Do these semantics matter? When it comes to “genocide,” yes, they do.

The word „genocide” was coined in the aftermath of the Holocaust in 1944, by Raphael Limkin, as there was no word that distinguished the crime committed against the Jewish population in World War II from other internationally illegal war crimes, such as wilful killing, torture or inhuman treatment, and taking hostages, which are laid out in international law treaties such as the Geneva Convention.

As defined in the subsequent 1948 Genocide Convention, genocide is the “intent to destroy, in whole or in part, a national, ethnical, racial, or religious group,” with an emphasis on the word “intent,” as that is the most difficult to prove. Indeed, the Bosnian Serb’s defense against genocide at the International Criminal Tribunal for the Former Yugoslavia (ICTFY) was not denying the massacre of a significant number of Bosnian Muslims. Rather, the defenders claimed what happened failed to meet the high standards of genocide. They argued that because the number of casualties was relatively low and did not include women and children, it did not constitute a systematic effort to eradicate the entire Muslim population of BiH. 

The ICTFY’s appeal judgment in 2015 found that “the Srebrenica enclave was of immense strategic importance to the Bosnian Serb leadership because (1) the ethnically Serb state they sought to create would remain divided and access to Serbia disrupted without Srebrenica.” Further, since most Muslims in eastern BiH had sought refuge in the Srebrenica enclave at that time, due to international promises of safety, “the elimination of the enclave would accomplish the goal of eliminating the Muslim presence in the entire region.” For these reasons, although the Bosnian Muslim population of Srebrenica represented a small percentage of the overall Muslim population of the country, it constituted a “substantial part of the protected group (i.e. the Bosnian Muslims),” and therefore, a genocide.

Others make the argument that the casualties at Srebrenica were Bosniak soldiers killed in battle and not the execution of civilians.  This, too, was ruled as false in the 2001 Trial Judgement of Bosnian Serb leader Radislav Krstić, based on substantial evidence from the exhumations of mass graves in eastern BiH. International tribunal investigators found 448 blindfolds on or with the victims’ bodies, 423 pieces of cloth, string, or wire used to tie the victims’ hands, and multiple victims severely handicapped and, therefore, unlikely to have been combatants. This, along with Serb soldiers digging up mass graves and reburying the bodies in secondary and tertiary graves, presented compelling evidence that dismissed any claims of the victims as soldiers who died in combat. 

The word genocide is used to describe the worst crime against humanity. Beyond the immense moral and humanitarian weight this holds, states which have signed the 1948 Genocide Convention have the legal obligation to prevent and punish it. For example, in May 1994, amid the Rwandan Genocide, a discussion paper sent by the US Secretary of Defense stated, “Be Careful, Legal at State was worried about this yesterday— Genocide finding could commit [the US government] to actually ‘do something.’” US government officials were only authorized to publicly state that “acts of genocide” were occurring, and not “genocide,” largely due to these legal implications rather than moral ones, since everyday people wouldn’t find a distinction between “acts of genocide” and a “genocide.” In light of the “Black Hawk Down” failure in Somalia, the Clinton administration refused to rightly call the violence “genocide” in fear of obliging the US to act, which domestically would have been deeply unpopular.

Remembering and Denying: A Comparison with Rwanda

When thinking about this, it might be useful to compare state remembrance in Rwanda and Bosnia and Herzegovina. In Rwanda, the state promotes a strict “official history” via memorialization, education, and the media, supporting one singular and narrow narrative of victim and perpetrator, with an emphasis on blaming the international community’s compliance. Indeed, the Constitution of Rwanda charges the State of Rwanda with the duty of “preventing and punishing the crime of genocide,” with evidence of censoring, imprisoning, and killing dissidents that stray from this narrative.

In Bosnia and Herzegovina, it is quite the opposite. Although in 2021, the OHR enacted a legal ban on the denial and glorification of genocide and war crimes if “likely to incite violence or hatred,” denial by politicians and leading political and public figures is prominent. Indeed, memorialization, murals and graffiti, and naming public buildings honoring convicted war criminals is commonplace, specifically in Republika Srpska. However, last month the first indictment for genocide denial in BiH was filed against Vojin Pavolić due to his “attempt to justify the crime of genocide” on last year’s annual July 11th Srebrenica commemoration. The indictment referenced Pavolić’s role in “organizing a public gathering, making posters available to the public for the event, and then delivering a speech at the gathering publicly endorsing and attempting to justify the crime of genocide.” 

The negative implications of loose legality around genocide denial are serious. Hate speech, glorification of war criminals, and outright denial of genocide prevent societies from collectively dealing with their past. It re-traumatizes and re-humiliates victims and survivors, perpetuating injustice and undermining reconciliation.

However, Rwanda’s approach also hinders reconciliation. Besides the undemocratic and violent means that the state must use to effectively implement these policies, one-sided and singular narratives deny justice and acknowledgement of the pain and trauma of the past. “Perpetrators,” as defined by the state’s narrative, are unable to seek justice for past and ongoing atrocities committed at the hands of the state-defined “victims.” Unmet needs for the safety and justice of either party fuels cycles of violence, as “perpetrators” will eventually come to see themselves as “victims” without a place in the narrative that recognizes their pain. 

In the case of genocide, there are clear perpetrators and victims. In Rwanda, members of the Hutu ethnic group committed genocide against the Tutsi ethnic group. In Bosnia, Bosnian Serb members committed genocide against Bosnian Muslims. That being said, violence is never isolated, and history is complex; there will always be instances of the “victim” group committing violence against the “perpetrator” group. 

Rwanda’s history illustrates this point clearly. The Tutsi monarchy ruled over the Hutu population from the 17th century until Rwandan independence in 1952, when, due to various political and economic reasons, the Belgian colonial power supported a Hutu-dominated government. Under Tutsi rule, Rwanda existed as a highly unequal society, with the Tutsi minority wielding disproportionate power and wealth. The Hutu population, identifying as the victim due to nearly four centuries of oppression, was fueled by fear of the Tutsis’ return to power and found justification in its own group’s victimhood. The history of East Africa and the Rwandan genocide is much more complex than I have room here to write, and in no way am I meaning to simplify the multitude of reasons for this tragedy. However, victim identities and fear of repeated violence were strong contributing factors, demonstrating the salience of victim-perpetrator cycles of violence.

Conclusion

Historical narratives are how a society understands its own identity and the events that created and developed it. In other words, the story it tells itself. Paul Scham, writing on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, found that “a true acknowledgement by the other side of each side’s national aspirations and at least some aspects of the history on which it is based (without, of course, accepting the other side’s version of history) is essential to convince the mainstreams of both societies that they will be allowed to live in peace.” Using narratives of the two sides as a tool in peacemaking is only part of the solution and is insufficient without addressing other issues such as constitutional reform, economic inequality, institutional corruption,  regional challenges, and electoral discrimination. 

The draft UN Resolution on the Srebrenica genocide and its predictable controversiality depicts BiH’s struggle with the traumas of its past. Amidst the politicization of historical narratives and victimhood identities lies a fundamental imperative: the need for a collective narrative that fosters understanding, empathy, and a shared commitment to building a future founded on mutual respect and inclusivity. Let me be clear: true reconciliation cannot emerge from the denial of genocide, and loose legality around war criminals’ celebration prevents societal healing and undermines future peace. The people of Bosnia and Herzegovina should find ways to grapple with a new narrative that acknowledges the unequal but shared historic suffering and victimization of all.