Unfortunately there was not enough space to print it in full. Uncut version is online at qqq.sofn.org.uk A communion that opens us to the humanity of the other... Above all, we can refuse to hate. sof 73 September 2005 16 A year ago, in July, I visited Mostar during the week in which its old bridge, the ‘Stari Most’, was reopened.
The bridge, always an important link, had been reconstructed after it was completely destroyed by opposing factions in Bosnia-Hercegovina during the recent civil war. ‘Stari Most’ had long been seen as a symbol of the town’s past multi-faith heritage and the United Nations was instrumental in its rebuilding. There are few more potent metaphors for unity and reconciliation than the building of a bridge. A bridge can connect and bring people together from either side of a divide, be that a river, a ravine or a border. Very often, historically, the first consideration in its construction will have been the need for a trading link, but once that has been established so is the possibility of communication, of interaction, knowledge and understanding.
Replacing the original suspension bridge which had been guarded by the Mostari, from which the town probably got its name, ‘Stari Most’ was designed by Mimar Hajrudin, a disciple of the great Ottoman architect Mimor Sinan, who built some of the finest mosques in Istanbul. The graceful yet sturdy bridge was completed in 1566, built from 456 blocks of white stone, many of which were recovered from the River Neretva after ‘Stari Most’ was destroyed by repeated bombardment in the recent conflict. Work on the rebuilding began in 1997, using these stones and many of the same methods as were employed by the original architect. The bridge is 30 metres long and its arch measures 20 metres. The keystone was put in place in August 2003, and during the reopening ceremony, a year later, young men and boys, following an old tradition, jumped from the bridge into the waters far below: a rite of passage requiring an act of considerable daring.
I was privileged to have been invited to the heart of Bosnia-Hercegovina for a family celebration after the marriage of two young people who are now making a life for themselves in London. The bridegroom’s father is Chinese/Malaysian and his mother is German; he met his Croatian bride in a recreational gym in London. The bride’s grandfather, a wise man in his late nineties, whose family had suffered greatly during the recent war, welcomed us to his beautiful valley, which smelled (overwhelmingly, to this traveller from ‘the big smoke’) of wild thyme and pure unpolluted air. Long ago he had dreamed that a Chinese man would come to that valley and in recognition of his arrival he gave the young couple a piece of land on which to build.
The wedding ceremony had already taken place in Dubrovnik and two days before that event the party of guests, which included friends from all over the world – from Malaysia, the Caribbean, Africa, from many European countries including Britain, Ireland, Greece, Germany, Holland, France, and Switzerland, Serbs and Croats and a Brazilian woman, had all spent a day together on a boat visiting three islands and diving into waters as warm, as blue and as welcoming as any Londoner could dream of.
A few days later, and a long five hour drive away, in Mostar, a small group of us walked across the newly reopened bridge from the west side of the town to the east with its mosques and minarets, stopping to drink coffee and watch boys and young men leaping from the newly restored bridge into the river below. Absorbed by what we saw, we failed to notice the disappearance of the youngest member of our party, the bridegroom’s six year old nephew. Over half an hour passed before we discovered his absence and panic gripped each one of us as we ran frantically from end to end of the bridge, staring mutely into the churning waters below and then calling out his name as we ran through the narrow bazaar-filled streets of the town. Providence spared us and we found the boy, frightened and tearful, but safe in the care of a group of old Muslim men who roundly upbraided us for our neglect as they handed him back to us. Never before can the swirling green waters of a river have seemed so sweet, nor the curved arch of a bridge provided such a blessing as it did to us that morning in Mostar.
Recommended reading: The Bridge over the Drina by Ivo Andric (winner of the Nobel Prize for Literature).This great novel tells the story of one bridge in the Bosnian town of Visegrad, built in the sixteenth century and spanning generations, nationalities and creeds.Available in paperback, published by Harvill at £8.99.