Balkans-18-Sarajevo: The City That Refused to Die

You can destroy buildings with shells, but you cannot destroy the human spirit. On the 5th of April, 1992, the city of Sarajevo changed forever. For centuries, Sarajevo had been known as one of Europe's most remarkable cities. Mosques stood alongside Orthodox churches. Catholic cathedrals shared the skyline with synagogues. The call to prayer echoed across rooftops, while church bells rang in the distance. Few cities represented the multicultural history of the Balkans more than Sarajevo. Its cafes were full. Its streets were busy. Children hurried to school. Trams rattled through the city center. Life carried on, much as it always had. Then, the hills surrounding the city filled with artillery. Within days, Sarajevo was surrounded. Roads were cut. Electricity became unreliable. Food deliveries stopped. Water supplies were interrupted. The capital of an independent European nation had become trapped. What followed would become the longest siege of a capital city in modern history. It would last almost four years—1,425 days. Imagine waking every morning, not wondering what to wear or what to have for breakfast, but wondering whether today would be the day a shell landed on your home, whether your children would make it safely across the street, whether there would be clean water, whether there would be bread. For the people of Sarajevo, this became everyday life. Snipers occupied positions in the surrounding hills. Certain roads became so dangerous that they earned terrifying nicknames. The most infamous became known simply as Sniper Alley. To cross it, people sprinted. Parents pushed prams at full speed. Children learned never to stop running. Some waited for armored vehicles or groups of pedestrians, hoping there would be safety in numbers. There often wasn't. No one knew when the next shot would come. Water became one of the city's greatest treasures. Families queued for hours at public taps, often carrying buckets through streets exposed to sniper fire. Sometimes they returned safely, sometimes they did not. The simple act of collecting drinking water became an act of courage. Electricity frequently disappeared. Homes were lit by candles. People cooked over makeshift stoves. Furniture was chopped into firewood. Books were burned simply to keep children warm during freezing Bosnian winters. Entire forests around Sarajevo slowly disappeared as people searched desperately for wood. Food became scarce. International aid occasionally reached the city, but never enough. Families survived on tiny portions. Bread became precious. Sugar became a luxury. Coffee almost disappeared. Many lost enormous amounts of weight. Yet, somehow, life continued. Schools did not completely close. Teachers held lessons in basements. Hospitals continued operating despite shortages of medicine. Doctors performed surgery without reliable electricity. Nurses worked for days without rest. Musicians gave concerts beneath the sound of exploding shells. Artists continued painting. Writers continued writing. Actors performed theater productions underground. The people of Sarajevo refused to surrender their humanity. One story became known around the world. A cellist named Vedran Smilovic walked into the ruins of bombed buildings carrying nothing but his cello. After civilians were killed while waiting in a bread queue, he returned day after day, playing music among the destruction. Not because it would stop the war, but because it reminded people they were still human. His music became a quiet act of defiance. Sometimes, the strongest form of resistance is simply refusing to let hatred define you. Beneath the city, another remarkable story unfolded. Hidden from those surrounding Sarajevo, workers dug a tunnel beneath the airport runway, barely wide enough for one person at a time. It became known simply as the Sarajevo Tunnel. Through it came food, medicine, fuel, military supplies, families, hope. Without that tunnel, many historians believe Sarajevo may not