06/07/1995 | Voices from the Drina

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🧵 Serb attacks on Srebrenica are now relentless. It seems the concept of the “safe area” is about to undergo its greatest test.

The centre of town is being shelled every hour and there are battles between our fighters and the Bosnian Serb army (VRS) on the outskirts. Our lines are being pushed back every hour.

Injured after injured are coming into the hospital. I’m sleeping maybe 2-3 hours a night. Everything points to the Serbs invading Srebrenica but I don’t want to believe it. I want to feel that something, someone, will save us. Surely the international community won’t let us fall.

My son, Edin, has been killed by a Serb grenade. I can’t eat. My other son is next to me, begging me to eat. “Mama, I have also lost my brother and friend, yet I am eating.”

I’m thinking about all those parents’ meetings at school. Edin’s teacher Milena would always tell me, “you shouldn’t have come. In school he is great. He only gets As.” My baby is dead.