Sports commentator Željko Vela from Croatia (Sport Klub) he did what diplomats, presidents and the “international community” for 30 years do not know – or do not want
Written by: Hajrudin REDŽOVIĆ
Man is only honestly went crazy for Bosnia and Herzegovina’s goal against Romania, roared as if his brother gave him 3:1 in 90+, and – boom – half of Bosnia and Herzegovina shivered, the timeline was filled with messages: “This is how you respect your neighbor.”
Such a small thing. And the effects – huge.
Because let’s remind ourselves what everything is it is not was a little.
The President of Croatia, Zoran Milanović, explained, as if from the height of Pantovčak, that civil BiH is “a distant, distant dream, a beautiful thing, but first soap, then perfume”.
It was not a banter in a bar, but a message from the head of state about an entire country and its people. It smelled like the famous “Bosnian girl” graffiti from Srebrenica, and sounded like pure political bullying: you are dirty, uncivilized, not ready for Europe.
That raised tensions to the ceiling. Bosniaks saw an arrogant mentor in Croatia, Croats in BiH received another confirmation that Zagreb sees them as a token in someone else’s game, and not as people with real problems. Exchange of curses, announcements, “reaction” – and another brick in the wall between the two states.
Parallel to that, for years we have been listening to the mantra about “legitimate representation” and “threatened Croats” in Bosnia and Herzegovina. Not as a serious discussion about the rights of the minority, but as endless political blackmail, fuel for the story of the third entity and the eternal tension over the electoral law.
The narrative is simple: Croats are always ‘victims’, Bosniaks are always ‘unitarians’, and Zagreb is the eternal tutor. And every time that CD is played, relations between Bosnia and Herzegovina and Croatia drop a few more degrees.
And then – a burning reminder: Bosniaks and Croats did not just go to war on the same page against JNA and VRS. They had their own private, bloody war within the war. Croat–Bosniak War, Lašvanska dolina, Mostar, Ahmići, Stupni Do… war until yesterday, traumatic flashback today.
The Washington Agreement in 1994 stopped the shooting, created the Federation of Bosnia and Herzegovina and formally ended the conflict between the HVO and the Army of Bosnia and Herzegovina.
But no agreement on the cessation of hatred was signed. Nobody ever signed that.
That’s why this game in Zenica – and one Croatian commentator who is screaming with happiness at Bosnia and Herzegovina’s goal – is such a healing scene. Željko Vela doesn’t feign professional distance, he doesn’t take care that someone doesn’t declare him a “traitor of national interests”. He is cheerful that the neighbor is bashing Romania, because I guess you also want the neighbor to go to the World Cup.
It is direct transmission therapy.
When, after all the “soap/perfume” slaps, you hear a Croat from Croatian television (Sport Klub) honestly bursting with pride at the goal that pushes Bosnia and Herzegovina towards the World Cup – it short-circuits all the inflammatory headlines, all the “threats”, all the political spins in your head. In those few seconds, you hear what should be normal:
“This is magnificent, kudos to the Bosnians, kudos to the neighbor.”
It’s a small, private Washington agreement. Another Washington, this time without signing, without American intermediaries, without maps, without cantons. Just a human reaction that erases the border they drew on your brain.
The first Washington silenced the cannons, but it didn’t silence the narratives. Bosnia and Herzegovina and Croatia continued to live in a semi-cold war – with open borders and closed heads. Disputes over elections, verdicts, reshuffles, joint criminal enterprises, the Adriatic, the Pelješko bridge… Each new dispute resets trust to zero.
And then, out of nowhere, Željko Vela. One goal. One roar. One moment in which it does not count who is “constitutive”, who is “at risk”, nor who has a “legitimate” member of the Presidency. The only thing that counts is that the kid with the Bosnian coat of arms on his jersey ripped the Romanians’ net open from a distance and that shot makes your hair stand on end, regardless of your passport.
We need a lot more of these things. Little big ones.
We need more commentators who will cheer for their neighbor’s goal. More stands where the anthem of another country is not whistled. More mayors who will go to Iftar in Mostar and Mass in Vares or Usor, not because it is written in the protocol, but because they want to. More journalists who will not copy the soap-perfume rhetoric as if it were the Holy Scriptures, but will say: “No, this smells of chauvinism, not perfume.”
Vela will not solve Washington, Dayton by himself, nor will HDZ stop dreaming of “legitimate representation” when it sees his reaction. But every time something like this hits the airwaves, the neighbor stops being a propaganda caricature and becomes a human again.
And that is the beginning of any real peace agreement.
The first Washington was signed in Washington in 1994. The second, this emotional one, was signed in Zenica, at the Sport Club, in comments on social networks. It is not written anywhere on paper, but it is written to people by the nervous system.
Small thing. Huge effects.
So, save this clip. Take it back to yourself every time some politician from Zagreb, Sarajevo or Mostar starts drawing new trenches between “us” and “them”. And remember: one normal howl from the neighbor can wipe out more poison than 100 speeches about “good neighborly relations”.
