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?