For many people living in the former Yugoslavia in the early 1990s, the possibility of interethnic violence was inconceivable. Until it wasn’t. 

Conflict between conationals of differing ethnic or religious backgrounds is not a new phenomenon. But in a fractious world it is something to watch for—and to guard against. 

With support from The Harry Frank Guggenheim Foundation, Mila Dragojević, professor of politics at the University of the South, conducted extensive qualitative and archival research on the emergence of ethnic violence in Croatia. Croatia embarked upon a path to independence in 1991, eleven years after the death of longtime Yugoslavian leader Josip Tito. Dragojević’s work focuses on, among other things, how once-peaceful, ethnically integrated communities devolved into separate enclaves of ethnic Serbs and Croats engaged in deadly internecine warfare. Implicit in Dragojević’s findings are actions that can forestall similar tragedies from occurring elsewhere.

“How can you rebel against a crazy person who carries a gun?”

The political vacuum created by the dissolution of the Yugoslavian government following Tito’s death provided opportunities for a range of actors seeking to establish or expand their own political influence and power. These activities were contained and peaceful for most of a decade. But as Dragojević documents, an intentional process of “political ethnicization,” which sought to overlay political agendas onto existing ethnic identities, incrementally constrained residents’ political choices. It suppressed political diversity and in time channeled residents—willingly or not—into violently opposed political entities that were either ethnically Serbian or or ethnically Croatian.

A key event in this process was the ethnic Serbs’ creation of physical barricades in some Croatian communities. In the western Slavonian town of Pakrac, for example, barricades went up for the first time in early March 1991, following a brief gun battle between Croatian authorities and a predominantly Serbian local police force. More barricades were set up in August, following Serb leaders’ declaration of the Serbian Autonomous Province of Western Slavonia within the state of Croatia. In both cases, the barricades established boundaries within the region that resulted in immediate concrete consequences, including, for many, an end to routine activities like traveling to work or visiting nearby friends and family. “After that everything was over,” one interviewee later told Dragojević. “There was no more train, or bus or anything.” Notably, the builders of those barricades—the people responsible for the disruptions to community life—were initially perceived as political outliers. “…[T]hose who were at the barricades were people who do not understand any laws,” another interviewee recalled. Yet the practical consequences of the boundaries these figures created marked a precipitous break with the past.  As one person bluntly asked, “How can you rebel against a crazy person who carries a gun?”   

The barricades, and the possibility of violence they advertised, engendered an atmosphere of distrust and fear. Within this new environment, ethnic identity became an increasingly common heuristic for discerning the political leanings of strangers, neighbors, and even family members and friends. Those who resisted this process—who insisted upon seeing political diversity independent of ethnic identity—were ostracized, threatened for their perceived lack of loyalty, and eventually, as the conflict escalated, killed. It is hardly surprising, then, that the political middle soon evaporated as moderates either adjusted their political views in an effort to stay safe or fled. 

“Once violence happens,” Dragojević notes, “it will carry on the ethnicization process almost by inertia…”

Dragojević draws clear lessons from this process, which in time resulted in officially enforced separations of territory and political authority. Foremost among these lessons is the importance of acting against ethnic politicization. In practice, this means resisting pressure to accept a flattened political landscape and remembering, instead, that ethnic groups are politically diverse and that generalizations on the basis of ethnicity are both factually incorrect and dangerous. Even more important, she says, is the urgency of acting on these ideals while peaceful norms are still firmly in place. “Once violence happens,” Dragojević notes, “it will carry on the ethnicization process almost by inertia,” and the space for discussing political disagreements and differences in a nonviolent and democratic manner will be removed.

Dragojević also calls, more specifically, for greater support for and recognition of political moderates. “Moderates are the first to be targeted by extremists and they are the most vulnerable in the early phase of an ethnicization process,” she says. 

There is something discomfiting in Dragojević’s admonition that we should be vigilant for early signs of ethnicization. Who among us wants to view their neighbors as potential aggressors or their community as at risk of political violence? Fortunately, her prescriptions for these potential ills—cultivating a broad understanding of friends and neighbors, continuing to interact freely and supportively throughout one’s community, and expressing concern and support for the political center—are things we should probably be doing anyway. 

During even the best of times, exercising tolerance, refusing to view members of one’s community as enemies just because they may hold different political views, and being an engaged neighbor are good practice.

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