Željko Komšić

Based on Wikipedia: Željko Komšić

The Man Who Keeps Winning Elections His Own People Don't Want Him to Win

Željko Komšić has been elected to represent Bosnian Croats in his country's presidency four times. The problem? Most Bosnian Croats consider him illegitimate. They've declared him persona non grata in their cities, organized massive street protests against him, and their political leaders have begged him to step down.

Yet he keeps winning. And therein lies one of the strangest electoral paradoxes in modern European politics.

To understand how a man can repeatedly win elections that his supposed constituents reject, you need to understand Bosnia and Herzegovina itself—a country whose very structure was designed to prevent the kind of ethnic violence that tore it apart in the 1990s, but which created new problems in the process.

A Country Built on Ethnic Balance

Bosnia and Herzegovina emerged from the wreckage of Yugoslavia with a constitution unlike any other. The 1995 Dayton Agreement, which ended a devastating war that killed over 100,000 people, created a government explicitly designed around ethnic power-sharing among the country's three "constituent peoples": Bosniaks (Bosnian Muslims), Croats, and Serbs.

The presidency itself reflects this obsession with balance. Rather than a single head of state, Bosnia has three presidents who rotate the chairmanship among themselves. One must be a Bosniak, one a Croat, and one a Serb. The idea was elegant in theory: no single ethnic group could dominate the others.

But the implementation created a peculiar vulnerability.

The country is divided into two main entities. The Republika Srpska is predominantly Serbian, and its residents vote for the Serb member of the presidency. Simple enough. The Federation of Bosnia and Herzegovina, however, contains both Bosniaks and Croats, and here's where it gets complicated: any citizen of the Federation can vote for either the Bosniak member or the Croat member of the presidency.

Do you see the problem?

Bosniaks make up about 70 percent of the Federation's population. Croats account for just 22 percent. If enough Bosniak voters decide to cast their ballots in the Croat race rather than the Bosniak race, they can effectively choose who represents the Croats—even if actual Croats overwhelmingly prefer someone else.

The Sniper's Bullet and the Soldier's Medal

Željko Komšić was born in Sarajevo in January 1964. His father, Marko, was a Bosnian Croat. His mother, Danica, was a Bosnian Serb. This mixed heritage would later become symbolic of his political identity—and a source of suspicion among Croat nationalists who questioned whether he truly represented their interests.

When war came to Bosnia in 1992, Komšić was twenty-eight years old with a law degree from the University of Sarajevo. He joined the Army of the Republic of Bosnia and Herzegovina to defend his city against the siege that would become the longest in modern warfare—nearly four years of relentless shelling and sniper fire.

On August 1, 1992, a sniper from the Army of Republika Srpska killed his mother. She was drinking coffee in her apartment when the bullet found her. According to those who knew him, this moment broke something in Komšić—and hardened something else. He went on to earn the Order of the Golden Lily, the highest military honor Bosnia awarded during the war.

The cruel irony was not lost on anyone: a Bosnian Serb sniper had killed the Bosnian Serb mother of a Bosnian Croat soldier fighting for a multiethnic Bosnia. The war's ethnic categories, so rigid in theory, shattered against the reality of mixed families and shared cities.

From War Hero to Diplomat to Controversy

After the war, Komšić built a political career in the Social Democratic Party of Bosnia and Herzegovina, known by its Bosnian initials SDP BiH. The party positioned itself as multiethnic and civic-minded, rejecting the nationalist politics that dominated post-war Bosnia. Komšić rose through local government—city councilman, then head of municipal government in Novo Sarajevo, then deputy mayor of the capital itself.

He even served as Bosnia's ambassador to what remained of Yugoslavia, the rump state of Serbia and Montenegro, before returning to domestic politics.

In 2006, he made his move for the presidency.

The circumstances seemed almost designed for someone like Komšić. The main Croat nationalist party, the Croatian Democratic Union of Bosnia and Herzegovina (HDZ BiH), had split into factions. Two candidates from rival HDZ factions divided the Croat nationalist vote. Komšić, running on the SDP's civic platform, could win with a plurality even without strong support from Croats themselves.

And that's exactly what happened. Komšić won with about 40 percent of the vote. His nearest competitor, running under the HDZ BiH banner, managed only 26 percent.

Croat leaders immediately cried foul. The Catholic Church in Bosnia urged him to relinquish the seat. They argued that having the Croat presidency member elected primarily by Bosniak voters made a mockery of the ethnic balance the constitution was supposed to protect. But legal challenges went nowhere—the election was valid under the rules as written.

The 2010 Landslide That Wasn't

If 2006 could be explained away as a fluke of vote-splitting, 2010 removed any ambiguity about what was happening.

Komšić won reelection with over 60 percent of the vote. The numbers tell a remarkable story.

He didn't win a single municipality with a Croat majority or plurality. Not one. In the Croat heartland of Western Herzegovina—towns like Široki Brijeg, Ljubuški, Čitluk, Posušje, and Tomislavgrad—Komšić received less than 2.5 percent of the vote. In some places, his support was negligible to the point of statistical noise.

Meanwhile, in the Bosniak-majority municipality of Kalesija, Komšić received over seven thousand votes. The total Croat population of Kalesija at the time was twenty people.

The math was damning. The entire Croat population of the Federation was estimated at around 495,000 people. Komšić alone received 337,065 votes—while all other Croat candidates combined won only 219,046. Unless Croat voter turnout approached physically impossible levels, the conclusion was inescapable: Komšić's electoral majority came from Bosniaks voting in the Croat race.

From the perspective of Croat nationalists, this was electoral fraud by another name. From the perspective of Komšić's supporters, he was simply winning under the rules as written, offering a civic alternative to ethnic nationalism. Both perspectives contained truth. Neither could fully acknowledge the other.

The Tensions of Shared Power

The Bosnian presidency is designed for consensus, but consensus proved elusive during Komšić's terms. The three-member body found itself in frequent deadlocks, with Komšić often clashing with the Serb member, Nebojša Radmanović, who aligned with Republika Srpska's more separatist positions.

The fundamental disagreements ran deep. Komšić pushed for centralizing state institutions and advancing Bosnia's path toward European Union membership. The Serb member resisted anything that might strengthen the central government at the expense of entity-level power. Constitutional amendments stalled. EU accession requirements went unmet.

One revealing incident came in 2008, when the Bosniak presidency member, Haris Silajdžić, declared during a visit to Washington that Bosnia had only one language—it just went by three different names. This was technically defensible from a linguistic standpoint (Bosnian, Croatian, and Serbian are mutually intelligible and some scholars consider them dialects of a single language) but politically explosive. Croat parties erupted in protest. So did Milorad Dodik, then prime minister of Republika Srpska.

Komšić pushed back against his Bosniak colleague, stating that Silajdžić didn't get to decide how many languages Bosnia had. It was a reminder that even within the nominally allied non-nationalist camp, tensions could flare over identity and culture.

Still, a 2010 study by the National Democratic Institute found that Komšić was the most popular politician among Bosniaks. Among Croats, of course, it was a different story entirely.

Party Splits and New Beginnings

By 2012, Komšić's relationship with the Social Democratic Party had soured. Internal disputes over constitutional reform—specifically, changes that Komšić claimed marginalized his input on civic reforms—led to his departure. The following year, he and other SDP defectors founded a new party: the Democratic Front.

The Democratic Front positioned itself as anti-corruption and pro-civic unity, attracting support primarily from Bosniaks and those who favored a more unified, less ethnically divided Bosnia. Critics called it Bosniak nationalism dressed in civic clothing. Supporters called it the only alternative to the ethnic parties that had calcified Bosnian politics for decades.

After sitting out the 2014 presidency race and serving instead in the national House of Representatives, Komšić returned in 2018 to run again for the Croat seat.

The Protests and the Persona Non Grata

Komšić won the 2018 election with nearly 53 percent of the vote, defeating the incumbent Dragan Čović. The reaction was swift and furious.

Thousands of protesters filled the streets of Mostar and Široki Brijeg, Croat stronghold cities, on October 11 and 12. They called Komšić a "second Bosniak member" and denounced what they saw as the theft of Croat political representation. Once again, the geographic distribution of votes showed Komšić underperforming dramatically in Croat-majority areas while prevailing on the strength of Federation-wide totals.

Croatian Prime Minister Andrej Plenković, who had endorsed Čović, was blunt in his criticism: "We are again in a situation where members of one constituent people are electing a representative of another, the Croat people." Komšić fired back that the Croatian government was undermining Bosnian sovereignty.

The mayors of six Croat-majority municipalities—Čapljina, Čitluk, Grude, Livno, Posušje, and Usora—declared Komšić persona non grata, formally unwelcome in their towns. Members of the Croatian parliament demanded that Croatia itself declare him unwelcome, though that effort failed.

For Komšić, these reactions only proved his point about the dangers of ethnic nationalism. For his Croat critics, his continued presence in office was an ongoing insult, proof that the constitutional system meant to protect them had been hijacked.

Governance Amid Dysfunction

The presidency continued to lurch from crisis to crisis. In 2021, when wildfires swept through Herzegovina, Komšić and Bosniak member Šefik Džaferović instructed the Ministry of Security to assist. But deploying military helicopters required the consent of all three presidency members, and Serb member Milorad Dodik refused to give it. Herzegovina burned while the presidency bickered.

Earlier that year, Komšić and Džaferović had attended a joint military exercise between the United States Army and Bosnia's armed forces near Banja Luka. Dodik boycotted the event—one of many signals of his increasing alignment with separatist positions.

Through it all, Komšić maintained his stance on Bosnian unity. He spoke at the United Nations General Assembly, met with the Secretary-General and the Austrian president, and represented his country on the world stage—all while a substantial portion of that country's Croat population refused to acknowledge his legitimacy.

The Fourth Term and the Historical Record

In 2022, Komšić won again, this time with nearly 56 percent of the vote. His opponent was Borjana Krišto, the HDZ BiH candidate—the same Borjana Krišto he had defeated in 2010. The pattern held: strong Bosniak support, negligible Croat support, victory in the overall Federation tally.

With this win, Komšić became the longest-serving member of the Bosnian presidency in history, and the only person ever to serve more than two terms. In July 2025, he assumed the rotating chairmanship of the presidency once again.

When the post-election governing coalition designated Krišto to become chairwoman of the Council of Ministers (roughly equivalent to prime minister), Komšić voted against her confirmation. His stated reason: she hadn't outlined her program. The other two presidency members voted yes, and she assumed office anyway.

What the Komšić Paradox Reveals

The controversy over Željko Komšić is, at its core, a controversy over what Bosnia and Herzegovina is supposed to be.

If Bosnia is fundamentally a partnership of three ethnic groups, each entitled to genuine representation by their own community, then Komšić's elections are indeed a form of constitutional circumvention. The spirit of Dayton, if not its letter, is being violated every time Bosniak voters choose who represents Croats.

But if Bosnia is supposed to evolve toward a civic state where ethnic identity matters less than shared citizenship, then Komšić represents exactly the kind of politician the country needs—someone who transcends ethnic categories and wins on a platform of unity rather than division. From this perspective, the ethnic voting rules themselves are the problem, relics of a war that ended three decades ago.

Neither side is entirely wrong. And that's what makes the situation so intractable.

Croat political leaders have pushed for reforms that would create a separate voting unit for Croats, ensuring that only Croats could elect the Croat presidency member. Their opponents see this as further entrenching ethnic division in a country that desperately needs to move past it.

The European Court of Human Rights has actually ruled that Bosnia's ethnic-based election system violates the rights of citizens who don't identify as Bosniaks, Croats, or Serbs—they're constitutionally barred from running for president. But implementing reforms that satisfy everyone has proven impossible.

A Personal History Written in National Tragedy

Perhaps what makes Komšić's story so compelling is how perfectly it embodies Bosnia's contradictions. A man of mixed Croat-Serb heritage. A war veteran who fought for a multiethnic Bosnia and lost his mother to a Serb sniper. A politician elected repeatedly to represent Croats despite Croat opposition. A figure beloved by Bosniaks and despised by the very people he's constitutionally designated to represent.

His supporters see a principled defender of Bosnian unity. His detractors see an instrument of Bosniak demographic advantage dressed up in civic rhetoric. Both see the man they expect to see.

What no one disputes is that Komšić has mastered the rules of Bosnian politics as they actually exist. Whether those rules should exist—whether they protect minority rights or undermine them, whether they preserve stability or prevent progress—remains the question Bosnia cannot answer.

And so Željko Komšić continues to serve, the most controversial legitimate president in Europe, winning elections that half his supposed constituents believe he has no right to win.