Reconciliation and how to get around it

If you have ever attended a meeting called a round table, a seminar, a forum, and on one of the many topics from the democratic opus, you are already familiar with the beginning of the text.

If not, don't think that the mentioned destinations are a figment of your imagination. On the contrary, they are correctly stated and tragically true as such.

It is not so tragic if in the mentioned places you organize a fashion show, promotion of perfumes or another lecture on the topic of selling caladont, teas, insurance, which allows you to drive in a new Mercedes in a few months with almost no work.

These places are also beautiful for an annual or similar vacation.

The mentioned destinations would also not be problematic if we lived in a happier country and if social deviations were only a distant exotic.

But to talk about human rights, ways of reconciliation, tolerance, Nazism in overpriced A-category hotels is supreme insolence. Hotels in places in Bosnia where human rights have been violated for years are mostly empty. The missionaries of humanity never even saw them. And they often write books about these places and in books.

The centers of culture in the provinces, which used to be media of tolerance and fraternity, are also unused.

For years, unpainted walls with faded but not erased pierced hearts, in which Ljubo and Azra recorded their names without the intervention of non-governmental organizations, crisis groups, international conferences, simply defy all blunt attempts to return to the same.

And Ljuba and Azra were brought together by a thought as simple as love, or they were struck, for example, by a vividly sung tradition, performed by Milić Vukašinović, about the origin of Žika's car. Unlike Žika's open circle, in which we could join at the moment we decided to, and depending on the amount of fire water in us, the circle of professional democrats is completely closed. Hermetic.

For years since Dayton, professional humanists, independents this and that, Democrats have been hollowing out the same topics, keeping silent about their positions at the beginning and during the war itself. They are paid decent fees for hollowing. For years, no one asks them about the results, and the international organizers of social gatherings enjoy multi-ethnic stories like the most expensive opium. Those stories are paid dearly, like opium in fact, they are paid so that the ears hear what they want to hear. They talk about thousands of people from Srebrenica, Drvarčani, Krajišnik, Albanians... They talk about thousands, and often those who talk haven't seen a single unfortunate person to whom, well, they devote a few hours of pathos.

Released from all responsibility, they did not stop on the way to the warm apartment to the collective accommodation that is on the way and where their wards are located. They have never given their well-deserved fee for stories about refugees and displaced people to those who, through practice, enabled them to talk about it.

They didn't visit the mothers of the dead young men whose sad fates they call for the truth, they don't go to secluded bars where underage girls get perfume in a practical, but by no means easy, way because they care too much about the children. They didn't go to schools where only Ljubo and Azra get slaps from their friends...

The same are the reptiles who call themselves politicians, but in fact they are members of parties and only party members, because apart from the party's goal to come to power, they have nothing else.

There is no difference between false pre-election party promises of some and false concern for the uncared for by others.

The unfortunate ones are forgotten in both cases.

That is why we have nothing but winding paths of reconciliation, paved only by the need for cheaper flour, chicken drumsticks, fuel or used cars.

The paths of reconciliation must start from where we quarreled, and that's the only way we'll get to the truth. Honesty, philanthropy and a lot of shame are the only possible materials with which we will build our path, and we should make it ourselves. With every other attempt, we make another in a series of impassable roads to an unclear tomorrow.

Until then, Ljubo in Drvar and Azra in Srebrenica are not looking forward to a new day at school, the sound of the rain scares them more than it puts them to sleep because the house leaks a lot and the worn out badminton rackets will have to wait a while longer in the basement for a new game.

(6yka.com)