An impossible dream in Serbia

What was a normal carefree oblivious night, beers clinking over scattered cards, children chasing dogs about the tight squeeze of a flat, became a nationwide state of panic- those walls that had happily, calmly reflected the shadows of domestic stability were shaking uncontrollably, as thin whistles careened through the air landing in huge explosions, glass showers flooding the streets, fires lighting up the sky and sending people screaming into the streets, the year was 1999 and NATO had just attacked Serbia.
My friends have relived that night for me, they have told of the horror, the shock, everyone has their own nightmare about the Aggression, but one thing they all remember- the flocking to the bridges. Knowing that the few precious bridges were the immediate targets for the american bombers, everyone stampeded to them, loaded up with beer and food to last them days, and the bridge party began. While planes circled overhead, hungrily looking at the defenseless city below, Serbians drank and made merry, relying on the humanity of the pilots to not bomb these bridges packed with civilians, standing with fervent pride and lunatic defense of their country, laughing in the face of death.
Eventually the vultures sulked off to their new nest- Bondsteel, the largest american base in the world, built immediately after the Aggression, with no tax requirement or hostility from its now allegedly independent host Kosovo. This was not the reported reason for the attacks, we were told that it was due to violations of human rights by Serbians to Albanians in Kosovo. Now Kosovo, which was once mostly Serbian, has a 10% Serbian nationality, who are guarded heavily by abundantly glaring barbed wire and military presence, protected from the local Albanians who have gotten used to endorsed violence against their northern neighbors. The few Serbians remaining live in ghettos, denied of proper education, health care and basic security. No Serbian I've talked to feels remotely safe going there, indeed many have been or are descended from those that were chased out of that territory with blazing torches, and in their absence beautiful ancient orthodox cathedrals are being flippantly destroyed and their once majestic capital has become so hostile, a visit might cost them their lives, but no one in the US is taking about human rights violations now.
And much of this violence was started by my government, and my government chooses to turn a blind eye to the situation now, and along with the rest of western Europe, continue to recognize Kosovo as an independent state without giving Serbia any choice in the matter, even so far as to protect its people.
Despite all this, despite the blatant injustice and degradation and disrespect my country has shown theirs, Serbians have welcomed me like a long lost family member. They have been so inexplicably generous and thoughtful. I feel such guilt as they bring it yet another plate of food or offer their own bed and wish to sleep on the couch so I may be comfortable. They would give their last piece of bread and starve the next day to honor their guest and this mentality, this way of treating travelers, strangers, even enemies is so inspiring. it will forever be my ambition to give travelers I meet later on in life, true Serbian hospitality. Though I'm afraid it is a job that must be taken on by a whole country. For it is not just in a home that one feels it, but on the street when asking where a certain park might be, and the random victim may not know, but will call everyone on his phone till he does, and then walk the lost tourist wherever it is they needed to go, or in a sport store opening every bike pump to see if it might fit a deflated tire, or the bottomless bowl of ice cream sponsored by the village bums fascinated by a banjo in a park, or that one can barley bike 5km without someone driving, biking it running up to offer a drink, a meal, a place to sleep. Serbians believe everything is better in company and don't like to see someone who looks like she might get lonely go without properly explaining why she must be on her own, and then still quite begrudgingly.
But in the days that I do manage to muster up the energy to become my once more socially apt self, I find myself always drawn to parks, where I get the most appreciative audience a musician could ask for- sometimes somber, quiet, respectful, other times laughing, hooting, dancing, quite regardless of major or minor or even tempo, with a musical sensibility of their own making, a herd of kids, who seem to find staring at a banjo as interesting if not more so than the swings, a high compliment indeed, and worthy of rapt attention and then rambunctious curiosity, my fiddle. They all wanted to try and, to my extreme delight, I have already 3 kids begging their parents for banjo lessons!! I am spreading the gospel of clawhammer through eastern Europe, soon I will have an army if mini Serbians dressed in overalls and straw hats, defiantly thwacking dum dicke dum dicke dum, and together we will march to Kosovo and enchanted by the contagious joy of these glorified, out of tune snare drums the Albanians will have no choice but to dust off their fiddles and join in with this knee-slapping, boot-raising clamor, which we'd take down to Bondsteel and make the american sliders dance the Cherokee shuffle, give right to your partner, say how do you do? Left hands back, say fine thank you!

But unfortunately our aggression has not just affected the southern Serbians in Kosovo, but has contributed severely to the economic situation in Serbia as a whole. "NATO polluted soil, water, and food production for an unbelievable period of four billion years. Direct economic damage caused by aggression was estimated to an amount of over one hundred billion dollars"(www.globalresearch.can/13-years-since-nato-aggression-against-Serbia-violation-of-human-rights-of-serbs-in-the-province-of-Kosovo-and-metokija/29687) This, handled of course by the ubiquitous corruption of governments in general in eastern Europe, led to a dramatic rise in unemployment that went from 12.8% in 1998 to 19.5% in 1999 to a staggering 45.9% in 2012. Of course these statistics are disputed, but some are listed as high as 64% others low as 23%.
Regardless, unemployment is quite bad here. I have meet countless people with first hand accounts of this fact and lately have been witnessing some atrocities resulting from this overwhelming poverty. One of which affecting me deeply as it has to do with my merry band of mini music makers, many of which are child beggars, skipping around super markets, parks and highways looking for money or food. The abundance of these kids is one thing to wonder at, you can't go anywhere without a child asking for money, but this poverty takes them to such extremes here.
My host today, after bringing one of these girls a bag of food from the store, was thanked by her attempting to feel him up on the street and ask to come to his house alone later. He, quite shaken and repulsed, said that the implications were quite clear and that his rejection was amusing to her. He said that he had seen on multiple occasions, young girls walking up to car windows in secluded areas, pulling down their shirts to show what they have to offer. It sounds to me like the poverty these families are brought to has made child prostitution almost an acceptable part of this culture, and obviously, since it is so widespread, is being rewarded. Even I can see how acceptable this part of their culture is when I see for example, scantily clad girls, often 13 or 14 wiping the windshields of cars driving up, not paid at all by the gas station, just by the drivers that enjoyed their performance. Or the fact that possession of child pornography is legal here. The situation is indeed quite upsetting and has me again beating my head against the wall as to what I am to do, where to start the fight, who is it against, what is the sword, what the shield?
I have been feeling so much love for these people, so much warmth and affection for their openness, their forgiveness. I have made many friends here and through these connections have become keenly aware of what they are and have been going through. I wish so much to help my friends, young and old, and have been trying by going around bringing my music and joy and now by sharing a part of their side of this horrendous tale, but it feels like so little, like this is an unrightable wrong, an unfightable foe. We need a Don Quixote to dream this impossible dream.