Srebrenica Remembrance Day

On Wednesday, July 11th, ‘Srebrenica Remembrance Day’, members of the conference were given the opportunity of attending the annual memorial service at Potocari Cemetery, as well as visit a nearby mass grave. The buses left for Potocari, a suburb of Srebrenica, at 7am – and we arrived in Potocari around noon.


The Drive to Potocari

As we were driving towards Potocari, I watched the landscape before me...filled with beautiful mountains. Driving through the towns told me a lot about the war in this region. Every single town we went through had very obvious signs of war, evidenced in a combination of bullet-holed buildings and bombed-out buildings, in various stages of disrepair – from plastered-over (but not painted-over) holes to completely neglected buildings with trees and shrubbery growing through them. Amongst these signs of war were newer looking houses and structures. In the country side I would see time and time again one neatly kept house next to an abandoned bullet-holed house. There are stories here, in the people and the landscape, stories that I’m not so sure have been listened to. I wonder what it would be like to have such traumatic reminders right in my face every day. I am really curious as to whether the lack of repair or destruction of these raw signs of war are purposely kept as they are – as reminders, or really are just left because no one knows what to do with them, or has the money to fix them or tear them down.

Something else I noticed was that police-men were standing along the road, at various points. It seemed to me they were there to guard certain (specific) places along the road. It felt like they were there both to keep people from harming those places and to keep people from seeing those places, but I still don't know for sure. I also noticed that the people in towns we passed were looking out windows or standing in doorways to see this convoy of 9 tour buses lead by the police. More and more I realized the extent to which I was intruding on these people’s lives.

When we started to enter towns closer to Srebrenica, someone on the intercom of the bus came on and told us (in rather choppy English) where, mainly Bosnian, refugees from Republica Srpska had fled for their safety, where certain memorials were, and where certain massacres had taken place. I imagined how the refugees walked down the very narrow winding road we were on to try and find safety, not knowing what was to come. I imagined what it was like to be overtaken by troops. How they boarded the buses and were ripped apart from their family members. How the women watched as the buses that were boarded with their husbands, sons, and fathers were driven in another direction; crying in anguish at not knowing what is to become of the men, wanting to be near them, to touch them, all the while aching at the thought at never seeing them again. Fear of what will happen to them, fear of what they themselves are about to endure. Uncertainty, grief, despair, shock. The thoughts: 'How could this be happening?'

I thought also of the Serbian soldiers: drunk, high, sleep-deprived; following the orders so that they themselves will survive this hell, and some, perhaps, enjoying the pain they are allowed to inflict. Each one of them is different from the other, each one of them is unique.

Why would an ordinary man in this particular war kill other ordinary men en-masse? How do the ideas of morality get so twisted? "Why" is actually not so hard for me to understand. I have been asking myself that question in this regard long enough to begin getting answers. One answer to this "Why" is actually quite simple to me: he kills for love…He kills so he can continue living on, so he can be with his own family again one day, because he loves them (and I realize that 'he' can just as readily be 'she'). This has been justified in various ways:
- He is literally being forced to "kill - or be killed".
- Out of revenge for his ancestor who was killed before his time by the imagined ancestors of the people he kills now.
- He is too tired to care anymore, too weary from others he has killed and raped to really give a shit about morality.
- Killing has become part of a way to relieve his own pain.
- He does not even perceive those he is killing as human beings, within the realm of his moral reality.
- "This is war…this is what is done in war."
- "Everyone else is doing it, so it must be okay."

...I try to understand the mindset of these soldiers, not to make right what they did…but to understand humanity, and how it can go wrong. Just because people who kill are humans just like those humans who do not kill, does not mean there should not be consequences to it. We could debate about whether a person can be evil, or whether a person just does evil things…but when we start separating evil into other or something separate from humanity, we run into the very thing which justifies the destruction of those "others".

To me, this is important. Not just important, but key to reality. It is impossible for me to study humanity without looking into the depths of its darkness. Seeing a twelve year old mass grave is just one aspect of the darkness of humanity…one of so many. Nevertheless, for those of you who do not want to look at or think about this, or have already done plenty of it and have no desire to do so again…I understand. So, a word of warning…

***PLEASE DON’T READ THIS SECTION IF YOU THINK YOU WILL FIND IT DISTURBING***
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Mass grave near Potocari

Once we reached Potocari, we all exited the buses, and walked up a path to see a mass grave. A man was waiting for us, with a translator, to tell us about the grave. He told us that this grave was a secondary mass grave, explaining further that the massacred Bosnian Muslims had originally been buried in primary mass graves. But, in order to cover their tracks, the Serbian army went back, dug up the graves, took apart the bodies, and dispersed the body parts into secondary mass graves all over the country (I’m not sure what specific country he meant exactly). Around 79 mass graves have been found so far, and the mass grave we were about to see was the most recently discovered secondary mass grave.

We walked up a hill, along a narrow mud path, and reached what had been dug up so far, a hole around 30 X 20 feet in diameter, and 5 to 15 feet deep in different areas. I stared at the brownish-red bones sticking out of the mud: a spinal column with ribs, femurs, sculls with teeth perfectly intact , shirts, pants, arms, shoes, bone fragments. There were numbers next to each set of bones or clothing items. We were told that the bones were not taken off-site immediately because the body parts had to be pieced together on-site, like a puzzle (whenever possible). Seeing what was left of these people was one of the deepest experiences of my life. Part of me felt like I should not be there, looking at the remnants of these people. Then I was overcome with a sense that these people were my people, and all of humanity is connected. I needed to see and feel the pain of these people, in order to understand the reality of this world.


There was a map that showed where all the mass graves had been found in Bosnia and Herzegovina - most of which are in the Republika Srpski. We were given the example of how one man had been, found in four mass graves: his scull in one, his left hip in one, his right femur in one, and his right arm in another. The grieving that the family members of these men have to endure never really ends. Often one body part is found, let’s say the right leg. So, a funeral procession is done and the body part is buried. But the family is continually on edge, not knowing whether they will be getting a knock on the door from someone saying that another body part has been found - whether that be in two months, 20 months, or two years. We were told that, altogether, around 4,000 people have been identified from mass graves in Bosnia and Herzegovina so far. This day, at the annual ceremony, they were burying around 465.

Through translation we were given the opportunity to ask questions about the mass grave. One man asked how this grave was found. They explained that a woman who lives in the house we had passed had told them about this area - that it was the only area around that was flat (for this area is on and surrounded by mountains), and it used to be a soccer field where kids would play.

Another man asked the other to describe the response of loved-ones when told that a family member had been found in one of the mass graves - a question that I felt crossed a line, but was later glad it was asked because it actually brought more humanity and reality into the situation. The man described how they had found a mass grave in Northern Bosnia and Herzegovina, in a ravine in a cave. There were two layers of bodies in this mass grave, in between which was filled with trash and dirt, and again covered with trash and dirt. During the excavation of this mass grave, a man had been standing at the site. His wife, 4-year-old son, and infant daughter, sister, and another family member were all buried in this grave (unbeknownst to the excavators). As they carried out the remains of his wife (whom they had not yet identified), this man stood at the edge and said 'that is so-and-so', but did not look behind him as she was carried away. They carried out the remains of his son, who was four at the time of death, and he said 'that is so-and-so', but did not look behind him as the remnants were carried away. This went on with his other family members as they were carried out of the mass grave one-by-one. At first, people did not know what he was saying, but later realized that he knew he was seeing his family members brought up from the grave. He waited until, at last, his baby infant girl (who would now be around twelve) was carried out four days after the rest of his family. Hearing about this man, who knew his entire family was buried in this place, sensing who it was as each family member was brought out, and knowing there were others still in the grave – really struck a cord in me. I imagine all the years that have come between him and his family, all the memories which are stuck in a time and place he will never be again, all the hopes and dreams that died with them; the interactions he misses, and those he has forgotten. The pain of being ripped apart from them too soon.
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Potocari Cemetery Memorial

After this, we were directed toward the Potocari Cemetery, where the reading of 465 names and burial was about to begin. At first I was uncertain as to whether it was appropriate for me to enter the graveyard, as I am not Muslim and had not thought to bring a headscarf with me. I did not know what was proper. Eventually, I did enter and stayed on the outskirts of the graveyard, along the wall. I listened to the first 119 names being read by several people – in order of first names – ”...Hassan ---, Hassani ---, Hassani ---,...Ibrahim ---, Ibrahim ---,...and so on...” As each name was read, a numbered green-cloth ‘casket’ was carried to the grave sites. I noticed that as the caskets were carried across a path from one end of the cemetery to the other, men who were lining the path would reach up and touched each one, while the women were on the outskirts of the men – watching. I kept thinking about how these names being called were names of men who had lived and breathed, who had loved and hated, who had hopes and dreams. Men with sisters and mothers. Men with wives and children. Men with lives that were cut short in horrific ways, whose bodies were torn to pieces and buried in random graves, who are remembered so deeply and fully in such a painful way. I thought of my friends and family and what I might have felt if they had been killed in such ways. I thought of my father. Though I miss him and his death was the most painful time of my life, none of my pain could ever compare with this. I really started to get dizzy thinking about all these things. Seeing all these people full of memories and loss. After awhile I could not take in hearing all those names and seeing all those caskets.

Potocari Museum

After I left the cemetery, I went to a museum near the memorial graveyard. The museum was placed in a warehouse, with black-painted sections in the middle of the warehouse devoted to the museum. In one of these sections, I read the stories of some of the Bosnian men who were killed in this area - along with a picture of their faces and an object that was found in their pocket (ex: a house key, a lighter, a Koran, a flint).

In the face of all this, I realized just how meaningless my life was…I really felt it’s meaninglessness…which was a gift. I don’t mean this in a negative way. More than anything, I gained perspective. Looking back at what I was doing in July 1995 (when the massacres at Srebrenica were occurring), I could not help but laugh at my own idiocy. Who really cares? When facing this type of pain and death, from the view of your own life, you start to really see clearly what matters and what doesn’t. Every little moment matters.

Although I left feeling exhausted and drained, I was also left with a degree of strength of a type that is different for me. I know I am changed - in a positive way. And the sadness that I so often feel has been lessened to a great degree and replaced with a feeling of 'peaceful understanding' (for lack of a better term).

Sarajevo, Bosnia and Herzegovina

These next few blogs are about my very brief five days in Bosnia and Herzegovina (July 6-11)…and my impressions during that time. Keep in mind that I am went to Bosnia after being in Beograd and Serbia for several weeks. In Beograd I have recognized only three or four buildings that were obviously bombed by NATO – which are virtually the only visual remnants of those three months of bombing there in 1999. Two of these buildings are in a section on the edge of the city center; while the other two buildings are barely noticeable, in other sections of the city. When the NATO bombings are referred to in Serbia, it is with a general sense of indignation, lack of context, and/or self-sympathy. Of course, was a traumatic three months for everyone here, including the pets - some of whom, to this day, have PTSD symptoms. Many buildings that were very symbolic for the people in Beograd were destroyed or almost destroyed.

However, in places like Sarajevo, Bosnia and Herzegovina - where there siege lasting about 3 YEARS; the damage and continued effect has been a tad more extreme. After being in Sarajevo, I began to understand better what the people at IAN were talking about. The energy of the city when I entered it was remarkable to me. The best way I can describe it is visually: Sarajevo reminded me of a woman whose body is completely underground, her head and face are barely above the surface, face bent forward and down and her eyes closed. Deep within her, far under the surface, is a well of emotion - intensely angry and bitter emotion. The emotion is subdued, but ready to be awakened. Outwardly, her scars are evident - but these scars run far deeper than what the surface can show.

It has been twelve years since the war, but in the areas of Bosnia and Herzegovina - around Sarajevo, Visegrad, and Srebrenica (where I was), it feels like it was not so long ago.

Brief Impressions of Sarajevo

Although I was only in Sarajevo for about two days, I was able to gain a deeper understanding of what S., D., and K. were talking about.

Sarajevo seemed very under populated and had a small-town feel to it (as opposed to Beograd, which is considerably larger city than Sarajevo, but still feels overpopulated). The ravages of war are present ALL around Sarajevo...in nearly every building there are bullet holes and or mortar holes...many of which have either not been repaired at all, or have just been patched but not painted over. SO many LARGE buildings are bombed-out and burned-out beyond repair...imagine empty shells buildings with trees growing through them scattered all around the city. I was amazed at how apparent the destruction still was. From what I was told, Sarajevo used to consist of: 1/3 Muslims, 1/3 Orthodox, and 1/3 Catholics – while now it is 89% Muslim. And now, apparently, around 75% of those who are now living in Sarajevo are actually from the country-side or small towns.

Throughout my time in Sarajevo, we walked around and had some wonderful, authentic Bosnian food. I have heard that the ćevapčići in Sarajevo is the best, and I would have to agree. The gibanica (pie-pita), and various deserts were also fabulous. We met some great people at the conference, some of which were poets and artists. One poet/writer would go around to each of the people I was with, at various times during our conversation, and say something he had perceived about the person. Surprisingly, he was pretty right-on in his insights about them. When he got to me, he said I was like a blueberry. (My mind immediately went to Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, and I imagined myself turning blue, expanding-out like a blueberry and being rolled away to be de-juiced.) Thankfully, he went on to say that I was like a blueberry because I am 'healing'…much better than my initial thought.

The Genocide Conference

I went to three days of the “Seventh Bianual Meeting of the International Association of Genocide Scholars” while in Sarajevo. Part of why I wanted to go to the conference was in order to learn more about genocide, what research is being done, past research, possible preventative measures, et cetera. (Another reason was to see Sarajevo and to get a better feel for what went on there. I have read about the war between Croatia and Serbia, and Bosnia and Herzegovina, but it is different to actually go and see the places for myself.) The conference was very interesting, and quite thought provoking. I met some very interesting people, and heard a variety of perspectives. A surprise to me was that one of the three presidents of Bosnia and Herzegovina, Zeljko Komsic, spoke at the conference briefly. I was surprised that a politician was speaking at the conference, let alone one of the three presidents’ of the country! He mainly spoke about how a genocide had, in fact, been carried out towards the Bosnians and that those men who were still at large needed to be brought to justice…

Later, Carla Del Ponte, the Chief Prosecutor of International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia (ICTY) came to speak. Because she was late, on of the prosecuting attorneys under her, Norm, spoke briefly about the difficulties of prosecuting someone under the term ‘genocide’, because there were very specific guidelines and requirements for this. There is a real difference to be tried for genocide as opposed to crimes against humanity. Both Carla and Norm were barraged by pretty intense questions about their lack of convictions so far. They both explained later that the reason certain Serbians that had gone to trial did not get convicted was because the courts had not allowed the evidence that the prosecutors had brought forth. She spoke about how the prosecuting attorneys can only prosecute from a specific list, and people from these lists must be extradited from the countries they are in. The talk was very informative, but not very encouraging...

Višegrad, Bosnia

I took a day trip to Višegrad with three people (S., K., and D.) from or connected with the organization I am interning with on Friday, June 29th. Although it was awhile ago, the trip is still vivid in my mind as it has had quite an impact on me, for various reasons. At first, I was a bit unsure of what exactly we were to be doing. I asked the social worker, J., on the beautiful 4 hour trip from Beograd to Višegrad, but she was not very clear. Finally, upon arrival, K. explained that we at a Health Clinic where people who are survivors of torture (many of whom are also refugees) were coming to get a free physical, psychological assessment, and medicines from them. Because the health-care system is so bad in Bosnia, and they are not even part of the system, they have to pay for doctor visits and medicines on their own – so this is a great opportunity for them.

When we arrived at the clinic, the parking lot was full, and there were people lined up outside the door and in the inside waiting area. We were greeted by a very friendly man, the director, and shown to a room where the work would be done. S. asked me if I wanted to talk with any of the people there. And, in fact, I did have was a long-awaited opportunity to speak with torture survivors. However, I knew that these people were waiting to see Katrina and D., and I was unsure of what my role would be in this situation. I knew that these individuals did not know English, and I did not feel comfortable having D. or S. interpret for me because I was afraid they did not know English well enough. I was frustrated that I did not know Serbian, and I felt it would be an injustice to the people there if I attempted to speak with them about sensitive topics without having a proper way to communicate. I know that torture is an extremely difficult topic and I did not want to make any of the people there feel like guinea pigs or barrage them with questions any way. So, I chose not to speak with any of them specifically. Instead of speaking with them, I sat with D. and observed her doing very brief psychological assessments on individuals, before they went to get a medical check-up and medicines.

I spent a few hours watching D. during these brief discussions, in a psychological evaluation slant. I was very interested in watching how each person acted and appeared. Every person had a story, and in-between people D. was able to tell me briefly what they had said. It was interesting to me how much I had actually picked-up from watching their non-verbal cues (which I would not have realized if D. had not shared some of their information with me). Nevertheless, I was reminded of just HOW important language is, and how ridiculous it is to expect to be able to do therapy in another language. Yes, there are interpreters, but SO much of therepy is language...every word used is of extreme importance.

After spending a few hours at the Clinic, S. took me to see the River Drina, which winds through Višegrad. Drina was unreal, a color of such amazing light emerald green that seemed to glow from within…I fell in-love with her energy. As we sat next to Drina, I imagined how I would paint her – and as I did so, I saw in my mind's eye the river filled with streams of blood. The town was filled with a sense of abandonment and torture. I asked S. what had happened in Višegrad during the war. Mind you, at the time I had absolutely no idea at the time. His face withdrew after a flash of disconcertment, and sat in quite thinking. Then he said it was too much to explain in English, and continued to say that before the war the town was mixed between Orthodox and Muslims, but now, there were no more Muslims, only Orthodox. When he said this, I knew he meant that the area had been ethnically cleansed of Muslim Bosnians, and I was left to guess as to how violent this “cleansing” had actually been. [Later, I was told that many mass grave had been found in the region of Višegrad; and many of the people who had fled to the Safe Zone of Srebrenica were from Višegrad. Drina had been very polluted during the war, and many bodies were dumped into it over that period of time.]

On the way back to Beograd, we stopped up in the mountains along the way. We hiked for a brief time, and I noticed that the rocks were an interesting blend of greens, reminding me a bit like Serpentine. The air smelled of pine, roses, warm rocks, wet dew, and lipo tree...it was very refreshing and serene, and reminded me a bit of a combination between Michigan and Oregan. We stopped for lunch at the “wood village” which was actually created to be the set in some famous Bosnian movie, but is now a tourist destination. Over lunch, they asked me what my traveling plans were - and I mentioned that I would be going to Sarajevo, Bosnia the following weekend. This started a very interesting conversation about how much Sarajevo had changed since the war. They discussed how, before the war, Sarajevo used to be very warm and welcoming to everyone; yet it was a very chic, hip city. Since the war, however, people were much more unfriendly and suspicious, and it just did not feel the same. I was almost offended by the way they spoke about Sarajevo (even though I had not yet been there), and said that it was not a suprise that Sarajevo would be a changed city - considering all that had happened there. The physician said that, yes, there was a war, but "that was years ago".

Then S., always one to have a song at the tip of his song for just the right occasion, started to sing "Woman in Chains" by Tears for Fears. I was floored by his insight. This song is one that has been deeply meaningful to me for the majority of my life; and it has reminded me of Bosnia for some time now. The lyrics are as follows:

You better love loving and you better behave
You better love loving and you better behave
Woman in chains
Woman in chains

Calls her man the great white hope
Says shes fine, shell always cope
Woman in chains
Woman in chains

Well I feel lying and waiting is a poor mans deal
And I feel hopelessly weighed down by your eyes of steel
Its a world gone crazy
Keeps woman in chains

Trades her soul as skin and bones
Sells the only thing she owns
Woman in chains
Woman in chains

Men of stone
Men of stone

Well I feel deep in your heart there are wounds time can't heal
And I feel somebody somewhere is trying to breathe
Well you know what I mean
Its a world gone crazy
Keeps woman in chains

Its under my skin but out of my hands
Ill tear it apart but I wont understand
I will not accept the greatness of man

Its a world gone crazy
Keeps woman in chains

So free her
So free her

Men and Women in Beograd...continued...

It may seem a bit odd for me to be bringing this up again - but my curiosity about the visual differential between men and women in Beograd, I have since realized, has its roots in some most interesting causes...all of which I have discussed at length with a variety of people from Serbia and Bosnia over the past few weeks.

1. In Beograd there are roughly 3 females to every 1 male. Thus, women are in extreme competition over who can land a man...and men don't really have to worry so much about landing a woman because as long as he is male, he is pretty much set. Men don't have to worry about how they appear in order to find a woman.

2. Women in Serbia tend to take care of themselves, as a rule, especially young women. And, by the way, I have seen more types cellulite cream here than I ever imagined possible.

3. Serbia is, generally speaking, a male-dominated culture.

4. Men tend to get jobs over women, and the unemployment in Serbia is around 25%... higher in smaller towns and villages, especially in southern Serbia.

5. It was the men who have fought in the wars in the 90's...and this, inevitably, takes its toll.

6. Beograd, in particular, is inundated by U.S. visuals (like MTV, movies, sitcoms like "Sex and the City" etc.)...And, I believe, Serbian youth in-particular have a fascination with certain 'western' characteristics...like, appearance and style.

There you have it. Seemingly meaningless observations can indeed lead to interesting insights! So much for my budding theory on how the combination of intense Beograd lightning storms with a specific level of DU in the Beograd water system has created some sort-of beauty energy that only women are susceptible to.

P.S. I have been told that in some parts of Bosnia there are 5 females to every 1 male...or, in one case of a refugee camp near Tuzla: 8 females to every 1 male. The reasons for this are obvious - war. It gives me a glimpse of how Europe must have been like ten years after WWII. This loss of men and the other, very apparent signs of the war (from my extremely brief observation) has lead more to a state of bitterness and/or depressive tendencies in Bosnia... as opposed to women being obsessed with physical appearance. Don't get me wrong, there are plenty of beautiful women in Bosnia, but it is not quite the same. Which makes me wonder if, maybe (for some Serbian women - or, perhaps, women in general) this obsession about appearance also has something to do with covering up something...racing toward the future in order to disregard the past that the had little to no real control over in the first place.

National Democratic Institute for International Affairs

I just recieved an e-mail which further explained that this "youth-school" is actually connected with the National Democratic Institute for International Affairs (NDI). Website as follows:

http://www.ndi.org/worldwide/cee/serbia/serbia.asp

Check it out - I am totally blown away. I had no idea that something like this even existed. I spoke with the Serbian country director of NDI on the phone today (great guy as far as I can tell), and he asked me what my aspirations were...I told him that I dreamed of some day doing work in the Middle East. He mentioned that NDI has schools in 35 countries, one of which is Iraq. I'm not totally sure how I feel about this yet...mainly I am concerned with what agenda might be behind these schools. Nevertheless, I think I may have landed myself in heaven in terms of gaining experience. WOW!

Brief Updates and My (new and improved) Schedule....

I apologize that I am not able to blog as frequently as I would like. I am about 4 blogs behind (in my mind) right now. And, unfortunately, you don't know what you're missing. ;-)

I have a lot to say about the work I have done so far at the organization, and what I have learned - but I need more time than I currently have to write it all out properly. The most incredible thing for me last week was going to the HIV/AIDS Clinic in Serbia (literally the one and only HIV Clinic in the entire country, and had maybe 8 rooms). This week has been particularly intense, as we had a deadline to finish editing a research document by today. I will definately share more of my thoughts on this work and the HIV/AIDS Clinic in another blog.

Two of the major highlights this weekend:

1. Coming across the best Blues/Jazz/Soul Group I have ever heard in my life, at Kalemegdan, singing the most fabulous songs that made my heart explode with joy; and watching little children dance around in graceful circles and gyrations to the beat and flow of the sounds that filled the air. Brought me back to the memory of the innocent happiness of my own youth.

2. Eating a fabulous dinner with friends in this wonderfully quaint little Italian restaurant that reminded me so much of my grandmother, Rosemary, and all of my family. Memories of cooking in the kitchen, and stories that were told from previous generations. And, when our meal was paid for by an American man (who had apparently been sitting near us, and left before we knew he had paid for our meal) - I was reminded of my father, who used to pay for meals for random strangers without them knowing it.

Unfortunately it is the silly little surface observations that are the easiest to write quickly...but I can tell you that I will have much more to share in future blogs.

I would like to update you now to let you know my plan for the next few weeks (for I have no idea when I will have time to update this blog or e-mail anyone). My schedule will be as follows:

Friday (June 29): I am going on a day trip to Vishegrad, Bosnia with some collegues from IAN. All I know about this is that I will be observing work that IAN does with refugees in Bosnia at this site.

Saturday - Sunday (June 30-July 1): I will be going to Novi Sad, Serbia to visit friends, meet Novi Sadians and, naturally, attend Wine Festival! Mmmmmm VINO!

Monday - Friday (July 2-7): Amanda and I have an unexpected and exciting opportunity to volunteer as stand-by counselors and helpers at a "campaign simulation youth school" at Koponik, a ski resort south of Belgrade. This is basically a summer camp that brings together "youth", aged 17 to 25 years, who represent all political parties from across Serbia for an intense week of training. This year the camp has invited Albanian and Roma youth for the first time (Albanian and Roma parties were voted into parliament for the first time in Serbia this January - and the camp wants to face these issues head-on). They will be having an actual political campaign simulation on the 6th, which is apparently pretty intense, of whom there will be a winner for this at the end of the day. The staff are understandably concerned that there might be tensions between Serbs and Albanians, particularly...which is where Amanda and I come in. Needless to say, this is right up my alley. I am VERY excited about it, and need to bone-up on Serbian politics before I get there.

Saturday - Wednesday (July 8-12): I am planning on heading to Sarajevo for a conference on the Study and Prevention of Genocide. I'll be meeting up with some friends from RMSC as well as friends from IDP (yeah)! I am excited for the conference and to see Sarajevo as well.

SO, I'll keep you posted! Chao!

Forms and Figures: Women, Men, Couples, and Dogs

Women

A friend mentioned to me many times before I came here about how beautiful the women are in Sarajevo...Well, I have yet to enter Bosnia but I can tell you one thing for certain - Serbian women in Beograd are (as a rule) quite stunning. Terms such as 'ok' or 'pretty' or 'nice' couldn't really exist when referring to Serbian women under 40 because it just would not make sense. Visually, terms range more from 'beautiful' to 'drop-dead gorgeous'...that's it. [And, the sizes of women under 40 range from 'twig' to 'toned'.] After 40 years you might see a women who is a little less than beautiful but they are few and far between...and in very late life women do seem to get a bit more plump. Nevertheless, the beauties are everywhere with all variety and style of dress. It is really a site to see. I never get tired of them.

Men

The men, on the other hand, are a different story. The main time a man catches my eye is when I am trying to regain my balance after he almost barrels me over when walking brusquely past. And they really aren't much to look at compared with the women. Typically they range from 'ick' to 'eh'...with a couple 'so-sos' in the mix. There have been two 'wows' so far. Maybe my standards have gotten too high after watching so many gorgeous women. I do have to say, though, that I really enjoy watching the men with their children here. They walk down the street hand-in-hand or sit in cafe's and talk like intimate buddies. It’s very cute. From what I can tell, men tend to be very gentle with their children here; leaving children very free to dance and play and just be kids while still keeping a respectful eye on them.

Couples

Young couples are interesting to watch as well. Walking hand in hand is the norm, as is sitting on park benches and making-out. (These men really have it made.) I see a lot of kissing here...which, naturally, makes me miss Ryan. :-( Oh, and not only is there kissing everywhere, there are also terribly sappy love songs from the 80's and 90's...if you hit a cafe at a certain time they are awfully sad while at other times they are terribly funny. It is such a funny irony listening to music in Serbia that you used to rock-out to as a kid.

Dogs

Last, but not least, I must mention the dogs here in Beograd. It may seem strange, but the view of dogs is something that seems quite distinct in each country I have experienced. They are free as can be here, but they are not starving (like most of the dogs were in Istanbul seemed to be). Actually the dogs seem quite well fed and the general public does not seem to not only pet them but also play with them...these are street dogs, I'm talking about, which can be pretty mangy looking. They roam around freely...sometimes alone, sometimes in pairs, and occasionally romping in a group of three or four. I think I have only seen two or three dogs on leashes in all my time here. Not once have I seen a dog without thinking of my dear dog Shelby...I do miss her very much.