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Women: International<br />

also gave the impression that she didn’t<br />

want to talk and that she needed to stay<br />

silent and be strong to face her<br />

husband’s burial. This was a critical<br />

time for her, a time when she had to<br />

start making decisions regarding this<br />

new and poorer life she had entered.<br />

She was grieved by the loss of her<br />

husband, but she was also terrified of<br />

entering even deeper poverty, something<br />

I learned when I came back later<br />

with an interpreter. She spoke little<br />

but kept saying how different life was<br />

now. She explained to me that she<br />

would only send her son to school and<br />

only to primary school. Her daughter<br />

was going to stay at home, and by not<br />

attending school would, like her, enter<br />

the cycle of poverty.<br />

Burundi is one of the poorest countries<br />

in the world. In any underdeveloped<br />

country with a large peasant<br />

farmer population, the death of a young<br />

able-bodied man means a great loss of<br />

income to his family. Expenditures must<br />

be reduced; the widow either reduces<br />

the amount of food she buys or the<br />

quality she has been trying to maintain.<br />

Sometimes, she decides she will eat<br />

only once a day.<br />

I find the silence of women like this<br />

one expressive of a point of view. Talking<br />

about the tragedy unfolding uses<br />

up much-needed reserves of energy.<br />

The combination of observing, taking<br />

in, and emotionally processing the new<br />

realities of one’s life requires extra<br />

strength and resiliency. These women<br />

will need to dig deep into their internal<br />

reservoir of strength to survive.<br />

For journalists to penetrate this protective<br />

wall of silence requires time<br />

and effort. Yet when these women tell<br />

their stories, they are so very different<br />

than men’s and necessary to hear if we<br />

are to understand the consequences of<br />

war. To speak with men in areas of<br />

conflict is to hear them offer precise<br />

descriptions of what happened—how<br />

many people died, where the war was<br />

fought, a bravado about their men colleagues,<br />

and a strong perception of the<br />

enemy, which is not necessarily accurate.<br />

Although the social and historical<br />

backgrounds are different, I found this<br />

to be a common thread as I reported<br />

on conflict in Bosnia, Burundi, Rwanda<br />

and Nagorno-Karabakh.<br />

Among women living amid conflict,<br />

there is a ruthless practicality. They are<br />

very conscious of the fact that they<br />

don’t have mobility and that at any<br />

time they could become refugees.<br />

Young mothers are burdened both by<br />

the care they give to their children but<br />

also to their elders. Yet their constant<br />

state of readiness is different from the<br />

men’s, who think primarily about fighting<br />

back even if it means losing their<br />

lives. For the women, its about crisis<br />

management and different calculations,<br />

such as thinking about things to be<br />

packed and what is possible to carry if<br />

they have to suddenly leave their homes<br />

for good. It is also their responsibility<br />

to think about how to allocate tasks to<br />

members of the family if the time does<br />

come to leave their home.<br />

I have watched refugees at the border<br />

of Burundi and Rwanda and in<br />

Bosnia, Serbia and Croatia. Perhaps<br />

because of the ways in which they’ve<br />

had to think about all of this and prepare<br />

for it, women cope better with<br />

being a refugee than do men. A Serbian<br />

woman left the Krajina, which is sandwiched<br />

between Bosnia and Croatia.<br />

Along with 250,000 refugees, she<br />

walked into Serbia carrying her family’s<br />

clothes in a hand-embroidered tablecloth.<br />

I admired the light yellow tablecloth<br />

with the exquisite blue and white<br />

flowers strewn around the cloth and<br />

told her so. She smiled sadly and while<br />

stroking it explained that she did it<br />

herself when she first got married. Her<br />

children who were with her were now<br />

teenagers. This tablecloth will become<br />

an important part of her family history.<br />

Her smile said so much; no words were<br />

necessary to know that she and her<br />

family were never going back to the<br />

Krajina. The tablecloth symbolized the<br />

loss of her home and land but connected<br />

her to her past identity in the<br />

Krajina.<br />

What I find most fascinating is how<br />

women have a “psychological map” of<br />

the war that is critical for the survival of<br />

their families in the longer term. This<br />

map offers them a way of seeing the<br />

world in its entirety—in its past and<br />

present and future simultaneously. In<br />

interviews, this idea doesn’t always<br />

emerge as clearly as this, and often to<br />

hear women speak of this can be confusing<br />

to listen to. But there is a strange<br />

human filing system there among their<br />

jumbled emotions. A journalist needs<br />

to go back several times and speak with<br />

other women in this community. Out<br />

of these conversations will emerge similar<br />

themes and reoccurring threads, all<br />

of which will create a story that should<br />

be told.<br />

This psychological map consists of<br />

emotional and psychological happenings<br />

of the family and community,<br />

things that become the cornerstones<br />

of family history and, when brought<br />

together, create a community’s collective<br />

memory. In many countries that<br />

experience war, records are rarely kept<br />

of what actually happened: women’s<br />

collective memories become crucial to<br />

the perception of that country’s history.<br />

Women are also, in many instances,<br />

the instigators of peace. On the island<br />

of Bougainville in Papua New Guinea,<br />

conflict broke out between local landowners<br />

and the mining company and<br />

the government on the other side. After<br />

some years of conflict the women<br />

started to initiate dialogue with the aim<br />

of establishing peace. Finally a peace<br />

agreement, initiated by these women,<br />

was reached. So, too, in Sarajevo when<br />

by the end of 1995 the women had had<br />

enough of the miseries of war. In my<br />

interviews with them, there was already<br />

talk of pushing the men towards<br />

accepting peace. Although what happened<br />

politically was more complicated,<br />

the women’s role as movers of<br />

the peace process cannot be underestimated.<br />

Peace is not a political or ideological<br />

stand for these women, rather it<br />

is seen as a necessity. As one woman<br />

put it to me in Sarajevo, “Peace is a<br />

strategy, so my children can live a normal<br />

live.”<br />

One problem with telling these important<br />

stories is that they are difficult<br />

to tell. They take time and sensitivity to<br />

report and cannot be told in quick<br />

soundbites or written as typical news<br />

stories with a tidy beginning, middle<br />

and end. For example, when a war<br />

ends, and the United Nations and foreign<br />

journalists go home, it is left to<br />

<strong>Nieman</strong> Reports / Winter 2001 83

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