When the former finance minister recently warned that reaching EU living standards would require us to “transition from walking barefoot on stones to taking flight,” his blunt metaphor drew sharp rebukes from officials but resonated deeply with business leaders. Suddenly, everyone grew alarmed by his prophetic calculation: at our current pace, we’d need nearly two centuries to catch up.

The message was clear—this race demands both marathon endurance and sprint speed, leaving no serious professional untouched.

The laws of physics apply equally to all bodies moving through fluids (gases and liquids), but not equitably. Air offers negligible resistance compared to water, which is 800 times denser—every movement through it requires twelve times more effort. Yet for generations, whenever our society faced important progress, we’ve essentially told half the population: “You there—swim! The rest of us will run.” This, in crude terms, reflects women’s current position in our business world and broader society.

Do women face twelve times more resistance than men? Quantifying it is difficult. Legally, we appear exemplary—the World Bank’s recent “Women, Business and the Law” report ranks Serbia among the top 20 global jurisdictions, nestled between Peru and Iceland. On paper, we’re world-class.

But reality diverges sharply. Additional World Bank data incorporating live interviews and financial indicators reveals a grimmer picture: the Western Balkans loses about 18% of GDP annually due to gender gaps in labor participation. Two-thirds stems from unequal workforce engagement, while the remainder reflects occupational segregation. Only two in five Serbian women are employed or seeking work, and those with jobs often find themselves in low-skill, underpaid sectors.

The most damning statistic? Thirty-seven percent of regional employers openly admit preferring male hires—a figure likely underreported given respondents’ candor during face-to-face surveys. So while we fight for every decimal of GDP growth, we’re effectively sidelining half our population from the race.

Over recent months, I’ve spent countless hours absorbing insights from Branka Rajičić, the first Serbian to attain partner status at PwC across Central and Eastern Europe. With quiet determination, she consistently validates her leadership—through financial results, team growth, and societal impact. Though she operates across multiple business fronts, Branka thinks deeply about legacy, with positive social influence being our recurring dialogue theme.

She’s not alone. This entire publication showcases formidable female leaders, entrepreneurs, and mentors reshaping environments through personal example. These are women confronting dismal statistics head-on, transforming lamentations into victory narratives. They guide hundreds—sometimes thousands—of colleagues and clients, unwittingly becoming beacons for others, especially younger women.

As they power forward, do fluid dynamics’ constraints still apply? Absolutely. Yet their calibrated approaches create expansive pathways for those following similar trajectories. Solidarity, while never their central focus, becomes the golden thread weaving through their companies’ successes and their communities’ progress.

These women shoulder disproportionate responsibility for change, generating an entirely new dynamic around them. Because true progress demands more than excellence—it requires the strength to alter the immutable.

“I’m the editor—what I say goes!”

That declaration ended all discussion—the work would be done as ordered. This was public radio, after all, and I was just a slightly older teenager at the time. In any case, an editorial team’s responsibility is determining how the program should sound. The frequency of these “no debate” decisions fluctuated with circumstances, but noticeably spiked during crises—which, in public media, meant constantly. That shout, a perpetual symbol of perpetual crisis, remains my most vivid memory of those days.

Fifteen years later, I often catch myself and colleagues tallying how often we invoke our status, role, position, past successes, experience, or ownership stakes to make “the program sound” the way we want in our teams. How often do we inspire people through vision versus resorting to “I’m the editor—what I say goes”? We keep score in a mental ledger of small leadership wins and losses. And just like back at the radio, crises almost always tip the balance toward authoritarianism—that leadership style so endemic to Serbia and the Balkans.

But must it be so?

Mid-March could have been catastrophic for our organization: Colleague F., a linchpin of our team, was hospitalized with severe pneumonia—then diagnosed with that disease we’d only heard about on TV. The deadly pandemic was no longer about “those people over there”; it was now our painful personal and professional reality. Though we’d been pushing for 2020 to be our most successful year yet, most active contracts were in transitional phases or just beginning, threatening our liquidity. Worse, no one—not the government, business community, or global experts—knew how long this would last or had reliable data for midterm decisions.

Before the state of emergency was declared, we realized surviving as “winners” required crisis leadership unlike anything we’d practiced. Our emergency team quickly divided roles: financial planning, remote-work infrastructure, and—critically—curating information flows became equally vital.

“Colleague F.’s condition is serious but stable… stable but in ICU… stable but reserved a ventilator,” the hospital updates came daily. Someone had to dam the rising dread infiltrating our bones with each report, crafting narratives that were accurate yet free of panic, sensationalism, or the misinformation wildfire spreading globally.

Most crucially, we understood the team must emerge stronger, wiser, and more united—or battling a crisis this magnitude was pointless. This demanded radical transparency. Daily (sometimes hourly), we openly discussed projections, F.’s status, payroll viability (including temporary pay cuts to endure longer). In global chaos, we found refuge and security in each other.

These approaches align with advice from Sam Tsima of Forbes Business Council: continuous communication, pre-prepared crisis scenarios, expert consultation, and viewing crises as learning—not panicking—opportunities distinguish modern leaders. But as mindfulness expert Tamara Levitt’s research shows, none of this works unless leaders make peace with not having all answers—just facilitating optimal team solutions.

F. fully recovered. We’re back in the office. Liquidity and salaries normalized (we’ll repay those temporary cuts). Travel resumed. Two team members secured permanent contracts mid-crisis. That leadership scorecard? Forgotten—because “how our program sounds” became a group decision, not an individual decree.

“We’re the editors—what we say goes!”

That’s how we weathered this crisis as a team—and how we’ll face the next. So ask yourself: who’s in your editorial room deciding how your crisis—and everyday—program sounds?

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?