Participants of the public event “Life After the Earthquake – People in Focus” had the opportunity to hear firsthand experiences from citizens affected by the earthquake and the organizations working with them on the ground. Among these stories was a letter from Mrs. Marija from Dankovec, Zagreb, which you can read below.
Dear all,
What does “home” mean to you? What comes to your mind when you say “home”? “How are things at home?” There is nothing more sacred than the word “home” for most people—it’s one of the first words we say in life, something we write about in school essays, a right others guarantee us as fundamental.
I am Marija, from the epicenter of the Zagreb earthquake. On March 22, 2020, my family lost our home. We began to rebuild it, but only in our thoughts and hopes. Because, even nine months after filing for reconstruction, there has been no reply.
I write to you not just for myself, but on behalf of other Marijas, on behalf of my family, my neighbors, acquaintances, and all the other refugees who lost their homes in just a few devastating seconds over the past year and a half. Not just their houses, but their homes.
Because a home, as you surely know, is not made of bricks and walls, it is not just about well-designed foundations, square footage, or numbers on paper. A home is a feeling; it’s people, family, memories. It’s a sense of safety and shelter, something we once believed would remain even when everything else was gone. A home is a place that some of us can no longer return to, where we no longer celebrate holidays and life events—a word we still use when we say, “let’s go home,” only to feel the pain and sting of not knowing where that is. It reminds us what “home” means now. And now, it means more than ever.
Although we have a roof over our heads for now, provided by others, our home is not a rental apartment, container, or camper; it is not the temporary guest room, nor the garages or sheds where we linger beside the ruins that remind us of home. Many of us still live among those ruins, for reasons not everyone can understand—reasons that no one with a home should judge—but which we expect, at the very least, to be respected. Some of us gave up on our homes and sought them elsewhere, far away, the furthest we could go. And no new house or hopeful story or empty promise will bring us back. Some families have been split up; countless dreams and plans have been disrupted or changed. Children have been torn away from their friends, neighborhoods, and streets. And many—far too many—pass away each day before seeing even the beginning of reconstruction, let alone its completion.
And yet, despite it all, no matter how difficult it sometimes seems, no matter how shaken and broken we were by the earthquake, believe one thing: it did not destroy us. No, it made us more resilient, stronger, more united, more determined. It brought out so much good in us. It connected us deeply at a time when distance was the only acceptable way to live. Because of it, we learned how to write petitions and follow-ups; we became e-citizens, finally learned to use a computer in the 21st century. Because of it, we now know the names of the most remote villages in Zagreb and Banija. Because of it, we are learning to trust new professions, to understand the purpose of different bodies and institutions. Because of it, we now respect the forces of nature more, and we are reminded again what “home” truly means, and we value that sweetest of words even more.
And so many of us, seemingly quiet and humble, homeless but carrying our homes within us—listen to us. We won’t take breaks or vacations. We don’t have office hours. We will be here for a long time, and we will expect a lot from you. We won’t stop knocking, writing, calling, speaking, and rightfully demanding answers and reconstruction that is visible and felt. We do not run away from responsibility—we take it on. We are not numbers or statistics for European reports. We are not enemies or unruly citizens. We want to have a home again. We are working toward that every second of our lives. One day, we will be able to tell our children that we did everything we could to have a home again.
As one beloved character we all know, Ježurka Ježić (Hedgehog Jež), once said:
“Dear little home, my freedom,
Forever I’ll be loyal to thee,
I wouldn’t change you for anything!
In you, I live free of worry and fear,
And I’ll defend you until my last breath!”
To everyone at this gathering: I ask that you be aware of our struggles, that you help us, and that through the reconstruction ahead, we gain more than we lost. Let us remember: the day before yesterday, we were the ones who lost our homes; yesterday, it was others in floods and fires; tomorrow, it could be someone else sharing our fate.
Let’s not allow anyone to be denied the chance to return to their home, to rebuild it, and to have it again.
With heartfelt regards,
Marija from Dankovec, Zagreb
September 30, 2021