From teaching and writing plays to co-founding a cultural center and establishing a career in change management, this alum of the Slavic department continues to find creative ways to connect people with languages and cultures.
Mira Martinović grew up in former Yugoslavia, a place where one could feel stability and instability both woven through the personal identities and politics of the region. She describes her childhood years as being part of a supportive, unified community where family is intimately involved in one another’s lives. It seems to have been the inevitable outcome of being born into a large family — her father was one of ten children — resulting in Martinović having the company of 25 first cousins from that side of her family alone.
The broader community was also tightly knit, as Martinović grew up alongside the same local children throughout her primary school years. Her father, opposed to her learning Russian, intentionally enrolled her in primary schools that focused on English and French instruction. This arrangement didn’t deter Martinović from pursuing Russian studies. The fascination had stuck with her, and it would follow her to the United States when she reached adulthood.
At 18 years old, Martinović began the journey that led her to the University of Washington. The home she left would not be the same when she returned. “I emigrated […] a week to the day before war in Croatia started. And I-I couldn’t grasp it. For months I couldn’t grasp there could be this ‘fall apart.’”
Martinović is not alone. Many today are still searching to come to terms with this conflict and the devastating impact it has had on their lives.
In May, the Slavic department hosted a film screening of "How I Learned to Fly" ("Leto kada sam naučila da letim"). Directed by Radivoje Andrić, the film tells a coming-of-age story that follows a young girl spending a summer with her family in Croatia. The underlying narratives of the film address how the region’s war has affected generations of families and shows how they attempt to heal from the trauma they have endured. During the extended Q&A between Andrić and Professor Bojan Belić that followed the film, audience members expressed a deep appreciation for the universal themes of the film that all ages could understand. Martinović felt this sentiment, too.
“You need to see this film […] it finally represents the unity that we used to have and that we can have — if we are in one country or not in one country, it doesn’t matter — we don’t need to hate each other,” she said. “There aren’t many stories that tell- how do you overcome something so heart-wrenching? I mean, loss of a child. I don’t want to even have to— to imagine any, any, anything like that […] How do you overcome that? How do you forgive?”
“It’s my generation that went to war […] military was mandatory service. And this movie very much speaks to my generation. And that [the film shows that] people in Serbia are crying over a Croatian soldier. That is amazing. That’s a miracle. You know, the people who went to war, who are disturbed by something like this. Because it’ s [felt] in a very basic human, primal, parental level.”
While the audience was reminded of heavy memories from the conflict in the Balkans, the morals and lessons that carried through the film had filled the room with hope for the future.
“I think everybody who saw the movie left feeling uplifted and felt the possibility of this […] healing. […] A lot of things are happening now in Serbia with the students leading protests against the government, which have been brewing for a very long time. And they’re really putting their future on the line […] it’s incredible what these kids are doing,” Martinović continued.
After the Q&A had ended, "nobody wanted to leave afterwards, I mean Bojan [Belić] had to show us out because we were just hanging around,” she laughed, adding that the community gathering and conversations continued long into the night, as they all somehow ended up downtown. “It was great to see everybody.” The event brought out not just the Serbian community, but the Balkan community, Slavic community, students, faculty both actively teaching and retired, children, parents, and grandparents all came.
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When she began her studies at UW, Martinović decided to forge her own path in Russian language, literature, and culture, despite her father’s planning from an early age. “The more I learned, the more I wanted to learn,” she smiled. “And the more I understood that I didn’t know anything.”
She recalled Professor Daniel Waugh as an engaging and humorous instructor and a wise mentor. Waugh encouraged Martinović to take courses in subjects outside of her interests to make the most of her learning at UW; this had a profound impact on her education. “All the topics that I really want to know about I will have learned on my own,” she had realized, and her mind opened to a new world of possibilities. “I think that was brilliant advice, you know, to learn about things you don’t know much about and that are not the focus of your life.”
Russian language played an equally important role in Martinović’s education. She still reveres Professor Zoya Michailovna Polack, her Russian language instructor. “Her lessons, her stories are literary. And those literary stories connect you to the life of the people who wrote them, who lived them, who are described in it, in the language that you’re only learning. And to do that you need mastery. I mean, she’s incredible. To be able to tell you a joke — you’re a beginning Russian learner and she tells you a joke — and you get it. How do you do that?”
After completing her bachelor’s degree, Martinović continued building her knowledge at UW, eventually earning a master’s degree in comparative literature. Her topic of interest was revolutions. This was a subject that had occupied her thoughts for some time and which left her with many questions. She remembered wondering, “how do people take that additional step, to do something from anger, disappointment and so on? How does it happen?” She continued to make connections along the way.
As for her children, Martinović was determined to provide them with the same neighborly environment that she grew up in. With a group of friends, she organized the Saint Sava Serbian Language School — which still operates today — teaching Serbian language to children and teens. During her time as an instructor of Serbian language at the School, Martinović wrote children’s plays to contribute to the students’ interactive learning. She felt it was important to write characters that were real and understandable so that the students would not feel like they were acting.
Martinović’s love for sharing community and culture expanded into other ideas, eventually leading to the formation of the Serbian Cultural Center of Seattle. In 2023, the Cultural Center began to form the now-established Theater Srce (Theater Heart), where Martinović writes and directs for the stage in collaboration with other community members. The Pocket Watch debuted in May as the theater’s first production, performed completely in Serbian language (except for un petit peu français). The story is based on the graphic novel Sat, written by Dragan Lazarević.
“Once I read it, I just fell in love with it. It’s such a universal war story. And we have wars everywhere all the time,” Martinović said. “There’s just suffering. For the people who die, for the people who live, for the people who come back maimed, for the generations afterward, there’s just no end to suffering.”
Martinović adapted the graphic novel into a drama involving 5 or 6 characters, initially planning to stay true to the original story. When the time for community auditions came, she said in amazement, “25 people showed up and said, ‘we want lines!’ and then you have to rework it. And then it grew from that core on which it’s based to a completely different story altogether.” The production now supports a cast, crew, and organizing group that totals 45 volunteers.
“I am telling you the truth: it’s a miracle how everybody wanted to make it as best as possible. None of us are actors. I am not a director. I mean, I love to write. But I am not a screenwriter or a […] playwright, and I am no director. But somehow, that energy that was there replicated […] we practiced for a whole year, every Monday,” she said, emphasizing the group’s dedication to the project. Their hard work paid off enormously.
“We had a full house twice. The second time, we had to stop selling tickets […] people were coming to the door and we just — there’s — there’s Fire Code,” she said. After the initial run of performances, Martinović sat down to begin making improvements to the play. She hopes that the production will return to the stage later this year for the public to enjoy it once again.
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The skills that Slavic majors develop from taking courses in the humanities — written and verbal communication skills, foreign languages, and empathy — all translate to a career in change management, a path in which Martinović has firm confidence.
Her humanities education taught her to see the world from multiple perspectives at once, and to simultaneously acknowledge the “competing truths which seemed to be impossible to exist at the same time, but they do,” she said. Our identities lead us to live different realities and different truths, and building an understanding of these diverse realities can positively influence the ways we connect, develop and grow the systems of our world. With a humanities education, “you learn to think,” she asserted.
For Huskies who have recently completed their degrees, Martinović encourages new graduates entering the workforce to get involved in the profession to advocate for those who have been left behind. “We came to a point in the corporate world where no one really pays attention to the end user,” she said. But change management challenges this status quo. Martinović argues that change management is all about “having someone who really devotes their time to at least be the voice of the people.”
While project management tends to focus more on a project by itself, Martinović poses that change management puts people at the center of the work. “It’s a great field for young people because you cannot outsource it […] it could be a system, it could be a behavioral change, it could be transitions in the company. It could be all kinds of things. But it’s very human,” she said. “Without humanities, we are less human.”
Martinović plans to release her upcoming novel, Threads and Tethers, in the fall of 2025. You can find updates on her blog, Loving Seattle.