From Bosnia to Brisbane: A Refugee’s Warning on the Fragility of Cohesion
A childhood shattered by war and displacement has instilled in Jasmina Joldić a profound understanding of the dangers of division, leading her to speak out against rising anti-immigrant sentiment in Australia and globally. Now a senior federal government official, Joldić’s story is a stark reminder of how quickly societal harmony can unravel, and the importance of safeguarding it.
Jasmina Joldić was nine years old when the reality of her identity – and the violence that came with it – was thrust upon her. Her mother, Selma, attempted to explain to Jasmina and her older sister, Amela, why their father had been taken by armed men. “I didn’t know who I was, or what I was, until the war started,” Joldić reflects, recalling the moment her idyllic childhood ended.
Until that day, Enver and Selma Joldić had shielded their daughters from the escalating tensions in their homeland. “We knew that things weren’t right when Dad was taken to a concentration camp and Mum couldn’t explain to us what that was,” Joldić says, her voice laced with the lingering pain of that uncertainty. “And where he was.” She remembers the chilling realization that “they” – her neighbors – had come with guns to take her father, with no guarantee of his return.
It was then, for the first time, that the conversation turned to religion. Joldić learned she was born Muslim, though not raised within the faith. Her mother explained their family traditions – annual gatherings at her grandparents’ home – as a connection to their heritage. “And it’s like: ‘oh that’s religion?’” she recalls. Joldić now understands the potent and often destructive power of such labels. “I know where that leads – it can destroy a society,” she states, drawing a direct line between her past and the escalating anti-immigrant rhetoric she observes today.
Born a citizen of Yugoslavia in July 1992, Joldić’s early life coincided with the violent disintegration of the Balkan socialist federation. A brutal three-way conflict erupted in Bosnia between Orthodox Serbs, Muslim Bosniaks, and Catholic Croats, irrevocably altering the lives of countless families, including her own. The Joldićs were forced to flee their homeland, eventually finding refuge in the suburbs of Brisbane, Australia.
This journey, marked by trauma and resilience, fueled Joldić’s determination to succeed. After a distinguished career in the public service, she rose to become the director general of Queensland’s department of justice and attorney general. A subsequent political shift led to her departure, but she now serves as the higher education deputy secretary in the federal government, bringing a unique perspective to the complexities of governance. It is this experience that compels her to speak out against the “demonising” of others, a pattern she recognizes with alarming clarity. “That can escalate really quickly,” she warns, “I know where that leads – it can destroy a society.”
The peace agreement brokered in Dayton, USA, and signed in Paris on December 14, 1995, brought an end to the Bosnian War, almost 30 years ago. However, Joldić’s perspective on the Dayton Accords has evolved over the decades. While initially skeptical, viewing the agreement as freezing the conflict in time, recent global events – particularly the conflicts in Gaza and Ukraine – have prompted a shift in her thinking. “At least it stopped the war,” she concedes. “It stopped the killing. It stopped the bloodshed on the Balkans.”
The Bosnian War introduced a chilling term to the international lexicon: ethnic cleansing – a translation of the Serbo-Croatian phrase “etnicko ciscenje.” The horrors of Srebrenica, where more than 8,000 Muslim men were executed by the forces of Republika Srpska 30 years ago, remain a haunting reminder of the depths of human cruelty. Joldić vividly remembers watching the unfolding tragedy on television from a one-bedroom refugee apartment in Berlin, her father’s words echoing in her mind: “Oh my God Selma, they are gonna kill them. They are going to absolutely slaughter them.”
Joldić’s experience resonates with Ian Kemish, a retired Australian diplomat who witnessed the conflict firsthand in the mid-1990s. Kemish recalls the harrowing journey to Sarajevo, traveling in a Ukrainian Antonov aircraft, donning a flak jacket, and navigating “sniper alley.” He observed a city under siege, yet remarkably resilient, with people maintaining a semblance of normalcy amidst the chaos. Kemish notes that Yugoslavia had once been a model of religious coexistence, but that new political forces had stoked ancient hatreds, turning neighbors against one another.
Dayton, Kemish explains, froze the existing borders and left nationalists in power, creating a “pretty creaky” political framework. Despite its imperfections, he believes the 30 years of relative peace it has secured is a significant achievement. “While ending the killing is the imperative, the political solution can be elusive,” he observes.
Joldić now commutes to Canberra for work, but finds a sense of belonging in Brisbane, where her family has put down roots in Rochedale South. “We are typical migrants,” she says, describing their initial struggles adapting to a new life in Australia. “It was really strange… We came to Australia not speaking the language. It was hot. It was humid. Shops were shutting at 5pm.” Now, surrounded by family, she feels a deep connection to her community. “We put our roots down, and that’s home. And, gosh, we love that community.”
While Joldić’s family history is tied to Bijeljina, a city now part of the Serb Republic, she has deliberately distanced herself from her ancestral hometown. Her focus remains on the present and future, and on advocating for the contributions of migrants to Australian society. “We have a responsibility, as a nation, not to take social cohesion for granted,” she emphasizes. “It can happen quickly and it can escalate and it can escalate horribly wrong. Cohesion is everyone’s responsibility.”
It is a responsibility, Joldić concludes, to protect the peace and prosperity Australia enjoys. “And, God, how lucky are we?,” she says. “How lucky are we?”
