From a very young age, I have been drawn to understanding the human cost of conflict —not through formal education, but simply because it resonated with me on a personal level. One of my earliest encounters with the realities of mass violence is particularly vivid: as a child, I hid behind the couch, secretly watching Schindler's List. Around the same time, the Bosnian War —marked by brutal massacres, forced displacement, and other cruel acts—was also unfolding. Even though I could not fully grasp the complexities of what I was seeing on TV, they prompted me to question how such horrors could occur, and how the rest of the world could allow them to happen. After learning to read, I became captivated by books on these subjects, including The Hidden Children: The Secret Survivors of the Holocaust by Jane Marks and Zlata's Diary: A Child's Life in Sarajevo by Zlata Filipović. Although I had never experienced conflict firsthand, I would often look at buildings and wonder if they could serve as good hiding spots, revealing how these narratives shaped my thinking.
As I grew older, these early exposures fostered a strong sense of connection and deepened my interest in learning more about the lived experiences behind these events, which eventually led me to volunteer at the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum in Washington, D.C., and the Holocaust Museum in Los Angeles. While working in visitor services, I had the opportunity to interact closely with Holocaust survivors, listening to their stories and assisting visitors as they navigated the exhibits. Ultimately, these experiences became an integral part of who I am and significantly shaped my academic interests. During this period, I also began to appreciate the importance of safeguarding both narratives and artifacts, recognizing how they complement each other.
As time passes, the memories of these events grow more distant, and the number of individuals who can recount their experiences firsthand gradually declines. Consequently, our ability to connect with the past increasingly depends on preserved records and testimonies. In this context, digital archives become invaluable; they go beyond simply exhibiting abstract concepts and become a powerful tool for storytelling. For descendants, these records offer a sense of belonging and continuity, providing a direct link to their heritage and family history. Each curated document, photograph, and video represents a fragment of reality, capturing a moment that is part of a much larger narrative. By safeguarding these moments, digital archives ensure that future generations can engage with critical events, regardless of geographic location. In addition to revealing the profound impact of the conflict, they honor the experiences of survivors and commemorate those who perished.
Curating The András Riedlmayer Collection as an intern for the International Criminal Tribunal for the Former Yugoslavia Digital Archives (ICTY DA) allowed me to explore a different aspect of atrocities that is often understudied. Riedlmayer's work exposed that the destruction of cultural and religious sites was not collateral damage during the Yugoslav Wars, but a deliberate effort to detach future generations from their identity and annihilate the group’s cultural memory, even when its members survived. As a result, Riedlmayer’s research and expert testimony became pivotal in promoting accountability for these acts during the ICTY trials and underscoring the necessity of protecting cultural heritage as a fundamental obligation under international humanitarian law.
While the evidence presented by the prosecution holds great significance, I was specifically interested in incorporating relevant defense counsel records into the collection, as they are essential for understanding the complex ethnic tensions in the region and providing a fuller view of the judicial process. These narratives often attempted to rationalize the motives behind the genocidal acts, portraying them as necessary measures to protect ethnic identity or to reclaim historically Serbian territory, that is central to the Greater Serbian narrative. This rationale extended to invalidating or denying the historical and cultural presence of other ethnic communities in certain contexts, while in other instances, depicting that presence as excessive or threatening.
Finally, the ICTY records not only documents the atrocities of the Yugoslav Wars and the suffering endured; it also highlights the strength and resilience of survivors and witnesses, along with the dedication of those who worked tirelessly to ensure justice and promote reconciliation. Their perseverance is a compelling reminder of the power each of us holds to stand up against injustice. This was one of the most important takeaways from my practicum. Though the past cannot be undone, each effort to acknowledge and learn from past atrocities, foster empathy, and amplify the voices of affected communities creates meaningful pathways toward justice and a more compassionate future.
Dedication
I extend my deepest gratitude to The Gladstein Family Human Rights Institute (HRI) for making this practicum possible. My sincere thanks to the faculty and staff for their invaluable guidance, which continues to inspire me.
This post is dedicated to those who have endured the systematic erasure of their identities and the immense challenge of preserving their sense of self in the face of such violence.
