Zenica // There is an Elephant in the Room
© John Bills
There is an elephant in this room. You might not be able to see him, what with the quality of air and all that, but he is there. The famous trunk, his ears comically large, two tusks covered in soot and ash. The only proboscidean left. A strange-looking animal, all things considered, but who am I to question the design preferences of our creator? I am nobody, and my opinion should not be considered, but believe me when I say there is an elephant in this room.
Zenica is not a beautiful city. That is what everyone says, although the colourful buildings in the old centre suggest otherwise. The greens crisp, the pinks vibrant, the yellows shimmering. The excellent City Museum is in one of the latter, and I’m more than happy to put it in the upper echelon of City Museums in Bosnia and Herzegovina. Seriously, give it a go. I spent at least an hour in the place, bouncing from the history of the city to a marvellous array of technological inventions. I’ll never be sad to see a gramophone, even if they do conjure up thoughts of The Caretaker, Everywhere At The End of Time and dementia. If you aren't aware of that project, stop reading this and get into it.
John, the elephant. How did The Guardian describe it? “The steel town where even taking a breath can be a struggle”, or something like that? That explains the soot and ash. Come to think of it, the elephant doesn’t look well. His eyes are tired. His skin is blotched. Sure, elephants give off a sense of sadness anyway, but this isn’t sadness. This is resignation. The nails on his monolithic feet look jaundiced. His trunk hangs limp. His heart aches. He seems deflated. No music, no stars in the sky.
© John Bills
The history of living in Zenica follows the usual path. I have little interest in repeating it with each new town. After all, my utter disdain for archaeology is well-documented. What can we learn about Zenica by winding the clock back to a time before written records? A lot, loads, plenty, but history is often ignored. At this point, you should be linking back to the elephant repetition above. See?
Zenica’s story is long and detailed, but mention the city to anyone today, and a comment about industry won’t be far behind. This was the great steel metropolis of Yugoslavia, the capital of mining and metal processing, a city that saw its population grow six times over the second half of the 20th century. Many cities in the heart of Bosnia and Herzegovina are defined by industry, but Zenica is the king.
The railway came in 1879, a coal mine one year later, followed by paper factories, ironworks, power stations and more. With each new development came new opportunities, and people flocked to Zenica from all over the region looking for work and life, in that order. With people came schools, clubs, cinemas, theatres, taverns, romance, and community. Zenica was thriving. It all came from steel.
Zenica is not the same today. As a far more talented writer put it, it is a workers' city where the workers have left. The population has dropped by 25% since the end of the war. People are still leaving. Sure, The Guardian’s claim is a little over the top, but the air quality is pretty wretched. Steel brought life to Zenica, but it came with air pollution. One of those is detrimental to the other.
© John Bills
So the elephant in the room cannot be ignored, despite his morose portrayal. Mention architecture in Zenica and the 27-storey Lamela building will shout loudest. How can it not? It is bloody massive, after all. Designed by Slobodan Jovandić, it is a collection of constructions of different heights, leading towards a behemoth stretching 101metres into the sky. It was initially supposed to be even taller, but it was decided that the air quality would have been too wretched. Something something the horse has bolted.
But dismissing the architecture of Zenica as one-dimensional is obtuse. There is beauty here. Walk around the old centre, and you’ll see the colours mentioned above. The city has several gorgeous mosques; the pseudo-Moorish Ansar Mosque is a delight, while the Sultan Ahmed Mosque shimmers in the centre. Yes, I’m biased, but allow me my biases and I shall allow you yours.
And dismissing the history in favour of steel, coal and smoke? Foolish, disrespectful, patronising. Across from the Sultan Ahmed Mosque is a seemingly innocuous house, but this is history. That house is the Hadži Mazića Kuća, where those in charge tried desperately to find a way to stop the Austrian army’s march towards Sarajevo. Little is known about the house before that meeting in 1878, and the meeting proved futile, but still. But, still.
© John Bills
Focusing solely on Zenica’s industrial history is disrespectful to the role this town played in the medieval Bosnian state, its role in the life and times of Ban Kulin, the importance of Vranduk Fortress, and all the rest. Zenica is a special town. It might be the proverbial ugly duckling in this magical country, but scratch away at the surface, and you’ll be rewarded with history and story. Zenica needs a bit of love. You need to make the effort. Yes, Zenica has industry, brutalist architecture, traffic and smog, but it also has quaint architecture, good people and an undeniable sense of self. No, it isn’t Blagaj, it isn’t Jajce. This is motherfucking Zenica. Make the effort.
John, please, the elephant. You can’t ignore the elephant. Yes, you mention the elephant and acknowledge the importance of addressing the elephant, but words are not actions. Intentions are important, but hollow intentions are not. At some point, you have to face the elephant, and you can’t do that with blotched skin, tired eyes, an aching heart and a bad back. A witty way with words will prove useless. No music, no stars in the sky. There is an elephant in this room.
