Gligorova Bela - Annihilation/Likvidacija: censorship in Macedonia

Copyright Tomislav Kezharovski

ISBN 9789462251670

www.evatasfoundation.com

/ TABLE OF CONTENTS

History is made of defeats and victories. Now I know that Ive lost, but soon I will come out victorious. I know it. For secrets can never remain hidden. One way or another, even after many years, they will see the light of day.

/ PREFACE

It is hard to grasp all the madness that chanced upon Macedonia. It is even harder to explain. I too cannot process all the information surrounding the events spiraling out of control, with the intensity of a Hollywood fast-paced thriller. It is impossible to explain to rationalize the behavior of the Governments officials, while presupposing that they are rational, responsible people, family-oriented folk. There are no red lines left; they hold onto their own truth, twistingly enforcing their own brand of justice. They see everything and everyone at their disposal; they see everything and everyone as being disposable. It is frightening to witness the ease with which they destroy lives and cast long shadows over families; the frightening ease accompanying their comments over the loss of a single life.

This is not a place where one can speak freely or express a difference of opinion. They do not permit you to think critically; you are not allowed to think for yourself. There are no shades of gray in their world; you are either black or white. Those who can think for themselves and reach their own conclusions are ruthlessly outed their names blackened, their livelihoods lynched, since their thoughts and opinions run against the ruling Partys lines. Common people live in a state of frantic paranoia, feeling hopeless, as if a stock character with an inevitable end.

The most commonly heard saying: I am so deep in debt I do not know how Ill make it. So peoples behavior patterns run parallel to the old adage it can be worse! Our equilibrist act has been going on for years. Politics permeates all life. It is the talk of pubs, kafanas, cafes, taxi-cabs, supermarkets, shops around the corner, even first dates. The list of crimes perpetrated by the Government is helmed by a total separation of us and them, namely patriots and traitors. This social stratification is supported and sanctioned by the Government. It has been institutionalized by the Governments propaganda machine and all its public discourse. It has been systematically implemented to serve all their primitive urges blatant hatred of all that is better and smarter and kinder, so that they can reign and profit. No one trusts the other.

The self-proclaimed Gods Children eliminate all those who think differently, all those who do not support their causes, all those who have not succumbed to their will, all those who will not accept their solutions as a given.

Families are at the brink of blood feuds, since there are those who are card-holding Party members and there are those who are not. The latter are marginalized, since they did not buy into the ruthlessness of the Partys machinery.

Sadly, the semi-literate despots with colonized minds have managed to drive a wedge among the student population. On the one hand, there are the families of those who managed not to sell their souls to the Devil; on the other hand, there are the kids who have been forced into silence and submission since their parents (one or both) are existentially dependant on the Governments handouts.

The annexed media, run by one distribution center with a single Truth, orchestrate this hoax. It is clear as day who gets offered prime time coverage and a positive treatment, while who gets sidelined and whose name is blackened the Enemies. All propaganda rules and stratagems traditionally employed by totalitarian regimes are put to great use, just to marginalize all who think otherwise.

My lifes trajectory was certainly uneven and rough around the edges, but it was far from a dead-end. I survived many challenges, but always had a goal, a purpose I fought for human values, I knew what I wished to accomplish. I founded the magazine Reporter 92. It was to act as a warning sign to all who were thinking of manipulating the system; it was to be a credible news source, whose articles were not to be retracted or whose information was not to be mistrusted by the public. It was to be a publication where I would criticize all that was not right, where mistakes would be pointed out and no one would be spared. I wanted to create something of value, of substance. I believed I could; I believed that I would succeed. I was cocky, yes, for most of all I wanted to bring a good product into the world. I was persistent. But, what came to pass came to pass. Not even in my wildest dreams could I imagine the attacks over my body and work. Ive had to face the cruel truth, the fact that I can never again live a normal life in Macedonia. Yet I have a right to be free. I wish to live in a country that upholds true values, that honors someones success, that has a systematic rule of law which is not at the hands of few.

/ INTRODUCTION

May 28th, 2013. My daughter Stefanija, at the time a seventh grader, was to take her state-mandated end-of-the-year exams, so we had decided to get up earlier than usually and go over the material. She, however, beat the alarm which we had set for 6 am sharp. I am not sure exactly when. Possibly around 5 or 5:30 am. It was already daylight. I heard her opening the door to her room and then the door to the bathroom. On her way back, she stopped by our room, where my wife Marina and I were sleeping, knocked on the door and cried out: Dad, there is someone in our yard! I jumped out of bed, nudged her towards her room and went outside to see what was happening. Open up. Its the police. Police. Police. Open the door! A mans voice yelled from the outside. I had hardly managed to turn the key fully, or make myself decent, when 10 to 15 armed-to-the-teeth police officers busted into the house. Are you insane? What are you doing in our home? What do you want? Youve got this all wrong. Leave us be! I kept yelling, more out of surprise than offense.

Up until then I believed scenes like these existed only in the movies. The policemen wore hoods and helmets, bulletproof vests, and were heavily armed, with rifles and guns. They even carried a bomb or two around their waist. They aimed their weapons at me, ordering me to surrender. There I was, in my underpants, hands up, standing in our living room. We did not know what was going on and no one was saying anything. Foolishly, Marina and I were trying to get any information out.

Who is in here? What do you have in this room? the one in charge asked.

My daughter is in there. Shes a child, please be careful. I responded. They did not believe me. One from the so-called Unit for Emergency Responses knocked the door down, gun aimed, pushing himself inside. Stefanija screamed and could not move. Her muscles froze. Marina ran to her and started telling her not to be afraid, that there was nothing to fear, that it will all pass. She kept spraying her with water and massaging her gently. Yet, my girl looked at me, crying. I have never felt worse. Hopelessly, much like Christ on the cross I watched her tears roll down her cheeks.

I kept fighting off my own tears. Petrified, I tried to hide my fear by feigning presence. I was sadly unsuccessful. Hands in the air, I cursed the name of Gordana Jankulovska [then Minister of the Interior] and all of her kin. Tearfully, I ranted Damn fucking fascist pigs Hatred took over me. As if my entire body swelled with tears, oozing from every little pore.

Would anyone care to explain what is going on? Marina kept asking the masked ones, while trying to comfort Stefanija.