Refugees Welcome - Mostar and Belfast

Earlier this month we visited the Balkans, moving between Croatia, Montenegro and Bosnia & Herzegovina. Over the course of 2 days during our trip, Alan and I passed through 12 border crossings, taking in some of the most stunning natural beauty in the world while exploring a very complicated history of conflict and suffering. 

As we were passing through borders with relative ease, thousands of others were (and are) waiting behind barbed wire for their chance to move freely to safety. Others are being pushed across borders into unknown territories and makeshift camps.The "refugee crisis," Syrian asylum seekers fleeing for their lives en mass across Europe, the Middle East and beyond, has become central to social action and political discourse over the past several months. Sadly, many of these conversations have focused on issues of the resource and security of host counties, rather than of those vulnerable people in great need of safe haven.

Mostar Bridge

One of the main aims of our trip was to visit the divided city of Mostar in the present day Bosnia and Herzegovina. A local resident explained that in the early 90s the city was completely destroyed by war. She compared their reality at the time to the images we're seeing today of decimated Syrian cities. She described the 1993 divide, when the city was separated by an unseen interface and individuals were forced to take sides - tearing neighbours and families apart. 

Although the city has largely been rebuilt, the visible legacy of conflict remains in the form of bullet holes and ruined buildings. The government remains divided among Bosniaks, Croats and Serbs - where no decisions can be made on even the most essential issues because there is no conciliation or compromise. 100,000 people lost their lives during the three years of conflict, a short period in what has been a long history of struggle and war in the region. Unsurprisingly, the social reality of the the breakdown of Yugoslavia, civil conflict and limited external funding (eg: as Bosnia & Herzegovina is outside of the EU) manifests in crushing youth unemployment, political corruption and community division. 

In the city of Mostar, beside the Unesco protected Stari Most bridge across the river Neretva, I noticed a small sign which read, "REFUGEES WELCOME be human because we care." This message was a reminder that those who remember all too well the horrors of conflict, show an empathy beyond what other countries, with far greater resource and privilege, have shown. It's a small sign, in the midst of a complex political context, but it was a moving testament to the grassroots support for refugees. 

Belfast Underground

Last month in Belfast, Amnesty International arranged a rally to support the Refugees Welcome movement and to say to the UK government that what they have promised to do is not nearly enough. This event had a disappointing turn out, given the severity of the crisis and the potential Belfast has shown in the past to organise in support of other issues of human rights. That aside, the event did provide an important platform for asylum seekers and refugees living in Belfast to share their stories. For example, Isan, a Syrian refugee in Belfast, talked about his experience, his life before war and his excellent academic successes in our city. In sharing his reality, he was able to confront myths and preconceptions that separate us from them in the discourse of refugees. 

The people of Belfast and Mostar have known (and many still know) conflict. The expressions of humanity in these cities is evidence that those who have suffered have great capacity for feeling empathy with others. If we continue to find positive ways to harness these feelings of connectedness into political action, as in the efforts of the refugees welcome movement, perhaps humanity can find its way into decision making and help us to share resource and security with those who need it most. 

"Finding Peace in a Time of War" - A trip to the D-Day Museum in Southsea

Last month we visited family living in Portsmouth, a beautiful English seaside town with centuries of naval history, the world's oldest dry dock, and a quirky charm. The city itself is diverse - a University town, Royal Navy base, and holiday destination. 

It is also a city of memorials to those who have lost their lives to the sea and war, in service of their country. Alongside the promenade, inside the churches, and throughout the city there are tributes to those lost, those serving and those remembered. Because of the vital role the city and its people (natives and relocaters alike) have played in England's military and maritime history, the memorials act as a reminder of the great sacrifices made. It felt like a sacred place. 

On our first day, we visited the D-Day Museum in Southsea. One particular exhibit focused on local narratives to provide a living history of World War II for the people of Portsmouth. This form of history and storytelling, in addition to preserving memory and raising the voice of people directly affected by war, has great potential to humanize history. One excerpt that struck me was the memory from Sheila Foy, "child in Portsmouth," who shared: 

"When it was a raid above us we used to sing as loud as we could and Mum used to have a little present for the one that could sing the loudest. You had to really shout and sing loud so you couldn't hear the bombs coming over."

I felt profound respect for Sheila's mother, who found a way to bring some kind of peace in that time of war. This, to me, felt like another type of memorial to those who sacrificed and suffered during the war. It added another dimension to the character of the city and the people who did their duty during wartimes. 

In my experience of collecting narratives from the Troubles with the Five Decades Storytelling Project, I have found that this form of everyday heroism existed throughout times of conflict. Stories of mothers and fathers protecting their children and children continuing to play despite the war outside exist across conflicts in different times and places. Ultimately these stories and collections are memorials to the life that continues in the face of so much loss and pain. 

In a world of memorials and tributes to those lost, I find it essential and meaningful to also remember those who fought, in many different ways, to find peace in times of war. Memorials like these can pay respect to the women, like Mrs. Foy, who found a way to elevate music above the sounds of war.