Day 10 Novi Sad The Weight of History

Walking back to the ship this afternoon, Donna and I decided to step into the Museum of Contemporary Art Vojvodina. At the entrance, a kind gentleman greeted us and explained the layout — a Chinese exhibition on the lower level and two exhibits upstairs. There are no permanent collections here. The space felt stark, almost bare. When I hear “contemporary art,” I expect bold statements, big gestures, something that pushes at least a little. But what we encountered was quieter… and, in its own way, heavier.

Upstairs, one of the displays was titled “Invisible Fronts – World War I and Vojvodina.”
It explored the often-overlooked role this region played during the First World War. Positioned at the crossroads of empires, Vojvodina became a landscape of shifting borders, divided loyalties, and quiet acts of resistance. While the major battles raged elsewhere, the people here endured political pressure, conscription, cultural suppression, and the silent hardships of life behind the front lines — the kind of war that doesn’t make headlines but shapes generations.

Many of the countries and cities we’ve visited on this journey document the atrocities of war, but this exhibit held us in place. The gas mask. The sculpture of a young child being carried. A suffering dog. Horses rearing in panic. A German SS uniform. Even in a museum setting, these reminders of fear, oppression, and human vulnerability shake something deep.

I graduated high school in 1974. The draft had been cancelled; I didn’t have to go to Vietnam. To those who served, to those who went to war — thank you. I can only imagine the memories you still carry, the images that follow you long after you’ve come home. The horrors we see in a museum are only shadows of what you witnessed in real time.

As Americans, we have been sheltered from so much of the devastation European countries endured on their own soil. The closest we have come is Pearl Harbor and 9/11 — tragedies, yes, but brief moments compared to decades of suffering here.

The other upstairs display moved me even more:
“Victory Belongs to Women: Women of Vojvodina in the Struggle Against Fascism.”

This exhibit honors the bravery of the women who resisted occupation, carried intelligence across borders, sheltered fighters, and in many cases took up arms themselves. Figures like Lepa Radić, executed at just 17 for refusing to betray her comrades, and countless others whose names echo through this region’s history, stood as symbols of courage far beyond their years. It’s a reminder that war is not only fought by armies; it is shaped by the quiet, determined strength of women who refused to let their homeland fall without a fight.

At dinner, I asked Donna what she thought. She said these women were successful because women are often not seen. They could move quietly, unnoticed, dismissed — and use that invisibility to save lives.
Who decided men were in charge anyway?
Oh, right. A man.

As we left the museum, we were both silent.
Not the heavy silence of sorrow, but the reflective kind — the kind that settles into your bones and asks you to notice how fortunate you are, how fragile peace can be, and how much courage exists in ordinary people. We walked back toward the ship without many words, letting the weight of history sit with us for a while.

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