The Complex Tapestry of Herzegovina-Neretva: Where History Meets Modern Geopolitics
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Herzegovina-Neretva, a region in modern-day Bosnia and Herzegovina, has long been a melting pot of cultures, religions, and political ambitions. Nestled between the Dinaric Alps and the Adriatic Sea, this area has witnessed the rise and fall of empires—from the Romans and Byzantines to the Ottomans and Austro-Hungarians. Each left an indelible mark on the region’s architecture, traditions, and collective memory.
Perhaps no symbol captures Herzegovina’s historical duality better than the Stari Most (Old Bridge) in Mostar. Built by the Ottomans in the 16th century, it stood for centuries as a testament to Islamic architecture and multicultural coexistence. Its destruction in 1993 during the Bosnian War shocked the world, but its reconstruction in 2004 became a powerful metaphor for reconciliation—or at least the aspiration for it.
Yet, the bridge’s story also reflects today’s tensions. As Europe grapples with rising Islamophobia and debates over immigration, Herzegovina-Neretva serves as a reminder that Muslim heritage is deeply woven into the continent’s fabric. The region’s mosques, bazaars, and coffee culture challenge the notion of a monolithic "Christian Europe."
The Bosnian War (1992–1995) scarred Herzegovina-Neretva disproportionately. Cities like Mostar and Stolac became battlegrounds, with ethnic cleansing campaigns displacing thousands. The Dayton Accords ended the violence but cemented ethnic divisions through a convoluted political system.
Today, Herzegovina-Neretva is a microcosm of global trends in identity politics. The Croat-dominated western Herzegovina and the Bosniak-majority Neretva Valley often operate as parallel societies. Schools teach separate curriculums, and politicians stoke fears of "the other" to secure votes. Sound familiar? It’s a pattern seen from India to the United States, where divisive rhetoric fuels polarization.
Meanwhile, Serb-majority areas near Trebinje maintain close ties with Serbia and Russia, echoing the Kremlin’s strategy of leveraging diaspora communities for influence. The region’s geopolitical significance was highlighted in 2022 when Bosnia’s Serb leader, Milorad Dodik, threatened secession—a move tacitly supported by Moscow.
Herzegovina-Neretva faces a demographic crisis. Young people are leaving en masse, lured by EU opportunities or fleeing corruption and unemployment. Villages are emptying, and cities like Mostar rely increasingly on tourism to survive. This "brain drain" mirrors trends across Eastern Europe, where population decline fuels labor shortages and economic stagnation.
While Brussels lectures Bosnia about reforms, its own policies exacerbate the problem. Visa-free travel for Bosnians has made emigration easier, but the EU’s reluctance to grant full membership leaves the country in limbo. Meanwhile, neighboring Croatia’s EU accession has deepened Herzegovina’s economic dependency—Mostar’s shops are stocked with Croatian goods, and its hospitals rely on Croatian doctors.
The Neretva River, Herzegovina’s lifeline, is under threat. Hydroelectric projects and droughts linked to climate change endanger its ecosystems. Farmers in the fertile Neretva Valley already struggle with erratic rainfall, a preview of the Mediterranean’s arid future.
Plans for new dams on the Neretva have sparked protests from environmentalists and UNESCO, which warns of threats to the region’s biodiversity. The debate pits "green energy" advocates against those who argue the projects benefit foreign corporations more than locals. It’s a familiar conflict in an era of climate anxiety: how to balance development and sustainability.
Mostar’s cobblestone streets are now packed with day-trippers from Dubrovnik, eager to snap photos of the Old Bridge but often oblivious to the region’s trauma. Airbnb’s proliferation has driven up rents, pushing residents out of the city center. The dilemma is universal: how can places preserve their soul while catering to global tourism?
War tours in Mostar and Srebrenica (a short drive away) walk a fine line between education and exploitation. Some operators sensationalize the conflict, while others, like the Srebrenica Memorial Center, strive for dignified remembrance. In an age of "trauma tourism," Herzegovina-Neretva forces us to ask: who owns the right to narrate history?
From Turkish-funded mosques to Saudi-backed Wahhabi communities, Herzegovina-Neretva is a battleground for soft power. Meanwhile, Russia and China court local politicians with infrastructure loans, echoing their playbooks in Africa and Latin America. The region’s fragility makes it a testing ground for hybrid warfare—cyberattacks on Bosnian institutions have surged since 2022.
Brussels’ tepid engagement has allowed other actors to fill the vacuum. While the U.S. focuses on countering Russia in the Balkans, the EU’s enlargement fatigue risks losing Herzegovina-Neretva to perpetual instability. The region’s future may hinge on whether the West can offer more than empty promises.