Edinburgh is Our Home – Sabina Kadić-Mackenzie

If Glasgow had not used it first then Edinburgh could have used the slogan People Make Edinburgh.

But it is a true saying – and many of the people who have come to Edinburgh and made it their home, arriving from elsewhere, have contributed hugely to the city’s story. 

According to the latest version of Edinburgh by Numbers “In the ten years to 2024, Edinburgh’s population grew by 9.4% from an estimated 485,270 to an estimated 530,680 people. In the same period Scotland’s population grew by 4%.

Overseas migration is the “main driver of population change in Edinburgh. The net effect of births and deaths on Edinburgh’s population from 2013 to 2023 was 4,485.”

Around a quarter of the people who move to Scotland from other countries outside the UK come to live in Edinburgh.

However, the net effect of migration was more than ten times higher at 51,540 and, without migration, our city’s population would be static – or even in decline. 

The City of Edinburgh Council says it is very aware of its role in fostering trust, inclusion and a shared sense of belonging for all who live here and is working closely with major organisations across the city, including the NHS, police, universities and colleges to develop a new campaign, ‘Edinburgh is Our Home’. 

This interview is part of the Edinburgh is Our Home series. 

Council Leader, Jane Meagher, explained that Edinburgh is Our Home is a collaborative project among several groups in the city. 

She said: “We are a city of migrants. Many of us are migrants or have migrants in our families. Many have lived here for generations and some of the city’s best loved institutions are only here thanks to immigrants. We all benefit from this, and our city and its culture are all the better for it.

“The same is true, of course, in the other direction, with many people choosing to leave Edinburgh to contribute to other societies across the world – something us Scots have done for hundreds of years.

“Unfortunately, with a rise in racist language, political rhetoric and high profile anti-immigration protests across the UK, we know that some in our communities are understandably feeling uneasy or unsafe.

“Everyone has the right to feel comfortable in their home, on their street, and in their neighbourhood – and we need to remind ourselves of the importance of community spirit and tolerance.

“That’s why I have been delighted to launch a new campaign – ‘Edinburgh is Our Home’ – which will showcase and celebrate the positive contribution immigration makes to our city, while promoting understanding, acceptance and interest in our city’s many cultures and communities.

“We’ll hear from many of the individuals and organisations who help make this possible, and I’m really looking forward to hearing from many more in the weeks and months to come.” 

As part of the Edinburgh Is Our Home campaign, The Edinburgh Reporter has spoken to several people who have come from elsewhere, but who now call Edinburgh home – and who are making a welcome and positive difference to our city.

This article features an excerpt from the first in a series of interviews which we share on our podcast channel, The Edinburgh Report, and on the council’s and our social media channels.

Sabina Kadić-Mackenzie

https://open.spotify.com/episode/0YNAbMQhWmM3dyOstfd0qc?si=d58a072c0f3b402c

Sabina Kadić-Mackenzie, moved from Bosnia when she was just nine years-old. She is now a Senior Partner with Edinburgh public affairs company, Charlotte Street Partners. She came to Scotland to study journalism at Stirling University, and was appointed Chair of the charity, Beyond Srebrenica. 

Her journey with her two sisters – one of whom is her identical twin – and her mother, while leaving her father behind was heartbreaking. Her father ran his own engineering business and her mother was “an accomplished electrical engineer”.

She explained that if the family had not left war-torn Bosnia that very day then she may not have survived. She said: “Sanski Most is one of the most beautiful parts of the world you could ever visit sitting on nine rivers, surrounded by lush valleys and waterfalls. It is a town now synonymous with war crimes and the genocide.”

For a nine year-old the change was simple – the invitations to birthday parties simply stopped. She was warned not to talk to certain neighbours or play with certain friends. Then soldiers with guns arrived, and the family had to leave to survive, travelling to Ljubljana, through Slovenia to Harrogate with the help of a Yorkshire church group. When her father was reunited with the family her first question to him was whether he had brought her Barbie dolls with him.

She leads the charity, Beyond Srebrenica, which aims to teach the lessons of the Bosnian genocide, in the hope of creating a more peaceful and tolerant society.

Sabina Kadić-Mackenzie is a British citizen, but was born in Bosnia and Herzegovina. In relation to her name, she says: “I like to think that I am a blend or the best of both. So, Kadić on the Bosnian side and a Mackenzie on my Scottish side.”

She explained her journey: “We left and lived in Slovenia for a period of seven months with 16 other refugees in a two bed apartment. It wasn’t ideal, as you can imagine.

“And then from there, we moved to Harrogate in North Yorkshire, which I always say was probably the best thing to happen because, you know, from there we were really able to thrive. And then I came to study at the University of Stirling, which is where the love part kicks in because I met my husband at university and have stayed here since.

“And I mean a love for Scotland, not just for my husband, because this is my home and it’s where we’re raising our children, it’s where we’ve made a home for ourselves and it’s certainly having lived the life that I’ve lived, where I feel safe, supported and secure.”

Asked about her feelings for Edinburgh and whether it is now truly “home” she said: “I was at a dinner actually the other night and someone asked just that question – where do you come from? – and my response is always would you like the short answer, (Linlithgow), or would you like the longer answer, which is just the story that I’ve told you.”

She continued: “My dad was able to join us eventually. He stayed in Sanski Most, and on the day that we actually left our town, it fell to the Serb forces. And if we had not got out that day, goodness knows what would have happened. But he was able to join us eventually. But as I say, some of the horrors that he lived through were awful.

“We probably wouldn’t have left Bosnia had that not happened. Now that we are here, I feel like we’ve made the most of a terrible situation and have been able to build and create our own families and give back to the communities and the people that helped us to get to where we are.”

But whether or not she would ever return to Bosnia she explained: “Once we’d laid down those roots, my parents I think realised that this was where we needed to be. One, for our education, but also they said the choice should be ours when we’re old enough to make any decision to return. We do have family that did go back. Not that many of us, to be honest. Most of us are dispersed across Australia, the United States, Sweden, Slovenia, Switzerland, we’re everywhere.”

As a communicaitons specialist Sabina reflected on her own journey to learning English as a key skill to settling in the UK – when at the age of nine she could not tell the time which she said was “embarrassing”.

She said: “I certainly found it isolating not being able to speak English in those early years. What I would say, it depends on at what stage of your life you arrive in a country, whether through choice or otherwise. My parents, whilst they speak English, it’s broken English and that’s because they arrived here in later life and they’re really accomplished individuals in their own right, mechanical engineers, electrical engineers ran their own businesses back home, really successful, but they have struggled.

“For us, it was important to keep both. So I speak fluent Bosnian and I go to Bosnia on delegations with my charity quite often. And I’m fluent to be able to speak to my own relatives, if nothing else. But I think being able to speak English, whether it’s broken or otherwise or whether you’re speaking like myself fluently, it does open doors and I think that’s important if you’re trying to establish and lay firm foundations for staying here.”

For her children Sabina believes it is importance to keep the Bosnian heritage alive – and they now have both a Scotland football shirt, and a Bosnian football shirt.

She said: “It’s really important that they know about the history of their own family, of their grandparents, their aunts, uncles and know what happened in Bosnia, but also then to be able to share that with their friends. And it’s something that they’re really proud of. If you ask my children to go back to your earlier question, where are they from? Yes, they would say Linlithgow, because this is where they’ve been, you know, they were born and raised. But if you dug a little bit deeper, they would say that they are both and they would not deny one or the other, because it’s really important to me and to them to be identified in that way.”

Sabina’s children have Bosnian lessons to improve their language skills – and she speaks to them in her mother tongue. She said they “grumble” a bit about it but “it’s something that they’re proud of. They may grumble on a Friday afternoon when all their friends are out playing, they’re doing their Bosnian lessons, but they’ll thank me later.”

Beyond Srebrenica is Scotland’s leading genocide education charity. It was set up 10 years ago by the former Moderator of the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland, Very Reverend Dr Lorna Hood, and former politicians, Kezia Dugdale and Ruth Davidson, and others who have served as trustees of the charity. Sabina joined as vice chair four years ago.

She said: “We are a group of volunteers, so we have no paid staff. And our role is to combat the rising intolerance, hate speech, and divisive language and the divisions in communities by teaching the lessons of the Srebrenica genocide and the wider atrocities committed in Bosnia and Herzegovina.”

She continued: In the last 100 years, there has not been a single day on planet Earth where there has not been a conflict or a war in any one nation across the world, not a single day in the last 100 years. After World War II, we said never again. We made a promise that never again would human beings commit genocide and those types of atrocities. And then Bosnia happened, Rwanda has happened, Sudan and elsewhere. So never again for me, leading this charity is meaningless. I think it’s an empty promise. It shatters hope that people have in these conflict zones that might be thinking the world is watching, the world is paying attention. They certainly weren’t when Bosnia was happening.

But I am an optimist. think without optimism and without hope, do we have any… hope that our messages are getting through. Yes, we see it in the conversations we have with young people when we go into schools and they can give me hope. Young people are much smarter, much more resilient than we give them credit for. And I think we have to put all of our eggs in that young person basket because it’s too late for us. I’ve already lived the life I’ve lived, but actually a brighter future for my children is what I have to hope for. And it’s what we all have to hope for.”

Sabina’s background before her current role was working for Shelter Scotland where she worked for seven years saying: “I’m so passionate about support for people experiencing homelessness and I currently work with several homelessness charities. I was until recently on the board of Street Soccer Scotland and those charities themselves make a massive impact and I hope I play a small part in that?

This is the text of a speech which Sabina made recently in her role as chair of Beyond Srbebrenica and which she has given us permission to share here:

Thank you for joining us this evening as we mark our 10th anniversary, and pay our respects to the victims the atrocities committed in Prijedor and northwestern Bosnia during the war.

My name is Sabina Kadić-Mackenzie. I am the chair of Beyond Srebrenica, a charity dedicated to remembrance and education and to creating a more peaceful and tolerant society.

My first experience of Beyond Srebrenica was in 2015, at an event organised by the founding trustees to mark the 20th anniversary of the genocide.

It was a warm, sunlit day in July.

I wandered through the cobbled streets of Edinburgh towards St Giles’ Cathedral, having seen a social media post about a ceremony of remembrance.

I was on maternity leave at the time, and so, carrying my toddler in one arm and flowers bearing the Bosnian flag in the other, I made my way.

I had not planned to go inside. I wanted to pay my respects quietly to the victims – my countrymen and women – and then leave.

But as I stood in the square, carefully balancing my precious cargo, I was invited in.

Inside, a crocheted Srebrenica flower was placed in my hand; a symbol of remembrance and resilience I still hold dear today. It was there that I first met the Mothers of Srebrenica.

In that moment, for the first time, something connected my past and present, my homeland and my new home.

I was all too aware of what had happened in Srebrenica. The horrors were freely shared by the men and women – traumatised – who shared our refugee centre. Genocide, in our household, was – still is – spoken about freely, as were the details of other suffering that had taken place back home.

The horrors of Srebrenica – of course.

But so too the atrocities in Foča, Ključ, Prijedor, and Sanski Most. 

The latter, Sanski Most, is one of the most beautiful parts of the world you could ever visit. A town in northwestern Bosnia, it is built on the banks of the clear green river Sana. In fact, it sits on nine rivers, surrounded by lush valleys and waterfalls.

Sanski Most, a town now synonymous with war crimes and the genocide, is where I was born and raised. An ordinary childhood with my parents and my two sisters. 

My father ran his own engineering business and my mother was an accomplished electrical engineer.

During the week we lived in our apartment, surrounded by friends and neighbours – Serbs, Croats, Muslims. 

At the weekends, we would pack up and spend days in the tiny village of Stari Majdan or visit Prijedor to see aunts, uncles and cousins. It was a happy childhood; it was a content childhood.

It was unremarkable in the best possible way.

That all changed in the early 1990s. 

From my perspective as a young girl, life started to change when the birthday invitations began to dry up from friends who I’d grown up with, with whom I went to school.

That sounds so simplistic in the context of war – but those are the things that stay with you.

We’d celebrated birthdays, Easter, Eid, Christmas together since we were born – how could people change so quickly – flip between love and absolute hatred.

My best friend was a Serb, but it had never mattered before. No one took any notice of what you believed in, which God you prayed to, your ethnicity….

But we started to notice the slow change, picking up pace.

I was warned not to speak to certain neighbours at first. 

Then not to play with certain friends. Not to go to certain places.

I remember so clearly receiving inoculations one day in our dusty garage. Vaccines presumably taken from the hospital by my mother’s friend – a nurse. It seems surreal now, but this was healthcare in a warzone. 

Old Serb men, who had been neighbours all my life, who used to come for dinner and coffee with their wives and children, who had seen me grow up, would shout obscenities at me in the stairwell as I nervously walked past.

Then the weekend trips to Stari Majdan, and contact with family, became less frequent.

Prijedor was out of the question.

Pretty soon, Bosnian Muslims would be ordered to wear white arm bands in public to make them easier to identify. Easier to target.

By that time the smoke-filled living room was a nightly occurrence, as my parents and our Muslim neighbours gathered to stare at the television for hours on end, cigarette after cigarette in their trembling hands – scenes of Prijedor and the villages that surrounded us in flames, under fire, under siege.

The women cried. The men stood in silence, in disbelief. 

The children were shooed away as we peeked in through the crack in the door. But even this, at the time, felt ordinary. We had got there so slowly that the clear trauma and worry on everyone’s faces seemed like it had always been there.

Slowly but surely, the images we’d seen through the cigarette smoke and the cracks in the living room door of tanks and soldiers with guns started appearing in every day – in real life.

For my parents, it meant that protecting us became impossible.

I recall one day playing outside with my friends – even in a war zone we needed fresh air. 

We froze the minute we noticed the Serb soldiers walking towards us, in full uniform, with guns, smiles beaming. A bottle of alcohol in one hand, the other holding up three fingers.

Traditionally used to represent the Holy Trinity, the salute was used when making oaths and the like, but it took on a new meaning and became a gesture for hate and the Serb pledge to

kill a third

displace a third

and leave a third to suffer

as they cleansed Bosnia of the Muslim population.

We knew instinctively to step back as the soldiers approached us, handing out sweets to the Serb children playing nearby, who innocently copied the salute. 

My journey out of Bosnia followed not long after, with my mum and sisters. My dad had managed to get us on a route out of Sanski Most and to Ljubljana, Slovenia.  

We left with just the clothes on our backs and what money we had tucked into our socks in case the bus was searched and they took all we had left.

My dad was forced to stay behind, with so many of my extended family, unable to escape with us.

He watched his whole world drive away on a bus that morning. The horrors he went on to experience as Sanski Most was taken over by hatred and genocide, are not mine to share here.

Once in Ljubljana, we were taken in by a local family with other refugees, and we made up the total of 16 people, sleeping on the floors like sardines each night. More joined us over time.

The smoke filled rooms returned once more, with the women who had escaped glued to the TV and radio – for any news of those left behind.

I recall the day my mum spotted my 12 year old cousin on the TV. The joy at seeing him alive quickly extinguished as the camera panned out to reveal the horrors of where he was.

Trnopolje camp, near Prijedor, which the journalist went on to documented as a torture and rape camp.

Aunts, uncles and my beloved grandparents were also held at Trnopolje – or processed as their captors called it.

Captors who they recognised as their neighbours, teachers, friends.

When we arrived in Slovenia we thought that it would be a matter of months before we would be back home – we along with the rest of the world were being kept in the dark about the extent of the atrocities and destruction being committed.

The dream of returning home, however, was abandoned – it had to be – on the night a Yorkshire church group tracked us down and offered us safe passage to England. It was the last thing any refugee wants – to be even further from home – but as the situation became increasingly impossible, my mum knew we didn’t have money, healthcare, schooling – the decision was made and so we travelled to North Yorkshire by bus, arriving eventually in Harrogate (of all places!)

We pulled up to what only two weeks before had been a near dilapidated, abandoned courthouse building, transformed into a handful of bedrooms at short notice, to house us and four other families.

It didn’t have showers at first; I stored my clothes in a filing cabinet and the main courtroom was our playground, piled high with donations of pot noodles and other foods local people had kindly donated.

It wasn’t ideal, but we were safe. 

The Old Courthouse as it was known, would be home for the next seven months until eventually, at the age of almost 10, I was learning English, able to start school, start to learn to read and write and move into a rented house where we rebuilt our lives.

I came to Scotland in 2002 to study journalism.  There I met my husband – a boy from Aberdeenshire. We now live in Linlithgow with our beautiful girls and I’m a senior partner at Charlotte Street Partners.

I think quite often about how fortunate my girls are and how different my childhood could have been – how different it should have been.  

They say that childhood is the first casualty of war.

I wouldn’t dispute it.  

And it is ordinary people who suffer most.

Genocide and acts of hatred happen to ordinary people. 

I think it’s important to remember though that ordinary people make them happen. 

Politicians, academics, doctors, cleaners, taxi drivers – you name it.

Ordinary people can be turned to choose a side, rather than focus on what unites us.

They are key players in the inevitable dehumanisation of their neighbours until they are “othered” – collateral to the point where they don’t matter and inflicting unthinkable pain on them becomes almost ordinary. 

Where a white armband signals the right to abuse, to torture and to kill men, women and children.

To this day, most of the “ordinary people” who perpetrated the atrocities in Srebrenica, in Foča, Ključ, Prijedor, and Sanski Most, are walking free, often in the neighbourhoods where the horrors took place against ordinary families, like mine, who were one day just living their lives, and the next, fleeing to save themselves.

 And so, with that, I take you back to that fortuitus day back in July 2015, on that sunny Edinburgh day outside St Giles’ when my path crossed with this charity for the first time.

It is with immense pride that I now serve as its chair. As a Bosnian, first and foremost, I feel a deep responsibility to honour and share the story of Bosnia, of her people, her suffering, beauty and her strength. With our incredible board of trustees, I am committed to ensuring that the lessons of our tragic past are understood, particularly here in Scotland, where so many have opened their hearts to learning and remembrance.

Equally, I am proud to be part of a board that has driven remarkable change and impact, both in Scotland and in Bosnia. Through our work, we have taken countless delegations to Bosnia, built meaningful relationships with communities, and created opportunities for learning that are transformative, and give hope. Before each visit, we tell delegates that the experience will be life-affirming. Without exception, those who return speak not only of affirmation, but of a renewedsense of purpose and responsibility.

As we mark ten years of Beyond Srebrenica, we express our deepest gratitude to our friends and colleagues in Bosnia. Their bravery, their kindness, generosity of spirit, and unwavering pursuit of justice continue to inspire us. We stand shoulder to shoulder with them, today and always.

I also extend heartfelt thanks to every individual and organisation that has supported Beyond Srebrenica over the past decade, not least Lorna Hood and David Hamilton, and our vice chair Julie Adair. In fact, every trustee – past and present – whose dedication has shaped and sustained this work. As a volunteer-led organisation, we simply could not exist without your time and commitment. Hvala.

Looking to the decade ahead, we hold firmly to hope. By learning the lessons of Srebrenica and sharing them widely, we can contribute to building a better, more compassionate world for future generations.

It is our duty to remember, to educate, and to act so that the past informs a more just and peaceful future for all, and to remind the world of these words:

“Zakopali su nas, ali nosu znali da smo sjeme.

“They buried us. But they didn’t realise that we are seeds.“