Remembrance is not simply a matter of remembering what occurred—it is a process of assigning meaning to pain, drawing strength from memory, and opting to bring the truth into the future. While the world commemorates 30 years since the Srebrenica Genocide, this anniversary transforms into more than just a calendar date. It’s an emblem of continued resistance to denial and forgetting. As one put it, the memorial is “not only a historical moment, but a marker in a war ongoing against denial — of that and so many other horrors.” That speaks to the heart of why remembering continues to be important, particularly for groups that have survived unimaginable horrors.
When humans come together to remember, they’re not simply grieving the past. They’re not going to let history be taken away or distorted. Denial—either through revisionism, silence, or outright deceit—rips open old sores and disrespects those who were lost. Remembering is an act of quiet rebellion, therefore. It says: We see what was done. We remember who was taken. We won’t let them be forgotten. It doesn’t always come easily. Remembering requires honesty and the bravery to face uncomfortable facts. But it also makes recovery possible. By recognizing suffering, communities create space for empathy, connection, and collective resilience.
To counter denial is not merely to get the facts straight—it’s to safeguard the heart of a community. But when we decide to remember—and remember publicly—we open space for truth to breathe. It is that which makes such days as the anniversary of Srebrenica significant. They remind us that memory is not only personal—memory is political, cultural, and profoundly spiritual. It is how communities come to terms with their history and determine what sort of future they wish to create.
In this world of ours, where disinformation travels quickly and historical facts are denied or dismissed, remembrance is an act of rebellion. By remembering, we bring history to life—not to mourn its tragedy, but to celebrate endurance and promote justice. It’s a means of affirming that those lives lost were worth something, and continue to be. And it’s a means of making sure that, even in profound loss, the human spirit keeps on ascending.
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