Ivor Karabatković // There’s nobody that’s more equipped to tell my story than I am.
Hey guys,
Ashley here. Over the existence and duration of Garden24, stories have been central to what we do. Stories of joy, sorrow, loneliness, heartbreak, freedom. When it comes to our stories, we often think we’re alone, when really, we’re in good company. These interviews hopefully serve as a way to hear another story, to resonate with similar experiences, but also to learn and celebrate our differences.
When I met Ivor years ago, we were sitting on the floor at a friend’s house in Nashville. We were all strangers, and slowly, as we began to tell our stories to our group — as much or as little as we wanted to — we became friends.
Years have passed since that day, but his incredible story remains. Full of endurance and healing, here is Ivor’s story of fleeing to America as a kid, adjusting to a new normal, and what it looked like to return to his home country after a civil war.
Ivor: You know, I was born in Yugoslavia, at the time, 1989. I’m 31 today. The country ended up in a civil war, right around like 1991 or 1992. I was three years old, and I was born to a Croatian father and a Serbian mom in Bosnia. We were able to get out somehow, by the grace of God. We were able to get out of the country, and we fled to Croatia, and then eventually made it to Germany to seek asylum. My mom wouldn’t have been welcomed in Croatia; my dad as a Croat wouldn’t have been welcomed in our hometown out in Bosnia at that time. They were recruiting basically all the men to be part of armies, and my dad didn’t want to have any kind of part of that. We really had no choice but to leave. As a mixed family, we also kind of had a target on our backs. The fighting was very much like neighbor against neighbor — sometimes even brother against brother. It’s so heartbreaking. We were lucky enough to escape all of that. So, I want to say in the spring of 1992, we arrived in Germany. My mom went first from Croatia to Germany. She found work. In hindsight it turns out, she was trafficked. She lived with his woman and other refugee families. This woman and her brother, essentially got the families through Germany, got them jobs, but then kept their wages. And, you know, [it was a] really a really dark moment for my mom.
I didn’t realize that [she was trafficked] until it was one morning I picked up my phone and I was reading the news. Currently in Bosnia, there’re a lot of migrants from Syria and the Middle East, and they are right on the border of Bosnia and Croatia, which is the European Union border. There was this news story about migrants being trafficked across the border for labor. And when you hear of trafficking you hear of like, sexual trafficking. You don’t really hear that there are other aspects of trafficking and the dots just connected in my mind. My mom had a court case. And she won. This lady and her brother were — I forget if they were deported from Germany or what — but they faced consequences. Long story short, my mom went first, went through that, and then my dad and my older brother and I followed about six months later, to join her. So we really fled Bosnia thinking that we were going to flee and stay in Croatia for about two or three weeks. We had like two suitcases. We were not planning to be gone forever.
We had stayed in Germany. I grew up there, and we, I believe, found some sort of belonging, some sense of normalcy. My parents both worked. We went to school. In 1998, we had to essentially go back to Bosnia because the war had ended, and we didn’t need asylum anymore. Or we could go elsewhere, to a third country.
Being a mixed family — schools to this day (this was 25 years ago) are segregated, you know, based on nationalities and based on faith and religion and we just couldn’t go — we had nowhere to fit in, as a mixed family — as mixed children. We would just continually have this target on our backs and it wasn’t safe. You know, there’s no running water in a lot of places, no electricity. We kind of hesitantly applied for a lottery to come to the United States. We had looked at Australia, New Zealand, Canada, and the States. We had some friends that made the journey to America to Cleveland, Ohio, specifically, prior to us. So we chose to go to Cleveland.
I think there’s a common misconception about immigrants, where they are here to chase after the American dream.
You don’t hear that, you know, we are here reluctantly. And we love it here, don’t get me wrong! I don’t say that in spite of this great country that we live in and the freedoms that we have. But we didn’t come here chasing any sort of dream. I asked my dad one time what he thought about that sentiment and he said, “Yeah, Ivor, you know, we wanted you and your brother to have a place where you could go to college, where you could have an education, where you could have running water and electricity.” Like the basic things where we could just survive! In Germany — we really wanted to stay in Germany — we felt like we had a community there. But they limited the type of schools that you can go to as an immigrant and as a refugee. We could go to trade schools, but not college, and you know my brother’s an electrical engineer. He graduated from Ohio State, and really the sky’s the limit here. My parents knew that and they instilled these values of hard work and perseverance. We were able to make a life for ourselves here. We both have families. My dad jokingly said, you know, he was asking me — we’re renting right now in Nashville and [he] jokingly said, “You want to buy it?”, and I said we were kind of open to it. We’re at the point where we’re looking at buying a house probably in 2021. He said, “Who would have thought that our family — immigrating here with two suitcases, knowing nobody, not knowing the language, and here we are, we’re gonna own three homes in America.” You know, and it was like this proud moment for him again. We’ve come a long way. We really have.
What was it like when you guys first came to America? You went from Bosnia to Germany to Cleveland, Ohio, yeah?
Ivor: Cleveland is a very diverse city. We emigrated at the time where other families emigrated too. In my fourth grade class, we had a lot of other kids who were from different parts of the world — from Palestine, Lebanon, Albania, Serbia, you know just different parts of the world, that also were moving here. I remember my ESL class being so full of kids, and even though the city itself was diverse, the school district had no clue what they were doing. I was able to talk with my principal and a fourth grade teacher — my ESL teacher — and in hindsight, was asking questions and they had no clue what they were doing. They were just kind of trying things out and they were really able to accommodate us to the best of their abilities and help us.
There’s a couple of other pain points. You start to deal with kids with trauma, you start to deal with behavioral issues when a kid is completely over overwhelmed and doesn’t know what’s going on. All of a sudden he’s asked to perform in a school setting. Those are some of the heavier things and harder things that the school district and our teachers had to deal with, for the very first time in their career sometimes. I’m thankful that I had an ESL teacher. We still stay in touch. She was my brother’s ESL teacher, too. She was able to really understand us and accommodate, and welcome us and equip us to learn the language but also to, I don’t know, to kind of catch your breath and feel welcome. She was at the core of that. Her name was Amy. We had to really adjust. Thankfully at that age I was, you know, fourth grade kids would play and through play, you would pick up a lot of the language.
You have to assimilate. One of the points that I really want to touch on in talking with you and sharing my story is that you begin to sense that you have to assimilate and you have to hide who you are.
You have to assimilate. And you have to hide the part that makes you different because you get picked on for that. I was picked on for the food that I ate at lunch, I was picked on for the fact that I had an accent. And I would say the wrong things and I didn’t know social cues. And I was picked on for my funny name. You know everybody would call me eye-vohr. I didn’t know enough English to correct my teachers and my fellow students or friends. And so, until I was about 19, I was called eye-vohr, until I finally got the courage to start correcting people in college, you know, to say, “Well, my parents call me eee-vohr or and I feel that this is my name.” I’m going to stick to that. I’m going to reclaim that. And so you begin to as kids pick on you. Or as others pick on you and they kind of pick apart the otherness of you, you begin to put an armor up. Piece by piece. You begin to hide who you are at the core, in order to survive. Nobody wants to get picked on. Nobody wants to be treated like the other. You do everything you can to survive, to coast, to go with the flow. I think a really big part of who I am on the enneagram as a nine — is this idea that I have to minimize my true self to go with the flow and not disturb the peace. Whether that peace was in the classroom or in whatever you know, it was just something I had to do. And it’s taken me 22 years to release that armor to grab on to the part that is actually truly me…I had to reclaim that part of my identity because I truly feel alive when I am boldly proclaiming that I’m an immigrant.
What did you find that you held onto about your culture? What are the things that really stand out to you that are sacred and special and that you want to pass on?
Ivor: I would say my favorite thing is food. Food and music. We are — I say Bosnian, but you know Balkan Yugoslavian Serbian, Croatian, Bosnian, Macedonian and Albanian, you know, food and music are so vital to who we are. Also family is so incredibly important. And I say that, knowing that family is important here in America, too. But it’s different. It’s different.
I feel so close to my family. I can talk to my parents. It’s because it was instilled in us that we are all we have. My brother one time said, it’s really important for us to stay close because one day our parents will pass away. And you and I are going to be the only ones left. Every generation after us is like the second, third, and fourth generation. You know we are Fresh Off the Boat. We are first generation immigrants, you know, we have to stick together. Our family story will be passed on through us. It comes with such a responsibility and heaviness and honor. That’s what I can think of. I would say that, you know, food and music are the closeness that we share as family members, those are really important to me.
You married a half American, half Honduran woman. How have you seen your cultures mesh together, even in your marriage? What are the things that you two have created for yourselves?
Ivor: I think it’s wonderful to see the similarities. There are things that Carolina grew up with that I also grew up with that we haven’t voiced to each other, but in the moment when we see them we’re like, “Oh! This is what my family used to do.” I would be like, “Well, mine too!” There’s this normalcy and kind of going back to dropping the armor — it allows you to be seen and known and loved more deeply. A place that used to bring so much shame and pain is now this deep place of understanding and love. Because we get to understand and love the parts of ourselves that we don’t really get to show all of the world. The little intricacies of home life. We share a lot of them. Carolina shared with me, for example, that I love anytime she cooks, or whenever her dad cooks traditional Honduran meals. I love it. I would eat just that if I could. She always wanted somebody who would appreciate that part of her culture, because it meant a lot to her, you know, and she thought it would be a lot harder to convince her future spouse to have to eat Honduran food, when you can’t stop me from eating it.
What would you say to somebody that maybe hasn’t experienced that closeness? To somebody that was born here in America — what would you want them to know?
Ivor: I think part of sharing my story is part of wanting to do work around immigration and also building bridges between, you know, American immigrants and refugees. It’s really hard to explain when you experience being on the outside looking in. When you experience being the other but when you’re an immigrant and you feel like you’re not represented in your community, you’re not represented in your workplace, in the school that you attend, the church that you go to and worship in. It’s really hard and it’s hard to explain, because it’s very much internal. You feel a sense of not belonging here, like, internally in your body. And it’s very real and you carry it with you. You carry it into new situations.
I would say for somebody who is looking to learn more about the immigrant experience, sit down with an immigrant. Chances are you have a neighbor that immigrated from somewhere. It’s so vital that we share our stories and we listen to each other. Because when you share stories you build bridges and you build understanding and respect. That’s so vital in breaking down those walls between people and making people feel welcome. I would encourage people, if they want to learn about immigrants, to befriend them. Immigrants want to share. They want to share the culture and they want to share where they’re from, and what makes them them. It doesn’t mean they want to overtake the culture here, it’s just that they want to have a place to share the culture and do it in a safe and free way.
I would say for somebody that doesn’t understand what it’s like to be an immigrant, it’s very similar to moving to a new city or new state, but times 100. It’s not knowing the language. It’s not knowing the system, you know, life insurance, car insurance, how to open up a bank account. These are new systems that are so different and challenging.
My father had to go to our pediatric office with a little tiny pocket dictionary that went from Croatian to German to English, how to translate that he wants to set us up as patients. I remember this day, vividly from the pediatric office — we walked to the Board of Education and signed me up for school. And I had to be tested to see how much English I knew, and in the fourth grade I knew as much as a two year old child.
I remember them putting flashcards in front of me and having to read them and guess them and I didn’t know anything. Then you get thrust into, you know, a brand new school and a brand new class where you now have to make friends. Imagine moving to a different city and starting your first day of class — you’re nervous! Now, imagine you take away knowing any social cues and language. It’s scary. Hopefully that paints a picture of the experience. A little bit, yeah definitely where people can see, and maybe see parts of their experience.
You mentioned even before this interview, you had talked about seeing so much growth and healing, even in the last couple of years for you — you got married, there was a lot of change. You started some creative projects. What has growth looked like for you this season?
Ivor: It started when I went back to Bosnia by myself and really just kind of faced the music. Faced where I was from, immersed myself in the culture, and got to talk with people that went through the war and went through similar experiences. That was where I saw the very fact that I’m a mixed marriage individual. I come from a mixed family, and mixed identity, mixed heritage. I don’t know what the right term is to be honest. I’m just now re-discovering. That very fact was — I was bullied as a child, you know here in Germany and even from refugee kids from the same parts of the world because I wasn’t blank enough. I wasn’t Bosnian enough or I wasn’t Croatian enough or Serbian enough. I always had the other part of me and my identity, thinking out, you know, and they would pick on me for that.
Then you get thrown into a situation where the war’s over and people are trying to get on with their lives. Some of the same sentiment that existed before the war where people just want to get along, especially in our family circle. We didn’t really discriminate against [anyone]; we weren’t taught that sort of prejudice or hate. We were taught to talk to respect everyone, regardless of their nationality. And so you get thrown into this — and I’m mixed — I have to make friends with everybody and I have to build rapport with everybody and I find a commonality with everybody, and in that it brings out this humanity. This beautiful picture of: we are all humans and we’re all in it together. We all desire for peace, and we all desire for our home country or homes and our communities to be strong and to be a peaceful place. To be a place where everybody can thrive and grow.
That’s where it started really — I started to see that these parts of me that were isolated and picked on in the beginning, are now an open door and a bridge to build rapport and to build understanding and bridges for others. And that’s when I really kind of started to explore, well, who am I then? Why am I made this way? Why do I have the story that I have and the identity that I have? Why am I the way that I am?
That led to a second trip with my parents and getting to see them face the same music and face some of the trauma that they experienced with leaving. Leaving family behind, leaving careers behind. That was really instrumental because I got to see — wait a minute! I am playing a part in their journey. And that was really powerful and meaningful to me. And then, you know, getting married, and realizing — wait a minute! I have to make sure my wife understands where I’m from and where my parents come from. I desire that our kids one day, God willing, will have an understanding of where their father is from a little bit. That’s been a big part of owning my story.
Tell me about the place that you live now and what it’s like.
Ivor: We moved to a town part of town that is incredibly diverse. We moved to a part of town that is called Little Kurdistan. Every other business we drive down Nolensville Pike is immigrant owned. There’re like 7,000 immigrant owned businesses in Nashville. You see this diversity. You see people that look different than you. I see people walking down our street every day — mothers with children or fathers walking home because there’s a bus stop down the street. There’s a Walmart down the street so sometimes you’ll see them just carrying bags of groceries home…I’ve begun to see the community reflect that diversity back to me. And I’ve become and feel comfortable with saying: I’m an immigrant. And I stand for these things.
You mentioned a photo shoot earlier in our conversation. Can you tell me about the work that you’ve gotten to do in your community these days?
Ivor: We did a photoshoot last night for the Tennessee Immigrant and Refugee Rights Coalition. They just got a new headquarters, and they’re building it. And they hired a muralist to paint a painting. They needed reference photos for him. Originally, he was just going to use his iPhone and take some photos and families and some of the members of TIRRC. They really just empower immigrants, get people to vote, get people to take a census, you know, fight for or against propositions that are discriminatory or oppressive in any way.
So we did this photoshoot, and they brought families in who were in a traditional garb and dress. It was so moving because I got to be myself, and I was surrounded by people who just understood. Who just got it. I didn’t have to strive to have a seat at the table. I didn’t have to pretend because I was the other and I had to vouch for who I was and, like, I deserve to be here and I deserve to have, you know, my voice be heard, or my creative vision be, you know, executed. Whatever it is, you know, I just got to be myself around other people who were celebrated for their difference, for their uniqueness. It lit a fire in me — I’m still buzzing from it.
I got to go through some of the photos and send them and the feedback has been so incredible. We’re going to print some photos to give to the families too so they’re gonna have family photos. We’re gonna get to give back, just for them to be represented on a massive wall on a building of an organization that fights for them.
How has being in this part of Nashville — surrounded by other immigrants and by people that are very similar and different to you — how has that inspired your creativity in the last year?
Ivor: I have opened up people’s stories more — I’ve opened up the listening more. That’s really important. And I’ve also just been encouraged to share my story, to share my perspective. I’m realizing that photography and storytelling and writing — those are very disarming ways — like gentle ways — to present another perspective to humanity to another who might not see things the way you see things. Art has this ability to pierce the heart and the mind in a non-threatening way. Not everybody’s going to get it, and not everybody’s going to understand what you’re trying to say. But there are going to be people who didn’t get it that will get it because of the art that we share and the story that we share. That’s been really encouraging — that’s been kind of my fire — if I can bridge the gap, if I can muster up any sort of understanding in a person who didn’t have that prior to meeting me or seeing my work, then that’s a win. That’s a step in the right direction and that’s really how we’re going to strengthen our communities across the country. And that’s how we’re going to strengthen our country. This is my contribution to the community: making sure that people are represented. And that their stories are documented.
What growth are you hoping to see in the community, in America, in the world? It’s a very broad question — but what growth are you hoping to see in the years to come?
Ivor: America is a very compassionate country and Americans generally are very compassionate people. And I know that currently we’re going through a time where that compassion is kind of being drowned out. Just because another narrative is winning, and louder, it does not mean that compassion has ceased to exist in our communities. And I really wanted to focus on that. Right now I’m working on a magazine, specifically on compassion, and I’m asking people: tell me about a time that somebody helped you — and what did it mean to you?
What I’m finding just, whether it’s in my own story in my family story, or in the stories that I’ve gotten from people in the open call is that the very small things — day-to-day, kind things that you can do for others — are so powerful because you don’t know what you’re going through and you don’t know the timing of what you’re doing for them.
I wanted to put together a collective of stories and portraits, where when you flip through the page, every person looks different, dresses differently, worships differently, loves differently. But really, we’re so alike and we’re so human. I wanted to focus on that. I wanted to show that it’s through compassion and letting our armor down and not letting the fear of not knowing who the other person is and what they’re about get in the way of loving them and getting to know them on a personal level. That’s what I’m after in this project. I don’t have a name for it yet. But the goal.
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Thanks for reading Ivor’s (@ivor.k) story. You can find him, his wife, Carolina, and their two dogs, Birdie and Champion, in Nashville, TN, tending to their photo printing business, Birdie Prints (@birdieprints), one of thousands of immigrant owned small businesses in the city.
Ivor is currently selling his one-of-a-kind, special edition print of President Barack Obama to benefit Nashville’s Edgehill Brighter Days. $50 from each print will benefit the after school program that provides tutoring and mentoring for kids in the Edgehill community in Nashville. This 11x14 print will be signed and numbered as an edition of 25 and will be matted to fit a 16x20 frame.
Want to share your story? Write to me at ashley@garden24.co for the chance to be featured on our blog.
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