Bosnia’s Answer to Pollution? Apathy.

The goal, however, was not really to explain the facts of toxic air.

In Bosnia, a multiethnic Balkan country whose cities have long been listed among the most polluted in Europe, the statistics are public knowledge. Levels of deadly pollutants regularly exceed what the World Health Organization says is safe for human health, especially during winter months, when temperatures drop and people heat their homes with firewood or even charcoal. Thick clouds of smog are common, especially in the country’s capital, Sarajevo, which is located in a deep valley surrounded by tall mountains.

Lemeš wanted to convince the religious leaders that something can be done.

“Some say that the Bosnian way of life is unhealthy. We smoke in public places, drink lots of coffee, eat meat and sweets,” Lemeš said. “But this is our choice.” The people have no choice, he noted, in whether they breathe polluted air.

Yet Lemeš feels little support from his fellow residents for his ongoing efforts to improve air quality for all Bosnians.

“People got tired, because we repeat the same messages year after year,” Lemeš admitted. “They also think: I don’t have to be active, as he is active. Really, they stop me on the streets, saying, ‘Look how dreadful the air is, why don't you do more about it?’”

Some people are afraid to act out against pollution due to economic concerns. In Zenica, a town with a population of 110,500, the steelworks employs some 2,200. Emotional sentiment also seems to play a role. Modern Zenica, with its public institutions, including a football stadium, hospital and theater, was developed during communist times thanks to support from the steel mill Željezara Zenica, a division of which was later privatized by ArcelorMittal. To this day, it is known to many residents as “Željezara Majka,” or “Mother Željezara.”

Asked what ArcelorMittal has done to decrease its pollution, Alena Kahrimanović, the company's public relations manager, said that, “All required data on environmental projects, investments and workers are publicly available.” She declined to comment on Lemeš' estimate that ArcelorMittal is responsible for 60% of the city’s air pollution.

In 2022, after six years of battle which cost the Hasanbasics more than 10,000 euros, a Bosnian court ruled that the steel mill was responsible for the pollution, as Hasanbasic had alleged. But the court was not able to determine to what extent. Hasanbasic has therefore received no compensation.

For their part, elected officials have largely been reluctant to tackle the country’s pollution problem.

“We have become hostages of bad policies and the lack of vision,” said Faris Fejzagić, 49, an activist who administers the Facebook page “Prljavi grad Sarajevo” (“Dirty City Sarajevo”). “There are solutions on the table, like zero tolerance for the use of coal, plus exploring alternative ways for heating, but it is obvious that they will not be introduced for many years.” He said any progress would require coordination of “all levels of government,” and that no forward movement would be possible during the current energy crisis.

To Lemeš’ greatest surprise, deadly pollution seems to be of little interest to the country’s young people.

“They have a completely different mindset,” he said, noting that he and his colleagues had “applied an engineering approach: to analyze the problem and look for the solution.” By contrast, he said, young people have tried to avoid the problem. They “prefer to depart for Germany or Austria.”

Indeed, Bosnia’s pollution may be quite daunting for those youngsters, who face a dearth of economic opportunities, endemic corruption, high unemployment and rising rents, among other issues. A 2021 U.N. survey found that 47% of Bosnians aged 18 to 29 ponder emigration, either temporary or permanent, while feeling disillusioned by the lack of prospects at home.

Among those who, against the odds, decided to stay is Dragan Ostić, a 31-year-old activist and member of the Center for Environment, a NGO based in Banja Luka, Bosnia’s second-largest city. Born and raised in Banja Luka’s suburbs, where there are pastures encircled by green belts of forest, Ostić made it his life’s mission to safeguard the natural heritage of both his town and country.

“When you speak with people, everyone supports our fight. But if you need their voice to be heard, no one is there,” he explained.

“But this is what we have chosen to do in our lives,” Ostić added, referring to the few activists with whom he collaborates. “Even if sometimes it feels almost biblical, like a lonely fight against the big evil.”

This story was prepared as part of the BIRN’s Reporting Democracy Travel & Reporting Programme.