Bosnia After the War Essays

Appeal Against War
By Almir Džinovic
May 2000

Since the beginning of creation, human beings have fought with each other and waged war, we are told. We are taught that killing is sometimes the nly way to resolve problems. If statistics could be known for the casualties this argument causes, for the broken hearts, maybe the world would reconsider. Asked to reflect about an event of enduring significance in 1999, my mind stubbornly fixes instead on 1992. This haunts me. This is what I must write. Because of what I witnessed as a 12-year-old child on that day, I want to challenge humanity not to accept war as ineluctable.

It had been an idyllic late-spring morning, the sun delicious on my face, the birds chirping their cheer as I rode my bicycle around town with my friends. We made the most of school closing early. It was a perfect time for play. There was talk of war, but we didn't imagine it would ever happen to us, even though my father had been called up to the army several weeks before.

About noon, I went home to get something to eat, expecting to go back out later for basketball. All of a sudden, I heard something like thunder. That seemed odd on such a brigt day. I ran out to the balcony to investigate. Black smoke was billowing from the direction of the hospital. I didn't even have time to think when a siren shrieked. My mother who was working there had prepared my younger sister and me for an emergency in case we were home alone. In an instant, I did what she had told me, grabbed my sister and some groceries, locked the door of the apartment behind us, and ran down towards the shelter.

There was pandemonium on the way. Our neighbors tried to reassure us, but they were clearly terrified, too. Once we got there, my little sister and I settled close together. Although we were five meters underground, we could hear explosions overhead. No one spoke. I worried about my mother's safety, my father's safety. I hadn't seen him for a week. Were they still alive. Who would take care of us? I prayed to God to protect them. I was in terror. My sister was in my care, but I didn't show those feelings lest they frighten her.

By some miracle, after a few hours my mother was able to check on us. She cried with relief to find us alive. My sister cried, but I felt I shouldn't. I tried to comfort them. After five minutes, she had to return to her duties as a doctor, even though there was no cease in missile fire. We didn't imagine that it would be a day before we saw her again, or that we would be in the shelter with 500 others for a whole week.

I don't understand war. Why do people have a need to kill each other? Everyone laments war, but it happens again and again. This is a mystery to me, and yet I refuse the demonic logic that it is unavoidable. We must not give up on words. Perhaps my plea will penetrate somewhere. Earnest, honest, productive negotiation must be done to spare people this eternal nightmare.