By Thomas Jurgens
For the final project, I worked together with Ben, Ema, Dave, Johanna and Julia to create an informative zine regarding Mitrovica’s social polarisation and its manifestation in the ‘Peace Bridge’. The first time we met was during the third week of Peace Lab, while we were still conducting the online interviews. We’d started with an idea of moral imagination: the inspiration a person can gain from reading a book or listening to a story. By granting people access to a vision of the future they might otherwise not have unlocked, we believed that inspiration can lead to change.
We had to workshop our idea quite a bit: there weren’t enough authentic myths to work with or ancient narratives to mould into a pebbled road towards the future. In the end, we decided to make a zine that was more informative than inspirational. I was in charge of the third section, looking towards the future and attempting to give the first few pebbles for this road without laying them myself. One thing I learnt about peacebuilding through this course is that it always has to come from the people within the given context; we always have to know when it’s not our place. It’s a tricky balance to hold, between trying to help and giving people the space to decide their own futures without any interference. An intention can be good, but that doesn’t mean it’s welcome.
To maintain this edge of moral imagination, we used an ancient Serbian poem as the throughline of our zine. Stop, stop Ibar river is the opening line of the poem and the name of the zine. It paints a vision of the future with brushstrokes of pleas, as the speaker begs the Ibar river to stop flowing so they can reach their lover. The rest of the zine is entirely informative – it explains the history of Mitrovica and the development of the Peace Bridge, from a point of connection to a point of division. It emphasises the difference between generational perspectives, the impact of policy and international influence on growing up. Even in fact, we find the foundations for the road of moral imagination. Imagination is a flimsy thing if it’s contained to an individual, but the hope of our zine is to inspire a community. In that context, imagination can be a wave, the water of the Ibar river flowing beyond its bounds and fertilising the ground for peaceful growth.
I hadn’t expected Peace Lab to have an equally invasive effect on me. Halfway through the course, I asked our teacher Anne if she had any tips for imposter syndrome, as I felt like a grand imposter in our interviews with leaders of states, founders of NGO’s, etc. Talking to these people made me acutely aware of my positioning as a white man from a small Dutch town, inexperienced and unfamiliar with the world outside my narrow perspective. Before starting this course, I tried to construct a new plan of attack for every unfamiliar situation I entered, but these interviews were all different – people are different. Some people had long and winding answers, whilst others were curt and to-the-point. Some people shared deeply vulnerable things after a few minutes, wearing their hearts on their sleeves, while others took half an hour to open up to our group. Plans constantly had to be made and remade, questions forming in the moment and the moment passing before you manage to write it down. It felt unfamiliar and scary, not to have the opportunity to take a step back from the situation, reassess, and plan accordingly. I felt out of my depth.
The problem was that my skills had been associated with a specific context. Outside of this context, I could not harness them. While working on this final project, with the changing plans, I came to realise that I no longer needed a plan to rely on. I had grown beyond the bounds of plenary confidence, to a point where I could rely on my skills alone to get me through a situation. In short, participating in Peace Lab has made me more equipped to be a peacebuilder and for this I will be eternally grateful.
For the final project, I worked together with Ben, Ema, Dave, Johanna and Julia to create an informative zine regarding Mitrovica’s social polarisation and its manifestation in the ‘Peace Bridge’. The first time we met was during the third week of Peace Lab, while we were still conducting the online interviews. We’d started with an idea of moral imagination: the inspiration a person can gain from reading a book or listening to a story. By granting people access to a vision of the future they might otherwise not have unlocked, we believed that inspiration can lead to change.
We had to workshop our idea quite a bit: there weren’t enough authentic myths to work with or ancient narratives to mould into a pebbled road towards the future. In the end, we decided to make a zine that was more informative than inspirational. I was in charge of the third section, looking towards the future and attempting to give the first few pebbles for this road without laying them myself. One thing I learnt about peacebuilding through this course is that it always has to come from the people within the given context; we always have to know when it’s not our place. It’s a tricky balance to hold, between trying to help and giving people the space to decide their own futures without any interference. An intention can be good, but that doesn’t mean it’s welcome.
To maintain this edge of moral imagination, we used an ancient Serbian poem as the throughline of our zine. Stop, stop Ibar river is the opening line of the poem and the name of the zine. It paints a vision of the future with brushstrokes of pleas, as the speaker begs the Ibar river to stop flowing so they can reach their lover. The rest of the zine is entirely informative – it explains the history of Mitrovica and the development of the Peace Bridge, from a point of connection to a point of division. It emphasises the difference between generational perspectives, the impact of policy and international influence on growing up. Even in fact, we find the foundations for the road of moral imagination. Imagination is a flimsy thing if it’s contained to an individual, but the hope of our zine is to inspire a community. In that context, imagination can be a wave, the water of the Ibar river flowing beyond its bounds and fertilising the ground for peaceful growth.
I hadn’t expected Peace Lab to have an equally invasive effect on me. Halfway through the course, I asked our teacher Anne if she had any tips for imposter syndrome, as I felt like a grand imposter in our interviews with leaders of states, founders of NGO’s, etc. Talking to these people made me acutely aware of my positioning as a white man from a small Dutch town, inexperienced and unfamiliar with the world outside my narrow perspective. Before starting this course, I tried to construct a new plan of attack for every unfamiliar situation I entered, but these interviews were all different – people are different. Some people had long and winding answers, whilst others were curt and to-the-point. Some people shared deeply vulnerable things after a few minutes, wearing their hearts on their sleeves, while others took half an hour to open up to our group. Plans constantly had to be made and remade, questions forming in the moment and the moment passing before you manage to write it down. It felt unfamiliar and scary, not to have the opportunity to take a step back from the situation, reassess, and plan accordingly. I felt out of my depth.
The problem was that my skills had been associated with a specific context. Outside of this context, I could not harness them. While working on this final project, with the changing plans, I came to realise that I no longer needed a plan to rely on. I had grown beyond the bounds of plenary confidence, to a point where I could rely on my skills alone to get me through a situation. In short, participating in Peace Lab has made me more equipped to be a peacebuilder and for this I will be eternally grateful.
Serbian:
Стани, стани, Ибар водо.
Куда журиш тако?
И ја имам јаде своје.
Мени није лако.
Тамо где се Ибар вода
у Мораву слива,
једна кућа усамљена
моју драгу скрива.
Ту ме она очекује
скоро сваке ноћи.
Стани, стани, Ибар водо,
морам драгој доћи
Albanian:
Ndalo, ndalo, ujë Ibar.
Ku po nxiton?
Edhe unë kam problemet e mia.
Nuk është e lehtë për mua.
Atje ku uji i Ibrit
derdhet në Moravë,
një shtëpi e vetmuar
fshihet e dashura ime.
Ajo më pret atje
pothuajse çdo natë.
Ndalo, ndalo, ujë Ibar,
Duhet të vij tek i dashuri im
English:
Stop, stop, Ibar water
where are you rushing like that?
I also have my sorrows
and it is not easy for me.
There where Ibar water
in Morava streams,
one lonely house
hides my darling.
There she waits for me
almost every night.
Stop, stop, Ibar water,
I have to go to my dear.
(The zine can be found here.)
No comments:
Post a Comment