A BOSNIAN IN FRANCE… CHAPTER 4: WAR, MUSIC AND THE HYPOCRISY OF EUROPE

I’ve been toying with the idea of renaming this blog to properly suit my intentions here, and I believe I finally got it. So, from now on, the blog „An Expat in France“ officially continues as „A Bosnian in France“. I’d say it’s quite suitable for the intended purpose, and it also echoes one of Sting’s classics.

Now, onto the topic itself. Last week Europe was in its regular annual Eurovision fever. Songs were heard, performances were discussed. Ukraine (deservedly) won this year’s Eurosong. Yes, it was a sympathy/empathy vote, too, but I firmly believe music should also have a message that goes beyond the rhythm and lyrics. And yes, next year’s competition can be held in Ukraine if the Russian aggressor is finally kicked out of the country. It would be a cathartic rebirth and recognition of human values we like to say we cherish inside.

However, this is not the first time one part of Europe was celebrating, while another one suffered in the noise of bombs. Back in 1993, Bosnia and Herzegovina, my homeland, participated in the Eurovision Song Contest for the first time as an independent country. Our own Muhamed Fazlagić Fazla, along with the accompanying ensemble, literally had to go through hell to come to that shiny stage. Bosnia was suffering from an aggression by Bosnian Serb paramilitary forces & former Yugoslav army. They wanted to obliterate us, and there was no pardon for children, or mothers, or artists who just wanted to sing. As per this thread and other sources, first our delegation had to flee besieged Sarajevo to get to Millstreet in Ireland. They were forced to run across the airport tarmac, were shot at so hard the conductor had to give up and stay behind. Six people who tried to escape that night were killed, while 17 were wounded. The singer, Fazla, had to try twice. On the second attempt, he lost his shoes in the mud of the destroyed airport runway and kept running, barefoot. But that was only the beginning: after that they had to walk ten kilometers over the 1510 meter high mountain Igman. Igman is a symbol of suffering, and many people did not survive the journey over the mountain. Because of cold, exhaustion or Serbian killers. Ten kilometers through snow and mud, up a mountain, in danger from armed murderers. Our Eurosong delegation survived. The delegation then had to pass another obstable when it was stopped around Mostar by the HVO (Croatian forces), the soldiers of which were saying „There is no Republic of Bosnia and Herzegovina“.

Despite the historic, geographic and other differences, so far one could have the argument that these were, more-or-less, the kind of conditions that the Ukraine delegation also had to go through, but Ukraine isn’t besieged in the same totality as Sarajevo, and their path is open. Our dance of death, as the Mirror describes it, took extreme courage and luck in impossible conditions, above all things – because hardly anyone knew or cared, as opposed to now & Ukraine.

But this is the point where, really, any sort of resemblance disappears. Even when that iconic line „Sarajevo, we’re hearing you“ broke through the applause that erupted amidst a ‘screeching’ telephone line from the besieged Sarajevo, our delegation faced obstacles that the Ukraine delegation (luckily) didn’t experience. There was tremendous media attention, but sometimes for bizarre reasons. See, for many journalists, the fact that our singer is called Muhamed and also has blond hair and blue eyes was raking their brains. The additional fact of his model height (1,90) was another point of bewilderment. Fazla heard the line „You don’t look like a Muhamed!“ every day, to which he asked: „What is a Muhamed supposed to look like?“ The above-linked thread continues: „Those who already knew that Muslims can also ‘look European’ still wanted to exclude him from Europe. A Croatian journalist tried to portray Fazla as an ‘Islamist’ just because he had a green jacket.“

Seriously? Suddenly green is a forbidden color? Judging a man who lost his shoes while escaping from the snipers? It still baffles me almost 30 years later. But despite these finely-tuned obstacles and discrimination, Fazla knew why he had to sing for Bosnia: “The music was a symbolic interaction to prove that our struggle against aggression and genocide and everything we had to endure was right and human. And that we will win in the end.”

Just consider the following lyrics:

„All the world’s pain is in Bosnia tonight
I stay here to defy the pain
And I’m not afraid to stand in front of a wall
I know how to sing, I know how to win
Tonight when the tears on my face freeze
I will not let fear overcome me
Who will keep watch instead of me
So that the evil doesn’t repeat itself?”

He knew that he needed to nurture our tortured souls. People in shelters struggled to find a source to watch or hear the contest, soldiers on the battlefield gathering around a battered transistor and crying at the chorus – that night, Bosnia’s cries were heard in Europe and in many of its corners for the first time.

But why was his name and religion important? Why is that a measure of worth in Europe? Why did our song end up in 16th place, and Ukraine won? Who ‘deserves’ to be perceived as European and human, and who not, according to this? Is it only bestowed upon persons with an ‘approved’ religion, heritage and physical appearance? In case I need to spell it out for you, Bosnia and Herzegovina is in Europe, too. We are Europeans just like you are. The apsurdity of Europe’s hypocrisy is often, like now, loud and clear.

Speaking of hypocrisy, why is Palestine barely in the news? Palestine, a territory massacred to appease a religious group and steal it from its righteous owners? Why is there hardly any concern, let alone action, against a massive scale genocide (including organ harvesting and sterilization) of Uyghurs in China? I am glad that France and some other countries denounced these despicable acts, but why is doing it an act of shattering diplomacy with Beijing? Why does the USA have to play the role of the world’s policeman, but actually likes to oppress people and bring down governments for profit? I am not proposing to deny one injustice and crime (the aggression on Ukraine) over another (all of the above). I am simply and genuinely asking why there is such a sharp difference in standards of Europe (and the world)? Are we Muslims less worthy of someone’s compassion? Why is the fact constantly negated that us Bosnians are part of Europe? Of the world?

The reasons for these questions are as loud today as they were then. My beautiful country is ravaged in a time of supposed peace by nationalist politics from the main neighboring countries (same old), there is a seed of poison growing in it as well, and there is pressure everywhere to be less. Less Bosnian, less Muslim, less oneself. Whether you are in Bosnia or abroad, these sometimes invisible forces push your head down into a guillotine of self-loathing and hiding, because they hate what you represent and they are afraid. Afraid of my beautiful Bosnia, of all the highest human values that lived in my country for centuries. CENTURIES. Afraid of Islam, because that generational blood speaks volumes about the crussades their ancestors led in the name of another religion, so they’re projecting (those who have issues, of course – I am NOT generalizing). Hypocrisy much?

But you will never be able to silence me and my existence. The same with my enlightened compatriots. And when you tell me in the face that my language does not exist and that I am actually speaking another language, I will laugh in your face (this one’s about you, genocide denier from the Office of Immigration – shame on you). If you make jokes about my name and conflate me with another nation, I will call you out on your racism and mysogyny (another „humanoid creature“ here in France who is yet to feel my full wrath). At first, I played nice here, trying to be as polite and kind as possible (also another trait of us Bosnians that gets us into trouble sometimes because we are TOO nice). But, it’s been a few months since I released my spite and my full presence here and I breathe nicely now, thank you. If that’s too much for you, Europe, well, tough titty, said the kitty! I will forever be a true ambassador of my identity here. An ambassador of respect towards others, but also of pride towards my own. By the way, those are true European values, and not atrocious things that end in –ism – check yourself, EU.

And one other thing: Bosnia will exist forever. Because the ethereal idea of Bosnia, of a land with beautiful nature and beautiful, kind and welcoming people, of love – that will never disappear. My body will rest in soil and disappear itself, but Bosnia is and will be long after that.

Muhamed Fazlagić, our blond and blue-eyed singer, showed all that on the Eurovision stage. And he sent hope into this world. Hope of not only helping Bosnia, but also the hope of seeing the love of his life again. The song was a love letter to her: „I cannot take the stars down from the sky / I can’t find the road, the road to the universe / But I can send you this song / So that you know that I’m alive, my love.“

They reunited during Eurovision and haven’t been apart ever since. A few months after the contest, they returned to Sarajevo. He performed for our troops and they both survived, thank God. How’s that for a love story? How’s that for a European story? How’s that for a human story?

Music achieved something valuable back in 1993, despite the votes. I just hope that there will be no countries at war and no genocide anywhere next year. An utopian thought, perhaps, but a thought to strive for. We Bosnians know very well what the oppressed people around the world are going through, at the hands of oppressors and new Hitlers and Karadžićs, and so we know the importance of that thought being born into action. A voice, an act against the evil. Against hypocrisy.

VEGAN VIGNETTES: YOUR LIFE

I was talking with my husband earlier tonight and upon touching the inevitable topic of vegan meals during holidays with one’s family, I finally articulated something that has been swimming in my thoughts for some time now. A thought that is both of spiritual and compassionate nature.

When you have children, it’s sort of usual to expect that you will be there for them until an old age, so we feel that our physical fitness for longevity is pretty much given (even though it, of course, isn’t). But, when it comes to grandparents, we don’t have the same expectation because we have been inclined to think, and it has been culturally imprinted on us, that their health is something that we can’t really negotiate, and that whatever years they have with their grandkids, our offspring, are just like a gift. High blood pressure creeps in. First heart attacks start to appear (I’ve put it in plural if one is lucky enough to live through the very first one); a stroke might be mild but still impairs you. Obesity, high cholesterol levels, diabetes type 2, arthritis, back pain, cancer. A plethora of things that are caused by food and stress. Genetics don’t play that big of a role as society would like us to think – it only accounts for about 5 to 10% of your overall health inclinations. But when you give up your ability to decide and just shrug thinking „I can’t fight with issues I inherited“, you basically just continue living the way you got used to, placing your fate below your taste buds and habits – turning you into a perfect victim for, well, mainstream consumerism. A voluntary victim. In addition to that, aren’t bad genetics, even if it actually had possessed a major influence on your life, precisely the reason why you should take your health into your own hands? Fight the DNA and let the bad genes starve? For example, women who inherit the BRCA gene for breast cancer should be especially mindful of what they put into their bodies, right? Sort of like putting that new-age proverb about the wolf you feed in the food and health context.

But, that’s not even what I wanted to say here. The crux of the matter is this: when you continue to eat animals, sentient individuals who are capable of a variety of emotions just like us, and who never want to be violently slaughtered, you deny yourself the opportunity to not only truly marvel at the longevity that our bodies can give us, but you also deny your loved ones of the thousands of hours you could have spent together. Enjoying a wonderful plant-based meal on a Sunday with your kids, grandkids and their kids, friends, neighbors, a kind stranger. A house full of love for decades which lights up magnificently on holidays. Teaching your granddaughter how to be harness her woman power in life. Giving your grandson a first lesson in cooking. Being there on their graduation days, basking in pride and love for your line continuing well beyond what you can imagine. The impact that they will have in the world, and you actually being there to see it, fully capable and vital in your body. Their first award speech when they mention you. Dancing on their wedding day. Feeling the affection, attention and care from them when your life starts to become slower and more contemplative. Entering your ninth or tenth decade with a smile and a birthday cake that your grand-grandkid just put his little hand on and snatched that candle from the top. You deny yourself your immortality.

For what is living if not leaving something of yourself vividly in the memories and life your loved ones create with you? You could go on and on as that wise grandparent who took the advice, went vegan, and lived to see the family for generations ahead. The one who stopped being a bystander and did everything you could to be there to support those who matter to you the most. For those who need you in their life. That is your responsibility. Isn’t it utterly absurd and downright immoral of you to deny them your experiences, your wisdom, care and love? Do you really want to die before you even set eyes on your first grandkid? Hell, for some, even your own kid? Or your sister’s kid? Your best friend’s child with those big soft eyes just begging you to tell them you love them the most? Doesn’t it hurt when your disease puts you in a hospital bed and, instead of love and joy, you give your loved ones grief and suffering? Simply by ingesting the grief and suffering of animals? Doesn’t that cycle have to end?

Your deny yourself your immortality. For the trees you plant, the leaves you give sunrays to, the flowers that bloom only in your presence are more important than what you eat now. You live forever through them. Your essence is never lost when you leave your family, your art, all your creations on this Earth after doing all that your spirit was intended to do, in its totality.
I urge you to give your life true meaning, and give yourself the gift of spiritual immortality. There are plenty of things we cannot control, but this is the one thing where we have all the power to improve the quality and quantity of our existence. Your spirit will thank you well into Beyond. As well as the thousands of animals on your plate now.

Your vegan friend always,
Ilhana

ATTENTION: NEW BLOG!

Hi, everyone! I felt inspired to write my thoughts on veganism in a new blog called „Vegan Vignettes“! I hope you will go on this journey with me and share my thoughts on the spiritual, mental and physical aspect of this ethical stance – the most important one for me and many people around the world. Four elements and guidelines will determine the theme of the posts: animals, planet/environment, health and humanitarian rights. So, in the future, the blog will be distinguished from other writing by the title, and you can also find it with relevant hashtags. The first post is already up. Happy reading!