War is a nightmare.
War is awful.
It is indifferent, devastating and evil.
War is hell, but it is also an incredible teacher.
It teaches us lessons we should never forget.
War forces us to see humanity at its absolute worst, and sometimes we are also blessed to see humanity in its most glorious moments.
I came across this book called Be Exceptional, written by a former FBI special agent Joe Navarro.
The whole book is worth reading, but this story especially stood out to me:
On May 27, 1992, in the city of Sarajevo, a mortar round descended on a group of people who had left their homes and braved sniper fire and shelling during the early stages of the Bosnian conflict, so they could buy bread from the only working bakery.
The Bosnian conflict, which had already taken hundreds of lives, would be defined by cruelty, ethnic cleansing, inhumanity, and the most cowardly of acts.
One of those acts of inhumanity would come to be reframed by the act of one man.
The mortar round landed at exactly 4:00 p.m. as the last rations of the day were being made available.
It immediately killed twenty-two people, and more than one hundred were injured.
Blood, human tissue, and brain matter spattered nearby buildings as high as the third floor.
The smell of blood, explosives, burnt clothing, and human flesh permeated for days—a nauseating reminder of the trauma.
This act of mayhem—one of many, and by no means the last—was levied against a hungry, desperate, and beleaguered people who were being exterminated by mortar rounds, kidnappings, mass executions, or picked off one at a time by sniper fire.
Into the heart of this hell walked a man.
Vedran Smailović had no weapon.
He was not a soldier.
He couldn’t retaliate with skills of that kind.
But he had two things going for him: he had been the principal cellist of the Sarajevo Opera Company—a distinguished opera house—and he cared.
He had to find a way to honor his fellow countrymen who twenty-four hours earlier had been killed or injured.
And so this thirty-seven-year-old did the unthinkable, placing his life at risk, to venerate the dead and comfort the living.
For the next twenty-two days, in remembrance of those killed, he took a chair to where the mortar round had left a crater, and there with cello in hand, wearing his performance tuxedo, Mr. Smailović played Albinoni’s Adagio in G Minor, one of the most soulful pieces of music ever written, with the same fervor as if he were in a concert hall.
Why?
Because it was what was needed.
In the midst of unimaginable violence and death, one man cared deeply about his fellow citizens enough to act.
He could do little but honor those he valued as best he could, using his skill as a musician.
In doing so, he provided comfort and inspiration to an anxious and war-worn people.
Like all exceptional individuals, he asked himself:
What is needed right now?
What can I do?
How can I help?
A stirring song to ease the mind and the pain—this is what he gave.
Did his playing stop the Bosnian conflict?
No.
The war would continue for another three years.
Did it save lives?
Who can tell?
But for about seven minutes each day, his music silenced terror and torment so that others might have a small respite.
By playing with such love, devotion, and tenderness, he demonstrated in the midst of ruin and slaughter that humanity and kindness were still alive—and in that way, he gave his fellow citizens hope.
In the process, quite unexpectedly, he also brought the attention of the world to the horrors that were taking place.
Reporters asked Mr. Smailović why he did it.
His answer was simple:
“I am a musician. I am part of this town. Like everyone else, I do what I can.”
Action and inaction speak loudly.
Doing what we can doesn’t have to be heroic.
Or even all that complicated.
Can you make your world a little bit better?
Can you pick up that garbage someone else threw out near your home?
Can you volunteer at the local school to help kids learn to read?
Can you encourage someone not to quit?
Can you smile at someone as they pass?
Can you donate blankets to refugees from Ukraine?
Can you say to a colleague, “I see you’re busy, let me take care of this.”
These are not heroic deeds.
There is always something more you can do to make the world better.
You can claim to care, to love, to be this or that, but until there’s proof in the form of demonstrable behaviour, those are empty words.
Those who delay, deny, procrastinate, miss opportunities, act slowly, stick their head in the sand, or are bystanders to wrongdoing eventually pay a price.
Your action has potential to positively affect how others view you, and even better, you may influence positive attitude and action in others.
Positive actions for the benefit of others can help them keep going even in dire situations, as Vedran Smailović found when he took up his cello and played his tribute to those who had fallen and for those who continued to endure.
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