Ratko Krajčinović from Ruma and Nenad Abramović from Belgrade are strangers, yet they share numerous similarities. Both are Krajišniks from Sisak, and both are refugees. Forced to rebuild their lives in Serbia from a point far below zero, they have shown resilience in their journey.

Today, however, their perspectives on the events of the 1990s diverge. The Serbs often refer to it as the “fall of Krajina,” while Croats label it the “military-police operation Storm.” This year marks the thirtieth anniversary, a significant milestone.

“There was a war, so what now?”

Krajčinović (70) asserts, “Serbs are a people who know how to forgive, but they must not forget.”

“My family and I are going to Croatia. I still own my childhood home there, which hasn’t been sold. After 30 years, I believe passions should ease, and we can foster reconciliation to move forward,” he tells DW.

He adds that the persistent “everyday warmongering slogans” are unproductive. “The war is over—so what now? It’s time to extend a hand and progress towards Europe for a better life,” he states.

In contrast, Abramović (57), the president of the “Homeland” association for displaced, immigrant, and refugee individuals, shares that his emotions are complex. Born in Croatia, he feels that Storm took away his possessions and left deep scars in his life.

“My parents and brother abandoned me. My emotions are conflicted—I remember my childhood, school, my mother, and the joyful times. Then the war came, which we never anticipated—believing in brotherhood and unity. Unfortunately, it seems we Serbs were the only ones who did,” he reflects.

August’s Compounded Emotions

This August feels particularly weighty, as the Serbian Ministry of Foreign Affairs has advised citizens to avoid traveling to Croatia from August 1 to 10.

In Croatia, “Storm” is celebrated with grandeur, while Serbia observes solemn commemorations.

Abramović feels the tension deeply; he didn’t attend his aunt’s funeral. “Serbs there now have no purpose,” he laments.

Krajčinović maintains friendships formed before the war, choosing not to discuss it with them. “That’s how I raised my children,” he explains.

“Absolutely! Let go of resentment, abandon the weapons, and let’s move on to a better life. At 70, I advocate for this perspective, and I instill it in my children,” he continues:

“My children do not harbor disdain for Croats. They have reasons to, but they choose to suppress it. It’s time to focus on improving our lives,” Krajčinović concludes.

Starting Anew Below Zero

Krajčinović reflects on his new beginning in Ruma in 1996, describing it as a “start from scratch” but ultimately rewarding.

“I am a physical education teacher. Initially, I found temporary work at a school; my pay was insufficient for living expenses. To survive, I ventured into commercial work,” he recounts.

“Without a car or a house, everything was earned anew. We had two small children and elderly family members needing constant medical attention. Who else would they rely on but us?” Krajčinović shares.

Abramović, who arrived in Belgrade at 27, recalls that refugees were often directed away from the capital. “The situation was dire—mobilization was ongoing, and we were often sent back to Slavonia. Movement was severely restricted,” he explains.

As president of a refugee association, he claims that conditions for refugees have gradually improved in recent years.

“We are significant victims, but in the past decade, the treatment of refugees has improved, with increased visibility in institutions and political circles,” he states. “However, we still face pressing needs; at least 2000 apartments for refugees are required in Belgrade, but progress has been made since then.”

Anniversaries Growing More Painful

For numerous expelled Krajina residents, the hard-rightist Marko Perković Tompson gathering approximately half a million people at a Zagreb concert was distressing.

I cannot condone it. Half a million people chanting ‘Ready for the homeland’—we know the implications of that cry. Why revert to the Ustasha era?” Krajčinović questions.

“Let’s move forward, regardless of whether you’re a Serb, Croat, or Muslim. We must coexist, as we rely on one another. Anything else hampers our progress,” Krajčinović urges.

Conversely, Serbian media frequently depict all Croats as “Ustasha,” with war criminals becoming commonplace guests in their broadcasts.

The anniversaries of “Storm” seem to exacerbate bitterness over time. This year’s commemoration, marking the thirtieth anniversary, felt particularly painful for the displaced Krajina residents.

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