On the days when we mark the anniversary of NATO’s aggression against the Federal Republic of Yugoslavia, recognizing it as a manifestation of barbarism, we can interpret the resistance of the then-Serbian state in no other way than as an act of affirming sovereignty. All norms of international law were trampled for the sake of bombing Serbia and Montenegro. Even the UN Security Council was bypassed. Despite official statements characterizing the aggression as a “humanitarian intervention,” there are also opinions that Serbs were attacked merely to redirect American public attention from the lowly passions with which Bill Clinton tarnished the Oval Office. Savagery, as an intrinsic characteristic of the political West, was fully exposed in 1999.

Twenty-six years later, the same barbarism in new garb still lingers in the territory of the former Yugoslavia. NATO’s brute force has been replaced by legal violence. The perversion of legal norms and institutions into tools for settling scores with political opponents is a concept long familiar in political theory and practice. In the West, it even has a specific name—lawfare—a portmanteau of “law” and “warfare”. In the context of Bosnia and Herzegovina, this approach has been exceptionally useful to the High Representatives—de facto colonial administrators—in their efforts to centralize the state and marginalize Serbs and Croats through majorization. Among other things, the degeneration of law to sustain a narrative, previously produced by the Hague Tribunal, has now been taken up by Bosnia and Herzegovina’s judiciary and prosecution, turning them into political actors.

The current political-legal crisis in Bosnia and Herzegovina, triggered by the actions of Christian Schmidt, is undoubtedly directed against the Republic of Srpska—and, by extension, the Serbs in Bosnia and Herzegovina. Just as during the aggression against the FR Yugoslavia, the assaults on Republic of Srpska’s institutions are being carried out under the guise of a narrative centered on individual guilt, even though the real issue for the advocates of globalism are the Serbs as a people.

Before Yugoslavia was attacked, the Republic of Srpska was bombed in 1995, and the Serbian people in Croatia were ethnically cleansed with the blessing of the collective West. At that time, the Serbs stood alone. This time, Republic of Srpska is not isolated, and what is presented as a specific local issue is in fact merely a reflection of the crisis of the Western-centric global order that was imposed on Eastern European countries following the collapse of the USSR.

To illustrate this point, consider Romania: Călin Georgescu, the clear winner of the first round of presidential elections, had his mandate revoked within days after the Romanian Supreme Court annulled the elections. The stated reason, as is typically the case, was alleged corruption. However, Georgescu’s real transgression was his refusal to sacrifice Romania’s national interests in favor of Brussels’ Eurocrat policies. In today’s Romania, democracy is—at best—suspended. Even within the United States itself, the Trump administration faces similar challenges, where judicial structures—particularly the courts—have become the primary instruments of political pressure. These target both the new administration’s agenda and its individual members, with particular focus on Donald Trump himself.

At its core, the process of globalization—imposed as something without alternative for over three decades—is now reaching its logical conclusion. The nations of the world face a choice: either accept subjugation or assert sovereign agency. On the global stage, ideological boundaries are gradually being drawn between sovereigntists and globalists. In reality, these divisions inevitably manifest in the political arena as a struggle between the dominance of globalization’s architects and the reassertion of the principle of respect for the rights of sovereign states and nations.

Returning the focus to the local level, the current crisis in Bosnia and Herzegovina exhibits the hallmarks of global processes—and may well represent the most striking contemporary example of the clash between advocates of neocolonial practices and defenders of sovereignty.

Nowhere in the world—including Bosnia and Herzegovina—can these two worldviews coexist in the same space. The socio-political lexicon of Bosnian Muslims features the phrase “proud Bosnia” (Босна поносна)—often deployed to construct a link between today’s Bosnia and Herzegovina and the medieval Serbian state. The Muslim political leadership does not hesitate to use this expression to portray contemporary BiH as a proud, independent and sovereign nation.

In reality, that “Bosnia” does not exist. The policies and actions of both the Muslim political elite and joint-level institutions accept the existence, functioning and superior status of bodies that have no foundation in Bosnia and Herzegovina whatsoever, let alone legitimacy among its constituent peoples. A “proud Bosnia” tolerates no High Representatives. And despite the challenges facing Republic of Srpska, if Dayton-era BiH still anywhere harbors the spirit of medieval Bosnia—of a “proud Bosnia”—it is unquestionably in the Republic of Srpska.

The direct responsibility for this situation lies with Muslim political and intellectual leaders. When Paddy Ashdown dismissed dozens of democratically elected Serbian officials, political Sarajevo was given the opportunity to match its words with actions. It was precisely Sarajevo—in defence of the true principles of sovereignty—that should have stood up for Serbian officials. This did not happen, and every subsequent insistence on BiH being a sovereign country has been nothing but an empty form devoid of substance.