SLAVENKA DRAKULIC
63
anything about the ongoing war in the Balkans. No one can wash his
hands ofthis war, no one can claim, "I don't know." There is no excuse
for a single European state or nation, or even one person, to do nothing,
to in fact become an accomplice to this war, and to the uncertain
destabilized future ofEurope.
Now let me go back to the story "High-heeled Shoes." As I said, I
was quite puzzled by my own reaction, and then I started to think. I con–
cluded that I somehow subconsciously and automatically put my friend
into another category, into the category of "refugees." And I rejected my
own responsibility. I delegated my own responsibility for a human being,
for a friend of mine. I put her in an abstract category, and I delegated this
responsibility to the Red Cross, to the State, to the Church, to the
mili–
tary; in other words, to the institutions. And in that way I think I be–
trayed my own friend. And what I recognized in myself is the process of
creating "otherness," and I was very much frightened by it. I will read
you the end of the story, because it's very difficult for me to
tell
you:
Perhaps what I am also witnessing is a mechanism of self-defence
as if there were a limit to how much brutality, pain or suffering one is
able to take on board and feel responsible for. Over and above this,
we are often confronted with more or less abstract entities, numbers,
groups, categories of people, facts- but not names, not faces . To deal
with pain on such a scale is in a way much easier than to deal with
individuals. With a person you know you have to do something, act,
give food, shelter, money, take care. On the other hand, one person
could certainly not be expected to take care of a whole mass of peo–
ple. For them, there has to be someone else: the state, Church, the
Red Cross, Caritas, an institution. The moment one delegates per–
sonal responsibility to the institution, the war becomes more normal,
orderly, and therefore more bearable. The person not only relieves
himself or herself of responsibility, but also of a feeling of guilt too;
the problem is still there, but it is no longer mine. Yes, of course I'll
pay the extra war-tax, I'll gladly give away clothing or food to Caritas
or any responsible organization, instead of to the suspicious-looking
individuals ringing the doorbell claiming that they are refugees.
Because what if they are not real refugees - your help might get into
the "wrong" hands and you'll never earn that place in heaven that
you'd promised yourself at the outset. The moment I thought
Drazena ought not wear make-up or patent high-heeled shoes was the
very moment when I myself put her into the group "refugee," be–
cause it was easier for me. But the fact that she didn't fit the cliche,
that she disappointed me by trying to keep her face together with her
make-up and her life together with a pair of shoes, made me aware of
my own collaboration with this war.
