{"id":55156,"date":"2026-09-02T17:00:00","date_gmt":"2026-09-02T15:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/historiografija.hr\/?p=55156"},"modified":"2026-09-02T17:04:12","modified_gmt":"2026-09-02T15:04:12","slug":"povodom-nove-knjige-o-biljani-plavsic-o-poricanju-rehabilitaciji-i-pitanjima-koja-nasa-drustva-izbjegavaju-intervju-s-oliverom-simic","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/historiografija.hr\/?p=55156","title":{"rendered":"Povodom nove knjige o Biljani Plav\u0161i\u0107: o poricanju, rehabilitaciji i pitanjima koja na\u0161a dru\u0161tva izbjegavaju \u2013 intervju s Oliverom Simi\u0107"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

An English translation of the interview is available below<\/a><\/strong>.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Olivera Simi\u0107 pravnica je, profesorica i spisateljica ro\u0111ena u Banjoj Luci, koja se ve\u0107 vi\u0161e od dvije desetlje\u0107a bavi istra\u017eivanjem tranzicijske pravde, ratnih zlo\u010dina i rodne perspektive u postkonfliktnim dru\u0161tvima. Tijekom rata u Bosni i Hercegovini napustila je zemlju, a kasnije je doktorirala me\u0111unarodno pravo i kriminologiju. Danas \u017eivi i radi u Australiji, gdje predaje na Sveu\u010dili\u0161tu Griffith u Brisbaneu. Autorica je niza radova i knjiga posve\u0107enih \u017ertvama ratnog seksualnog nasilja, me\u0111u njima Silenced Victims of Wartime Sexual Violence<\/em> i Lola’s War<\/em>, a nedavno je, nakon sedam godina razgovora s Biljanom Plav\u0161i\u0107, objavila knjigu Madam War Criminal: Biljana Plav\u0161i\u0107, Serbia’s Iron Lady<\/em>, povodom \u010dijeg smo objavljivanja i vodili ovaj intervju.<\/p>\n\n\n

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— Sedam godina intervjua, stotine sati razgovora \u2013 \u0161to vas je uop\u0107e navelo da 2017. prvi put kontaktirate Biljanu Plav\u0161i\u0107, s obzirom na to da ste dotad svoj rad usmjeravali gotovo isklju\u010divo na \u017ertve ratova devedesetih?<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Do tada je moj istra\u017eiva\u010dki rad zaista bio gotovo isklju\u010divo usmjeren na \u017ertve ratova devedesetih, njihove pri\u010de, iskustva i borbu za pravdu. Me\u0111utim, nakon mnogo godina takvog rada po\u010dela sam sve vi\u0161e razmi\u0161ljati o drugoj strani te pri\u010de, o po\u010diniteljima, ali o nijemim promatra\u010dima, ljudima koji nisu reagovali na zla koja su se de\u0161avala oko njih, a mogli su to u\u010diniti. Shvatila sam da, ako \u017eelimo razumjeti rat, masovno nasilje i zlo\u010dine, nije dovoljno razgovarati samo sa \u017ertvama. Moramo poku\u0161ati razumjeti i ljude koji su u\u010destvovali u stvaranju politika, ideologija i okolnosti koje su takvo nasilje omogu\u0107ile.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Biljana Plav\u0161i\u0107 bila je posebno va\u017ena upravo zbog svoje pozicije. Bila je jedna od rijetkih \u017eena na samom vrhu politi\u010dke vlasti tokom rata u Bosni i Hercegovini, a kasnije je pred Ha\u0161kim tribunalom priznala krivicu za zlo\u010din protiv \u010dovje\u010dnosti. Zanimalo me kako osoba s takvom akademskom, politi\u010dkom i ratnom biografijom, nakon odslu\u017eene kazne, razumije vlastitu pro\u0161lost, odgovornost i zlo\u010dine koji su po\u010dinjeni. \u0160ta se doga\u0111a nakon presude i zatvora? Postoji li kajanje? Dolazi li do promjene? Kako po\u010dinitelji \u017eive sa svojim djelima i kako o njima govore desetlje\u0107ima kasnije?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Do Biljane Plav\u0161i\u0107 sam do\u0161la privatnim, familijarnim vezama jer \u010dini mi se da se druga\u010dije nije ni moglo do\u0107i do nje. Zapravo, poznanstvo i blisko prijateljstvo moje pokojne tetke je ono \u0161to je meni omogu\u0107ilo da toliko dugo vremena provedem u razgovoru s Plav\u0161i\u0107 i izgradim povjerenje koje je potrebno da bi se razgovori mogli voditi. Sigurna sam da, da nije bilo te konekcije, moja knjiga nikad ne bi bila napisana jer ja nikad ne bih mogla do\u0107i u direktan kontakt s njom, a pogotovo ne godinama raditi s njom intervjue. Kada sam joj se prvi put obratila 2017. godine, nisam znala ho\u0107e li uop\u0161te pristati na razgovor, a jo\u0161 manje da \u0107e taj prvi kontakt prerasti u sedam godina susreta i stotine sati razgovora. Upravo je ta dugotrajnost omogu\u0107ila da istra\u017eivanje postane ne\u0161to mnogo kompleksnije od intervjua s biv\u0161om politi\u010darkom i osu\u0111enom ratnom zlo\u010dinkom. Postalo je istra\u017eivanje odgovornosti, poricanja, sje\u0107anja, kajanja, ali i granica onoga \u0161to tranzicijska pravda mo\u017ee posti\u0107i nakon \u0161to osu\u0111ena osoba napusti zatvor.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

— <\/em>Plav\u0161i\u0107 je do danas, kako pi\u0161ete, ostala “nekajana” i tvrdi da bi “sve isto ponovila”. Kao istra\u017eiva\u010dica tranzicijske pravde, kako tuma\u010dite neuspjeh koncepta “uspje\u0161ne rehabilitacije” na kojem je njezino prijevremeno pu\u0161tanje formalno utemeljeno?<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mislim da slu\u010daj Biljane Plav\u0161i\u0107 prije svega pokazuje koliko je koncept \u201euspje\u0161ne rehabilitacije\u201c problemati\u010dan kada govorimo o osobama osu\u0111enim za najte\u017ee me\u0111unarodne zlo\u010dine. Njezino prijevremeno pu\u0161tanje na slobodu bilo je, izme\u0111u ostalog, obrazlo\u017eeno sudskim tuma\u010denjem pokazatelja rehabilitacije, uklju\u010duju\u0107i iskazano kajanje. Me\u0111utim, i prije, a posebno nakon izlaska iz zatvora, Plav\u0161i\u0107 se distancirala od ranijeg priznanja i kajanja, a u razgovorima sa mnom tvrdila je da bi \u201esve isto ponovila\u201c. To otvara ozbiljno pitanje: \u0161ta zapravo zna\u010di rehabilitirati osobu osu\u0111enu za zlo\u010dine protiv \u010dovje\u010dnosti i kako se takva rehabilitacija uop\u0161te mo\u017ee pouzdano procijeniti?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Iz perspektive tranzicijske pravde, problem je i u tome \u0161to se rehabilitacija uglavnom procjenjuje dok je osoba jo\u0161 u zatvoru. Dobro pona\u0161anje, saradnja sa zatvorskim vlastima, prihvatanje odgovornosti ili izra\u017eavanje kajanja mogu se uzeti kao pokazatelji promjene. Ali pravi test, po mom mi\u0161ljenju, dolazi nakon povratka u dru\u0161tvo, kada vi\u0161e nema institucionalnog okru\u017eenja koje takvo pona\u0161anje podsti\u010de. \u0160ta ta osoba tada govori o zlo\u010dinima? Da li prihvata utvr\u0111ene \u010dinjenice? Kako govori o \u017ertvama? Da li doprinosi pomirenju ili, naprotiv, poricanju, relativizaciji i glorifikaciji ratne pro\u0161losti?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Upravo tu slu\u010daj Plav\u0161i\u0107 pokazuje ograni\u010denja postoje\u0107eg pristupa. Rehabilitacija ne bi smjela biti samo administrativna procjena pona\u0161anja osu\u0111enika u odre\u0111enom trenutku, posebno kada ta procjena mo\u017ee imati tako ozbiljne posljedice kao \u0161to je prijevremeno pu\u0161tanje na slobodu. Kod me\u0111unarodnih zlo\u010dina ona mora uklju\u010divati dublje pitanje odnosa po\u010dinitelja prema vlastitoj odgovornosti, \u017ertvama i sudski utvr\u0111enim \u010dinjenicama.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Zato bih rekla da slu\u010daj Plav\u0161i\u0107 ne govori samo o neuspjehu rehabilitacije jedne osobe. On otvara mnogo \u0161ire pitanje za me\u0111unarodno krivi\u010dno pravo i tranzicijsku pravdu: \u0161ta zaista \u017eelimo posti\u0107i ka\u017enjavanjem ratnih zlo\u010dinaca ako nakon izdr\u017eane kazne ili prijevremenog pu\u0161tanja ne postoji gotovo nikakav interes za to kako se oni vra\u0107aju u dru\u0161tvo i kakvu ulogu nakon toga igraju u kulturi sje\u0107anja, poricanja i pomirenja?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

— Objavljivanjem ove knjige neizbje\u017eno joj dajete platformu – Plav\u0161i\u0107 dobiva priliku da pred novom, englesko-govornom publikom iznova ponavlja tvrdnje o “prirodnom fenomenu” etni\u010dkog \u010di\u0161\u0107enja, o tome da bi “sve isto ponovila”, da je nevina. Bojite li se da knjiga, unato\u010d va\u0161oj kriti\u010dkoj analiti\u010dkoj poziciji, zapravo slu\u017ei kao sredstvo normalizacije i promocije osu\u0111ene ratne zlo\u010dinke i kako ste se s tim rizikom nosili dok ste pisali?<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

To je bilo jedno od najte\u017eih eti\u010dkih pitanja tokom pisanja knjige i rizik kojeg sam od samog po\u010detka bila svjesna. Svaki put kada istra\u017eiva\u010dica odlu\u010di razgovarati s po\u010diniteljem odnosno po\u010diniteljkom zlo\u010dina i objaviti njegove rije\u010di, postoji opasnost da im time daje novu platformu. Me\u0111utim, mislim da postoji va\u017ena razlika izme\u0111u davanja platforme <\/strong>i <\/strong>kriti\u010dkog dokumentovanja i analiziranja govora po\u010dinitelja. Moj cilj nikada nije bio omogu\u0107iti Biljani Plav\u0161i\u0107 da jo\u0161 jednom ispri\u010da svoju verziju istorije bez osporavanja, konteksta ili provjere.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Upravo suprotno, njezine tvrdnje u knjizi stavljam nasuprot sudski utvr\u0111enim \u010dinjenicama, istorijskoj dokumentaciji i postoje\u0107im istra\u017eivanjima. Kada ona govori o etni\u010dkom \u010di\u0161\u0107enju kao \u201eprirodnom fenomenu\u201c, kada negira vlastitu odgovornost ili ka\u017ee da bi \u201esve isto ponovila\u201c, te izjave nisu predstavljene kao istina niti ostavljene \u010ditatelju bez konteksta. One su predmet analize. Mene zanima \u0161ta nam takav govor govori o po\u010diniteljima nakon kazne, o poricanju, odsustvu kajanja, samoviktimizaciji i na\u010dinima na koje se odgovornost rekonstruira nakon povratka u dru\u0161tvo.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mislim da bi bilo jo\u0161 problemati\u010dnije zaklju\u010diti da takve ljude ne trebamo istra\u017eivati zato \u0161to su njihove rije\u010di moralno neprihvatljive ili istorijski neta\u010dne. Po\u010dinitelji masovnog nasilja postoje u na\u0161im dru\u0161tvima i nakon \u0161to odslu\u017ee kazne. Oni govore, objavljuju knjige, daju intervjue, bivaju do\u010dekivani kao heroji i u\u010destvuju u oblikovanju kolektivnog sje\u0107anja. Ako ih akademski ne istra\u017eujemo, njihov govor ne\u0107e nestati. Naprotiv, mo\u017ee ostati bez kriti\u010dkog okvira koji ga propituje i suo\u010dava s \u010dinjenicama.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Naravno, tokom pisanja stalno sam se pitala gdje je granica izme\u0111u dokumentovanja i reprodukovanja. Zbog toga sam morala biti vrlo selektivna u tome \u0161ta prenosim, koliko prostora dajem njenim rije\u010dima i, prije svega, kako ih kontekstualiziram. Nisam \u017eeljela ni senzacionalizirati Plav\u0161i\u0107 niti je pretvoriti u fascinantnu \u201ezlu \u017eenu\u201c. To bi bio jo\u0161 jedan oblik normalizacije, samo na druga\u010diji na\u010din.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Za mene je stoga osnovno eti\u010dko pitanje bilo: za\u0161to citiram ovu izjavu i \u0161ta \u010ditatelj iz nje mo\u017ee razumjeti \u0161to ina\u010de ne bi mogao? <\/strong>Ako njezine rije\u010di ne doprinose razumijevanju odgovornosti, poricanja, rehabilitacije ili postkonfliktnog \u017eivota po\u010dinitelja, onda im u knjizi nije bilo mjesto.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Kona\u010dno, ova knjiga nije platforma Biljani Plav\u0161i\u0107 da govori. Ona je predmet istra\u017eivanja, a mi istra\u017eitelji smo obu\u010deni da to radimo. To je va\u017ena razlika. Dati nekome platformu zna\u010di prepustiti mu prostor da oblikuje narativ pod vlastitim uvjetima i tu platformu su imali po\u010dinitelji za vrijeme rata dok su bili na vlasti. Kriti\u010dki istra\u017eivati nekoga zna\u010di njegove tvrdnje dokumentovati, provjeravati, kontekstualizirati i, kada je potrebno, osporavati. Upravo sam to nastojala u\u010diniti.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

— Va\u0161 dosada\u0161nji rad gotovo je isklju\u010divo bio okrenut \u017ertvama ratnog seksualnog nasilja u Bosni i Hercegovini – od <\/em>Silenced Victims of Wartime Sexual Violence do nedavne <\/em>Lola’s War. U jednom ste eseju priznali da vas je to istra\u017eivanje “ostavilo o\u017eiljke”. Kako je taj rad oblikovao va\u0161 pristup kad ste se, radom na Plav\u0161i\u0107, prvi put sustavno okrenuli po\u010diniteljici?<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Taj je rad duboko oblikovao moj pristup u radu s Plav\u0161i\u0107, ali i drugim po\u010diniteljima. Vi\u0161e od dvadeset godina razgovarala sam sa \u017ertvama i pre\u017eivjelima ratnog seksualnog nasilja i drugih ratnih zlo\u010dina, slu\u0161ala njihova svjedo\u010denja i poku\u0161avala razumjeti ne samo nasilje koje su pre\u017eivjeli nego i njegove dugoro\u010dne posljedice. Kada sam napisala da me je taj rad \u201eostavio s o\u017eiljcima\u201c, mislila sam upravo na \u010dinjenicu da istra\u017eiva\u010dica ne mo\u017ee godinama slu\u0161ati takva iskustva i ostati potpuno emocionalno netaknuta.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Kada sam se okrenula Plav\u0161i\u0107, te pri\u010de nisu nestale. Naprotiv, bile su stalno prisutne u pozadini na\u0161ih razgovora. Znala sam \u0161ta su politike \u010diji je ona bila dio zna\u010dile u \u017eivotima konkretnih ljudi. Zbog toga mi je ponekad bilo izuzetno te\u0161ko slu\u0161ati njezino poricanje, relativizaciju ili potpuno odsustvo empatije prema \u017ertvama. Postojao je stalni unutra\u0161nji konflikt izme\u0111u mene kao osobe koja je godinama radila sa \u017ertvama i mene kao istra\u017eiva\u010dice koja je morala slu\u0161ati, postavljati pitanja i poku\u0161ati razumjeti na\u010din na koji ona obja\u0161njava vlastite postupke.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ali upravo me je rad sa \u017ertvama nau\u010dio i va\u017enosti pomnog slu\u0161anja. Me\u0111utim, slu\u0161ati nekoga ne zna\u010di vjerovati mu, opravdavati ga niti se s njim slagati. To je za mene bilo klju\u010dno u radu s Plav\u0161i\u0107. Morala sam stvoriti dovoljno prostora da govori otvoreno, jer sam jedino tako mogla razumjeti mehanizme kojima opravdava pro\u0161lost, rekonstruira vlastitu odgovornost i \u017eivi s onim \u0161to je u\u010dinjeno. Istovremeno, morala sam zadr\u017eati kriti\u010dku distancu i njezine rije\u010di neprestano provjeravati u odnosu na sudski utvr\u0111ene \u010dinjenice i istorijski zapis.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mo\u017eda je najve\u0107a promjena bila u tome \u0161to sam shvatila da istra\u017eivanje \u017ertava i istra\u017eivanje po\u010dinitelja nisu dva potpuno odvojena projekta. Ako \u017eelimo razumjeti masovno nasilje, moramo razumjeti i posljedice koje ono ostavlja na \u017ertve i na\u010dine na koje po\u010dinitelji opravdavaju, pori\u010du ili racionaliziraju ono \u0161to su u\u010dinili. Razumjeti po\u010dinitelja ne zna\u010di umanjiti iskustvo \u017ertve. Naprotiv, mo\u017ee nam pomo\u0107i da bolje razumijemo kako nasilje postaje mogu\u0107e, kako se normalizira i, mo\u017eda najva\u017enije, kako njegovo opravdavanje mo\u017ee nastaviti \u017eivjeti dugo nakon \u0161to se rat formalno zavr\u0161i.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

— Iva Vuku\u0161i\u0107 je u razgovoru za na\u0161 portal istaknula da je ha\u0161ka gra\u0111a nezaobilazna, ali zahtjeva posrednika koji je poznaje. Vi ste kombinirali sudske transkripte s privatnim arhivom koji vam je Plav\u0161i\u0107 predala. Gdje ste prona\u0161li najvi\u0161e rascjepa izme\u0111u te dvije vrste izvora?<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Najve\u0107i rascjep prona\u0161la sam izme\u0111u onoga \u0161to dokumenti pokazuju i na\u010dina na koji Plav\u0161i\u0107 danas interpretira vlastitu ulogu u tim doga\u0111ajima. Ha\u0161ka gra\u0111a, transkripti, presude i drugi sudski dokumenti nude jednu vrstu zapisa \u2013 institucionalnu, pravnu i zasnovanu na dokazima. Njezina privatna gra\u0111a, kao i na\u0161i razgovori, nude ne\u0161to sasvim drugo: na\u010din na koji ona samu sebe vidi, \u0161ta odlu\u010duje zapamtiti, \u0161ta zaboravlja, \u0161ta nagla\u0161ava, a \u0161ta poku\u0161ava objasniti ili opravdati.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Upravo su ti rascjepi za mene bili najzanimljiviji. Nisam njezin privatni arhiv tretirala kao neku vrstu \u201eskrivene istine\u201c koja \u0107e ispraviti ili dopuniti ha\u0161ki zapis. Naprotiv, \u010ditala sam ga kriti\u010dki, kao arhiv koji je tako\u0111er proizvod selekcije. Svaki privatni arhiv na neki na\u010din predstavlja i arhiviranje samoga sebe: osoba \u010duva odre\u0111ene dokumente, fotografije i pisma, dok drugi nestaju ili nikada nisu sa\u010duvani. Zato je jednako va\u017eno pitanje \u0161ta se u arhivu nalazi, kao i \u0161ta u njemu nedostaje.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Posebno su me zanimali trenuci u kojima se njezino dana\u0161nje sje\u0107anje nije podudaralo s dokumentima iz vremena rata ili s onim \u0161to je sama ranije govorila, uklju\u010duju\u0107i njezine izjave pred Ha\u0161kim tribunalom. Tu se otvara prostor izme\u0111u istorijske \u010dinjenice, pravno utvr\u0111ene \u010dinjenice i autobiografskog sje\u0107anja. Upravo u tom prostoru mo\u017eemo vidjeti kako se odgovornost s vremenom pregovara, preoblikuje i ponekad potiskuje.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Zato za mene vrijednost kombiniranja tih izvora nije bila u tome da utvrdim kojem od njih treba \u201evjerovati\u201c, nego da ih stavim u me\u0111usobni dijalog. Kada sudski dokument ka\u017ee jedno, privatni dokument pokazuje drugo, a Plav\u0161i\u0107 dvadeset ili trideset godina kasnije tvrdi ne\u0161to tre\u0107e, taj rascjep sam po sebi postaje va\u017ean istra\u017eiva\u010dki nalaz. On nam govori ne samo o Biljani Plav\u0161i\u0107 nego i o mnogo \u0161irem pitanju: kako po\u010dinitelji i politi\u010dke elite nakon rata rekonstruiraju vlastitu biografiju i svoje mjesto u istoriji i, mozda najva\u017enije, kako takve nove revizirane biografije postaju op\u0161te prihva\u0107ene u zemljama u koje se oni vra\u0107aju po izlasku iz zatvora.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

— U knjizi priznajete strah da \u0107e vas dio ljudi do\u017eivjeti kao “izdajicu” zato \u0161to uop\u0107e razgovarate s Plav\u0161i\u0107, i strah da \u0107e vas neki Bo\u0161njaci ili Hrvati optu\u017eiti za simpatiziranje njezinih stavova jer ste etni\u010dka Srpkinja. Kako se ta trostruka pozicija – Srpkinje, \u017eene iz BiH i istra\u017eiva\u010dice sa Zapada – odra\u017eava na to kako vas \u010dita svaka od tih publika?<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ta trostruka pozicija bila je prisutna tokom cijelog istra\u017eivanja i bila sam cijelo vrijeme svjesna da \u0107e razli\u010dite publike istu knjigu \u010ditati na razli\u010dite na\u010dine. U istra\u017eivanju tako politi\u010dki, istorijski i emocionalno optere\u0107ene teme te\u0161ko je biti percipiran samo kao \u201eistra\u017eiva\u010d\u201c. Moje ime, porijeklo, \u010dinjenica da sam ro\u0111ena u Bosni i Hercegovini, ali i da ve\u0107 dugo radim na Zapadu – sve to za neke \u010ditatelje postaje dio na\u010dina na koji procjenjuju i mene i moj rad. Na \u017ealost, ponekad to postaje i jedina okosnica moga rada, iako je etni\u010dki identitet jedan od onih identiteta sa kojima se ja najmanje identifikujem.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Dakle, bila sam svjesna mogu\u0107nosti da \u0107e dio bo\u0161nja\u010dke ili hrvatske publike samu odluku da godinama razgovaram s Biljanom Plav\u0161i\u0107 protuma\u010diti kao znak simpatije, poku\u0161aj relativizacije njezine odgovornosti ili \u010dak pru\u017eanje prostora za opravdavanje zlo\u010dina. S druge strane, dio srpske publike mo\u017ee moju kriti\u010dku analizu Plav\u0161i\u0107, prihvatanje sudski utvr\u0111enih \u010dinjenica i insistiranje na individualnoj i politi\u010dkoj odgovornosti do\u017eivjeti kao izdaju vlastite etni\u010dke zajednice. To je pozicija u kojoj vas, zavisno od toga ko vas \u010dita, mogu istovremeno smatrati i previ\u0161e bliskom i nedovoljno lojalnom.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Moja pozicija \u017eene iz Bosne i Hercegovine dodaje jo\u0161 jedan sloj kompleksnosti. Rat za mene nije apstraktan istra\u017eiva\u010dki predmet niti istorija neke udaljene zemlje. Dolazim iz dru\u0161tva koje je tim ratom duboko obilje\u017eeno. Istovremeno, \u010dinjenica da ve\u0107 dugo \u017eivim i radim u Australiji omogu\u0107ila mi je odre\u0111enu fizi\u010dku i intelektualnu distancu. Ali ta distanca nikada nije potpuna. Ja sam istovremeno insider<\/em> i outsider<\/em>, i upravo sam tu napetost nastojala u\u010diniti vidljivom u knjizi, umjesto da pretendujem na neku potpuno neutralnu poziciju koja, po mom mi\u0161ljenju, zapravo ne postoji.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Va\u017eno mi je, me\u0111utim, da moja etni\u010dka pripadnost ne postane kriterij prema kojem se procjenjuje vjerodostojnost mojih nalaza. Metodolo\u0161ka rigoroznost ne proizlazi iz etni\u010dke neutralnosti istra\u017eiva\u010da, nego iz na\u010dina na koji istra\u017eivanje provodimo: kako provjeravamo tvrdnje, kako koristimo izvore, kako razlikujemo \u010dinjenice od interpretacija i koliko smo transparentni o vlastitoj poziciji.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Zato nisam poku\u0161avala kontrolisati kako \u0107e me svaka od tih publika \u010ditati jer to je nemogu\u0107e. Ono \u0161to sam mogla kontrolirati jeste na\u010din na koji sam istra\u017eivala i pisala. Ako ova knjiga izazove nelagodu kod razli\u010ditih publika, to ne mora nu\u017eno biti njezin nedostatak. Mo\u017eda upravo ta nelagoda pokazuje koliko su pitanja odgovornosti, pripadnosti, poricanja i sje\u0107anja na rat i dalje nerazrije\u0161ena u na\u0161im dru\u0161tvima.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

— Nosite dvije pozicije istovremeno –  onu “doma\u0107u”, nekoga tko dijeli jezik, kulturu i dio iskustva s \u017ertvama i po\u010diniteljima iz ratova devedesetih, ali i onu outsidersku, nekoga tko ve\u0107 desetlje\u0107ima gleda na regiju s distance, iz Australije. \u0160to vam u radu omogu\u0107uje ta bliskost, a \u0161to vam, obrnuto, omogu\u0107uje ta distanca?<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mislim da su obje pozicije bile presudne za ovo istra\u017eivanje. Ta \u201edoma\u0107a\u201c pozicija omogu\u0107ava mi pristup koji bi nekome ko dolazi potpuno izvana bilo mnogo te\u017ee ostvariti. Dijelim jezik, kulturne kodove, istorijske reference, humor, ali i razumijevanje onoga \u0161to \u010desto ostaje neizgovoreno. Na na\u0161im prostorima ponekad je jednako va\u017eno razumjeti ono \u0161to neko pre\u0161uti, kao i ono \u0161to izgovori. U dugogodi\u0161njim razgovorima s Plav\u0161i\u0107 upravo je ta vrsta kulturne i jezi\u010dke bliskosti bila izuzetno va\u017ena.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Istovremeno, bliskost nosi i opasnost. Kada poznajete kontekst, lako mo\u017eete pretpostaviti da ne\u0161to razumijete bez dodatnog propitivanja. Mo\u017eete postati emocionalno uvu\u010deni u pri\u010du ili odre\u0111ene stvari prihvatiti kao samorazumljive. Tu mi je distanca koju sam stekla tokom desetlje\u0107a \u017eivota i rada u Australiji bila dragocjena. Omogu\u0107ila mi je da na dru\u0161tvo iz kojeg dolazim gledam istovremeno iznutra i izvana i da postavljam pitanja koja mo\u017eda ne bih postavljala da sam cijelo vrijeme ostala u istom okru\u017eenju.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Australija mi je pru\u017eila i jednu drugu vrstu distance, intelektualnu i akademsku slobodu. Ratovi devedesetih ovdje nisu dio svakodnevnih politi\u010dkih i identitetskih sukoba na na\u010din na koji su jo\u0161 uvijek prisutni u Bosni i Hercegovini i regiji. Mogla sam se vratiti razgovorima, dokumentima i vlastitim bilje\u0161kama u prostoru koji je fizi\u010dki udaljen od mjesta i ljudi koje istra\u017eujem. Ta udaljenost ponekad omogu\u0107ava da jasnije vidite obrasce koje iz neposredne blizine ne primje\u0107ujete.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ali nikada nisam sebe do\u017eivljavala ni kao potpunog insidera<\/em> ni kao potpunog outsidera<\/em>. Moja pozicija se stalno pomjerala. U jednom trenutku bila sam \u201ena\u0161a\u201c jer govorimo isti jezik i dijelimo odre\u0111ene kulturne reference; ve\u0107 u sljede\u0107em bila sam profesorica koja dolazi iz Australije i postavlja pitanja iz perspektive me\u0111unarodnog prava i tranzicijske pravde.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Upravo je ta pozicija izme\u0111u bliskosti i distance vjerovatno bila jedna od najve\u0107ih metodolo\u0161kih prednosti ovog istra\u017eivanja. Bliskost mi je omogu\u0107ila pristup, povjerenje i razumijevanje nijansi; distanca mi je omogu\u0107ila da to povjerenje ne zamijenim za nekriti\u010dnost. Za mene je najva\u017enije bilo zadr\u017eati oboje biti dovoljno blizu da mogu razumjeti, ali dovoljno daleko da mogu kriti\u010dki propitivati.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

— Koja je budu\u0107nost – ili \u010dak sada\u0161njost – tranzicijske pravde u regiji? Prelazi li ona – i ako da, kad – u polje historiografije?<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mislim da tranzicijska pravda u regiji ve\u0107 dugo \u017eivi izme\u0111u sada\u0161njosti i istorije. Pro\u0161lo je vi\u0161e od trideset godina od po\u010detka ratova, Ha\u0161ki tribunal je zatvoren 2017. godine, veliki broj su\u0111enja je zavr\u0161en, a generacije koje nemaju vlastito sje\u0107anje na rat danas odrastaju s pri\u010dama koje su naslijedile od roditelja, \u0161kole, medija i politike. U tom smislu, tranzicijska pravda neminovno prelazi i u polje historiografije. Ogromna arhiva Ha\u0161kog tribunala presude, transkripti, svjedo\u010denja, videozapisi i dokazni materijal ve\u0107 predstavlja jedan od najva\u017enijih izvora za pisanje istorije ratova devedesetih. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ali ne mislim da mo\u017eemo re\u0107i da je tranzicijska pravda zavr\u0161ila i da je sada mo\u017eemo jednostavno prepustiti \u010ditavu stvar istori\u010darima. Vrijeme prolazi, ali tranzicija nije nu\u017eno zavr\u0161ena.<\/strong> Jo\u0161 uvijek imamo su\u0111enja za ratne zlo\u010dine, nestale osobe, porodice koje tra\u017ee posmrtne ostatke svojih najbli\u017eih, pitanja reparacija i priznanja \u017ertava, kao i vrlo sna\u017eno poricanje, relativizaciju i politi\u010dku instrumentalizaciju pro\u0161losti. Zato je pomalo paradoksalno da rat istovremeno postaje istorija, a politi\u010dki ostaje veoma prisutan.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mo\u017eda je upravo tu budu\u0107nost tranzicijske pravde u regiji. Njeno te\u017ei\u0161te se postepeno pomjera sa <\/strong>sudnice prema dru\u0161tvu, prema arhivima, obrazovanju, memorijalizaciji, kulturi sje\u0107anja, medijima i istra\u017eivanju. MKSJ je i sam svoju istorijsku ostav\u0161tinu vidio kao ne\u0161to \u0161ire od presuda: njegov zapis mo\u017ee pomo\u0107i u utvr\u0111ivanju \u010dinjenica i suprotstavljanju poricanju, dok je daljnji rad civilnog dru\u0161tva i akademske zajednice klju\u010dan za ono \u0161to \u0107e ta ostav\u0161tina zna\u010diti u budu\u0107nosti. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tu historiografija postaje izuzetno va\u017ena. Sud utvr\u0111uje individualnu krivi\u010dnu odgovornost i \u010dinjenice potrebne za dono\u0161enje presude; histori\u010dar postavlja druga\u010dija i \u010desto \u0161ira pitanja. Sudski arhivi sadr\u017ee ogromnu koli\u010dinu materijala koji mo\u017ee govoriti ne samo o pojedina\u010dnim po\u010diniteljima nego i o institucijama, dru\u0161tvu i \u0161irim strukturama koje su omogu\u0107ile nasilje. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Zato ne bih rekla da postoji odre\u0111ena godina u kojoj tranzicijska pravda zavr\u0161ava, a historiografija po\u010dinje. One se ve\u0107 preklapaju.<\/strong> I mo\u017eda je va\u017enije pitanje \u0161ta \u0107e se dogoditi kada posljednji po\u010dinitelji, \u017ertve i neposredni svjedoci vi\u0161e ne budu me\u0111u nama. Tada \u0107e arhivi, knjige, presude i svjedo\u010denja postati jo\u0161 va\u017eniji, jer \u0107e se borba oko pro\u0161losti sve manje voditi oko \u017eivog sje\u0107anja, a sve vi\u0161e oko toga ko \u0107e pisati istoriju, na osnovu kojih izvora i \u010dije \u0107e pri\u010de u toj istoriji dobiti mjesto.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

— Kad biste morali izdvojiti jedno pitanje o ratovima devedesetih koje na\u0161a dru\u0161tva sustavno izbjegavaju postaviti sebi – \u010dak i unutar akademske zajednice – koje bi to pitanje bilo?<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Kada bih morala izdvojiti samo jedno pitanje, ono bi bilo: Jesmo li spremni kriti\u010dki govoriti o zlo\u010dinima koje su po\u010dinili \u201ena\u0161i\u201c, a ne samo o zlo\u010dinima koji su po\u010dinjeni nad nama, tj. pripadnicima na\u0161e etni\u010dke grupe?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mislim da je to pitanje koje si sva dru\u0161tva nastala raspadom Jugoslavije jo\u0161 uvijek nerado postavljaju. Mnogo smo spremniji govoriti o vlastitom stradanju, nego o vlastitoj odgovornosti. Kolektivno sje\u0107anje uglavnom se organizira oko toga \u0161ta je u\u010dinjeno nama, dok se ono \u0161to je u\u010dinjeno u na\u0161e ime \u010desto pre\u0161u\u0107uje, relativizira ili opravdava. Literatura o postjugoslavenskim dru\u0161tvima upravo pokazuje koliko su poricanje, opravdavanje zlo\u010dina i nacionalni narativi \u017ertve ostali prisutni uprkos ogromnoj koli\u010dini \u010dinjenica utvr\u0111enih pred me\u0111unarodnim i doma\u0107im sudovima. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

To pitanje nije ugodno ni za akademsku zajednicu. I mi smo dio dru\u0161tava iz kojih dolazimo. Imamo vlastite identitete, porodi\u010dne istorije, politi\u010dke i emocionalne veze. Mnogo je jednostavnije istra\u017eivati po\u010dinitelja koji pripada \u201edrugoj strani\u201c nego se okrenuti vlastitoj zajednici i pitati: \u0160ta je u\u010dinjeno u moje\/na\u0161e ime? Ko je to podr\u017eavao? Ko je \u0161utio? Ko je imao korist? I za\u0161to nam je trideset godina kasnije jo\u0161 uvijek toliko te\u0161ko o tome govoriti?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tu bih napravila i va\u017enu razliku izme\u0111u individualne krivi\u010dne i \u0161ire dru\u0161tvene odgovornosti. <\/strong>Krivi\u010dna odgovornost je individualna i mora takva ostati. Ne mo\u017eemo \u010ditave narode progla\u0161avati krivima. Ali \u010dinjenica da je krivi\u010dna odgovornost individualna ne zna\u010di da ne smijemo istra\u017eivati dru\u0161tvene strukture, institucije, medije, intelektualne elite i obi\u010dne gra\u0111ane koji mogu omogu\u0107iti, podr\u017eavati ili normalizirati nasilje. Upravo se u literaturi o naslje\u0111u MKSJ-a sve vi\u0161e postavlja pitanje kako iz sudskih arhiva \u010ditati tu \u0161iru dru\u0161tvenu odgovornost (eng. societal responsibility)<\/em> iako je sam Tribunal prvenstveno utvr\u0111ivao individualnu krivicu. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mo\u017eda je zato, vi\u0161e od trideset godina nakon ratova, najte\u017ee pitanje zapravo vrlo jednostavno: mo\u017eemo li istovremeno priznati vlastite \u017ertve i priznati \u017ertve koje su stradale od \u201ena\u0161ih?\u201d Jedno ne poni\u0161tava drugo. Priznavanje zlo\u010dina koje je po\u010dinio neko iz moje etni\u010dke, nacionalne ili politi\u010dke zajednice ne zna\u010di izdaju te zajednice, niti umanjuje zlo\u010dine po\u010dinjene nad njom. Dok ne budemo sposobni za takvu vrstu razgovora, bojim se da \u0107emo imati mnogo sudskih presuda i ogromne arhive, ali ne nu\u017eno i dru\u0161tva koja su se zaista suo\u010dila sa svojom pro\u0161lo\u0161\u0107u. Sudovi mogu utvrditi individualnu odgovornost i \u010dinjenice, ali ne mogu natjerati dru\u0161tvo da ih prihvati. Upravo se taj raskorak izme\u0111u sudski utvr\u0111enih \u010dinjenica i dru\u0161tvenog prihvatanja pokazao kao jedno od klju\u010dnih ograni\u010denja tranzicijske pravde u regiji.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Intervju je provela Senna \u0160imek. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

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On the occasion of the new book about Biljana Plav\u0161i\u0107: on denial, rehabilitation, and the questions our societies avoid \u2013 an interview with Olivera Simi\u0107<\/strong><\/h2>\n\n\n\n

Olivera Simi\u0107 is a lawyer, professor and writer born in Banja Luka, who for more than two decades has researched transitional justice, war crimes and gender perspectives in post-conflict societies. During the war in Bosnia and Herzegovina she left the country, and later earned her doctorate in international law and criminology. Today she lives and works in Australia, where she teaches at Griffith University in Brisbane. She is the author of numerous papers and books devoted to the victims of wartime sexual violence, among them Silenced Victims of Wartime Sexual Violence and Lola’s War, and recently, after seven years of conversations with Biljana Plav\u0161i\u0107, she published the book “Madam War Criminal: Biljana Plav\u0161i\u0107, Serbia’s Iron Lady,” on the occasion of whose publication we conducted this interview.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Seven years of interviews, hundreds of hours of conversation \u2013 what made you contact Biljana Plav\u0161i\u0107 for the first time in 2017, given that until then your work had been directed almost exclusively at the victims of the wars of the nineties?<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Until then my research work had indeed been almost exclusively focused on the victims of the wars of the nineties, their stories, experiences and struggle for justice. However, after many years of such work I began thinking more and more about the other side of that story \u2013 about the perpetrators, but also about the silent bystanders, people who did not react to the evils happening around them even though they could have. I realized that if we want to understand war, mass violence and crimes, it is not enough to talk only to victims. We must also try to understand the people who took part in creating the policies, ideologies and circumstances that made such violence possible.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Biljana Plav\u0161i\u0107 was particularly important precisely because of her position. She was one of the few women at the very top of political power during the war in Bosnia and Herzegovina, and later, before the Hague Tribunal, she pleaded guilty to a crime against humanity. I was interested in how a person with such an academic, political and wartime biography, after serving her sentence, understands her own past, responsibility and the crimes that were committed. What happens after the verdict and prison? Is there remorse? Does change occur? How do perpetrators live with their acts, and how do they talk about them decades later?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I came to Biljana Plav\u0161i\u0107 through private, family connections, because it seems to me that there was no other way to reach her. In fact, it was the acquaintance and close friendship of my late aunt that enabled me to spend so much time in conversation with Plav\u0161i\u0107 and to build the trust needed for such conversations to take place. I am certain that, had it not been for that connection, my book would never have been written, because I would never have been able to make direct contact with her, let alone work with her on interviews for years. When I first approached her in 2017, I did not know whether she would agree to talk at all, let alone that this first contact would grow into seven years of meetings and hundreds of hours of conversation. It was precisely this long duration that allowed the research to become something much more complex than an interview with a former politician and convicted war criminal. It became a study of responsibility, denial, memory, remorse, but also of the limits of what transitional justice can achieve once a convicted person leaves prison.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

As you write, Plav\u0161i\u0107 remains “unrepentant” to this day and claims she “would do it all again.” As a researcher of transitional justice, how do you interpret the failure of the concept of “successful rehabilitation” on which her early release was formally based?<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I think the case of Biljana Plav\u0161i\u0107 shows above all how problematic the concept of “successful rehabilitation” is when we speak of persons convicted of the gravest international crimes. Her early release was justified, among other things, by the court’s interpretation of indicators of rehabilitation, including expressed remorse. However, both before and especially after leaving prison, Plav\u0161i\u0107 distanced herself from her earlier admission and remorse, and in our conversations she claimed that she “would do it all again.” This opens a serious question: what does it actually mean to rehabilitate a person convicted of crimes against humanity, and how can such rehabilitation even be reliably assessed?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

From the perspective of transitional justice, the problem also lies in the fact that rehabilitation is mostly assessed while the person is still in prison. Good behaviour, cooperation with prison authorities, acceptance of responsibility or the expression of remorse can be taken as indicators of change. But the real test, in my opinion, comes after the return to society, when there is no longer an institutional environment encouraging such behaviour. What does that person then say about the crimes? Do they accept the established facts? How do they speak about the victims? Do they contribute to reconciliation or, on the contrary, to denial, relativisation and glorification of the wartime past?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It is precisely here that the Plav\u0161i\u0107 case reveals the limits of the existing approach. Rehabilitation should not be merely an administrative assessment of a convicted person’s behaviour at a given moment, especially when such an assessment can have consequences as serious as early release. In the case of international crimes, it must include the deeper question of the perpetrator’s relationship to their own responsibility, to the victims, and to the facts established by the court.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

That is why I would say that the Plav\u0161i\u0107 case speaks not only to the failure of one individual’s rehabilitation. It opens a much broader question for international criminal law and transitional justice: what do we actually want to achieve by punishing war criminals if, after the sentence is served or early release granted, there is almost no interest in how they return to society and what role they subsequently play in the culture of memory, denial and reconciliation?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

By publishing this book you inevitably give her a platform \u2013 Plav\u0161i\u0107 gets the opportunity to repeat, before a new, English-speaking audience, her claims about the “natural phenomenon” of ethnic cleansing, about how she “would do it all again,” that she is innocent. Are you afraid that the book, despite your critical analytical stance, actually serves as a means of normalising and promoting a convicted war criminal, and how did you deal with that risk while writing?<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

That was one of the hardest ethical questions during the writing of the book, and a risk I was aware of from the very beginning. Every time a researcher decides to talk to a perpetrator and publish their words, there is a danger of thereby giving them a new platform. However, I think there is an important difference between giving a platform and critically documenting and analysing a perpetrator’s speech. My goal was never to allow Biljana Plav\u0161i\u0107 to tell her version of history once again without challenge, context or verification.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Quite the opposite \u2013 in the book I set her claims against facts established in court, historical documentation and existing research. When she speaks of ethnic cleansing as a “natural phenomenon,” when she denies her own responsibility or says she “would do it all again,” these statements are not presented as truth, nor left to the reader without context. They are the object of analysis. What interests me is what such speech tells us about perpetrators after their sentence, about denial, the absence of remorse, self-victimisation, and the ways responsibility is reconstructed after a return to society.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I think it would be even more problematic to conclude that we should not research such people because their words are morally unacceptable or historically inaccurate. Perpetrators of mass violence continue to exist in our societies even after they have served their sentences. They speak, publish books, give interviews, are welcomed as heroes and take part in shaping collective memory. If we do not study them academically, their speech will not disappear. On the contrary, it may remain without a critical framework that questions it and confronts it with the facts.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Of course, throughout the writing I kept asking myself where the line is between documenting and reproducing. That is why I had to be very selective about what I conveyed, how much space I gave to her words and, above all, how I contextualised them. I did not want to sensationalise Plav\u0161i\u0107, nor turn her into a fascinating “evil woman.” That would be just another form of normalisation, only in a different guise.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

For me, then, the basic ethical question was: why am I quoting this statement, and what can the reader understand from it that they otherwise could not? If her words did not contribute to an understanding of responsibility, denial, rehabilitation or a perpetrator’s post-conflict life, then they had no place in the book.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Finally, this book is not a platform for Biljana Plav\u0161i\u0107 to speak. She is the subject of research, and we researchers are trained to do that. That is an important difference. Giving someone a platform means leaving them the space to shape the narrative on their own terms, and that platform is what perpetrators had during the war, while they were in power. Critically researching someone means documenting, verifying, contextualising and, when necessary, challenging their claims. That is precisely what I sought to do.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Your work so far has been directed almost exclusively at victims of wartime sexual violence in Bosnia and Herzegovina \u2013 from Silenced Victims of Wartime Sexual Violence to the recent Lola’s War. In one essay you admitted that this research “left you with scars.” How did that work shape your approach when, through your work on Plav\u0161i\u0107, you turned systematically to a female perpetrator for the first time?<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

That work deeply shaped my approach in working with Plav\u0161i\u0107, and with other perpetrators too. For more than twenty years I talked with victims and survivors of wartime sexual violence and other war crimes, listened to their testimonies and tried to understand not only the violence they had survived but also its long-term consequences. When I wrote that this work had “left me with scars,” I meant precisely the fact that a researcher cannot listen to such experiences for years and remain completely emotionally untouched.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When I turned to Plav\u0161i\u0107, those stories did not disappear. On the contrary, they were constantly present in the background of our conversations. I knew what the policies she had been part of meant in the lives of real people. Because of that, it was sometimes extremely hard for me to listen to her denial, relativisation or complete lack of empathy toward the victims. There was a constant inner conflict between me as a person who had worked with victims for years, and me as a researcher who had to listen, ask questions and try to understand the way she explains her own actions.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But it was precisely the work with victims that taught me the importance of careful listening. However, listening to someone does not mean believing them, justifying them or agreeing with them. That was key for me in working with Plav\u0161i\u0107. I had to create enough space for her to speak openly, because that was the only way I could understand the mechanisms by which she justifies the past, reconstructs her own responsibility and lives with what was done. At the same time, I had to maintain critical distance and constantly check her words against the facts established by the court and the historical record.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Perhaps the greatest change was realising that researching victims and researching perpetrators are not two entirely separate projects. If we want to understand mass violence, we must also understand the consequences it leaves on victims, and the ways in which perpetrators justify, deny or rationalise what they did. Understanding a perpetrator does not mean diminishing the victim’s experience. On the contrary, it can help us better understand how violence becomes possible, how it is normalised, and \u2013 perhaps most importantly \u2013 how its justification can go on living long after the war formally ends.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Iva Vuku\u0161i\u0107 noted in an interview for our portal that the Hague material is indispensable, but requires a mediator who knows it well. You combined court transcripts with a private archive that Plav\u0161i\u0107 handed over to you. Where did you find the greatest gaps between these two types of sources?<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I found the greatest gap between what the documents show and the way Plav\u0161i\u0107 interprets her own role in those events today. The Hague material \u2013 transcripts, judgments and other court documents \u2013 offers one kind of record: institutional, legal and evidence-based. Her private materials, as well as our conversations, offer something quite different: the way she sees herself, what she chooses to remember, what she forgets, what she emphasises, and what she tries to explain or justify.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It was precisely these gaps that I found most interesting. I did not treat her private archive as some kind of “hidden truth” that would correct or supplement the Hague record. On the contrary, I read it critically, as an archive that is also a product of selection. Every private archive, in a way, represents an archiving of oneself: a person keeps certain documents, photographs and letters, while others disappear or were never preserved. That is why it is equally important to ask what is in the archive as what is missing from it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I was particularly interested in the moments where her present-day memory did not match the documents from wartime, or what she herself had said earlier, including her statements before the Hague Tribunal. This is where a space opens up between historical fact, legally established fact and autobiographical memory. It is precisely in that space that we can see how responsibility is negotiated, reshaped and sometimes suppressed over time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

So for me, the value of combining these sources was not in determining which of them should be “believed,” but in placing them in dialogue with one another. When a court document says one thing, a private document shows another, and Plav\u0161i\u0107, twenty or thirty years later, claims a third thing, that gap in itself becomes an important research finding. It tells us not only about Biljana Plav\u0161i\u0107 but about a much broader question: how do perpetrators and political elites, after a war, reconstruct their own biography and their place in history, and \u2013 perhaps most importantly \u2013 how do such newly revised biographies come to be generally accepted in the countries to which they return after leaving prison?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In the book you admit to a fear that some people will see you as a “traitor” simply for talking to Plav\u0161i\u0107 at all, and a fear that some Bosniaks or Croats will accuse you of sympathising with her views because you are ethnically Serbian. How is this triple position \u2013 a Serbian woman, a woman from Bosnia and Herzegovina, and a researcher from the West \u2013 reflected in how each of these audiences reads you?<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

That triple position was present throughout the research, and I was aware the whole time that different audiences would read the same book in different ways. In researching a topic so politically, historically and emotionally charged, it is difficult to be perceived merely as a “researcher.” My name, my origin, the fact that I was born in Bosnia and Herzegovina but have also long worked in the West \u2013 all of this, for some readers, becomes part of how they judge both me and my work. Unfortunately, sometimes it becomes the sole framework for my work, even though ethnic identity is one of the identities I identify with the least.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

So I was aware of the possibility that part of the Bosniak or Croat audience would interpret the very decision to talk to Biljana Plav\u0161i\u0107 for years as a sign of sympathy, an attempt to relativise her responsibility, or even as providing space for justifying the crimes. On the other hand, part of the Serbian audience may experience my critical analysis of Plav\u0161i\u0107, my acceptance of facts established in court, and my insistence on individual and political responsibility, as a betrayal of my own ethnic community. It is a position in which, depending on who is reading you, you can be considered both too close and not loyal enough at the same time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My position as a woman from Bosnia and Herzegovina adds another layer of complexity. The war, for me, is not an abstract research subject, nor the history of some distant country. I come from a society deeply marked by that war. At the same time, the fact that I have long lived and worked in Australia has given me a certain physical and intellectual distance. But that distance is never complete. I am simultaneously an insider and an outsider, and it is precisely that tension I sought to make visible in the book, rather than pretending to some entirely neutral position which, in my opinion, does not actually exist.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It matters to me, however, that my ethnicity does not become the criterion by which the credibility of my findings is judged. Methodological rigour does not come from a researcher’s ethnic neutrality, but from the way the research is conducted: how claims are verified, how sources are used, how facts are distinguished from interpretations, and how transparent one is about one’s own position.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

That is why I did not try to control how each of these audiences would read me, because that is impossible. What I could control was the way I researched and wrote. If this book causes discomfort among different audiences, that is not necessarily a shortcoming. Perhaps that very discomfort shows just how unresolved the questions of responsibility, belonging, denial and memory of the war still are in our societies.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

You hold two positions at once \u2013 the “domestic” one, of someone who shares the language, culture and part of the experience with the victims and perpetrators of the wars of the nineties, but also the outsider one, of someone who has for decades been looking at the region from a distance, from Australia. What does that closeness allow you in your work, and, conversely, what does that distance allow you?<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I think both positions were crucial for this research. That “domestic” position gives me access that someone coming entirely from outside would find much harder to achieve. I share the language, the cultural codes, the historical references, the humour, but also an understanding of what often remains unspoken. In our part of the world it is sometimes just as important to understand what someone leaves unsaid as what they actually say. In the long conversations with Plav\u0161i\u0107, exactly this kind of cultural and linguistic closeness was extremely important.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

At the same time, closeness also carries a danger. When you know the context, you can easily assume you understand something without further questioning. You can become emotionally drawn into the story, or take certain things as self-evident. Here the distance I gained over decades of living and working in Australia was invaluable. It allowed me to look at the society I come from both from within and from outside at once, and to ask questions I might not have asked had I remained in the same environment the whole time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Australia also gave me another kind of distance \u2013 intellectual and academic freedom. The wars of the nineties are not here part of everyday political and identity conflicts in the way they still are in Bosnia and Herzegovina and the region. I could return to the conversations, the documents and my own notes in a space physically distant from the places and people I was researching. That distance sometimes allows you to see patterns more clearly than you would from close up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But I never saw myself as either a complete insider or a complete outsider. My position kept shifting. At one moment I was “one of ours” because we speak the same language and share certain cultural references; the very next moment I was a professor coming from Australia, asking questions from the perspective of international law and transitional justice.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It was precisely this position between closeness and distance that was probably one of the greatest methodological advantages of this research. Closeness gave me access, trust and an understanding of nuance; distance allowed me not to mistake that trust for a lack of criticism. For me, the most important thing was to hold onto both \u2013 to be close enough to understand, but far enough to be able to question critically.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

What is the future \u2013 or even the present \u2013 of transitional justice in the region? Is it moving \u2013 and if so, when \u2013 into the field of historiography?<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I think transitional justice in the region has for a long time now been living between the present and history. More than thirty years have passed since the wars began, the Hague Tribunal closed in 2017, a large number of trials have concluded, and generations with no memory of the war of their own are today growing up with stories inherited from their parents, school, the media and politics. In that sense, transitional justice is inevitably moving into the field of historiography as well. The enormous archive of the Hague Tribunal \u2013 judgments, transcripts, testimonies, video recordings and evidentiary material \u2013 already represents one of the most important sources for writing the history of the wars of the nineties.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But I don’t think we can say that transitional justice has ended and that we can now simply hand the whole matter over to historians. Time passes, but the transition is not necessarily over. We still have war crimes trials, missing persons, families searching for the remains of their loved ones, questions of reparations and recognition of victims, as well as very strong denial, relativisation and political instrumentalisation of the past. So it is somewhat paradoxical that the war is becoming history and, at the same time, remaining very much politically present.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Perhaps that is precisely where the future of transitional justice in the region lies. Its centre of gravity is gradually shifting from the courtroom toward society, toward archives, education, memorialisation, the culture of memory, the media and research. The ICTY itself saw its historical legacy as something broader than judgments: its record can help establish facts and counter denial, while the further work of civil society and the academic community is key to what that legacy will mean in the future.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

This is where historiography becomes extremely important. A court establishes individual criminal responsibility and the facts needed to hand down a verdict; a historian asks different, and often broader, questions. Court archives contain an enormous amount of material that can speak not only to individual perpetrators but also to the institutions, society and broader structures that made the violence possible.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That is why I would not say there is a specific year in which transitional justice ends and historiography begins. They already overlap. And perhaps the more important question is what will happen once the last perpetrators, victims and direct witnesses are no longer among us. Then the archives, books, judgments and testimonies will become even more important, because the struggle over the past will increasingly be waged not around living memory, but around who gets to write history, on the basis of which sources, and whose stories will find a place in that history.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

If you had to single out one question about the wars of the nineties that our societies systematically avoid asking themselves \u2013 even within the academic community \u2013 what would that question be?<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

If I had to single out just one question, it would be this: Are we ready to speak critically about the crimes committed by “our own,” and not only about the crimes committed against us, that is, against members of our own ethnic group?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I think this is a question that all the societies that emerged from the breakup of Yugoslavia are still reluctant to ask themselves. We are much more ready to talk about our own suffering than about our own responsibility. Collective memory is mostly organised around what was done to us, while what was done in our name is often passed over in silence, relativised or justified. The literature on post-Yugoslav societies shows precisely how much denial, the justification of crimes and national victim narratives have remained present despite the enormous body of facts established before international and domestic courts.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That question is uncomfortable even for the academic community. We too are part of the societies we come from. We have our own identities, family histories, political and emotional ties. It is much easier to study a perpetrator who belongs to “the other side” than to turn to one’s own community and ask: What was done in my\/our name? Who supported it? Who stayed silent? Who benefited? And why, thirty years later, is it still so difficult for us to talk about it?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Here I would also draw an important distinction between individual criminal responsibility and broader societal responsibility. Criminal responsibility is individual and must remain so. We cannot declare entire nations guilty. But the fact that criminal responsibility is individual does not mean we must not examine the social structures, institutions, media, intellectual elites and ordinary citizens who can enable, support or normalise violence. It is precisely in the literature on the ICTY’s legacy that the question is increasingly being raised of how to read that broader societal responsibility from the court archives, even though the Tribunal itself was primarily concerned with establishing individual guilt.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Perhaps that is why, more than thirty years after the wars, the hardest question is actually a very simple one: can we simultaneously acknowledge our own victims and acknowledge the victims who suffered at the hands of “our own”? One does not cancel out the other. Acknowledging a crime committed by someone from my ethnic, national or political community does not mean betraying that community, nor does it diminish the crimes committed against it. Until we are capable of that kind of conversation, I am afraid we will have many court verdicts and enormous archives, but not necessarily societies that have truly confronted their past. Courts can establish individual responsibility and the facts, but they cannot force society to accept them. It is precisely this gap between facts established in court and societal acceptance that has proven to be one of the key limitations of transitional justice in the region.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"","protected":false},"author":6,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2},"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false},"categories":[14,3,4],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-55156","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-intervjui","category-novosti","category-osvrti"],"acf":{"facebook_opis":"\u0160to se doga\u0111a nakon presude i zatvora? Kako osu\u0111eni za ratne zlo\u010dine govore o vlastitoj odgovornosti, postoji li kajanje i \u0161to nam njihov odnos prema pro\u0161losti govori o granicama tranzicijske pravde? O tim i drugim pitanjima s Oliverom Simi\u0107, povodom njezine nove knjige o Biljani Plav\u0161i\u0107, razgovarala je Senna \u0160imek."},"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack-related-posts":[{"id":53180,"url":"https:\/\/historiografija.hr\/?p=53180","url_meta":{"origin":55156,"position":0},"title":"Osnovna \u0161kola “Vladimir Nazor” \u0110akovo: Promocija slikovnice \u201cBJANKINA PRI\u010cA\u201d","author":"Branimir Jankovi\u0107","date":"12. svibnja 2026.","format":false,"excerpt":"U petak je u \u0161koli odr\u017eana promocija i predstavljanje slikovnice Bjankina pri\u010da koju su izradili u\u010denici 7.a razreda u suradnji s u\u010denicima \u0111akova\u010dke gimnazije. Druga je ovo suradnja na\u0161e \u0161kole i \u0111akova\u010dke gimnazije koje je povezala me\u0111unarodna organizacija TOLI iz New Yorka te i ove godine financirala na\u0161 zajedni\u010dki projekt.\u2026","rel":"","context":"U "Novosti"","block_context":{"text":"Novosti","link":"https:\/\/historiografija.hr\/?cat=3"},"img":{"alt_text":"","src":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/historiografija.hr\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/05\/Dakovo.jpg?fit=980%2C653&ssl=1&resize=350%2C200","width":350,"height":200,"srcset":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/historiografija.hr\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/05\/Dakovo.jpg?fit=980%2C653&ssl=1&resize=350%2C200 1x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/historiografija.hr\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/05\/Dakovo.jpg?fit=980%2C653&ssl=1&resize=525%2C300 1.5x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/historiografija.hr\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/05\/Dakovo.jpg?fit=980%2C653&ssl=1&resize=700%2C400 2x"},"classes":[]},{"id":54081,"url":"https:\/\/historiografija.hr\/?p=54081","url_meta":{"origin":55156,"position":1},"title":"Promocija knjige Ankice \u010cakardi\u0107 “Dionizijski socijalizam Praksis \u0161kole”","author":"Branimir Jankovi\u0107","date":"15. lipnja 2026.","format":false,"excerpt":"Utorak, 16. lipnja 2026. u 19:00 sati Knji\u017eara Fraktura (Ulica kneza Mislava 17, Zagreb) Sudjeluju: Ankica \u010cakardi\u0107, Nade\u017eda \u010ca\u010dinovi\u010d, Ana Maskalan Moderira: Roman Simi\u0107 Studija Dionizijski socijalizam Praksis \u0161kole Ankice \u010cakardi\u0107 po mnogo\u010demu je pionirski pothvat \u2013 prva detaljna rekonstrukcija jednoga od najuzbudljivijih poglavlja intelektualne povijesti socijalizma. No istinski novum\u2026","rel":"","context":"U "Novosti"","block_context":{"text":"Novosti","link":"https:\/\/historiografija.hr\/?cat=3"},"img":{"alt_text":"","src":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/historiografija.hr\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/06\/dionizijski-socijalizam-praksis-skole-ankica-cakardic.jpg?fit=768%2C662&ssl=1&resize=350%2C200","width":350,"height":200,"srcset":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/historiografija.hr\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/06\/dionizijski-socijalizam-praksis-skole-ankica-cakardic.jpg?fit=768%2C662&ssl=1&resize=350%2C200 1x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/historiografija.hr\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/06\/dionizijski-socijalizam-praksis-skole-ankica-cakardic.jpg?fit=768%2C662&ssl=1&resize=525%2C300 1.5x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/historiografija.hr\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/06\/dionizijski-socijalizam-praksis-skole-ankica-cakardic.jpg?fit=768%2C662&ssl=1&resize=700%2C400 2x"},"classes":[]},{"id":53985,"url":"https:\/\/historiografija.hr\/?p=53985","url_meta":{"origin":55156,"position":2},"title":"Otvorenje izlo\u017ebe \u0110or\u0111a Romi\u0107a \u201eCentimetri humanosti\u201c u Zagrebu","author":"Filip \u0160imunjak","date":"9. lipnja 2026.","format":false,"excerpt":"Otvorenje izlo\u017ebe \u0110or\u0111a Romi\u0107a \u201eCentimetri humanosti\u201c odr\u017eat \u0107e se u srijedu, 10. lipnja 2026. godine u 19:00 sati u Srpskom kulturnom centru (SKC), Preradovi\u0107eva 21, Zagreb. Izlo\u017eba ostaje otvorena do 3. srpnja 2026. Organizatori: Srpsko narodno vije\u0107e i Arhiv Srba u Hrvatskoj Autor projekta: Andrej \u0160imi\u0107 (autor projekta) i Davorka\u2026","rel":"","context":"U "Izlo\u017ebe"","block_context":{"text":"Izlo\u017ebe","link":"https:\/\/historiografija.hr\/?cat=10"},"img":{"alt_text":"","src":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/historiografija.hr\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/06\/pozivnica-dorde-romic-01-scaled.png?fit=1198%2C1200&ssl=1&resize=350%2C200","width":350,"height":200,"srcset":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/historiografija.hr\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/06\/pozivnica-dorde-romic-01-scaled.png?fit=1198%2C1200&ssl=1&resize=350%2C200 1x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/historiografija.hr\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/06\/pozivnica-dorde-romic-01-scaled.png?fit=1198%2C1200&ssl=1&resize=525%2C300 1.5x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/historiografija.hr\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/06\/pozivnica-dorde-romic-01-scaled.png?fit=1198%2C1200&ssl=1&resize=700%2C400 2x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/historiografija.hr\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/06\/pozivnica-dorde-romic-01-scaled.png?fit=1198%2C1200&ssl=1&resize=1050%2C600 3x"},"classes":[]},{"id":53758,"url":"https:\/\/historiografija.hr\/?p=53758","url_meta":{"origin":55156,"position":3},"title":"Antifa\u0161izam, feminizam i knji\u017eevnost: razgovor povodom knjige Stanislave Bara\u0107 \u201eAnga\u017eovana \u017eenska proza u eri Narodnog fronta (1934\u20131956)\u201c","author":"Branimir Jankovi\u0107","date":"27. svibnja 2026.","format":false,"excerpt":"Centar za kulturnu dekontaminaciju, Beograd 29. maj 2026. 18h Antifa\u0161izam, feminizam i knji\u017eevnost: razgovor povodom knjige Anga\u017eovana \u017eenska proza u eri Narodnog fronta (1934\u20131956)(Stanislava Bara\u0107, Institut za knji\u017eevnost i umetnost, Beograd, 2025) Pro\u0161lo je ta\u010dno deset godina od kada je u Centru za kulturnu dekontaminaciju prvi put predstavljen pojam anga\u017eovane\u2026","rel":"","context":"U "Novosti"","block_context":{"text":"Novosti","link":"https:\/\/historiografija.hr\/?cat=3"},"img":{"alt_text":"","src":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/historiografija.hr\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/05\/Barac.jpg?fit=614%2C472&ssl=1&resize=350%2C200","width":350,"height":200,"srcset":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/historiografija.hr\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/05\/Barac.jpg?fit=614%2C472&ssl=1&resize=350%2C200 1x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/historiografija.hr\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/05\/Barac.jpg?fit=614%2C472&ssl=1&resize=525%2C300 1.5x"},"classes":[]},{"id":54770,"url":"https:\/\/historiografija.hr\/?p=54770","url_meta":{"origin":55156,"position":4},"title":"Camille Laurens, \u201eMala \u010detrnaestogodi\u0161nja plesa\u010dica\u201c","author":"Branimir Jankovi\u0107","date":"24. srpnja 2026.","format":false,"excerpt":"Autorica Camille Laurens u knjizi Mala \u010detrnaestogodi\u0161nja plesa\u010dica, koju je s francuskog izvornika na hrvatski jezik prevela Mirna Sindi\u010di\u0107 Sabljo, rekonstruira \u017eivot Degasova maloljetnog modela Marie van Goethem, problematiziraju\u0107i njezinu dru\u0161tvenu marginalizaciju i povijesni zaborav.\u00a0 O knjizi\u00a0 U Maloj \u010detrnaestogodi\u0161njoj plesa\u010dici Camille Laurens secira nesvakida\u0161nji odnos slavnog umjetnika, koji je\u2026","rel":"","context":"U "Knjige"","block_context":{"text":"Knjige","link":"https:\/\/historiografija.hr\/?cat=8"},"img":{"alt_text":"","src":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/historiografija.hr\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/07\/Mala-cetrnaestogodisnja-plesacica.jpg?fit=489%2C800&ssl=1&resize=350%2C200","width":350,"height":200},"classes":[]},{"id":53577,"url":"https:\/\/historiografija.hr\/?p=53577","url_meta":{"origin":55156,"position":5},"title":"Glagoljski \u201eMisal po zakonu rimskoga dvora\u201c (1483.) izlo\u017een u novoj Aleksandrijskoj knji\u017enici","author":"Branimir Jankovi\u0107","date":"21. svibnja 2026.","format":false,"excerpt":"Primjerak trosveza\u010dnoga izdanja hrvatskoga Prvotiska, tj. glagoljskoga \u201eMisala po zakonu rimskoga dvora\u201c (\u201eMissale Romanum Glagolitice\u201c, 22. II. 1483.), postao je jedan od izlo\u017eaka stalnoga postava Bibliotheca Alexandrina, monumentalne knji\u017enice i kulturnoga kompleksa osnovanoga u spomen na slavnu i drevnu aleksandrijsku knji\u017enicu u Egiptu te kao njezin svojevrsni nasljednik. Uvr\u0161tenje prve\u2026","rel":"","context":"U "Novosti"","block_context":{"text":"Novosti","link":"https:\/\/historiografija.hr\/?cat=3"},"img":{"alt_text":"","src":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/historiografija.hr\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/05\/Prvotisak.png?fit=1073%2C528&ssl=1&resize=350%2C200","width":350,"height":200,"srcset":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/historiografija.hr\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/05\/Prvotisak.png?fit=1073%2C528&ssl=1&resize=350%2C200 1x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/historiografija.hr\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/05\/Prvotisak.png?fit=1073%2C528&ssl=1&resize=525%2C300 1.5x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/historiografija.hr\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/05\/Prvotisak.png?fit=1073%2C528&ssl=1&resize=700%2C400 2x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/historiografija.hr\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/05\/Prvotisak.png?fit=1073%2C528&ssl=1&resize=1050%2C600 3x"},"classes":[]}],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/historiografija.hr\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/55156","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/historiografija.hr\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/historiografija.hr\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/historiografija.hr\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/6"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/historiografija.hr\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=55156"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/historiografija.hr\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/55156\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":55172,"href":"https:\/\/historiografija.hr\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/55156\/revisions\/55172"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/historiografija.hr\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=55156"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/historiografija.hr\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=55156"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/historiografija.hr\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=55156"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}