Banovići // Give My Love to Banovići, Banovići
© John Bills
Don’t ask me why, but I always try and swear early on in a conversation with a tourist office representative. Actually, do ask me, let’s get into it. I swear because I want the local tour guide to drop their guard. I want them to engage their informal side, not their formal. I don’t want a list of statistics and a pre-planned conversation. I want you. Show me your town, show me why you love it. Give my love to Buffalo, Buffalo.
So, I swear. Almir met me at the hotel in Tuzla and drove us back to Banovići for a day of trains, industry and more. Yes, I swore, I even went with an F-bomb if memory serves, although my memory isn’t what it used to be. The conversation on the ride covered many topics, none of which serve any purpose for this article. The pandemic, the past, the future. Wait, the past and the future do serve a purpose for this. They might be the only purpose.
Because, when it comes to Banovići, the past and the future are locked in an eternal dependency. The town is known for its mines. The story of this underrated town begins with coal, brown coal, to be exact, one of the largest reserves of its kind in Europe. The excavation of that coal gave the town life, but the international pivot towards sustainability casts a long shadow over Banovići’s future. To see the future, read the past. The only thing we learn from history is that we don’t learn from history.
© John Bills
If we’re talking about first impressions, Banovići doesn’t do too well. That is unless you are looking for post-industrial towns, of course, in which case it is an A-list champion. Most people aren’t, however, especially in tourism terms, so concrete blocks and tired mines paint a picture of a town on its knees. Many people around Bosnia and Herzegovina have the same opinion of Banovići, formed from a cursory drive through or past the town where smoke hangs in the air and grey lives up to its synonyms. If first impressions are supposed to charm, Banovići didn’t get the memo.
But Banovići isn’t a town on its knees. Almir and I sat with a coffee in the centre of town, and the buzz of conversation was impossible to ignore. Conversation as a standard doesn’t imply anything other than the existence of chatter, but it doesn’t take an expert in perception to decipher mood and atmosphere. The conversation in Banovići wasn’t idle. It wasn’t downbeat. This wasn’t the “oh, things are bad, if only they were better” of other towns. The conversation in Banovići was bright, optimistic, excitable even. It buzzed from topic to topic, from celebrations to families to the weekend and more. If first impressions are supposed to charm, the patter in Banovići was poster-child positive.
We nipped into the nearby Radnički Dom for a cursory visit, less to engage and more to get a fleeting sense of life here, life in Banovići then and life in Banovići now. From the outside, the worker’s house is unassuming, a nondescript building notable only for the ‘Radnički Dom’ sign hanging above. Inside, things are different, no matter which angle you prefer. Those looking for a socialist-era community centre will find it, from the unmistakable waft of nostalgia to the ceilings, chairs and coverings.
© John Bills
But, again, it pains me to labour the same point over and over, but first impressions are for the judgmental. The Radnički Dom in Banovići may no longer be the centre of life here, but there is plenty to notice. The theatre, for a start, is one of the largest in BiH, with a unique orchestra pit, no less. The entrance hall is surveyed by a fantastic mural, the work of the great Ismet Mujezinović, a mural depicting scenes from the 1920 miner’s rebellion in Husino.
It all comes back to mining. Banovići was built with the railway, a means to transport coal from where it lay to where it would be used. The brown coal mine here opened in November 1946 (RMU Tito Banovići, if you were curious), providing work to 696 people and producing 97,421 tons. Of coal, not of people. Obviously. By 1982, 3,635 people were employed in the sector, and 2,392,705 tons of brown coal made its way from Banovići to the world.
And then, the war. Production dropped, deposits were depleted, and debts escalated. It seems churlish to lament such things when the survival of a nation is a daily struggle.
© John Bills
But here we are, a generation later, and Banovići is feeling the impact of that drop, those depletions, and the escalation. The stagnation extends to tourism in the town, where good people and excellent ideas are mired in financial toil and the blind eyes of decision-makers. Building a thermal power plant would provide security for Banovići moving forward, but roadblock after roadblock has been produced by Tuzla and Sarajevo. Why help the little man when the loot can be funnelled? Bigger towns keep Banovići breathing, but the foot and the throat aren’t exactly strangers. Read me my last rights, louder, then read them again. We cannot be saved by the men digging graves.
The fascinating Museum of Mining and Railways remains unfinished, and that will be the case for the foreseeable future. A collection of incredible machines sit in a small field in the city centre, awe-inspiring constructions that showcase the human mind and its ability to figure out impossible conundrums. Sure, they aren’t beautiful, but Banovići isn’t defined by the surface. It’s what’s on the inside that counts.
Banovići is the person we claim to want, but our behaviour suggests otherwise. Don’t judge a book by its cover, but obsess over aesthetics. Personality is the most important, but dismiss anything ugly. Don’t judge, but also judge. Cities are made of desires and fears, after all. Everything conceals something else. Banovići isn’t beautiful, but it is alive, it is unique, it is packed with character and a story that is defiantly honest. Banovići is the person we claim to want, but we have done nothing to deserve it.
