2011-12-19 Bosna, lijepa kao Andrej Pejić

Milanče

U toj prvoj
generaciji, među poštarima ili, možda, bibliotekarima, toga se teško sjetiti, a
za priču nije ni pretjerano važno, bio je neki Milan. Fizički lijep dečko, ali
samo dok stoji, ne miče se i ne progovara. Damskih kretnji, koje bi, kada se
iznervira, a najčešće je bio nervozan, jer se školska većina svojski trudila da
ga iznervira, bivale još ženskije. Sav histeričan i razmahan, prolazio je
hodnicima, družio se samo s ono nekoliko djevojaka koje ga, u skladu s općim
stavom, nisu izbjegavale, a govorio je glasno, tako da ga se uvijek čulo s
kraja na kraj škole. Glas mu je bio mutiran, dubok kao i u ostalih dječaka, ali
svejedno je govorio kao žensko. Zvali su ga Milanče, a on je na taj nadimak,
podsmješljiviji nego što nam se učini kada ga danas izgovaramo, na kraju i
pristao, srodio se s njim, i valjda ga nitko, osim unezgođenih profesora, više
i nije zvao drukčije.

Nisam mu dobacivao.
Nikada nisam sudjelovao u kolektivnim ceremonijalima Milančetovog
zlostavljanja. Pravo govoreći, kada bi on naišao, gledao sam u drugom pravcu.
Nisam ga poznavao, nikad ga u životu nisam pozdravio. I ne znam što mi je bilo
neugodnije: slušati ih kako ga po hodnicima dozivaju, iskrivljenih ženskastih
glasova, dobacuju šale na njegov račun, ili ga, u vrijeme gužvi, kada se za
velikog odmora cijela smjena stušti niz stepenice, pa prema izlazu, hvataju za
stražnjicu ili za spolovilo, i onda mu se muškarčine rugaju ili ga zvjerski
stegnu za testise, sve dok se ne rasplače, ili mi je veću nelagodu stvarao on
sam, kada bi veseo i sretan, nakon što ga svi ostave na miru, ćeretao sa svojim
drugaricama i nečemu se veselio. Izbjegavao sam Milančeta i sve što je imalo
bilo kakve veze s Milančetom. U te četiri godine nisam imao ama baš ništa sa
zlostavljanjem tog dječaka. Jednako kao što prosječan Sarajlija ili Zagrepčanin
u vrijeme Drugoga svjetskog rata nije imao baš ništa sa zlostavljanjem svojih
susjeda Jevreja ili Srba.

Nakon što smo se, u
lipnju 1984., razišli svatko na svoju stranu, u skladu sa školskim usmjerenjima
i životnim putanjama, Milančeta više nikada nisam sreo. Da jesam, sigurno bih
ga prepoznao. Po kretnjama i po govoru. Ali on mi je, za čudo,češće padao na
pamet od mnogih koje sam poznavao, s kojima sam se družio i u međuvremenu im
pozaboravljao imena i lica. Ili bi mi se javio kroz neku sitnu grižnju
savjesti, ili bi me na njega podsjetio neki sličan mladić, feminiziran,ženstven
i izgubljen među svijetom koji se lako razgnjevi pred muškomženstvenošću.
Naravno, sjećao sam ga se i s onom istom nelagodom, koja je, vjerojatno, nalik
tom kolektivnom gnjevu, samo je manjeg intenziteta, kao što su i naši
pristojni, prosječni sugrađani u Drugome svjetskom ratu prema svojim
manjinskim, ugroženim susjedima gajili osjećaje nižeg intenziteta.

Početkom rata, često
sam razmišljao što li je, Bože, sa svim tim bibliotekarima, arhivarima i
poštarima, onima koji su imali srpska imena i prezimena. Mora biti da sad neki
od njih sjede na Trebeviću uz topove i minobacače. Ili su, barem, izvan obruča,
a prema nama koji smo u obruču osjećaju emocije nižeg intenziteta. Tako mi je
ponovo na um pao i Milanče. Znao sam da on sigurno ne puca po nama. I nekako
sam mu bio zahvalan. Njegovi životni interesi, kao i njegove muke s društvenom
većinom, koje god nacije bila većina, takve su da Milanče ne puca. Premda smo
mu, koje god nacije bili, i mi u obruču, i oni izvan obruča, činili zlo. Takvo
zlo kakvo se u životu teško preboli i kakvo ja, da sam bio na njegovome mjestu,
ne bih prebolio. Eto, recimo to kada te neki majmun, usred školske gužve, ščepa
za muda i stišće dok se ne rasplačeš. Kakoživjeti među takvim svijetom? Tako
što ćeš svoje pokrete učiniti uglatijim, više nalik kretnjama robota, ne bi li
bili muškiji?

Ne znam šta je bilo s
Milančetom, nisam više za njega čuo.



Andrej

Ali sjetim ga se zadnjih mjeseci, kad god u novinama ili na televiziji vidim fotografiju Andreja Pejića. Da je naša povijest bila drukčija, da smo kao društvo bili bolje sreće, Andrej Pejić bi negdje u Tuzli, Sarajevu, Zagrebu ili Beogradu danas, vjerojatno, proživljavao iste stvari kao Milanče. Ali kako je krenulo po zlu i kako se zaratilo (Andrej je, ustvari, ratno dijete, rođen je 28. kolovoza 1991.), najprije je s majkom i bratom dopao izbjeglištva u Beogradu, gdje suživjeli po prihvatnim centrima, a zatim su, nakon NATO-vog bombardiranja Srbije, emigrirali u Australiju. Kolektivna nesreća i potpuni raspad svijeta iz kojeg je potekao, odveli su Andreja Pejića na jedno od onih užasno udaljenih mjesta zemaljskoga šara na kojima, tako se barem priča, nije važno koje si vjere, nacije i boje kože, jesi li muško ili si žensko, ili si od svega toga pomalo i sve to zajedno. Da nije bilo rata Andrej Pejić danas ne bi bio ono što jest. Teško je zamisliti, uza svu i najpitomiju maštu, da je mogla postojati takva Bosna i Hercegovina, ili takva Jugoslavija, u kojoj bi i Andrej Pejić bio sretan.
Sve važno o njemu danas saznajemo s fotografija i iz reklamnih kampanji u kojima je sudjelovao. U posljednjoj je, čitamo i gledamo, reklamirao push up grudnjak. To bi, takva su društvena pravila i običaji, trebalo biti skandalozno. Ali nije. Po našim novinama i na web portalima često objavljuju Andrejeve slike. One bi, takva su većinska pravila i običaji, trebale biti bizarne i groteskne. Ali nisu. Andrej bi za većinski svijet, svejedno koje nacije, trebao biti odbojan, odvratan, bolestan... Ali nije ni to.
Andrej Pejićje tako lijep, nepodnošljivo lijep, da pred njegovom ljepotom pomalo ustuknu i oni manijaci, perverznjaci, fašisti, gadovi i nacionalno te vjerski osviješteni pučani s anonimnih foruma ispod njegovih fotografija. Napišu da im je odvratan, nazovu ga pederom, ali tem su najčešće u manjini, tem im je i pomalo neugodno. Vjerovat ćemo da je razlog u njegovoj ljepoti. A što bi u takvoj ljepoti trebalo biti odvratno?
Od svega što se od Bosne u posljednjih dvadeset godina svijetom rasulo, Andrej Pejić je danas, možda, najneobičniji. Ako ljepota može biti šokantna, a izgleda da i to može, ukoliko društvena većina na osnovu svojih navada i običaja zaključi da se ljepota uvrgla i zatekla na krivome mjestu, tada je Andrej šokantno lijep. Pritom, danas je on planetarno najslavniji Bosanac. Od njega su slavniji samo bosanski ratni zločinci, ali i to - možda jedan ili dvojica njih. Svi drugi, nogometaši, košarkaši, filmski i kazališni režiseri, političari, književnici, glumice i glumci, manje su od njega u svijetu slavni i manje su, po onome što rade i što jesu, nad tim svijetom izdignuti. Ali svejedno, nigdje da pročitaškako se netko po Bosni i Hercegovini ponosi Andrejem Pejićem, ni time što se jedan takav rodio tu gdje i mi ostali, i što nam je činjenicom svoga rođenja u svakome smislu dao na važnosti. Ne samo to, nego niti se Hrvati otimaju za njega što je po ocu Hrvat, niti bi ga Srbi sebi jer je po majci Srbin.
I tako je Andrej, a da mu to, bit će, nikada i nije bilo na umu, izbjegao da bude jedan od nas. Je li što time izgubio?
Andrej Pejićjedna je metafora Bosne. One Bosne koja postoji kao lijepa misao, slika ili uspomena na nešto što, možda, nikada nije postojalo na način na koji biva u uspomeni. Milijuni ljudi su poslije Drugoga svjetskog rata imali svoje bosne, kojih više nema, niti će ih ikada biti. Jedni su bili protjerani i više se nisu mogli vratiti, a drugi se nisu imali kamo vratiti, jer nije bilo ni Galicije, ni malih gradova po Galiciji. Europa je bila, u sjećanjima i uspomenama, sačinjena od isključivo takvih, nepostojećih, nestvarnih zemalja. I danas jošima živih po Americi ili Kanadi, čije su domovine sačinjene od uspomena na nešto što se nije dogodilo. Andrej Pejić je utjelovljenje jedne takve uspomene, i njezine - što bi se u turističkim vodičima reklo - nedirnute ljepote.
Radiosarajevo.ba


http://radiosarajevo.ba/novost/69983/bosna-lijepa-kao-andrej-pejic


英譯

Bosnia, as beautiful as Andrej Pejic


 The school is now called "revolutionary and folk hero of the First High School." This is no longer a grammar school, but students are educated for some odd jobs, which in life probably will not deal with: librarians, archivists, assistant translators from Turkish and Arabic, Greek and Latin, as well as an elite profession, in which nobody ever will not hire - the organizers of cultural activities. The only one who went to school for something concrete were postmen, postal or telegraph operators, as their interest was known professionally. Whether it is the most represented, of course, the lowest caste in the hierarchy that was establishing from the very first day. Of course, they establish the students themselves, and in vain was all professorial effort to re-establish a school on the principles of brotherhood and equality, that is, at least in their beautiful memories, functioned until it was high school.


 Milanče

 In the first generation, including letter carriers, or, perhaps, librarians, it is difficult to remember, but the story is not overly important, it was a Milan. Physical nice guy, but just standing there, not moving and not speak. Damskih movement, which, when iznervira, and usually was nervous, because most of the school tried to be genuinely anxious iznervira, is still ženskije. All the hysterical and flamboyant, it passed the hallways, socialized only with the few girls that it, in accordance with the general attitude, not avoided, and spoke loudly, so that it is still heard from one end of the school. His voice was mutated, deep as in other boys, but it is still spoken as a female. They called him Milanče, and he was on that nickname, podsmješljiviji than we can do when we say it today, finally consented, srodio with him, and probably no one, except unezgođenih professors, more is not called otherwise.


 I did not shouted. I have never participated in collective ceremonial Milančetovog abuse. The right of speaking, when he came, I looked in another direction. I never knew him, he never in my life have I welcomed. I do not know what I was uncomfortable: they listen to him in the hallways calling, distorted mincing votes, heckles jokes at his expense, or, at the time of congestion, when the whole rest of the large shifts stušti down the stairs and towards the exit, catch the buttocks or genitals, and then the he-men, or mock it savagely tightened the testicles, until you cry, or had greater discomfort created by him, when he pleased and happy after being left all alone, with ćeretao his comrades and we will not rejoiced. I avoided Milančeta and everything that had anything to do with Milančetom. In the four years I had absolutely nothing to do with abusing the boy. Just as the average citizens of Sarajevo or Zagreb resident at the time of the Second World War had nothing to abuse their neighbors of the Jews or the Serbs.


 Once we are in June 1984th, everyone dispersed to their side, in accordance with school orientations and life trajectories, Milančeta I have never met. Yes I did, I would definitely recognize him. By gestures and speech. But he told me, strangely, often falling on the minds of many that I knew that I hung out in the meantime they pozaboravljao names and faces. Or should we be contacted through a small remorse, or would it reminded me of a similar young, feminine, feminine and lost amongst the world that are easy to angry male femininity. Of course, I remember it is the same one embarrassment, which, probably, like the collective anger, only a lower intensity, as well as our courteous, average citizens in the Second World War by their minority, threatened neighbors harbored feelings of low intensity.


 At the beginning of the war, I have often pondered what it was, my God, with all these librarians, archivists, and letter carriers, those who have Serbian names. It must be sad that some of them sitting on Trebević with guns and mortars. Or, at least, outside the ring, and for us that we feel emotions in a ring of lower intensity. So I fell back on the mind and Milanče. I knew that he certainly does not shoot at us. And somehow I was grateful to him. Its vital interests, as well as his passion with the social majority, whichever was most nations, such as that Milanče not shoot. Even though we told him, whatever the nation were, and we in the ring, and those outside the circle, I did wrong. This kind of evil is hard to get over in life and what I do, that I was in its place, I would not have gotten over. Well, let's say you and a monkey in the middle school crowd, grab the balls and squeeze until rasplačeš. How to live in such a world? So what will you do your movements uglatijim, more robot-like movements, would not be masculine?

 I do not know what happened to Milančetom, I heard more of him.


Angie Masako Kitagawa Andrej
But remember it can last months, whenever the newspapers or see on television, photography Andreja Pejic. That our history had been different, that we as a society had better luck, Andrej Pejic somewhere in Tuzla, Sarajevo, Zagreb or Belgrade today, probably going through the same things as Milanče. But that went wrong and how they went to war (Andrej is, in fact, war child, was born August 28, 1991.), First with her mother and brother liked refuge in Belgrade, where they lived in collective centers, and then, After the NATO bombing of Serbia, immigrated to Australia. Collective accident and complete disintegration of the world from which it originated, was taken to Andreja Pejic at one of those terribly distant places of the earth on which markings, or at least the story, no matter what you religion, ethnicity and skin color, are you male or female, Or are you just that little bit of everything together. Had it not been for the war Andrej Pejic would not be what it is. It's hard to imagine, with all the najpitomiju imagination, it could be such a Bosnia and Herzegovina, Yugoslavia, or such, which would Andrej Pejic was happy.


 Everything important about him today, we learn from the photographs and the advertising campaign in which he participated. In the final, reading and watching, advertised push up bra. It would, therefore, are social rules and customs, should be scandalous. But it is not. According to our newspapers and web portals are often published Andreev picture. One would, therefore, are the majority rules and customs, should be a bizarre and grotesque. But they did not. Andrej the majority of the world, no matter which nation should be repulsive, disgusting, sick ... But not even that.
Andrej Pejic is so beautiful, impossibly handsome, to the beauty of his little back, and they are maniacs, perverts, fascists, Gad, and national and religious minded folk with anonymous forums below his photo. Write to them was nauseating, call him a fag, but tem are usually in the minority, their tem is a bit annoying. We believe that the reason for its beauty. And what would such beauty should be an abomination?


 From everything from Bosnia in the last twenty years the world of decadence, Andrej Pejic is today perhaps the most unusual. If beauty can be shocking, but it seems that it may, if the majority of society on the basis of their habits and customs finds that the beauty and resorted caught in the wrong place, then Andrej shockingly beautiful. In doing so, has been on the planet's most famous Bosnian. From him the only famous Bosnian war criminals, but it - maybe one or two of them. All other players, footballers, basketball players, film and theater directors, politicians, writers, actors and actresses, are less than him in the world famous and the less, by what they do and what they are, over the world rise. But anyway, anywhere to read that someone was in Bosnia and Herzegovina boasts Andrej Pejic, nor by one that was born here, where the rest of us, and what the fact of his birth in any sense given its importance. Not only that, but neither the Croats have begun to take for him as the father of a Croat, Serb, nor would it himself because his mother was a Serb.


 So Andrei, and that to him, will, and never was in mind to avoid being one of us. Is it time lost?
Andrej Pejic is a metaphor for Bosnia. One of which is a nice thought, image or memory of something that perhaps never existed in the way that happens in the memory. Millions of people after World War II had their ange, which is no more, nor will it ever be. Some were expelled and more unable to return, while others had nowhere to return, because there was no Galicia, even small towns in Galicia. Europe was, in the recollections and memories, made up exclusively of these, non-existent, unreal country. Even today there are still living in America or Canada, whose country made up of memories of what happened. Andrej Pejic is the embodiment of such memories, and her - what would be the tour guides say - unspoiled beauty.