Here’s an interview aired on PBS station WSRE in Pensacola, Florida, on a show called, “Conversations with Jeff Weeks.”
It offers some of the key features of the resilience principles used in my workshops and in the Unity Project.
Enjoy!
Opatija, Croatia.
This morning, I was treated to a good cup of coffee at Dunkin Donuts. Good coffee always reminds me of my friend. We called him “Effendi.” He and I used to drink endless cups of amazingly good coffee together, the best I have ever had, when I lived in Opatija, Croatia.
It makes sense. Due to its location at the northern end of the Adriatic, at one time or another, Opatija (pronouced o-‘pot-i-ya) has been ruled by Italy, the Austro-Hungarian Empire and the Ottoman Empire. Blend these with the local Slavic influence and you’ve got way more than your typical cup of joe.
While I lived there, it was less than an hour drive to Trieste, Italy (most of that going through 2 border crossings) and right around two hours to Venice. The architecture in Opatija shows the blend of these great cultures. So does the food, and especially the fantastic coffee. I have never had a macchiato (here’s a recipe) anything like those I had in Opatija.
The Balkans is one of the world’s great melting pots of culture. Slavic culture’s western-most reach ends here in Serbia. Austro-Hungarian culture dips into Croatia. Ottoman influence is still alive in Bosnia.
Over the centuries, the human exchange between these three major cultures has led to both a flourishing social climate, and on occasion, tragically explosive and lethal politics.
Click on the map a few times to see Opatija is under the "j" in Rijeka on the right.
For the year I lived there, I ran a refugee relief program funded by USAID. The war in the Balkans had just ended after the worst part of the Rigid Identities of the politicians of the area played up fear and extremism between these rich cultures instead of building on the amazing strengths they offer each other. If you’re old enough, you surely remember the genocidal results that followed in the horrific war that raged in the former Yugoslavia during the early 1990s near the heart of central Europe.
My main work was to develop trauma response programs to help Croatians who had been forced from their homes to find a way back home. I had the even more difficult task of helping the far larger number of Bosnians return to their homes across the border. (Here’s a map of the region.)
Work for the International Criminal Tribunal for the Former Yugoslavia, pictured here at the Hague, and USAID led to my doing this refugee work.
These were people forced from their homes at gun-point. Women, children and men alike were all raped and brutalized, the men often killed in the process to try to break the spirits of the population so that they would never want to return. These cruel methods went along with a brutal military offensive to drive Bosnian Muslims and Croatians from their homes so that ethnic Serbs could claim land they felt was theirs. The result was a horrific genocide.
In our meetings, Effendi and I would drink endless cups of coffee together. It only dawned on me months after I arrived that the reason I never seemed to get any sleep was because business in the region is conducted over coffee. When I went to someone’s office, coffee was served, many cups. Or, as is the custom, we would meet in cafes to do business and drink more. By the end of the typical day, I would have had 12-15 cups of coffee. I usually can’t sleep after 2.
So, Effendi, who was the recognized leader of the Bosnian Muslim refugee community, and I would meet often to try to figure out how to help the tens of thousands of people forced from their homes to return to Bosnia. We usually met over coffee and chivapchichi (here’s the recipe).
"Chivap" or chivapchichi is the Balkan version of hamburger.
I loved this man, but the endless, (and delicious) coffee and “chivap” were killing me.
Effendi and I puzzled over how to send people back to homes they had been forced from at gun-point. One day, while we met at the refugee community center, a ramshackle building the refugees rented, I put the question to Effendi. ”How do we send people home without rekindling conflict all over again? Some will want to seek revenge. How do we prevent the people in the houses from getting violent? What can we do to make a difference?”
“Are you free Saturday morning?” Effendi asked.
“Yes.”
“Then, come here at 7:00 for the children’s class. I want to show you something.”
A few days later, I arrived bright and early with Neli, my translator, to see what Effendi had in store for me. We climbed the stairs of the old building to the large public room that held about 200 kids. They were all threadbare having lost everything in the war, but immaculate and well pressed. They were sitting on the floor in neat rows facing Effendi who was already well into that week’s lesson to help prepare the children to return to their homes in Bosnia.
I was greeted with great respect and formality by the kids. Neli and I took our places. Effendi continued,
“Children, what is the first obligation of a Muslim when we return to our homes in Bosnia?”
In unison 200 strong, the children replied, “The first obligation of a Muslim, when we return to our homes in Bosnia, is to forgive the people living in our houses.”
“Children, what is the second obligation of a Muslim when we return to our homes in Bosnia?”
“The second obligation of a Muslim, when we return to our homes in Bosnia, is to ask the people living in our houses if we can help them.”
Shocked, and knowing full well what these kids had been through, I asked Neli to confirm what we had just heard. ”Yes, that’s what he said.”
So, it was possible to return to Bosnia without violence. Effendi knew it could work. It wouldn’t be accomplished by a top-down administrative plan. This was the way. It would be done by many people making a very personal choice.
In fact, there has been no violence to speak of in Bosnia since the war ended.
I think of Effendi, those kids and my choices every time I think I am entitled to be angry or hurt. Or, when I have a good cup of coffee.
Related Posts:
The Compassionate Identity: The Prize and the Price.
“Post-Partisan America: First Things First: The Choice We Make”
“Lessons from 9/11 for Tucson”
“A Compassionate Identity: ”What Sue Remembers”
Please share this with your friends on Facebook or your own blog. I’d love to hear your comments below.
All Rights Reserved, John Woodall, MD, copyright, 2011.
Click here if you missed the last post on Post-Partisan America.
I knew I wanted to meet Sue Dunne after I met her son, CJ.
His Dad and I had an interview scheduled in his office on a Saturday morning in mid-town Manhattan. Jimmy Dunne’s story is quite moving and inspiring. He has gotten a lot of attention for his handling of the reconstruction and phenomenal growth of Sandler O’Neill & Partners after 9/11 and the firm’s loss of 66 people that day in the South Tower. I told a small part of Jimmy’s story in a previous post. But, it was meeting CJ that showed me that this was a family story.
Our coffee cups were pretty close to this big.
Sue and I met in the Dunne’s lovely home on the East River in Manhattan. She greeted me at the door with an enormous cup of coffee in her hands. A few seconds later, I had one in mine, too. (She offered me some coconut milk to go with it. Ordinarily, I would have said “no.” But, I thought, “What the heck,” and accepted. It was delicious. Try it if you get a chance. You’ll like it.)
The conversation naturally flowed while we settled into the living room. We turned the exchange to CJ and his Dad and the reason for my coming to see her. “Like his Dad, CJ has a lot of presence, especially for a 16 year old. There was something else that was there, too. He has an ease with adults that is refreshing and a sense of deep confidence. I liked him. He showed a genuine interest in the life of his Dad and a sense of grit and heart and desire for excellence that was striking for his age. He’s still young, but these are great signs for the future.”
I finished plugging in and turning on my computer to record our conversation as I continued,
“These are the same qualities I saw in his Dad, but with a different flavor. So, I figured the difference had to come from his Mom. I know that most stories of success are really family stories. So, seeing CJ and interviewing Jimmy, I knew I needed to speak to you to get a better picture of Jimmy and that time around 9/11.”
We jumped right into the deep end of our conversation talking about the days immediately after 9/11, when Jimmy, now the only surviving Principal of the three that directed the firm at Sandler O’Neill, had to come up with a way to support the families of those killed that day and, in parallel to this, rescue the firm from collapse.
Entire departments of the firm were depopulated. All of the records of their business dealings were gone. They had to reconstruct who their clients were and the contacts developed by now deceased colleagues, establish what the contractual arrangements were, rebuild their information technology support, find qualified replacements for those lost and a host of other crises, while also tending to the human calamity they faced and the unspeakable loss to the families of their loved ones.
Bereft families had to tend to immediate issues about insurance, house payments, what to do about kids in college and a thousand family issues couples struggle with together. Many families turned to Jimmy to help them figure these matters out. All the while, the steady cadence of memorial services and funerals continued for months along with the utterly exhausting shock of it all.
Sandler O’Neill decided to extend payment of salaries to the families of the deceased. A foundation was established to provide for the families’ health insurance and kids’ educations.
Sandler was the first firm on Wall Street to do this. The conventional wisdom at the time and the best advice of experts was that firms should not do this for the families. That it would undermine the capitalization of the firms, thereby weakening their business positions and their reputations for financial stability in the market. Jimmy, with absolutely no guarantee of success, did it anyway. Sandler O’Neill and Jimmy Dunne became the role models for the rest of Wall Street and earned the well-deserved esteem they wear today.
“I was trying to support my husband any way I could.” Sue began with a raw tenderness for old and dear friends who had passed away, some friends whom Jimmy had known since his teens. ”Jimmy needed me. I needed to go out to our friends. My days were spent going to funerals.”
“It was a Wall of Black! 9/11 was just black. It was just the darkest of the dark.” Sue said of that time.
In that blackness, Sue described a surprising respite. It was what she felt while at the memorial services and funerals.
“The feeling was so peaceful. Going to those funerals with people feeling the same way. We were able to share their lives. You got to hear about their lives from people who really loved them. You never wanted to leave. It was safe in there. You heard so many wonderful things about people you loved very much.”
We talked about the challenges of raising kids through all of this. I recalled my experience in the Balkans during and after the war there. When given the chance, kids would want to draw over and over their experience of what happened. Of course, this is the effort of a child with limited language skills to try to understand what they had experienced. The issue becomes one of helping the child find words to not only describe what happened, but to have a way to give meaning to the loss in a way that frees up their motivation to build their future in a positive way and not paralyze them with fear or rage.
“I spent the first 3 months going to funerals. I wanted to get out there and let them know we were there for them. Trying to do what we could… We needed to get out and support them as much as we could.”
I thought, this was a real sign of who this woman is. She didn’t have to “get out and support them,” but she “needed to.” This is the heart of a leader, the heart of a caring friend.
“I was delighted I could go. It was a privilege. It was hard for me to stop. I loved being there supporting the families.”
I asked Sue about any lessons she picked up from those days. Was there a way to summarize what she learned for CJ or another teenager? What would she say?
“It sounds so simple, like such a cliche, but it’s important to live your life to the fullest all the time. Be there. Show up!”
“You don’t want to be in the position where you say to yourself ’I really should have showed up more for this person.’ Or, sit there and blame others. Or, sit there and blame Muslims. It’s about helping other people. Getting going with your life.”
This is the mystery and the beauty that’s so often found after such a terrible event. Sue found a great comfort learning about and appreciating the humanity of those who were lost. These memorials were a straight path to the pure uncovered love that people felt for those lost. Being present for this kind of sharing exposed the link that connects us all, a link that is often hidden by the turmoil of our day. In a time of crisis, some people help us see that link by their care, their presence. Sue showed up not only for Jimmy and her kids, but very personally for scores of families. Sue remembers the love.
The next post explores getting clear on the Prize and the Price to, like Sue, make a choice from our Compassionate Identity.
Related Posts:
A wonderful story from the Balkans: ”Compassion, Fantastic Coffee and My Shock”
Sue’s husband, Jimmy, is talked about in this post: ”Resilience and Leadership: Jimmy Dunne.”
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