I’m back from the Balkans just in time to celebrate Independence Day. I love this day. I love it for the words. I love the ringing phrases of defiance in the face of tyranny. I love the call to be better than the weight of history suggests we can be.
This year, however, I’ve been feeling grim all week.
. . .
Sarajevo is still a scarred city. Many buildings still bear the marks of the sniper’s shots and, seeing them, you can turn to look up at the hill from which those bullets rained down. People there are still in pain ten years on, sometimes unable to speak for the tears, sometimes only able to speak harshly and in a rage.
Pristina doesn’t quite bear the same scars, but if you know where and how to look you can find an isolated Orthodox Church, weeds sprouting up around it, windows cracked, its neighborhood now a field. If you know who to ask, you can learn the names of all the dead, missing, and exiled from every apartment block. Here too there is a palpable anger running below the surface.
I met a man who had come to Bosnia as a photographer in 1993. "War is the worst. I used to think war was an option, but now . . . no. War is never an option."
. . .
It is our tradition in the Martial household to read the Declaration of Independence aloud. This year, we had some family with us for breakfast. When I finished the reading, one person looked up and said, "I don't think I've ever read all the way through it."
. . .
I'm off to the fireworks.
Posted by Martial