History

The Rise and Fall of Agrokomerc

After World War II, Fikret Abdić grew up in a poor, underdeveloped, and entirely unindustrialized region of Western Bosnia. This same area had previously been the site of the Cazin Rebellion. Upon completing his studies in agronomy, Abdić—then a young engineer—became the director of the agricultural cooperative Agrokomerc in Velika Kladuša. Under his leadership, Agrokomerc evolved into a modern food-processing conglomerate employing over 13,000 people. This transformation catalyzed economic growth throughout the region, lifting living standards in an area that had long been neglected.

Agrokomerc became a household name across Yugoslavia, known for its savvy marketing strategies. Its mascot—a chef in a tall white hat—became as iconic as the country’s beloved Olympic mascots, Vučko and Zagi. One of its flagship products, Tops biscuits (a local version of Jaffa Cakes), rivaled its original counterpart in popularity throughout SR Bosnia and Herzegovina.

Locals affectionately referred to Abdić as “Babo” (Father), a reflection of the immense trust and admiration he garnered. He operated Agrokomerc with the political backing of the influential Pozderac brothers—Hamdija and Hakija—employing a pragmatic mix of socialist and capitalist principles.

In late 1987, just before Hamdija Pozderac's death and amid the transition of Raif Dizdarević to the Yugoslav presidency, a scandal erupted. Abdić was charged under Article 114 of the SFRY Criminal Code for “counter-revolutionary activities endangering the social order” and was subsequently imprisoned for alleged financial misconduct. The affair led to Hamdija Pozderac’s resignation and reverberated throughout Bosnia and all of Yugoslavia.

Much of the public narrative around Abdić’s downfall was shaped by inaccurate media reports. One persistent myth was that his decision to join the SDA (Party of Democratic Action) deeply offended the Pozderac brothers, who allegedly expected him to establish a civic or moderate Muslim political movement. While it's true that Abdić leaned toward civic-minded politics over religious ideology, he also placed strong emphasis on the will of the people—an approach he considered democratic and necessary at the time.

In the wake of the Agrokomerc affair, Abdić and many of his associates were imprisoned. Hakija Pozderac was also incarcerated, while Hamdija was persuaded to resign under promises that both men would be released. Hamdija complied but was deceived; he died on April 6, 1988, reportedly broken-hearted by the betrayal. Hakija, a key supporter of Abdić and a well-informed political operator in Western Bosnia, was so demoralized by the scandal that he largely withdrew from public life.

Abdić later reflected that Hakija was the most committed figure in advocating for Western Bosnia’s development, followed by his own brother Hasan, then Hamdija and Sakib Pozderac. Though he held them in the highest regard, Abdić considered himself the junior member of this group, more focused on economic matters than political grandstanding.

In October 1993, while en route to negotiations with Radovan Karadžić and Slobodan Milošević in Belgrade, Abdić requested a visit to the ailing Hakija Pozderac. His associate, Darko Šicel, protested, warning that Milošević disliked Hakija. Abdić persisted, asserting that Hakija was a friend and deserved a visit. Milošević eventually relented.

This visit came during a time when Abdić was in frequent contact with citizens and community leaders who urged him to align with a party they could trust. Many Bosniaks believed the SDA would safeguard their interests and prevent a recurrence of the Agrokomerc affair. Abdić, responsive to public sentiment, joined the SDA just before a major party meeting in Velika Kladuša in September 1990. The local reaction was overwhelmingly positive; for many, his political decision was more significant than building new factories or infrastructure.

Although Alija Izetbegović privately expressed disdain for the Pozderac family—blaming them for his imprisonment following the Islamic Declaration trial—Abdić sought cooperation. Despite serving a full prison sentence himself and later enduring another in Croatia (in what he considered a politically motivated prosecution), Abdić never harbored bitterness. He even expressed willingness to engage in dialogue with Bakir Izetbegović, Alija’s son.

Still, the division between the two men ran deep. Where Alija preferred clandestine maneuvers and rigid ideology, Abdić prioritized practical governance and open negotiation. Out of political caution, Abdić even avoided visiting Hamdija Pozderac’s grave for two years after his death, fearing it might be misinterpreted as a political slight against Alija.

As Western Bosnia, a predominantly Muslim and densely populated area, increasingly aligned with the SDA, emissaries from across the diaspora lobbied for party loyalty. Key advocates included Šemso Tanković, Salem Šabić, Ibrahim Ružnić, and others who argued that under SDA leadership, Agrokomerc would be protected from further political sabotage.

Ironically, Agrokomerc outlived Yugoslavia. Though weakened, it remained a potent symbol of regional resilience and potential for redevelopment.

However, internal threats also persisted. Mirsad Veladžić and Mehmed Jušić, key figures in the founding of the SDA in Velika Kladuša, were also instrumental in the "exchange affair" that contributed to Abdić’s downfall. Veladžić, a former president of Agrokomerc’s Workers' Council and a trusted associate of Alija, was closely tied to the SDB (State Security Service). His frequent visits to SDB offices were framed as religious interviews, but evidence suggests he was acting as an informant.

This infiltration of state agents extended into Agrokomerc’s leadership. In 1988, the SR BiH Assembly appointed three professors—Osman Pirija, Dr. Dmitar Varenika, and Dr. Boris Tihi—to manage the company. Pirija later resigned, stating that he had been appointed not by the government but by Veladžić and Jušić. Despite his resignation, he valued Agrokomerc highly, confirming its robust economic standing.

The web of political interference grew. Veladžić married into the Čengić family, long-time allies of Alija Izetbegović, further entrenching party influence over Western Bosnia. Accusations against Abdić of being a KOS (Yugoslav counter-intelligence) agent gained traction—despite records showing his business with the JNA comprised less than 1% of Agrokomerc’s total revenue.

In contrast, a 2006 report in Nacional listed Alija Izetbegović himself as a KOS associate, engaged by Resid Musić while in prison, yet this detail is rarely discussed in public discourse.

Abdić was assured by Alija that the SDA would rectify the injustices of the exchange affair and dismantle the SDB apparatus responsible. These promises were broken. In September 1992, Abdić formally requested that funds distributed through Agrokomerc Vienna—DM 4.06 million in salaries for 5th Corps soldiers and families—be reimbursed. No response came.

In January 1993, an anonymous report was filed in Vienna accusing Abdić and Agrokomerc of arms smuggling and misappropriation of humanitarian aid. The Austrian police launched a meticulous investigation that lasted eight years. Despite eventually dismissing all allegations, the investigation damaged Agrokomerc’s reputation and creditworthiness across Europe.

Throughout the ordeal, Agrokomerc Vienna delivered over DM 60 million in goods to Velika Kladuša, largely benefitting the 5th Corps. The true goal of the anonymous accusation was not legal justice, but economic sabotage.

Although Agrokomerc Vienna was a private enterprise—95% funded by Abdić personally—the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, rather than Justice, handled the legal correspondence, implicating Haris Silajdžić. There are indications that Alija personally contacted Austrian Foreign Minister Alois Mock to pressure for a conviction.

Despite the charges being dropped, the damage was done. The 5th Corps consumed the goods, and Agrokomerc Vienna was drained. Though the legal system found no fault, the smear campaign achieved its political goal—weakening both the company and its founder.

"Babo" 

It is well known that Alija Izetbegović was deeply unsettled by the widespread use of the nickname Babo (“Father”) for Fikret Abdić. To counter its popularity, Alija’s supporters tried to rebrand him as Did (“Grandfather”), hoping to shift the public perception. However, where Babo connoted strength, leadership, and vitality, Did implied age and decline. The term simply never caught on.

Some of Alija’s inner circle sought to discredit anything he disliked, including the very moniker Babo, as a way to endear themselves to the Izetbegović family and improve their standing within his political orbit. One of the most extreme examples is the commentary of Fikret Muslimović, who wrote:

“According to my understanding, it was not normal that many call him 'Babo'. If Fikret Abdić had an ear, he would have addressed the people himself and influenced them not to call him that, because in the Bosniak tradition they know what the word 'Babo' means... It is not excluded that it happened spontaneously, from the people, because Fikret Abdić was established as a successful businessman... but it is more likely that it was manipulated from the outside, through specific propaganda... The naming of Fikret Abdić 'Babo' had mythological overtones, likely borrowed from the Greater Serbian environment...”
 

This line of argument is both historically inaccurate and deeply offensive. Muslimović goes so far as to suggest that the thousands of ordinary Bosniaks who called Abdić Babo were somehow manipulated into serving Greater Serbian goals—an accusation that is both unfounded and deeply disrespectful.

What Muslimović ignores is the organic origin of the nickname. Long before the Agrokomerc affair, workers and residents began calling Abdić Babo because he brought jobs, stability, and opportunity to a region long forgotten. The sentiment was straightforward: “Babo gave us work, fed our families, and made life possible. That’s why he is our Babo—and always will be.”

Attempts to discredit the name reflect deeper insecurities about Abdić’s enduring popularity in Western Bosnia—especially during the war years when he created a functioning economy in the Autonomous Province of Western Bosnia. There, the German mark, U.S. dollar, Swiss franc, and Austrian schilling were declared legal tender. Prices were higher than in neighboring regions due to wartime scarcity, but workers received salaries in hard currency. The result: a functioning, albeit isolated, economy.

Abdić himself explained:

“Yes, prices in Kladuša were higher than the procurement prices. But we had to impose these so-called ‘war taxes’ because local production was halted due to lack of raw materials. Still, salaries were such that people could live normally. Police and soldiers earned 100–150 DM per month, customs officers 150, and postal workers 200. Even government officials didn’t earn much more.”
 

Goods flowed in from Croatia and the Republika Srpska. Western Bosnians had access to food, clothes, gasoline (even at 4 DM per liter), and newspapers—even if in Cyrillic. Life went on, and for many, it was better than in besieged Sarajevo or other war-torn areas.

More than twenty years after the war, access to documents and first-hand accounts allows us to finally disprove the often-repeated claim that Abdić turned against Alija Izetbegović out of jealousy—that he could not accept Alija becoming President of the BiH Presidency. This is false. Abdić never expressed personal resentment over Alija's rise. In fact, he declined the Presidency because of his obligations to the Agrokomerc enterprise, which was still reeling from the political and economic damage of the 1987 scandal. His focus was on rebuilding, not on seizing political power.

Hundreds of pages have been written about the formation of the Autonomous Province of Western Bosnia (APZB), yet the full truth remains untold. Mainstream narratives have reduced the declaration of autonomy to a singular accusation against Fikret Abdić: that it was an act of secession and betrayal.

However, this claim ignores the actual circumstances and intent behind the move toward autonomy. The autonomy we pursued was never about secession from Bosnia and Herzegovina, nor from the Federation. It was, rather, a practical response to the dire need for survival and the restoration of normal life in Velika Kladuša and the surrounding municipalities. Autonomy was never an end in itself, but a means to preserve economic functionality and protect civilians amid the escalating conflict.

The widely repeated claim that this was part of a “Greater Serbian” project is based largely on a misleading coincidence. My departure from Sarajevo to Velika Kladuša happened at the same time as the departure of Biljana Plavšić, Nikola Koljević, and Franjo Boras from the BiH Presidency. These three would go on to find political refuge in the newly formed statelets of Republika Srpska and Herceg-Bosna, respectively. The parallel departure of a Bosniak—myself—made for a convenient narrative: that Bosniaks, too, were betraying Bosnia and Herzegovina from within.

This narrative, however, was politically expedient rather than factually accurate.

Alija Izetbegović, the very man who invited me into the SDA and for whom I organized the largest Muslim rally in Kladuša, turned on me after the 1990 elections—once it became clear that I had won the majority vote. He became President of the Presidency, but the problem of political rotation still loomed. In the original structure of the Presidency, the leadership was to rotate annually. I, as the top vote-getter, posed a threat to his continued dominance.

Eliminating that threat required a strategy—and the strategy was slander. I was portrayed not only as a political rival, but as a traitor, a separatist, and ultimately, a war criminal.

The extent of behind-the-scenes maneuvering to preserve Alija’s presidency is revealed in Nedžad Latić’s Sarajevo Armageddon (p. 149), where he writes: “Among the documents was a kind of receipt, showing that two million German marks had been given to Mate Boban. According to Isma (Ismet Hadžiosmanović), the money, personally handed over by Bakir Izetbegović, was intended to bribe Boban so that he would not oppose Alija Izetbegović's continued presidency during the necessary rotation of leadership.”

I only learned of these political dealings much later, through extensive reading of the wartime literature. But one thing was clear: I could not be bought—not with two million marks or with any political favor. And so, the easiest solution was to eliminate me with public accusations of betrayal and treason. This is the core of the false narrative: that Western Bosnia’s autonomy was not a locally-driven, pragmatic survival mechanism, but a calculated attempt to undermine Bosnian unity. In truth, autonomy in Western Bosnia was based on internationally supported discussions about regional decentralization—a system of provinces, not secessionist enclaves. Yet Alija did not hesitate to frame it otherwise. He mobilized the 5th Corps not to defend Bosnia from external enemies, but to crush what he called “Muslim separatism” from within. In doing so, he launched one of the most tragic and misunderstood chapters of the Bosnian war: the inter-Muslim conflict, driven not by ideology or betrayal, but by power struggles at the highest levels.

For over a decade, each May 2nd, state-controlled media in Bosnia and Herzegovina have marked the anniversary of what they describe as a failed coup d’état—allegedly orchestrated by me, Fikret Abdić, in 1992. Yet this narrative didn’t even emerge until the late 1990s, when indictments were being prepared to label me a war criminal. The “coup” thesis was never part of the official charges, nor did it appear in the 1996 indictment submitted to The Hague, later used in Croatia as the basis for a conviction. If a coup truly occurred, why was it never part of my prosecution?

The truth is simpler—and more politically inconvenient.

Following Bosnia and Herzegovina’s independence referendum, national tensions erupted. As a member of the BiH Presidency, I traveled the country, trying to calm the rising chaos. Some labeled my diplomacy as “collaboration,” falsely linking my presence in certain towns with subsequent Serbian military takeovers. But this was politically motivated slander.

Contrary to what authors like Halil Puškar claimed—“wherever Abdić visited, Serbian forces soon followed”—my approach was rooted in preventing war, not enabling it. My belief then, and now, was that negotiation, not bloodshed, should be the first resort.

I struggled to accept that some within the Presidency actively sought war. Alija Izetbegović, for instance, famously wrote in his Islamic Declaration that “there is no state without blood.” His motto, “Believe and fight,” wasn’t just rhetoric—it was policy. Dialogue with those who disagreed with him was never an option.

The supposed “coup” of May 2nd was a retroactive label placed on my actions—primarily to undermine my election victory in 1990 and remove me from political life. By accusing me of betrayal, Sarajevo leaders hoped to frame autonomy for Western Bosnia as secession and align me with Greater Serbian goals.

Yet autonomy was never about separation. It was a response to political exclusion, economic collapse, and war threats—not a move against Bosnia itself.

I repeatedly traveled to conflict zones—unlike other Presidency members who avoided danger. In Bosanski Brod, as violence escalated in March 1992, I intervened at the request of local officials. Other Presidency members declined to join. When I proposed forming a joint commission, only I continued the work.

An agreement was reached on March 28, 1992, in Derventa between BiH authorities, Serb representatives, and EU monitors to de-escalate the crisis. Yet despite this diplomatic success, I was later accused of handing Brod to the Serbs—an outrageous distortion.

In April 1992, reports of a looming massacre in Bijeljina prompted my proposal to send a Presidency delegation. Once again, most members refused. I persisted. At a Serb barricade near Ugljenik, we were stopped, surrounded, and threatened by armed forces.

While others lay on the ground at gunpoint, I stood and declared, “I am a member of the Presidency. You may shoot me, but I will not lie down.”

Eventually, Željko Ražnatović Arkan appeared—called by Biljana Plavšić, who was concerned for our safety. Arkan apologized, blamed the chaos on lack of command, and asked us to return the next day. We did.

What followed was a surreal encounter where Plavšić greeted Arkan warmly. I insisted on broadcasting a call for Muslims to come meet with us. Few did, but I visited the wounded, families of the dead, and toured the city center.

Despite my efforts, critics later accused me of enabling the Serb takeover of Bijeljina—another groundless claim.

One of the most telling episodes was my rescue mission for three Muslim politicians—Muhamed Zulić, Azis Mikić, and Hasan Ćelimović—held in a Serb prison. Presidents Franjo Tuđman and Alija Izetbegović both asked me to intervene. I contacted General Nikola Uzelac, secured the prisoners’ release, and arranged medical care and transport back to Zagreb.

Yet years later, this was twisted into a claim that I had negotiated the handover of Bosanska Krupa to Serbs—a complete fabrication. Ironically, Zulić, whom I personally saved, would later mock me in the Croatian Parliament, asking “Who gave that Chetnik Fikret Abdić a Croatian passport?”

Only Tuđman’s appointed delegate, Hrvoje Šošić, defended the truth: “It’s a shame we saved him. Fikret risked his life for him.”

My office in the Presidency was wiretapped—on the orders of Izetbegović. Phone calls I made to Serb leaders (for humanitarian negotiations) were used as “proof” of collaboration. But even BiH security officials later admitted to unauthorized surveillance, as reported in Semir Halilović’s State Secret.

Halilović wrote that Izetbegović oversaw parallel secret service operations, one of which wiretapped even him. If a sitting President was being spied on, imagine how lesser officials like me were treated.

Realizing the war was inevitable without foreign intervention, I drafted a letter to U.S. President George H. W. Bush, urging American action. The BiH Presidency refused to co-sign it, so I sent it alone.

U.S. Ambassador Warren Zimmermann called to confirm receipt, but said the U.S. could not act without official backing from the full Presidency. Hasan Biščević, then my chief of staff, later confirmed this exchange—though he too would later turn against me.

One bizarre episode took place on April 26, 1992, when I was called to Karlovac to address thousands of Bosnians arriving from abroad to fight. The gathering had been organized by Mustafa Cerić and Šefko Omerbašić, allegedly with Izetbegović’s blessing.

I told the crowd that crossing Serb-held territory with light arms would be suicidal. Instead, I urged them to provide aid, not bodies, to support the war effort. The crowd dispersed peacefully—but later, this incident was cited in the BiH Assembly as further “proof” of my betrayal.

The accusation of a May 2nd coup was a myth, born out of political necessity and sustained by selective memory. My crime was not treason—it was winning an election and believing in diplomacy when others wanted war.

In 1992, I fought not with bullets, but with words, travel, and risk. I sat at negotiation tables while others sat behind barricades. I was called a traitor because I refused to lie down—literally and politically.

It’s astonishing how far paid writers will go to prove that armed conflict was inevitable. Huskić, for example, claims that the National Defense opened fire—conveniently omitting the fact that the National Defense of Western Bosnia wasn’t even formed until October 12th, more than ten days after the conflict he claims occurred at Johovica. On top of that, he places the event on October 1st, when in fact it took place on October 3rd.

Clearly, facts don’t matter when the goal is to accuse—when the aim is to stick a label of “traitor” or “enemy” onto me and those who supported me. What matters is not truth, but condemnation.

The reality is quite different. The 5th Corps informed us that around 1,200 troops had been pulled from the frontline facing the Serbs, and that the Corps' only tank and sole Praga vehicle were mobilized. This force, under the command of Atif Dudaković, was not heading toward Johovica as some claimed, but to Skokovi. That report from the 5th Corps Headquarters clearly demonstrates that there were individuals within the Corps sympathetic to the idea of autonomy—though they couldn’t say so publicly because of the Corps' heavily “democratic” system of command, which allowed no room for dissent.

The founding assembly of the DNZ (Democratic People's Union) was held on October 3rd at the Agrokomerc Food Industry complex. Upon hearing that the 5th Corps had deployed strong military forces toward Johovica, the people spontaneously formed two groups—one going toward Johovica, the other toward Skokovi. There were around 20,000 people at that assembly. No one organized or instructed them to go; they moved on their own, resisting the repressive actions intended to prevent the democratic right to establish a new political party.

While I was still addressing the assembly, I was informed of the military movements. From the podium, I publicly invited Alija Izetbegović, Ejup Ganić, and Rasim Delić to come to Skokovi for talks—to negotiate a peaceful resolution, lift the blockade, and reestablish communication channels. I even said that if they were concerned about safety, they could go to the French battalion and arrive in armored vehicles—that would offer maximum security.

Alija refused, stating arrogantly that he “would not come to my feet,” as though it were about me personally, not about peace and democratic processes in Bosnia and Herzegovina. He seemed to forget that in the fall of 1990, he did, in fact, come to Velika Kladuša—when I organized the largest Muslim gathering in Bosnia’s history. After that event, once I had joined the SDA, he realized he would win the election. Back then, it wasn’t so hard for him to stand on his own feet.

He told me I could only speak with the 5th Corps, already signaling that the only outcome he was willing to consider was military confrontation.

Still, I chose dialogue. I reached out to the 5th Corps command, hoping for peace. Peace was more important than protocol or pride. But General Dreković, much like Alija, refused to come himself. He sent an assistant named Sejdić. From the moment we sat down, it was clear that Sejdić lacked the authority to negotiate. The whole thing was a performance. I nearly walked away—but I stayed. Because any dialogue was better than war.

It was agreed that a delegation from the BiH Presidency would come to Velika Kladuša for talks. That delegation did come—Mustafa Cerić, Rasim Delić, and the commander of the 1st Corps, known as “the Italian.” But none of them attempted to meet with me. Immediately upon arrival, Cerić went to Radio Bihać and publicly accused me of treason, secession, and starting an inter-Muslim war.

In his memoirs, Muhamed Filipović confirms that the delegation didn’t even intend to talk—they were there to fan the flames. At the time, Mustafa Cerić, then Naibu Reis, gave an interview to Ljiljan titled “Victory or Honorable Death,” in which he proclaimed: “We have our motto: honorable death or victory!” He promised to issue a fatwa urging every Muslim woman to bear five children—“three for herself, two for Bosnia”—as a response to the Serbian claim that Muslims would never have an “atomic bomb” but posed a threat with their demographic growth.

In the same issue of Ljiljan, a survey in the Cazin Krajina was published under the headline “Fikret Abdić Is a Devil,” concluding that I, once “Babo,” had become a traitor to the Bosnian people—now supported by only 1.3% of the population. Notably, “Babo” was written in lowercase, a clear attempt to humiliate. But these surveys were orchestrated attacks, not honest reflections. And Cerić played a pivotal role in orchestrating them.

After leveling accusations against me, Cerić went to visit the Bihać prison, where two known terrorists—Vardić and Pirić—were held for the murder of Irfan Saračević’s companions. Instead of ensuring they faced justice, Cerić’s visit was followed by their release. He reportedly told them, “Go to Johovica immediately to defend Islam!” Vardić was later killed in the clashes at Johovica.

On that same day—October 3rd—tensions between radical elements of the 5th Corps and the citizens of Johovica and Skokovi reached a boiling point. The situation was explosive. Members of the 521st and 527th Brigades of the 5th Corps broke ranks and sided with the people—against their own command.

Still, the official narrative blames the National Defense of Western Bosnia for opening fire. That claim is false—the National Defense wasn’t formed until October 12th, nearly ten days after the DNZ founding and the clashes.

In SDA-aligned literature, only Johovica is mentioned as the site of the confrontation, while Skokovi is conveniently erased—implying that support for autonomy was limited to Velika Kladuša. This deepens divisions between Muslims and distorts the regional dynamics of the autonomy movement.

It’s clear that Alija Izetbegović had already decided on war. The creation of DNZ was too dangerous for him politically. Without his explicit approval, the 5th Corps could not have launched an attack on unarmed civilians in Johovica and Skokovi. But it must be said clearly and forcefully—this was not a conflict between the 5th Corps and some rogue group. It was a clash within the Corps itself: two brigades—521st and 527th—stood in defense of their families and communities against orders that came from Sarajevo.

To this day, the SDA narrative paints Johovica as the sole battleground of this “Muslim civil war.” Skokovi is never mentioned. They want to pin all blame on me and the people of Kladuša—as if we were bad Muslims, traitors to the nation.

But the truth is this: the army opened fire on its own people. The first time this happened in Western Bosnia was during the Cazin Rebellion in May 1950. The second time was in October 1993—again in Cazin Krajina—under orders from the BiH Presidency.

This event is a mirror of the past: just as the JNA fired on peasants in 1950 for resisting absurd quotas, in 1993, a Muslim army fired on Muslim civilians. People often compare me and Agrokomerc to Husein “Huska” Miljković, who protected this region during WWII. Like him, we tried to preserve life and stability.

After the Cazin Rebellion, over 100 families—more than 770 people—were expelled. That same repressive pattern repeated in 1993. And what’s rarely spoken of is this: there was a real plan to empty Western Bosnia of Muslims, resettle them in Eastern Herzegovina, and let Serbs form a territorial corridor connecting SAO Krajina, Republika Srpska, and a Muslim-free Western Bosnia.

Alija negotiated this with Karadžić and Mladić. It’s hardly mentioned, but some details have emerged. Mustafa Čengić writes about an offer to exchange Srebrenica for Vogošća. Ibran Mustafić confirms the same—and that Clinton allegedly offered to let 5,000 Muslims be slaughtered to justify Western intervention.

In September 1993, a delegation from Srebrenica was invited to Sarajevo and offered that exact exchange—Srebrenica for Ilijaš and Vogošća. Semir Halilović writes that this offer was a clear indication that Bosnia was being carved up behind closed doors.

So when Alija's biographers and propagandists blame me for wanting to divide Bosnia, the historical record tells a very different story.

In the end, fear of ethnic cleansing, of forced displacement, is what drove people to embrace autonomy. Not betrayal—survival.

And today, when people from Srebrenica speak to survivors of Western Bosnia, they say: If we had Babo, Srebrenica wouldn’t have fallen the way it did.

They are right. And I know this, because I was there.

Bosnia and Herzegovina did not “win” at Johovica. What happened there was this: five or six brigades of the 5th Corps attacked two brigades of the same Corps—who were defending their families from orders issued by the President of the BiH Presidency, Alija Izetbegović.