Zvonko Bušić: Sjedeći pred Božić u ponoćnim satima i gledajući kroz prozorske rešetke, odlučio sam pobjeći iz zatvora!

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…

Kada danas kao slobodan čovjek u sredini sedmog desetljeća života i s određenim iskustvom sagledam svoj životni put, uočavam da se on sastojao od dionica akcije i dionica kontemplacije. Nekome se taj put može učiniti križnim, nekome pustolovnim, a nekome trećem pak promašenim. Ne odričem nikome pravo da na moj život gleda iz svoga kuta, međutim meni osobno sve što mi se događalo izgleda kao logična posljedica onoga viška koji sam u svom biću osjetio još kao dijete, a kao zreo čovjek ga i osvijestio. Viška energije, viška radoznalosti, viška pustolovnog duha, viška ljubavi prema životu. Ukratko, viška strasti za odgonetavanjem tajne i smisla ljudskog postojanja.

Sjećam se kada sam kao dječak sjedio na pragu naše izbe zadubljen u rješavanje zagonetke koju mi je postavila pokojna mati. Osam dinara koštala je četvrt štruce, zato sam koji put znao posegnuti i u ono tajno mjesto gdje je mati držala sirotinjsku ušteđevinu. Praštala mi je te nestašluke, ali je nastojala zaštititi malobrojne dinare, baš kao što sam i ja nastojao tvrdi komad kuruze iz đačke torbe zamijeniti slasnom štrucom. Jednom kada sam joj se popeo na vrh glave, odluči tomu stati na kraj. Sakrila je novce, po njezinom mišljenju, tako uspješno da mi je čak uputila izazov: „Zvonko, ako ih sad uspiješ naći, uzmi koliko hoćeš, neću ti braniti!“

Sjedim ja tako na pragu izbe i razmišljam. Pretražio sam cijelu kuću već nekoliko puta, ali ništa nisam našao. Gledam po izbi, razmišljam gdje bih ja sam nešto sakrio kada bih želio da to nitko ne može naći. Zapne mi za oko velika vreća sa starim krpama, rutama kako smo ih zvali. Stare krpe su namatane u klupka i trpane u vreću, kada bi ih se nakupilo u dovoljnoj količini, od njih su tkane prostirke za pod ili ležaj. To je najpogodnije mjesto za nešto sakriti, sijevne mi. Uzmem vreću i stanem polako vaditi i stiskati jedno po jedno klupko, dok ne nađem skrivene novce. Zadovoljstvo koje sam osjetio nije toliko imalo veze s mogućnošću da uzmem novca po vlastitom nahođenju, koliko s činjenicom da sam uspješno riješio zagonetku. Kasnije u majčinim očima vidjeh da joj nije žao novca koliko je bila ponosna na moju dovitljivost. Možda umišljam, ali čini mi se da sam uz taj ponos vidio i sjenu straha u njezinim očima, kao da se pribojavala što će biti sa mnom takvim kakav jesam kada jednoga dana život preda me bude postavljao kudikamo opasnije zagonetke i izazove.

Baš tako, kao tog davnog proljeća na pragu izbe u obiteljskoj kući u Gorici, sjedio sam 1987. u svojoj zatvorskoj ćeliji u zatvoru kojih stotinjak kilometara od New Yorka. Smišljao sam kako pobjeći iz zatvora. Odlučio sam pobjeći, a gdje je čvrsta odluka, nađe se i način. Bio sam žalostan i nezadovoljan svime što se s mojim i Julienninim slučajem događalo. Morao sam nešto poduzeti. Užem krugu ljudi bijaše poznata odluka Komisije za uvjetnu slobodu, donesena još u siječnju 1986. godine, po kojoj bi nakon šest mjeseci Julie bila puštena na slobodu. Mi smo vjerovali da je do te odluke najviše doprinijelo uvjerenje suca Bartelsa, koji je već nekoliko godina pisao Glavnoj komisiji u Washingtonu.

U svojim pismima on je naglašavao, da je kao sudac tražio da Julie ne služi kaznu duže od osam godina, te iz tog razloga zahtijeva njezino puštanje na slobodu odmah. Za nas četvoricu – Matanića, Vlašića, Pešuta i mene – sudac Bartels je kod izricanja osude nekoliko puta naglasio, da on, neovisno o visini kazne, predlaže da nas nakon deset godina puste uvjetno na slobodu. Uz odluku Glavne komisije, da će njih trojica nakon 12 godina biti puštena na slobodu, postojala je i nada da se to za još koju godinu skrati. Ja sam računao, da će, ako Julie puste na slobodu, i njima trojici smanjiti dvije godine kazne, a mene zadržati dvije-tri godine dulje. Nadali smo se da će ovaj put Glavna komisija u Washingtonu i formalno potvrditi obećanje dvojice svojih izaslanika, koji su posjetili Julie u tamnici i s njome o svemu tome temeljito razgovarali. Međutim, nakon više od tri mjeseca nestrpljivog čekanja (u svim drugim slučajevima odgovor dođe za mjesec dana), Julie je primila umjesto odgovora nekakvu doznaku.

U toj doznaci stoji, da se za vrijeme zadnjeg saslušanja o nekim stvarima nije vodilo dovoljno pažnje, pa da će ju zato pravosudni dužnosnici ponovno posjetiti. I tako su iznova prošla tri-četiri mjeseca čekanja, kada su, negdje oko desete obljetnice našeg robovanja, ponovno došla ona dva izaslanika. Oni su manje-više ponovili istu priču i otvoreno joj rekli da bi je oni odmah pustili na slobodu, ali se njihov šef s time ne bi složio. Zato su joj puštanje iz tamnice odgodili za dvije godine, naglašavajući da će to i u Washingtonu biti potvrđeno. Konačno, nakon jednogodišnjeg (vjerojatno kalkuliranog) duševnog mučenja, stigao je polovicom prosinca šokantan odgovor šefa komisije.

Komisija je, naime, odlučila Julie pustiti na slobodu tek nakon 15 godina robijanja. Smatrao sam da bi svakome, u naš slučaj prema donekle upućenom i razboritom čovjeku, moralo biti potpuno jasno da je takvu odluku nemoguće opravdati – ni kao odgovarajuću kaznu za taj prekršaj, niti nekakvom brigom za zaštitu američkog društva od terorista i zločinaca. Tada još u američkom društvu nije bilo ni naznaka histeričnog straha od terorizma koji se razvio nakon 11. rujna 2001. godine. Po mojemu dubokom uvjerenju taj postupak i krvavo teški udarac nije bilo moguće drukčije shvatiti, nego kao kamufliranu, proračunatu i prilično samovoljnu primjenu starozavjetnog zakona protiv onih koji ljube svoj rod i dom, jer oni, kao takvi, stoje na putu Internacionali i njezinim urotničkim ciljevima.

Kada čovjek vidi kako se u današnjem svijetu kojekakve fraze kao „borba za prava“ papagajski ponavljaju i sustavno proglašavaju najvećom svetinjom, dočim se istinske svetinje (kao borba za nacionalnu samobitnost i prava naroda) ismijavaju i izjednačuju sa zločinom, onda je lako razumjeti zašto sve domoljube i rodoljube prikazuju luđacima i zločincima. Pitanje kakva to ljudska prava može imati pripadnik jednog okupiranog naroda, nitko ni ne postavlja.

Vijest da Julie ostaje još pet godina u tamnici više me potresla i uzbudila, nego što me šokirala. Postalo mi je kristalno jasno, da unatoč sučevim preporukama i mojega dugogodišnjeg uzornog vladanja u zatvoru, zakulisne snage u Washingtonu mene ni ne namjeravaju pustiti na slobodu prije nego me potpuno skrše. Ta je spoznaja moje brižno gajene nade u jednom mahu rasplinula u prozirne iluzije.

Osjećajući se samim i zaboravljenim, skupio sam sve svoje unutarnje snage i suočio se s krutom stvarnošću. S obzirom na to da mojoj naravi ne odgovara nikakvo samorazaranje, nakon dugog i temeljitog razmišljanja došao sam do zaključka: želim li ostati vjeran sebi i svojim idealima, ne preostaje mi ništa drugo nego ponovno uzeti svoju sudbinu u svoje ruke. Da bih to mogao, jasno je da sam morao pobjeći iz tamnice. Ne samo da sam znao težinu tog problema, nego sam također bio svjestan da će me i u slučaju uspjeha čekati teški i opasni putovi te daleki ciljevi. Usprkos svemu, bodrila me neka unutarnja snaga i ja sam se morao uputiti prema cilju, bez obzira hoću li ga živ ikada dostići.

Sjedeći pred Božić u ponoćnim satima gledajući kroz prozorske rešetke u mraku tamničke ćelije čvrsto sam odlučio pobjeći iz zatvora – pa kom opanci, kom obojci. U mome životu bilo je dosta noći presudnih odluka. Oduvijek sam rado čitao i o pročitanom intenzivno razmišljao. Da sam bio mirnije naravi, takve bi me sklonosti vjerojatno odvukle u literarne vode, pisao bih pjesme ili novele, možda i romane. Ovako su moje nenapisane pjesme i priče pretočene u životne pustolovine, u odluke i planove koji su se rađali u noćima poput te predbožićne u tamnici. U svakom razdoblju života suočavao sam se s raznim izazovima i kada bi me nešto zaokupilo, onda je u meni sve vrilo dok taj proces fermentacije ne bi završio odlukom i gotovim planom. Pretpostavljam da i umjetnici stvaraju na sličan način. Godine su prošle, ostario sam, ali negdje u meni još uvijek čuči onaj dječak na vratima izbe, dječak zaokupljen zagonetkom. Bez njega ne bi vrijedilo živjeti. Dok on živi, živim i ja. Kada utihne, i meni je poći.

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…

The Pantry

When I contemplate my life today, as I approach the seventh decade, and the path I took in light of the specific experiences I had, I realize that it consisted of two routes: one of action and one of contemplation. One person might see my path as tragic, another as an adventure, and a third as a total failure. I do not deny anyone the right to view my life from his/her own perspective, but it seems to me that everything happened as a logical progression, having in mind the “excess” of life energy I felt as a child, which then came to consciousness when I reached maturity. An excess of energy, an excess of curiosity, adventurous spirit, and love of life. In short, an excess of passion to uncover the secrets and meaning of human existence. I remember as a child sitting at the entrance to our pantry, in deep contemplation on how to solve a puzzle my mother had posed. A quarter loaf of bread cost eight dinars, and I was known from time to time to dip into the meager savings my mother held in a secret place. She would forgive me my naughtiness, but still continued her efforts to keep it out of my reach, just as I continued mine to replace the dry piece of cornbread in my schoolbag for a tastier treat. One time when she’d had enough, she decided to put an end to it. She hid the money, and so successfully, she thought, that she issued me a challenge: “Zvonko, if you find it now, take all you want, I won’t stop you!” So I was sitting at the door, thinking. I had searched the whole house several times but hadn’t found anything. I looked around the pantry, thinking about where I would put it if I did not want it to be found. And then a big bag filled with old rags caught my eye, old rags twisted into a rope and thrown into the bag, where, when enough had been collected, they would be woven into a rug or coverlet. It dawned on me that this would be the best place to hide something. I took the bag and took out the pieces of rag, squeezing them one by one until I found the hidden money. I was more excited about having succeeded in solving the puzzle than I was about the possibility of getting the money. Later, I saw in my mother’s eyes that she was more proud of my quick-wittedness than upset about the money. Maybe it is just my imagination, but I thought I saw, along with her pride, a shadow of fear in her eyes, as though she was afraid of what would become of someone like me who would later be challenged by much more dangerous riddles and puzzles.

Just as I had been sitting and thinking in front of the pantry door so long ago, I was now doing the same thing in my prison cell, in 1987, a hundred miles from New York. Thinking of a way to escape from prison. Yes, I had decided to escape, and where there was a strong will, there was certainly a way. I was upset and dissatisfied with what was happening with Julie and me in regard to our case. I had to do something. A small group of people were aware that based on a decision the U.S. Parole Commission brought in January 1986, Julie was to be released in six months. We believed that Judge Bartels had had a strong influence here, since he had been writing to the head commissioner for many years. In his letters, he emphasized that he, as our trial judge, had recommended that Julie serve no more than eight years, and that, therefore, he was requesting her immediate release.

For the four of us – Matanic, Vlasic, Pesut, and me – Judge Bartels emphasized several times on sentencing day that regardless of the length of our sentence, he recommended that we be released after ten years. The decision by the Parole Commission that they serve twelve years left open the possibility that their sentences might be shortened even more at some point. I figured that if they released Julie and shortened the sentence of the others by two years, they would probably keep me two or three years longer. We hoped this time that the Parole Commission would formally confirm the recommendation of the regional commissioners, who had visited Julie in prison and talked with her in great detail.

Meanwhile, after waiting more than three months (in all other cases the response comes after one month), Julie received only an indication instead of an answer. It was felt that not enough attention had been given to certain details at the last hearing, so the commissioners would be returning to see Julie again. Another three, four months went by, and around the time of our ten-year prison “anniversary”, the commissioners showed up. They basically repeated the same story and added that if it were up to them, they would release her immediately, but that their boss would not agree to that. So they gave her two more years instead, saying the decision would then be confirmed by the main office in Washington.

After a year of (probably intentional) mental torment, the Commission’s shocking response arrived sometime around the middle of December. The Commission had decided to release Julie only after fifteen years! I felt that any reasonable and informed person would see that such a decision was impossible to justify – either as an appropriate punishment for such an act, or in order to protect the American public from “terrorists” and “criminals”. Back then, the hysterical fear of terrorism that has developed in American society since September 11, 2001 did not yet exist. I deeply believe that this cruel blow could not have been understood except within the context of a camouflaged, calculating, and totally arbitrary application of the Old Testament law “an eye for an eye” against those who love their country, because they are the only ones who stand in the way of the globalist powers and their goals. The fact that in today’s world, all sorts of phrases (such as “struggle for human rights”) are constantly parroted and proclaimed sacred, while the struggle for national liberation and rights of individual nations is denigrated and equated with evil, makes it easy to understand why patriots are portrayed as lunatics and criminals. Nobody addresses the question: what human rights does an occupied nation have?

The news that Julie was to spend five more years in prison upset and disturbed me, but I wasn’t shocked. It had become crystal clear to me that in spite of the judge’s recommendations and my model behavior all these years in prison, the behind-the-scenes forces in Washington had no intention of releasing me until I was totally broken. This realization transformed my carefully tended hope into a transparent illusion. Feeling alone and forgotten, I gathered all my internal strength and confronted cruel reality.

Since self-destruction is not in my nature, I concluded after a lot of intense soul-searching that if I were to remain true to my ideals and myself there was nothing to do but to take my fate into my own hands once again. In order to do that, it was obvious I needed to escape from prison. Not only was I aware how difficult this would be, but I also knew that if I succeeded, I had a long and dangerous road to follow. In spite of all this, an inner strength drove me on, driving me toward this goal, regardless of whether I would ever reach it alive. Looking through the windows from my dark prison cell that night, I made the firm decision that I would escape – come Hell or high water.

There have been a lot of fateful decisions in my life. I always loved to read and then to contemplate intensively about what I had read. If I were of a quieter nature, these tendencies would have led me perhaps to a literary life; I’d be writing poems or short stories, maybe even novels. Instead, my unwritten poems and stories took the form of life adventures, in the decisions and plans formed on nights such as this one in that dark cell, sometime before Christmas. In every phase of my life, I had been confronted with various challenges, and when I was engrossed with one, everything would simmer within me until the fermentation process was complete and a decision and firm plan was reached. I assume an artist’s process of creation is similar.

Years have passed, I have gotten old, but that boy within me is still crouched at the pantry door, trying to solve the puzzle. Without him, life wouldn’t be worth living. As long as he lives, so do I.

Zvonko Bušić

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