International mining companies, with the collaboration of corrupt local politicians, ravage the hills and rivers of Bosnia-Herzegovina. Local and regional construction companies add to the despoilment of the rivers by building mini-hydroelectric dams by the dozens. Contrary to worldwide trends, new coal mines are established in many parts of the country, compounding the pollution of Bosnia’s air, soil, and water. This series of six articles will examine these problems in depth, with a focus on the local and nationwide response to environmental destruction.
Part II of this series, “Šipovo, Jezero, and Jajce,” goes into detail about the successes and setbacks in the struggle to resist mini-dams and mining that threaten a particularly spectacular part of the country between Jajce, Mrkonjić Grad, and Šipovo. Jajce, one of the loveliest cities in Europe, is home to a set of 22-meter waterfalls right in the middle of the city. The rivers flowing through that city cross back and forth between Bosnia’s two entities, and the threats from industrial developments that endanger their health and beauty unite people across ethnic lines.
Following from Part I, the series continues with Part III, Part IV, Part V, and Part VI.
Local communities in resistance, scattered throughout Bosnia-Herzegovina, are coalescing into a movement. Attention from international media plays a part in encouraging Bosnian environmental activists and furthering their cause. We hope that the present series of articles will add to the international audience’s understanding of the destructive effects of Europe’s exploitation of Bosnia in furtherance of its agenda of “green transition.” Indeed, for Bosnia there is nothing “green” about this new form of colonialism.
Part II: Šipovo, Jezero, and Jajce
Autumn sun flickered through the leaves as my guide Peđa and I walked along the source of the River Pliva. We passed ivy-covered trees and ancient stone houses; here and there stood a modest, meter-high waterfall. One stretch of the river was lined with stone, a canal leading to a long-defunct watermill.
There is a nostalgic folksong, “S one strane Plive” (On that side of the Pliva) that, for some people, is an unofficial anthem. Depicting a pastoral scene by the river, the lyrics evoke longing and, by implication, a spiritual attachment to Bosnia’s untamed outdoors.
Peđa (Predrag Gajanović) wordlessly enacted this attachment by dipping an empty bottle into the river and handing it to me. No purchased gift could have more eloquently expressed his reverence for the natural riches of his homeland.
Traveling to the east, we visited a tributary to the Pliva, the Janj River, in a place where the river split, divided by small islands that were connected by rustic boardwalks. Here there were several modest kafanas (restaurants or coffee-houses) built with traditional techniques. Some of the posts that held up corners of the structures were skinned logs, sunk right into the brook. These kafanas were places where locals and visitors from other parts of Bosnia come to relax and socialize in ways that we in the West would do well to learn.
But all this unspoiled nature, and the way of life that inhabits it, is under assault as the lumberjacks cut down virgin forest, and the earthmovers create great scars in the land. Mining and the construction of dams have caused vast damage. The “mini-hydroelectric dams” always disrupt the flow, the quantity, and the life of the river, and local authorities are all too eager to permit them. The same goes for the mines, which inevitably pollute the waters by dumping tailings into the riverbeds and by allowing poisonous refinement byproducts to leach into underground streams.
Over 120 mini-dams have been built and put into operation throughout Bosnia-Herzegovina so far, creating a dense map of disruption of the natural flow of waters. Seventy mini-dams are located in the Croat- and Bosniak-controlled Federation, and the rest in the Republika Srpska, the Serb-controlled entity. A disproportionate number of dams, over 35, are found in Central Bosnia Canton alone. This canton is home to Travnik, Vitez, Fojnica, Bugojno, Donji and Gornji Vakuf, and Jajce. The rivers Pliva, Vrbas, Lašva, and Bosna flow through the canton. The dams, with their noise, piled-up concrete structures, and disturbance of human and animal life alike, stand in great conflict with the timeless beauty that pervades life in Bosnia-Herzegovina.
Among the many damaging effects of the mini-dams are that they kill fish, they reduce the volume of the rivers, and they displace residents. Another problem is that, while they are touted as “contributing to development,” the economic benefit is minimal, and most of that income goes to the investor. An eloquent illustration of these problems is the fate of the River Ugar, which runs between Travnik and Banja Luka. Several small dams have been built on the river. In late 2021, activist Indir Melić reported that, with two dams already operating on the Ugar, the flow of the river was already reduced to one third of its original volume. The climate along the river had been altered, leading to the disappearance of plant and animal life: “Even the surroundings of the river are no longer the same; the lush flora has been replaced by gravel and concrete… the Ugar is now at a biological minimum.”
Environmental activists have long since mounted an energetic campaign against further construction of mini-dams, with some notable successes. As far back as 2005, public protests succeeded in preventing the construction of two dams on the Vrbas River south of Banja Luka. A robust campaign at the village of Kruščica near Vitez made history in the summer of 2017 not only in the resistance against small dams, but also in the role of women in that resistance. Private investors had received permits to build two hydropower plants on the Kruščica River. Faced with protest, the investors held a “public hearing” that was not open to the public. In response, women blocked a bridge over the river; men stood to one side, assuming that the police would refrain from violence against the women. However, the police attacked and put more than two dozen citizens in the hospital, arresting 22 women and one man. But resistance only grew; 200 to 300 people were actively involved in blocking the bridge.
The blockade at Kruščica lasted over 500 days. Combined with legal action and appeals, the resistance resulted in the revocation of permits for the two dams in 2018. This campaign—as in Jajce, Jezero, Šipovo, and many other environmentally threatened locations—was met with obstruction, manipulation, and dishonesty on the part of local officials who seem to hand out concessions without hesitation.
In 2020, the 30-member Coalition for the Defense of the Rivers of Bosnia warned,
The rivers of the Balkans are quickly becoming the spoils of domestic tycoons, foreign profiteers, and their supporters in power. In the long term, if we do not defend and protect our wild rivers and their rich sources, we will be the last generation that remembers them. The uncontrolled withdrawal of water will, in the years of coming droughts, permanently endanger the water supply of the population.
“We will defend our river with our lives.”
Mid-2024 saw the announcement of a new project on the Pliva River within Šipovo municipality; Jovići dam was to be built not far from the source of the Pliva. Milan Plavšić, a Šipovo municipal councilmember, stated that the dam would create a lake several kilometers long. The dam crossing the river would be 120 meters long.
Another councilmember, Draženko Prole, noted that “the entire municipality is aghast at the idea that another dam—from which only a private operator (in this case, the Czech company ‘Natural Energy’) will profit—will disfigure the Pliva. All those who are involved in fishing and tourism will be afflicted by pollution, a change in the local climate, and increased noise.” Adding to the outrage was the fact that, under the municipality’s spatial plan, the area where the dam was to be built was foreseen as a nature reserve.
In Šipovo town, hundreds of people participated in a protest demonstration in August of 2024. Representatives of the citizens declared that, if need be, they would prevent construction of the dam physically. President of the Šipovo Sports and Fishing Association Dragan Vujković warned, “We will defend our river with our lives.”
There are five rivers that run into, or near, Šipovo: the Pliva, Janj, Sokočica, Lubovica, and Volarica. Back in 2022 Šipovo Mayor Milan Kovač, promoting the construction of dams on the rivers, stated, “Those five rivers are flowing uselessly (teče bezveze) and no one is gaining any benefit from them.”
Clearly, the sentiments of the ordinary people of Šipovo municipality are not in harmony with those of the mayor. By September of 2024 activists gathered over 2,000 signatures on a petition that called for the municipality to prevent dam construction from overriding the possibility of a nature reserve, and for further studies to determine the environmental repercussions of building the dam. Activists promised expanded protests if the response to the petition were not satisfactory.
Jezero: Resistance against a mining catastrophe
The Pliva River flows northeast from Šipovo to the town of Jezero (the word for “lake”), where it turns east towards Jajce. I stopped in Jezero to talk to seasoned activist Mumin Keljalić, who discussed the local problems of mining and dam construction with me. In recent years Jezero has been in the spotlight due to the arrival of SNK Metali, a subsidiary of the Bijeljina-based Australian company Lykos Balkan Metals. Lykos has been prospecting for nickel and cobalt on Mt. Ozren in northeastern Bosnia. In Jezero and several nearby locations including Sinjakovo and Kovačevac, the company began searching in 2020 for an entire shopping list of minerals including lithium, gold, cobalt, lead, and copper. The area of interest comprises three municipalities: Jezero, Šipovo, and Mrkonjić Grad.
Mumin described the region as a mining company’s fondest dream, but he told me that if the mining begins, “it will be a catastrophe; it will create a desert.” Between 2020 and 2024, local activists and hundreds of citizens demonstrated in protest against the prospecting in the area, and particularly against concessions and permits for prospecting having been awarded to Lykos without consultation with the local population.
In 2022, the Jezero municipal assembly had agreed with activists and weighed in against the company’s prospecting. By the time of my visit in late 2024 Lykos had reduced its exploration, but there was no promise that this was permanent. More than one activist in the region told me that they expected the prospecting to start up again without warning.
In mid-2024 the National Assembly of the Republika Srpska (NSRS), pushing back against local resistance to mining around the entity, enacted a law seriously curtailing citizens’ power to resist the assault by mining companies. The law removed the requirement for mining companies to consult with and receive consent from local residents and officials in areas where prospecting is to take place. Furthermore, it greatly increased the amount of ore that can be extracted in “preliminary exploration” processes. The previous law allowed 200 cubic meters of raw material to be removed, while the new law permits up to 2,000 tons of metal ores and 500 tons of non-metal ores to be taken out. This turns “exploration” into full-fledged extraction.
Prominent among the minerals that SNK has been prospecting are gold and cobalt, which both carry significant risks of water pollution. In January of 2025, the Republika Srpska Ministry of Energy and Mining renewed SNK’s permit for exploration in the area of Jezero, extending it until 2028. Activists fear that the entity’s new law overriding local consultation frees SNK to proceed with untrammeled prospecting. In mid-February, the Banja Luka–based Center for the Environment, together with the environmentalist organization Dolina Plive (Pliva Valley), filed a lawsuit with the Banja Luka District Court opposing the extension of the permit. This complaint resulted in a victory in early May, when the court annulled the RS Ministry’s renewal of SNK’s permit. Environmental activists expressed the hope that now the local and entity governments would support the sentiment of the community and abandon all projects of mineral extraction in the Pliva valley.
While earlier in this decade Jezero’s municipal authorities had been supportive of the anti-mining sentiment, mayor Snežana Ružičić has wholeheartedly endorsed the drive for extraction. Mumin Keljalić mentioned to me that Ružičić, a member of the NSND party led by President Dodik, targeted activists in 2022 after a series of protests. She called the protestors “anti-state” and, according to Mumin, blocked their social media accounts.
In October 2024, Ružičić was re-elected to a third term as mayor. Mumin said that,
during her first mandate, she was supportive. But now she has started behaving deceitfully and targeting environmental activists. In her re-election campaign, there was electoral engineering. Ružičić gave away bags of flour to voters. She entered into the polling stations illegally. Many voters came to Jezero from other municipalities. She won the election by just a few votes.
During Tito’s time, Mumin told me, the government built two bridges across the Pliva at a place in the middle of the town of Jezero, where there was a small island to traverse. Originally, the bridges were rated for a load of 5.5 tons, and then upgraded to 12 tons. In 2023, Mumin said, Ružičić summarily changed the signs to read 40 tons, without any modification to the bridges. He commented that “people are worried that the bridges will be destroyed by the heavy trucks that cross them. They are carrying ore and tailings from the prospecting by Lykos.”
Mumin asserted that Lykos had bribed landowners to allow exploratory drilling on their land. Back in December of 2022, after the Jezero municipal assembly’s vote stopped Lykos from prospecting, the company sent a threatening letter to the assembly, warning that it would “take this matter to court for compensation.”
Mumin took me on a short tour of his town, the riverside, and the large Plivsko Jezero (Pliva Lake) that stretches across the entity line almost all the way to Jajce. As we were driving, he told me that during the 1990s war Serb forces had taken over the entire area between Jezero, Šipovo, and Mrkonjić Grad. The Bosniaks were expelled, and part of that population returned after the war. Mumin’s house was torched; he and his wife rebuilt it. He told me that the older people have come back, or they return in the summer—from Switzerland, the US, Scandinavia, and many other countries—but the younger people, not so much.
Asked about ethnic tensions, Mumin said that there had been latent feelings before the war but on the whole, people got along well. Things heated up due to political manipulation. Today in the Jezero area, people work together, especially on environmental matters, and traffic between entities is a daily thing.
Mumin told me that he owns three canoes and a kayak, that Plivsko Jezero is “the best place in the world,” and that “I take a spin in the water, and refresh myself.” But, he added, “It was nice when there were people living around here. Now there is no one.” As an avid sportsman, he has rafted “every river” around Bosnia, but nowadays is distraught about the extent of pollution he witnesses.
Wrapping up our visit, Mumin spoke of the large grey herons on the river. “Mining and mini-dam projects will destroy all this,” he said, and “people and animals will end up without water.”
Jajce: The blessing and the curse of magnificent rivers
“It is beautiful—and then, it is sad.” – Nick St. Oegger, photojournalist and river activist
Jajce should be on any traveler’s list of destinations. The Pliva flows through the center of town, tumbles over a set of waterfalls 22 meters high, and then joins the Vrbas on its way to Banja Luka. The Lonely Planet travel guide counts the Jajce attraction “among the 12 most beautiful in the world.” In addition to that magnificent setting, high up the hill—still in the city—stands a medieval fortress with a commanding view. The international World of Statistics network deemed Jajce the second most beautiful place in Europe.
The sad part of the story about Jajce is that its dazzling beauty is under ongoing attack by regional and international investors and their local collaborators. However, the local community and its advocates pose a vibrant and creative opposition.
I spoke with another practiced environmental activist, Velid Hrnjić. He had started his adult life preparing to work in tourism, but he switched to tile and stone installation. He told me that he was proud to be called majstor (roughly: craftsman). Velid got started in activism soon after the war’s end in 1995 by helping out in the reconstruction of a devastated mountaineers’ lodge. From where we were sitting at a kafić (small kafana or coffee house) on the edge of town, he pointed up the nearby slopes of Ćusino Brdo, where the lodge was located.
For Velid, this first radna akcija (work action)—as he called it, using a term from the socialist era—led to twenty and more years of leadership in Jajce’s growing environmentalist community. Soon after that project, he said, there was a “flurry” of projects. He spoke of a successful campaign against clearcutting, also on Ćusino Brdo; there, he and his colleagues mounted a blockade that prevented the state forestry company from illicitly cutting the woods. They also brought in environmental academics to describe the environmental danger from clearcutting—a practice that would also have displaced a historic cemetery.
The Jajce community has participated in every campaign to prevent the construction of new mini-dams on the Pliva River and its tributaries as they flow toward the city. Velid estimated that over fifty local citizens’ associations participate in the ongoing resistance. “Through these actions,” he said, “we feel like a force that can be mobilized.” He added that people of all ethnicities are part of this movement, “because everyone needs clean air and water.”
In late 2020 the Jajce community learned of plans for the construction of two hydro-electric dams on the Pliva, just some 350 meters above the waterfalls. A Sarajevo construction firm, “Bosnia Green Energy Project,” had a contract to build the dams. As Velid began to tell me about this, I commented, “That would have destroyed the waterfalls!” He answered, “Everyone who is normal knows that. But this is a land of corruption and crime. When I found out about the project, I called 40 people together. This was during the corona outbreak, so that was the limit for a gathering. I talked to Mumin, and [activist] Samir Beharić. We got expert opinions. Five of us were chosen to represent the group.
This was just after the October 2020 elections. The dam project required agreement of the city council, but it had not yet been formed. There was a rule that if there was no answer to the proposal to build the dams within 30 days, that constituted a “yes.'”It was a sly tactic. But we petitioned for a delay to that decision. We were successful; local opinion was key. The experts said that the dams would be a catastrophe for waterfalls and tourism.
Velid noted that “This campaign was part of what led to the banning of new dams in the Federation. This has all been achieved by getting the citizens together.” He was referring to a momentous decision in July 2022, by both houses of Parliament in the Federation, to ban the construction of small dams—up to ten megawatts—within the territory of that entity. The new measure was the result of ten years of resistance—not only in Jajce, but also in Kruščica, Fojnica, along the Neretva River, and other locations under threat. The new law had loopholes: it allowed already permitted projects to continue, up to a deadline. Builders began constructing a new dam on the Ugar three days before that deadline. But dozens of projected constructions have been curtailed.
Velid commented this meant the end of new dams in the Federation, but that in the Republika Srpska the new law overriding public consultation meant that “a mayor—one person—can give approval” of a new project. Anything built upstream in the RS affects Jajce, he said, because “if you dump something in Plivsko Jezero, it will arrive here in one hour.”
“They will continue,” Velid said, referring to companies planning to build dams in the RS. “There are many projects being implemented without environmental studies. They could destroy the Pliva. And a dam only creates one job; the mechanism is entirely automated. So the income goes entirely to the investor.”
Velid mentioned a radio program in which both the mayor of Jajce and the director of the Sava River Basin Agency spoke, in response to protests against the dams. “They were saying, ‘These rebellious people don’t have the elementary knowledge.'”
Velid suspects that the politicians, the influential agency directors, and the construction companies are all closely linked in crony fashion. “We know details, but we have to be careful,” he said, “I could get in trouble; we have to document everything.”
Rich and vibrant civil society in Jajce
Winding up my time in Jajce, I met with Samir Beharić, a scholar and local activist who explained to me in detail the tactics he, Velid, and their colleagues used to defeat the initiative to build two dams near Jajce’s waterfalls. He pointed out three levels of pressure that the movement used to effect: local action, media exposure, and legal work. Comparing the impact of these different approaches, Samir estimated that
70% of our impact comes from our media coverage, and 30% from our work on the ground, with lobbying, demonstrating, and collecting signatures. When the local government and the decision-makers feel pressure from the media, they get cold feet because they don’t know who we have behind us. The media amplifies our voices; politicians see us in prime time and they get afraid. The media creates an impression of power; the politicians are afraid of people when we are organized and coordinated.
Samir described the defeat of the dam project in detail. “We examined the project plan: it turned out that it was gibberish,” he told me.
It was a copy of a plan for a project near Tuzla; two thirds of the data was from Jajce, and one third from the Tuzla plan. It even mentioned areas near Tuzla. We took screenshots of the plan and sent it to N1, the Bosnian news agency affiliated with CNN, among other media. The promoters of the project made the excuse that there were “typographical errors.” People were angry at that, saying, ‘Someone is lying to us; they think we’re stupid.’ Radio Free Europe quoted me as saying, “They will be more likely to dam the Danube at Vienna than the Pliva at Jajce.”
An intensive pressure campaign succeeded in getting 7,000 people to sign a petition against the dam; it was “unpopular,” Samir told me, not to sign the petition. All the municipal council members signed, but Mayor Edin Hozan did not. In one effective tactic, activists went to the church on Sunday to gather signatures for the petition; everyone including the friars signed. When leaders of the Bosniak community noticed this, there were some back-and-forth negotiations between the imams and the activists. Samir told me that he said to the imams, “You can sign the petition or not, but we will win.” Not wishing to be alone on the side of the mayor, the imams signed, as did their congregation. One imam took his support a step further, giving a Friday sermon on the subject in the mosque. He dedicated his sermon to the Islamic “religious imperative” to protect nature and to prevent anyone from causing harm to the environment.
Public sentiment was overwhelmingly against the dams. Samir said, “The city council understood that the majority was opposed to the dams. It was not politically sexy to support them.” Public debates followed. As Samir related, when he debated Mayor Hozan in a live broadcast on N1 TV, the mayor did not do his cause any favors, because he was a “clumsy orator.” This made him a perfect adversary because he did more damage to the argument for the dams than he would have done by declining to debate. As Samir noted, when people watched the mayor during a debate, they saw “fear and lies in his eyes.”
In response to the opposition movement, the owner of Bosnia Green Energy Project commented, “In Bosnia, it is an inquisition! The media are one-sided and they do not report on the hydroelectric dams as they should.” But the overwhelming majority of Jajce’s population, with support from the municipal council, prevailed in their opposition to the dams. By mid-2022 the plan was abandoned.
Samir described civil society in Jajce as
rich and vibrant, with active NGOs led by experienced activists. They are very sensitive to environmental problems, because we are proud to have two rivers, two lakes, and the waterfalls, and we are famous for these things. People are living from the rivers and lakes, and that’s why we have a sentimental feeling toward nature.
When I asked Samir if this kind of movement was possible in the Republika Srpska, he said, “The ministries have been ordered not to talk to activists. The NGOs are being defunded.” The pervasive regime of corruption weighs heavily on ordinary people: “People are losing their jobs, leaving the country,” Samir explained. “The minimum requirement [of compromise with corruption] is to vote for the party. If you vote, you get a job. People are taking photos of their ballots” to prove that they voted according to their employers’ wishes. “In the Republika Srpska, it is a real mess; it is not just a mess, but there is a criminal entropy underway.”
Scientists on the front lines
Out of a desire to meet people involved in resistance to the destruction of Bosnia’s rivers, I attended a gathering at the Pecka visitor center. Pecka, near the town of Donji Baraći, is a small village that has seen better days. It is southwest of Mrkonjić Grad, northwest of Šipovo, and almost due west of Jezero. If you look at a map, you’ll see that the four towns in the western part of central Bosnia form the outline of a diamond.
I spoke with Boro Marić, who founded the Pecka visitor center ten years ago. Mr. Marić, a native of nearby Mrkonjić Grad, finished high school in Banja Luka. He went to college in Budapest, where he completed a MA degree in Public Policy. The idyllic beauty of his home turf drew him back home; wishing to revitalize a small community, he found that the elementary school in Pecka was vacant because of depopulation. Before World War II, 2,500 people lived in the village; today there are 75. Marić and his staff (including Peđa) restored the school building and converted it into a place where tourists, activists, and scientists could eat, sleep, and study.
Boro Marić and his community fight industrial incursions actively. They started out just to build a community center, but environmental threats loomed. A small dam at Glavica, downstream from Dragnić toward Šipovo, went into operation in 2019. Marić told me, “There is not enough water. The water pipes are nearly three meters in diameter, so the dam can only operate in the winter.”
The staff at Pecka soon realized the dangers that investors were posing to the environment throughout the region, and they mobilized against mining and the construction of new mini-dams.
The dam projects are deceitful. One should compare the dams to what we are doing, to see how much better it is to develop tourism than hydroelectric dams. We, and our umbrella organization Greenways.ba, are working out of inat (Balkan stubbornness) to fight for the health of the villages.
I learned at Pecka that the people on the front line in environmental preservation are biologists.
When I arrived one evening, there were about twenty young and friendly scientists from diverse parts of the country, from both entities. These biologists of different stripes—ornithologists, entomologists, mycologists—had arrived to spend a few days in this very rural part of Bosnia and to go on daily expeditions. Their task was to discover and record the plants and animals of the local area. They were aware that this knowledge needed to be recorded as a prerequisite to any drive to protect nature in a given territory. The research that these hunters of scorpions, lizards, and mushrooms perform is step number one in warding off the earth-movers.
Saudin Merdan, from Olovo, was there to track reptiles and amphibians. Dejan Radošević was there to look for scorpions; he told me that there are fifteen sub-species in the region, and that their sting is milder than that of a bee. Nataša Mazalica, a biologist from Banja Luka, was the lead coordinator of the gathering.
The day after my arrival, we made an excursion along a dusty and pot-holed road up Mt. Vitorog, a nearly 2,000-meter peak south of Pecka, straddling the boundary between the two entities. When we arrived to a viewpoint near some woods, we spent a few moments admiring the view to the north. Far below us, we could see the village of Dragnić and the source of the Pliva, which Peđa and I visited later in the week.
I walked into the woods with Rade Gašić, a self-educated mushroom wizard. The 1990s war had prevented him from attending university. After being wounded and demobilized, he spent years pursuing his passion, to the point where he could attend mycologist conferences in Serbia and out-Latin the Belgrade professors. You could hardly walk through those woods without tripping over myriad varieties of mushrooms. Rade told me that there were well over 1,500 varieties in the region. That day, we found over 90 of them.
Nataša and other biologists listed the wildlife in the area: boar, bobcat, grouse, wolf, deer, and otter, among others. The otter fish for river crabs. The numerous rivers in the area are important breeding grounds for trout. Nataša mentioned a coal mine not far from Pecka that was polluting the rivers. She said,
People admire this beauty, and think that nature is in great shape. They don’t see what is happening behind the scenes, and so they don’t think that there is any kind of problem. But practically every waterway is devastated. There are numerous dams planned for different parts of the region, on the Vrbas, the Una, and Drina. Only the Neretva has 30 kilometers of unspoiled river. The rest is kaput, ruined.
Ongoing resistance
It is clear that, in spite of a number of victories, the environmental movement around Jajce, Šipovo, Mrkonjić Grad, and Jezero faces new battles stretching into the future. Samir Beharić pointed out the bigger picture:
What concerns me is the fact that the European Union, the USA, Norway, and other countries are actually benefiting and profiting from the corruption of government officials, because their companies can flourish under the crooked legal system.
They can bring their own capital and exploit Bosnian and other Balkan natural resources, thanks to laws that have loopholes that allow foreign companies to do what they do. For that matter, they can simply break the laws without any consequences, in a way in which they would never be able to do anything similar in their own countries.
The environmental struggles against mining, dams, and general environmental destruction are all of a piece in the diamond-shaped area between Mrkonjić Grad, Pecka, Šipovo, and Jajce. This region traverses two artificially designed entities whose demagogic leaders try their hardest to keep people separated and at loggerheads. Ironically, the exploitation those leaders benefit from has the potential to unite communities across political and ethnic boundaries. A unifying movement is visible among the activists, biologists, and ordinary citizens of the region. This movement must grow, consolidate, and remain steadfast in the face of continuing pressure from profiteers both local and international.