Childhood in the shadow of war: Reflections from Sarajevo

On a recent visit to Sarajevo, I spent time exploring the city’s history, visiting museums and taking a guided tour focusing on the war in Bosnia and Herzegovina during the 1990s. It was a moving experience, offering a powerful insight into the suffering endured by ordinary people during the conflict, and the lasting impact it has had on the country.

The scars of war remain visible throughout Sarajevo. Buildings still bear the marks of bullets and shellfire, while the city’s pavements contain the distinctive ‘Sarajevo Roses’ – scars left by mortar explosions, filled with red resin to commemorate those killed. These quiet memorials are a striking reminder that places now filled with shoppers, tourists and café-goers were once scenes of unimaginable violence.

Yet, of all the places I visited, it was the War Childhood Museum that left the deepest impression.

Opened in 2017, the museum tells the stories of people whose childhoods were shaped by war, primarily through personal belongings donated by those who lived through it. Toys, books, clothing and other everyday objects are displayed alongside the recollections of their former owners.

What makes the museum so affecting is its simplicity. Rather than presenting the conflict through military operations, political decisions or statistics, it allows visitors to encounter war through the experiences of children.

Among the exhibits was a worn UNICEF booklet, with a child’s name handwritten on its cover. Such an ordinary object, yet one that takes on extraordinary significance when considered against the circumstances in which it was kept.

Throughout the museum, objects that might otherwise seem unremarkable become powerful reminders of childhoods disrupted by violence. Behind each item is a personal story of fear, loss, uncertainty, but also resilience and the determination to preserve some sense of normality.

I found myself reflecting on how easily discussions of war become dominated by questions of territory, military strategy and geopolitical interests, while the experiences of those most profoundly affected can become secondary.

The museum brings those human experiences back into focus. It is difficult to leave without thinking about the countless children currently growing up amid conflict around the world, whose lives are similarly being shaped by decisions over which they have no control.

Visiting the museum also brought home to me why Conscience's work matters. We campaign for the right to redirect the military portion of our taxes towards peaceful purposes, and for more resources to be devoted to preventing wars rather than fighting them.

These can sometimes seem like abstract questions of politics and public spending. But looking at those childhood possessions, and reading the stories behind them, was a reminder of the very real human consequences of war.

Sarajevo also left me wondering why we so readily accept enormous expenditure on preparing for war, while efforts to prevent conflict receive comparatively little attention or investment. Surely we should put at least as much effort into stopping wars before they begin as we do into preparing to fight them.