30th Anniversary of Srebrenica Genocide marked with theatre production The Flowers of Srebrenica

Inspired by Aidan Hehir’s illustrated novel, drawing on his experience of travelling from Sarajevo to Srebrenica, the 30^th anniversary of the Srebrenica genocide is marked by a new theatre production from LegalAliens Theatre that asks ‘can remembering be an act of resistance’? We spoke to Lara Parmiani, director of The Flowers of Srebrenica

Tell us about The Flowers of Srebrenica: how did the theatre production start, and why did you choose the to tell it with a blend of physical theatre, devising and animated projections?

I was given Aidan Hehir’s illustrated novel at the Kosovo Showcase three years ago. What struck me was the way humour ran through it. Aidan exposes his own prejudices as a so-called “expert,” and that lightness allows the reader to reflect on the genocide without the weight becoming unbearable. The stylised drawings reinforced that tone, making space for both distance and deep emotion. On stage, I wanted to honour that layered quality. Physical theatre, devising and projections together create a fractured, visceral vocabulary, mirroring how memory itself works. The book is filled with physical impressions: the claustrophobia of a car journey with a stranger, the oppressive heat, the strange bird sounds at the Memorial Centre, the sense of being surrounded by the dead. These are embodied experiences so we started from the body. The projected animations come from two sources. First, the novel’s illustrations; we wanted to echo their ironic, self-deprecating humour with similar animations. Second, the Memorial Centre itself, which overwhelms visitors with multimedia. On stage, we recreate that sensory overload: too much horror, too much information, but without using traditional footage. All the images are grainy, projected on see through panels so they blend into each other. 

You’ve chosen to tell the story through a chorus of women storytellers. Can you talk about what this theatrical device brings to the piece?

The chorus, made of women from Bosnia, Ukraine and Rwanda, shifts the focus. Too often, accounts of atrocities centre on how Western outsiders are traumatised by what they witness. In the book, Aidan recognises this dynamic, his loud outrage contrasts with Mustafa’s silence and the dignity of the women who for decades searched the woods around Srebrenica for remains. He admits: this isn’t my story to tell. That honesty opened the door for us. On stage, it’s the women who are the storytellers. They invite Mustafa in and choose to guide Aidan. They carry the memory, and they speak across borders, to us. Through the chorus we ensure this isn’t a single person’s story. History lives in fragments and is held by many voices. So Aidan becomes the women's instrument to communicate with the audience. 

The production asks whether memory can be an act of resistance. What does that idea mean to you personally?

For me, remembering is not passive. It’s a choice to keep a story alive when others would rather it be forgotten or rewritten. We are witnessing every day what happens when we fail to recognise the same dangerous dynamics repeating. In times of rising nationalism and disinformation, memory becomes a form of defiance: it resists erasure, it resists denial, it resists the comfort of silence. I feel that theatre is one of the few places where memory can be embodied, literally carried in the voices and bodies of performers, and in that sense, remembering together becomes a political act. 

The play challenges audiences to consider their own complicity in historical violence. What kind of reflection or change do you hope people will leave with?

I don’t expect audiences to walk away with neat answers, but I do hope they leave with sharper questions. What does it mean to look away? What does it mean to believe propaganda? What responsibilities do we carry as citizens when violence is done in our name, or when suffering is happening beyond our borders? If people leave the theatre feeling that they are part of these questions, rather than spectators to someone else’s tragedy, then the play has done its work.

How have audiences in different countries responded so far?

The responses have been humbling. In Bosnia and Herzegovina, audiences saw their own history reflected but were moved by the way the production connected it to other conflicts. In Serbia, where memory is still highly contested, the piece sparked intense conversations about silence and denial. I am looking forward to seeing how audiences in London will react, since obviously they won't have an immediate personal connection to the events. But to me, as I said, this isn't just about Bosnia and the Balkans. Srebrenica keeps happening. It is happening. And people just watch...

LegalAliens is a migrant- and women-led company. How does that identity shape the stories you choose to tell and the way you tell them?

Being migrant-led means we are always working from a position of otherness (now more than ever), of translation, negotiation and crossing borders, literally and artistically.  It gives us a sensitivity to stories that sit outside the mainstream and a determination to bring those voices forward. Being women-led adds another layer: a commitment to collaboration, to plurality of voice, to questioning hierarchies in the rehearsal room and on stage. We are interested in stories of displacement, resilience and solidarity, and we tell them in ways that reflect our identity: multilingual, physical, collective, and always with a sense of urgency.

The Flowers of Srebrenica is presented by LegalAliens Theatre at Jacksons Lane 14 – 18 October jacksonslane.org.uk