Reflections

Yesterday I sat alone and watched as, two at a time, relatives who lost loved ones on September 11, 2001, stepped to the podiums at the World Trade Center memorial site and read the names of those who perished.
As I watched and listened, I cried. I cried just as hard as I did on that beautiful Tuesday morning all those years ago -- and just as hard as I have every year since. I cried for strangers who lost their lives and for their friends and families. I cried for my country. I shed tears of sorrow, tears of rage, tears of regret.
I thought of the days just a few weeks ago, when I walked through the streets of downtown Belgrade and looked upon the vestiges of NATO bombings led by America in the 1990s. Years after the last shelling, the ruins of two buildings located just up the road from the former U.S. Embassy stand as stark reminders of the past.
Scars are visible elsewhere in the city. The remnants of another building that once housed Serbian television and radio studios also remain unchanged. The Serbian government knew NATO planned to target it, but deliberately ignored the warning and failed to evacuate the building, my cousin said. The regime wanted to show that it was being unfairly attacked and that innocent civilians were paying the price. Today, a small marble slate in a park across the street from the hulking ruins pays tribute to those who did.
Almost casually, my cousin and her husband recall the days when the sounds of incoming NATO missiles filled city streets just a few blocks from where they now live. A whistling and sizzling noise were precursors for destruction, they said.
My relatives in no way supported the Serbian regime that caused so much chaos and bloodshed in the 1990s. In fact, they detested Slobodan Milosevic. They were innocent citizens who were simply trying to survive.
So as I sat on a park bench overlooking Sava and Danube, I apologized for my government. I apologized for my country. And I cried.
Until next time, "That's life..."