By Ema Torcato
Peace Lab is officially over! Now that the course has come to an end, I’ve been thinking a lot about everything I learned both in class and through the process of creating our final group project. This blogpost is a way for me to reflect on those experiences, and to make sense of what this course has meant to me.
When we learned about the main bridge of Mitrovica during one of our first classes I was struck by the irony of it. A structure designed to unite had come to symbolise distance, tension and unresolved conflict. Having thought about this paradox for a while with my group, we decided to make it the core of our group’s project: a zine that showcases a visual and narrative exploration of how this bridge functions as both a physical and symbolic boundary between North and South Mitrovica. Through poems, quotes, images and historical context, we wanted to show how places can carry trauma, but also how they can hold potential for connection and healing. The online version of the zine is available to anyone through this link: https://drive.google.com/file/d/1cWWDi79LMDBX6gBdOFt8edXD5UJXH8qF/view?usp=sharing
Initially, we thought we’d focus on myths and stories surrounding the river, or even produce a short film, but after some more research and with Anne’s insights, we realised a different format would be more realistic and impactful. We discovered that myths about the Ibar were quite sparse, and a short film, while exciting, would have been too ambitious given our limited time. Because of this, we pivoted to a zine, which in hindsight was the best decision we could’ve made. The zine gave us room to be creative while staying grounded in serious content, covering the bridge’s past, present and future.
Creating the zine was a true team effort. While Johanna led the design due to her experience, everyone contributed: researching and cross-checking information, writing each section, sourcing images, formatting quotes, organising layouts and giving feedback. One of my favourite parts was how much care we all put into not just the content, but the feeling of the zine. We wanted it to be accessible. We did not want it to feel like an academic paper, but something people could actually read and engage with. Working closely with my teammates made the process feel meaningful and fun, even when we were under time pressure. I genuinely felt like I formed lasting bonds with people I hadn’t worked with before. In a way, I felt that the way we laughed, debated and helped each other edit and revise became a kind of peacebuilding in itself. It reminded me how important collaboration is in doing work that aims to understand and heal conflict.
On a personal level, this entire course, and especially the project, forced me to reflect deeply on my future. I found myself journaling a lot, trying to figure out if I could see myself in a peacebuilding, human rights, grassroots career. Many of the meetings we had were raw and honest. We heard from people who dedicate their lives to building safer communities and creating social change, often while facing limited resources, public scepticism, or even political backlash. It was inspiring, but at times it made me feel almost hopeless. I realised how emotionally demanding this field is, and how much resilience it requires. I started asking myself hard questions: Would I be able to handle that kind of pressure? Do I have the emotional capacity for this kind of work long-term? The answer, I think, is still unclear. But I’m grateful that this class gave me a safe space to think about it seriously and honestly.
Another realisation I had was about the power of creative expression in understanding conflict. Our project didn’t just summarise facts, it used visual language, poetry and emotion to capture what’s at stake in Mitrovica. Through this, I was able to see how creativity isn’t a distraction from serious issues but rather one of the most powerful tools we have to make people care, to build empathy and to imagine new futures. Our zine wasn’t a solution to the division in Kosovo, but it was a small contribution to reframing the story. It was also, for me, a personal way of exploring how stories, images and collective memory shape the world we live in.
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