Banja Luka // From Mud, He Extracted Lemonade
© Bennion // Shutterstock.com
Picture the scene. It is November 8, 1929. You step off the train at your destination, a small town 560km from your home. From the relative sanctity of the train, your foot meets mud. There is nothing here. Okay, nothing is an overstatement, an exaggeration for literary effect, but it isn’t a million miles from the truth either. There certainly isn’t a city here. Your job? Build a city. Not from scratch, but not far off. For added drama, let’s say that a light drizzle falls from a sky that can’t decide what shade of grey fits the mood best.
The weather doesn’t matter. Winter is cold, summer is hot. The world continues to turn. What matters is the job in front of you. The task. The King specifically chose you for this task. You, a military traffic expert from Niš, the eldest son of a wealthy merchant who subsequently lost all that wealth. Your dreams of a career in engineering vanished, but the military life you had to make peace with turned out to be a blessing, You found yourself. You will be found. You have been found.
Okay, John, we get it. You aren’t Mike Leigh. Get to the point.
© Bennion // Shutterstock.com
As the 21st century continues to befuddle us all with its shiny lights and unshakeable commitment to vanity, Banja Luka has developed into a real city. The second-largest in Bosnia and Herzegovina, no less, a bustling place that borders on underrated. It isn’t the most beautiful in the country, but you can’t win competitions you don’t enter. Banja Luka is a brilliant city for tourists, especially when it comes to food and drink.
That wasn’t the case when Svetislav Milosavljević arrived on that soggy November morning. Known as Tisa to his friends, Milosavljević had been appointed the first Ban (governor) of the newly-created Vrbas Banovina (region, essentially). It was the least developed Banovina in the Kingdom of Yugoslavia. In short, it was hella poor, and it was Tisa’s job to change that. It was a daunting mission.
Tisa Milosavljević wasn’t the type to be easily daunted. The man from Niš wandered around town and began to make a mental map of what was needed and where those requirements would go. It wasn’t quite ‘Mendeleev dreams up the Periodic Table’, but you can follow that thread if you desire.
In less than five years, Tisa built a city or at least all that a city requires. Institutions were established, covering everything from culture to the economy, from education to health, from hygiene to administration. Tisa Milosavljević was given lemons, and he had the commitment needed to cultivate his own sugar and water. From mud, he extracted lemonade. It is no exaggeration to say that he dragged Banja Luka into the 20th century.
Sure, he had a blank cheque with which to do it, but you still need to do the work.
© John Bills
Under Tisa’s watch, the splendid Banski Dvor was built. This was the original seat of the Banovina and served as home for the Ban until World War II rumbled into town. A competition was announced for the construction of this important building, with the winners coming from Belgrade. The Banski Dvor had space for music, theatre and other cultural endeavours, with apartments and meeting spaces dotted throughout. It remains the central cultural space in Banja Luka today. Yes, this is where your humble fabulous gave a fabulous impromptu presentation in 2019. A lifetime ago, a whole lifetime ago.
The Banska Palata (today’s Municipality Building) was included in the same competition, and the two similar buildings face each other in the centre of town, with the hulking Cathedral of Christ the Savior standing between them.
Milosavljević was responsible for the construction of the Sokolski Dom, the theatre, the Hotel Palas, what eventually became the museum, and more. The old city park was his creation. What’s more, he energetically ensured that bridges, roads and schools were built across the region. From scratch, a Banovina did grow.
This is all very dry, John. Are you hoping that the reader will do most of the work? That if you labour the whole ‘built from scratch’ thing, they will be impressed enough to look at Banja Luka in a different light?
© knovakov // Shutterstock.com
We are all so capable. Now, not many of us are given a blank cheque by the King to go and build a city on the banks of the Vrbas river, but you can only work with the tools in front of you. Buy the shittest amp you can find, make that sound decent and move on to a better one. Don’t love wisely, love well.
Banja Luka is one of my favourite towns in Bosnia and Herzegovina. I first visited in 2010 with little in the way of expectations. I planned to spend a night there, get the early bus to Sarajevo the next day and continue along my merry way. There were four Italian gymnasts in the hostel dorm, and they offered to drive me to the capital if I joined them at a party that night. The location of the party? Banj Brdo, the hill that rises above Banja Luka. I’m not one for parties, but the friendly Italians convinced me to join them. Long story short, I met a group of Macedonians and ended up stumbling back into the hostel at 7:45 in the morning.
Without Ban Milosavljević, that unusual situation would not have happened. Instead of exploring a modern city with plenty to engage with, I would have stepped off the train into the mud, lemons in my hand and not a drop of water in sight. I know you think you’re just not capable, but you are. You are.
