About Dada

You will never meet her. Because she is dead. But if you had a chance to meet her, to know her, you would never forget her smile, her ability to listen, and her concern about everything called human. She was different than majority and she was left to die alone, in the night, with the bleeding hearth. You, who never met Dada, do not know and understand the depth of her humanity. She did not want to believe that there is an excuse for human becoming an animal ( I ask for forgiveness from animals to call some humans animals, but in the absence of the better word...). She saw it first hand. She was there: Croatia, Bosnia. War, smell of blood, smell of burnt house, smell of death. She was there. And she could not find an excuse for this under the sun. And she objected the idea of the "uebermensch" ( ask Dobrica Cosica what I mean here ). I will continue writing about Dada, because she is always with me: even after 15 years, I still vividly remember her, every time I read her articles, her letters, I feel her presence and how smart she was, and how talented she was, and my thoughts end in the horror of the night between April 7 and April 8, 1994. Just a month before my son was born. I see her in him, in me, in my parents, I can see her because it is not possible that someone so extraordinary like her just disappears. She is still with us, and as long as I live, I will remind you of her. Because you do not know her, you were not lucky to know her. Dada is alive!

Letter to Mr. Greenspon

Dear Mr. Greenspon,

I just wanted you to know how shocked and worried I became when I heard of the terrible incident on Friday. I hope Jacob is doing well. I also have a son who goes to the same school as yours, the same age. What can I say: the worst parent's nightmare is that the child will be hurt.

The reason I am writing to you is that I hope that we will find out some real answers to what happened before the man who was on three different kinds of medications decided to do something like this. It is about the time to find out how is it possible that the people who are very mentally ill walk around with no support, or place to go to. I hope you will be in the position to find out answers to these questions, and prevent something so horrible happening again.

I wish Jacob very fast recovery. I know that physical wounds will heal faster than psychological, and I wish him all the strength that I am sure he has ( which he showed with being able yo pull through this horrifying ordeal ).

Take care.


http://www.thestar.com/News/GTA/article/587951

Dada - 10, februar 1964 - 8, april 1994

Bullying

I do not know why I did not write about this before. I guess I was trying not to think about it because it was so painful and unavoidable. When I reported bullying to Human Resources of XYZ ( name not published because of the fear of reprisal) company in Toronto, I was told by HR person that she is an "expert on bullying". I knew right away that she was a bully herself, trying to convince me that I was not really bullied. She asked me: Do you know what bullying is? And I said: I know. The bullying is when you know that you are bullied. She was so hard trying to look professional, and I was so hard trying not to say anything bad about my boss, for whom I knew was the mastermind of the bullying plot. I read everywhere that it is not smart to say anything bad about your boss, even if he is a pure evil, so I followed that advice. Even more so, I said nice things about him, hoping, as any victim is always hoping, that this will elicit some empathy on his side. No, it did not happen. After I reported bullying the things got much worse. It was actually a group bullying, I called it mobbing, by three people that I sat with in the same cubicle. They were constantly taking turns in making personal remarks about me: how I talk to my son on the phone, how I say words, more subtle remarks but very clear to me that no matter what I do they will not show any respect for me and my good work and all the help I was offering to them. For me this all thing became somewhat exepriment "in vivo". I was saying things that I was hoping will improve the situation, showing interest in their shallow conversations, tried to share some stories that I thought will show to them that I am also a human being with a little bit different but similar interests and concerns as theirs. The only one thing I could not do, is to go to their level, because I cannot make fun of other's misfortunes. And when one of them commented on the death of the boy who run away from home over disupute with parents over xbox 360, when she referred to the dead boy as "that ass kid now knows better", I had to keep my mouth shut and bite my tongue, because whatever I wanted to say to her could not convey how much discusted I was with that comment. And so on, I could go on and on. If you do not understand by now what I am trying to say, just stop reading it here. Well, Human Resources came back to me with the conclusion that "there was no evidence of bullying". I said I would be suriprised if they found any. I resigned next day. Some will call it victory for the bully. I call it staying alive. Because, seriously, these people are so mean that they would not mind taking your life. It is true, and it is happening right now.

Dada

Stizu najnovije vesti iz Srbije: Dada Vujasinovic je NAJVEROVATNIJE ubijena. Vidim fotografiju sa uvidjaja, crno belu, Dadino telo blago povijeno, jedna ruka zgrcena, kao da je malo podignuta, usne u polozaju kao da nesto zele da kazu, otvorene oci: umrla je gledajuci. Da li su vrata bila zakljucana, ko je poslednji bio u stanu, ko je razbio luster, ciji su krvavi tragovi prstiju na fotelji, ko je stavio pusku pored nje, i da li je uopste pucano iz te puske. Zaglusena buka puske sacmarice u sitne sate u novobeogradskom bloku. Niko nije cuo pucanj.

Dani, meseci, godine otkucavaju u vremenu lazi i zla. Vlasti se smenjuju, ostaju isti ljudi na vlasti. Cesto mislim da niko nije vredan ni da pomene Dadino ime. Suze moje majke koja ne razume zasto je pisac napisao da je htela da se otruje tabletama. Pogresno shvacena rec, recenica, ne pomaze moje objasnjenje da je to knjizevna istina, da su oni koji su je ubili to vec insuinirali dovoljno puno puta, i da postoje i oni koji mozda veruju da je novinarka bila luda. Luda u nenormalnom vremenu. Normalan u normalnom vemenu. Cista matematika.

Kraj proizvodnje Juga

Trebalo je videti moju iznenadjenu facu kada sam jutros na putu ka poslu, u sabveju u Toronto Staru procitala da se Jugo vise nece proizvoditi u Kragujevcu. Kao prvo, ja sam mislila da je Jugo odavno vise ne proizvodi, i kao drugo saznanje da ce prestati da se proizvodi izazvalo je u meni neki cudan osecaj da, eto i taj poslednji proizvod drzave u kojoj sam rodjena vise nece postojati.




Tekst je napisan duhovito: zasto Jugo ima grejace na zadnjim prozorima, da se ogreju ruke dok ga gurate; sta su amortizeri na Jugu, njegovi putnici; i tako dalje. Iako se Jugo prodavao u Americi po ceni od 3990 dolara, i iako je ostao zapamcen kao najlosiji automobil svih vremena ( pa sta bi hteli za te pare!!!), ja sam, ipak nekako tuzna sto se Jugo vise ne proizvodi. Kazu Fijat je otkupio Zastavu i pravice Fijat Punto. Sigurna sam da ce se na prostorima bivse Jugoslavije jos dugo kotrljati Jugo u obiliku raznih krntija i dokazivati Amerikancima da je vaznije imati dusu nego pare.
Ziveo Jugo!!!

Pad Krajine

4. avgusta 1995. sam bila u Beogradu. Secam se jasno da ni jedna televizijska stanica nije prenela vest da su se hiljade izbeglica iz Krajine slile u Srbiju. Izasla sam na autoput Beograd-Zagreb i nemo posmatrala nepreglednu, dugacku kolonu traktora. Nigde nikoga. Ceo Novi Beograd cuti. Sakrio se iza spustenih roletni. TV Pink ima odlican program: Ceca i Jelena, Pivo se hladi u frizideru. Kolone: cega, kakve kolone?, neki su me pitali. Ja sam totalno "pala u nesvest" kada mi je neko rekao da je sve to "njihova krivica" i da mi sa tim nemamo nikakve veze. To sto su oni dosli u Srbiju, na takav nacin, je valjda bila planirana turisticka poseta, u Milosevicevom aranzmanu.

Prvo sam mislila: dacu pare. Pa sam krenula autom po autoputu, ali to se pokazalo komplikovanijim nego sto sam ja zamisljala. Kolona je i dalje tuzno prolazila: sporo i naprono putovanje se nije zavrsavalo u Beogradu. Na izlazu sa Gazele je stajao policajac, koji traktorima nije dozvoljavao da skrenu sa autoputa. Mogli su samo napred, agonija se nastavljala, Beograd ih nije hteo.

Otisla sam u radnju: kupila hranu za bebe, pelene, spakovala nesto decije garderobe, i odnela sve u Crveni Krst. Uopste nisam bila uverena da ce sve to sto sam odnela stici do onih kojima sam ja to namenila. Atmosfera mracna da mracnija ne moze da bude. Svi se prave ludi, kao da se nista ne desava. Ja pocnjem da mislim da sa mnom nesto nije u redu. Moja bivsa svekrva mi to potvrdjuje. Ona volontira u Crvenom Krstu, i tvrdi da su svi dobili po veknu hleba!!!! I sta se ja tu sada petljam u nesto sto se mene uopste ne tice. Ima ko da vodi racuna o situaciji. Ja bolje da gledam svoja posla. Da nisam lepo vaspitana, svasta sam htela da joj kazem u vezi vekne hleba i situacije. Ali ona nije bila jedina. Svi, ali svi do jednog su se pravili blesavi. A ja, ja sam polako pocela da se osecam kao totalni stranac.

Pad Krajine, i patnja naroda u koloni, ucinila je da se mentalno totalno odvojim od Srbije, i da nikada vise ne pomislim na nostalgican nacin o Beogradu. Njegovi stanovnici, bez trunke empatije, bez trunke ljudskog saosecanja, bez trunke kajanja, bez trunke plemenitosti, su me zauvek izgubili.

I to nista nikada nece moci da promeni!