Written by Matija Lovrić
There are moments in political history when societies do not collapse because their enemies become stronger.
They collapse because ideas once considered unthinkable slowly become psychologically acceptable.
Not through conquest.
Not through open aggression.
But through gradual normalization carried out by actors whom society instinctively trusts.
Perhaps this is why one particular claim attributed to former SDA leader Bakir Izetbegović has generated such quiet but profound discomfort across Bosnia and Herzegovina.
According to former U.S. Ambassador Michael Murphy, during constitutional reform discussions in 2021–2022, Izetbegović suggested that he could live with a partitioned Bosnia and Herzegovina provided that the remaining Bosniak-majority state would still be “the size of Slovenia.”
Whether interpreted literally, strategically, or hypothetically, the political significance of such a statement would be enormous.
Because the issue is not merely what was allegedly said.
The issue is who is alleged to have said it.
Bakir Izetbegović is not simply another party leader. He is the political heir of Alija Izetbegović, the symbolic figure most closely associated with Bosnia’s wartime statehood and post-war continuity. For many Bosniaks, the SDA was never merely a political organization. It represented the emotional reflex of Bosnian state survival itself.
And that is precisely why the implication becomes historically sensitive.
Milorad Dodik advocating separation does not fundamentally shock Bosnian society anymore. Republika Srpska’s leadership has spent years normalizing secessionist rhetoric. The political system has, to some extent, psychologically adapted to permanent crisis.
But if figures historically associated with defending Bosnian statehood begin speaking the language of “realistic compromise,” “manageable reduction,” or “sustainable small-state solutions,” then the psychological center of gravity begins to shift.
And in politics, psychological shifts often matter more than formal decisions.
History repeatedly shows that the most transformative political changes are rarely implemented by open ideological opponents. They are usually carried out by actors trusted by the very communities being transformed.
Richard Nixon one of America’s most aggressively anti-communist leaders opened diplomatic relations with Communist China. The move became so politically iconic that political science still uses the phrase:
“Only Nixon could go to China.”
Had the same policy emerged from a liberal administration, it may have been condemned as weakness or surrender. But because it came from the ideological center of anti-communism itself, American society accepted it.
A similar mechanism appeared in China after Mao. The country’s transition toward market economics and controlled capitalism was not carried out by liberal opposition movements, but by the Communist Party itself. The system transformed precisely because its ideological core supervised the transformation.
Modern Turkey offers another controversial but relevant example.
For years, large segments of conservative Turkish society viewed Recep Tayyip Erdoğan and his political movement as representatives of religious identity and conservative social legitimacy. When the Turkish government later moved aggressively against the Gülen movement a religiously inspired civil network once closely aligned with the government the transformation carried a very different psychological effect than it would have under an openly secular or anti-religious administration.
Had a traditionally secular establishment attempted the same process, much larger segments of conservative society may have perceived it as an attack on religion itself. But because the campaign was conducted by a government trusted within conservative circles, potential resistance was significantly neutralized.
In each of these cases, the mechanism was similar:
societies accepted profound transformation more easily when it came through familiar and trusted actors rather than open adversaries.
And this is what makes Bosnia’s situation so psychologically delicate.
For nearly thirty years, Bosnia and Herzegovina has existed in a strange geopolitical condition: formally sovereign, yet permanently supervised; territorially intact, yet institutionally fragile; constantly “saved,” yet rarely allowed to fully stabilize on its own terms.
The international community justified this structure through the language of stability, peace preservation, and pragmatic conflict management. And for a society traumatized by war, those priorities were understandable.
But over time, stability itself may have become an ideology.
A system designed initially to preserve Bosnia perhaps gradually evolved into a mechanism that normalized permanent dependency, frozen ethnic balances, weak institutions, and controlled dysfunction.
This is why Murphy’s warnings resonate so deeply with many Bosnians.
Not necessarily because partition is imminent.
But because the boundaries of what is psychologically discussable may already be shifting.
If Bosnia’s fragmentation is ever normalized, it will likely not happen through dramatic declarations or sudden conflict.
It will happen slowly.
Through exhaustion.
Through pragmatism.
Through the language of realism.
And perhaps most dangerously of all through actors historically associated with preserving the state itself.
This is the true meaning behind the old phrase:
Et tu, Brute?
Sometimes societies are transformed not when enemies attack them, but when trusted guardians begin quietly adapting to outcomes once considered unimaginable.
And perhaps Bosnia’s greatest danger today is not open destruction.
But the gradual normalization of becoming smaller, weaker, and permanently manageable.
