The discipline of stillness

I struggle to find words to describe my thoughts and emotions at the present moment. As melodramatic as this sounds, I feel that so many of my past struggles and experiences have prepared me for this point in my life. I love my work, the people I talk to every day, and just being here at this time in Kosovo’s history. With the future status of Kosovo still up in the air, this is a time when change is tangible, when past histories and future uncertainties weigh so heavily on the day-to-day realities of the present.

Every day is a learning experience. I still find myself compelled to act quickly, to somehow enable social change and the building of peace in the fleeting moments before Kosovo’s independence is declared. Yet I understand so very little. My sheltered and privileged childhood in the United States continues to structure my understandings of time, progress and the formulas for creating a strong and vibrant community. In the first month of my experience here in Kosovo, I was so consumed by my desire to build possibilities for change that I found myself constantly stumbling. I concentrated so intently on the road far ahead, on that desired destination of peace, that I wasn’t paying enough attention to the insights and relationships right next to me, to the obstacles that exist before me.

I’ve been reading an amazing book (that also became my dad’s birthday present) by Notre Dame professor, John Paul Lederach (2005): The Moral Imagination: The Art and Soul of Building Peace. One of the passages in the book on “the discipline of stillness” parallels so much of what I have learned so far from my experiences working in Kosovo. Lederach writes, “the discipline of stillness…is one of the hardest lessons to learn for those impelled by social activism and a desire to understand how change can be sustained… Stillness is activism with a twist. It is the platform that generates authenticity of engagement” (p. 104). As I have come to understand after my initial stumblings, stillness is a prerequisite to building peace that compels us to “pay attention to what is around us … When we focus on the really big things, we often miss the greatest potential of resource, insight and change that is present right in the location where our feet our planted” (p. 105).

Enough for now, stay tuned for more on time and some stories that illustrate what I’m talking about!

 

The architecture of Kosovo

Round, bearded mountains and sparsely cultivated fields characterize the landscape of North Central Kosovo. Cities are chaotic mazes of concrete buildings, pollution and traffic jams, with taxi-drivers and street vendors dictating the rules of the roads and sidewalks. What we might perceive in the US as “typical” forms of European architecture, including all those historical stone buildings you see in travel brochures, are extremely rare here. Poverty and the lack of a centralized state have impeded the prolific creation of such buildings in Kosovo. Cycles of violence over the past few centuries resulted in the destruction of many of the monumental structures that existed, while others were replaced systematically with grey, functionalist structures by the Communist government after WWII.

Restoration has never really been an option for the old buildings and monuments that survived such trends, due to lack of money and the potential for the structures to become targets of destruction in future conflicts. As such, the history of architecture in Kosovo intertwines inseparably with the nation’s history of war. As journalist Tim Judah describes, “in Kosovo, history is war by other means” (2002, p. 1).

A large number of the buildings constructed in the past 20 years remain unfinished, more so in suburban and rural areas. Someone recently suggested that the multi-story, half-finished buildings are a way for Kosovars to demonstrate their expectations for future wealth and prosperity. To me, these gaping structures of cement, bricks and cinder blocks, often interspersed with the crumbling remains of buildings hit by bombs and mortar shell attacks, represent the socio-economic and political limbo in which Kosovars find themselves.

Enough deep thoughts for now. Below is a photo from the top of one of the highest “peaks” near Mitrovica… not too sure what the ruins are exactly, but I’ll let you know. (Note that I was able to hike up the peak… no more crutches!!)

 

A few photos

On the right is the CRS office in Mitrovica, our office is on the second floor. On the left is my apartment building… convenient, huh? I live on the third floor. Directly across the street are the offices of the local police and the UN Mission in Kosovo (UNMIK). Finally, behind my apartment are the local KFOR headquarters for the NATO forces from France. So you could say that I’m in a very safe location.

 

Some initial Deep Thoughts

As I sit in the CRS office on my first Sunday in Mitrovica, I have to smile at the bellowing chorus of car horns outside. They are sounds of celebration, mostly proclaiming birthdays or the weddings of the Albanian young-adult diaspora, returned refugees having the freedom to honor traditional ceremonies.

Across the bridge, just a few blocks to the North, members of the Serbian community have few reasons to celebrate. The tables abruptly have been turned for them in little more than a decade. With Kosovo’s independence expected to be agreed upon or imposed by next summer, the Serb minority are now the ones possibly needing to assume refugee status elsewhere, for soon they will face the official reversal of the socio-economic and political dominance they possessed under Milosevic.

I struggle to understand the complexities of this conflict, its hereditary nature and deeply historical roots. The human element of the conflict is different from most conflicts experienced in the Americas… for example, I find it hard to distinguish, at first glance, a Serb from an Albanian. Neither of the groups are very religious, they have similar culinary and other cultural traditions, and any economic imbalance between the two groups that may exist is not visually perceivable. Plus it’s almost impossible to take sides, to easily shake a finger at the group that clearly are “the bad guys.”

But enough deep thoughts for now… things are going really well so far, besides being confined to only exploring within the area that’s easily accessible on crutches! Next post, I’ll go into more detail about my work here. As well as post some pictures.

 

I’m in Kosovo!

It’s been almost a year since I’ve written anything, I guess I kind of lost steam amidst the challenges of my internship. But here I am now in Kosovo, living for the moment in Pristina before moving into an apartment in Mitrovica on Monday. Of course I have lots to say, but I’m going to the house of one of our head honchos here for dinner. More later.