Notes from a Trip Part 1

At 22.00 I got a text message from D. "Do you have a sleeping bag?" No, I don't, but I'll bring a blanket, I replied. My thoughts turned to the trip. Where was I going? I had visions of sleeping in the car surrounded by thousands of wild eyed locals and internationals. Better get some sleep now, I thought.

We set out at 0630 from Belgrade in a 1996 Mini; the morning was cold and the sky light grey. I was surprised at how many people were on their way to work at that time. More, it seemed, than at 0800, a much more civilized time to be stirring. Neither of us had checked the weather, and ultimately there would have been no good reason for it, our plans were set. We were going to Kosovo come hell or high water.

The E75 heading south is a flat, boring road passing through equally dull and flat country-side. We passed the time talking about work, D's job application, and going through her CD collection. The mini held its own well, and though I had to jam my wallet into a small gap in the dashboard to keep the stereo from disconnecting, we drove in relative comfort. Our musical influences for the drive ranged from Cake's Fashion Nugget and a Beastie Boys mix, to Bertold Brecht's Die Dreigroshenopa, and I ate a lot of kikiriki. Just past Nis the sky grew dark and snow began to fall; it wouldn't stop until we were in Mitrovica two days later.

While the road became more interesting as we passed into the Presevo valley, the journey was largely uneventful. We turned off the highway at Bujenovac and made for the border. The road leading to Kosovo was in bad shape and to hope for a snow plow was folly. Fortunately the ground was warm enough that most of the snow melted into slush, and anyway, there wasn't much chance of building up speed on these roads. We climbed steadily in the short distance between Bujenovac and the border. But it was enough so that had the feeling that we were passing into Moriea from Rivendale. I looked around for hobbits, but only saw stone faced Serbian Police officers. Crossing the 'administrative line' was rather painless, thanks in part to the Dip plates on the trusty mini. From there it is a short jaunt through the demilitarized zone to the Kosovo border. Again we passed with no hold up. The Kosovo guard, upon seeing D's Italian passport, remarked buona sera. Neither of us informed him that it was only 11.00.

Once inside Kosovo I felt like I was going somewhere I wasn't supposed to. As if my parents had forbidden me to go, but I snuck out and went anyway. The difference is also instantly tangible, not just because of how the villages are organized, but because of the massive international presence. In the 45 minuets it took us to get to Gnjilane from the border, we passed Italian Carabinari trucks, UN SUVs, and EULEX jeeps. In addition to this, D pointed out what the ethnic composition of each village was we passed. But in most cases, you could tell by the flags. The Serbian 'enclaves', generally set slightly back from the main road, had large Serbian flags hanging down over the entrance, while the Kosovo-Albanian villages were littered with Albanian and American flags. At times these two flags were attached, like conjoined twins. I wanted D to pull over so I could give a short speech about flag code (the conjoined American and Albanian flag being a major violation...), but after seeing some of the burned out Serbian homes, I thought better of it. But the reality was that there was total segregation, and nowhere did the two groups meet.

Our first top was the OSCE field office in Gnjilane, where D. used to work. I was amazed to find that the "field office" was almost the same size as the entire mission in Serbia, at least from the staff presence. Over coffee, pizza we had conversations with the transport director and a program assistant from Democratization. These two men sat at the same table, and conversed with one-another as if it was normal. One was Albanian, the other a Serb. They were right, it is totally normal for two people to have a conversation. It is only when you introduce nationality / identity as a factor meant to influence their interactions that you have problem.

We left the field office around 1430, passing UNMIK, Ukrainian KFOR, and US Military installations on the way out of town. Each warned that I would be instantly kidnapped if I took any photos, so I looked straight ahead and smiled. We made it half way to Pristina / Prishtine before needing to fill up on gas. Once the car was fueled, D got back in and turned the key and ... nothing. We were in the middle of nowhere, without functioning cell phones (because Serbian networks don't work in Kosovo) and now without a functioning car.

All around us the snow kept falling.

Amalgamation

St. Paddy's day in Belgrade at the Three Carrots, where the Guinness is really bad and over priced. A couple of guys were dissecting my nationality, and no answer was good enough, except that there was some Irish blood in me from my Gran. "Oh, that is to bad" they kept saying. On of them had been in the Balkans since things went south in the early 1990's. It's amazing how many internationals you meet, who are like this guy. Partly it is the work, I am sure, but there seems to also be something attractive about being in 'conflict' regions.

"It's the Wild West out here." He said this as if we were a million miles from 'civilization', not in the heart of Belgrade, a cosmopolitan city. When I think of Wild West, I think of Deadwood and Clint Eastwood, not Kneza Milosa or Boris Tadic. One might be forgiven for thinking that about Pristina and Kosovo, but Serbia? He listed things like the bad driving and danger of crossing the road as to why he thought this was the Wild West.

~~

Aleks and I were talking about how to do what interests you in life, and still make a living. You have to bring the system to your interests, he said. We used the example of TKV, a local artist, who is doing great street art, and basically making some money doing what interests her. It's not so much that she created a demand, rather, she focused on what she liked to do and then found a way to sell her skill.

It is no easy thing to do, particularly for a social scientist, who can't do much with his hands, except tap on a key board! But I was thinking about this conversation again last night as I listened to Moondog. Moondog made his own music, his own instruments and his own clothing. He was fiercely independent from mainstream music and society, but he lived as he wanted. He is an example that you can do whatever you want, or, as Aleks put it, an example that being crazy is really beautiful. 

Dreams and Moments as experience.

I fell asleep on the couch watching Schalke 04 Vs Bremen. I dreamt I was playing in the match, but couldn't communicate properly with Rosenberg and didn't have an amazing game. He kept passing into empty space for me to run onto, but I always was going the wrong way.

...

Last night was a strange night. Your fucked if you perform. I don't perform for anyone he said, quiet serious. I defended my position well non the less.

Everything is a performance because we a but an amalgamation of experience and taught behavior. We are a unique combination of this, but we are created out of what came before us.

Never say anything about anyone you wouldn't want to say if they were next to you he said, quiet serious.

Day in Moments

The morning was cold despite the weatherman's promise of warm weather. Well, solidarity with the UK I suppose.

But the day also had a strange start to it. He looked up at me as he raised himself from his seat. I wondered why he was getting up well before our stop. He was only half standing when he looked the other way towards Tito's grave and the trees beyond.

I was in those woods when the NATO bombing started he said, smiling.

Though the sun appeared briefly at the end of the day, it did little to warm things up. Nor, for that matter, did the Chairman (woman) in Office. She was glowing with power and money and her new position. I though she was beautiful, and more honest than I expected.

Personally I think their [Holland's] position is totally wrong she said, smiling.

The day ended as it began. Cold wind and a bus ride. But just before that I walked to the bus stop with him and we talked about the hidden power center of the institution we work for. I also said something about the foreign service. He snapped his head towards me.

The foreign service! You don't want to join the foreign service! he said, laughing.

Change you can believe in!

Half day at work and little to be done.

It is the turning of another year, the moment where, in our minds, the old is passing into history and the new is being dreamed up and born. For many of us, the year will be born in a violent, angry drunken rage, yet these hours seem to me better suited for reflection on what has passed, what is, and what will be.

We can take so many different approaches to the year's ending/beginning. Is it just another day in the seemingly endless cycle of days and nights, seasons and ages? Is it really the moment of renewal, when the leaves of the West are turned over and everyone gets a new start? Is it a global conspiracy by clubs and beer companies to raise their profits? Is it a mechanism of control where we throw off our chains for a night, fly into a savage rage, only to wake up with such a hang over that we resolve to be more in control (and dutifully put the chains back on)?

It is, in my eyes, all of these things and none of them. It is what it needs to be for each of us, and it has been many things for me over the 28 years of my life. At times a raging party to shed excess energy and cover insecurity over my future in a warm blanket of excess; at times a quiet evening, just another in a series that will continue until I die; at times an evening for self-imposed isolation meant to provide answers for what-ever it was I was searching. It has been a lonely night, and lively night, and a night to feel loved or in love. It has been forgettable and memorable. Some times it has dragged on, other times it was all over to quickly.

Tonight I will be in Belgrade, Serbia. Most likely the night will be some combination of the above: I will reflect on the moments past and those still to come, I will find quiet moments before heading out to join the party. At that point I will likely drink a bit to much, leaving me feeling a bit destabilized in the morning and with a promise to be more dignified and sober over the years to come.

But no matter where or with which friends I spend the evening, I know that I will think about how to structure the New Year. After all, I am a product of the Western ideology which has taught me to observe the New Year as a time to make resolutions, to focus my desire for self-improvement onto tomorrow, and to spend the night with friends. So now I ask myself, in honor of this tradition, what is this New Year going to mean for me? What will I do that is better than last year? How will I take control of the chaos and forge it into something meaningful (as if chaos had no meaning)?

Well, it is a hard one to answer, but try I must. My 'answers' will not appear here however, they will be scribbled down somewhere, or stored in my memory banks with a note to review again December 31st, 2009. Ultimately I do not take the ritual seriously, and I don't believe this is my chance at making change for the year ahead; rather I think change comes whenever you want it too. You just have to make a choice and work on it.

With that said, all that is left to say is Cheers! Cheers to 2008 and all that was part of that period of time; cheers to the people I interacted with; cheers to all the experiences I had; cheers to all the tears and laughs; cheers to all the death and life; cheers to good food, great music and long drinks; cheers to good football where ever it occurs...

... and cheers to you. Welcome to the brand new world, bienvenue en 2009

Odds and Ends

Travel clearly is good for the writer in me. I am glad to say that August was the second busiest month, in terms of entries, on this blog. :)

I was confronted by my own deeply repressed racism the other day. It was the day where I was wandering around suburban Beograd, searching for my dentist. I was going round in circles, 30 minuets late when a Roma man, who was going through the trash and extracting the recyclable materials, called me over. In my frustration, and embarrassment at being totally clueless about where I was going, I wanted to ignore him, but I didn't. I went over and he started rattling off in Serbian, and I didn't understand anything. Eventually we figured out what the other was trying to do, and he managed to give me directions (albeit to the wrong dentist). But as he was talking to me, I noticed that I was keeping a certain distance from him and that I had my hand over my wallet in my back pocket. I had done these things subconsciously, but I felt awful once I realized what was going on.

This man had reached out and tried to help me the best he could, and my immediate reaction to him was to condemn him as a thief. It made me think back to HON 299, because I think, in some way, this is the very learned reaction, totally artificial, that Dusan was trying to get us to recognize was part of us. The critical multiculturalist in me has now exposed the deeply subconscious suspicions of otherness, embodied by this Roma man. Now I am aware of this mechanism and hope that I can deal with it in future encounters with the other.

Hmm, is it racist of me to even describe the man by (what I am assuming) is his ethnic origin? I ask this because it feels like I am not looking past his ethnicity if I continue to use it for my social cues. Rather than being a "Roma" man, maybe he is just a man.

Democracy and the Serb

My body is still adjusting to this new life: 65% humidity, 28-35 degrees C, smog, creative driving solutions, strong coffee and cigarets, Yugos, weak beer and heavy food, bureaucracy, 45 hrs+ work week, Serbian language, diplomacy, and deeply rooted fear of the outsider.

What do I mean by fear of the outsider? While I think that Serbia is moving towards Europe (see below entries), there are plenty here who would disagree. The picture to the left is the name of a hooligan firm in BG, associated with Partizan Football Klub. Their name, Anti-Romi (anti Roma people) suggests their politics is Serbia for Serbs. This part of society is not interested in having anyone from the outside (Roma, Croatians, Bosnians, Muslims, Albanians, and Westeners fall into that category) tell them how to live, which laws to adapt and which of their heros to arrest.

Well, this is nothing new, any country that has been occupied and re-occupied for huge swaths of its existence would feel the same. But for Serbia (and possibly for the rest of the Balkans), the other factor contributing to its split personality is fear of change. This is a fascinating time to be here for that very reason. The country, thanks to the forcefulness of its political system, is currently inching towards EU integration, towards Westernism, towards Ipods, Nescafe and BMWs.  It is moving away from socialism, Kafa Domacha and Yugos. Cost of living in places like BG is already very high for such a low income country, tourists are coming with higher frequency, and Kosovo is slowly slipping away.

What isn't changing is the fact that change is being produced by totalitarian means. What's new right? Well, it's an interesting picture here though. I get the sense that if the country were to hold a popular referendum on whether to join the EU, the vote would be split 50-50, or the 'no' vote would just barely win out. In the the face of this indecision, the government is able to maneuver fairly easily. The voting population is uninformed and confused: 8 years ago NATO was destroying buildings in BG, today they are being labeled as friends. 20 years ago Serbs were once again standing up for their own unique identity, but today they are being told to exchange it for a European one (which comes standard with an ipod...).

The government is also fortunate to have a fairly significant concentration of power at its command (despite my current efforts at decentralization) and a disregard for transparency. As a result, legislation, when necessary, passes quietly and without public scrutiny (not unlike the UK in many regards). The saving grace at the moment is, ironically, the radical opposition in Parliament. Only they have the power to stop the current government from doing what ever it wants. This opposition has been able to shut parliament down for all of the last 4 weeks, and it will remain so until early September.

Anyway, whatever the mechanism, Serbians are recognizing they lack control in there own affairs. They (or at least part of 'they') are directing that fear at the most obvious target (Europe, the West, etc) without realizing they have never really controlled their fate (who has?). The result is polarization and anxiety, taken out on foreigners. The most obvious foreigners are the Roma.

I went to a Roma school the other day and celebrated the last day of class with young Roma kids, who wanted to do what all young kids want to do on the last day of class: sing, dance and have fun. But the Church, which occupies the neighboring lot, is so xenophobic towards this Roma school (god forbid they get an education...) that it is building an extension of the already existing wall, so they never have to look upon these kids. Its amazing, and perfectly illustrates how Serbian society is reacting to change. On the one hand you have the Serbs who work with me to help such marginalized groups find a voice, while other Serbs to to great lengths to pretend these margins don't exist.