Zlata's Diary

Though the Bosnian War was marked by ethnic and political conflict, Zlata’s Diary offers another truth, in which mixed groups of people become close-knit allies. While it is unclear from the diary alone whether most neighborhoods in Sarajevo responded like Zlata’s, she describes an almost immediate outpouring of support and community from residents of her family’s small neighborhood “circle.” In early April, when shelling begins over the neighborhood, Zlata remarks that her family’s cellar is too shallow to insulate them from a nearby strike. Almost immediately, their neighbors, the Bobars, offer the family shelter in their deeper cellar.

Such camaraderie continues as the war worsens. The neighborhood gathers often to celebrate birthdays and holidays and to share food and supplies. The need for support and displays of care and concern are so vital that even when people leave the neighborhood, they continue to write to Zlata and send care packages. Zlata includes pieces of the letters in entries from July of 1993, writing, “[I]n their letters they send me their love, their thoughts, pictures of a normal life, songs, fashion, best wishes for happiness and an end to this madness” (151), showing how the desire to offer support continues even after leaving the neighborhood.

For Zlata, it is the continued support of family and friends, of neighbors and coworkers, that distinguishes “ordinary people” from the “sub humans who want to destroy” the people of Sarajevo (188). The great good done by the people around her helps her maintain her sense of innocence and justice. Early in the war, Zlata writes that the power citizens who desire peace “is bigger and stronger than the war. That’s why it will win. The people must be the ones to win, not the war, because war has nothing to do with humanity. War is something inhuman” (33), philosophically distinguishing acts of humanity as those that foster support, care, and unity. This distinction allows Zlata to reach for purpose and meaning even while the world around her distorts into an absurd mockery of reality. While the “kids” and the “fine gentleman” play their games and reign terror down on the town, Zlata continues to support and be supported by her friends and family because it is the good and meaningful thing to do.

All wars are marked by incredible losses, but Zlata expresses a sense of loss that far exceeds anything captured in body counts and damage reports. At first, Zlata focuses on concrete losses, such as buildings, the windows of the family’s apartment, electricity, water, and friends. The last loss stings worse than all the others, as when Zlata describes her friends Matea and Martina’s departure: “They left by bus for Krŝko. They went with Keka. Oga has gone too, so has Dejan, Mirna will be leaving tomorrow or the next day and soon Marijana will be going too” (38). So too, the physical loss of buildings leads to a sense of emotional and cultural loss. Of the destruction of the 1985 Olympic dome, she writes, “Today the Zetra Hall, the Olympic Zetra, went up in flames. The whole world knew about it, it was the Olympic beauty, and now it’s going up in flames” (49); not merely the building itself but what it represents—pride and unity—are lost to the flames of war.

A great many friends and family die, including her friend Nina, her uncle Halim (whose funeral she cannot attend), and her pets Cicko and Cici. In the face of so much destruction and suffering, Zlata writes of the people she sees with lost limbs that they are the ones with the “fortune, or perhaps the misfortune to survive” (124)—a dark comment that shows her gradual loss of hope and innocence.

As the war progresses, other, less tangible losses crystallize for Zlata. Regarding her lost childhood, she wonders rhetorically, “God, what did I do to deserve being in a war, spending my days in a way no child should” (64), later concluding that the warmongers “haven’t just stolen from us our childhood, they’ve stolen from [her] grandparents and other old people a peaceful old age” (186). The loss of security and safety also weighs on Zlata and her parents, whom Zlata notes at one point have grown old, sad, and thin. She even goes so far as to write that “it would be better if they kept shooting, so that we wouldn’t find it so hard when it starts up again. This way, just as you relax, it starts up AGAIN” (187), indicating a desire for normalcy so strong that she would prefer predictable danger to unpredictable safety.

As supplies dwindle and gas and electricity continue to arrive sporadically, people begin to cut down the nearby trees in the park. Zlata feels a deep sense of sorrow at the fate of her park and its beautiful trees, observing that “the children have left it, Nina forever, and now the linden, birch, and plane trees” (125). The remark symbolically associates the many losses attributable to the war, from friends, to safety and security, to childhood, and to her homeland.

Zlata writes early in the war that she is “a schoolgirl without a school, without the fun and excitement of school. A child without games, without friends, without the sun, without birds, without nature, without fruit, without chocolate or sweets, with just a little powdered milk. In short, a child without a childhood” (61). Nevertheless, she cannot stop herself from growing and developing: The war grinds many aspects of life to a standstill, but Zlata is still a preteen on the cusp of adolescence. She and others like her consequently carve out what little space they can for the essential needs of growing children, such as laughter, games, and camaraderie.

Like the adults around them, children innovate and adapt to their changed circumstances. In one entry, Zlata writes, “Bojana and I aren’t allowed to go out into the yard, so we’re roller-skating in the lobby of their building. It’s not bad” (60-61), indicating that for all her belief that her childhood is truly gone, she can still make her own fun. She is ecstatic when school resumes in August of 1992, illustrating the deep-seated need for friendship as children develop and grow. Birthday celebrations and sleepovers with her friend, Mirna, help stave off the unhealthy loneliness and isolation she feels, allowing for briefs moments of normalcy. At times, the isolation is too much, such as when she describes confinement to the apartment, writing, “I watch the world through the window. Just a piece of the world” (69). The remark emphasizes the breadth of her world before the war in contrast with her current, circumscribed reality.

Despite this, Zlata continues to find places where she can learn and grow, braving stray bullets and shrapnel to practice her piano, reading whatever she can get her hands on, and learning from those around her. One clear indication of her maturity is her desire to understand the politics going on around her; though she ultimately feels she cannot understand them, her frustration with the politicians who want to divide the country in fact reveals a wisdom beyond her 12 years. Her writing style also matures, with earlier entries marked by levity and childish excitement giving way to longer, more poetic and philosophical ruminations. Even Zlata recognizes her maturity, remarking, “I can’t believe I’ve become used to all this, but it seems I have. Whether it’s being used it, fighting for survival, or something else, I don’t know” (117). This illustrates that despite the standstill she often feels, she is developing and adapting to the world. Zlata comes into her own, and though her growth is shaped by the war, it is also shaped by close friends and family.