During the War that broke apart Yugoslavia, I saw on TV a boy, twelve-years-old I think, carrying a Kalashnikov and vowing revenge for the murder of his brother. I don’t remember which combatant group he claimed. It didn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. What matters is the endless cycle of revenge that began with that war.
It tell this story, because Branislav Bojcic’s book, I hate my brother: the story about love and hate, reveals the traumas that can cause that thirst for revenge and the devastation that follows. In this individual story about one man, his family, and his friend, he has encapsulated a cycle of love and hatred that plays itself out all over the world every day. He says he had to leave his country because of the book, and I believe him. The people of the resulting divided countries, especially the leadership that precipitated the savagery, don’t want the details broadcast.
I draw readers’ attention, however, to the book’s subtitle: “The Story About Love and Hate.” It brings up yet again the vital connection between love and hate and the possibility of redemption.