From Balkanization to Unity in Diversity
Balkanization is a word well-known in political literature. It refers to the division through war and conflict of the Balkan countries, which are inhabited by very many different ethnic and religious groups. It is a process that has been continuing for several centuries.
Almighty God scattered like multicoloured pebbles the great variety of religions and races that inhabit the region stretching from the Alps in the west to the Urals in the east, and is encompassed by the Adriatic, Black, and Aegean Seas. Down the centuries the diverse colours of Serb, Croatian, Bosnian, Albanian, Macedonian, Torbeshian, Pomak, Bulgar, Turk, and others have lived intermingled, but only for brief periods have they been at peace.
Although the diversity willed by Almighty God should have been seen as richness, some of them made it a cause of dispute and conflict; they tried to gain power and use it to their own ends and against "the other." Seeing themselves as the original inhabitants, they used their power to persecute "the other." The conflict, however, caused suffering to everyone, because "the roof" collapsed on everyone involved. The term Balkanization refers to these conflicts collectively.
The cost of Balkanization has been very high indeed. Millions of people have lost their families, their homes, all their possessions. They have been driven off their lands and lost everything. But the worst thing is that the people generally have lost confidence in "the other," or rather, "those they have made the other."
Now, however, the reverse is happening. In the Balkans, as though to spite Balkanization, there are moves towards unity and coming together. This isn't in the realm of politics, but in education: it is a drive for education which springs from the heart.
Now, in five towns and cities in Albania - Tiran, Elbasan, Kavaya, Işkodra, and Dures - Muslim, Orthodox, and Catholic children are studying together in harmony.
In Macedonia, in the cities of Skopje, Gostivar, and Struga, in spite of the dark pages of the past, Albanian, Torbesh, and Turkish young people are learning to build the future together on peace.
In Priştina, the capital of Kosova, two schools are producing harmony and cultural richness out of diversity and differences.
In Bosnia-Herzogovina, having left behind the bloody, vengeful war, springtime flowers are opening in schools in the cities of Sarajevo, Tuzla, and Mostar.
But to achieve all this has not been easy. There has been much striving and suffering on this steep path.
Just one example: A Story from Sarajevo
"We're going soon to Bosnia!
I could only just hear my father's voice,
But I understood what he said:
My father's going to drive away
The enemy from our mountains!"
We were able to go to Sarajevo in 1994, three years after eight-year-old Emine Kocagiç from Bosnia wrote these lines; that is, three years after Emine's father had driven the enemy from the mountains and orchards of Bosnia. Our plane wound its way round Mount Ingman, which played a key role in the course of that bloody, dirty war, and landed at Sarajevo airport with what seemed like the silent grace of a swan. Why was it so quiet? There was no sound of gunfire. The Dayton Agreement, though not yet digested by the people, had only just been signed. We were in Bosnia to join the International Conference on Bosnia and the Bosnians. There were others who had also come to take part, but they had not travelled by plane, like we had.
Two of these were Ali and Mehmed. Now, five days later, they had come to see us off at the airport.
When our plane was delayed for several hours, they told us the story of how they had come to be in Sarajevo. That is, the story of their courage and self-sacrifice. They didn't want to talk about it; like hundreds of other volunteer teachers, they live their stories but they don't talk about them. These young men did on this occasion only because I had insistently asked them to do so.
They had left their homes in Anatolia to come to teach their Bosnian brothers. They worked and worked and finally decided to open an educational centre. They searched for a suitable building, they got in touch with people who might support them, they signed agreements. Then, to recharge their batteries and find further support, they returned to Turkey. At that point, that terrible, bloody war broke out between the Bosnians, Croats, and Serbs.
They felt helpless and distraught at not being able to help the Bosnians whom they been together with in peacetime. They felt they should be with them in wartime as they had then. It was disloyal not to be with them. But there was nothing they could do. There was no way of going, or if they did, it would have been extremely dangerous.
Eventually, they found a less dangerous way: they would go to Croatia and join one of the convoys taking humanitarian aid through the mountains. They would get to Sarajevo that way.
So Ali and Mehmet set off. Their aim was "humanitarian," but on the way, they met nothing but "inhumane" treatment. Firstly the Croatian mafia wanted "a reasonable fee" to supply them with guides to lead them through the mountains to Sarajevo by way of Mount Ingman. However, when they reached the mountain-peak, the guides refused to go further. Pointing down at the airport, they said it was controlled by the U. N. and that the convoy could makes it own way down there. Remonstrations were fruitless. The guides were all armed and were tough fighters. It was winter and everywhere was covered with snow. So with their two suitcases the two young men set off down the slopes through the snow, sometimes two metres deep. Down the mountain, but how? Perpendicular slopes, ice-covered rocks, steep gullies, sudden drops, unforeseen dangers. Step by step they clambered down accompanied by the sound of the chetniks' guns and the occasional whiz of a sniper's bullet.
On the way, they lost one another and had to call out: "Mehmet! Where are you?" After a long silence, struggling through the drifting snow Mehmet spied a hand sticking out of the white. He had found his friend! Digging him out they continued on their way. By now they had lost their suitcases. Eventually they reached the foot of the mountain and waving a white flag took refuge with the U. N. soldiers at the airport.
It was evening and the last armoured vehicle of the day had left for the town. They would have to wait until morning. But they didn't want to wait, they wanted to reach the town at once and be with its besieged people. So they decided to take the risk, and following the valley bottom set out in the darkness disregarding the gunfire, and finally reached their destination.
The war was continuing in all its fury. In Turkey, as elsewhere, various institutions were searching for ways of assisting the suffering Bosnians. The Journalists' and Writers' Foundation was one of these. For days, its directors had been discussing what they could do. Finally, they decided on two possible alternatives: either a fund-raising campaign, or a symposium that would attract the attention of the international community. Then someone had another idea: Let's organize a football match between a Turkish team and football giants from the rest of the world. The suggestion was met with enthusiasm and the decision was taken to organize such a match in Istanbul. It was to be called: "All for the children of Bosnia!"
Now I was walking through the streets of Sarajevo with my two worthy friends. The Dayton Agreement had only just been signed. Everywhere we saw faces anxious at an agreement they were suspicious of, a city in ruins, piles of rubble where there had been buildings.
Our hosts took us to a hill overlooking the city. For the Bosnians, such places only call to mind the Serb chetniks raining down shells and bullets on the people of the town. We continued till we saw a building ringed round with barbed wire. "This is the building assigned to the Journalist's and Writers' Foundation to make into a school," said our hosts. We could not get very close since the land around it had not been cleared of mines. The walls were all pock-marked by bullets, and from what could be seen through the gaping windows, the walls were blood-spattered and there were bloody boots and pieces of shrapnel strewn on the floor. An old Bosnian woman living close by told us that the building had been used by the Chetniks as their headquarters. They used to fire down on the town from here. And all night, they would hear the screams of the Bosnian prisoners, suffering torture and death at the hands of their captors.
In 1999 we were back in Bosnia. We had come to take part in the ceremonies held to mark the seven hundredth anniversary of the founding of the Ottoman Empire. We had a meeting with the learned Bosnian President, the late hero Aliya Izzetbegoviç, then finding an opportunity, together with Prof. Dr. Mehmet Aydin, now a minister in the Turkish government, and Prof. Dr. Nevzat Yalçintaş, a deputy in the National Assembly, we paid a visit to the school. It was unrecognizable. From a chetnik headquarters, it had been transformed into a top-rate school. Now it wasn't tormented screams that were heard, but the happy sounds of children's chatter. Overcome by emotion, we went to the headmaster's office. He told us about what the school had achieved in the two years since its opening. He said: "This year we have places for seventy children, but we've had 1,250 applications. We have to hold examinations and choose between them."
Outside, the children are playing. Which one is Emine Kocağiç, who wrote the poem, "My father's going to drive the enemies from the mountains" when she was only eight years old? I wanted to ask the headmaster, but gave up the idea. I'm sure she is fighting a different war: a war against "ignorance" fought with the weapon of knowledge, and aginst "poverty" with education and industry, and against "conflict" with unity. I murmur a silent prayer for her father, who fell to a chetnik bullet on Mount Ingman, and another prayer for her success in this new fight.
There are innumerable stories like these. Some are still being played out in different parts of the world. Each has different nuances and displays different shades and tones. Inspite of all the efforts to incite conflict out of diversity and differences, these are the stories of people who see diversity as richness and out of it strive to build islands of peace. They are the fortunate people who want to consign Balkanization to history, and work with all their might to do so.
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