference. The town, once a refuge, turned into a site of horror as thousands of men attempted to flee, leading to chaos and separation. Avdic lost his father during this harrowing escape, a loss that shaped his life forever.
After living in fear and giving testimony under a pseudonym for years, Avdic returned to Srebrenica in 2007, feeling a responsibility to help rebuild his community. He soon realized he was not just a survivor but a vital voice in ensuring the memory of those lost is kept alive. He and his wife, Elvisa, a fellow survivor, strive to educate the next generation about the past.
Despite the shifts in demographics—Srebrenica is now nearly half-Serb and half-Muslim—Avdic sees hope in his children attending school together. “Hatred destroys those who hate the most,” he reflects, emphasizing the importance of coexistence.
Yet, the shadows of denialism linger in Srebrenica, and tensions remain palpable. Even small provocations, like nationalist songs played in public spaces, remind him that healing is far from complete.
Avdic acknowledges the risks of being a witness, stating, “You can never be sure what might happen.” Still, he feels obligated to remain and speak for the deceased. “I will die proud,” he asserts, hoping his children will also cherish their roots despite the ongoing challenges.
In a world where misinformation can easily cloud the truth, Avdic stands resilient, bridging the past and the present, ensuring that history is not forgotten.
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