Zvonko Bušić: S nekolicinom svojih zatvorskih drugova ipak sam dijelio jednu zajedničku crtu!

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”. Poglavlje po poglavlje, kap krvi po kap krvi i život dan po dan objavljujemo svaka dva tjedna u 33 dijela – samo s jednim ciljem! Trajat će!

Gangsteri

Pišući o Clydeu, otvorio sam temu o gangsterima kao jednoj od zanimljivijih skupina u američkom zatvoru. Gangstere ne možemo brkati s mafijašima. Oni su, za razliku od mafijaša koji su ljudi organizacije, usamljeni jahači. Njima je ispod časti biti pod nečijim pokroviteljstvom, izvršavati naredbe „kuma“.

Gangsteri su u svojoj romantiziranoj predodžbi sebe vidjeli kao nasljednike odmetnika, drumskih razbojnika i hajduka, nešto kao suvremenu verzija Jessea Jamesa ili, u našim krajevima poznatoga Andrijice Šimića. Naravno, i među njima ima okorjelih zločinaca, no većina onih s kojima sam se upoznao i družio, bili su ljudi koji su imali neka svoja načela i svoj kodeks časti. Klonili su se ubijanja nedužnih ljudi.

Primjerice, Henry Mike Gargano bio je čvrsto uvjeren da potječe od loze talijanskih gusara koji su opljačkano blago sakrili na brdu Gargano. Predlagao mi je da pošaljem Julie da pronađe to blago i da će mi dati polovicu. On i Sam K. bili su prave zatvorske legende. Gargano je bio zatvorenik s najdužim stažem u svim federalnim zatvorima, robijao je čak devet godina dulje od mene. S njim sam robijao u zatvoru Leavenworth u Kansasu, u razdoblju od 1998. do 2005. godine. Gargano je zaglavio u Chicagu 1967. prilikom pljačke banke. Bila je to pljačka u starom stilu, s automatima. Policija je blokirala banku, došlo je do okršaja. Policajci su od njih trojice ubili jednoga i ranili ostalu dvojicu. Oni su pak ubili dvojicu policajaca. Gargano je bio izranjen, preživio je i završio u zatvoru.

Nakon spektakularnog bijega s još trojicom robijaša iz najtvrđeg američkog zatvora Marion, u Illinoisu, kada su jednu obitelj uzeli kao taoce, Hoover ga je proglasio „najopasnijim čovjekom u Americi“. Unatoč takvoj prošlosti, Gargano nije bio čovjek bez ljudskosti. Volio je novac, ali na neki čudan, gotovo filatelistički način. Skupljao je slike novca i u svojoj ćeliji imao cijelu kolekciju. Kako je sve zatvorske godine radio u zatvorskoj industriji, pedantno je izračunao da, unatoč svim pljačkama, država njemu duguje tisuće i tisuće dolara.

Ujutro bi, popivši kavu, redovito radio skice i nacrte pljačke banke. Hodao je pogrbljen ne želeći kontaktirati s drugima, osjećao je istinski sram kakvi su ljudi po zatvorima postali. Držao je da je nekada zatvor bio puno bolje mjesto. Družio se samo sa mnom, Samom i Danom Havajcem. Bio je razbojnik romantik. Pratio je tehnologiju i stalno izrađivao nove skice zamišljenih pljački. Kad bih ga zadirkivao što će mu to kada ionako nikada neće izaći, on bi odgovorio: „Nikad se ne zna“.

Volio je čitati, naročito zabavnu literaturu. Kad sam mu dao De Profundis Oscara Wildea, rekao mi je, vidno potresen, da nitko nije mogao bolje opisati njegove dane. Od novca mu je bilo važnije samo pljačkanje banke, uzbuđenje koje je osjećao u pljački. Premda je pucao u policiju savjest mu je u tom smislu, čini se, bila mirna.

U saveznim zatvorima robija zatvorenička aristokracija, a u običnim državnim zatvorima ološ. Oko toga u zatvoreničkom svijetu vlada konsenzus. Naime, samo oni osuđeni za trgovanje narkoticima, pljačke banaka, otmice aviona, organizirani kriminal i slične zločine dolazili su u savezni zatvor. Obični ubojice, silovatelji i sličan ološ punili su državne zatvore. Kada sam ja ušao u zatvor bilo je pedesetak tisuća zatvorenika u saveznim zatvorima. Sada ih ima oko četiristo do petsto tisuća. O tome se ne govori puno, ali sada je to preraslo u svojevrsni američki „arhipelag Gulag“. Danas je u Americi sveukupno oko tri milijuna zatvorenika, što je 26 posto od ukupnog broja zatvorenika u svijetu, a američko stanovništvo je samo 5 posto svjetskog stanovništva!

Riječ je o svojevrsnoj bombi! Smrtna kazna u međuvremenu je ukinuta i u bivšim diktaturama kao što su bile SSSR i Jugoslavija, dok u Americi još nije. Postavlja se pitanje kakva je uopće svrha kazne dulje od dvadeset godina? Dobro poznajem zatvor iznutra, nagledao sam se tragičnih i gorkih sudbina da, čini mi se s pravom, mogu zaključiti kako takve kazne nemaju smisla ni opravdanja. Mnogi od mojih znanaca i prijatelja gangstera u nekim drugim, povoljnijim uvjetima mogli su postati dostojni poštovanja i društvu korisni ljudi. Premda je, moram priznati, u svima njima postojala ona divlja, neukrotiva žica koja ih je vodila s onu stranu zakona. U nekim drugim vremenima postali bi možda junaci ili u najmanju ruku slavni odmetnici o kojima običan puk pjeva pjesme i ispreda priče.

Neki ljudi jednostavno ne mogu živjeti običnim, neuzbudljivim životom, treba im opasnosti i adrenalina. Tu potrebu, zapravo, imaju svi ljudi, samo oni mirniji i pasivniji taj dio svoga bića ižive kroz sport, filmove, čitanje pustolovne literature. Tragične su i impresivne i sudbine druge dvojice mojih prijatelja, okorjelih gangstera Sama K. i Sama B. Sam K. bio je Oregonac kao i moja Julie. Bio je prilično slavan u Oregonu, živa legenda, zagovarao je čak svojevrsnu posebnost Oregona u Sjedinjenim Američkim Državama. U zatvoru je bio zbog pljačkanja banaka. Zvali su ga Duh jer se kretao i ubijao kao duh. U zatvoru u Atlanti, pričalo se, ubio je sedmoricu jer su ga htjeli silovati. Bio je vođa proboja iz zatvora u Portlandu 1982. godine. Ukupno je pobjeglo sedmero ljudi, šestoricu su ubrzo uhvatili, samo im je Sam K. izmakao.

Skrivao se u šumi, preživio je jedući lišće i pijući rosu. Prebacio se u Kansas, našao se s prijateljem koji je s njim bio u zatvoru. Na Samovu nesreću, taj je više cijenio nagradu od pedeset tisuća dolara koja je bila raspisana za njegovu glavu, negoli prijateljstvo. Izdao ga, i on opet završi u zatvoru. Iz zatvora je pobjegao na spektakularan način. Zavezao je kapelana, odjenuo njegov habit, uzeo mu ključeve i otključao šest ćelija. Kada je došao do kontrolnoga tornja, stražar ga prepozna, a Sam K. mu zaprijeti da ne dira gumb za alarm ili će ga ubiti. Stražar ga na svoju nesreću nije poslušao. Sam mu ispali metak u čelo. Kako nije imao pravi pištolj nego nekakvu pucaljku najmanjega kalibra, nije ga usmrtio. Čovjek je živio još osamnaest godina u komi.

Posebno su ga se bojali crnci skloni nasilju nad bijelcima. Tako je postao neformalni zaštitnik bijelaca u nevolji. Sjećam se slučaja kada je u naš zatvor došao pripadnik rasističke skupine Order. Riječ je bila o bijelim rasistima, skupini od dvadesetak članova koji su maštali o Americi bez crnaca, nabavljali oružje i uglavnom pljačkali banke. Kada je ovaj pristigao u zatvor, crnci su se već spremali da mu pripreme papreni doček. Ni meni se kao ni Samu K. nije dopadao njegov Order, ali činilo nam se nepravednim da pridošlica u startu bude izložen takvoj pogibelji bez imalo šanse da se obrani. Uzeli smo ga u zaštitu. U zatvoru je takvo pravilo da, ako novi zatvorenik prošeta sa starim, oni koji ga namjeravaju ubiti, najprije pitaju tog starog zatvorenika što mu je novi, poznanik, prijatelj ili ništa posebno.

Sam K. i ja smo tako prošetali s pripadnikom Ordera. Crnci nas dolaze pitati je li nam prijatelj, a Sam im odgovori: „Nije nam prijatelj, ali nam je danas postao prijatelj. Znam što smjerate i ako mu samo vlas s glave padne, vi ste odgovorni. Ubijam vas redom, jednog po jednog.“ Nakon toga pripadnik Ordera bio je zaštićeniji od ličkog medvjeda. Čak su i crnci koji su ga namjeravali ubiti sada, bojeći se Duha, pazili da mu se štogod ne dogodi.

Drugi Sam B., također je imao zanimljivu i tragičnu životnu priču. Bio je nizozemskog podrijetla. Preci su mu doselili u Ameriku 1848. Imali su osmoricu sinova, sada kraj Chicaga postoji mjesto koje se zove po njihovom obiteljskom imenu, a od njih sedmorice sinova danas ima tri tisuće i dvjesto potomaka. Obitelj je bila iznimno uspješna, imali su monopol na teretna kola, selidbe, prijevoz… Samovi su milijuneri, samo je on ispao crna ovca u obitelji. On je jedini među njima koji je bio u zatvoru. A u zatvoru je proveo bogme dosta, više od pedeset godina, sada mu je sedamdeset osam.

Dva su se Sama dugo poznavala. Sam K. međutim nikada nije bio narkoman, dok Sam B. jest. Kada je bio dječak umrla mu je majka, njegov se otac nakon toga oženio medicinskom sestrom koja je njegovala Samovu majku u bolnici. To je Sama jako pogodilo. Postao je problematičan dječak, buntovnik. Otac ga pošalje u strogu vojnu školu sa samo dvanaest godina. On pobjegne natrag. Otac ga tada pošalje u ustanovu za preodgajanje delikvenata ne bi li ga disciplinirao, a on je tek tada postao još veći buntovnik. Često su ga kažnjavali i bacali u samicu, a u njemu je rastao sve veći prkos i otpor prema ocu i cijelome društvu. U školi koju je pohađao bilo je dosta droge pa se počeo drogirati.

Stalno je bježao, svugdje je bio privremeno. Navukao se na heroin, trebalo mu je sve više novaca, počeo je pljačkati, ponekad je u jednom danu znao izvesti po sedam pljački. Izveo ih je, tvrdi, nekoliko tisuća. Zatvarali su ga četrnaest puta, a u posljednjih pedeset godina samo je četiri godine proveo na slobodi. Samo četiri Božića proslavio je izvan zatvora. Upoznao sam ga u Lompocu, gdje sam se družio s Oregoncima. Oni su me zbog Julie držali na neki način svojim, a i ja sam njima bio sklon. Družili smo se, držao je do mojega mišljenja. Uspio sam ga skinuti s droge, ukazati mu na neke druge perspektive. Zainteresirao se za pisanje, dopisivao se s Julie i slao joj ulomke svoje započete knjige. Nije bio bez talenta. Kada je prestao pisati, htio se vratiti drogi, međutim ona je za njega izgubila privlačnost. Odustao je, to više nije bilo to.

Imat će osamdeset dvije godine kada izađe iz zatvora. U posljednje vrijeme dopisuje se s jednom ženom u koju se bio zaljubio kao dječak, još joj je kao dječak obećao da će je oženiti, kada je imala tek devet godina. Dolazila mu je više puta u posjet u zatvoru. Za razliku od većine drugih gangstera, Sam B. nije imao divlju žicu u svojoj naravi. Da nije imao traumatično djetinjstvo, vjerojatno nikada ne bi krenuo pogrešnim putom.

Gangstere se ne može romantizirati, takav život romantičan je samo u filmovima. Ipak, ne može ih se bez ostatka ni trpati u ljudski ološ. Imao sam među njima sjajnih prijatelja, ljudi lojalnih i odanih, ljudi kojima je zadana riječ i neki nepisani zatvorski kodeks značio više negoli većini takozvanih uglednih ljudi koje sam imao prilike upoznati. Dio toga bio je, zasigurno, proizvod specifičnih zatvorskih uvjeta, ali i njihova karaktera. Znam o čemu govorim, poznavao sam te ljude. Zajedno smo kovali planove, vodili ratove, vodili pregovore, preživljavali u zatvorskoj džungli, podvrgavali se njezinom okrutnom poretku, ali ga i održavali. Nisam bio od toga svijeta, oni su to znali i cijenili, štoviše prihvaćali me kao neku vrstu vođe. Možda upravo zbog te činjenice koliko i zbog moje vještine uvjeravanja i čvrstoće pokazane kroz tolike zatvorske godine.

Jednom je netko rekao da su zatvori puni „pustolova koji nisu uspjeli“, i u tome ima istine. Mnogi od tih ljudi s kojima sam provodio zatvorske dane imali su poriv da se uzdignu iznad običnog života, iznad sive svakodnevice. Nažalost, izabrali su pogrešne načine i pogrešna sredstva da to postignu. Ili su jednostavno živjeli na pogrešnom mjestu i u pogrešno vrijeme. Međutim, ima nešto pogrešno postavljeno i u temeljima američkoga društva koje se dovelo u situaciju da ima tako porazne zatvorske statistike.

O „zatvorskoj Americi“ svjetska javnost zapravo vrlo malo zna. Ono što joj se prezentira preko holivudskih filmova nema baš puno veze sa stvarnošću. U filmovima se sam sustav i opravdanost postojanja tolikoga broja zatvorenih ljudi nikada ne problematizira, štoviše kroz napete i vješto režirane priče, stvara se proizvod za izvoz. U Americi se na svemu zarađuje, pa i na bolestima koje razaraju američko društvo. Kada dobro razmislim, s nekolicinom svojih zatvorskih drugova, koliko god različiti bili, ipak sam dijelio jednu zajedničku crtu. I ja sam u životu uvijek tražio nešto više od života samog.

Mogao sam, kao i većina mojih vršnjaka, prigušiti svoj nacionalni osjećaj, završiti fakultet, zaposliti se, zasnovati obitelj, odlaziti subotom i nedjeljom „na buće“, dizati kredite, graditi kuće. Mogao sam i u Americi, kad sam već stigao tamo, naći neki stalan posao, okaniti se politike, živjeti s Julie mirnim životom u američkoj provinciji, gdje bi me i Udba s vremenom vjerojatno ostavila na miru. Mogao sam, a nisam mogao! Jer onda to ne bih bio ja i moj život ne bi bio moj. Može čovjek zamrijeti prije nego uistinu umre, i tako proživjeti duge godine. Kao da nije ni živio.

U mome hercegovačko-imotskom kraju ljudi najveći dio života provedu gledajući oštru crtu biokovskih vrhova na obzoru. Po nebu iznad Biokova pogađali smo kakvo nas vrijeme sutra čeka, iza Biokova bio je svijet sa svim svojim čudesima. Tko onda ne bi maštao da pregazi Biokovo i vidi taj svijet. Kako sam bio od onih što svoje snove pokušavaju i ostvariti, skovao sam plan da preko Biokova odem na more. Bilo mi je trinaest-četrnaest godina i činilo mi se da je taj naum jednostavno ostvariti. Uspio sam nagovoriti dvojicu prijatelja da mi se pridruže. Malo su se nećkali, ali kako sam još od djetinjstva bio vrlo uspješan u uvjeravanju i pridobivanju drugih za svoje planove, popustili su.

Uzeli smo „udo slanine“, kruh, dvije litre vode i krenuli. Uz put smo otkrili da Biokovo baš i nije tako blizu kako nam se činilo, da do njega ima još cijeli niz manjih brda, brjegova, brdašaca i brežuljaka, i razumije se, s pripadajućim dolinama. Stigli smo ujutro sljedećega dana. Biokovo je prilično surova i vrletna planina, zimi smrtonosna, no ni ljeti bezopasna.

Kada se danas sa sjetom prisjetim tih dječačkih dana, nalazim da između prelaska Biokova, otmice zrakoplova ili bijega iz zatvora nema bitne razlike. To sam ja. Želja za naoko nedostižnim, ideja, plan i – akcija.

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. 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…

Gangsters

Writing about Clyde, I introduced the category of gangsters as one of the more interesting groups in American prisons. Gangsters must not be confused with mafiosos. Gangsters are lone riders, in contrast with mafiosos, who are part of an organization. It is beneath the honor of a gangster to be under anyone’s patronage,or execute the orders of some “godfather”. Gangsters, in their romanticized version, see themselves as present-day successors to the outlaws, brigands, and highwaymen such as Jesse James, or, in our area, Andrijica Simic (a legendary fighter from Herzegovina who fought against the Ottoman and Austro-Hungarian Empires; also benefactor to the poor). Of course, there were hardcore criminals among them as well, but most of the ones I knew and associated with were people who had specific principles and a code of honor. And they totally shunned the killing of innocent people.

Henry Mike Gargano, in some ways, was one such example. He was firmly convinced that he had come from a line of Italian pirates who hid their stolen gold on the Gargano Mountain. He proposed that I send Julie to find this gold and then he would give me half of it. He and another, Steve K., were real prison legends. Gargano was serving the longest sentence of any federal prisoner; he had been in prison nine years longer than I had!

I did time with him at Leavenworth Penitentiary in Kansas, between 1998-2005. Gargano got caught in 1967 in Chicago during a bank robbery. It was an old style robbery, with a machine gun. The police blockaded the bank, resulting in a shootout. The police killed one and wounded the other two robbers, who managed to kill two of the policemen. Gargano was wounded but survived and wound up in prison. After a spectacular escape later with three other prisoners from the maximum-security penitentiary in Marion, Illinois, during which they took a family hostage, the head of the FBI, Herbert Hoover, proclaimed him “the most dangerous man in America”.

Regardless of his history, Gargano was not without his human qualities. He loved money, but in a strange, almost philatelistic way. He collected pictures of money and had an entire collection in his cell. Since he had worked industriously in the prison factory all these years, he figured in the end the government, in spite of his bank robberies, actually owed him money, thousands and thousands of dollars’ worth. Every morning as he had his coffee, he would draw up plans and sketches for bank robberies.

He walked hunched over, not wanting to interact with others. He was ashamed at what prisoners had become, and held that prisons used to be much better places. The only people he associated with were Steve K., me, and Dana the Hawaiian. He was an outlaw romantic who followed technological advances and was always working on updated plans for bank robberies. When I would tease him about it, telling him he had no use for them since he’d never be getting out, he would answer, “You never know!”

He also loved to read, especially light adventure novels. When I gave him Oscar Wilde’s De Profundis, he told me, deeply moved, that nobody could have better described his own experience in prison. The only thing more important to him than money was bank robbery, the excitement he felt as he robbed. Even though he shot at the police, it appeared his conscience didn’t bother him much about it.

In federal prisons you find the prisoner “aristocracy”, and in the state prisons, the “lowlifes”. There is a total consensus about this in the prison world. Namely, only those convicted of offenses such as drug distribution, bank robbery, air piracy, organized crime, espionage, and similar offenses end up in federal prison. The common murderers, rapists, child molesters, and so forth go to state prisons, as they are state crimes. When I entered prison, there were about 50,000 prisoners in federal prisons. Now there are about 400-500,000. This overpopulation is not spoken of much, but it has now reached the proportions of a kind of “American gulag”. In America today, there are approximately three million prisoners, which comprises 26% of the total prisoners in the world; at the same time, the American population itself is only 5% of the world total! This is a ticking time bomb! And the death penalty, which has been discarded in former dictatorships such as the USSR and Yugoslavia, still exists in America.

The question is: what possible purpose does a sentence longer than twenty years serve?I know prison inside out, and have observed enough tragic and bitter fates to be able to rightly say that such sentences are not justified or effective. Many of my acquaintances and gangster friends could, in other more advantageous conditions, have become useful and respected members of society. Although most of them, I must admit, still had a wild untamed streak that led them astray.

In other times, they might have become heroes or at least famous outlaws, and people would be telling stories and writing songs about them. Some people simply cannot live ordinary, uneventful lives; they need the danger and adrenalin. Actually, everybody has this need; it is just that the more passive, calm types experience this part of their being through sports, films, or reading adventure stories.

The destinies of two of my friends, hard-core gangsters, Steve K. and Steve B., are particularly impressive as well as tragic. Steve K. was an Oregonian like my Julie. He was quite famous there, a living legend, and was always promoting Oregon’s particular uniqueness in the United States. He was in prison for bank robbery. They called him “the Shadow” because he moved around almost unseen. It was said that in the Atlanta penitentiary, he had killed seven people in self-defense who had tried to rape him. He also led a prison escape in 1982. Seven people escaped, six of whom were quickly rearrested. Steve K. was the only one who got away. He hid in the forest and survived by eating leaves and drinking dew. He ended up in Missouri, with a friend who had been with him in prison. Unfortunately for Steve, the friend cared more for the 50,000 dollar reward for his capture than he did for the friendship. He betrayed Steve, and Steve ended up in prison again.

He was especially feared by racist blacks who committed violence against whites. He became the informal protector of whites in trouble. I recall one incident when a new, white inmate arrived, and the blacks organized a “special” welcome for him.

Steve and I thought it seemed unfair that a newcomer should be subjected to such trouble without a chance to defend himself. We took him under our protection. In prison there is a rule that if a new prisoner walks with an older one with seniority, the one who wants to kill him has to ask the older one if he is his friend or if he has some special relationship with him. So Steve and I walked with the new guy.

The blacks came and asked us if he was our friend and Steve answered, “No, he’s not our friend, but he became our friend today. I know what you are up to and if one hair falls from his head, you will be held responsible. I’ll kill you one by one.” After that, the new guy had more protection than an endangered dodo bird. The blacks even started watching out for him, afraid to incur the wrath of the Shadow.

The other friend, Steve B., also had an interesting and tragic life story. He was of Dutch origin. His ancestors settled in America in 1848. They had eight sons and somewhere near Chicago today there is a town that bears his family name. From those eight sons today there are 3,200 descendants. His family was very successful and had a monopoly on the moving van and transport business. Steve’s family were all millionaires; but he turned out to be the black sheep. He was the only one who had ever been in jail. And he had spent a long time there, more than fifty years of his now seventy-eight years. The two, Steve K. and Steve B., had known each other for a long time. Steve K, however, had not been a drug addict like Steve B.

When he was a boy, his mother died and his father later married the nurse who had cared for her in the hospital. This really hit him hard. He became a problematic child and rebel. His father sent him to a strict military school at the tender age of twelve. He ran away and came back home. Then his father sent him to a juvenile delinquent home to be disciplined, and that was when he became even more rebellious. They often punished him by putting him in isolation cells, resulting ina greater resistance and vengefulness toward his father and society as a whole.

There were a lot of drugs in the school he attended so he began doing drugs. He was always running away, and never stayed in one institution for long. He became addicted to heroin and needed more and more money, so he began to rob, on some days committing up to seven robberies. He claimed he committed thousands of them overall. Locked up fourteen times, he had only spent four in freedom in the past fifty years. He had also only celebrated four Christmases outside.

I met him in Lompoc, where I hung out with Oregonians. They sort of adopted me as one of their own because of Julie, and I liked them as well. We spent time together and he respected my opinions. I succeeded in getting him off drugs, and opened up other perspectives to him. He was interested in writing, and corresponded with Julie, sending her excerpts of the book he had begun. He was not without writing talent. But when he stopped writing and returned to drugs, he found they had lost their appeal to him. He stopped, that was that.

He will be eighty-eight when he gets out of prison. In recent years, he began corresponding with a woman he had been in love with as a boy, and had promised to marry her when he was just nine years old. She came to visit several times in prison. In contrast to other gangsters, Steve B. did not have that wild streak in his nature. If he had not had a traumatic childhood, he probably would not have taken the wrong path.

Gangsters should not be romanticized because that kind of life is romantic only in the movies. But they also should not unequivocally be considered “human trash”. I’ve had wonderful friends among them, loyal and committed people to whom the unwritten prison code of keeping one’s word, standing by one’s friends, paying one’s debts, etc., meant more than to the so-called respectable people I had the opportunity to know. Part of that was certainly a product of the specific prison conditions, but it was also in their character.

I know what I am talking about; I knew these people. We forged plans together, waged wars, conducted negotiations, survived in the prison jungle, subjected ourselves to its cruel system, but also enforced it. I was not of that world, and they knew it and respected it; they even accepted me as some sort of leader. Perhaps due to the fact that I had the power of persuasion and a toughness demonstrated throughout all my prison years. Someone once said that prisons are full of “adventurers who didn’t succeed,” and there is a lot of truth in that. Many of the people I spent my prison years with had a drive to rise above the grayness of ordinary, everyday life. Unfortunately, they chose the wrong ways and means to achieve this, or lived in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Meanwhile, there is something very wrong with the foundations of American society that such crushing prison statistics exist. The world in general knows very little about “Prison America”. What is presented in Hollywood films has little connection to reality. In films, the system and the justification for the existence of such a huge number of prisoners are never discussed; they are just products created to make money by use of thrilling, well-directed plot lines. America makes profits from everything, even the illnesses affecting its society.

When I give it good thought, as different as we were, I shared some common characteristics with a few of my prison comrades. I too was always searching for something more than just life itself. Like most of my peers, I could have suppressed my national feelings, finished college, gotten a job, had a family, played cards over the weekend, applied for a loan, built a house. Since I was already in America, I could have established a career, stayed away from politics, and lived a quiet life with Julie in the suburbs, where the secret police would probably leave me in peace. I could have, but I just could not do it! Because that wouldn’t be me and it wouldn’t be my life. A person can die before he actually dies and still “exist” for many years. As though he had never lived at all.

In the area around Herzegovina and Imotski where I come from, people spend the largest part of their lives looking at the sharp outlines of the Biokovo mountain range on the horizon. We could predict the weather for the next day, based on the sky aboveBiokovo, and behind it were all the wonders of the world. Who then wouldn’t dream of climbing over it to see these wonders? Since I was the type of person who always tried to realize his dreams, I made a plan to go to the sea over Biokovo. I was about 13 years old and it seemed to me it was just something that had to be done. I succeeded in persuading two friends to join me. They hesitated a bit, but since I had always been good at talking people into joining in my plans, they finally agreed.

We took a piece of bacon, bread, two liters of water and set out. Along the way, we discovered that Biokovo was not nearly as close as it seemed, and that there were numerous smaller hills, crests, mountains in between, all with their corresponding valleys. We arrived the morning of the next day. Biokovo is a very rough and craggy mountain range, deadly in the winter, but also not entirely safe in the summer. Today, when I recall those youthful years, I cannot see any major difference between crossing the Biokovo, hijacking a plane, or escaping from prison. They all represent the desire to fulfill a seemingly impossible idea, plan, and action.

Zvonko Bušić

Ključne riječi #Gangsteri #Ljubavnici i luđaci #Zvonko Bušić