1991 – 2022. It has been 31 years. It sounds like a long time, but it feels like time has stood still on the day. Something feels different with every year that passes by, but something is always the same. It’s hard to name it; I can’t put my finger on it. It happens if you live here. You learn something every time you meet someone new. New information, new emotions, new reasons to laugh or cry. But you connect in the old way. And there are two sides to that – the lessons are hard, but they force you to grow. Like Vukovar has been growing. With and without the parade. With and without politics. During November and the remaining eleven months.
18 November 2022 (Photo by Grad Vukovar 2022)
Jean-Michel Nicolier bridge (Vukovar 2022)
If you ask anyone from Vukovar to talk about it in November, they are likely to do at least one of the following things: politely ask you to move on and talk to someone else, tell their family’s story, or ask where you’ve been by now. These are some of the ways people deal with what happened here and what the reality is now.
Some don’t want to or can’t talk about it. Shake their hand and move along.
Some find it easier to tell their stories; they need compassion, appreciation, and a thank you for your sacrifice. They will open their homes and their hearts to you. Sit down with them, let them make you a cup of coffee, and listen. Cry with them, laugh with them. At times feel overwhelmed. And if they say they don’t expect you to understand, don’t believe them. Of course, you should understand. It’s not that complicated; what happened here. The human experience was reduced to its lowest form. Houses were burned, families broken apart, and lives ruined on all sides of the flag. Keep that in mind, and be respectful. Walk the parade, light a candle, and say a prayer. Remember that the whole point is to thank those who gave their lives for you to walk free and never allow that to happen again.
On the other hand, you could meet people who had nothing to do with the war, whose families were lucky, or who ended up moving to Vukovar recently. Your instinct may be to ignore them; it’s not about them. Don’t. Listen to them carefully. They live here now by choice or by fate. The city is theirs, and the city is them just as much as it is you who visits, who remembers, and talks about it.
City centre Vukovar 2022 (21 November)
That brings us to the message I would like to send this year. The message that rings painfully accurate whenever we hear our co-residents say it to the cameras pointed at them in November. Come to Vukovar on the 18th, do the thing and take the pictures. We appreciate it; we really do. Without your support, we wouldn’t even be where we are today.
But don’t let that be your only visit. Do not reduce our city to pain, our streets to the parade. Recognise the artisan shops under the baroque vaults, the business that blooms daily. Sit down for a hearty meal and chase it down with a cold Vukovarsko brewed right here. Wear the Borovo shoes, which still promise and provide quality. Check out the municipal museum or hop over to Vučedol to go on a journey of five thousand years. Come and see July and August – take it easy swimming in the Danube, or get your culture fix at the Vukovar Film Festival. Run, walk, or cycle kilometres of routes through plains and forests. Try fishing for dinner.
Like in many other places in Slavonia, life is hard in Vukovar. Many leave in search of a somewhat normal life. Not because they want to but because they have to. They will come back, though, because enough of Vukovar’s driving force is still here. Those who stay and those who come to Vukovar refuse to live in the bubble of the 18th and have decided to give Vukovar what it needs and what it deserves. Love, laughter, optimism, and friendship – every day. Never forget its sacrifice, and never stop talking about it. But never ignore its future and never underestimate the willpower of its children.
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