'Remember Us'

Reflections on War, Remembrance Sunday 2019

Srebrenica Genocide Memorial

I stand before you today a broken woman – a woman who has heard first hand stories of unbearable suffering, of the absence of mercy, and the failure of the international community to protect and build lasting peace. I have spent 6 days in Bosnia-Herzegovina, reflecting on the nature of evil and human suffering in the light of their recent conflict (1992-95). Put in that context and experience Remembrance Sunday raises some profound questions for me about the politics of remembrance, the responsibilities of those who remember and the nature of Christian remembrance.

The stories that nations tell about their past are only ever partially true; it is a brave country that is willing to tell stories of the past that recognise sin, barbarity, aggression and poor military decisions. The poets of the First World War have raised their voices loud and clear so that the stories of wasted life and poor leadership have been heard. It is good that we have been able to weave these stories into our national narrative of the horror of war and the commitment to ‘never again’.

Yet the sad truth is that in the 1990’s on European soil, genocide was committed under the watch of the UN and other European nations, including the UK, in Bosnia-Herzegovina. That war brought to the foreground some of the limitations of the European project – its ability to build and sustain peace and its commitment to tolerance and diversity. The systematic slaughter of Bosnian Muslims* by the mainly Christian Serbs through ethnic cleansing in a country that had been heralded for its ethnic and religious diversity is a permanent scar on the face of post-world war two Europe. If it can happen there it can happen anywhere.

Memorial to those who died in Srebrenica

As part of the pilgrimage to Bosnia-Herzegovina we heard from four women. They told their story of fleeing to and then being trapped in Srebrenica (a UN declared safe-zone) starved, tormented and tortured whiles the enemy co-ordinated the systematic slaughter of all the men and teenage boys in the region. Hearing from the women was a harrowing experience – it is almost impossible to hold on to faith in the goodness of human beings when you hear personally of such suffering. We also heard from two male survivors, one who managed to escape although his twin brother, Dad and Uncle were taken. He spent 6 lonely, terrifying nights in the forest running for his life, being hunted. He was just a teenage boy. He lives with the guilt of being a survivor. Then there was the surgeon who went to Srebrenica for a quiet life, who found himself cutting off limbs in the forest with no anaesthesia, treating dear friends and family in a make-shift war-hospital. The men were hollowed out, struggling (but trying) to forgive and to find some reason to live.

One thing that the survivors were keen for us foreign visitors to do was to share their story. Loud and clear they were saying to us ‘please help us tell our story, please remember us’. For the survivors of Srebrenica remembering takes on added significance because they are living with a fragile peace in a context where the genocide is denied regularly by some Serbian leaders. Of course there will have been atrocities committed against the Serbs too. But, despite the international ruling of The Hague all of the people in that region are living in the shadow of horror, waiting for justice*.

The rise of nationalism and fear of ‘the other’ should be raising alarm bells for us in this country. What shocked me most in the stories I heard was how the 'other' was dehumanised, which justified ANY action against them. There was a complete lack of mercy or human feeling. The dehumanisation of the ‘other’ who is different from us is a deeply disturbing and dangerous course of action. The toxic and violent language that is being used in our politics at the moment leads to the normalisation and acceptance of hatred on our streets. This is a real and current threat to peace in this country. It doesn’t take much for hatred to be stoked. Men and women, who had sent their kids to the same schools and celebrated each others’ festivals, were suddenly and overnight violently murdered and tortured. That is the story of Bosnia-Herzegovina. That is the story despite the fact we said never again. That is the story despite the fact that the UN had designated Srebrenica a safe zone. That is the story despite the fact that the UK watched and saw what was happening.

As I have stood behind the altar in the days after the pilgrimage, not knowing where to put this experience, the breaking of bread has taken on new significance for me. As I break the bread I remember that Jesus’ body was broken; I remember the bone identification factory and the pain staking work that is being done to recover and identify all the bones of the victims, bones which were moved multiple times to hide the genocide. I remember that family members are still today waiting to bury their loved ones and that the capacity for human sin is overwhelming. I remember that as Christians we eat Jesus’ broken body and we drink his spilled blood and I wonder how I can cope with the violence that is at the heart of our faith. I remember that despite the fact his body was broken that Jesus returned and spoke only words of forgiveness and peace. I remember that Jesus breathed new life into his disciples through the gift of the Holy Spirit and that in his body and blood Jesus indwells a ministry of reconciliation.

As Christians I believe that we are called first and foremost to remember who and what God is – remembering past wars and conflicts cannot in itself enable us to live better, or help us to ensure ‘never again’.

In Scripture we are called to remembrance of our primary identity in Christ – the only purely innocent victim, who remains in the space between our hatreds and our divisions. He is always present as the one who remains with us, who deliberately places himself between us and for us, recommending us to one another, the true reconciler, the Prince of Peace. It is only in remembering who and what Jesus did that I believe we will be saved.

For in Jesus I remember that I and all people (victim and perpetrator) are made in the image of God. I remember that it is easy for Christian to hate Muslim, white to hate black, wealthy to hate the poor, men to hate women. I remember that Jesus never gave into hate. I remember that I am capable of hate. I remember that I am capable of love.

It is in the knowledge of Jesus’ love and forgiveness of me that I am emboldened to tell the whole truth; we as Christians should tell the whole truth in the confidence of that love. The archbishop of Canterbury apologised recently “in the name of Christ” for the 1919 massacre at Amritsar in India, when hundreds of people were shot dead by British forces. He said: “Learning of what happened, I recognise the sins of my British colonial history, the ideology that too often subjugated and dehumanised other races and cultures … We have a great responsibility to not just lament this horrific massacre but most importantly to learn from it in a way that changes our actions.”

And so this Remembrance Sunday will be a good one for me if it encourages us to repent and change our actions.  What should we be doing to challenge hatred, combat prejudice, bring communities together and recognise our common shared humanity? That is the sign that we need to give as Christians – that we seek always to love those who are different from us and to be bold proclaimers of the whole truth.

*The victims—at least 8,372 of them—were mainly males, mostly Bosniaks and some Croats.