Sabaha Čolaković

“Wonder-girl”. This is how a woman from Zenica described Sabaha Čolaković in her Facebook comment, under one of the rare articles about the elusive underground activist. Even though the English translation evokes superhero stories (Bosnian version, “čudo djevojka” is more in the vein of fairytales), it’s a strangely fitting description that simply, yet so precisely, captures the personality and work of the underground activist about whom, ironically, we know so little and remember (and appreciate) even less.
The story of Sabaha Čolaković is not only a narrative whose tension rivals the most thrilling spy novels, but also a symbol that perfectly encapsulates the main challenges of the contemporary Bosnian culture of remembrance. First of all, she was a woman, and a young one at that-under thirty when she died-and women’s accomplishments are rarely justly valued. Her work was mostly invisible, behind front lines, in secrecy and shadow, but characterized by exceptional dedication and persistence. Sabaha was indispensable in the underground communist networks: from distributing propaganda to leadership roles. She organized units and actions, assigned tasks, nominated comrades for functions, and in the end, decided on matters of life and death. After the war, she gave her last atoms of strength to rebuilding the country, especially when it came to the welfare of women and children. Of course, her ideological legacy is entirely undesirable in the current political moment. More on that later – let’s first outline who she was. We have few personal details about Sabaha Čolaković, other than that she was born in Sarajevo in 1919, and had a father named Mustafa and an older brother named Rifat. It is therefore impossible to write a comprehensive biography that begins with the year of birth and ends with the year of death. Sabaha belongs to the type of historical figure whose image emerges from a mosaic of memories and testimonies, incidental notes, footnotes… It is also impossible to separate her character from the collective worker and activist struggle, or to understand the significance of her actions without adequate context. The story of Sabaha Čolaković is a thriller, but of the kind that features a wealth of events within a short period, with many side characters illuminating and shading different aspects of her personality, without any useful voiceover.
First sprouts of the workers’ movement and the beginning of the occupation The first recorded involvement of Sabaha Čolaković in the history of these lands occurred in 1941, when she became a member of the League of Communist Youth of Yugoslavia (SKOJ), though she had been engaged in related activities even as a high school student. It was a time when the working class was becoming radicalized and the Communist Party of Yugoslavia was consolidating.
Zenica was turning into a true workers’ town with 12,000 inhabitants, and in 1935, new facilities for the steel plant were being built. As an industrial, workers’ town, Zenica was of enormous importance to the workers’ movement. The Tetovo neighborhood, from which the Čolaković family originated, experienced significant development in the mid-1930s thanks to expansions of Zenica’s steel plant and investments from German capital, primarily the Krupp and Siemens companies. At that time a village, today a city neighborhood, it was one of the first settlements in Bosnia and Herzegovina to receive electricity and electric lighting. Workers’ settlements, cultural centers, and reading rooms rapidly developed… A news report from that time conveys the atmosphere: “Special importance is given to enlightening the village. The library and reading room are places where villagers meet and confer. The committee ensured the acquisition of numerous quality books, daily newspapers, and a radio, which the villagers enjoy listening to. For them, the radio, books, and newspapers replaced taverns, so alcohol consumption and gambling have decreased by 80 percent.” Taking all this into account, it is not surprising that the first seeds of the workers’ movement emerged precisely in Tetovo. [1] In 1935, the Communist Party of Yugoslavia (CPY) was re-established in Zenica, but it did not last more than a year, as already in March-April 1936, the police in several Bosnian towns arrested members-around 70 activists were detained, and 39 brought to trial. Even this brief episode reveals what would become the leitmotif of the National Liberation Movement in Zenica-a dizzying trajectory from utter despair during moments of betrayal and what was then called exposure (“provala”), to infectious enthusiasm and self-sacrificing work, of which our heroine was a synonym. A turbulent period of workers’ struggles and strikes followed, the largest of which occurred in 1937. It was accompanied by violence, and its main outcome was an imprecise collective agreement that enabled exploitation.

The unity of the workers’ movement was obstructed by factionalism within the CPY itself, as well as rival unions. It was clear that the party was dysfunctional, which is why the seasoned activist Todor Vujasinović came to Zenica. He successfully led a reorganization, established ties with surrounding towns, and defined goals and tasks. “Zenica at that time,” writes Ćamil Kazazović, “was one of the strongest industrial centers in Bosnia and Herzegovina, the heart of the central Bosnian industrial basin.
Its steel plant and mine were of particular importance to the occupiers and the Ustaše-run NDH . Moreover, both rail and road routes passed through Zenica, connecting the south and north and linking to the main Belgrade-Zagreb line. Because of this, the occupiers, with the assistance of Ustaše, sought to establish full control over Zenica and ensure uninterrupted exploitation of its industrial potential.” It was precisely for this reason that CPY leaders sharply reprimanded party members who failed to organize serious resistance to the occupiers through sabotage of industrial facilities. The plan was to destroy the power plant, which would have halted operations in the steel plant and the mine . However, the sabotage never occurred due to the betrayal of comrade Franjo Ler. The Ustaše had been recruiting him for months before the action. He relayed every detail. It was a betrayal from which the Zenica resistance never fully recovered. “Release our youth” In the autumn of 1941, the party organization in Zenica was reestablished. In the phase of preparing for the uprising, we find the name of Sabaha Čolaković, who in that same year, along with Sead Škrgo (later a national hero) and Salih Bešlagić, was accepted into the Communist Party of Yugoslavia. After the arrival of Omer Maslić, the first partisan company was founded in Šušnjara forest, which carried out 13 smaller and larger actions, mostly attacks on railway infrastructure around Zenica.[2] The underground members in the city gained renewed motivation. Twenty-two year-old Sabaha Čolaković and her comrades worked tirelessly on agitation and networking during that time. In his wartime memoir, Vujasinović mentions her name with other politically engaged young women, but he singles her out as a budding activist, “unusually active political worker, not just among women, but in other assignments too”.
One of the most important events was the large demonstration against the arrest of SKOJ activists, considered by some historians the only civilian protest in occupied Europe. The Ustaše authorities had arrested numerous youth, including members of some prominent families from Zenica, as well as underground activists, which caused widespread outrage.
It was precisely Sabaha’s group that mobilized the entire public of Zenica, organizing-I believe it was the first, perhaps even the only civilian protest in occupied Europe. The citizens of Zenica, who were not acting out of ideological reasons but purely human ones, came in front of the Ustaše camp to protest and demand the release of the youth that had been arrested. And what’s actually interesting is that they succeeded. The Ustaše were forced to release those people, because they saw that the entire public had turned against them,” says Zenica historian Mirza Džananović. According to him, this is one of the most significant, yet so often forgotten moments in the history of Zenica during the Second World War. But soon, bad news arrived from the front. The Zenica partisan detachments disbanded in a Chetnik coup led by Golub Mitrović and his associates. To make the shock even greater, Mitrović was a member of the CPY. During the coup, 30 of the best fighters were killed. “The epilogue of this treacherous betrayal was an agreement between the Chetniks and Ustaše in Zenica for joint cooperation and fighting against the partisans.” The fighters who refused to side with Mitrović joined the Shock Battalion Groups. Most of them were killed. “If it’s possible to cross the Bosna…” After the Chetnik coup and the withdrawal of the partisan army from the Zenica area, an atmosphere of defeat reigned in the city. From the perspective of party members and underground activists, Zenica must have seemed isolated. For more than half a year, there was no possibility of contact with other partisan units, and other party organizations in nearby towns had already been neutralized. The only faint voice of hope came from the “Free Yugoslavia” radio station. The Tetovo communists, the only remaining NOP group in Zenica, must have listened to the news with anxiety but also hope, patiently waiting for a chance to act. Until that moment, it was necessary to keep the flame of resistance alive during increasingly desperate times.

However, the fact that the partisan battles were happening elsewhere did not mean they should sit idly. It was of key importance to suppress enemy propaganda, explain and share knowledge from the front, and prevent the mobilization of youth into the “domobran” (Croatian Home Guard) army. During this period, Sabaha Čolaković, along with her brother Rifat and Ivan Rački, distinguished herself as the leader of underground work in Zenica.
High on her list of priorities was preventing the mobilization of Muslim youth into enemy military formations. She organized group listening sessions of “Free Yugoslavia,” Moscow and London radio broadcasts, retyped news, and duplicated it at the steel plant, then distributed it to activists. Her “base” was the office of Dr. Bruno Novak, where she held meetings with associates, prepared printed materials and news, and organized assignments. She most often personally distributed and collected the leaflets. Her underground work was marked by extreme caution. She moved discreetly, under the veil. Activities were precisely organized; she determined who would carry printed materials and where. Caution and careful planning helped her avoid arrest until the very end. She never lost control, not for a moment. The stakes were too high. However, the Tetovo communists considered their most important task to be the reorganization of armed resistance in Zenica. Sabaha “invested all her abilities” in that task, using rare opportunities to connect with other units of the resistance movement. She succeeded when it was discovered that two partisans were hiding near Zenica. After the battle on Vlašić, Kasim Buljubašić from Travnik and Rasim Ismić from Gradišće found shelter in the homes of Tetovo activists; Rasim was seriously wounded in a Chetnik ambush. In the summer of 1942, after they recovered, communists began visiting them, among them Sabaha. She had already planned everything: who, along with the two of them, would form the new partisan group, who would be the leader, and she secured equipment and weapons… However, no action would be taken until the unit’s numbers were strengthened. Kasim told historians his memories, mentioning that along with two other activists, Sabaha regularly visited them and promised reinforcements in manpower and weapons. At the time, Sabaha and other communists maintained contact with partisans in Chetnik captivity-Todor Butina and Marko Mišura-who planned to disarm the Chetnik group and join the Tetovo group as soon as an opportunity arose.
From this period, one letter from Sabaha to Todor Butina has been preserved, in which she informs him about forced mobilization for the German and Home Guard army, and lays out a plan to “liberate” the young men during transport and have them join the partisans: This plan of mine is indeed boldly conceived, but there is no other way out. We need to meet and consult on whether it’s possible for you to carry it out. Until then, I will also consult with the commander. We must thoroughly discuss this matter, because we mustn’t act rashly. So, we will definitely meet on Sunday evening. If it’s possible for me to cross the Bosna, I will come there; if not, then as before.
In the letter, she sounds confident, yet still extremely cautious. Her risks were calculated, but never reckless. Evidently, she relied on group structure and collective decision-making, but was willing to “cross the Bosna” to help execute this plan. However, the plan was never realized. Instead, Sabaha and the Tetovo group faced another bitter disappointment. During the months of recovery after the battle in Dračić, Todor stayed in the village of Sviće, and as a Chetnik prisoner, had to avoid any contact with communists under threat of execution. It was never discovered how he was found out-he was likely followed-but when it became clear that Butina was still in contact with communists, he was summoned to the headquarters in the village of Perin Han. There, he was brutally beaten (villagers testified that he couldn’t walk and had to be transported in a cart and treated with goat skins), but they did not dare to kill him because of the respect he enjoyed among the people of Zenica. But Todor did not give up. Just a month later, he re-established contact with Sabaha and the rest of the group and sprang into action. Imagine the scene: at a secret meeting are Todor, Sabaha, and two other underground members. An action is planned: Todor and allies will disarm the Chetnik gendarmerie and then cross the Bosna with the help of the Tetovo group. However, organizational weaknesses-partly due to the limited resources of the Tetovo group in extremely unfavorable conditions-undermined the success of this action as well. Todor and comrades successfully disarmed the Chetniks but failed to cross the Bosna because gendarmes killed the fighters who were their connection.

They decided to try again the next day, but one of the “comrades” betrayed them, fleeing under the cover of night and alerting the Chetnik headquarters. The next night, they were ambushed- Butina was killed, some escaped, and others were arrested. The Chetniks immediately called their Ustaše allies to show them the body of the slain communist, and among his belongings, they found Sabaha’s letter.
Soon after, Rasim Ismić was also killed, and his group was broken up in the village of Gradišće. The attack was led by Ustaše forces. This marked the end of the Tetovo group’s efforts to revive the Zenica partisan detachment during this period. Shortly after, the Chetniks captured the remaining members of the group. Chetnik commander Golub Mitrović once invited the Ustaše to “boast.” The bodies were photographed. The Chetnik commander didn’t receive the decoration he expected. Sabaha did not give up. The entire group was deeply affected by these developments; they mourned the fallen comrades, but there was no room for hesitation or retreat. With so many losses and such high stakes, the underground fighters had to continue. Once again, she led with determination, enduring all the trials without complaint. She went to Tetovo and Gradišće, regularly communicated with the youth from the steel plant and the mine. At this time, she was practically the leader of underground work in the city. She moved alone, in the shadows, under the cover of night, always cautious, yet always counting on the protection of her comrades. Not even her frail physical condition, weakened by a lung disease, could stop her. We do not know exactly what illness she had-one of the more likely assumptions is tuberculosis-but there is testimony of a fragile girl who overcame all obstacles with incredible strength of will. Restoration of contact, continuation of work Sabaha knew better times would come-and they did. In late autumn, the Supreme Headquarters of the People’s Liberation Army decided to intensify the offensive in the valleys of the Una, Bosna, and Sava rivers. Positive developments in western Bosnia brought a glimmer of hope to the communists in Zenica. They immediately intensified their activities. The offensives in the Bosna and Lašva valleys began in December 1942. The First Dalmatian and the First Montenegrin Brigades launched surprise actions that caught the enemy off guard. They captured the railway stations Vranduk and Nemila, destroyed the tracks
The leaders of the First Dalmatian Brigade made contact with the Tetovo communists, even though they did not know anyone in Zenica. They sent letters via worker activists at the steel plant, not knowing if they would reach the right people. They received a reply containing detailed information about the number and distribution of enemy forces.
The next day, a meeting was organized between representatives of the First Dalmatian Brigade and the Tetovo communists. However, this long-awaited first contact with partisan forces did not go joyfully. The partisan comrades did not spare the underground members; they openly told them that their work had become “insular,” that their activity had not been “broad and mass-based” enough, and that they had failed to organize workers to join the fight. Their work was labeled as “sectarian and passive.” The result of the meeting was a leaflet calling on the workers of Zenica to sabotage factory facilities and join the partisans. The communists also received a copy of “Borba” that included the proclamation of the first session of AVNOJ. The material needed to be reproduced and distributed as widely as possible among the citizens of Zenica. This task was handled by Sabaha herself. Everything pointed to a renewed uprising and the resumption of the fight, but there was too little time- the military situation grew more complicated and the army had to move on. It was recorded that the Tetovo group tried to make contact with the First Dalmatian Brigade once more. It was Sabaha’s initiative to send a courier over Vlašić, through deep snow and without a road, to deliver important intelligence and supplies for writing and medical aid… One courier succeeded, receiving a partisan pass and several copies of “Borba.” Halil Selimović also brought a brochure about the crimes in Jasenovac, which was likely the first time such crimes became known in these parts. The other courier had to return with the task unfinished. But there was simply too little time for what mattered most-the restart of the armed uprising. When, in the second half of January 1943, the army returned near Zenica, the Tetovo group no longer existed. “They searched all of Zenica looking for her…” By the end of January 1943, more than 500 people had been arrested: from those previously associated with the National Liberation anti-fascist movement to everyone who was “suspicious.”

They were placed in the detention camp at the Zenica prison. From there, they were either deported to Jasenovac or taken out for execution. Some were hanged along the railway tracks to serve as a warning to locals. Of course, the communists were the first, including members of the Tetovo group. Nearly all members of the Tetovo organization were arrested, including Sabaha’s brother, Rifat Čolaković.
Sabaha, along with a few other group members, managed to hide. With the help of Derva Praskić and Fatima Isaković, she passed the Ustaše guard at the wooden bridge into the Bilimišće neighborhood, where she hid. “The Germans and Ustaše searched all of Zenica looking for her,” writes Kazazović. A reward was offered for whoever found or captured her. After the arrests, the Germans conducted interrogations. Rifat Čolaković and the other Tetovo and Gradišće members were immediately separated from the rest of the detainees. Prisoners were taken one by one into a separate room. They were subjected to the worst forms of torture to extract information about partisan fighters and other collaborators. Here, Oto Cipra enters the story. This German from Plzeň moved to Zenica in 1913, where he worked as head accountant at the Mine and Power Plant. As soon as the occupation began, he made himself available to the German command as a translator. According to historians, Cipra was one of the leading members of the secret services in Zenica, the architect of most operations that dismantled party organizations, leading to the deaths and arrests of many of Sabaha’s comrades. In the prison, during interrogations, Cipra was in charge of translating questions and answers, and he often abused his role as intermediary by misinterpreting, often, whether a person would be tortured depended on him. His misconduct was exposed by one of the prisoners who knew German. He found a way to warn comrades on the outside. Cipra immediately became the target of Sabaha Čolaković’s latest action. While his sister was devising a plan to assassinate the Ustaše translator, Rifat-if the legend that circulated for years in Tetovo is to be believed-showed equal cunning in prison. He decided to “comply” with the German officers who were demanding a list in exchange for freedom. Rifat gave them names of Ustaše members, agents, collaborators, and citizens with “pro-Ustaša sympathies,” and the uninformed German officers-who were stationed not in Zenica but in Sarajevo-immediately ordered the arrest of all the listed individuals.
This caused serious confusion, even conflict with the local Ustaše authorities. It was said that even several well-known Ustaše were brought to the prison. Only after a series of phone calls to Sarajevo and Travnik was Rifat’s trick unraveled. He and his collaborators were executed the next day. One of the prisoners, who had been ordered to dig graves for the executions, left the following testimony:+

“They gave us shovels and pickaxes and ordered us to dig (…) It was a very harsh winter and deep snow, so the digging was slow. The ground was hard and frozen, and our hands were freezing. Because of that, the guards hurried us and beat us with rifle butts.”

This caused serious confusion, even conflict with the local Ustaše authorities. It was said that even several well-known Ustaše were brought to the prison. Only after a series of phone calls to Sarajevo and Travnik was Rifat’s trick unraveled. He and his collaborators were executed the next day. One of the prisoners, who had been ordered to dig graves for the executions, left the following testimony:

The next morning, they watched the execution through the window. Only then did they understand the meaning of their actions. To carry out her most daring plan so far, Sabaha found a way to contact prisoners Omer Porobić and Dževad Glamočanin. The two had been arrested in 1942 and sentenced by the Ustaše summary court. In the Zenica prison, they were given long prison terms, but managed to escape in November 1942 and joined the Zenica Chetnik detachment, which they-according to Ćamil Kazazović-“saw as a chance to stay alive and eventually cross over to the partisans,” which they did during the summer of the same year. Omer and Dževad accepted Sabaha’s plan to assassinate the notorious Cipra. Sabaha was well aware of his movements-she knew that as a translator, he participated in negotiations with the Chetniks, and even which tavern he frequented. It didn’t take long before the swollen Bosna River washed out the body of Oto Cipra. A report by the Ustaše station chief from Travnik stated that “Oto Cipra, an employee of the Zenica prison, was slaughtered and hacked, then thrown into the Bosna River.” Omer and Dževad later died in battle. After this last action, Sabaha went fully underground. By that time, her illness had progressed, and she was advised to rest. She spent two months in Bilimišće, and then returned home and hid in a dugout her father, Mustafa Čolaković, had excavated. Mustafa “no longer trusted other people. He brought Sabaha home, dug a trench in the kitchen and covered it with a cupboard.” From available sources, it can be concluded that she spent at least several months underground, as it is known that in the summer of 1943, she left Zenica under a veil, thanks only to friendly railway workers sympathetic to the NOP.
She crossed into the free territory between Bugojno and Gornji Vakuf, controlled by the Visoko-Zenica partisan detachment. She immediately received new assignments from the local command in Gornji Vakuf, where she worked with activists of the Antifascist Women’s Front and on other tasks. From the perspective of Ustaše and German services, it must have seemed that Sabaha was everywhere and nowhere at the same time.
Omnipresent yet invisible. Long after she escaped from Zenica, the authorities continued to search for her. In September 1943, a “partisan courier”-a disguised Ustaše agent-appeared at the steel plant, trying to learn about underground activity. People from Zenica remember that he was especially interested in Sabaha Čolaković. After the liberation, the District Committee of the CPY for Sarajevo assigned Sabaha to the Visoko Committee, specifically to work in the town of Breza, where she worked with women within the AFŽ. Knowing how much effort she put into her underground work, one can, without much imagination, picture how enthusiastically she embraced the organization of postwar reconstruction. From the valuable documentation of the AFŽ, we see that she was responsible for all organizational aspects of women’s activism. While still in Visoko, she submitted a report to the Main Board of the AFŽ that clearly shows her energy and critical spirit. “There were many women who didn’t even know what the word antifascism meant,” she reported, vividly illustrating the state of women’s lives at the end of the war. In another report, Sabaha demonstrates sharp insight and openness to criticism; she notes that “there are more peasant women than intellectuals among the activists,” but also openly criticizes the “disruptive women,” those who obstruct their efforts. “They work in an organized way, especially to deepen religious and national hatred,” she says with a touch of irony. She is particularly angry at those who sabotage the effort to reconcile “Muslim and Croat women,” warning that ‘special conferences’ must be held carefully, so as not to give ammunition to the phrase ‘you talk to us about brotherhood and unity, yet you make distinctions yourselves.'” At the same meeting, one of the comrades concluded after Sabaha’s thorough report: “The Visoko organization has so far shown the best results, so the experience and initiative of this organization should serve as an example and be transferred to other districts.”

Sabaha was also the delegate of Bosnia and Herzegovina to the First Congress of Yugoslav Antifascist Women. Intelligent, energetic, sharp-minded. There is no doubt she was destined for a bright future. Unfortunately, in the free country she dreamed of and fought so hard for, she lived only two more years. The severe lung disease she had battled for years triumphed over her unyielding will, youth, and spirit.She was buried there.

Revolutionary under the veil Few things are as symbolic of the role of women in the National Liberation War and underground work as a veiled woman who, under the folds of her covering, carries communist propaganda leaflets, secret messages, medicine for fighters, or even weapons. The zar, vala, or burka-the opaque veil traditionally worn by Muslim women in this region until the end of the Second World War, and by some even afterward-is an important symbol of the emancipation of Bosnian Herzegovinian women: what enabled underground work, later became, for female activists, a symbol of backward perceptions of women’s place in society. As such, mass unveiling actions were organized at meetings of the largest women’s organization in Yugoslavia-the AFŽ. In the words of partisan Zaga Umičević Mala: “Under the burka and veil, symbols of centuries-long oppression of women, we carried out the tasks of the Party with the goal of complete liberation of humankind.” Many historians have emphasized the role of women during the occupation as crucial, precisely because the Ustaše occupying authorities underestimated local societies as conservative regarding the position of women. Because of this, women were able to do much in organizing, agitating, and networking, as they could move freely around towns. “Why did Sabaha effectively become the leader of the underground movement in Zenica? Precisely because she was a woman. It was somewhat easier for women to walk through the city because the secret services didn’t really believe women had the capacity to do anything. While her comrades, who were mostly men, had to operate in deep secrecy and with limited movement-because they practically couldn’t do anything-her very gender identity was an advantage at that moment. According to the information we have, she used the zar to move around the city and carry information and everything else that was needed to revive the underground movement in Zenica.”
The history of women’s participation in the labor and partisan movement is a complex tapestry that reveals the centuries-old patriarchal structure-and its, at least temporary, collapse during the antifascist struggle and post-war reconstruction. Women’s participation in the fight and in underground work was encouraged and supported, and they showed that without them, the struggle would have been unimaginable, and victory perhaps unattainable.
Many books have been written about the importance of the partisan woman’s role in Yugoslavia, but in academic fields, this research subject is only just beginning to unravel. Sabaha Čolaković, however, does not quite fit that ideal, mostly because she was never declared a national heroine, a title reserved for fighters, commanders, and political workers who distinguished themselves with heroism and sacrifice during the National Liberation War. The title was typically awarded posthumously, which somewhat “disqualified” Sabaha, since she did not die in direct combat, but-bureaucratically put-from “natural causes.” The recognition granted to her by society was quite minimal-a kindergarten in Breza, the town where she died, bore her name, and older citizens of Breza recall that her grave, with a minimalist monument, was nearby. The memory of the unrecognized heroine then faded, only to be somewhat revived by Zenica historian Ćamil Kazazović in the 1980s, and more recently, thanks to artists such as Selvedin Avdić, author of the book My Factory, in which a chapter is dedicated to the story of Sabaha, Rifat, and Oto, as well as theater director Selma Spahić, who in her stage adaptation of the same book, gave special attention to Sabaha. This revitalization of memory of the elusive underground activist comes after decades of careful erasure of nearly every trace of the Yugoslav legacy from public space in Bosnian-Herzegovinian cities. Remembering antifascist Yugoslav heroes-and especially heroines like Sabaha-is entirely “optional”, sometime even undesirable in societies that seek to be ethnically pure, and base their histories preferably in the recent past. Patriarchal bias in history adds another layer to this problem.

In words of Spahić: “The entire textbook history of humankind glorifies male warrior heroism. Women, at best, are given secondary roles. Especially in the recently revised textbooks (…), they are cast primarily as victims – submissive observers, keepers of the home, mothers, and loyal wives. This passivity ascribed to women is deeply irritating. Women – those not present on the battlefield – entirely took over the functioning of society, both in rural and urban settings, through their active engagement and their much-questioned physical strength”.
This is most evident in the naming of institutions and streets, which in Bosnia and Herzegovina are unusually often named after prominent individuals. Nowhere is the regime change and revisionist attitude toward the past more evident than in the naming of public spaces, which has much in common with animalistic territorial marking. There are not many female names to begin with, and if they belonged to the undesirable Yugoslav legacy, they almost always disappeared.
This is why many NGOs from time to time request a name change to reflect the achievements of women; one such initiative mentions the heroine of this story, referencing her “committed and selfless fight for freedom of citizens of Zenica.” However, in Zenica, too, schools named after female partisans and SKOJ members were renamed in accordance with new “values.” The former School of the Dietrich Sisters-Jewish students who were active in the underground movement and killed in the Jasenovac camp-is now named after writer Miroslav Krleža; the sisters are left with a small and unremarkable street, and the monument has been moved to another location. The Medical School “Desanka Todić”, also named after a female partisan, is now simply called the Medical School. All of this is part of the same trend that also affected the public commemoration of Sabaha Čolaković. The kindergarten in Breza is now called “Umihana Čuvidina,” which tells us what kind of female ideal postwar Bosnia and Herzegovina prefers: not a combative and emancipated activist or partisan, but a gentle poetess from the times of Ottoman Bosnia, whose only preserved poem is unsigned, and whose works mostly remained anonymous. The fact that Čuvidina, another woman from the past whose work indeed deserves recognition, replaces another woman’s name in public space speaks volumes on how superficially nationalist culture of memory treats women’s heritage. Let us conclude on a question, then: why shouldn’t our cities remember both Sabaha and Umihana?