The dominant mood when I read the piece, The Glory of War Euphemisms, despite its wit and ironic humor, was sadness. I actually spent a couple weeks in Yugoslavia in 1985, and stayed at an old woman's house in Belgrade who was so poor that her dresses were stitched together out of several patterns of fabric, none of them matching. Without thinking, I offered her the jar of strawberry preserves I had brought along with me on the train trip from Munich. She broke down and cried, saying in broken German-English that it was the nicest thing anyone's ever done for her. When I left Belgrade after an eye-opening week, she bade me a tearful farewell, imploring me to return one day. I never did, of course, and I doubt she would still be there were I to get the chance. When I hear the word "Serb" bandied about, I think of this humble, dirt-poor woman with the tearful smile at her doorstep rather than some abstract notion of the "enemy".

That's why I no longer have television: I choose not to let the relentless imagery drown out my memories of the real Belgrade--of my Belgrade.

--Brett Robbins

Serbian girl wearing a target on her hat with a question mark at the center.  Serbs denounce U.S. NATO Bombing.