Iz memoara Zvonka Bušića: Stvar s pogibijom nedužnog policajca bila je namještena!

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 […]

OTMICA

Nakon što je odluka donesena, odmah sam se bacio na pripreme. Počeo sam proučavati potrebnu literaturu, tražiti pogodne suborce, a planirao sam i susret s Brunom radi Proglasa koji sam namjeravao tiskati u novinama i bacati iz zrakoplova.

Glavni priručnik za sastavljanje bombe bila mi je tada popularna Anarhistička kuharica. Kasnije na suđenju sudac je optužio Julie da je izrezala stranice iz te knjige u knjižnici, što je nju silno uzrujalo i naljutilo. Potječe iz obitelji koja iznimno poštuje knjige i izrezivanje listova iz neke knjige za nju je predstavljalo nešto nedopustivo, pravo oskvrnuće. Stoga je tvrdoglavo dokazivala da je samo fotokopirala dijelove knjige, a ne izrezivala, premda to nije imalo nikakvu procesnu važnost.

Proučavao sam zrakoplove. Tip zrakoplova, držao sam, također mora biti adekvatan za realizaciju onoga što sam namjeravao. Izbor je pao na Boeing 727. Nisu pri tome presudne bile one karakteristike koje se kod zrakoplova obično gledaju – veličina, brzina, broj i snaga motora. Presudna je bila činjenica da je taj tip zrakoplova imao dupla vrata, tako da su se iz unutrašnjosti zrakoplova mogla otvoriti prva vrata, a nakon što bi se ona zatvorila mogla su se otvoriti druga, a sve to ne bi proizvelo onaj poznati tlačni fenomen koji iz otvorenoga zrakoplova sve isisava van.

Tu karakteristiku Boeinga 727 iskoristio je poznati američki pljačkaš i ucjenjivač D. B. Cooper. On je nakon što je dobio novce i pustio putnike, naredio posadi da uzleti i čeka njegove daljnje upute. Također, naredio im je da ne smiju bez njegove dozvole izlaziti iz kabine jer će ubiti prvoga tko pomoli nos. Nakon što dulje vrijeme nisu dobili upute kamo da lete, jedna je stjuardesa riskirala i ušla u prostor za putnike. Međutim u zrakoplovu nije bilo nikoga, premda su vrata i prozori bili čvrsto zatvoreni! Ispostavilo se da je Cooper iskoristio prednost duplih vratiju. Izašao je u prostor između dvojih vrata, potom zatvorio prva, otvorio druga i s padobranom iskočio iz zrakoplova. Dakako, i s novcem! Nikada ga nisu uhvatili. Mene novci nisu zanimali, ali dupla vrata činila su mi se idealnima za bacanje letaka. Zato sam odabrao Boeing 727.

Imao sam sreće upoznati jednu od stjuardesa koja je bila na letu kada je Cooper izveo svoju akciju. Ona mi je detaljno ispričala kako se odvijala cijela akcija i ne sluteći što je uzrok moga interesa za Cooperov zločin i Boeing 727. Prvi udarac mome planu dogodio se onoga trenutka kada sam od pilota, nakon što sam već preuzeo kontrolu nad zrakoplovom, doznao da su poslije Cooperova razbojništva na tom tipu zrakoplova preuredili vrata. S njih se više nisu mogli bacati letci! Štoviše, zbog opasnost da ih usišu elise motora nisu se mogli bacati ni na bilo koji drugi način. Tako se u Montrealu morao podignuti još jedan zrakoplov u zrak. I krenuti prema Europi.

Za akciju kakvu sam planirao bila je potrebna i određena svota novca. To sam riješio relativno lako, prijatelj mi je dao deset tisuća dolara, a da nisam morao iznositi detalje same akcije. Imao je u mene povjerenja, a ja sam smatrao da čak i sudionicima same akcije treba u određenoj mjeri dozirati informacije. Bilo je dovoljno da budu upoznati s osnovnim planom, dok su detalji bili poznati samo meni. Najviše je znala Julie, no ni ona nije znala da postoji prava bomba u pretincu njujorške podzemne željeznice. Frane Pešut mi je rekao da je on za Hrvatsku spreman na sve i ne pitajući detalje. Vjerovao mi je i nije se bojao posljedica. Slobodan Vlašić bio je detaljnije upoznat s akcijom, no ni on nije znao da eksploziv nije pravi. On je među nama bio najbolji stručnjak za sastavljanje eksplozivnih naprava, stoga sam njemu dao zadatak da u toaletu zrakoplova sastavi dijelove navodne eksplozivne naprave, što je on i učinio vjerujući da se radi o pravom eksplozivu.

Frani je pak prst poplavio od tridesetdvosatnog držanja prekidača. Zašto im nisam sve rekao? Prvo, znao sam da nakon akcije idemo u zatvor s obzirom da ćemo se predati nakon što u novinama tiskamo svoj proglas i bacimo letke iznad određenih gradova. Ta predaja je, zapravo, trebala biti jedan od ključnih dijelova akcije. Nakon što bismo se predali i nakon što bi putnici svjedočili o humanom postupanju prema njima, svi bi u svijetu bili upoznati s diktaturom u Hrvatskoj, a nitko ne bi mogao reći da smo se mi, borci za njezinu slobodu, ponijeli kao okorjeli teroristi premda smo pribjegli drastičnoj mjeri otmice zrakoplova.

Zvonko Bušić o ženi svoga života: Često se pitam jesam li joj dostojno uzvratio?

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 […]

Nakon predaje, držao sam, moji će se suborci lakše braniti i dobit će manju kaznu ako budu manje upućeni u moj naum. Drugo, cijelu sam situaciju želio imati pod kontrolom. Bojao sam se da bi, ako bih u zrakoplov unio pravi eksploziv, u nekoj nepredviđenoj situaciji moglo doći do nesreće i nevinih žrtava. To nisam mogao dopustiti! S druge strane, ako bi znali da eksploziv nije pravi, opet bi nešto moglo poći po zlu. Netko bi od nas mogao to odati svojim ponašanjem, uspaničiti se ili nešto slično. Treće, čemu kriti, u to sam vrijeme bio prilično paranoičan, kao i većina političkih emigranata. Udba nas je progonila, špijunirala, ubijala, infiltrirala se u naše redove. U svakom slučaju, tajna koju nikome nisi rekao ostajala je samo tvoja, ti si bio njezin gospodar, u protivnom, ona je mogla zagospodariti tobom.

Pripreme su se odvijale po planu. Na proljeće smo Julie i ja otputovali u Europu da se vidimo s Brunom. On je preuzeo pisanje Poziva na dostojanstvo i slobodu. Julie se nadala da će me Bruno, kao stariji i zreliji, možda odgovoriti od akcije. Naravno, takvo što nije se dogodilo. Veći dio vremena proveli smo na Bodenskom jezeru. Julie je čak skoknula do Hercegovine. Bio je to određeni rizik, ali ona si ga je kao Amerikanka mogla priuštiti. Tog lipnja 1976. posljednji sam put vidio Brunu. Ubili su ga dvije godine kasnije kada sam ja već bio na doživotnoj robiji.

Julie je proglas otipkala na pisaćem stroju Marijana Gabelice. Znao sam da će policija to istraživati pa se nisam trudio sakriti tu činjenicu. Istina je i Gabelici bila najbolja zaštita. Prije polaska u akciju stali smo kod njega i vratili mu pisaći stroj. Kada me policija ispitivala, rekao sam im na čijem je stroju pisan Poziv na dostojanstvo i slobodu. Gabelica uistinu nije imao pojma zašto mi stroj treba. A budući da nije ni znao, nisu ga ni za što mogli optužiti.

Lonce smo kupili u trgovini, a na aerodromu smo ih prikazali kao poklone. Rekli smo da putujemo prijateljima na vjenčanje. Glinu detektori metala nisu mogli otkriti, a da su je kojim slučajem otkrili pretresajući prtljagu, svejedno ništa ne bi mogli posumnjati. Možda bi se nekome moglo učiniti bizarnim to što sa sobom nosimo glinu, no nitko to nije mogao protumačiti kao nešto opasno. Kako, uza sve mjere opreza, nisam bio siguran da oni koji me prate ništa ne slute, dan i noć prije akcije proveo sam u obilasku lokala, nastojeći da me vide s čašom u ruci, a na počinak sam otišao tek pred jutro. Tako sam bio siguran da – i u slučaju da me prate – nitko normalan neće pomisliti da bih nakon „burne“ noći mogao krenuti u tako opasan pothvat kao što je otmica zrakoplova.

Cijela akcija zasnivala se zapravo na fino nijansiranoj psihološkoj igri. Više od trideset sati apsolutno smo gospodarili situacijom u zrakoplovu, držali u šahu nekoliko vlada, bacali letke, diktirali članke najvećim tiskovinama, preletjeli dva kontinenta – a od naoružanja nitko od nas nije imao ni džepni nožić. I da nije bilo tog fatalnog slučaja s B. Murrayem, bila bi to najelegantnija, najčistija i najuspješnija otmica u povijesti zrakoplovstva. Ovako, ostala je gorčina i osjećaj grižnje savjesti koji će me pratiti do kraja života.

Često su me i dobronamjerni poznanici pitali zašto sam ostavio bombu u pretincu u podzemnoj željeznici. Mnogima se to činio potpuno besmislen i nepotreban dodatak dobro smišljenoj akciji. Međutim, nije tako. Za moj plan bomba u postaji bila je podjednako važna kao i glina u loncima. Ona je trebala dati vjerodostojnost mojim tvrdnjama u pregovoru s američkim vlastima, agentima i policijom. Lonci koje smo nosili sa sobom bili su identični loncu ostavljenom u podzemnoj, samo što je u njima bila glina, a u njemu pravi eksploziv. Bez te bombe netko je mogao posumnjati da blefiramo. Osim toga nakana mi je bila da se u početku predstavimo kao teroristi s kojima se nije uputno šaliti jer smo samo tako mogli dobiti sve što smo zahtijevali. Bomba je i u tom smislu bila nužan dio ukupnoga plana.

Ipak, gorka je spoznaja da je netko ni kriv ni dužan stradao kao kolateralna žrtva tvoje akcije za neku ideju. O kojoj stradali, ruku na srce, nije imao blagoga pojma niti ga je zanimala. Pitanje slučajnih, dakle nevinih žrtava uvijek se postavlja kada čovjek poduzima neku akciju koja sadrži elemente nasilja. Upravo o tom aspektu cijelog poduhvata razmišljao sam možda i više nego o drugim aspektima planirane akcije. Zato sam, uostalom, i otimao zrakoplov bez ikakva oružja. Međutim, zlo se dogodilo tamo gdje sam ga najmanje očekivao, gdje nije bilo, barem mi se tako činilo, ni teoretske šanse da stvari pođu po zlu. Već sam pisao o tome kako sam gotovo siguran da u pogibiji policajca Murraya imaju umiješane prste neke službe.

Otmicom su bili zatečeni i Amerikanci i Udba, ipak teško je dokazati je li na toj relaciji došlo do nekog dogovora o kompromitiranju akcije. Uvjeren sam da jest. Ne govorim to stoga da bih skinuo krivnju sa sebe. Krivnja je u prvome redu moralna kategorija. Pravni, zakonski aspekt krivnje otplatio sam dugogodišnjim zatvorom, odležao sam više od brojnih okorjelih ubojica, silovatelja i pljačkaša. Moralni aspekt krivnje ostaje kao moj račun s vlastitom savješću i s Bogom, bez obzira na to je li Murrayevu smrt prouzrokovala nespretnost onih koji su bombu detonirali ili je posrijedi bila naknadna diverzija tajnih službi. Bombu sam ja sastavio i postavio u pretinac u podzemnoj, i za smrt koju je ona prouzrokovala snosim krivnju bez obzira što se s tom bombom kasnije događalo. Dakle, ne pokušavam izbjeći krivnju nekim naknadnim konstrukcijama, nego doista mislim da su u nesreću bili upleteni prsti onih koji su pošto-poto htjeli kompromitirati cijelu akciju.

I američke agencije naizgled su se poprilično zabrinule. U nekoliko članaka u New York Timesu (od dvanaestoga i četrnaestoga rujna 1976.), samo nekoliko dana nakon otmice, navodile su se “pomne procjene” šefa pirotehničkog odjela nakon “prvog takvog pogubnog događaja u posljednjih 37 godina”. Odjel je priznao da “nijedan od stručnjaka nije nosio zaštitnu opremu kad su prišli eksplozivnoj napravi… a što su bili obvezni prema policijskim propisima”. Među njima bio je i policajac Murray, opisan kao “revni čuvar zakona i jedan od prvih koji je prihvatio opasan zadatak”. Međutim, “nikako nisu uspijevali dokučiti razlog eksplozije”, što nije bio odgovor na pitanje zašto policajci nisu nosili propisanu zaštitnu opremu.

Pismo majci nakon 29 godina zatvora: Da li razumiš ove riči ucviljenog sina nad tvojim otvorenim grobom?

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 […]

“Pirotehničarima je očito zagonetka zašto naprava nije reagirala na impulse mehanizma na daljinsko upravljanje kojim se policija obično koristi za detoniranje eksploziva u za to predviđenim rupama.” Sudeći po članku u New York Timesu, jedna od teorija koju je policija istraživala bila je da je “daljinski upravljač DOISTA aktivirao bombu – nekoliko minuta nakon što je trebao, odnosno u trenutku kad su se policajac Murray i drugi približili eksplozivnoj napravi.” Upravo o ovom scenariju razgovarao sam s Aldrichom Amesom: frekvencija daljinskog upravljača bila je onemogućena, i upravo u trenutku kad su se policajci naginjali nad bombu, svi bez zaštitne opreme, ona je ocito aktivirana s drugog jaceg daljinskog upravljaca. Razgovori s Aldrichom Amesom dali su mi i neke konkretnije spoznaje o vjerojatnosti i logičnosti mojih zaključaka. Naravno, poginuloga policajca žalim kao nedužnog čovjeka, ali cijeli slučaj bezbroj sam puta trijezno razmotrio i uvijek mi se činilo da se nad njega nadvija tamna sjena političkih službi.

Veći dio vremena tijekom otmice proveo sam u pilotskoj kabini. S putnicima su uglavnom komunicirali Julie i Matanić. Pešut i Vlašić predstavljali su šutljivu prijetnju, barem su ih putnici tako trebali doživljavati. Kad sam od pilota doznao da je zrakoplov u kojem smo bili nepogodan za bacanje letaka, situacija se zakomplicirala, ali nije me spopala malodušnost, štoviše cijelo sam vrijeme imao osjećaj da savršeno vladam situacijom. Znao sam da su policajci provjerili bombu ostavljenu u pretincu te se nisam bojao da bi netko mogao doći na ideju da smo oteli zrakoplov potpuno nenaoružani. Inače, u opasnim pothvatima obično tako biva – kad je plan napravljen, odluka donesena i pothvat otpočeo, čovjek funkcionira besprijekorno. Šok je nastupio u Parizu kada je do nas došla vijest da je poginuo policajac. U prvi mah u to nisam htio povjerovati, mislio sam da su obavještajne službe za nas tiskale poseban primjerak New York Timesa kako bi nas obeshrabrile.

Poslao sam Matanića i Julie iz zrakoplova da nazovu određene telefonske brojeve i provjere istinitost te vijesti. Kad sam dobio potvrdu da se uistinu dogodila tragedija, bilo mi je jasno da je naša akcija okončana. Neće biti ništa od planiranog bacanja letaka iznad Zagreba i Solina, gdje se upravo odvijala proslava 1300-te obljetnice kršćanstva u Hrvata. Naime, dok sam planirao otmicu zrakoplova, između nekoliko simboličnih datuma odlučio sam se upravo za taj. Spoznaja da je nastradao nevin čovjek i da je izgubljen jedan ljudski život pretpostavljala je trenutnu predaju. Bio je to vjerojatno najteži dan u mom životu, a proživio sam na tisuće uistinu teških dana. Amplituda osjećaja u samo jednom danu bila je ogromna, od osjećaja da savršeno kontroliram situaciju i da činim nešto veliko za ideju za koju sam se cijeli život borio, do osjećaja klonuća zbog toga što su stvari krenule u krivom smjeru tamo gdje sam to najmanje očekivao.

Potpuno klonuo ipak nisam, započeto je trebalo privesti kraju. Predaja je izvršena u najboljem redu i bez panike. Prvi su izašli putnici i moji suborci. Pilot i ja ostali smo posljednji. Premda su tražili da on izađe prije mene, on to nije htio učiniti sluteći da bi me specijalci mogli ustrijeliti. Inzistirao je da zajedno izađemo, štoviše prebacio je ruku preko moga ramena tako da me, ako su to i namjeravali, nisu mogli ustrijeliti, a da i njegov život ne dovedu u opasnost.

Zvonko Bušić u memoarima otkrio kako je izgubio oko: Ljudi su bili naviknuti na tragediju. Kao da su mislili da sam dobro prošao jer sam izgubio samo jedno oko!

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 […]

Okupljenim novinarima dao je onu svoju poznatu izjavu: „Ovime drama za posadu i putnike završava, a za Taika i njegove suborce tek počinje“. Mnogo godina kasnije putovao sam zrakoplovom iz Splita za Zagreb. Kad sam se mimoilazio s pilotom, prepoznavši me, on me šeretski upita: „Kamo danas letimo, gospodine Bušiću?“ Ovaj put samo u Zagreb, rekoh mu nasmijavši se. Srdačni humor u glasu tog čovjeka podsjetio me na srdačnu ozbiljnost kapetana otetoga zrakoplova. Ja sam, eto, valjda jedini otmičar zrakoplova koji s pilotima ima samo dobra iskustva.

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 Hijacking

After the decision was made, I immediately began preparations. I started studying necessary materials, locating appropriate collaborators, and planned a meeting with Bruno to discuss the Declaration I intended to have printed in newspapers and thrown from the plane. The main handbook for making the bomb was the then popular “Anarchist’s Cookbook”. Julie was later accused of having torn pages out of this book in the library, which really upset and angered her, since she comes from a family of book lovers who would consider that an unforgivablesacrilege. She firmly insisted that all she did was photocopy the pages, not tear them out, although it was a totally insignificant point in the trial.

I studied airplanes as well. The plane, I believed, had to be appropriate for what I intended. The choice fell on the Boeing 727. The traditional characteristics one looks for in a plane – speed, size, type and power of the motor – were not the most critical. What was important was that the plane had double doors, so that the first door could be opened from the inside of the plane, then closed, and then the second door opened, so that the well-known suction phenomenon could not occur, drawing everything and everyone out of the plane. This double-door element was used by the famous American robber and blackmailer, D. B. Cooper. After he got the money and released the passengers, he ordered the crew to take off and wait for further instructions. He also said nobody was allowed to leave the cabin without his permission, and he would kill the first one who dared. After they waited quite awhile for instructions about where to fly, one of the stewardesses took a risk and entered the passenger seating area. But it was totally empty, although the doors and windows were firmly closed. It turns out Cooper had used the advantage of the double doors. He went into the middle door space, then closed the first door, opened the second and parachuted out. With the money! He was never caught.

I was not interested in money, but the double doors seemed ideal to me for throwing leaflets. That is why I chose the Boeing 727. I was fortunate enough to meet a stewardess who had been on that flight with D. B. Cooper. She told me in great detail how the entire action unfolded, never suspecting the source of my interest for Cooper and the Boeing 727. The first blow to my plan took place when I learned from the pilot, after I had taken control of our plane, that after the Cooper events, the doors were altered on that type of plane. Leaflets could no longer be thrown from the plane. What’s more, because of the possible danger that the leaflets could be sucked into the motor, they could not be thrown in any other way, either. So we had to put a second plane in the air in Montreal. From there we then headed for Europe.

I did need a certain amount of money for the action I had planned. This was fairly simple; a close friend gave me 10,000 dollars without my having to explain any details about the action. He had complete trust in me, and I felt information should be given out sparingly even to the participants in the action. It was enough for them to know the basic plan; the details were known only to me. Julie knew the most, but even she did not know there was a real bomb in the locker of the train station. Frane Pesut, one of the participants, said he was ready to help Croatia in any way without knowing the details. Slobodan Vlasic also knew about the action in greater detail, but did not know the explosive was fake. He was the most knowledgeable in assembling explosives, so I gave him the task of assembling all the different parts of the alleged “bomb” in the plane’s bathroom, which he did, thinking it was real. Frane’s finger even turned blue from holding the switch for thirty-two hours!

Why did I not tell them everything? First, I knew we were all going to prison, since we planned to surrender after the media printed the leaflets and threw them over certain cities. This surrender was supposed to be one of the key elements of the action. After our surrender and after the passengers had spoken, we hoped, given the humaneness of our behavior toward them, that the whole world would know of the dictatorship in Croatia and nobody would be able to say that we, fighters for Croatian freedom, acted like cold-blooded terrorists, although the hijacking itself was a drastic action. I thought my co-defendants would have an easier defense after the surrender and receive a lesser sentence the less they knew of my intentions. Second, I wanted to have the whole action under control. I was afraid that if there had been real explosives in the plane, some unforeseen circumstance could lead to an accident and harm innocent victims. This was out of the question! On the other hand, if it was known the explosives were not real, something could also go wrong. One of us could expose this through our behavior, get panicky or something. Third, why hide it? At that time, I was quite paranoid, like most political emigrants. The Yugoslav Secret Service harassed us, spied on us, killed us, infiltrated into our ranks. Therefore, a secret you haven’t shared with anyone remains yours alone and you are its master; otherwise, it controls you.

The preparations went according to plan. In the spring, Julie and I traveled to Europe to meet with Bruno. He accepted the task of writing The Call for Dignity and Freedom. Julie hoped that Bruno, who was older and more mature, would maybe talk me out of the action. Of course, that did not happen. We spent most of our time at the Boden Lake. Julie had even gone to Herzegovina. It presented a certain risk, but she as an American could afford it. That June in 1976 was the last time I saw Bruno. They murdered him two years later when I was already in prison serving a life sentence.

Julie typed the leaflet text on a friend’s typewriter, Marijan Gabelica. I knew the police would investigate this so I did not attempt to hide this fact. It is true that Gabelica was the best defense. Before launching the action, we stopped at his place and returned the typewriter. When the police questioned me, I told them whose typewriter it had been. Gabelica really had no idea why I needed the typewriter. And since he didn’t know, they were unable to charge him with anything.

We bought the pots in a market and wrapped them up as gifts before going to the airport. We said we were going to a friend’s wedding. The metal detectors could not detect the clay, and even if they had found it in a baggage search, they would not have suspected anything. It might have seemed bizarre that I was carrying clay with me, but they would not have considered it a dangerous substance. Regardless of all my security measures, I still was unsure whether I was being followed or under suspicion, so I spent the day and night before the action bar hopping so I’d be seen “drinking”, and finally went to bed at dawn. Just in case I was being followed, I was sure nobody in his right mind would think that I could have performed such an action as a hijacking after such a “wild” night.

The whole action was based upon a very nuanced psychological exercise. For more than thirty hours we were in absolute control of the situation in the plane, as well as holding several governments at bay, throwing leaflets, and dictating the printing of the leaflets in leading world media while flying over two continents – all without so much as a nail file in our pockets. If the fatal case with Officer Murray had not occurred, it would have been the most successful and unblemished hijacking in history. As it was, it left within me and the others a bitter taste, a deep regret and remorse that will follow us all our days.

Well-intentioned people have often asked me why I had to leave explosives in the locker at the train station. It seemed to them a senseless and unnecessary addition to a well thought-out plan. But this is not so. The explosives in the locker were every bit as important a part of the plan as the clay in the pots. It was intended to give credibility to my negotiations with the American authorities, the agents, and the police. The pots we carried with us were identical to the pot left in the locker, except that in ours there was clay, and in the other real explosives. Without this bomb, someone might believe we were bluffing. Besides that, it was my intention in the beginning to present ourselves as dangerous terrorists not to be fooled with, because that was the only way our demands would be met. Therefore, the bomb was an important element in the overall plan.

However, it is difficult to live with the knowledge that an innocent person died as a collateral victim of an idealistic action, for which he had no idea or interest. The issue of accidental, innocent victims is one that is always considered when an action with dangerous elements is undertaken. And I gave the most thought of all in my planning to this aspect of the action. That is why, after all, the hijacking took place without using any weapons whatsoever. But a tragedy happened where it was least expected, where there was not, it seemed, even a theoretical chance that things would go wrong.

I have already written about how I am almost positive that certain agencies were involved in the death of Officer Murray. The hijacking surprised both Americans and the Yugoslav Secret Police, and it would be difficult to prove that there was some kind of agreement between the two to compromise the action. But I am convinced there was. I claim this not to free myself from guilt. Guilt is above all a moral category. I have absolved the legal, judicial aspect of guilt through my 32 year-long imprisonment that I served longer than countless murderers, rapists, and career criminals. The moral aspect of my guilt is left to my own conscience and to the Almighty, regardless of whether Murray’s death was caused by the negligence of those who detonated the bomb, or a diversion by certain intelligence agencies. I placed the explosives in the locker and I carry guilt for the death they caused, regardless of what happened after their removal to the detonation site four hours later.

So, I am not trying to absolve myself from guilt by means of some later reconstruction, but I truly believe that there was involvement by people who wanted at all costs to compromise the entire action. There seemed to be considerable concern and uneasiness among the American agencies as well. Several New York Times articles (September 12 and 14, 1976), only days after the hijacking, wrote of the “painstaking evaluations” undertaken by the head of the bomb section in the wake of the “first such fatality in 37 years”. The department head acknowledged that “none of these experts wore protective gear when they approached the device… as they were required to under police regulations”, including Officer Murray, who was described as “a gung ho cop who was one of the first to take on a dangerous task”. However, “the cause of the explosion eluded them,” but not the answer to the question of why the officers were not wearing required protective gear. “What clearly perplexed the bomb squad… was why the device failed to respond to impulses generated by the remote control mechanism that the police normally use to detonate explosives in the demolition pit.” One theory the police pursued, according to the NYT article, “was that the remote control gadget did activate the bomb several minutes after it was supposed to, just as officer Murray and the others approached the device.” This would be the exact scenario I had discussed with Ames: the frequency of the remote control device was overridden and disabled, and at the very moment the officers were bending over the bomb, all without protective gear, another “player” with a different game plan activated the device. My discussions with Ames gave me even more concrete knowledge of the probability and logic of my conclusions. Of course I deeply mourn the death of the innocent police officer, but I’ve thought seriously and often about the entire case, and it always seemed to me that there was a dark shadow of the Yugoslav Secret Police, UDBA, hanging over it.

(Editor note: Two years after this book was first published in Croatia, an American intelligence expert and former NSA analyst, John Schindler, released the first well-documented and credible expose of the long-term UDBA-FBI connections and their collaboration in the United States and elsewhere (The Observer, January 4, 2016). This confirmed the possibility, even probability, that the explosion at the Bronx detonation site in our case could well have been sabotage:

http://observer.com/2016/01/why-hasnt-washington-explained-the-1975-laguardia-airport-bombing/
http://studiacroatica.blogspot.hr/2010/02/dr-john-r-schindler-agents-provocateurs.html)

During the hijacking, I spent most of the time in the pilot’s cabin. Julie and Matanic communicated most with the passengers. Pesut and Vlasic represented a kind of understated threat; at least, that was how we intended the passengers view them. When I learned from the pilot that leaflets could not be thrown from the plane we were in, the situation became more complicated, but I did not despair. In fact, the entire time I had the feeling I was keeping the situation under perfect control. I knew the police had confirmed the explosives in the locker were genuine so I was not concerned that someone would get the idea we had hijacked the plane totally unarmed. Actually, in dangerous actions, this is usually the case – when the plan is made, the decision reached, and the action launched, one simply functions according to plan.

Then the shock came in Paris, when we got the news that a police officer had died. At first, I did not want to believe it; I thought the intelligence services had printed a special, false edition of the New York Times in order to destroy our morale. I sent Julie from the plane to call certain phone numbers and confirm the truth of this news. When I learned it was really true, it was clear to me that the action was over. There would be no further throwing of leaflets over Zagreb and Solin, where at that time the 1300-year anniversary of Christianity inCroatia was being celebrated. When I had been planning the hijacking, among several symbolic dates I had decided on this one. The knowledge that an innocent person had become a victim and a human life lost led to our immediate surrender. It was probably the most difficult day in my life, and I have had thousands of extremely difficult days. The intensity of feelings I experienced in just one day was immeasurable. From the belief of having a situation under perfect control, that I was doing something significant for the ideals I had fought for my entire life, and then to extreme desolation that things had taken such an utterly unexpected turn.

I did not completely despair, though, because what was begun had to be brought to an end. The surrender took place in an orderly fashion and without panic. First the passengers exited, along with my colleagues. The pilot and I remained until the end. Although the police ordered the pilot to come out before I did, he refused to do so, suspecting the Special Forces would shoot me. He insisted we leave together; he even put his arm around my shoulder so that, if that had been their intention, they would not be able to shoot me without endangering his life as well.

Then he gave the journalists gathered around the plane this widely reported statement: “This drama is over for the crew and travelers, but for Taik and his comrades it has only just begun.”Many years later, I was flying from Split to Zagreb. As I passed the pilot in the aisle, he recognized me and asked with a wry smile, “So where are we flying today, Mr. Busic?” The sincere humor in the voice of this man reminded me of the captain of the hijacked plane. I would say I am one of the few hijackers who has only had good experiences with pilots.

Zvonko Bušić

Zvonko Bušić: Što nisi učinio danas, nećeš učiniti nikada! A što učiniš jednom, učinio si zauvijek!

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 […]

Nevjerojatni Havajac

Kao što već jednom naglasih, zatvor se može sagledavati i kao slika vanjskoga svijeta, odnosno društva u cjelini. Međutim, to je pojednostavljena slika u kojoj su neke karakteristične crte jako naglašene, dok su neke druge izostavljene kao nebitne, pa poprimaju izgled svojevrsne karikature. Nažalost, i cijeli narodi mogu živjeti u neslobodi, u svojevrsnom zatvoru. Tako je bilo i s hrvatskim narodom u SFRJ.

U takvim neprirodnim okolnostima neke su narodne karakterne crte pretjerano naglašene. Prošao sam dosta svijeta i nigdje nisam našao čovjeka čiji bi se idealizam i moralni habitus mogli mjeriti s idealizmom i moralnim habitusom jednoga Brune Bušića, a s druge strane, nigdje nisam sreo takvih izroda kao što su bili udbaški suradnici iz hrvatskih redova. Osobno sam se često preispitivao o moralnim učincima vlastitih djela.

Dok sam bio mlad, bio sam nagliji, nestrpljiviji. Znao sam Bruni govoriti da ne možemo samo tako dopustiti da nas udbaši ubijaju jednoga po jednoga i da moramo uzvratiti istom mjerom. On mi je razložno objašnjavao da se ne možemo spustiti na njihovu razinu: „Postali bismo zvijeri kao i oni, a onda bi i naša borba bila uprljana. Na njihovoj je strani moć, a na našoj istina, pravo i pravda. Budemo li se ponašali kao oni, kompromitirat ćemo cilj za koji se borimo, a nećemo pobijediti jer u takvoj su borbi oni u prednosti“.

Doduše, kada sam ga pratio, dopuštao mi je nositi pištolj, ali isključivo za samoobranu. Kasnije sam i sâm u vlastitim akcijama ponajviše pazio da ne bih kome nedužnome nanio zlo. Svi suborci koji su sa mnom išli u akciju bili su upoznati na vrijeme o mogućim posljedicama i uvijek sam birao ljude koji su na tu žrtvu bili spremni. Ako je akcija uključivala i slučajne sudionike tada sam vodio računa da mogućnost njihova stradavanja bude praktično svedena na ništicu. Tako je bila planirana i otmica zrakoplova.

Oružje i eksploziv s kojim smo ušli u zrakoplov bili su lažni i nikome se ništa nije moglo dogoditi. Bio je to čisti blef, i bez lažne skromnosti – vrhunski blef! Međutim, stvari su pošle po zlu tamo gdje se to moglo najmanje očekivati. Jednostavno sastavljena bomba u kolodvorskom pretincu bila je postavljena samo zato da uvjeri policiju da mislim ozbiljno, ni u snu nisam mogao pomisliti da bi s njezinim demontiranjem nešto moglo poći po zlu. A upravo se to dogodilo. Eksplodirala je bomba za koju sam dao detaljne upute i koja, da nije bilo grube greške u postupanju policije, nikako nije mogla ugroziti ničiji život. I danas o tome često razmišljam i čini mi se da u cijelom slučaju postoji nekoliko nejasnoća koje bi se mogle shvatiti i kao indicije da se sve to i nije baš sasvim slučajno dogodilo.

No, s druge strane čovjek mora posjedovati nešto što se zove moralna hrabrost ako se upušta u opasne pothvate. Da bi posjedovao moralnu hrabrost, čovjek mora vjerovati u svoj ideal, mora biti vjernik, inače neće biti u stanju preuzeti odgovornost za sebe i za druge. Nema u meni nikakva fanatizma ni brutalnosti, ali držim da ima čvrste vjere i moralne hrabrosti. Nastojao sam uvijek čuvati one oko sebe, zato je otmica i bila vrlo kontrolirana akcija, znao sam da se putnicima ne može dogoditi ništa opasno, a moji suborci su bili upoznati s rizikom koji preuzimaju, ali su, kao i ja, čvrsto vjerovali da je cilj koji želimo postići vrijedan tog rizika. Što se mene osobno tiče, za svoje ideale sam bio tada kao i danas spreman dati život.

No smrt policajca Murraya za koju sam, kolikogod neizravno, i ja kriv dio je križa koji nosim i s kojim se moram nositi. Tamo gdje, vjerujem, svi idemo, svačiju će krivnju znati izmjeriti.

Pričao mi je Franjo Goreta kako su ga udbaši dugo pritiskali na suradnju. Jedno je vrijeme glumio da pristaje nadajući se da će prestati, da će se nekako izvući. Međutim, iz njihovih se šapa nije lako izvući. Stjerali su ga uza zid tražeći da likvidira ljude koje je poznavao i koje je cijenio. Na konačni dogovor udbaš mu donese oružje za likvidaciju i izloži mu plan bijega. Pita ga Goreta jesu li na sve računali, sve predvidjeli. „Jesmo“, veli udbaš, „devedeset devet posto sve je predviđeno i sve dobro pripremljeno“. Na to se Goreta ustane i spraši u njega šaržer iz pištolja koji mu je upravo predao, govoreći: „Ubi te onih jedan posto!“

Ubiti čovjeka koji ti sjedi sučelice za stolom naizgled je strašna stvar, ali Goreta je ovdje, po mom mišljenju, učinio jedini mogući ispravan moralni izbor. Alternativa je bila da ubije svoje prijatelje ili da Udba likvidira njega. Stjeran uza zid morao se braniti i sačuvati vlastitu čast. Težinu Goretine dvojbe prepoznao je njemački sudac koji je za to ubojstvo Goretu kaznio sa samo šest godina robije.

Mnogi ljudi žive prosječnim, običnim i relativno mirnim životom koji preda njih nikada i ne postavlja ovako teške moralne izbore. No ljudi koje su sudbina ili višak životne energije odveli stazama na kojima se opasno živi i gdje je život prepleten sa stalnom borbom i neizvjesnošću, pred teškim se izborima nalaze gotovo svakodnevno. Neki od njih skliznu na instinktivnu razinu i za njih se više ne postavlja pitanje morala nego pitanje preživljavanja, dok neki i u najtežim uvjetima uspijevaju ostati dosljedni nekakvom svom moralnom kodeksu.

‘Ovaj pasji život na robiji mnogo lakše sam podnosio dok Hrvati nisu imali svoju državu’

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 […]

Može taj kodeks običnom čovjeku izgledati pomalo čudan ili iščašen, no kada malo dublje proniknemo u njegovu logiku, u njemu prepoznajemo zadivljujuću konzistentnost i ljudsku veličinu. U zatvoru sam, priznajem, upoznao više takvih ljudi nego li na slobodi. Kada bi me netko pitao tko je najčistija duša koju sam upoznao lutajući svijetom, rekao bih bez puno razmišljanja – Dana Havajac.

Beskrajno je tužna sudbina tog čovjeka. Još kao tinejdžer zaglavio je u maloljetničkom zatvoru. Brata su mu optužili za pljačku banke, cijeli je proces ovisio o jednom svjedoku koji je sudjelovao u istoj pljački i, da bi spasio svoju kožu, bio je spreman svjedočiti protiv Danina brata. Želeći spasiti brata, Dana je pobjegao iz zatvora i ubio svjedoka neposredno prije suđenja. Završio je u pravom zatvoru. Kao netom stasalog mladića u zatvoru ga namjeravaju silovati. Nakon tuširanja presreću ga trojica misleći kako je pred njima lak plijen, tinejdžer naoružan samo ručnikom. Na svoju nesreću! U ručniku je bio nož, a ispod tuša je išetao samo Dana, od njih trojice, dvojica su ostala ležati mrtva, treći je završio u bolnici.

Premda se radilo o ubojstvu dvojice zatvorenika, na sudu je proglašen nevin jer se radilo o samoobrani vlastita života. Tako je Dana došao na glas kao najbrži nož u havajskim zatvorima. Ne znajući u havajskom državnom zatvoru kako s njime izaći na kraj, poslali su ga u najstroži američki savezni zatvor. A za njim je, kako to već biva, stigla i njegova reputacija. Ako je i bilo onih koji su u nju glasno sumnjali i pokušali mu stati na žulj, loše su se proveli.

Nakon bijega iz Otisvillea i sedam mjeseci u potpunoj izolaciji, poslali su me u zatvor najviše sigurnosti u Lewisburgu, u Pennsylvaniji. Bilo je to gotovo idilično vrijeme mog robijanja. U zatvoru nas nije bilo mnogo, svi su bili kažnjenici s „reputacijom“ – ubojstvo u zatvoru ili uspješan bijeg. Zatvorenici su bili smješteni sami u ćelije, bilo nas je svega šezdesetsedmero. Znala su se pravila, poštivali autoriteti, svojevrsna Platonova zatvorska republika. U zatvor je u tom razdoblju pristigao jedan novi zatvorenik, crnac. U hodniku se sudario s Danom. Kako mu se Dana učinio nježne građe, zaprijetio mu je jer se u zatvoru svi bore za svoje mjesto u hijerarhiji. Na to mu je Dana rekao da u svojoj ćeliji ima dva noža, dat će mu da bira, a nakon toga će mu izvaditi jetra i pojesti ih pred njim prije nego umre.

Uznemireni novajlija dotrčao je do mene i još jednog veterana, Kennyja, tražeći nož. Međutim, Kenny mu je rekao: „Prvo, Dana nam je prijatelj pa ti nećemo dati nož. Drugo, čak i da ti damo najduži nož koji imamo ništa ti neće pomoći, bit će prekratak. Ako želiš sačuvati glavu, vrati se i ponizno se ispričaj čovjeku. Dobar je on, možda ti oprosti. I zapamti, s njim možeš samo na lijepo.“

Premda smo bili dva daleka svijeta i dvije različite osobnosti, Dana i ja smo bili iskreni prijatelji. Povezivao nas je onaj iskonski osjećaj časti i ljudskog dostojanstva, koji sam ja ponio iz Hercegovine, a on s Havaja. Od kontinenta do kontinenta, od rase do rase, od naroda do naroda ljudi su toliko različiti, ali ono što ih u najvećoj mjeri čini ljudima svugdje je isto po svojoj biti, kolikogod se činilo različitim. Dana je na svoj jednostavan način cijenio moju razložnost, moje obrazovanje i sposobnost rješavanja često besmislenih zatvoreničkih sukoba, a cijenio je i moj hrvatski idealizam, jer je i sam na svoj način bio idealist.

Pričao mi je da je muž posljednje havajske kraljice bio Hrvat i da se borio protiv osvajača. O njemu su pak na rodnim Havajima već kružile legende kao svojevrsnoj zvijezdi tamnog sjaja. Način na koji je još kao dječak spasio brata, a zatim i reputacija koju je stekao u zatvorima priskrbile su mu nemalu popularnost. O njemu su pisale novine, primao je pisma havajskih obožavateljica. Dopisivao se i s havajskom misicom, štoviše, kroz pisma se razvilo nešto nalik na ljubav.

Kako je još bio relativno mlad i nadao se skorom izlasku iz zatvora, ta se veza činila čak i perspektivnom. Na kraju zaljubljena ga je misica posjetila u zatvoru. Posjeti su bili strogo kontrolirani tako da zatvorenik s posjetiteljicom nije mogao razmijeniti ni poljubac. Nakon kraćeg razgovora, kaže misica Dani da joj rukom ispod stola opipa međunožje jer je došla bez donjeg rublja. On zastane zabezeknut pa je još jednom priupita što je htjela time reći. Kada mu ona ponovi svoju želju, on se digne, pozove stražara i završi posjet, oprostivši se od nje s porukom da s prostitutkom ne želi imati posla.

To je Dana, čovjek koji nikada nije bio sa ženom. Veći dio života proveo je u najgorim zatvorima, okružen najgorim kriminalcima, čovjek s čijega je noža tekla krv brojnih nasilnika, ali i čovjek koji nikada nije izgubio onu iskonsku čistoću i čednost. Nije također izgubio ni sposobnost izraziti emocije, pokazati osjećaje, suosjećati s prijateljima u trenucima najvećih gubitaka i tuge, što mi je dokazao kada mi je umro otac.

Među zatvorenicima je poznato da, kada te posjeti zatvorski kapelan, loše ti se piše. Ili je netko pri samrti ili je umro. Mene je kapelan posjetio tri puta. Kada je moj prijatelj doživio srčani udar, kada je Juliein brat poginuo u prometnoj nesreći, i kada mi je umro otac Peija. Njegova me smrt nije trebala iznenaditi, jer je dugo bio bolestan, i svi smo znali da je pri kraju. Godinama je živio sa samo jednim bubregom, ali čovjek živi u nadi, tako da me njegova smrt i pogodila i rastužila.

Kada sam se vratio u ćeliju, pročešljao sam sva sjećanja iz djetinjstva, svoju privrženost ocu, ponos, cijenio sam ga kao čovjeka. U selu je bio priznat zbog karaktera, velikog poštenja, osjećaja za pravednost i blagosti. Uskrsla su sva sjećanja, bio sam preplavljen tugom i jadom. U tom trenutku Dana je ušao u moju ćeliju, pitao me što se dogodio. Ispričao sam mu život svoga oca. Dana oca nije vidio više od dvadeset godina.

Zvonko Bušić napisao kako je u zatvoru uspio sačuvati svoju duhovnu slobodu

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 […]

I njegov je otac također bio u bolnici, nije očekivao da će preživjeti, pa smo spontano dok smo govorili o svojim očevima, zajedno počeli plakati kao dječaci koji tek razabiru svijet. Bio je to prvi put da sam uopće vidio suze u njegovim očima, a on u mojima. Oslobodili smo sve svoje potisnute emocije, cijelu smo šalicu mogli napuniti suzama. U tajnosti smo plakali kao djeca, njegova bol potaknula je moje neisplakane suze. Ovo nas je približilo kao ništa dotad, pokazali smo da nam je stalo do naših obitelji, da smo spremni biti ranjivi jedan pred drugim, da gajimo međusobno povjerenje.

Poslije smo razgovarali kako bi svi naši prijatelji i drugi zatvorenici bili šokirani da su nas slučajno vidjeli kako plačemo. Nismo Dana i ja više bili u istom zatvoru kada me zatekla vijest da mi umire majka. Julie me obavijestila da je u lošem stanju, da je prestala jesti i da je smrt blizu. Jednostavno je izgubila volju za život, nije imala većih zdravstvenih problema. Ostala je bez Peije, a godinama je živjela u nadi da će me dočekati. Ustrajala je sama u svojoj kući, htjela je izdržati zbog mene. Godinama je slušala kako ću „uskoro biti pušten“, „samo još godinu, dvije, pa ću doći“. Konačno je prestala u to vjerovati, bilo joj je dosta praznih obećanja. Željela je ići svom Peiji.

Kako mi je telefoniranje bilo ograničeno, mislim da je tada bilo dopušteno 200 minuta mjesečno, što mi je kasnije, tijekom posljednje dvije godine kada su vrijeme poziva sveli na samo 15 minuta, izgledalo kao pravo obilje, morao sam tražiti još 15 minuta da bih mogao nazvati Kendušu. Mislim da smo se čuli dva dana, a treći je dan umrla. Sjećam se da sam ju prvi dan pitao o stanju, a kada sam doznao da joj nije ništa posebno, samo manjak volje, drugi dan sam ju pokušao nagovoriti da treba početi jesti, da su izgledi za moje puštanje iz zatvora dobri, da bih trebao uskoro doći jer bi sljedeća godina, 2006., bila 30. godina moga zatvoreničkoga života što je zakonski maksimum. Uvjeravao sam je da ćemo se vidjeti ako poživi još godinu dana. Odgovorila mi je da već godinama sluša obećanja, da više ni u što ne vjeruje.

Nadala se molila, ali više ne može. Unatoč obećanjima ja se nisam vratio, a sada je gotovo, njezino je vrijeme došlo. Na kraju je kazala da će za me moliti Boga. Nakon tog razgovora znao sam da će uskoro umrijeti, i tako je bilo. Umrla je sljedeći dan. Bilo je Valentinovo, veljača zametena snijegom. Vratila se svom Peiju baš na dan ljubavi. Nije bilo nikakve mogućnosti da dođem na pogreb. U 32 godine nikada nisam bio vani, osim u lancima oko nogu, ruku i oko struka. Odlučio sam nešto napisati i nekako, pomoću suvremene tehnologije, uputiti svoje misli prema Hrvatskoj. Dok sam pisao, svanulo mi je da je Kenduša mrtva, uistinu mrtva, da više nemam roditelja, nijedno od njih nisam uspio zagrliti prije smrti. Shvatio sam da je sve gotovo. Da su me bar pustili godinu, dvije ranije! Preplavila me velika tuga i gorki očaj, i opet sam plakao kao dijete za svojom materom.

Kada sam završio s pisanjem govora, pročitao sam ga prijatelju, ako se dobro sjećam preko telefona, dok je on sve to zapisao da bi poslije mogao faksirati Julie. Ona ga je nosila u Goricu, a župnik fra Ante Marić, pročitao ga je na pogrebu: Tužni zbore, draga rodbino i prijatelji! Vi ste se danas ovdje okupili da bi Kenduši odali poštovanje i posljednji Zbogom. Iskreno se nadam da njezina duša vidi kako ste je, na njezino zadnje putovanje, lijepo i dostojanstveno ispratili. Pred samo nekoliko dana bila je još tako prisebna da je mene tješila i govorila mi da ne budem tužan, jer da smrt nije kraj nego početak. Rekao sam joj da i ja virujem da ćemo se sastati na onom drugom i boljem svitu, ali da sam, ipak silno žalostan što nam eto ne biše suđeno i na ovom se svitu makar još jedanput viditi i zagrliti. Kad mi je rekla da je još uvik zdrava ko boca i da nema baš nikakvih bolova, ja sam dodao da se je ona na ovom svitu dosta napatila i sve svoje dužnosti dobro i časno obavila, pa ju je zato dragi i milostivi Bog u starosti tako lipo obdario. Nekoliko sam joj puta zahvaljivao i molio je da mi na svemu oprosti, a posebno da mi oprosti na svim majčinskim suzama što ih je, brinući za me, isplakala u tolikim dugim i neprospavanim noćima. Na to je ona samo uzvraćala da mi želi svako dobro, da je uvik bila ponosna na me i svakodnevno molila dragoga Boga da me pazi i čuva. Što sada nad otvorenim grobom te dobre i tako velikodušne majke može reći njezin tužni sin iz daleke američke tamnice, i kako joj se on može odužiti i zahvaliti. Bijaše to vrlo davno, draga majko, kad sam odletio iz našega obiteljskog gnijezda. Od tog našeg rastanka protekla je čitava vječnosti, i kroz sve te duge i teške godine ja sam tebe i našega dobroga Peru stalno u srcu nosio, i tako često sanjao i žarko čeznuo za povratkom kući. Dok su velike oluje po nemirnim svjetskim morima nosale moju životnu lađu, ja sam znao i uvik ćutio da me stalno prati tvoj blagoslov i da se ti usrdno Bogu moliš da me pazi i čuva. Isto tako znam da će se i u Raju tvoja duša za me Bogu moliti. Da li čuješ, draga majko, i da li razumiš ove riči ucviljenog sina nad tvojim otvorenim grobom. Velika ti hvala što si mi u ljubavi život dala. Hvala ti na uzornom odgoju i svim kaznama za moje vragolije, jer znam da su ti udarci bili iz ljubavi i da su više bolili tebe nego li mene. Hvala ti što si bila brižna, dobra i pravedna majka. Hvala ti što si sve do kraja ostala dosljedna, uzgorita i hrabra Kenduša. Tužni zbore, od svih ovozemaljskih ljubavi najljepša, najčistija i najljudskija je ljubav roditelja prema svojoj djeci i ljubav djece prema svojim roditeljima. Dragi Bože, velika Ti hvala na tako dubokim i jakim osjećajima te ljubavi. Draga rodbino i prijatelji – iskrena Vam hvala na tako dostojnom ispraćaju naše Kenduše. Draga moja majko, znam da si, evo skoro punih devet godina bila tužna, i vrlo usamljena, i želim da odsada do uskrsnuća tvoje umorno tilo pored tvoga Pere počiva u miru Božjem. Ako se ja ikada živ povratim u našu dragu Goricu, obećajem ti da ću najprije doći u Šamatorij i pokloniti se na Vašem grobu. A sada, uz ovaj zadnji Zbogom, nezaboravna majko, tvoj ti se sin Zvonko iz dubine ranjenog srca još jednom na svemu zahvaljuje.

Bilo mi je jako drago da su mnogi došli na pogreb odati počasti mojoj majci, bilo iz Gorice, drugih gradova, čak i zemalja. Dok samo prošao ovu agoniju, nisam očekivao neke posebne reakcije mojih suzatvorenika. Običaj je da te zatvorenici koji ti nisu bliski puste na miru, a prijatelji ne dođu u ćeliju, ali daju ti do znanja da su uz te. Ako imaš potrebu govoriti o tome, spremni su slušati i dati podršku. Kada se dogodi smrt najmilijih, to je trenutak kada zatvorenici opet postanu samo ljudi. Svatko se može identificirati s gubitkom, odvojenošću od obitelji, tragedijom, a kada vide kako im prijatelj pati, očajava, to ih duboko dirne u srce i dušu. Moja je osobna opservacija da su zatvorenici najtužniji, da je najtužniji izraz na svakome licu u onim prilikama koje su ih na slobodi činile sretnima – za Božić, Novu godinu, blagdane, u onim prilikama koje su ranije provodili s obiteljima i voljenima, uživali, slavili. Ali u zatvoru ti dani više nisu bili razlog za radost, nego samo tugu.

Ironično je da su u zatvoru tužna sjećanja bila i ostala tužna, a radosna i sretna sjećanja postala tužna. Sjedio bih u hodniku u vrijeme blagdana promatrajući lica zatvorenika, svi bi šutjeli, kao da su izvan sebe, izgubljeni u sjećanjima, razmišljajući možda o kobnim odlukama iz prošlosti koje su zaslužne za njihove promašene sudbine bez obitelji, djece, životne suputnice.

‘Neki dragocjeni odgovori došli su mi u snu, a ne tijekom dugih budnih razmišljanja’

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 […]

Dana Havajac uskoro bi trebao izaći iz zatvora. Molim Boga da se snađe u vanjskome svijetu, koji često na svoj perfidan način zna biti i okrutniji od onoga zatvorskoga u kojemu je Dana naučio preživljavati i ostati na svoj način moralno čist kao dijete. Ostati tako čist i moralno ispravan u zatvoru možda je i veći podvig nego nekom iznimnom čovjeku učiniti velika djela na slobodi. Da i ne govorimo o tome kako se takav velikan ne mora gotovo svaki dan suočavati s teškim moralnim dvojbama i izborima. Kao što je to prisiljen netko tko je stanovnik zatvorske džungle u kojoj preživljavaju samo najjači i najbeskrupulozniji.

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 Incredible Hawaiian

As I’ve already said, prison can be seen as a microcosm of the outside world, or society in general. However, this is a simplified picture in which some characteristics are overemphasized and others neglected as unimportant, and thus become like caricatures. Many nations, unfortunately, live in a state of captivity, in a type of prison. That was the case with Croatians in the former Yugoslavia. Under such unnatural conditions, certain national characteristics were more pronounced. I have traveled this world to quite an extent and have never found anyone whose moral habitus and idealism could measure up to that of Bruno Busic. On the other hand, I have never met greater degenerates than those from the Croatian people who worked for the Yugoslav secret service – UDBA.

I have often made reviews of the moral effects of my own actions. When I was young, I was more impulsive and impatient. I would tell Bruno we just could not wait for the UDBA to kill us one by one; we had to reciprocate. But he would reasonably tell me that we must not sink to their level.“We would become beasts like them, and then our struggle would be sullied. They have power on their side, but we have truth and justice. If we behave like them, we will compromise the goal we are fighting for, and we won’t win, because in that kind of struggle, they have the advantage.” Actually, when I would accompany him somewhere, he would allow me to carry a pistol, but only for self-protection. Later, in my own actions, I would always be careful not to do harm to any innocent person. All my colleagues who joined me in action were informed of eventual consequences, and I always chose people who were prepared to assume them.

Insofar as an action involved chance participants, I always took care that there was minimal possibility of anyone being hurt. The hijacking was planned in that way as well. The weapons and explosives we carried onto the plane were false so that nothing could happen to anyone. It was a pure bluff, and, in my humble opinion, a very successful one. Meanwhile, things went wrong where they could be least expected. The simply constructed bomb in the station locker was placed there only to convince the police that we were serious, but I could never in my wildest dreams have imagined that something would go wrong with its detonation. And that’s exactly what happened.

The bomb for which I gave detailed instructions exploded, and if there had not been gross negligence in police action and perhaps something much more insidious, it would not have endangered anyone. I still think about it today and it seems to me that there are several uncertainties indicating that things did not occur simply by chance. On the other hand, a person has to have a certain amount of moral courage to enter into a dangerous act. To have moral courage, one has to believe in one’s ideals and be a spiritual person, because otherwise he would not be capable of taking responsibility for himself and others. I have no brutality or fanaticism within me, but I do have firm beliefs and moral courage. I have always tried to protect those around me, and therefore the hijacking was a very controlled action; I knew nothing dangerous could happen to the passengers, and my colleagues knew what risks they had accepted, but they, like I, firmly believed that the goal we wanted to achieve was worth the risk. The death of police officer Murray, for which I was however indirectly responsible, is a cross I carry and will continue to carry all my life. And all our transgressions will ultimately be judged in the afterlife that I believe awaits us all.

On that subject, former Croatian prisoner Franjo Goreta’s story is illustrative. He told me all about how the UDBA had pressured him to work for them. In the end, he pretended he would, hoping they would stop pressuring him and that he would get out of the situation. But nobody ever does. They forced him into a corner, demanding that he liquidate people he knew and admired. When the final agreement was reached, the UDBA agent brought him a weapon for the liquidation and presented him with the escape plan. Goreta then asked him if he had complete trust in him to do the job properly. “Yes, we have”, the agent told him. “Ninety nine percent certainty.” At this, Goreta got up and pointed the gun at the agent, saying, “Sorry, you’re getting screwed now by that the one percent!” and shot him dead. To kill someone sitting right across the table from you seems at first a horrific thing, but Goreta did the only morally correct thing, in my opinion. The alternative was to kill his friends or else the UDBA would kill him. Forced into a corner, he had to defend and preserve his own honor. The German judge acknowledged Goreta’s difficult position and sentenced him to only six years for the murder.

Most people live a normal, ordinary and relatively quiet life and are never confronted with such difficult moral choices. But people whose destinies or excess of life energy takes them down dangerous paths, whose lives are characterized by constant struggle and uncertainty, are faced almost daily with such choices. Some sink to the level of instinct where there is no moral question, but only one of survival, while others, even under the most difficult conditions, succeed in remaining true to their moral code. This code may seem strange or twisted to an ordinary person, but when we look deeper into its logic, we find in it amazing consistency as well as human greatness.

In prison, I have to admit, I met more people like this than I have in the “free world”. And if someone were to ask me who had the purest soul of everyone I had met in my life wanderings, I would answer without hesitation: Dana the Hawaiian. This man had the most tragic of destinies. As a teenager, he had ended up in a youth detention facility. His brother had been charged with bank robbery and the whole process depended on the testimony of a witness who had also participated in the robbery. In order to save his own skin, he was prepared to testify against Dana’s brother. Wanting to save him, Dana escaped from the youth facility and killed the witness right before the trial. He then ended up in a real prison. He was a good-looking young man, so other prisoners tried to rape him. He had just come out of the shower, and came upon three other prisoners who thought they had an easy prey before them, a teenager armed with only a towel. How wrong they were! Under the towel was a knife. Dana was the only one who walked out of the shower. Of the three prisoners, two were dead and the third ended up in the hospital. Even though two prisoners were killed, Dana was found innocent because he had only been defending his own life. Thus Dana gained the reputation of the “fastest knife” in Hawaiian prisons. Since they did not know how to deal with him in the Hawaiian state prison, they sent him to the toughest American federal prison. And of course his reputation arrived along with him to the new prison. And anyone who doubted that reputation and tried to test it out got the short end of the stick.

After my escape from Otisville and seven months in total isolation, they sent me to a maximum-security prison in Lewisburg, Pennsylvania. It was an almost idyllic period of my imprisonment. There were not many of us there, and all were prisoners with a “reputation” – who had either killed someone in prison or had successfully escaped. Everyone had his own single cell, and there were about sixty-seven of us in all. We knew the rules, authority was respected, and it was a kind of Plato’s Republic. At that time, a new prisoner arrived. He got into an altercation with Dana in the hallway. Since Dana seemed small and gentle to him, he threatened him, because everyone is fighting for his place in the prison hierarchy. Dana responded that he had two knives in his cell, that he’d let him choose one of them, and after that, he’d remove his liver and eat it in front of him before he died. The newcomer, upset, ran over to me and another long-timer, Kenny, asking for a knife. But Kenny told him, “First of all, Dana is our friend so we won’t give you a knife. Second, even if you hadthe longest knife you could find, it would not do you any good, it would still be too short. If you want to keep your head, you need to go to Dana and humbly ask his forgiveness. He is a good guy so he might accept. But take note that you have to treat him properly.”
Even though Dana and I were worlds apart with two different personalities, we were true friends. That primeval sense of honor and human dignity I had taken from Herzegovina and he from Hawaii bound us together. From continent to continent, race to race, nation to nation, people are so different. But as different as we seemed, Dana in his simple way respected my reasonableness, education, and ability to resolve often totally ridiculous prison conflicts. He respected my Croatian idealism, because in his own way he was also an idealist as well. He also informed me that the husband of the last Hawaiian queen had been a Croatian who had fought against the would-be occupiers of the country!

In his native Hawaii, legends about him as a “dark star” were already circulating. The way he “saved” his brother as a child, and then the reputation he gained in prison ensured him not a small amount of popularity. Newspapers wrote about him and he received letters from female Hawaiian admirers. He corresponded with Miss Hawaii as well, and some kind of love actually developed between them. Since he was still relatively young and hoped to be released soon, it seemed the relationship had a chance. The enamored Miss Hawaii finally came to visit him in prison. Visits were strictly supervised, so that prisoners could not even manage to exchange a kiss with their visitors.

After a short conversation, Miss Hawaii told Dana to put his hand under the table and touch her intimate parts, since she had come without underwear. When she repeated her request, he got up, called the guard, and told him the visit was over, informing her as he left that he did not want anything to do with a prostitute. The majority of his life he had spent in the worst prisons, surrounded with the most extreme criminals, a man from whose knife the blood of many attackers had flowed, but he was also a man who had never lost his primal purity and chastity. He also had not lost the ability to express emotion, show his feelings, and empathize with friends in moments of great loss and sadness, which I witnessed when my father died.

Among the prisoners, it is known that when the prison chaplain comes to visit, the news is never good. Either someone is dying or already dead. The prison chaplain visited me three times: when my friend had a heart attack, when Julie’s brother died in an automobile accident, and when my father, Peija, died. His death should not have surprised me, because he had been ill for a long time and we all knew he could not go on much longer. He had lived for years with only one kidney, but one always lives in hope, so his death naturally affected and saddened me. When I returned to my cell, I recalled all my childhood memories, my closeness to my dad and my pride in him. I admired him as a good human being. He was known in the village for his character, honesty, gentle nature, and sense of justice. All my emotions rose to the surface and I was flooded with sorrow and grief.

At that moment, Dana came into my cell and asked what had happened. I told him the story of my father’s life. Dana had not seen his own father for over twenty years. His father was also in the hospital and wasn’t expected to survive, so as we spoke about our fathers we spontaneously started to cry together, like babies who had just come into the world. It was the first time we had ever seen tears in each other’s eyes. We freed ourselves from all our suppressed emotions, and could have filled a bucket with our tears. We cried in secret, his sorrow bringing out my unwept tears.

This brought us together like nothing else had. We showed how much we cared for our families, that we were prepared to be vulnerable with one another, and that we had trust in each other. We later talked about how shocked our friends and other prisoners would have been if they had seen us crying.

Dana and I were no longer in the same prison when I experienced my mother’s death. Julie let me know that she was in very poor condition, that she had stopped eating, and that death was near. She had simply lost the will for life, for otherwise she had no serious health problems. She had been left without Peija, and for years had lived in hope to see me again. She persevered alone in her house, wanting to hold out because of me. For years, she was told that I would “soon be released”, “just another year or two and he’ll come”. She finally stopped believing; there had been too many empty promises. She simply wanted to go to her Peija. Since my telephone time was limited – I think it was 200 minutes a month at the time, which, compared to the 15 minutes I had during the last two years of my imprisonment seemed like an eternity – I had to ask for an additional fifteen minutes so I could call my mom, Kendusha.

I think we talked for two days, and the third day she died. I remember I asked her about her condition the first day, and when I found out she had no real health problems, only a lack of will, I tried on the second day to persuade her to start eating. I told her that the chances were good that I would be released soon, since in 2006, it would have been thirty years, the legal maximum. I assured her that if she would hang on another year, we would see each other. She answered that she had heard these promises for years and didn’t believe them anymore. She hoped and prayed, but just couldn’t anymore. In spite of the promises, I had not returned, and now it was all over, her time had come. She said she would pray for me. After this conversation, I knew she would die soon, and that’s what happened. She died the next day. It was Valentine’s Day, a February covered with snow. She returned to her Peija on a day that symbolized Love. There was no possibility of my going to her funeral. In thirty-two years, I’d never been outside prison except in chains around my hands, waist, and feet.

I decided at least to write something and was able, thanks to current technology, to send my thoughts to Croatia. As I wrote, it hit me that Kendusha was dead, really dead, that I no longer had parents, and had been unable to embrace either of them before they died. I realized it was all over. If they had only released me a year, two years earlier! I was flooded with sorrow and bitter despair, and cried again like a child wanting his mother.

When I finished writing my thoughts, I read them to a friend over the telephone and he wrote them down to fax to Julie. She took them to Gorica, to the priest, Father Ante Maric, who read them at the funeral:
Dear Friends and Relatives!

You are gathered here today to pay your respects and give a final farewell to Kendusha. I sincerely hope her soul will see what a beautiful ceremony she has been given at her final journey. Just a few days ago, she was still able to comfort me, telling me not to be sad, because death was not the end, but the beginning. I told her I believed we would meet in another, better world, but that I was still terribly sad that it had not been our Fate to meet again in this lifetime. When she said she was still as healthy as could be and had no pain, I told her she had suffered enough in this world and had performed all her duties honorably and nobly, and therefore, merciful God had endowed her with such a long life. I thanked her many times and asked her to forgive me, and especially for all the motherly tears she’d shed so many long and sleepless nights worrying about me. All she said to that was that she wished me all the best, that she’d always been proud of me, and had prayed every day for God to protect and take care of me. What can her sorrowful son in a faraway American prison say over the open grave of such a generous mother and how can he repay and thank her?

It was so long ago, dear mother, that I flew out of our family nest. An eternity has passed since our last parting, and throughout all these long and difficult years, I carried you and our good Peija constantly in my heart, and so often dreamt about and longed to return home. While the great storms carried my life’s ship over the stormy ocean seas, I knew and always felt that your blessing accompanied me and that you were praying to merciful God to protect and watch over me. I know that in Heaven your soul will continue praying for me.

Do you hear, do you understand, dear Mother, the words of a grieving son over your open grave? Thank you for giving me life through your love. Thank you for my impeccable upbringing and all the punishment I received for my mischief, because I knew the spankings hurt you more than they did me. Thank you for being such a caring, good, and just mother. Thank you for remaining a consistent, upstanding and brave Kendusha to the very end.

Sad mourners, of all the worldly loves, the most beautiful, the purest, the most humane is the love of parents for their children and the love of children for their parents.

Dear God, thank you for such deep and strong feelings of this love. Dear friends and relatives, thank you so much for such a dignified farewell to our Kendusha.

Oh my dear mother, I know that you have been sad for almost nine years and very lonely, and I hope that from now until the resurrection of your tired body next to Peija, you may rest in God’s peace. If I ever return alive to our dear Gorica, I promise that I will first go to the cemetery and pay respects to your grave. And now, with this last goodbye, my unforgettable mother, your son Zvonko thanks you for everything from the depths of his wounded heart.

I was very happy that so many people came to the funeral and paid their respects to my mother – from Gorica, other cities, and even other countries.

As I suffered through this, I didn’t expect any special reactions from my fellow prisoners. It is a custom that prisoners who are not close to you leave you alone, and your friends do not come to your cell, but let you know they are there for you. If you have a need to talk about it, they are ready to listen and give support. When one’s loved ones die, this is the moment all prisoners become like regular people. Everyone can identify with loss, separation from family, or tragedy, so when they see a friend is suffering and in despair, this strikes at their very heart and soul. My personal observation is that prisoners are the saddest and most miserable at those times when they were happiest in the outside world – Christmas, New Year’s Eve, holidays, spending time with those they loved, enjoying themselves, celebrating.

But in prison, these times were no longer a reason for joy, but only sadness – and joyful, happy memories become sad. I would sit in the hallway on holidays watching the prisoners’ faces; they would all be silent, as though in the clouds, lost in memories, thinking perhaps about the fateful decisions from the past that led to these tragic destinies without family, children, spouses.

Dana the Hawaiian should be released from prison soon. I pray that he finds himself in the outside world, which is often, in its perfidious way, crueler than the prison life Dana learned to survive, and that he retains his childlike purity of soul. To remain morally pure in prison is perhaps a greater achievement than performing a great act in the free world. Especially since a great man in the free world is not confronted daily with difficult moral dilemmas, doubts, and choices, as is a resident of the prison jungle where only the strongest and most unscrupulous survive.

Zvonko Bušić