By Savannah Hamilton
Editor’s note: The opinions expressed here are those of the authors. View more opinions on ScoonTV
“The world is made up of two classes — the hunters and the huntees.”
Richard Connell’s The Most Dangerous Game imagined a nightmare where war stripped humanity down to pure sport — rich elites, hunting down common folk for thrills. And during the 1990s siege of Sarajevo, a rumor emerged that some men may have tried to turn that fiction into a grim reality.
Today, that rumor is better known as the “Sarajevo Safari.” The allegation claims that foreign nationals (mainly from Europe, but also the US) paid extraordinary sums, often cited as €80,000–100,000 per weekend, to fire on civilians from Bosnian Serb positions overlooking the city.
For decades, the story lingered in the background, conveniently resurfacing whenever political tensions involving Serbia escalated.
Its latest revival arrived in 2025 courtesy of Italian journalist Ezio Gavazzeni, a respected investigator of mafia and organized crime with no prior focus on the Balkans. Moved by the 2022 Slovenian documentary “Sarajevo Safari,” he recently compiled a dossier of old testimonies and evidence, and formally asked Milan prosecutors to open a case.
An investigation into possible participants is now underway (still in its earliest stages, with no charges filed and no new verified evidence made public) while Bosnia and Herzegovina’s own inquiry into the same claims stalled years ago.
In the meantime, the renewed attention has brought fresh scrutiny and new angles — including louder voices from the Serbian side suggesting that, if any such depraved thrill-seeking occurred, foreigners may have accessed positions via Bosniak-controlled routes as well.
However, with little hard evidence, most testimonies recorded decades after the war, and some Serbs now even welcoming a thorough probe (hoping it will finally hold any genuinely deranged individuals accountable rather than fuel endless ethnic bickering), a different question comes up.
Are we finally unearthing long-buried truths? Or are we watching a story — one altered by time, politics, and one-sided narratives — grow more dramatic (and possibly more distorted) with each retelling, while being used as a political weapon?
Sarajevo Under Siege
Some historical context is necessary before we continue.
The siege of Sarajevo lasted from 1992 to 1996, during the chaotic collapse of Yugoslavia. It was not a conflict between two clean, clearly separated sides. Bosniaks, Serbs, and Croats all lived (and fought) within and around the city. Apartment blocks became front lines. Neighborhoods fractured overnight.
One specific road came to symbolize the siege more than any other — Zmaja od Bosne, the wide boulevard linking the city center to the airport. Foreign reporters later dubbed it “Sniper Alley,” now immortalized in the iconic photographs of hand-painted “Pazi! Snajper!” signs. Open, exposed, and unavoidable, it became Sarajevo’s civilians’ greatest gamble.
According to UN data from 1995, sniper fire along this corridor wounded roughly 1,030 people and killed 225 over the course of the war, including around 60 children. Among the dead were both Bosniaks and Serbs.
There is no serious dispute that the majority of recorded sniper fire into exposed public areas originated from Bosnian Serb-held positions in the surrounding hills. In urban warfare, elevation matters.
That said, the full picture is rarely as simple as the headlines make it.
The Serbian Perspective
Yes, Serbian snipers existed, and yes, people were killed. But according to Serbian sources and residents of Serb-held neighborhoods, those hilltop positions were merely defensive necessities rather than vantage points for spectacle.
They shielded Serb-majority suburbs such as Grbavica and Ilidža from Bosniak-led units attempting to consolidate control of the city. Recall that thousands of Serbs fled Sarajevo during the early phases of the war amid real fears of expulsion. So, for those who remained, holding the periphery was seen as the only way to shield them.
Serbian accounts insist that snipers were tasked with solely monitoring armed enemy movement. Fighters frequently moved through civilian areas, blurring lines that were already dangerously thin. Civilian casualties were devastating — but framed as the brutal consequence of urban warfare, not a policy of hunting civilians for sport.
International media, largely embedded in the city center, naturally focused on suffering there. Threats to Serb neighborhoods received far less attention. Over time, that imbalance slowly became a dominant narrative with little room for nuance.
While lesser spoken about, it is also documented that Bosniak forces fired from within the city, including from high-rises such as the Holiday Inn Hotel and UNIS towers, toward Serb-held areas like Grbavica. UN observers noted shots originating inside the city, often triggering cycles of return fire that endangered civilians on all sides.
There are also longstanding allegations (still contested and often muted) that Bosniak units at times fired into their own areas to provoke international outrage. Whether true or not, these claims help explain why many Serbs view the siege narrative as painfully one-sided.
None of this diminishes civilian suffering. But it does challenge the idea that violence was mainly one-directional.
The “Sarajevo Safari” Allegations
Just to be clear upfront — this section is NOT about denying Bosnian Serb snipers. That is documented history. What is under scrutiny is a far darker claim — that Sarajevo became a paid hunting ground for wealthy foreigners, allegedly facilitated by Serbs alone.
The allegation is that foreign nationals paid €80,000–100,000 per weekend to shoot civilians from Serb positions. Trieste is frequently cited as a pickup point, and participants are said to have come from all over, including Italy, France, Belgium, the UK, Russia, Canada, and the United States. Some versions even describe a supposed “price list,” with higher fees for children.
The story is designed to horrify. And it works. Tapping into cultural fears about the alleged lawlessness of post-Berlin Wall Eastern Europe, which reached its apogee in the Hostel movies.
But after thirty years, no names of these alleged “tourists” have surfaced. No photographs. No financial records. No intercepted communications. No legit reports confirming an organized operation.
The rumors started during the war — whispers in intelligence briefings, political statements, alleged tips from ex-Serbian army members. Almost always secondhand, rarely with receipts.
I spoke to Bosniaks who lived through the siege — people fired at as children, people who lost family. Their belief in the safari story is almost by default, often laced with lingering hostility. Some heard about “weekend Chetniks” and paid foreigners during the war, while others only years later. The trauma is real, and it makes the rumor feel true to them. That sincerity deserves respect — even as the hard evidence remains missing.
And so, the story gets told and retold, despite never being proven.
Selective Memory
People who lived through the siege carry real trauma. That pain is undeniable and shapes how history is shared decades later.
But memory is never a perfect recording (smartphones didn’t exist back then to capture everything). And thirty years is a long time.
When you’ve heard the same version of events repeated in media, films, books (almost always from one angle), it’s no surprise memories start lining up with that narrative. They get reinforced, sharpened, sometimes quietly filled in to match what everyone “knows” happened. And grudges die hard in the Balkans.
Late testimony isn’t necessarily dishonest, but it is definitely vulnerable to distortion. But sensational stories? They have a way of growing more dramatic with every retelling.
And if lack of proof and memory alone does not raise questions, the logistics do.
Logistical Skepticism
One of the strongest counters to the one-sided narrative came from British forces on the ground at the time. They dismissed the safari idea early, calling it logistically impossible — checkpoints everywhere, constant oversight, front lines shifting by the week. Getting a foreign civilian onto Serb-held hills would have required crossing Bosniak-controlled territory, including the airport. Hardly discreet weekend getaway material.
Then there’s the casualty count again — 225 killed by sniper fire along Sniper Alley over years of siege. If “hundreds of paid tourists” were cycling through, you’d expect a higher body count — unless everyone had remarkably bad aim. Either way, the numbers don’t exactly serve “organized cruelty on an industrial scale” as it’s currently marketed.
And then, there’s the question of motivation. Both sides had foreign volunteers who fought for free out of ideology or solidarity. So, if someone truly wanted to pull a trigger in Bosnia, history suggests money was unnecessary. The insistence on a uniquely paid scheme, especially regarding one side, begins to look politically selective.
The John Jordan Problem
Much of the safari testimony ultimately circles back to one man — John Jordan, a former US Marine and (interestingly enough) a trained sniper. In his statements, Jordan said he flew to Sarajevo after seeing the war on TV and feeling compelled to help fellow firefighters — a story that sounds noble on paper but, let’s be honest, already raises a few eyebrows. And some accounts even suggest he received indirect US government backing, which only muddies the water further.
Another interesting note is that although he officially arrived as a volunteer firefighter, he armed his team (a move seen by many as controversial), embedded himself deep in the conflict, and later made increasingly dramatic claims about foreign involvement.
For example, in his 2007 testimony at the International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia (ICTY) during the trial of General Dragomir Milošević, Jordan described seeing individuals he called “tourist shooters”, carrying weapons more suited for forest hunting than urban combat. Notably, Jordan admitted he never saw them shoot — he inferred their purpose from appearance, weapons, and context. Sounds like a conspiracy, some say.
So, based on just these few points, nearly everyone who deems the safari allegations sus tends to point to him first — not only because of the questionable aspects of his story, but because he himself fits the “foreign thrill seeker” profile far better than any of the shadowy, high-paying elites he describes.
Critics also argue that his account lacks neutral weight, and when extraordinary claims lean so heavily on a single, highly unconventional figure, it doesn’t exactly scream reliability.
So if the safari story is already stretching belief on one side, let’s flip the script and ask — why do the mirror-image rumors (yes, they exist) barely register, and why do the very real foreign fighters on the Bosniak side get such a quiet pass?
Because, remember, both sides had outsider volunteers.
Foreign Fighters and Double Standards
Serb forces had their so-called “Weekend Chetniks” — mostly unpaid guys who fought out of ideology or brotherhood. Despite this not exactly being top secret, the fact was later used extensively as evidence of “Serbian extremism.”
Bosniaks, meanwhile, saw an estimated 1,000–3,000 foreign mujahideen arrive — initially under the banner of humanitarian aid, later organized into formal units such as El Mudžahid.
In other words, both sides had foreign volunteers fighting without pay — motivated by belief, solidarity, or conviction. That’s war. Yet the far more sensational claim — that wealthy outsiders were paying large sums for weekend “hunts” — evolved into a horror story pinned almost exclusively on Serbs, despite similar rumors about Bosniak-held territory circulating for years as well.
The scrutiny, however, was never evenly applied. One side’s volunteers became evidence of collective barbarism. But the other side was all, “desperate times, desperate measures.” Funny how that works.
But the real kicker here is the paid-tourist angle. The idea of affluent foreigners shelling out cash for battlefield thrills became central to the Serbian narrative of guilt. But allegations of paid thrill-seekers fighting alongside Bosniak forces — while never substantiated — rarely gained traction, quietly dismissed or ignored altogether.
This narrative is also not surprising. Serbs have long been cast as the region’s default villain, while Bosniaks were framed early on as the clear underdogs — a narrative reinforced by Western media sympathy, US and NATO backing, and a clean storyline of victim vs. aggressor. The result was predictable. One side’s “hired help” received context, excuses, even forgiveness, while the other got the blame and shame.
The Serbs, however, aren’t staying silent, pushing back harder even. The argument isn’t that one side was innocent — it’s that no one emerges spotless from a war like that. If unproven allegations are to be treated as moral verdicts, then they apply unevenly and unfairly.
Which makes some of the reverse rumour testimonies all the more interesting and worth listening to.
A Voice from East Sarajevo
Aleksandra, a Serbian woman from East Sarajevo whom I interviewed, comes from a family that was deeply involved in the city’s wartime defense. Her father served as a soldier, while both grandfathers were generals in Serbian units operating in different sectors. Like many Serbs, she views Bosnian Serb forces as acting primarily in what they believed to be self-defense.
What struck me most was not simply her perspective, but how familiar the core allegation sounded, only reversed.
Aleksandra says she grew up hearing the so-called “Sarajevo safari” story flipped on its head. According to repeated accounts shared by relatives who were directly involved in the war, foreigners from Western countries allegedly arrived via Sarajevo’s main airport — which was under Bosniak control throughout the siege — and were then escorted to frontline positions.
“From what I was told,” she recalls, “there were accounts of foreigners arriving — primarily through Sarajevo’s main airport — and being escorted to positions where they could participate in what later came to be described as the ‘Sarajevo safari.’”
She is careful to stress that these stories were not absorbed passively through postwar media or documentaries. “These weren’t rumors I heard decades later,” she explained. “They were shared inside the family while I was growing up, as firsthand accounts from people who were actually there.”
In other words, she heard the same morally shocking claim that Bosniaks level at Serbs — only with the gun pointed the other way.
Aleksandra does not present this as proof. She repeatedly emphasizes the chaos of war and the inevitability of trash-talking on all sides. “I understand that wars are chaotic, that propaganda exists everywhere, and that documentation is often incomplete. But dismissing lived testimony entirely — especially when it comes from multiple direct participants — doesn’t feel honest or fair either.”
She also raises a point that tends to get lost in sensational retellings — the severe practical limits of wartime observation, noting,
“Serbs and Bosniaks were largely separated, both geographically and militarily. There was very little direct interaction. Identifying someone as a ‘foreigner’ visually would have been nearly impossible — especially from a distance, without hearing language or having any direct contact.”
So, if foreigners did arrive through the Bosniak-controlled airport, as these accounts suggest, they would have been operating entirely within Bosniak-held territory and escorted accordingly. Under those conditions, she argues, it is entirely plausible that Serb forces would not have encountered them directly — even if their presence was rumored or discussed through other channels.
Which inevitably raises an uncomfortable question.
If locals on both sides, separated by front lines and limited visibility, struggled to identify who was who — how did one American, John Jordan, manage to secure what reads like a panoramic, uninterrupted view of the entire siege? Close enough to confidently identify “tourist shooters” from afar, yet distant enough to never see them fire. All while residents who lived there for years barely caught glimpses across no-man’s-land.
That contrast alone does not disprove anything. But it does show why so many Serbs view the safari story not as a settled fact, but as a narrative that grew sharper the further it drifted from the war itself.
From Belgrade with No Filter
I also had a chance to speak to Aaron Palacios, a US/Belgrade-based content creator with a good grasp of Serbian history. He, too, sees the Sarajevo safari story as classic anti-Serbian propaganda — political, convenient, and recycled whenever someone needs a villain.
He admits he doesn’t know if the allegations are true, but he points out the details that many others have mentioned. Foreign volunteers existed on all sides, real people died on all sides, yet only one narrative ever hit the spotlight — the one making Serbs look like the bad guys. Sound familiar? That’s basically what Aleksandra and others have been saying all along.
Aaron flagged John Jordan’s testimony as sketchy, too, and reiterated that even British troops dismissed the safari idea as implausible.
What he sees as the best move is simple — a fair investigation. Not to assign collective guilt, but to finally figure out if anyone actually came for the thrill. But fairness in situations like this is easier said than done.
And the timing? He also agrees that it’s never random. This story resurfaces whenever political pressure on Serbia peaks — a reminder that the real danger isn’t the claim itself, but how it keeps getting dragged into modern politics, pushing the Balkans into fights it could honestly do without right now.
Propaganda in Perfect Timing
One pattern runs through the entire “Sarajevo Safari” saga — timing. Impeccable, almost too impeccable. The allegation has never been advanced on evidence discovery. And it happens to hit best when Serbia is politically exposed.
It first surfaced in the early 1990s, at the height of the war — sanctions tightening, NATO pressure mounting, narratives hardening fast. Then it went quiet. Years later, it reappeared amid mass protests in Serbia and delicate Kosovo negotiations. In 2018, it bubbled up again during demonstrations against Aleksandar Vučić and renewed partition talks.
The 2022 Slovenian documentary gave it fresh oxygen just as Serbia was grappling with an energy crisis triggered by the Ukraine war and another round of Kosovo tensions. Then came 2023–2024, when BiH Defense Minister Zukan Helez revived the claims yet again — citing anonymous ex-VRS sources and pointing directly at Vučić — right as Serbia was dealing with school shootings, street protests, contested elections, and a frozen Kosovo dialogue.
And most recently? Same script. Protests. Political strain. Elections under dispute. Cue the safari. That context matters. A lot.
To be fair, Italian journalist Ezio Gavazzeni didn’t reopen the story out of anti-Serbian animosity. His interest stems from alleged Italian involvement, and calling for an investigation is, on its face, a legitimate journalistic instinct. Follow the claim. See where it leads.
Still, now that the story resurfaced, it didn’t take too long for it to become political currency.
Vučić as Exhibit A
If the broader treatment of Serbia needed a case study, President Aleksandar Vučić became the obvious one.
Croatian journalist Domagoj Margetić arguably picked the fight first this time after he launched his own complaint in Milan, explicitly linking the Sarajevo Sniper allegations to Vučić, and going as far as to suggest his hands-on role in sniper attacks on civilians.
Following up on that, Serbian activist Čedomir Stojković amplified similar claims at home, triggering legal fallout that raised as many questions about timing and motive as about substance. And soon after, Helez reintroduced the decades-old accusations once again — yet still without verifiable documentation.
The case against him leans heavily on footage from 1993 showing a young Vučić — then a journalist in his early twenties — visiting front-line positions near Sarajevo’s Jewish cemetery. Vučić has consistently said he never fired a weapon, never targeted civilians, and never took part in combat. He has acknowledged being present and briefly assisting with non-combat tasks — hardly unusual for journalists involved during the war at the time.
Critics, however, obsess over minor inconsistencies in decades-old footage — especially a long, thin object he’s seen carrying. Over the years, it’s been labeled a camera tripod, an umbrella, or something far more sinister, depending on who’s telling the story. (And Vučić isn’t helping himself by not having a photographic memory of what he was holding that day.)
The problem here is that no one can agree on what it supposedly was. Different commentators name different weapons, or can’t identify one at all. But after more than thirty years, such discrepancies are neither shocking nor incriminating. Memory degrades. Details blur. Narratives evolve. That is true for everyone involved.
That said, Gavazzeni himself has acknowledged that his materials contain no evidence tying Vučić to acts of violence. But that hasn’t stopped the controversy.
Sadly, at this point, Vučić has become the easiest target in the room — arguably a punching bag for anyone wanting to settle old scores or vent regional frustration. Fair or not, he’s turned into the symbol for everything about Serbia’s past that the region still argues over. Among Serbs, this dynamic is familiar. Expected, even.
A Means to What End?
As Aleksandra, interviewed earlier, put it plainly, “I don’t believe the story will ever be permanently put to rest. Narratives like this tend to resurface regardless of evidence, especially when they serve broader political or symbolic purposes.”
It is a sentiment agreed upon across Serbian society — a recognition that once a narrative is emotionally useful, it rarely disappears. It simply waits. Ready to resurface in the future. A neutral, comprehensive investigation could put a tourniquet on the story.
And, again, some Serbs do welcome a thorough investigation. But enthusiasm is tempered by skepticism. “Given the history of the region and the way information has been selectively emphasized or weaponized in the past,” Aleksandra added, “I remain doubtful that any investigation — particularly one involving EU institutions — would be received as neutral by all sides. Even without proof, the allegation itself often continues to circulate, repeated as suggestion rather than fact.”
That, perhaps, may be the most revealing part of all this — not what can be proven, but how easily suggestions keep doing more damage.
Evidence Over Echoes
There is something unsettlingly familiar about the way the “Sarajevo Safari” story is framed. The Most Dangerous Game gave us the blueprint long ago — wealthy outsiders, moral detachment, humans reduced to prey. Once a narrative fits a familiar mold, it doesn’t need much proof to feel believable. It only needs the right setting, and history has made the Balkans an easy one.
Yet, after thirty years, the “Sarajevo Safari” allegation remains exactly that — an allegation. What we have instead are second-hand testimonies, recorded long after the war, amplified by media and political sensationalism that always seem to coincide with pressure on Serbia.
This time, though, the story has broken through in a way it never quite managed before. It captured genuine international attention — from US Congresswoman Anna Paulina Luna, who publicly called for an inquiry into possible American involvement and vowed that any citizens found guilty would face justice, to a Belgian MP raising concerns about nationals from her country. (No formal Belgian case yet, but the fact that the conversation started is worth acknowledging.)
Whether that attention will finally yield hard evidence or simply recycle the same story remains to be seen. A serious, impartial investigation is welcome — always has been. If depraved individuals truly crossed borders to hunt civilians for sport, they deserve to be exposed and held accountable, no matter the nationality.
But until then, let’s not confuse political timing with justice. These revivals don’t uncover truth — they weaponize fear, which only hardens old divisions, reignites resentment, and keeps the Balkans trapped in yesterday’s grievances.
Even worse, when one neighbour’s rep gets smeared, it ends up falling on everyone. Such scandals also hurt the whole region’s image by fueling tired stereotypes, à la the Hostel films, that the Western Balkans are some lawless playground for depravity. Ironic, since it is considered one of the safest areas in Europe right now.
So, the real hope? That any probe focuses on facts, not faction. An investigation that holds actual wrongdoers accountable instead of feeding collective blame. And that, for once, we’ll have a conclusion that finally rests on evidence, not implication.
Curtis Scoon is the founder of ScoonTv.com Download the ScoonTv App to join our weekly livestream every Tuesday @ 8pm EST! Support true independent media. Become a VIP member www.scoontv.com/vip-signup/ and download the ScoonTv App from your App Store.
