I'm trying to think of something I said, but it's easier to think of something I DIDN'T say. I've been well trained, LOL.
At the same time everyone's been talking about the Trayvon Martin case I was coincidentally translating this book (a la Google translate, I barely know any Serbian) that goes into incredible detail about what happened to my kin, ethnic Serbs living as a minority in Croatia, in WWII. It lists every individual, with at least a sentence on who they were, what they did and how they died, along with a narrative on each village as a whole.
I was also becoming aware that we're different from other minorities in the sense that once you get to know us, you realize we all look alike. I'm constantly seeing family member's faces in these stories, making my identification all the more visceral. And all the kids. Toddlers kicked around like balls. Babies, a little four year-old Roknic boy (my grandmother's maiden name) who was lost at Jacenovac. Nuns were giving children poisoned milkshakes there. Grownups were being cremated alive. The Brejze Woods story I posted this week in the creative writing section -- there were so many kids. And if I'm going to write fiction around this I have to get into it as deep as I can, so I'm like really emotionally caught up in it. My son was so beautiful at four. And so bright. He's bi-racial and only one-eighth Serb, but he looks like he just stepped out of steerage. So I keep seeing him in all these stories.
And it usually popped into my mind when the black people around me were talking about Trayvon --all this talk about one dead child. What a luxury. So much attention, and no one's ever paid any attention to us. It was politically expedient to hush it up. At the time they were opening the Holocaust Museum, which has a room about us, there was so much politically expedient propaganda afoot that we were not invited. If you try to find the villages where we were from on Google maps, they're gone, renamed or bulldozed after our Removal in the Nineties. Like we never even existed.
But I never said anything because I knew that if I did, it would be interpreted to mean that I was trying to dismiss what happened because I didn't care, or I was on Georgie's side. The conversation would never go into any detail about where I was really at because there'd either be a dead silence, or it would go into an argument. Whatever the reaction, it was sure not to be remotely related to where I actually was, but somewhere 180 degrees removed. I'd be heard as a white person.