J.D. Scott

Projects: Innocents

Innocents: The Trials and Triumphs of Children of War is a photography and oral history project that captures the faces and words of children growing up in declared war zones and in the inner cities of the United States. The international photographs were made during an extended trip to Bosnia and Croatia in 1995. The purpose of the exhibit was two-fold: 1) to document the similarities in the psychological trauma experienced by children who are struggling to survive, whether they live in countries disrupted by war or in urban American neighborhoods disrupted by poverty and crime; and 2) to showcase the resilience of children, whose beauty and strength of character are often at odds with their horrific stories of physical and mental trauma. The tone of Innocents is one of realism, but also of hope and inspiration.

When I lived with my grandmother, I liked to help her carry firewood and branches. Sometimes my daddy helped us, but then the war came, and they took him away from me. Now he lives in a concentration camp.When the war is over, I would like to build a big house. I will be a teacher, and we will all live together.Ivan Dostal, 5My mother left us a long time ago, and when the war started, our father went away to be a soldier. He said he wanted to die, because our mother wouldn’t take care of him. He got his wish; the army made his grave somewhere.My brother has a big imagination. They told him that our father is dead, but he always says that daddy is a prisoner, and he is coming home again.I like living in the children’s home; it is the nicest place I have ever lived. I can sleep here. I like feeding the rabbits, and taking care of my brother and the other children. I give them love, so that they will not lose themselves. Ivana Dostal, 7Lipik, CroatiaIvan and Ivana Dostal live in the Lipik Children’s Home.
   
I was happy when the war came. My mother turned on the radio, and they said kids didn’t have to go to school. It was fun until the shooting and bombing. Then sometimes I was so afraid, I wet my bed.I was 7. My mother and I left Sarajevo, and my father stayed to work. He and I were alike in everything; we even looked alike. We played soccer and tennis and volleyball, and we were always together.When my sister was born, my father tried to come see us, but his truck was hit by a mortar, and he died. No one can know what war is until they have lost someone. You lose your mind and don’t want to talk to anyone. You think you are totally crazy, and you are afraid of everything.Tell the people who started this war that it is not good for anyone. It’s not even good for them, because they are going against God. God sees. And hey can die, too. Dragan Kouvacevic, 10Sarajevo, Bosnia
   
We were sitting in a cafe drinking tea when the Serbians came. They took us to a camp and asked my father if he wanted to wear their uniform. He said, “No, I want to live with my family.” So they burned him with cigarettes and made us watch. Then they cut his throat.The soldiers said to me, “Make the Serbian sign,” but I ran away. They shot at me, but my name means “little snake,” and they couldn’t find me in the dark.I was in a Red Cross center when I heard the name of my mother and sister on the radio. They came on a bus, and I ran to meet them. My mother was crying, and she said, “Thank God that we are alive.”Last winter there was no food, and I was very hungry. I started begging. At first it was hard work, but now it’s easy. I start when school gets out at noon and quit at 10 p.m. because of the curfew. Almost every day I make enough money to buy a bread and marmalade. Delic “Smook” Sanel, 11Zenica, BosniaDelic Sanel has juvenile onset diabetes.
     
  
I was 11 years old when the war came to my hometown, Doboj. My mother brought my grandmother and me to Croatia so that we would be safe. But my mother couldn’t leave her cleaning job, so she went back to Bosnia. We all thought that the war would end soon. Every day, for a year, I said to myself, “This is the day that I will go home to Mama.” That day never came. Once I dreamed that my mother was standing by my window, calling my name, but when I woke up, no one was there.It has been three years since I have seen my mother, and I miss her so much. I am especially lonely when I see other children talking with their mothers. Then I think, “I have no one to hear my secrets.” The worst part is that I can’t remember what my mother looks like. If I passed her on the street, I would just walk by. I want to die when I feel that I will never see my mother again. In these moments, I take paper and pen and write a poem. I could tell my feelings to a friend, but I feel stronger and safer writing them down. Then all my suffering is on paper. Ramiza Ahmetovic, 14Doboj, Bosnia
   
I am looking impatiently all around meAnd I am saying to my heart,“She will come; she will come.”But with every new dayMy hope from the past night dies.She remained on the other sideWhere people are not people anymore.Where every day there is sufferingAnd everyone is threatened with extinction.I go to sleep at night in my tearsMaking a list of old memories in my head.I came here to save my lifeAnd I left my mother to suffer there.Still my mother’s time will comeWhen all people will stand togetherThen happy, I will go home to DobojAnd fall upon her beloved breast.Ramiza Ahmetovic, 14Doboj, Bosnia
   
I was sleeping when the war came to Banja Luka. There were rockets and bombs, and our most famous mosque was destroyed. I wanted to pray, but I wasn’t sure that I believed in God. You can’t see God, but you see all the terrible things that happen around you. The soldiers came every night to steal money and furniture from our home. When we didn’t have anything left, they beat my brother with their guns. He was six, and he was innocent. I was eight, and I wanted revenge. We were always afraid of a big red vehicle. When it came to your house, people disappeared. One day it came and took my father to a concentration camp. The soldiers let him go when we paid $11,000 and gave meat to the army. When we finally left Banja Luka, the soldiers went through our bags and stole my soccer uniform. My parents gave it to me before the war, because I was the top student in my class. I wanted to kill those soldiers. It’s difficult to say but true. Mostly I like peace and don’t want to kill anyone. I lived through all these things, because of the love I feel for my family and city. It’s only love that lets you survive a war. Mirza Cizmic, 10Banja Luka, Bosnia
     
  
When the Serbs came to our door, they gave us five minutes to get out. We couldn’t take anything with us, except two blankets. The soldiers made us go to a concentration camp at my school. All the tables and chairs were broken, and they had ripped our art work from the bulletin board. I wanted to scream, but my mother said, “Shut up. If they hear you, they will kill you.”They put the men behind barbed wire, and the women and children in the schoolrooms. We were always cold, because it was winter, and the windows were broken. Some days our neighbors brought us food, but usually we had nothing to eat. At first the soldiers said they would protect us, but little by little they killed us. Children were not allowed to cry. I learned to keep my mind and face blank, so that I would not die.One day the guards took a three-year-old boy and hung him from the swing set. They made everyone watch. My mother put my head down, so that no one could see me crying. Later they killed his mother, too. What I miss most from before the war is my doll. She was a real doll, made from cotton, with a bonnet. My father gave her to me before he died. In the refugee camp, the Red Cross gave me a Barbie doll, but she isn’t real — you can’t hug her. Still I take her to bed with me, and talk with her and tell her fairy tales. Sometimes I say, “Barbie, we are going back to Bosnia soon.”Alisa Canovic, 12Prijedor, Bosnia
   
I worry all the time about being hurt or killed by another kid. I’ve been on the alert since I was 10. If you move your finger just a little, I’ll notice. And if someone is walking behind me, even 20 feet, I can feel it.The other day I was driving a friend home, and I let my mind wander. Then I heard gunfire and brakes squealing. I didn’t know what to do. Because I dropped my guard for a second, I might have gotten us killed. I wish there was a man in my family who could tell me the secrets of life. My father died of alcoholism, and I don’t have anything to go by. We did play catch once, when I was seven. That really stands out in my mind. I have three things to remember my father by: a piece of his blue workshirt, a Scripture from my mother, and the tissue I cried on at his funeral. I saved them in a little black bag. One day, during a track meet, I tied the bag to my shoes. When people asked me about it, I said, “Your daddy is here, ain’t he? Well, my daddy is here too.” And when I came around the last curve, I felt like something was pushing me. I wasn’t just running on my own energy anymore. Chris McCord, 16Atlanta, GeorgiaChris McCord plays alto saxophone, runs track and is the drum major in his high school band. He hopes to be a professional dancer and currently performs with Moving in the Spirit, a nonprofit dance group in Atlanta, Georgia.
   
Until I met Eddie, there was never any safe place. We had a lot of trouble inside our house. My father beat up my mother, and I got thrown everywhere. Then when I turned five, my mother started sending me to the store to buy Coke and BC powders. It was usually around 11:30 at night, and she gave me a lot of money — $10 or $20. The trip took about 10 minutes, but it seemed like hours. There were vacant houses on both sides of the street, with drug dealers inside. Every night I heard shooting, and I could see people selling drugs and fighting. When I got to the store, I asked the owner to watch me go home. He stood outside and sometimes walked me to the corner. But I always thought, “Any minute now, I’m going to get killed.”I used to throw up a lot and have headaches. Then when I was seven, I met Eddie. Eddie is trustworthy and honest. He took my brothers and sisters and me out to eat, and he drove us to church on Sundays. When he took us home, I never wanted to go inside. I always wanted to stay with him.After I met Eddie, I stopped being afraid all the time. I know I still might not live to grow up, but I think I survived this long because I had a little courage. I always told myself I could do it. I could get home safe.Vincent Quinn, 14Jackson, MississippiEddie Spencer is a youth worker in Jackson, Mississippi.
     
  
My father is my friend. Before the war we rode our bicycles and played soccer together. He was good at marbles. When I fell asleep watching TV, he carried me to bed, and in winter he warmed my sheets for me. I told myself, “When I grow up, I want to be a father just like him.”I was 11 years old when the war started. My mother, sister and I took the last train out of Sarajevo, but my father stayed to work. He was an engineer at the television station.At first we talked to my father by phone, but then the lines were cut. Two and a half years went by, and every day I missed my father’s love and good heart. Sometimes I dreamed that he was dead. Other times I woke up just as he was about to be hit by a bomb. I cried alone in my room and thought, “If my father dies, I will kill myself.”Last summer, at 6:00 in the morning, we heard a knock. My mother opened the door, and there was my father. I couldn’t believe it. I ran to him and hugged him and cried. I thought to myself, “Now everything will be all right.”Drazen Dzonlagic, 14Sarajevo, BosniaDuring the worst shelling, for three months I had only plain beans to eat, without oil or salt. There was no electricity, and after work I sat in the dark, doing nothing. My only thought was that I must survive. I must eat everything possible and stay normal in my mind, so that I would see my wife and children again. I lived for that time.Zlatko DzonlagicThe Dzonlagic family lives in a refugee camp in Kutina, Croatia.
   
I went to school one day and suddenly the war came. The shelling became harder and harder, and for four and a half months, we lived in the basement. There were 30 other people with us, including 10 children, in a room 20 by 25 feet.You can’t have a life in a basement. You only wait for your destiny. It is almost completely dark, and every day, you are cold and afraid. Sometimes you play cards or try to sleep, but mostly there is too much noise and fear to do anything. When the shelling stops, you go outside to see the sun. But the whole time, you think, “Any second, I will be hit by a mortar.”When Jajce fell into enemy hands, my father found a truck driver to take our family to Zenica. Like my father, I was born in my town, and I thought I would live there my whole life, working with tourists. But when I came out of the basement and saw that every building was destroyed, I had a feeling I was never coming back.Now, I am a refugee, and when I finish high school, I will be a soldier. If there is any chance for my country, I want to fight for her. I am not afraid to die; it is something that happens to you only once.Dario Bibic, 17Jajce, Bosnia
   
I don’t like to talk about the past. I only think about my life now, in the refugee camp. It is nice here. We have a dance group, and there are six of us who practice every day. I love dancing and choreography more than anything. When I grow up, I would like to be a rap teacher.I survived the war because I was brave. And I would advise other children in a war to be brave, too. Think as little as possible about what has happened to you, and this will save your strength.Zilhalda Jakypovic, 12Babic, BosniaAt 9, Zilhalda was wounded in a mortar attack and spent three months in a concentration camp. The attack was launched against a lineof 10,000 refugees and also killed Zilhalda’s mother.
     
  
Dear friend,I don’t know where to begin. Everything is mixed in my head, and I want to forget it all. I want to wake up in the morning and start again, without the war, the hate and the differences between people, and with all my friends and neighbors who are dead.I ask myself, Who needs this war? Is someone feeling better now, when thousands of people have been killed or have lost their friends and homes? I am an ordinary girl, just like any other eighteen-year-old in this world. I like to laugh, to learn, to dance and listen to music. I’m supposed to start college next year, but it seems that there is no school to go to. It isn’t just about me — it’s about all the young people in Bosnia.I want everyone in the world to know that we are all the same. It doesn’t matter your name, the color of your skin or the place where you come from. All these trivial things can’t pay the price of one person’s life. All the time, I was trying to be the silly girl I once was, but now I know that I will never be that person again. No one can be the same after this war.Anita Grabner, 18Gornji Vakuf, Bosnia
   
During the war we were hiding in the basement. At first there were other children and we played games, but then I was alone. The basement was cold and ugly. You mostly couldn’t live there, but outside you could hear bombs and the whistling sound of bullets. Many children died and so did their parents.One day my dad and I climbed up to our apartment to get some food. We were going back to the basement when I heard a sniper. I felt the bullet hit my face, and I fell down. My father took me in his hands and asked, “Are you alive? Are you alive?” I told him, “Yes, Daddy, I am alive.”I stayed in the hospital for two months. It was very peaceful. But when I came back to the basement, everyone was still shooting, and it was colder than ever.I am the same person that I was before the war began, and I would like to go back to that time. But my main desire is for the shooting to stop. I want to tell the people who started this war to become still and quiet, and to feel the peace inside themselves. Then they will not need to hurt us anymore. Mirsad Damirovic, 10Gornji Vakuf, BosniaMirsad’s mother, about whom he was unable to speak, was killed while running from a sniper.