a fresh outlook*

As Spring dawns on us, I thought I would give you a fresh update on all that I have been up to recently.

I am currently studying abroad in Switzerland, where there is not only an incredibly high concentration of succulent chocolate (it is no surprise that this country has the highest chocolate consumption in the world!) but also a dense presence of international organizations. Meaning that this is a country that revolves around its power to smooth and sweeten out the world’s problems, be it through a box of fine chocolate or through fine (at least, that’s what we hope!) diplomacy.

The first six weeks of this Study Abroad program I spent trying to cram legal cases into the back of my brain, which was often difficult to do when my attention was diverted by more exciting things like the Swiss ski slopes, or bythe daily protests that take place in front of the UN headquarters, or by good friends’ memorable visits. The last stretch of this program – the one I am currently on, and the real pull factor that brought me here in the first place – is spent interning at an organization here in Geneva, a placement that is virtually impossible for undergraduates to secure on their own. This being said, I was pleasantly surprised when I found out that I was placed in my dream org., working for the International Organization for Migration (IOM) on an upcoming Forum on Migration & Development to take place in Athens next November. Of course, the role of intern is usually synonymous with the title of “Paper Filer” or “Coffee Fetcher”, but there are some glamorous parts to the job as well. Like, sitting next to the Greek Ambassador to the UN this morning and joking with him about the Greek origins of the name Stephanie... Either way, I am without a doubt getting a valuable first-hand view of the internal workings and politics of international organizations. And the real icing on the cake is the fact that my boss’ name is “Star” (… you can imagine the many corny jokes that I am just dying to drop. i.e.: “Are you from outer space, because your work is OUT OF THIS WORLD!!!!” – I might have to wait a while until I pull that one out of the hat!).

Although it is snuggled comfortably in the Alps, in a culture founded on peace-loving values where the streets are lined with more financial firms than McDonalds, it is easy to forget what goes on outside of Switzerland. Most strikingly, it is easy to forget who it is that you are supposedly trying to help, who it is that brought so many people to Geneva in the first place.

The group that I myself am working for, and one that constitutes a large proportion of today’s world’s demographic composition, is that of migrants. Technically speaking, most of us are in fact migrants ourselves, leaving home at some point to attend university or in search of better job opportunities in the big city. But there is an entirely different set of migrants that comprise this world who have relocated themselves not necessarily in the hopes to intern in the heart of Europe, but rather to escape dire economic, political, and/or social circumstances in their countries of origin. Whether it is thanks to war, tsunamis, or a looming economic crisis, these are the migrants that need - more than anything - to be remembered and kept under the spotlight. It is for this reason that I spent my Spring Break in Bosnia-Herzogovina. With a Peace and Travel grant paying my way, I strapped on a backpack and traveled solo via plane, train and automobile through the Balkans with the aim of looking at migration from a different perspective than the one I have in my cozy, overheated office in Geneva.

Most of you may not remember this, as you were probably fixated on your televisions with the hopes of catching the next episode of Sabrina the Teenage Witch rather than to see the evening news, but Bosnia faced a devastating war from 1992 to 1995 where its three major ethnic groups went at eachother’s necks in search for recognition and outright ownership of the land. Bosnia is comprised of three major ethnicities: Bosnian Serbs, Croats, and Muslims, a composition that is rooted in its geography, being placed at the crossroads of historical and ethnic tugs of war. For centuries, this piece of land has been the heart of conflict. (And, tiny side note, the country is actually shaped as a heart!!!). Over time, it has seen vast migration movements from neighbouring powers, leaving a very diverse mark on the country. Eventually, the colourful building blocks that comprise this land collapsed like a Jenga tower. Millions of people died, were displaced, and were forced to flee – experiences that never fail to haunt you, as I was reminded of time and time again as I walked past homes still potmarked with bullet holes and buildings left rotting into decay.

During my backpacking travels, I visited a town called Mostar where a river separates the Croatian side from the Muslim side. I guess blood really is thicker than water, revealed when in 1993 the bridge that connected the two sides was detonated, symbolizing the fracture between the two sides. Fourteen years later, and the pain of it all still dampens the hearts and minds of Bosnians. I can't tell you how many taxi drivers or waiters I encountered who shared with me snippets of stories and shadowed memories of brothers being shot, of families being separated, and of towns being divided.

> My immediate response to all of this: "I can't even imagine . . . "
>> The reply of one woman I spoke to: "I hope you never have to."

On the upside (since this trip was supposed to give me some inspiration and validate my work in Geneva), a lot of good is being done in the field. I spoke to the head of an organization that is working to bring an end to ethnic segregation within the school system. I met with an International Prosecutor at the Court of Bosnia-Herzegovina who is bringing hundreds of cases against the very people who directed the war crimes that shattered the lives of so many. I helped some UWC students in Mostar teach basic math skills to gypsy children who are not allowed to attend local schools because of their minority status. And, of course, I met lots of people in cafés, on trains, and in random places where my lost-looking self attracted helpful passerby who would share with me – to varying extents, of course - their opinions on these issues.

I guess what I’m learning through all of this is that there is always more than one side to a story. The Bosnian story, in particular, has three stories (- at least where ethnicity is concerned). Meanwhile, Europe has many faces. It’s hard to imagine that the protected, secure enclave of Switzerland, with its wealthy rolex-sporting bankers exists on the same continent as war-torn Bosnia with its pot-holed roads and its backcountry lined with hidden mines leftover from the conflict.

Moral of my European adventure(s): perspective is key, and springtime only helps by shining extra light on it all .. !