Last week, I wrote about my friend Majda coming here to the U.S. As I’ve thought about her, I’ve wondered how our lack of civility here in America must frighten her. She saw this kind of tribalism tear her country apart. Her husband, who died during the war, reported on Yugoslavia’s breakup. She reported on the refugees. She knows about the death camps and the rape camps and the depths of human brutality.
How must she have cringed during the 2016 election when she heard the chants, “Lock her up! Lock her up!” She must be terrified by armed people on statehouse steps screaming, “Liberate Minnesota! Liberate Michigan! Liberate Virginia!” while people die.
Majda did something she was sure she’d never do. She met a man she loves and she’s remarried. Moved halfway across the continent and we’ve lost touch, but I can’t help thinking about her and her daughters.
Her youngest daughter—after the war—went back to Bosnia during summer breaks from college and gathered up the children. She taught them mediation, how to get along even if you have different beliefs. I wonder if she’s working in America now along with the other mediators I know.
How weary she must be.
