The Partisan Necropolis
In divided Mostar, Bosnia and Herzegovina, a WWII partisan cemetery—once a National Monument—is being dismantled by neo-fascist forces. As most dismiss it as a communist relic, a small group of relatives fight to preserve the memory of their fallen loved ones.
The Partisan Memorial Cemetery in Mostar, Bosnia & Herzegovina—built between 1959 and 1965 by acclaimed architect Bogdan Bogdanović—was once a revered National Monument. Designed to honour Yugoslav Partisans who resisted fascist occupation during World War II, the site stood as a powerful testament to sacrifice, unity, and anti-fascist resistance. Today, it lies in ruins.
Years of neglect, political indifference, and ideological hostility have left the cemetery vandalised and forgotten. Swastikas and far-right graffiti deface its walls. Locals dismiss it as a haven for drinkers and drug users. In June 2022, the site endured its most brutal desecration yet: nearly all 700 stone flowers—each engraved with the name of a fallen fighter—were destroyed with sledgehammers. No one was held accountable.
The cemetery’s symbolism has become deeply contested. Many local leaders and the Catholic Church deny its status as a legitimate burial site, viewing it instead as a relic of Yugoslav communism. Others, however, see sacred ground—a memorial to loved ones, a symbol of resistance, and a crucial part of Bosnia & Herzegovina’s multi-ethnic legacy.
Sixty years after its inauguration, the cemetery now serves as an ideological fault line—one that reflects Europe’s wider reckoning with nationalism, historical revisionism, and the erasure of anti-fascist narratives. Once a place of remembrance, it is now one of Europe’s most endangered heritage sites.
This documentary traces the cemetery’s origins in 1960s Mostar, exploring its radical architectural design and its symbolic role in post-war Yugoslavia. Featuring Bogdanović’s rarely seen sketches and archival footage, the film draws a vivid picture of a monument intended to unify and dignify memory.
Interwoven throughout are the voices of historians, architects, and cultural preservationists who contextualize the site’s significance. Dissenting perspectives from political and religious figures also offer insight into the forces seeking to diminish or erase its meaning.
At its core, the film follows a small group of families who return to the cemetery to find the names of their loved ones among the rubble. Their stories—of grief, remembrance, and quiet resistance—anchor the documentary in lived experience. Through their eyes, we witness the personal and collective cost of forgetting.
Filmed in real time, this documentary is a powerful meditation on memory, loss, and the enduring fight to protect truth in the face of silence, revisionism, and rising extremism.
