What Makes Us Kind?, vol. 1

On car rides, compassion, and quick days in Macedonia

I don’t usually get into cars with strangers. Except that time I hitchhiked in Chile, or got stranded in Turkey, or a couple of weeks ago in Macedonia... but otherwise, no.

After goodbyes in Sofia, I loaded myself onto a minibus to Skopje, Macedonia. In about two hours, we reached the Bulgaria-Macedonia border, driver ushering us out of the vehicle and rushing to find the immigration attendant on staff. I hid in the shade, making small talk with fellow passengers.

Have you been safe traveling all alone for so long?, asked a concerned Macedonian man after hearing how long I’d been wandering the world. Yes, I said. Mostly, it’s been fine. The other backpackers and I discuss where we’re staying and our plans in Skopje, before we’re finally beckoned out of the shade.

As we queue to step into a new bus on the other side, the Macedonian man walks back over to me. Your hostel is on the way to my house, he says. My wife is picking me up, you’ll come with us.

Confident that he wasn’t a murderer, I grinned at his unexpected kindness. His wife walked me to the door of my hostel, leaving her phone number. In case you need anything, she said.

Macedonia Square.

Many times in the past year, I’ve been startled by the kindness of strangers; I’ve thought about why kindness, in the West, is so hard to find.

In Macedonia, I felt a kinship I didn’t expect. The history of Macedonia (which I learned while hiding from summer heat in the Museum of Macedonian Struggle) paralleled the history of societies I have long admired, including my own. It paralleled the societies that I run towards, because I’ve learned that resilience and shared struggle is what creates kindness.

For five centuries, Macedonia sat under the Ottoman Empire; for 80 years after that, it sat within Yugoslavia. The Museum of Macedonian Struggle focused on the last 100+ years of its quest for self-reliance, from the 1880s to 1990s.

One of Macedonia’s turning points was the Ilinden Uprising of 1903, an unsuccessful but critical moment in Macedonia’s fight for independence. The “gemidzii,” a group of young Macedonian anarchists, attacked foreign-funded facilities to draw global attention to the Macedonian cause — while prioritizing the protection of innocent life.

“Their sacrifice and faith in the righteousness of the chosen path made their deed immortal and left a lasting mark in the collective memory of the Macedonian people, showing that life without freedom is meaningless.”

—Ilinden Uprising exhibit, Museum of Macedonian Struggle

Ottoman rule proved to be ruthless and oppressive for Macedonians, with the combination of Turkish authoritarianism and local rebel groups creating a Macedonia that was “perpetually drenched in blood.”

After the Balkan States broke off from the Ottoman Empire in the early 20th century, self-determination for Macedonia became only more complicated. In the Balkan Wars (1912-1913), Macedonia was divided between Serbia, Greece, and Bulgaria — a split that ignored the ethnic makeup of the region. It was absorbed into Yugoslavia following WWI, finally establishing its own republic within Yugoslavia after WWII. Throughout these wars, Macedonians continued to fight suppression of their language and culture, as well as rule from a communist dictatorship. Their resistance persisted until eventual independence in 1991.

View of The Museum of Macedonian Struggle from the Stone Bridge.

The day before I walked through the Musuem, I wandered into a busy restaurant. The staff shuffled into order, pushing forward what I assumed to be their best English-speaking waiter to say hello. As I ate my gnocchi, he sat across from me during his breaks to bookmark the must-see places in Macedonia on my phone, ask about what brought me to his corner of the world, and make sure I knew exactly how to get to my next destination.

I watched him call the bus station for the third time, intent on getting me a reply to a question I hadn’t even asked of him. It was so kind.

Skopje’s Old Market.

I’ve often thought about how the kindest people I know are those lacking some facet of privilege. I’ve pondered about how empathy requires some knowledge of adversity. A 2016 study echoes my observation — people who have experienced setbacks become kinder, more compassionate members of society.¹ The same was true, I theorized, for societies as a whole. Collective struggle creates collective empathy, collective systems of care. These collective systems are often forgotten in the world I grew up in, but not the worlds I choose to fling myself towards.

In Macedonia, the Ilinden Uprising — a symbol of unity and collective struggle — placed high value on shared responsibility. Habits of community reliance built during the Ottoman rule and Yugoslav era carried to today, with Macedonians leaping towards me to make sure I was cared for.²

How can I carry this kindness with me?, I wondered, thinking of all times this past year that a stranger’s compassion has startled me.

How can I remember to offer help so generously to strangers?

How do I tell shared stories of resilience in societies that can seem so fragmented by background or belief? Is there a shared history to tell?

How can I see adversity better myself, and help others to see it, so our shared empathy grows together?

How do I create the communities that startle me?

Macedonia Square.

As I prepared to leave Skopje, I asked the woman running our hostel if she could help me get a taxi to the bus station.

You’ll come with me, she said to me with kind eyes. I’ll drive you.

Thanks for reading VERY LOST. A big thank you to my newest paid subscriber,

Kwame Boler

. As generous people to continue to support me here, I’m revamping what I can offer paid subscribers. You can learn more here.

Here are a few other reads that I’ve loved lately:

• I curated the first issue of Unlocked, a publication showcasing work from BIPOC writers and creatives on Substack (the platform I use to send these newsletters).

• Caterina
  interviewed me for her publication, Freedom Focus — read it here.

• andy nwannem
  writes a complicated perspective on what it means to be both Black and gay, and how she now chooses to identify herself.

• lala thaddeus
  wrote an explosive essay recently on the fallacy of living danishly, but her past essay from the anniversary of the Armenian Genocide truly captured my heart.

• My favorite thing from Black Music Month has been

  Alex Lewis
  ’s essay on Childish Gambino and Tyler, the Creator dancing in the desert.

1. This isn’t true in all cases. “…Whereas a majority of individuals demonstrate resilience to traumatic events, a minority of individuals continue to display chronic dysfunction following trauma” (Lim & DeSteno, p.6).

2. This correlation isn’t unique to Macedonia. I’ve observed it across Asia, South America, and Africa, to varying degrees.