Iz memoara Zvonka Bušića: Bio sam svjestan da sam osuđen i prije početka suđenja

Zvonko Bušić vjerovao je kako dobre stvari trebaju biti dostupne svima. Ono za što je živio, radio i vjerovao, za što je podnio žrtvu, objavljeno je u knjizi “Zdravo oko”, koja je dostupna na Amazonu. pod nazivom “All Visible Things”. Taj djelić hrvatske povijesti odsad ćete moći čitati svake druge srijede na hrvatskom i engleskom jeziku, na portalu dijaspora.hr. Poglavlje po poglavlje, kap krvi po kap krvi i život dan po dan u 33 dijela – samo s jednim ciljem! Trajat će!

TAIK

Dok vozim dalmatinskim zaleđem, kroz kamenjar prošaran zemljom boje boksita i rijetkim zelenilom, na um mi padaju dvije priče. Prva je o čovjeku rođenom u kraju neslobodnom i siromašnom. Suočen s nepravdom i osokoljen pričama i pjesmama o slavnoj prošlosti svoga naroda odlučuje život posvetiti borbi za njegovu slobodu. Progonjen biva prisiljen pobjeći u svijet, ali tamo svoju borbu nastavlja još žešće. Sa skupinom hrabrih suboraca izvršava pothvat koji će pozornost cijeloga svijeta skrenuti na zlosretnu sudbinu njegove zemlje i naroda.

Jedni njegov pothvat slave i veličaju, drugi ga drže običnim terorizmom i zračnim gusarstvom. Kako bilo, on plaća cijenu svog čina dugogodišnjom robijom u dalekoj zemlji, gdje malo tko i zna za njegovu porobljenu domovinu. Godine prolaze, ljubav njegova života kao bijela udovica stari u samoći i čeka, svijet se mijenja, nekadašnji mladići sada su umirovljenici koje muči reumatizam i loša probava. Domovina našeg junaka na kraju je ipak ostvarila slobodu u pobjedničkom oslobodilačkom ratu. A on i dalje trune u zatvoru. Nakon trideset i dvije godine konačno izlazi na slobodu. U zatvor je ušao kao mladić, a izlazi kao šezdesetogodišnjak.

Druga je priča o čovjeku rođenom u kraju neslobodnom i siromašnom, borcu za slobodu. Njegova su ga borba i želja za znanjem odvele u svijet, gdje upoznaje ljubav svog života, koja prihvaća njegove ideale. Da bi upozorili svjetsku javnost na stanje u njegovoj zemlji, zajedno s još trojicom hrabrih mladića, sunarodnjaka, otimaju zrakoplov i skreću pozornost svjetskih medija i javnosti na potlačen položaj u kojem se nalazi njihova domovina. Upuštajući se u akciju, čovjek je za svoj čin prihvatio posljedice, smrt ili dugogodišnju robiju. Nakon dugog robijanja izlazi na slobodu svojoj vjernoj Penelopi. Premda više nisu mladi, u njima je još dovoljno energije i ljubavi da se raduju životu i nadoknade propušteno.

Dvije različite priče, a isti događaji i isti protagonist. Na meni je da se prepoznam u jednoj ili drugoj priči. I jedno i drugo dogodilo se meni, to jest riječ je o istim događajima, no različitom doživljaju tih događaja. Zahvaljujem Bogu što me stvorio vedrim, otvorenim svijetu, pa u meni nije nikada prevladala gorčina.

Bez obzira na svoje godine ostao sam Kendušin „Taik“. U mome kraju većina ljudi uz osobno ime ima i neki nadimak. Najčešće je to neka inačica skrojena od imena – Boća, Boće, Iko, Ikan, Iviša, Joja, Maćan, Markan, Perija, Tijo… Ili pak nadimci skrojeni po nekoj fizičkoj ili psihološkoj osobini – Bili, Crni, Žuti, Klempo, Ćoro, Kulje, Šuta, Udav, ili po zanimanju kao primjerice Brico, Sodar, Šuster. Ostalo su nadimci nastali kao plod nekog događaja, određenoga trenutka ili nečije iznenadne inspiracije. Moj nadimak Taik takvoga je podrijetla.

Naime, kada sam bio dijete od četiri-pet godina, u susjednoj je kući živio starac koji je bio toliko slab na nogama da ni uz pomoć štapa nije mogao sam hodati. Njegovi bi ga sin i nevjesta, prije nego li bi otišli na rad u polje, izveli pred kuću i posjeli na stolac-repaš pod kostelu. Tako bi on tu sjedio dok se oni o ručku ne vrate i pomognu mu natrag u kuću.

Kako smo se mi djeca u njegovoj blizini znali koječega igrati, kada bi mu zatrebalo vode ili vatre za lulu, on bi nas dozivao da mu to donesemo. Nakon što sam se nekoliko puta spremno odazvao, on me pohvalio i ponavljao da sam ja njegov „čovjek“, to jest da njegovo stanje i potrebu shvaćam kao odrastao čovjek, odnosno „čovik“. Kako ja još nisam mogao izgovarati slovo „č“, za njim sam ponavljao „tojk“, što se kroz imitaciju druge djece prometnulo u „Taik“ i tako ostalo.

Sa svojim sam nadimkom odrastao i kako nije imao nikakvih ružnih ili posprdnih konotacija, kao što nadimci ponekad imaju, nisam mu se opirao niti ga forsirao. Danas ga, kao i mnoge druge stvari iz svoga života, doživljavam kao prst sudbine. Zapravo, sve što sam činio u životu, barem po nakani ako i ne uvijek po krajnjem učinku, činio sam da ga opravdam. Držim da je ljepše i teže postati i ostati čovjek, nego biti predsjednik države. To je barem nama u Hrvatskoj jasno. U dubini svoga bića svi ljudi to osjećaju, samo ih strah, sebičnost, lijenost, loše navike i materijalni interesi sprječavaju da realiziraju bit svoje čovječnosti. Međutim, mnogo ih je koji se odazovu tomu nutarnjem pozivu na hrabrost i dostojanstvo čak i onda kada im stvari nimalo ne idu na ruku, štoviše svijetu izgledaju smiješno.

Dok smo boravili u privremenom sudskom zatvoru New York Metropolitan Correctional Center s nama je bio i neki Grk, Stavros Sukopatritis, porijeklom s Cipra. Sudjelovao je u grčko-turskom ratu koji je završio podjelom Cipra. U ratu je izgubio desnu ruku neoprezno rukujući bombom. No borbeni ga žar nije napustio ni nakon emigracije u Ameriku. Kada su mediji izvijestili o predstojećem posjetu turskog predsjednika SAD-u, negdje 1975. ili 1976. godine, i da se za njega priprema primanje u hotelu Waldorf Astoria, Sukopatritis je isplanirao atentat.

Uzeo je pištolj i nekako se uspio uvući na primanje. Kad je došao onamo, shvatio je da onako nizak u mnoštvu ljudi, neće uopće imati priliku vidjeti predsjednika, ali nije želio odustati. Zamahnuo je pištoljem iznad glave, u nadi da će mu se posrećiti, ali mnoštvo ga je odmah spriječilo, a policija uhitila. Kasnije sam u medijima vidio njegovu fotografiju, odnosno bolje rečeno, njegovu lijevu ruku koja je virila iz gomile ljudi. Bila je pomalo komična. Ali on je bio iznimno hrabar čovjek i to je ponovno pokazao na sudu kad ga je sudac osudio na samo tri godine, premda su tužitelji tražili kaznu doživotnog zatvora uz minimalno odsluženje od dvadeset godina.

Najzanimljivija je pak bila Sukopatritisova reakcija na presudu. Kada mu je sudac odredio kaznu od tri godine, mali se Grk pretvorio u vulkan bijesa. Prijeteći sucu, vikao je: „Kujin sine, kako me se usuđuješ tako ponižavati! Samo tri godine, kao da sam kiosk opljačkao, od kuda ti pravo da tako vrijeđaš moju čast i dostojanstvo! Zahtijevam veću kaznu, dostojnu grčkoga borca za slobodu Cipra!“ Izrekavši to sve zapanjenom sucu, s gnušanjem je bacio na njega neke bilježnice i papire. Mislim da je bio zabrinut što će njegovi brojni pristaše i obožavatelji misliti o takvoj kazni, hoće li mu se smijati ili možda misliti da ona umanjuje njegovu odvažnost i borbu.

Na devetom katu u zatvoru nije bilo sitnijega čovjeka od Sukopatritisa ni krupnijega od Petra Matanića. Kako se suprotnost privlače, Sukopatritis se silno želio družiti s Petrom. Zbog njegove srčanosti neproporcionalne njegovoj sićušnoj građi, Sukopatritisa smo prihvatili u društvo, osobito Matanić. S nama je u zatvoru bio i neki nevjerojatno debeo zatvorenik, izvjesni Cronenberg, povezan s mutnim mafijaškim poslovima. Čovjek se ponašao prilično odvratno i neuračunljivo. Znao je doći u blagovaonicu potpuno gol, a jednom sam ga, ne mogavši gledati to izopačenje ljudskog tijela i duha, morao i sam potjerati. Pokupio se i otišao bez riječi.

Sad je li uistinu bio malo lud ili se samo takvim pravio zbog procesnih razloga, ne znam. Jednom prigodom dok je Sukopatritis telefonom razgovarao sa svojim odvjetnikom, Cronenbergu, koji je iza njega čekao u redu, dosadilo je čekanje pa je jednostavno jednom rukom uzeo telefon, a drugom odgurnuo krhkoga Sukopatritisa kao dosadnu muhu. Silno povrijeđen Sukopatritis otišao se požaliti Mataniću. Ovaj ni pet ni šest, nego ščepa sto pedeset kilograma teškog Cronenberga i baci ga niz stubište. Tako je bila spašena Sukopatritisova čast. Eto, taj mali Grk, možda smiješan u svojoj nakostriješenosti, ipak je jako dobro osjećao što je ono što čovjeka čini čovjekom i gdje to nešto stanuje. U srcu. Samo taj poriv, koliko god bio plemenit, ljude zna zavesti i uvaliti u nepotrebnu nevolju.

Još dok mi se sudilo, dolazila su k meni dvojica naših nadobudnih mladića s prijedlogom da otmu zrakoplov i od američkih vlasti zatraže puštanje naše skupine na slobodu. Odmah sam shvatio da se radi o namještaljci, a kasnije mi je to potvrdio i FBI pokazujući da znaju sadržaj naših razgovora koje su očito snimali. Sami ti mladići bili su iskreni i željni dokazivanja, no na akciju ih je sigurno poticao neki provokator iz pozadine, nastojeći dodatno otežati položaj naše skupine u procesu, ali i blamirati hrvatsku stvar. Naravno, na prijedloge dvojice nadobudnih revolucionara nisam pristao, i tako ih vjerojatno spasio od robije, ako ne i od čega gorega.

Emigrantske godine i stalni progon izoštrile su moja čula za opasnost i namještaljke. Određena iskustva s policijom i njezinim doušnicima imao sam još i prije odlaska u emigraciju. Progoni su se nastavili u Beču, ali i nakon emigracije u Ameriku. U Clevelandu, gdje sam bio tajnik lokalnog odsjeka Hrvatskog narodnog otpora, često su me uznemiravali pozivi u sitne noćne sate na srpskom jeziku. Nakon povratka u Europu u Münchenu su me napali teškom motkom, a u Salzburgu je Julie i mene posjetila austrijska tajna policija i dala nam sat vremena da napustimo zemlju. U Berlinu su me u siječnju 1972. pokušali upucati dok sam šetao s Julie, a u lipnju iste godine na mene su ponovo pucali iz revolvera s prigušivačem. Samo mjesec dana kasnije ponovno su me na ulici napala trojica i teško pretukla.

Vratio sam se u Ameriku, mijenjao gradove i poslove, aktivno sudjelovao u političkom životu emigracije, ali ni moji progonitelji nisu mirovali. Ponovno noćni pozivi na isforsiranoj srbijanštini, prijetnje, posjeti FBI-ovih agenata, a iz domovine stižu glasovi da sam na crnoj listi jugoslavenskih vlasti i da na mene spremaju atentat. Neki su moji suborci već bili stradali i znao sam da se obruč steže. Tada sam donio odluku da krenem u akciju, nisam želio da me ubiju uludo. Ne prije nego svoju borbu okrunim nečim spektakularnim, nečim što će pozornost svijeta skrenuti na hrvatski slučaj, a drugim hrvatskim mladićima dati poticaj da ne posustanu i da nastave borbu.

Otmicu zrakoplova planirao sam pomno i u osnovnome uspješno izveo. Nesreća s poginulim policajcem jedina je stvar u cijelom složenom pothvatu koja se otela kontroli, ali ne mojom krivnjom. Zbivanja u sudnici uspio sam manje-više uspješno podrediti probijanju hrvatske istine u javnost. Moja obrana bila je govor o hrvatskoj istini. Bio sam svjestan da sam osuđen i prije početka suđenja, posebno u svjetlu činjenice da je smrtno stradao policajac i da prema meni nema milosti.

S druge strane, nastojao sam pomoći svojim suborcima primajući krivnju na sebe, jer se njih uistinu nije moglo povezati s bombom koju sam ja sam postavio.

Zvonko Bušić

EN

Zvonko believed that good things should be shared with everyone. What he lived, worked for and believed in, what he sacrificed for, is presented in his book “All Visible Things”, which is available on Amazon. From now on, you will be able to have access to this part of Croatian history every other Wednesday and print it out free of charge, in Croatian and English, on the dijaspora.hr portal. Chapter by chapter, drop of blood by drop of blood, and life day by day in 33 parts – with only one goal! He will live on…

Taik

As I drive throughout the Dalmatian hinterlands, through the rocky terrain covered with bauxite and little greenery, I am reminded of two stories. The first is about a man born in an unfree and impoverished place. Confronted with injustice and bombarded with stories and poems about the glorious past of his people, he decides to devote his life to its freedom. He is forced to flee into the world, where he continues his struggle even more intensely. With a group of brave colleagues, he undertakes an action that will draw the world’s attention to the unfortunate Fate of his country and people. Some praise and glorify his action, while others consider him an ordinary terrorist and air pirate. Whatever the case, he serves a long sentence, paying his debt in a faraway prison where hardly anybody has ever heard of his enslaved nation. The years pass, the love of his life, his “white widow”, waits for him, all alone and getting older and older, the world changes, they are now retirees complaining of rheumatism and digestive problems… The homeland of our protagonist finally gains its freedom in a victorious war of liberation. And he continues to rot in prison. After thirty-two years, he is granted freedom. He entered prison as a young man and is leaving as a sixty year old.

The other story is about a man born in an unfree and poverty-stricken place, a freedom fighter. His struggle and desire for knowledge takes him out into the world, where he meets the love of his life, who adopts his ideals. In order to inform the world public about the oppression in his homeland, he hijacks a plane, along with three other brave youths from the same country. Through his involvement in this action, the man accepts the consequences of his act: death or a long imprisonment. After spending over three decades in prison, he is released into freedom to join his loyal Penelope. Though no longer young, they still have enough love and energy to enjoy life and make up for what they have lost.

Two different stories, but the same events and the same protagonist. It is up to me which story I identify with. Both happened to me,the events are the same, but how these events are experienced differ. Thank God for creating me as a person of sunny nature, open to the world and incapable of allowing bitterness to overwhelm me. In spite of all my years, I have remained Kendusha’s“Taik”.

Where I come from, most people, along with their given name, have some kind of nickname. It is usually some shortened form of their own name: Johnny, Mikey, Petey, and so forth. Or nicknames based on some physical or psychological characteristic: Whitey, Goofy, Alley Cat… Or based on their profession, such as Cobbler, Barber, etc. Others are the result of some event, a certain moment or a sudden inspiration. My nickname has its origin in the latter. Namely, when I was around 4 or 5 years old, there was an old man living in a nearby house who was very unstable on his feet and able to walk only with a cane. His son and daughter-in-law, before they went to work in the fields, would sit him on a stool in front of the house. There he would sit until lunchtime, when they would return and take him into the house. Since we kids were always playing something or another nearby, he would call for us whenever he needed a glass of water or a light for his pipe. After I responded several times, he praised me and said many times that I was his “man” (or “covjek”, which is also understood in Croatian as a good human being, a “Mensch”); that is, that I recognized and responded to his needs the same way a grown man would, a “covjek”. Since I was not able yet to form the “ch” sound in the word “covjek”, it somehow came out “Toyk” and through various imitations from the other children, it eventually became and remained Taik.

I grew up with my nickname and since there were no ugly or embarrassing connotations to it, which many of them have, I neither resisted nor insisted on it. Today, like many other things from my life, I see it as a stroke of Destiny. Actually, everything I have done in life, at least by intention if not final result, has been done to earn that nickname. I believe it is better, although more difficult to become a “covjek”, a human being, than to be president of a country. We can clearly see that in Croatia today (Note: written in 2013, when Ivo Josipovic was Croatian President).

In the depths of their being, everyone believes this, but fear, selfishness, laziness, bad habits, or material interests prevent them from realizing their human essence. Meanwhile, there are many who respond to this inner call for courage and dignity, even if the situation is not ideal and the world regards them as strange. When we were being held at the Metropolitan Correctional Center in New York, a temporary, pre-trial prison, there was a Greek prisoner with us, Stavros Sukopatritis, from Cyprus. He had participated in the Greek-Cypriot War, which had resulted in the division of Cyprus. In the war, he had lost his right arm while handling a bomb improperly. But he hadn’t lost his fighting spirit, even after emigrating to America.

When the media reported on the upcoming visit of the Turkish president to the United States, around 1975 or 1976, and a reception that would be held at the Waldorf Astoria, Sukpatritis began to plan his assassination. When he arrived there, he realized that because he was so short, he would not be able to see the president in the crowd, but he still didn’t want to abandon his plan. He began to wave the gun above his head, in the hope he would get lucky and hit the president, but the crowd stopped him and he was immediately arrested by the police. It was actually quite comical. But he was a very forceful person, and showed it again in court, when the judge sentenced him to only three years in prison in spite of the prosecution’s recommendation for life imprisonment, with a minimum of 20 years. Most interesting was Sukpatritis’ reaction to the sentence.

When the judge sentenced him to three years, he transformed into a volcano of rage. “You son of a bitch!” he yelled, “How dare you insult me like this, three years, like I robbed a gas station, how dare you insult my honor and dignity! I demand a higher sentence appropriate for a Greek fighter for the freedom of Cyprus!” After having said all this to the shocked judge, he threw some papers and other files at him in disgust. I think he was concerned about what his many followers and admirers would think of the sentence, whether they would make fun of him, or think that it disparaged his bravery and his struggle.

On the ninth floor of the prison, no one was shorter than Sukopatritis nor larger than Petar Matanic. Since opposites attract, Sukopatritis really enjoyed spending time with Petar. Because his spirit was considerably larger than his build, we accepted him into our company, especially Matanic. With us, there was also a horribly overweight prisoner named Cronenburg, who was involved in some shady Mafia dealings. He behaved in a disgusting and irresponsible way. He had the habit of coming into the dining area completely naked, and once, unable to put up with seeing this unappetizing sight, I chased him out. He got up and left without a word. Whether he was crazy, or just pretending to be before his trial began, is hard to say.

Once when Sukopatritis was making a phone call to his attorney, Cronenburg, who was waiting in line behind him, got tired of waiting and simply grabbed the phone with one hand, and pushed Suko away with the other like an irritating bug. Deeply insulted, Suko went to complain to Matanic, who immediately reacted by shoving the 150 kilo Cronenberg down the stairs, thus defending Suko’s honor.

At any rate, this small Greek, with his somewhat comical attitudes, was still able to recognize what made a human being a human being and where this quality resided. In the heart. Yet this drive, however noble, can seduce people and get them into unnecessary difficulties. While I was still on trial, two young Croatian men came to me with the idea of hijacking a plane and demanding that the Americans release us all from prison. I immediately sensed it was a set-up, which was later confirmed to me by the FBI, who had been monitoring and recording our conversation. These young men were honest and wanted to prove themselves, but the action was certainly encouraged by some provocateur behind the scenes, in an attempt to cause us problems and also to compromise the Croatian struggle. Of course, I rejected the offer of the budding young revolutionaries, saving them from prison and perhaps something even worse.

The years in emigration and constant persecution sharpened my senses for danger and set-ups. I had had certain experiences with the police and their informants before I emigrated. The persecutions continued in Vienna, but also after my arrival to America. In Cleveland, where I was participating in Croatian political exile groups, I was often bothered by calls in the middle of the night in the Serbian language. After my return to Europe, I was attacked in Munich with a heavy pipe, and in Salzburg, Julie and I were visited by the Austrian secret police, who gave us one hour to leave the country. In 1972 in Berlin, I was shot at as I was walking with Julie, and in June of the same year, someone shot at me with a silencer pistol. Just a month later, I was attacked and badly beaten on the street by three people. Then I returned to America, where I often changed jobs and cities, but still actively participated in the political life of the emigration. However, my persecutors never left me in peace… Calls in the middle of the night from Serbian speakers with heavy accents, threats, visits from FBI agents, and then, from the homeland, reports that I was on the Yugoslav government’s black list and that I am to be assassinated. Some of my fellow comrades had already been killed and I knew the noose was tightening around me.

So I made the decision to go into action, as I didn’t want to be killed in vain –not before I’d done something spectacular for the struggle, something that would draw the world’s attention to the Croatian question and give other Croatian youth the incentive to persevere and continue the battle.

I planned the hijacking in great detail and, for the most part, it was executed successfully. The accident with the police officer was the only element in the complicated action that got out of control. I was able more or less to ensure that the truth about Croatia came through in the courtroom as well. My defense was my final sentencing speech about that truth. I was aware that I had been convicted even before the trial began, especially in light of the fact that a police officer had died. There was to be no mercy for me. On the other hand, I attempted to help my co-defendants by taking all the guilt upon myself, because they really had not had any connection to the explosives I had left behind.

Zvonko Busic

Ključne riječi #suđenje Hrvatima u Americi #Zdravo oko #Zvonko Bušić