Iako sam ovo napisala pre deset godina , iako nisam futuristkinja, iako nisam pesimistkinja, nisam ocekivala ovakav rasplet dogadjaja: da posle ovoliko vremena, ovakvog iskustva, istorija na zalost ne napreduje krupnim koracima, kako se nadao Djindjic...govorim pre svega o nama i nasoj zemlji zato sto me ta istorija kosta vec dvadeset godina prezivljavanja umesto zivota.
na srpskom
La vitta e bella
26. mart '99. 17 sati
Nadam se da ćemo svi preživeti ovaj rat. Srbi, Albanci, dobri i loši momci, oni koji su uzeli oružje, oni koji su dezertirali, kosovske izbeglice koje šetaju šumama i beogradske izbeglice koje šetaju ulicama sa decom u naručju kad sirene zasviraju, tražeći nepostojeća skoloništa. Nadam se da NATO piloti neće ostaviti za sobom svoje žene i decu, koje sam videla kako plaču na CNN-u dok njihovi muževi poleću ka vojnim ciljevima u Srbiji. Nadam se da ćemo svi preživeti ali ne i ovaj svet ovakav kakav jeste. Nadam se da ćemo uspeti da ga skrhamo: zovi to demokratijom, zovi ga diktaturom. Kad NATO procenjuje da je 20.000 civilnih žrtava mala cena za mir na Kosovu, kad predsednik Klinton kaže da hoće da Evropa bude bezbedna za američke đake, ili srpski predsednik Milutinović kaže da ćemo se boriti do poslednje kapi krvi, uvek imam osećanje da govore o mojoj krvi, a ne o svojoj. I onda svi oni ne postaju meni samo neprijatelji, već zveri, vukodlaci, koji prelaze sa ekonomske politike na demokratska ljudska prava sa količinom krvi potrebnom da se ona ostvari (kao gorivo).
Danas je drugi dan posle. Otišla sam na pijacu i crnu berzu, na Kalenić. Opet je živnula, adaptirala se na nove uslove, nove potrebe: nema državnog hleba ali ima dosta brašna, nema informacija na zvaničnoj TV, već tračevi uplašenog stanovništva o tome ko pobeđuje. Tinejdžeri se klade po ćoškovima: čiji su avioni oboreni, naši ili njihovi, ko bolje laže, ko najbolje prikriva žrtve, ko bolje pokazuje pobedu, ili opet žrtve. Kao da je u pitanju fudbalska utakmica ravnopravnih strana. Grad je tih i paralisan, ali funkcioniše, đubre se odnosi, imamo vodu, imamo struju... Ali gde su ljudi? Po kućama, krevetima, skloništima... Čujem nekoliko ličnih priča o nervnim slomovima prijatelja muških i ženskih. Oni koji su bili u nervnom slomu od početka rata na Kosovu, znači pre više od godinu dana, nekolicina, sada se osećaju bolje: realna opasnost manje plaši od opasnosti u mašti. Nisam mogla da izađem na kraj sa nevidljivim ratom kao što umem sa konkretnim potrebama: hleb, voda, lekovi... I, jako važno: sada vidim kraj. Konačno smo dobili i mi u Beogradu ono što je cela ostala Jugoslavija imala: rat na sopstvenom tlu. Stiže mi 10-20 elektronskih poruka dnevno od prijatelja i ljudi koje sam slučajno srela: misle na nas, na mene i moju porodicu i daju mi moralnu podršku. Osećam kao da ja njima valja da dam moralnu podršku, meni je samo materijalna podrška potrebna u ovom trenutku, moj moral je sazdan od mojih potreba.
Ljudi se skupljaju po kućama, da zajedno čekaju bombardovanje: ljudi koji se jedva poznaju, koji su se pravili da ne znaju ili zaista nisu znali šta se dešava na Kosovu ili da je NATO sve vreme ozbiljno pretio. Sedimo zajedno i delimo stvari koje imamo. Solidarnost i nežnost bude najbolje crte kod Srba. Konačno: znala sam da nešto volim kod svog naroda...
Moja prijateljica Nemica koja živi u Beogradu zove me telefonom, kaže, nisam napustila zemlju, nisam izvela decu, čak ni tek rođene unučiće. Dosta mi je svega, hoću da vodim svoj lični život. Moja prijateljica feministkinja traži da održimo radionicu u Pančevu, koje je dosta bombardovano, da držim književno veče. Ali nemamo benzina, moramo da kupimo bicikle.
Telefoniramo jedni drugima sve vreme, tražeći i dajući obaveštenja: deca su najbolja u tome, više vole da budu aktivna nego pasivna u kriznoj situaciji. Mi odrasli ih maltretiramo našim strahovima a oni su premladi da bi lagali ili konstruisali kao što mi umemo: barataju činjenicama i vestima. Uglavnom smo dobro informisani kroz dečiju mrežu, kroz strane satelitske programe i lokalne TV stanice.
Razmišljam o Albancima na Kosovu, o svojim prijateljima i njihovim strahovima, znam da im je gore nego nama; strah se u meni budi na tu pomisao, znači da još nije kraj.
Nemam snove, spavam teškim snom i plašim se buđenja ali srećna što još nema prave tragedije, još uvek smo svi živi i stalno se gledamo da to potvrdimo.
I da, vreme, divno vreme, uživamo i plašimo ga se: što je vreme bolje, jače će biti bombardovanje, ali što je bolje vreme biće bombardovanje preciznije. Volela bih da znam da li nam je potrebno dobro ili loše vreme da preživimo?
I konačno, gledala sam Beninjijev film "La vitta e bella" (Život je lep), veče pred bombardovanje. Sledećeg dana, i nama se sve desilo. Možda nije trebalo da ga gledam, ali sada je prekasno: i shvatam da je u svakom ratu koji vode Veliki Muškarci najbezbednije mesto žrtve.
P. S. U ovom času sirene prekidaju moje pisanje... sirene su moj cenzor i moja satnica. Uključujem TV na CNN da vidim zašto sviraju sirene u Beogradu, kažu da ne znaju. Lokalna TV će nam dati informacije tek kad sve bude gotovo.
26 March 1999, 5.p.m.
in English
I hope we all survive this war, the bombs: the Serbs , the Albanians, the bad and the good guys, those who took up the arms, those who deserted, refugees going around the Kosovo woods and Belgrade’s refugees going around the streets with their children in arms, looking for non existing shelters, when the alarm for bombing sets off. I hope that NATO pilots don’t leave behind wives and children whom I saw crying on CNN as their husbands were taking off for military targets in Serbia. I hope we all survive but not this world as it . I hope we manage to break it down: call it democracy call it dictatorship. When USA congressman estimates 20 000 civilian deaths as a low price for the peace in Kosovo, or president Clinton says he wants a non harassing Europe for American schoolgirls, or Serbian president Milutinovic says that we will fight to the very last drop of our blood, I always have a feeling they are talking about my blood , not theirs.
And they all become not only my enemies, but beasts, werewolves, switching from economic policy and democratic human rights to amounts of blood necessary for it ( as fuel).
Today is the second after math day: I went to the green and black market in my neighborhood, it has livened up again, adapted to new conditions, new necessities: no bread from the state, but a lot of grain on the market, no information from the official TV, so small talk among frightened population of who is winning. Teenagers are betting on the corners: whose planes have been shot down, ours or theirs, who lies best, who hides best victims, who exposes best victories, or again victims. As if it were a football game of equals.
The city is silent and paralyzed, but still working, rubbish is taken away, we have water, we have electricity... But where are the people, in houses, in beds, in shelters... I hear several personal stories of nervous breakdowns among my friends, male and female. Those who were in a nervous breakdown for the past year, since the war in Kosovo started, who were very few, now feel better: real danger is less frightening than fantasies of danger. I couldn’t cope with the invisible war as I can cope with concrete needs: bread, water, medicines... And also: very important, I can view an end, finally we in Belgrade got what all rest of Yugoslavia had: war on our territory. I receive 10-20 emails per day from friends or people whom I only met once: they think of us, me and my family and want to give me moral support. I feel like giving them moral support, I need only material support at this moment, my moral is made out of my needs.
People are gathering at homes, to wait for the bombs together: people who hardly know each other, who pretended or truly didn’t know what was going on in Kosovo or that NATO did mean it all the time. We sit together and share things we have: solidarity and tenderness brings the best parts out of Serbian people: there it is, I knew I liked something about my people...
My German friend phones me, she says, I didn’t leave the country, I didn’t take out my children, even my new born grandchildren, I am fed up with everything, I want to lead my personal life. My feminist friend asks me to have a workshop with our group of conscience raising, my other friend wants us to go to Pancevo, the bombed city at outskirts of Belgrade, to give a reading of my novel. But there is no petrol, we must buy bicycles.
We phone each other all the time, seeking and giving information: I realized children are best at it, they prefer to be active than passive in emergency situations: we grown ups harass them with our fears and they are too young to lie or construct as grown ups: they deal with facts and news. Mostly we are well informed, with children networks, some foreign satellite programs and local TV stations.
I think of the Albanians in Kosovo, of my friends and their fears, I think they must be worse off then us: fear springs up at that thought, it means that it is not the end yet.
I have no dreams, I sleep heavily afraid to wake up, but happy that there is no true tragedy yet, we are all still alive, looking every second at each other for proof.
And yes, the weather, it is beautiful, we all enjoy and fear it: the better the weather, the heavier bombings, but the better the weather, probably more precise bombings. I wish I only knew do we need good or bad weather to stay alive?
And finally, I saw Benigni’s film “La vita e’ bella,” the night before the first bombs fell. The day after it started happening to us too. Maybe, I shouldn’t have seen it, but now it is too late: and I realize, in every war game led by Big Men the safest place is that of a victim.
PS. At this moment the alarm is interrupting my writing...the alarm is my censor and my timing. I switch on CNN to see why the alarm is in Belgrade, they say they do not know. Local TV will say it after it all is over.
