We need companies that don’t just meet expectations—but exceed them, going beyond what the market even demands.

For days, I’ve been reading reactions to the video “I Don’t Want to Leave,” where a group of successful young people from Bosnia and Herzegovina explain—in a deep, affected male voice (?)—why they choose to stay in the country. The campaign is backed by a youth association, supported by companies and media, including the outlet you’re reading now. And why not? Every year, BiH loses 150,000 people searching for better working conditions and a life with dignity. Serbia has even done the math: each highly educated emigrant costs the state nearly 70,000 KM—the amount invested in their education from elementary school to university. The figure in BiH is comparable. So any initiative offering potential solutions deserves praise.

But here’s the catch. Instead of giving us, say, three weak reasons to stay, the video lists at least thirty reasons to leave! Just as you start wondering whether the point is to make the bleakness even bleaker or to offer a new narrative and a glimmer of hope, the online comments don’t hold back. The blame falls on the ruling class, the opposition, the ’90s generation, retirees—and even the youth themselves: “You’d rather live off your parents’ pensions and drink three coffees a day. Get up, take initiative—who will if not you young folks?” says some anonymous internet loudmouth. At first, I thought only a rare few were on that path, but the work of hundreds of young (and not-so-young) individuals and companies has convinced me otherwise. The combined GDP of all Western Balkan economies is less than €100 billion—about the same as Slovakia’s—yet we have 12 million more people than that small country. Things can’t get worse, so the only possible direction is forward.

The same goes for corporate social responsibility: a donation here or a responsible action there won’t fix decades of systemic gaps. We need companies that don’t just do their jobs—but do them exceptionally, beyond what’s expected, beyond what the market demands—so we can leap into the future in giant strides.

Who even knew about Tuzla’s airport before Wizz Air started flying there? Or imagined a plane ticket to a European destination could cost just a hundred marks? The airline didn’t do anything revolutionary—it just offered the same quality service it provides across Europe, doing its job better than it had to. Or take the recent introduction of 4G in BiH: a country that got fast mobile internet among the last in Europe, where only 15% of the population uses mobile payments. In Croatia, that figure exceeds 50% and surged after faster internet arrived. The telecoms here didn’t perform miracles—they just pushed the state to let them deliver excellent service, and eventually succeeded. Similarly, Sarajevo’s PR agency Represent Communications, the British Council, and the Center for Investigative Reporting earned LGBTIQ Index awards not because they had to, but because they chose excellence in fighting discrimination and fostering inclusion—simply because they wanted to.

It’s hard not to feel hopeless—years of traveling this region have taught me that. When I say, as a 35-year-old, that I’d never leave this part of the world, reactions range from disgust to admiration. When I mention that I moved to Sarajevo before turning 30—without any family ties or pressure to do so—few understand why.

So my answer to that anonymous online critic is simple: Create something more than an illiterate comment, my friend. Build something of your own, something that improves this country and employs people, something you do not because you’re forced to, but because you want to. Then we’ll talk. It’s not about what I won’t do—not even #Idontwanttoleave—but what I will do: I want to create. Here. Now. Every day. Until we’ve built the BiH and the region we actually want.

No one forces IT leaders to be decent, dedicated, and invested in their people’s growth—they choose to be.

Every day, we could write about people leaving the country, and it still wouldn’t be enough. Over 60% of young people under 30 say they’ve considered leaving Bosnia and Herzegovina for good. The numbers are so staggering it’s hard to grasp what strategies could possibly reverse this trend. The labor shortage is painfully real. Last school year, fewer than 3,000 students graduated high school in Sarajevo Canton—compared to 4,500 in 2012.

Fewer students are enrolling in Sarajevo’s universities, and their fields of study are shifting. A decade ago, social sciences and humanities were at their peak; today, it’s medicine and technical faculties. A large number of graduates find their future jobs in information technology and communications, proving that BiH’s economy hasn’t remained immune to the global demand for software solutions. Local entrepreneurs saw this as a massive opportunity—and they weren’t wrong. Simply put, the Balkans can produce top-tier software and export it to developed countries at a fraction of the cost compared to Western Europe or the U.S.

This sector is among the fastest-growing in BiH, expanding by over 70% in the last five years. The Statistics Agency reports more than 1,200 IT firms operating in the country, where net salaries are 50% higher than the Federation average, and the sector exports around 65 million BAM annually. Sarajevo Canton alone hosts over 250 IT companies employing roughly 2,500 people. Within a few years, that number is expected to exceed 6,000, according to research by the Bit Alliance, the association representing the biggest IT players. That means two entire graduating classes from Sarajevo’s high schools won’t be enough to fill all the IT job openings.

These are impressive numbers for an industry that requires no heavy infrastructure—just computers, internet, intelligence, and algorithmic logic (thankfully, we have plenty of that, thanks to exceptional individuals). The formula is simple: let these people work, and they’ll handle the rest.

The IT industry is also growing thanks to returnees from the diaspora. Some of the biggest companies were founded by those who left BiH and later came back. The founders of Mistral, Authority Partners, and ZenDev are well-known faces in the sector. These people didn’t just build successful businesses—they brought back new workplace practices that have fundamentally transformed the traditional employer-employee dynamic here. They offer top-tier working conditions, send employees for training, pay above-average salaries (along with some of the highest taxes and contributions in Europe), socialize with their teams, respect their work, allow them to make mistakes and learn, and support their personal and professional growth.

“Easy for them,” some might scoff. “They’ve got money, so they can play Google.” Sure, they have money—but they also work hard for it and, more importantly, think deeply about values beyond profit. No one forces IT leaders to be decent, dedicated, and invested in their people’s growth—they do it because they know that neither company nor sector growth is possible without inspired, productive employees who show up ready to tackle any challenge, knowing they’ll have support and leave work fulfilled.

Most of that 60% considering emigration say they’d leave because they see no future here. If they stay, does that future lie entirely in IT? Maybe—but that alone won’t create a sustainable economy. What we must learn from the IT sector is this: economic growth depends on satisfied, respected employees who create value not just to survive, but to become better versions of themselves—every single day.

Running a business is tough, but the real Sisyphean struggle in the 21st century is finding good job candidates—and, even harder, keeping great employees.

Who still remembers Lutajuća Srca (Wandering Hearts), the Yugoslav acoustic band from Niš? In the ’70s, Dženan Salković wrote them an exotic-nostalgic love song, “Jefimija,” inspired by medieval Serbian motifs. They toured a bit with Kemal Monteno and Čola, scored a sweet little hit with “Još Malo,” dabbled in covers of The Who and Free, and even represented Yugoslavia at the pan-socialist Youth Festival in East Berlin. A little bit of everything. They lasted about a decade, cycled through a singer or two, and by the early ’80s—each went their separate way.

All that’s left of Lutajuća Srca is a faint memory and a few smooth notes only a true connoisseur would recognize.

There are plenty of “wandering hearts” in business, too. They’re only talked about in passing—at receptions, after meetings, in elevator small talk. Running a business is hard, but in this late stage of the 21st century, finding good talent feels like rolling a boulder up a hill, and keeping top employees might be even harder. Every business owner thinks it’s their problem alone, one that will somehow resolve itself. But it won’t.

Because this is the millennial generation—people born between 1985 and 2000. Older folks accuse them of “doing nothing all day,” of “loafing around,” of “not knowing what they want,” let alone how to achieve it. Yet, at the same time, this is the generation leaving the country daily in search of a better life. And ultimately, these are the same people who—if exceptionally bold and focused—are already running their own ventures. They’re slowly climbing into key roles (not just entry-level ones), with some already angling for decision-making positions. These people now dominate the labor market. And it’s only in this last category that we, as employers, can hope to find exceptional future colleagues.

But here’s the catch: where real opportunities are scarce, every chance can seem like the chance to a capable young person. I’ve met many bright, educated millennials whose only “job” is chasing the next master’s degree, exchange program, Ph.D., postdoc, conference, or seminar. They’re everywhere—constantly networking, improving, exchanging ideas, opinions, perspectives. And then, suddenly, youth slips away! When the time finally comes for these brilliant young minds to settle into work, their pre-career cycle repeats itself on the job, creating “career wandering hearts.” They’re drawn to creativity—or maybe project management. They want leadership—but without accountability. They crave making a social impact—but also demand higher pay. They network relentlessly—yet remain hyper-focused on themselves, blind to anything beyond immediate (non-)opportunities.

No wonder four out of five start job-hunting immediately, according to “Most Desirable Employer” research by Serbia’s poslovi.infostud.com—one of the few studies on this topic. Once they land that new job, they want stability and great workplace relationships—but above all, flexible hours. Throw in private health insurance and a salary over 1,400 KM, if possible. And then? Eighty percent are still thinking about switching jobs again. The cycle never ends.

Are scholarships the answer, or do they just fuel this endless carousel? The Hastor Foundation, a private initiative by ASA Prevent (one of our largest companies), awarded scholarships to nearly 2,000 exceptional young people this year alone. Smaller but still impressive numbers come from BBI Bank’s owners, the diaspora-led Bosana Foundation, government programs, and others.

But what happens to all these scholarship recipients? Can we, as businesses and employers, help them structure and direct their careers so they can light the way for others? Can we ensure that the impact of the new business generations we’re shaping isn’t just a few fleeting notes—another echo of “wandering hearts”? The examples are around us, in BiH and the region—we’ve even mentioned some. But how? What strategy and tactics will work?

Stay tuned for the next issues of Biznis Plus to find out.

Belma, Mladen, Emir, Marina, Darko, Hajdi, Edina, Jelena, Dajana, Elvira, Vanja, Edin, Nadža, and Violeta. This diverse group came together at the end of last year with one goal: to build something new and meaningful from scratch. We didn’t fire anyone—let that be clear—and though we met in the Sarajevo Canton, we decided to act across the entire territory of Bosnia and Herzegovina. Thankfully, we didn’t have to explain to anyone why our group had such a mix of names and backgrounds. Because our companies are members of the American Chamber of Commerce in BiH (AmCham), where we founded the Committee for Corporate Social Impact.

“Fifteen of them got together, invented a job for themselves—a committee, no less!—and secured cushy positions while people struggle to put bread on the table,” a well-intentioned reader might think, hardened by experience. Understandable. But here’s the thing: our companies pay for AmCham memberships, and in this new body, we participate for free—investing our time, reputations, and expertise. The stakes are high from the start. So what’s the payoff?

In 2017, 11.5 million BAM was donated for social causes in BiH, according to Catalyst Balkans. Of that, 4 million came from companies. Is that a lot or a little? Roughly the same amount was spent last year on salaries for 97 federal representatives and eight advisors. It’s also about what the smaller entity, the state, and international institutions combined paid for Ratko Mladić’s defense in The Hague. (“The most complex case so far, so it costs more,” they say. Oh, really?) Whether it’s a lot or a little depends on what it’s for.

Companies mostly supported healthcare, education, and marginalized groups—usually through one-off actions that photograph well, sound even better in the media, and look most impressive printed on thick, glossy paper in annual corporate social responsibility (CSR) reports. Don’t let the word “responsibility” fool you here—it’s as much about society as it is about self-image and public perception.

This isn’t new. The history of philanthropy, even in BiH, has always been tied to genuine goodwill—and a boost in reputation. Isa-beg Ishaković and Gazi Husrev-beg are remembered not just as statesmen and military leaders but as vakifs, whose endowments nurtured generations of BiH’s elite. The Franciscans of Bosna Srebrena weren’t just archivists and educators—they were relentless missionaries and diplomats. Kosta Hadžiristić had business ties across Europe, traded stocks, and built a strong national program, yet all of Sarajevo knows him for donating his wealth to higher education. There’s always been a delicate balance between “core business” (as modern corporate jargon puts it) and “giving back to society.” The most effective approaches simultaneously advance the investor’s primary mission and fill gaps in society, creating a new generation that, in turn, repeats the cycle when its time comes.

As founding members of this Committee, we—Raiffeisen Bank, Addiko Bank, UniCredit Banja Luka, Sparkasse, Telemach, the brewers of Ožujsko and Jelen pivo, EY consultants, Ademović Law, and us at Propulsion—decided to invest in a new generation differently. Big names, sure, but it’s not just about the name.

Call it a vakuf, endowment, or corporate social impact—what matters is the essence. We need a new model of giving, one that goes beyond “repaying a debt to the community” in photo-op form. Those 4 million BAM? The most forward-thinking companies realized it’s not enough to solve systemic problems, but it can be invested wisely in exceptional young people—with brilliant results. They’re the ones who will build bridges here, both literal and metaphorical, ensuring that names don’t matter—but understanding this complex world and making the right decisions at the right time does.

We’re not asking what your name is. We’re asking: Will you join us today?

While Herzegovina reaches the dramatic climax of an economic tragedy, here in the rest of the country, yet another frivolous story unfolds. Or is it?

Cazin, July 8 – Representatives of the IT Girls initiative visited elementary schools across Bosnia and Herzegovina, delivering ten Arduino programming kits. “These sets will help our students and teachers refine their IT skills,” said Elvedin Delalić, director of Cazin II Elementary School.

Mostar, July 10 – Five minutes past midnight, the giant Aluminij was disconnected from the power grid. Workers of the Mostar behemoth stood in shock outside the factory, while a vehicle from the MUP of HNK lingered nearby. The decision to shut down the company had already been signed by director Dražen Pandža.

What do these two events have in common, aside from happening almost back-to-back? While Herzegovina witnesses the dramatic culmination of an economic tragedy that’s been simmering for at least a decade and a half—leading to the collapse of one of “the pillars of the region’s and the entire country’s economy” (as patriotically enlightened economists put it)—here in the rest of the country, instead of concrete, useful, and necessary action, we get yet another seemingly trivial tale. Or do we? Before we succumb to the toxic mentality of dismissing facts at face value, let’s look at things from another angle.

Even before Aluminij’s collapse, Bosnia and Herzegovina’s unemployment rate stood at 20.5%. Among those aged 15 to 24, the numbers are staggering: 43% of young men and a shocking 51.3% of young women are without work. When discussing unemployment, the demands of the labor market must factor into the equation. According to data from the BiH Employment Agency, the most sought-after professions are in the IT sector—particularly electrical engineers—followed by civil engineers, pharmacists, and doctors. Recruitment agencies report (via ITgirls.ba) that diplomas from electrical engineering faculties are among the most lucrative. And yet, by 2020, the EU will face a shortage of 900,000 qualified IT workers.

The events from early July don’t just reflect current affairs—they mirror global trends. Worldwide, including in BiH, we’re witnessing a shift in economic models: the era of “giants” is being replaced by the “gig” economy, a free market where temporary, tech-driven jobs are the norm rather than the exception, and businesses hire independent contractors based on project needs. The state is aware of this shift. Last year, the FBiH Tax Administration demanded freelancers retroactively pay taxes on all income from 2015 to 2017, prompting them to form the Freelance Association of BiH. Today, it brings together hundreds working in IT, design, apps, writing, translation, online teaching, and even project management, virtual assistance, and fashion design.

This is why the IT Girls initiative deserves praise—by distributing mini-robots to schools, they’re preparing future workers for the new reality of the labor market, with a special focus on girls, who remain a stark minority in these fields. They’re not alone in this mission. The Bit Alliance and our ICT Committee at AmCham BiH, gathering the country’s biggest IT players, share the goal of fostering a better environment for the sector’s growth. Microsoft takes it further with the regional “Gen-D” program, partnering with Propulsion and the “Petlja” Foundation to offer a prize-winning digital curriculum across five regional countries, cultivating algorithmic thinking and problem-solving in future generations. The British Council’s multimillion “Schools for the 21st Century” project also operates on the understanding that digital literacy, along with creative, critical, and analytical thinking, will be essential for individual and societal progress.

So, last week wasn’t just about “two witches.” We witnessed—and are still witnessing—the symbolic, noisy crash of the old economy and the emergence of timid but ever-strengthening voices of the new era.

Which voice does your business speak in?