The old bazaar of Baščaršija in Sarajevo is a maze of cafés, stalls and narrow streets. Coppersmiths hammer rings, shopkeepers sling shots of rakija, and tables of tarnished medals, coffee sets, and collectors’ coins frame the shopfronts. From noon to night, its open-fronted cafés spill onto cobbles filled with locals chatting, drinking strong Bosnian coffee and sweetening their mouths with hookah smoke. In the central square of the bazaar stands the Sebilj, the city’s most famous Ottoman-style wooden fountain; legend has it that whoever drinks from it will one day return to the capital of Bosnia and Herzegovina.

For centuries, many have indeed returned here. The city has long stood at the crossroads of empires, religions, and cultures – walking its streets can feel like sifting through layers of time. Often called ‘the Jerusalem of Europe’, its Orthodox churches, Catholic cathedrals, mosques, and synagogues stand side by side. Austro-Hungarian landmarks, such as the Hotel Europe, serve Viennese Sachertorte, while a short walk away in Baščaršija, cafés offer Bosnian čupavci – comestible reminders that the city’s identity has been shaped as much by Vienna as by Istanbul.

Founded under Ottoman rule in 1461, Sarajevo became a haven for Sephardic Jews fleeing the Spanish Inquisition and soon gained recognition for its trade, medicine and crafts. In 1878 it was absorbed into the Austro-Hungarian Empire, which introduced codified laws, power plants and monumental architecture, such as the Sacred Heart Cathedral, the largest in Bosnia and Herzegovina. After 1918, it became part of the new Kingdom of Serbs, Croats and Slovenes (later known as Yugoslavia).

The city commanded the world’s attention three times in the 20th century: with the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand in 1914; with the 1984 Winter Olympics, when it enjoyed a rare moment of international acclaim; and with the brutal siege of 1992-96, the longest endured by a capital city in modern history. As the 30th anniversary of the Dayton Peace Agreement approaches in November, Sarajevo risks once again becoming the stage for yet another crisis.

After the death of Yugoslavia’s leader, Josip Broz Tito, in 1980, longstanding ethnic tensions among Bosniaks, Serbs and Croats resurfaced. When Bosnia held a referendum and declared independence in 1992, Bosnian Serbs boycotted the vote and declared their own republic with support from Belgrade and the Yugoslav People’s Army. The conflict escalated rapidly as Bosnian Serb forces, backed by Slobodan Milošević, sought to carve out ethnically Serb territories through mass violence. What followed was a systematic campaign of ethnic cleansing, rape and forced displacement of Bosniaks and Croats. The war evolved into a brutal three-sided struggle, driven by nationalist ambitions and unresolved historical grievances.

From April 1992 to February 1996, Sarajevo endured one of the longest and most ferocious sieges in modern history. Encircled by Bosnian Serb artillery positioned in the surrounding hills of Sarajevo, the city was shelled daily, its streets and even schoolyards made potentially fatal by snipers. Public services collapsed under the blockade: food, medicine and water ran out, crime was on the rise, and fires consumed landmarks such as the National Library. Civilians sheltered in basements, while parks and sports fields were turned into makeshift cemeteries. Women were subjected to repeated sexual violence, while their families were scattered by forced displacement. Thousands of civilians lived in a constant state of fear induced by the unrelenting violence.

It was only after NATO’s decisive intervention after a massacre at Sarajevo’s Markale market that the siege finally ended. Operation Deliberate Force was an air campaign conducted between 30 August and 20 September 1995, where more than 400 NATO aircraft struck Bosnian Serb positions, forcing them to lift the blockade and compelling their leaders to the Dayton peace talks later that year.

The war, which claimed 100,000 lives, was brought to a halt on 21 November 1995, when the presidents of Bosnia and Herzegovina (Alija Izetbegović), Croatia (Franjo Tudman) and Serbia (Milošević) signed the Dayton Agreement, first reached at an air base in Ohio and formalised in Paris a month later. Dayton may have ended the war, but it also froze over fractures that still run deep. It divided Bosnia into two entities: the Serb-dominated Republika Srpska (RS) and the Muslim-Croat Federation of Bosnia and Herzegovina, governed by a consociational democracy that enshrined ethnic power-sharing. A weak central government was created to sit above the entities, overseen by an international High Representative empowered to impose laws when consensus failed. The system entrenched division, sidelined civil society and led to deadlock: Bosniak parties pressed for centralisation, while Serb and Croat leaders obstructed reforms, boycotted institutions, and wielded vetoes to defend their autonomy.

For Milorad Dodik, the former president of Republika Srpska, this division is an intentional strategy that is part of his separatist agenda. He continues to oppose state institutions, denies the Srebrenica massacre as a ‘fabricated myth’, cultivates ties with Serbia’s Aleksandar Vučić and Hungary’s Viktor Orbán, and actively courts Vladimir Putin, who views Bosnia as another front to block deeper Euro-Atlantic integration. Driving through the Republic of Srpska, Chinese flags now flutter over infrastructure projects in its hills – evidence of Beijing’s growing interest in the region.

As of September 2025, the acting president of Republika Srpska is Davor Pranjić, who stepped in following the termination of Milorad Dodik’s mandate. Dodik, however, has called a referendum for 25 October to challenge a court ruling banning him from holding public office for six years — a move Britain’s ambassador, Julian Reilly, has condemned as illegal since it rejects the authority of Bosnia’s central institutions. Just weeks later, on 23 November, early elections will be held to formally choose Republika Srpska’s next president, raising fears of a crisis manufactured by Dodik. At the same time, Bosnian Croats, backed by Zagreb, are pressing for changes to electoral law that would clear the path to their own separate entity.

On top of this, Bosnia is haemorrhaging talent: thousands of young professionals emigrate each year, weary of corruption and nepotism. Last year, the country ranked very low on the Corruption Perceptions Index, scoring 33 out of 100. EU accession, once a beacon of future stability, now feels distant, as its deadlines have been missed and its funds withheld. Bosnia’s leaders cannot even agree on a chief negotiator for membership talks. The ongoing corruption and political instability are not only stalling development, but chipping away at Bosnia’s already fragile settlement.

The horrors of the siege of Sarajevo remain painfully evident today. At the city’s Museum of Crimes Against Humanity and Genocide, a wall of multicoloured Post-it notes from visitors reads like a collective plea: do not let history repeat itself. It was impossible not to draw parallels with the daily atrocities unfolding in Ukraine and Gaza.

The Sarajevo Film Festival, held each August, is the city’s defining moment. Conceived in 1995, at the height of the siege and during its darkest days, it offered a fleeting semblance of normality and a means of cultural resistance for Sarajevans. The festival has since become a lasting source of pride and hope, drawing hundreds of thousands into its cinemas, theatres, and cafés, while the Baščaršija hums with life. Yet the scars remain – buildings pockmarked by bullets, graves scattered across the hillsides and museums that serve as brutal reminders of the horrors of genocide. Thirty years on from Dayton, they also serve as reminders that in Sarajevo, the past is never far from the present, and that peace remains as precarious as ever.