U Amsterdamu, u internet kafeu cekam rezultate predsednickih izbora u Americi...nisam sama, kafe je pun stranaca pre svega. Prikrivena nervoza kao na svetskoj berzi: zatisje. Godine 2004. sedela sam u internet kafeu u Parizu kad je Bus pobedio: ljuti vlasnik nas je izbacio napolje kao amerikance koji su usput prolili kafu od nervoze. Izasli smo na kisu i surfovali pod kisobranom, rizikujuci smrt of our best friend, Mr Mac. Secam se naslovne stranice nekih engleskih novina mislim da je bio Guardian: nesto ala milioni idiota glasali za Busa. Tada sam napisala "Letter to my Imaginary American Friend" ( Stop the Next War Now, Code Pink 2005,)
Dobila sam ovaj mejl iz Kalifornije:
When Obama is declared the winner of this election Tuesday night
go out to your street and dance.
Forward to all you know.
Pisite sta znate i ocekujete
Belgrade, November 22, 2004
Four years ago, I wrote in my first letter to my virtual friend from
Baghdad, Nuha al Radi: We should be enemies. You are a Muslim, I am a
Christian. You are dark, I am white. But we both are women, we both
diaries, we both are pacifists....
Unfortunately, Nuha died and we never managed to meet, we never managed
touch. Our love and understanding was virtual, transnational and
more intensive and valuable than relationships with most of our
allies based on everyday commonalities. We shared 200 pages of
emotions and insights, unveiling the universality of militarism and
patriarchy. We called our correspondence ³The Globalization of Evil.²
survived it...we grew.
Our common enemy should have been USA: sanctions, bombings. At one
wrote, ³I could never live in USA². And I said, ³I could never, ever
love with an American.² We both had to eat our words. Nuha had to be
in the USA and I must admit that I now love Americans. Ever since Bush
for the second time (notwithstanding his obvious aggressive and
militarism), ever since their economy went to pieces and threatened
disorder, ever since their raving antiterrorism measures have turned
whole world into an internment camp, I have a feeling that the ³decent
people² from the USA who raised or want to raise their voices against
interior enemy, need the world¹s support in order to set us all free.
As I said to Nuha, I am saying it now to you, my Imaginary American
friend: We should be enemies. Your country bombed us and killed
innocent people with sanctions, but I know it was not You who did it.
know because it happened to me, too. My country also bombed and killed
innocent people and it was not Me doing it. It is easy to be against
Other, to be against the obvious Enemy. But it is not only wrong but
dangerous to fail to see the real Enemy, the universal enemy who is in
home and sometimes inside ourselves: militarism and nationalism. They
killers, killers without faces or names or races. They are invisible
individually but lethal as a system.
At the 2003 international conference of Women in Black in Italy, when
16 years of international growth we managed to cover nearly all
I declared: World beware, Women in Black are everywhere. They don't
be women, they don't even have to wear black. We are all Women in
We who say: Not in our names, not with our money. We who are not fooled
our own, we who are labelled traitors, we who are building confidence,
who are anti-patriots, we who are spreading the politics of women¹s
solidarity, we who accept the mark of social shame, we who transform
sense of guilt into acts of responsibility, we who support the
objectors, we who transgress ethnical walls and barriers, we who
every war, we who support victims of war, we who demand accountability
war and war crimes, we are all Women in Black. And we are building an
alternative world that is not only possible but already there.
When I think of the United States, I don¹t think of Bush, of frenetic
militarism, of global warming, of racism. I think of my editor and
Steph. I think of my young friend Violeta, half Serbian half Albanian,
married an American and has an American child, I think of Indira, who
with a Croatian man, both as American citizens. I think of Andy Warhol,
Laurie Anderson, Patti Smith, bel hooks. I think of rock music, of
of my dreams, dreams of freedom and multiculturalism for which so many
people died there. I think of a new continent that was always there for
of us who decided not to belong to the trenches of national history. I
of all those American friends (and there were many) who sent me
mail and books during our dark times of Milosevic.
And I want to tell them now, because I found it out myself, written in
all over my body: Nobody can save you, lead you or destroy you but
yourselves. We are never alone but only lonely.