Thursday, March 1st was Bosnian Independence Day. It marked the 20-year anniversary of the passage of a referendum for Bosnian Independence from Yugoslavia. Although I didn’t notice any particular traditions for celebrating, most people had the day off of work. However, I learned that the holiday is not celebrated in the Republic of Srpska (the Serbian territories within Bosnia and Herzegovina). So on Independence Day, I was unfortunately reminded of how much Bosnia and Herzegovina remains divided: ethnically, territorially, politically and religiously.
Lately, some of my friends have told me more about their lives during the war, and I’ve seen more photos and videos about what happened here. It is hard to forget the war when physical evidence of the destruction remains visible nearly everywhere in the city. It is even harder to forget when I hear particular stories, or see particular footage connected to the damage.
My friend Adi has shared the most with me about what it was like living in Sarajevo from 1992-1995. He has shown me the bullet holes (and even a bullet lodged into a chair) that remain in his apartment. He’s told me personal stories and played/translated Youtube videos of the fighting that took place nearby the theater, at spots that I pass by every day. Adi has even shared a short memoir that he wrote in English towards the end of the war, aptly titled “It’s Better in Jail”.
Adi is almost exactly my age, so I cannot help but compare my own life and experiences during that time. When the fighting began in Sarajevo, I was about 7 ½ years old, and when the Dayton Agreement was signed in the end of 1995, I was 11 years old, in the middle of sixth grade. During those years, I was so sheltered, and so sensitive. I hadn’t yet seen an R-rated movie. I was so upset by the idea of killing animals for meat that I became a vegetarian. When my guinea pig died in 5th grade, I started worrying about death and couldn’t sleep well for weeks! I’m not sure how (or even if) I would have handled living through a war.
I’ve had some strange reactions when thinking and learning about the war here. I watched a fictional dramatization of the war from an award winning short film, and then couldn’t stop weeping for nearly an hour. Even the trailer from Angelina Jolie’s In the Land of Blood and Honey made me cry. When I read my friend’s memoir, I kept making this weird, demented-sounding laugh to keep from crying, and then worried that he thought I was laughing at his imperfect English.
However, when I watch actual footage, it seems too surreal, and I have yet to cry. I don’t know when or how I became desensitized to violence in this way. Maybe it’s because I’ve followed the international news off and on for the past 15 years, and it’s impossible not to detach oneself to avoid going crazy. In fact, sometimes I am literally so detached that I feel like I am watching myself look at the pictures/videos rather than actually watching them.
I know that war and violence chronically shape human history, and will continue to destroy lives all over the world. It is so hard to understand, and, to me, never worth it, no matter the circumstance. It is even harder to feel helpless, and to know that there will continue to be violence, no matter what I do. So I know it’s idealistic, and maybe a little bit stupid that I have been and will remain a pacifist.
Maybe it’s a good thing to be idealistic and naïve. I can’t imagine that it would be possible to go on living if I didn’t at least feel a little bit hopeful that the world can become a more peaceful place. Therefore, in a weird way, seeing the physical reminders of war sometimes gives me hope. Sarajevo, though not without its problems, has become a thriving and beautiful city again, and a home for so many interesting, kind, and creative people. Seeing war damage every day constantly demonstrates how far a city can come only 20 years after it’s destruction.
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