Sarajevo calling

Bosanska budalastina

2007-03-09T05:12:00.000-08:00

So tell me, who’s crazy here – the entire world, or the entity governments of Bosnia and Herzegovina? The EU members have just agreed on the most important environmental document ever signed by the European Union – to cut carbon dioxide emissions by 20% by the year 2020. This binding target signed by European Union leaders agrees to use renewable energies, such as wind and solar power – an idea that both governments here and their big energy lobbies have laughed at.

Tony Blair stated this agreement was a major step in putting the EU in a leadership position on climate change. Bosnia and Herzegovina, it seems, wants to be the new leader in producing the highest possible amounts of carbon gas whilst all our neighbours go in the exact opposite direction. He also confirmed that all 27 nations agreed to a target on the use of bio-fuels – another idea that neither this government nor its powerful energy know much about.

This is further proof of Bosnia’s misguided energy policy. We have based our plans on research and technology of the early 1980’s, without paying much attention at all to what ALL of global experts keep saying: hydroelectric dams create vast amounts of carbon gases and very much contribute to global warming! This fact has fallen on deaf ears here. So why would our government want to add to the global climate problem? Why would they want to endanger the future of our children with their old-school plans? I can think of no other answer other than greed, incompetence, selfishness. Someone is going to get a nice piece of pie and doesn’t give a rat’s ass if that means adding to the world’s climate problems – or just on a small scale, seriously effecting the micro-climates that have given us some of Europe’s cleanest drinking water and richest bio-diversity.

German Chancellor Angela Merkel has said the new commitment to renewable energies would ‘inject a new quality into the energy and climate policy of the European Union.’ So why has Europe decided to turn its head to the out-of-date and destructive energy policies it once promoted? Simply because the moral and economic obligation to do so is so overwhelmingly convincing that no government who claimed to truly represent its people could do otherwise. The European Union has not made this decision, however, purely based on moral obligations. It understands well the severe economic costs of environmental clean-up and the possibility of irreversible damage if we continue to destroy the environment at the current pace. Simply put – the money made now from a hydroelectric dam (that will feed the pockets of our corrupt political elite) will cost more in the long run due to erosion, loss of bio-diversity, contamination of clean drinking water, public health consequences and the dramatic costs of carbon gases being emitted into our atmosphere.

This milestone agreement will be ‘the most ambitious package ever agreed by any institution or any group of countries in the world on energy, security, and climate protection,’ according to EU Commission President Jose Manuel Barroso.

Bosnia and Herzegovina, still struggling to implement and justify its 25 year old energy ‘plan’, will no doubt continue on its path of blind destruction. The only question is, will the people and the European Union continue to allow it?

Heavenly Humitas

2007-01-20T06:19:00.000-08:00

so my friends...my sacred continent has seen many changes. we remain, however, by and large politically liberal and socially conservative. Here en Chile mis companeros have elected a socialist presidente yet the largest growing area in Santiago is Las Condes where Citibank, Nestle, Coca Cola and los imperialismos continue to exploit and hold monopolies over the masses. Skyscrapers and chic cafe's are popping up everywhere where as in the barrios and pueblos many don't have the basic essentials. They still make great humitas though!!!

Chile is different from other south american nations. It most resembles my homeland Argentina, with a large European population. But the indigenous peoples, namely the Mapuche, have suffered and continue to suffer tremendously. Plans for the Pascua Llama gold mine in the north will destroy more of their ancestral lands...and for their sacrifice they will get new roads, new schools, bad water, bad air, and a loss of what they hold most sacred - pacha mama.

But its not all bad. Chile has many National Parks and a large part of Patagonia and the Altiplano in el norte are protected. Santiago...already passing the 6 million mark is over a 1/3 of the population of Chile. At least we concentrate the misery and leave this beautiful Andes nation to breathe a bit - with the exception, of course, to the many mineral mines throughout the north.

The Chilenos are still a friendly people, sparking my fond memories of them when i traveled as a student all over the continent. I am retracing my steps a bit and will be heading to Arica soon and then to the Altiplano and over to Peru to visit Arequipa and Cusco where the sacred valley of the Incas is.

Still, Chile must deal with its past and heal its rifts with its own people and its neighbours. The north is still a bitter issue for both Bolivianos and Peruanos...both lost the entire north at the end of the 19th century to Chile. Los gringos, as always, were largely responsible in instigating the Pacific Wars over a century ago. Perhaps the worst of it is that the new borders split the Andean nation in many pieces, breaking family and tribal ties. This area is inhabited mostly by the Cechua and Aymara peoples.

I have tried to learn to accept things as they are. And to an extent i have succeeded. But i, as do many, still believe in the revolution. I hope mi hermano in Venezeula will realise and has learned from our mistakes. The socialist revolution must remain organic...and for it to flourish we must embrace the opposition and prove it is not the socialism of post WWII but a new vision of equality and fairness. I fear his zest for control. And control only feeds the fire to rebel, as it did with us in the 1960's. Commandante Chavez, chill the fuck mi out amigo. Let the people decide - and don't let your ego get out of control that your vision becomes greater than the global one.

Hasta la victoria siempre companeros!

there's no place like home

2007-01-07T16:51:00.000-08:00

companeros....estoy muy contento hoy...i have returned to the sacred continent. we arrived in santiago de chile this morning, here to reunite with my hermanos y hermanas in revolution. it has been many decades since i have returned to the andes...and i must say, there's no place like home. many things have changed...but the most important is the great awakening. the awakening from within of the true power of this continent and its people. soon, inshallah, we shall have a latino -americano economic block. One that will care for our poor and indigenous peoples and respect our ancestral lands. The journey home begins here...and time will tell where i am led next. hasta la victoria siempre companeros.

White Indian

2006-11-18T03:59:00.000-08:00

I met a young Bosnian man during my first months of the conflict here in 1993. He had been processed through the concentration camp at Trnoplje near the town of Prijedor. He was a teenager - just on the borderline age whether or not he would be released or sentenced to the dreadful fate of so many others from that region. We quickly became friends. He was convinced the war would never end. That i had no idea what 'his people', meaning yugoslavs, were like. Naive and ever optimistic, i laughed that off - half to reassure him it would soon be over, half believing it actually might.

At some point and time i made him a bet that i wouldn't cut my hair until the war was over. He readily shook hands with me.

After med school in Argentina I had more of a preppy, clean look. When i left for Mexico I let my hair go for the first time. By the time we liberated Cuba I had a bushy set of hair on my head. Then in Castro's government i kept the beard but my hair was fairly short. It wasn't until i returned to Bolivia that i let my hair down again. The 'last' pictures of me i had fairly long hair, but nothing to brag about. Comrade Tito took me in like a brother, and his doctors performed miracles to change to my looks. I kept the hair short until I met my friend in western Herzegovina.

Not too long after my bet with my new found friend the refugee camp was attacked and ethnically cleansed. I went from seeing and working with him every day to him disappearing into thin air. He was gone. And all i have left of him was the bet we made. So i honoured it. I grew my hair back like the days of revolution. And when the war finally ended I shaved it off. When i did so, however, i realised how fond i was of long hair. Feeling like a white indian i liked the natural sensation of my long hair. The past ten years i let it grow and grow. An old man like me sporting a long blonde (thanks to Tito) ponytail.

Well, times change. Things evolve. Revolutions come and go. I shaved my head the other night. It's been a decade since i felt my scalp like this. Since i felt the cool breeze on my head and the top of my ears. It feels good to let go. Although i continue to habitually grab for ponytail as if i've lost a limb, the new look feels good. Hairy to baldy.

I only wish I could share a photo with some of my companeros that i haven't seen in a long time. But you know they are still looking for me hermanos and hermanas. The revolution we fought is long gone, but certainly not dead. It has returned in different forms and big brother is afraid. A scared dog bites. I don't want to get bitten. So imagine me from my preppy days long gone dear friends, minus the faggy penny loafers and polo shirts.

Hasta la victoria siempre

Defeated Dugout

2006-11-10T00:40:00.000-08:00

I know that everyone is talking about it...at least stateside, about the grand elections that thumped that wanker ultra-capitalist monkey of a president. Granted, he still sits in his throne, but it must be getting a little warm in the seat of his pants just thinking about what is ahead of him.

If the Democrats have any balls - and hopefully the Democratic women can bring more of those to the table then the men have - then we may not only see the departure of Hilter's baby boy (Rummy) but maybe also of the cocky, arrogant and most undiplomatic Ambassador to the UN John Bolton. Wouldn't that be grand companeros!? A quick departure of Mr. Bolton back to where he belongs, in the defeated dugout of the Republican criminal clan. It feels so good to vent.

I know the democrats really aren't that much better. But just knowing the Ms. Pelosi might have a say so in the lower house. Just thinking that Joseph Biden, America's most seasoned foreign policy senator might have a word in American foreign policy makes us - across all the seas and continents of pacha mama, sigh with relief.

It wasn't only a good day for democrats, it was a good day for the world. It sent a MUCH needed message that there is still hope for your once great nation yankee brothers and sisters. You elected your first Muslim congressman, bismillah. You elected the first Indepedent Socialist, bravo comrade. And we have the first woman speaker of the house, bless you sister. You sent a message that democracy can change things....now lets see if its for the better.

But it's so nice...

2006-10-29T10:11:00.000-08:00

It's true, I am treehugger. And it's true too, that i fear global climate change is going to fuck us royally. BUT, i must say that i have enjoyed this October more than i have any other that comes to mind. Why, you might ask? Well companeros, the weather here has been pure magic. As autumn sets in the leaves have turned to a phenomenal array of inspiring colours...yet the daytime temperatures remain in the high teens and 20's (Celcius that is).

I was in Herzegovina for the weekend in the town of Trebinje. This gorgeous town is the southernmost settlement in BiH. It's sandwiched between Croatia and Montenegro near the cities of Dubrovnik and Herceg Novi. Yesterday the temperature was 28!!! It was so blissful.

I visited quaint stone-home villages that produce some of the finest wine and cheese i have ever had the pleasure to experience. It's all organic of course...and made in the very same way as the early Slav settlers did over a millenia ago. Or is it millenium?

So I had a brilliant late October jaunt through southern Herzegovina. Succulent wines and mouth watering cheeses. Short sleeve shirts...sun glasses....outdoor cafe's. Perfect. Or is it? Although it's good for me now (and i mean really good)....is it really good for us in the long run?

Global warming is not only going to 'cost us' trillions, but is already turning some parts of the planet into inhabitable wastelands. Selfishly, I live in a place that is blessed with an abundance of water, forests and rich soil. I know others are not so fortunate. But it's so nice to be this warm. So I go back to sunning myself in the late October heatwave. Hasta la pacha mama siempre companeros!

Hooligans, Assholes, & Shitheads

2006-10-20T10:17:00.000-07:00

I've said many times how much i admire and enjoy the wonderful companeros I have discovered here on the Balkan peninsula. It must be said, however, that there is an equal - if not larger- population of utter assholes that roam this natural wonderland.

I know many brothers and sisters from Serbia, great rainbow warriors. I don't know how they cope with the extreme right that dominates Serbia. Just a small example of the type of racism and violence that is so prevalent in Serbian society; this week alone there were two major incidents at football matches. One where the team from Novi Pazar (a part of Sandzak with a large Muslim population) played against RAD. The RAD fans went bezerk, screaming 'noz, zica, srebrenica!' which amounts to 'knifes, wires, Srebrenica' -- expressing their pride and joy of the genocide committed by the Serbs at Srebrenica. They then went on to attack the police - par for the course I guess.

The other incident involved another Serbian team that happens to have a player from Africa on their squad. A large group of opposing fans appeared, decked out in Ku Klux Klan outfits with confederate flags and all. I think backward ass southerners from the sticks of Mississippi would be embarrassed to do that in the 21st century. Not Serbian hooligans though. Not even in the slightest bit.

The most disturbing thing about that for me is that there is no outcry. There is no reaction. So i ask myself, is this accepted in Serbian society? Have the hooligans become our role models or are we just so scared and apathetic that just 'do our own thing?'

Now to Bosnia -- man, do we pack 'em full with shitheads here. Our new and beloved president, Mr. Haris Silajdzic, who praised the citizens for their maturity for democracy in the last elections, has just pulled the biggest scam in post-war Bosnian history.

Together with his good buddy Safet Orucevic, a former poker machine vendor - have signed a deal worth close to a billion euros to practice their democracy on Bosnians. They aere going to build 6 major hydro electric dams on Bosnia and Herzegovina's most beautiful waterways. What's the crime you ask? Well besides damming up the most precious and abundant natural resource the country has....it was all done in total secrecy. No strategy. No transparency. No environmental impact assessment. No public debates. NO DEMOCRACY.

And the beauty of it all is that it is now becoming apparent that they have been strategizing and planning this for many years. The former Minister of the Environment, Ramiz Mehmedagic, left his post as minister to become general director of Intrade. This company had a profit of 200 euros last year. Guess what, Intrade got the concessions to build two hydroelectric dams on the Neretva River. And guess what else, he comes from Dr. Silajdzic's party. So does the Minister of Energy - who pushed this agreement through without anyone knowing about it.

And we, who try to promote sustainable development and protect BiH's environment - are the criminals who want to make 'Indians' out of Bosnians and Herzegovinians. It is they, with thier monopolistic and ultra-capitalistic ideals that want to make monkeys and paupers out of us.

But fear not companeros...we shall rise. We shall rise. And pray that we overcome the asshole syndrome that grips the balkan peninsula. Smrt Facizam, Sloboda naroda! Death to fascism, freedom to the people!

Che the radical Islamist?

2006-10-16T07:21:00.000-07:00

Is it the beard that fooled people?

I tend to 'stumble' every now and then to find like minded souls and explore the fascinating world of cyber revolution. Stumble upon is a great forum to share ideas, thoughts, pictures and even blogs. I just had a long time 'friend' of mine - whom i have never met but stumbled with regularly, take me of her 'friends' list for 'siding' with the radical muslims. HHmmm. Interesting I thought. I don't recall siding with anybody. Quite the contrary really.

Firstly, as a socialist and revolutionary, I couldn't possibly side with the Christian or Muslim right. Secondly, i hoped and thought that i was making clear my intentions - which were and are of the purest nature. My intentions were to offer perspective of the 'other' side, which, for Europeans and Americans, is the Muslim side.

My friend was offended that i had abandoned ship and joined the ranks of religious fanatics. What blog was she reading? To me, this is just further proof of just how much of an understanding gap there is. The privelage many of us have in the west to be as left, liberal, and secular as we like is not one many people in the not-so-democratic Muslim world enjoy. Yes, i said privelage. We can afford to be what we feel to be because our society lets us. Many Muslims societies, however, are quite different....dare i say drastically different. They certainly are more traditional and conservative - but that does not make them radical jihadists.

One thing we have not grasped in the west is that their religion is not a once a week on Sunday occassion. It is an integral part of every day of practicing Muslims lives. Society is built on the pillars of Islam, one prays five times per day, it has a direct effect on most aspects of life - right down to what people eat and how the eat it. These are not bad things...they are just different. And its these differences that both sides are intolerant of.

Muslims don't hate the west. Most anti-west Muslim sentiment is solely based on the exploitive nature of western foreign policy towards our drug dealers - the oil rich Middle East. The violence, manipulation, oppression of many Muslims is supported by - and even created by - the western powers. The Saudi regime is the finest example.

I strongly felt we missed a great opportunity after Sept. 11. We failed to ask why and how. Why would anyone feel so desperate and angry to do what they did? How can we engage with them to assure this doesn't happen again? We did neither. We called the war cries. And look where it's gotten us. That's why I am trying, in my own way, to shed light on the thought that we might be different and that is, well, really ok.

My mom always told me, 'two wrongs don't make a right, son.' No, you're right mom, they don't. She also taught me that there are two sides to every coin - and i will truly understand only when i look on both sides. That, my friends, is my intention. Not to choose sides - but to show them.

Hasta la coin siempre

Unveil yourselves I say!

2006-10-14T06:47:00.000-07:00

The subject has rocked Europe like few other 'cultural clashes' that i have witnessed since escaping the yankees in Bolivia. It's yet another white man insensitivity subject that even has socialists and revolutionaries saying 'hey, hold on a second!'. It's the veils. Yes, the veils that many Muslim women around the world traditionally wear.

I'm not going to get into the wrongs and rights, just to give a bit of perspective. Listen.

I see the words veil and headscarf being used by white Europeans in many contradictory contexts. Let's clarify. Hijab is a headscarf that covers the hair and usually wraps around the neck. The veil is often interpreted as being the ninja outfit, where womens heads are completely covered so as to see only the eyes, or in some cases nothing at all. Taleban style if you will. This is called the nikab. Westerners use the word veil for both things, get it straight whitey. So opposition to the veil isn't even a clear issue from within the opposing side.

For clarification the difference should be noted. Hijab in Islam actually means modesty or privacy. And it is believed that women should practice modesty both for themselves but to keep the gazing eyes of man down. The khimar is the actual headscarf. The veil that covers the entire face is called the nikab.

Islam requires women to be modest, henceforth many of them wear the hijab, or headscarf. The nikab, or taliban style cover, is not an Islamic practice. A Fatwa, or Islamic legal pronouncement makes it clear that women are not obliged to wear nikab - but rather this is a cultural issue within more conservative or radical interpretations of Islam (just like the west has some Christian right wackies).

The French caused an awefully painful row within their already highly strained relations with French Muslims, mainly of northern Africa descent, by banning hijabs in public schools. It most certainly raised even more anti-Muslim sentiment but also more anti-French sentiment even amongst it own non-Christian communities. Whether the French will ever admit it or not, they have a serious racism problem - and its aimed mainly at Muslims and Africans. The Germans have passed similar laws, much to the dismay of its large Turkish-Muslim population.

The Brits, famous for their true melting pot status amongst the Europeans, have began treading in this murky water. Jack Straw is calling for a ban of veils, or nikabs, in the UK. Not the ban on hijabs. The well integrated, but edgy Muslim community is not so happy about this. With the ultra liberal socialist mayor of London, Ken Livingstone, even backing the idea - I think many Muslims see it as the drawn sword. And I'm afraid it could get ugly. But if the UK Muslims are listening to Mr. Livingstone, he's on to something. He clearly stated that he feels the veils should go -- but that it should be over a period of time and from within the Muslim community. It shouldn't, he added, be decided by a group of old white male politicians. Not to mention that many Muslim women scholars are saying women should thank Jack Straw for this.

I'm by no means an expert on veils. What i do know is that there are many, many woman who absolutely voluntarily and willingly cover themselves with a headscarf for religious purposes. Most of the European peasantry covered themselves with a headscarf just a hundred years ago and can still be found in christian villages throughout eastern and southern europe. It is also true that many Muslim cultures in the world 'oblige' their women to wear the veil. So the voluntary and involuntary. Willing and unwilling. France says no head scarves, no nothing -- look like a sexy french school girl with your belly button hanging out. The Brits haven't ventured that far, they accept the head scarf, but oppose the ninja turtle look.

Turkey has a similar issue. In its bid to become a secular society -- and to integrate into the unwelcoming arms of the European Union, it has forbidden even the nikab and in some places even the hijab in public schools and universities. Sarajevo now has a large female Turkish population coming to study here so they can wear what they wish. This to me is a fascinating occurance.

The west, so-called champions of democracy, freedom of expression and religio,n is on the attack - or as some percieve on the defensive - when Islam is in question. Sarajevo and Bosnia enjoys the best of both worlds. It is Europe's largest 'indigenous' Muslim population, all of whom are white Europeans and embrace European principles. Bosnian Islam is very secular, and indeed seen by most European leaders as a model example of the type of Islam they want being taught in their increasing number of mosques and madressa's within the EU. The question of hijab and nikabs hasn't come up yet here in Bosnia. The hijab is accepted and tolerated, as are the nikab wearers (which is an extremely small percentage of Muslim women).

The progressive west is certainly faltering when it comes to questions of its growing Muslim populations and addressing the cultural and religious difference between east and west. The Muslims too have yet to seriously address the fears and concerns of 'indigenous' white westerners - who have opened their doors from some of the worlds worst economically and socially oppressed societies. This door has to swing both ways. The west must do more to grasp the concepts of Islam - and understand the vast cultural differences even with the large and diverse Muslim community, which covers three continents. Muslims too need to understand the fears and concerns of secular westerners who now have to deal with strict Islamic rules within their own communities.

If western women can run around half naked, can eastern women completely cover themselves? Is there really a difference?

There is no black and white my friends. We all need to take the veils off...and look at each other eye to eye. Brother to brother, face to face, let's unite the human race.

Ramadan Fast

2006-10-10T12:59:00.000-07:00

I'm sort of in my post iftar trance as I write. Fasting has been an interesting, and surpisingly easy experience. I have very much enjoyed the spirit of Ramazan, with friends and families gathering regularly for good meals and quality time together every day. The fast itself certainly enhances self contemplation. And my body seems to be appreciating the cleansing process. Its not just the external fast though that i find fascinating, but rather the internal one.

There is an unsaid concientiousness about the words you speak. There is a calmness to ones temperament. There is a general attempt at slowing things down and paying attention to the people around you. Ramazan is a time for inner peace - at least for those who choose to embrace that.

Westerners are, as usual, only exposed to the 'sixty bodies being found in Baghdad' or the car bombs that go off daily between Shiites and Sunni's. That is the image of the Muslim world. Violent people, extreme views, radical interpretations, suicidal tendencies. It's not all that black and white, in fact, not at all.

I saw a clip of "Jesus Camp" -- a startling depiction of the new generation of Christian soldiers in America. Its not at all far off of the impressions we are IV fed of the extreme elements in the Muslim world. Onward Christian soldiers is a horribly scary concept...as scary as desperate Muslims thinking they will buy a ticket to dzenet if they die in the name of Islam. So a lot of us have really gone off the deep end...all because we haven't yet explored ways to understand each other and our obvious fears - and henceforth so-called 'hatred.'

What I see here though, in this time of contemplation and fasting...is a desperate need to be understood, respected, and walk as equals amongst the white west. If the west can't offer at least that to the east - then the moral high ground the west seems to think it holds is no more solid than the lads wreaking havoc in Iraq and Afghanistan. And we will all continue to have a long and painful road ahead of us. And from my shoes...none of us really want that. Do we?

Masalaam companeros

Who are the terrorists again?

2006-10-03T15:46:00.000-07:00

When Chechen Muslims took hostages in Beslan - they were deemed terrorists. When a Palestinian commits suicide whilst killing Jewish civilians - they are terrorists. When Iraqi's capture or kidnap foreigners, whether they kill them or not - they are terrorists.

When an American takes young school children hostage and kills them - he was abused. When American school children are filled with so much hate they storm into school and shoot their classmates - they are 'troubled' youth. When angry American employees take revenge on their former employer and kill co-workers - they are simply crazy.

Americans 'god given right' to tote guns is perfectly acceptable in American society. It's fascinating to watch the awe stricken victims ask 'how could this happen?' I ask, 'how could this not happen?'
When Muslims commit atrocities, they are terrorists and must be stopped at any costs. America places sanctions on countries, arms embargo's, and more often than not - bombs the hell out them for daring to kidnap, shoot, and/or kill Americans. Yet when Americans do the same thing to other Americans - nothing is done. That is not deemed domestic terrorism. Are the streets and schools of America not being terrorised by their obsession and acceptance of violence?

Until America understands that it is the most violent society on earth and that its culture of weapons and war are wreaking havoc around the world - and indeed in their own back yard, the violence will continue to spiral. It will continue to spiral because America embraces violences with open arms. It refuses to see the NRA as an enemy of the state. It refuses to see that Columbine children grew up in a weapons of war setting. It refuses to see that the new god, TV and video games is completely saturated with ultra-violence.

But you see, the guns support the economy and our fear of each other. The missles keep the war machine alive and young boys dead. The TV and video games keep our minds at bay and distracted from what's really going on. So i ask, who are the terrorists amongst us? Why do we allow the state to support this terror?

When will we stop killing our children?

sarena revolucija

2006-09-29T13:19:00.000-07:00

Thailand - coup d'etat. Hungary - protests and riots. Chile - massive student rallies. Bosnia and Herzegovina - rainbow painting the presidency. We all snap from the unjust practices of our governments. For the lies. The suffering. The poverty. Damming our fresh water supplies. For the horribly imbalanced distribution of wealth.

Bosnians are immeasurably patient or pitifully apathetic. The pure thievery and lies that dominates every single aspect of political life here is absurd. Yet the people have yet to rise. Until two days ago that is. Two days ago a group of youth - Croats, Serbs, and Bosniaks together - were finally fed up enough to do something about it.

Here in BiH the military is extremely tame, and always under the watchful eye of occupying NATO forces. So a coup d'etat is near impossible. Its also a police state in many ways, with the police force being the largest employer in the country. Protests and riots like the ones we saw in Budapest are also highly unlikely. Massive student protests here are unimagineable. Unimagineable simply for the fact that this is perhaps the most apathetic group of young people i have ever come across in my many years of revolution. It's sad really, so no real chance of matching the protests witnessed by Chile's youth.

What we got was 'Tutto completo.' A manic youth organization from Kakanj - a town smothered by both a highly polluting cement factory and coal plant. One won't find a single rooftop that's not blackened...so you can imagine what their lungs must look like. Anyway, these group of youngin's have been driving their revolution in the most peculiar of ways. With paint. Yup, they're painting thier way to change. And it just might work.

Two cars pull right up to the presidency -- without the police even blinking an eye. Then out come the plastic bags not filled with explosives, but with paint of all colours of the spectrum. This building, for many representing the lair of the criminal beast, then became victim of a barrage of paint bombs. And boy was it pretty. They hauled countless bags of paint all over the entrance of the Presidents den....and managed to do so for quite some time without the security forces figuring out what to do with these menaces to society. Before the violence could start - coloured revolution was spray painted on the front door.

The state security forces then arrived...skirmishes followed, and the paint terrorists were then beaten up (on camera) by three policemen. No surprises there.

The real surprise came the next day. The 'Dosta' movement (enough!) announced a peaceful protest at the same spot of the coloured revolution against police brutality. Low and behold the next morning hundreds appeared, and the largest number were pensioners!!! The action seems to have widespread support - at least amongst the urbanites.

People are fed up. God bless them they are finally fed up and ready to do something about it. Hasta la paint bombs siempre companeros!

Proof of payment

2006-09-28T06:35:00.000-07:00

I went to Zagreb yesterday to drop off a companera at the airport. The Croats have this strange complex -- they claim to not be - in any way, shape or form - part of the Balkans. Most beg to differ...and as a Yugoslav intellectual once said 'god save us from Serbian pride and Croatian culture.' No culture on earth really needs to defend its value to society -- each and every culture, purely on their own and in their original form, are priceless. The Croats haven't figured that out yet -- and constantly need to negate and degrade other Balkan cultures as unworthy ones. By doing this they seem to think they are going to boost their own culture...which strikes me as such a balkan concept, doesn't it?! The apple never falls far from the tree.

I must say though that its a joy to drive in Croatia. Croatia built over 400 kilometers of beautiful highway over the span of 5 years. Bosnia and Herzegovina managed about 15 kilometres in that time. Oh well.

On the way back, though, I had two interesting encounters. The first one was at the border crossing between Slavonski Brod and Brod - which used to be both Bosanski Brod and then Srpski Brod, but we'll get to that later. The Croatian border officials were typically cold and uninterested. But when i got to the bosnian side, it all changed. Granted, it was a quite a bit more sloppy than the Croatian side...but i was greeted with a smile and as the border cop reviewed my shabby passport he engaged in exchanging common pleasantries with me. He even informed me that due to my age i was long overdue to get married and i should find a good Bosnian woman and do so immediately. I felt like i should pull over, find the first woman and run to the clerk of court for a marriage certificate. He was great.

A bit further down the road...as i was absorbing my re-entry into Bosnia amidst the stunning number of bombed out homes, i was pulled over by the police of Republika Srpska. One thing i truly love about the Balkans is that policeman, who can certainly at times be assholes, usually behave like humans. You can talk to them...get out of your car without a gun being pulled on you...and even argue if the mood is right.

Anyway, they say i was going 77 in a 50 zone. Close enough i guess, so i pleaded guilty. That always sends them for a loop. I admit it, i was speeding. They have no idea what to do now. They are so used to bullshit stories defending their ancient radar guns or why the person had to drive 160 kilometres an hour in a 40 zone. So in the end I said, just write me up partner, I'll pay my dues.

What i didn't know was that there has been yet another change in Bosnian law. Reform is great, but one needs a daily gazette just to keep up with all the changes. The new law, aimed at rooting out police corruption, issues you a ticket that you do not pay on the spot. Good law i say. I have to take some form with me and pay it at a certain bank -- a little inconvenient but i can deal with that too. I then found out that not only did i have to go and pay at a certain bank but that i am required to bring the proof of my payment, in person, all the way back to Brod - 300 kilometres away from where i live. And there is no other way to do it. Has anyone ever heard of computers? When i started laughing at the ridiculousness of it all both coppers were a bit defensive. But when i engaged them in a conversation about it they started to realize just how absurd it all is.

Fill out a form. Go to a specific bank to pay it. Get proof of that payment. And drive 300 kilometres to give you that proof. I prefer the bribing days and coffee money to get them to leave me alone. After a bit of giggling and 'what do we do now?', he instructed me to slow and down and hit the road.

Again, the beauty of Balkan police. I get off scott free, get to argue and laugh with a policeman...slag off the system with him as he wishes me a pleasant drive back to sarajevo and the only damage was missing my favourite song on the radio.

I sped all the way home, making the trip in record time.

The wanderer...

2006-09-25T14:15:00.000-07:00

As i wandered the streets of Sarajevo alone this chilly evening...I realized that life without ones tribe is not really a life at all. I'm not sure it matters how we structure or define our tribe - its the sense of belonging and being understood that matters so much to us.

Then there are freaks like me - who claims to do things 'for the people' when, in fact, doesn't really have a people. He's alone. And he put himself there. Maybe he thought it would be easier to set the stones of revolution in a land where he was just a wanderer. He could fight the good fight without a single sole around. Ranting and raving about how good things could be, 'only if we...'.

But he's always told himself the real revolution is the one which occurs from within. But that he has put on the backburner and now asks himself why. Is the common good above all - even when the commons don't really give a shit (until its too late of course)? Can one work for the common good if he/she is not working on oneself? Can one honestly love others without loving themselves?

So maybe this external revolution is just bullshit. And maybe the evolution of the mind only comes with the warming of the heart. One cannot happen without the other. Not to say his heart is cold - but in a sense towards himself it is. So che continues to peel away the layers of bullshit that he complained about some time ago. And hopes for some peace of mind -- and heart.

Am i the only one who thinks about this stuff?

Bismillah

2006-09-22T11:17:00.000-07:00

The older I get the more funerals I seem to attend. I'm grateful none of them so far has been mine. Today was a dear old woman, bony and wrinkly Tetka (Auntie) who, quite honestly, had mostly lost her mind in her 89th year on this earth. Today is the evening of Ramazan, the holy month for Muslims, where they fast during the light hours - intended to cleanse, focus and contemplate. Its also tradition to visit the graves of the deceased...and so we visited the grave of my loyal companera's grandmother. Her resting place is an ancient graveyard on the hills high above old Sarajevo. Spectacular view. When we arrived they prayed, and as they did so the call to prayer resonated from the dozens of minarets that dot the sarajevo skyline. Everything just seemed sort of synchronised. Call me crazy, but not a bad to be laid to rest...

Its also Yom Kippur. Another day of fast and contemplation for our Jewish brothers and sisters. I stand proud in the middle of all these faiths, embracing none of them yet all of them.

And being that its a time of contemplation...and being that we are in the midst of a revolution....i have decided to join the month long fast with my Muslim brothers and sisters. It will offer me insight and time to contemplate this growing rift between all of us. A rift that I understand, but just plain don't get. It's all such nonsense. It serves no purpose except to reinforce our fears. So today I am a Muslim. Tomorrow a Jew. The day after a Christian. And each and every day I am me - and you are you. Regardless of the labels we place on our foreheads, we are flesh and bone. That flesh and bone gets lefts behind, put in the ground for safekeeping by Pacha Mama whilst our spirits soar.

Ramazan Serif Mubarek Olsun to my brothers and sisters in Islam. Do contemplate. Do cleanse. Do realize the end of separation. Do feel the oneness. Hasta la ramazan siempre.

Mental Blocks and Anarchy

2006-09-21T12:04:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I get the very best of ideas to write about just wandering around this town and observing the vast madness of Sarajevo's drivers, pedestrians, shoppers, coppersmiths, and the various groups that percieve themselves as the 'Jet Set.' I get a sensory overload from some of the most phenomenally creative characters i have ever seen to the most absolute idiotic individuals on this dear planet of ours. Ideas flow furiously until i come here, to my little desktop in the foothills just north of Sarajevo. Here it all somehow goes blank.

I wish i could understand my mental blocks more. Why and when creative juices flow and then dry up like a desert stream. Today I had at least two fantastic themes and ideas...and now they are gone, vanished, nowhere near my fingertips as I type this nonsense onto my blog.

Something tells me i need to slow down. Soak it in more. Relax a bit. Maybe even carry a notepad and pen with me every now and then. The things i witness here on a daily basis are novel worthy be rest assured. Its just these bloody mental blocks that are killing me.

If i could just slightly relate to you the wonderful anarchy that I witness on a daily basis. The blatant disregard for rules or regulations, the exciting ability to argue and curse at policemen, smoking in the courthouse in front of a no smoking sign that is barely visible due to all the smoke, parking literlly in the middle of the street just because you feel like and don't give a rats ass if its the main road through the city, pedestrians walking in the street with small children despite the empty two-meter wide sidewalk just beside them. Its a wonderful place these balkans.

Despite all the mental blocks, its a place I'm glad to call home. Now we must get on with the revolution. Hasta la anarchy siempre.

who shagged my dog

2006-09-17T10:26:00.000-07:00

My loyal companera's underbelly has, in rapid succession, began to sag. Her nipples are three times their normal size, her lovely coat sheds a bit each day, she eats like never before. With the exception of one 24 hour span - Reilly has been by my side. Its obvious that i've got a family on the way...but i still want to know who shagged by dog!?

She's a purebred Tornjak, an endemic shepherd dog from Vlasic mountain in central Bosnia. I have an eery feeling that it might be Bobby who stuck his little pecker in her. Bobby is this tiny little grey poodle that can go through the bars on the fence. I found him on many occassions in her big house. The neighbours seem to think it was cute. Let's see how cute it is when i take a box of little shitty grey poodle pups to their doorstep.

I still wonder though, how could he do it. I mean she's a big dog. A big dog. And he, well...like i said, he's a little shitty grey poodle. There's also the chance that her 24 hour jaunt around Sarajevo resulted in any one of the thousands of street dogs getting laid. They swarm around outskirts of the city like a pack of hungry wolves. It's one gang i certainly wouldn't want to run into late at night. Paramilitaries are nothing compared to this lot.

She was in heat...a stranger opened the gate to read the water guage and off she went like a whore at the world cup. What could i do? Now i just have wait. Time will tell I guess. And before long at least i will know who shagged my dog.

Puppies anyone?

Bring back the old Pope god damn it!

2006-09-15T11:05:00.000-07:00

I've got so many silly, ridiculous, frustrating, funny, infuriating things to write about that I'm not quite sure (as Dan the Mexican would say) whether 'to shit or go blind.' Now what that means, I haven't totally figured out - but anyone that knows the Mexican will understand.

Although Pacha Mama is my church, temple, synagogue, and mosque I still get nostalgic every now and then. Don't tell my companeros, but where the hell is the shaky Pope John Paul when you need him? OK, he was the Pope, but the man brought a good message around the world and certainly never inflamed over a billion people. Why the Vatican let a bloody German in, one that was accused of being a Nazi sympathizer, is beyond me. We've got Bush who's pissed the Muslims off enough for them to make joy rides into tall buildings, Danish cartoonists creating riots around the world by insulting the prophet, and now the Crout taking the piss out of Muhammed (a.s.) and his holy wars. I mean how on earth could the POPE criticize anyone on holy wars? Jesus Christ, (he's mentioned in the Q'uran more times than Muhammed by the way) the Catholic Church slaughtered grasshoppers that wouldn't convert in the old days. They hung and burned our women, the healers, and accused them of witchcraft.

Now I grant you, some Muslims have gone way over the top with the cartoon thing. And they seem to be ultra-sensative these days. But have the slightest inkling of cultural sensitivity Father Benedict. If you have a time bomb in your hand, do you throw it about or lay it gently on the floor and walk away? If you have a nervous, angry and potentially aggressive tiger in front of you do you kick it the head or chuck it a beef steak?

The bottom line is that the west just can't fathom the east and the east can't fathom the west. I've had the gracious opportunity to taste the best and worst of both worlds. I must tell you companeros....we cry the same tears, laugh the same laugh, worry the same worries. We all have the desire for good and healthy lives. We all want our children to grow up in a happy home. We all want a comfortable place and secure job to support our families. For fuck sake, we shit the same. Piss the same. Fuck the same.

So maybe that's part of my mission, to bring these two so-called drastically different worlds into perspective. Sure, we have our differences. But man I'm telling you, we all want the same thing...we just do in a slightly different ways. I'll do my best to bring the fences down...and shed a bit of light. I fear, though, that the clash of the civilisations that we have created in our heads has a blue print made of permanent ink. Let's see if Che can spur a little revolution...which is the evolution of the mind.

And Pope Benedict, watch your fucking tongue dumb ass.

bah-bah blacksheep

2006-08-29T10:44:00.000-07:00

It's election time in Bosnia. Do politicians really think we're that dumb? Or are we really just that, dumb as they cumb? I tend to lean towards the latter. The vast array of corrupt, incompetent, hyper-inflated male egos with major overdoses of testosterone have all turned into reasonable, calm, and righteous individuals. They have diligently and selflessly served us over the past four years and now emerge from the dense forest of their sacrificial works to let us know what more they have in store for us. And boy oh boy do we rally to the war cries. The nationalist parties, leading this unworthy pack sometimes called the government of Bosnia and Herzegovina, once again plunge us into a world of fear and tribal alliances. Even the 'alternative' and 'indepedent' socialist from the RS, Milorad Dodik, reems off hard-core rhetoric that would make even Europe's most christian right blush.

And the flocks start to bah. Bah-ing resonates from every cafe and office - who is the thief? who is the most honourable? whose cousins uncles friend heard from the bodyguard of the sister who's married to the nephew of the mayors father-in-law that the international community already rigged the elections with computer counting shipped in from Florida because Bush had a secret meeting with the nationalist parties to ensure that they retain their thrones in turn for shushing about the 6 Bosnians in Guantanamo Bay kidnapped on bogus terrorist accusations.

The young...still in trances from a ten coffee, 40 cigarette daily diet winge the same whine - "it all sucks! They're all theives! There is nothing we can do! When are they going to change things! Poor us! Poor me!..by the way, how much did you pay for your Gucci?"

Oh the apathy, oh the conspiracy theories, oh the stupidity of the masses. We repeat this ritual over and over...and fear always forces the hand to not vote for a change. It's election time in Bosnia. Oh, the horror!....the horror!

is august summer anymore?

2006-08-26T12:20:00.000-07:00

I never considered myself to be old, especially considering the grand picture of things. Lately, though, i have been noticing that i am witnessing a transformation that feels as if its excelerating at a rather startling rate. Its August, at least for another five days. Its also 16 degrees outside, and feels more like a crisp and rainy autumn day than it does a sweltering summer one.

The Sarajevo Film Festival seems to be my new measure. This year is the twelfth year of the festival. I think i have been visiting the festival since 1997. Although i prefer the regional competition and the documentary program called 'panorama', there is just something charming about sitting in an open air theatre to watch a good film with 2,500 other people. If my memory serves me, the festival - always at this time of August, sees nippy nights and ritual thunder and rain storms. This year is no exception, with quite a few cool and windy evenings and several rainouts. My hot memories of almost every August of my life are fading.

Sarajevo is tucked in a small valley and surrounded by 2,000m plus mountains in three directions, so just a day or two of cloud cover can drop the temperature 15-20 degrees Celcius. Its now become normal for cold and hard rains to fall for the festival, as if summer has been hijacked by July, and sometimes even June. The BBC just reported on early Springs...but i've yet to hear about early autumn, or is that just automatically assumed the early springs bring early autumns?

Regradless, it seems in my short lifetime that weather patterns are changing. And for a thirty something, it somehow concerns me how aware i am of the changes and how rapid they seem to be approaching. It would be comforting to know that I am exaggerating...or even just imaging these things. But my gut tells me otherwise. I no longer put my light jumpers away for the summer. They are an active part of my wardrobe.

I guess we'll be seeing more rainy festivals in sarajevo as august slowly leaves the throne as summer centerpiece...and steadily joins ranks with the changing of the leaves.

misinformation is weapon of mass destruction

2006-08-21T02:15:00.000-07:00

Guantanamo leaves a hole in my heart. How angry the island spirits must be....Batista and his dirty deeds, los gringos and their killing machine vying for control of the island for over 50 years, mi hermano Fidel and his occassionally misled tactics, and now...Guantanamo. I saw the film Road to Guantanamo at the Sarajevo Film Festival. It would make any gringo feel as shameful and guilty as a German in 1950 may have felt. My heart sank thinking of the inhumanity. But what worries me more is that this biting dog is scared - terrified even, and how long will these rabies ridden indignations continue to go on?

Alongside this horrificly violent fear that los gringos have is totally contempt for everything they claim to stand for - where is the freedom, human rights, due process? There is none. What happened to these three young men from Tipton, England is not only a crime against humanity - it is a scar on the face of America that will never heal. If these types of things happened to Americans anywhere in the world under similar circumstances, the bombs would certainly be dropping. The call to war would be heard from both poles.

I'm afraid history will catch up with you, all my good hermanos and hermanas en los estados unidos. Many Africans say that 'one pays for the violence of our ancestors.' If this holds true, los gringos are up for a rude awakening. Watch 'Road to Guantanamo', listen with an open mind to what these brothers went through - and what is being done in your name and the name of freedom gringos.

it's a funny world

2006-08-14T10:42:00.000-07:00

My blog has remained empty for some time. Although much has happened between then and now, i hadn't the energy to muster. I seemed to have mustered a bit - let's see what we come up with. Hermano Fidel is recovering in Havana...with Commandante Chavez at his side. One can feel the slimy drool oozing from the white house and south florida hoping that the end is near. He's outlived 9 yankee presidents and 643 assasination attempts. Que incredible! The world has greater problems though then Fidel and his intestinal surgery.

The UN, bless their hearts, has conjured up yet another resolution to stop the madness in Lebanon. Let's hope the resolutions are more resolute than the Bosnian conflict. Each and every resolution for 3 years were completely ignored - and they sent a peace keeping force with no peace to keep. I dred that the anxious brothers and sisters in Lebanon have packed and headed back south before a true peace settlement can be reached. One breach of the cease fire and southern Lebanon once again goes up in flames -this time with a tremendous amount of civilians trying to find their way back home.

I wonder which multi-national corporation in los estados unidos has begun manufacturing clear zipper hand bags. Its only a matter of time before the capitalist dreamers kick into action and begin producing 'Homeland Security' approved see-thru bags so that no freedom hating Muslim can carry coca-cola bombs to kill your democracy and love for freedom. I can't help but think, 'who created the clear fluid explosive technology?' My guess is that it would be the same country that created the Taleban and trained Bin Laden. But hell, i'm just a loco socialist waiting for an evolution of revolution to happen. It's a funny world. Hasta la victoria.

So much bull shit!

2006-06-11T05:03:00.000-07:00

Yeah, so much bull shit. And i have no idea where to put it all. I wonder why we even bother with a revolution sometimes. At least for the gringos in the so-called west. We are all utterly intoxicated with bull shit. Our jobs. Our politics. Our economics. Our wars. Our struggles. Our families. Why is there so much bull shit?

Our bull shit is the real smelly kind too, it's the shit that stays on top, covering everything with it rank layers. It just basks in the sun, but keeps its moisture by covering up all the real stuff below -- sending putrid aromas teeming through our being, poisoning us, filling us, until we can no longer tell what the real thing looks like. Our world has been invaded by bull shit. And to be quite frank, it think it stinks.

So why do we all worship and dabble in this artificial top layer of fecal waste I ask? Why are we so afraid to dig just a bit...and get to the good stuff, the stuff that counts. We fight and kill, fuck and eat, work and spend - and in the end i ask 'what the fuck for?' Are we really here to just go through the fucking motions. Or is it just that painful that we constantly spasm to what's easy, and that is the bull shit on the surface.

Wouldn't it do us some good to dig a bit? To seek what the others layers hold. Hell, maybe its just more bull shit, but wouldn't you like to find out? I'm so tired of this world of bull shit. It makes even the nice things smell like shit.

Presidential Shwag!

2006-06-05T14:08:00.000-07:00

Well, Montenegro is now a 'new' country. As the world globalizes and wide unions form from Europe to Asia and Latin America -- southeast Europe, in fine Balkan fashion, continues to fragment. And guess what, it aint' over yet baby. No, the fat lady hasn't even begun to sing.

The thing i like most about all this fragmenation stuff is that i appear much more intelligent than i really am. Way back when I could only say i spoke two or three languages. Now, as countries continue to spar over their identities, cultures, and ancient borders i seem to pick up a new language every few years. Before it was straight forward, I speak Serbo-Croatian. Then the Croats and Serbs gave it go and shabam! I speak Croatian and Serbian. Then the Serbs decide to give Bosnia a go and poof! I speak Croatian, Serbian and Bosnian.

When the Kosovo crisis was astir in 1998 I can remember sitting in Podgorica with Minister of Social Welfare, Dragisa Burzan. He is an English educated politician who i found quite kind and sort of down to earth. When we met to discuss the influx of refugees to Plav, an isolated part of northern Montenegro that borders with Kosovo and Albania, he asked me which language I preferred to speak in. I naively replied, 'It's all the same to me Mr. Minister, Serbian is fine though.' His eyebrows sort of scrunched together and with a gentle smile he added, in English, 'Let's speak in Montenegrin then!'

And so it is. Montenegro becomes the newest member of the growing European community. More power to 'em i say. The sad thing is, though, Montenegrin leadership, like most countries in the region...is, for lack of a better phrase, a warlord gang. Milo Dukanovic, who is flaunted by the likes of Mr. Solana of the EU, was a pro-Milosevic nationalist who rallied Montenegrin troops to set Dubrovnik alight, destroy east Mostar, and send tens of thousands of Bosnian Muslims from eastern Herzegovina fleeing.

After things settled down in Bosnia, Milo got clever. He apologized for Montenegro's participation in the war. Sincere or not, its unheard of a balkan male to say sorry, let alone admit they actually were responsible for their own actions. He turned his focus to the power grab in Montenegro and to edge out Milosevic's buddy, a bid headed, big haired Bulatovic. Of course to maintain power one needs money and monopolies. So, first things first, alcohol and cigarettes. If you control that, you control the hearts and minds of most Montenegrins.

Then came fuel and then, get this, the drugs. Yup, the Albanians love to produce and smuggle drugs - but they never ever consume them. The borders into Europe were getting more and more confusing and difficult and they found a lovely new path -- marijuana via Montenegro and the hard stuff via Croatia. The hard stuff was supposed to get to the EU, but young Croats, living under the Tudman regime, found a way to escape the reality of his fascist regime. Thanks to Franjo, Milo, and the Albanians, Dalmatia is now wrought with countless herion addicts hanging out in misery on the Adriatic coast. But we won't talk about that now. Let's get back to Milo.

So we get this shwaggy, dirt weed from Albania sent to us by the President of Montenegro. Gotta love it. Who's gonna arrest you when the president gave it to you? But Milo has 'changed' his ways. He has taken speech lessons from the Americans and boy oh boy has he recieved the golden tongue award. Not only is he King of Hill of the youngest country in Europe, he has a fortune to lean back on. And i didn't even get into bank laundering of Italian mafia money on the Montenegrin coast.

So click one more off the list of Yugoslavia and click one onto the map of Europe. Kosova is next. And it won't be pretty. Serbia just may come the Beogradski pasaluk. Jebi ga, tako je zivot nekad.

zbogom companera

2006-06-04T15:07:00.000-07:00

It was the strangest and saddest funeral I have ever been to. And i'm not really sure why. The shock of her death really didn't sit in with most of us until the funeral was over. In the days after her death we were really just dumbfounded. It was hard to react to the reality. She had gone so quickly, only six weeks after finding out that her body was poisoned with cancer.

The Muslim burial was visited by Christians, Jews, communists and atheists alike. And in the end, when her coffin was covered and the last shovel of heavy, wet earth was placed on her final resting place it started to sink in. Of the hundreds who attended the funeral, about fifty of us stayed behind. None of us knew why. We just couldn't go. We just couldn't say goodbye. Nothing was agreed or spoken, we just sort of lingered around her grave. Some cried, some just stared, some even began to laugh and tell stories of the wonderful person that she was. And we still couldn't, wouldn't leave.

Waves of sadness seemed to hit us collectively. People held each other and hugged, but in a very non-dramatic sort of way. We all were just holding on to our last moment with her. We slowly dispersed back to our cars. The entire ride back to Sarajevo no one spoke a word. I think we were all speaking with Farah instead. I hope she was listening. We love you dear friend. I love you. And will miss you. Zbogom companera, sleep with the angels tonight.

I'm back

2006-06-01T03:02:00.000-07:00

Yes, companeros...it's been a long time. And it is now time to vent. And vent I will. I traveled deep into the heart of the revolution at the European Social Forum in Athens in early May. I must be getting soft in my old age...although i understand the militant left, and was once a vocal leader in that movement during la revolucion in Cuba - I have seen the light.

The forum, which is usually painted both red and green, was overwhelmingly red in Greece. It became painfully obvious that the political and historical problems of the Balkans are very much unsolved. We have not moved on. The fascist, right wing government of Greece is countered by a violent anarchist movement. The forum itself was a creative and energetic show of resistance. Although i missed the greens and talk of sustainable living, non-violent resistance, environmental issues and general tree hugging, I found the socialist and communist movements to be filled with pain, anger but at the same time resolve and commitment.

The region is wrought with political prisoners, horrendous immigration policies, corrupt and violent police forces, and the lobby of the ultra capitalist yankee neo-liberal's always turns a blind eye to human rights once they find the political elite to enforce their economic model. So we took to the streets.

In similar fashion to Edinburgh for the G8 protests, we were, by and large, a mass of peaceful protesters. The police, as they did in Portland in 2002, had plans of their own and the corporate media to back their actions. A small group of anarchists....always decked out in black and masked, expressed their discontent with smashing some bank windows as they do. What bothers me about our anarchist brothers and sisters is that they always choose these peaceful forums to vent their rage - and hide amongst us when the police inevitably attack. Attack they did. With wanton disregard the police charged peaceful protesters, amongst us many children and elderly. They gassed us, beat us and herded us like cattle as we expressed our peaceful discontent with the repressive system they uphold.

At one moment the police succeeded in breaking the protest in two, hoping that we would simply disassemble and the protest would fall apart. They chased the anarchists, fair enough, who only numbered a few dozen in this crowd. We, however, numbered in the thousands. To the Greek police that did not matter. They charged again, tear gassing us again, beating us again and herding us....again. The protesters resisted the urge to run and peacefully disobeyed the order to disperse. Some yelled at the anarchist for constantly provoking the police in our midst. As i ran gasping for air from the tear gas, the police close behind us weilding riot sticks the somewhat panicked peaceniks were confronted by none other than the violent anarchists.

I understand rage. I understand the adrenaline and the fight or flight sensation. What i don't understand is what happened next. The often dramatic Italian pacifists continued to scream at the anarchists...and began calling them fascists. The anarchists, in a full sprint retreat from the encroaching police, stopped mid march and confronted the Italians. The rocks that had been hailed at the police just minutes earlier were now directed at the protesters!! I couldn't fucking believe it. An anarchist then lauched a rock into the Italians, who were literally 1 meter away. An old man dropped to the ground, blood poured from his head and he started to convulse immediately. Not a good sign. Tempers raged, some anarchists could not believe that this had happened where others were ready to give it ago with anyone that stood in their path of rage.

A panicked crowd gathered around our downed comrade. Frantic Italians charged at the ambulance that was attempting to pass. The paramedics were terrified not knowing what had happened and having mad Italians bashing on the windshield. They soon rolled up with a stretcher and the old man was wisked away. A pool of blood and pieces of his brain lay still in the street. No time to ponder, the police charge us again. Three more tear gas cartridges fired at us. The sting in the lungs and eyes is excruciating. Panic and mayhem. I wanted to stand in front of them, just stand and watch them charge us. Peacefully disregard their need for violence. But the army of riot ants surrounded us on all sides, still herding, still poisoning us with their chemical weapons.

The anarchists resumed hailing rocks and chunks of asphalt at the police. I wandered, struggling to see through my burning eyes, thinking of the old convulsing Italian. I have seen many dead comrades in Bosnia and Kosovo...and back in the day in Cuba, Bolivia, and the Congo.

But our fight today is a different one. It is a fight for our dignity. It is a fight for our planet. Our resources. Our health. The wars of yesteryear were fought over territory and ideology. The wars of today are fought for resources and markets. Their force and strength is our undying want to consume. To increase our buying power. To have what others have. What we need is no longer a factor. And our earth, nor our souls can sustain this.

It is when we say NO to corporate powers and their corporate monarchies that they loose their power. When we pay a bit more for a locally produced product. When we educate ourselves as to who owns what. When we understand that we have the power NOT to buy something. We have the power NOT to vote for someone. We have the power NOT to support the monster that is destroying us and our planet.

The real revolution is the evolution of the mind.

All the kings men

2006-04-10T13:15:00.000-07:00

The only time th west really pays much attention to Nepal is when a white climber dies on Mt. Everest, or better yet, when they summit. The west doesn't care much about kings and their regimes, as long as they keep pumping the oil (Saudi Arabia), torturing suspected terrorist for the CIA (Morocco), or are too little to really give a shit about (Nepal). Maoist rebels, my companeros, have been fighting for many years and some say for all the wrong reasons. Their demands are primitive - I mean who the fuck cares about socialized medicine, education, water rights, and responsible tourism anyway? Idiots!

The people of Nepal have had their fill with this monarchy, and as trendy as it has become lately, took to the streets in massive numbers to peacefully protest. Its hard to peacefully protest when all the kings men are beating you like a dog with sticks, though. So it goes. The capital has been marred with bloody clashes with the crowns police and military forces, whilst opposition parties, including the Maoist rebels are busy as well blocking major roads and causing peaceful havoc as we like to say in the business.

So whilst the French conjure up fond memories of their great revolution, they today celebrate in Chirac's decision to ditch the youth employment bill. March on froggies, march on!

The Thai's have strongly enoughed voiced their dissent over the president selling the state owned telecommunications company to Singapore that they have crippled the work of the government. Even though Mr. Pres, a villager himself, has done a good amount for poor - the Thai's actual demand ethics in governing the people. Do you believe these ungrateful wankers. Ethics and morals in politics. What fucking century do they live in. Mr. Pres should have sent out the army to deal with them...but hey, its a democracy and its a bit harder (unless your America) to send the army out whenever it tickles your fancy.

Nepal is an important little piece of the wonderful planet we all share. The Nepalese people are kind, peaceful and resourceful. They have taken to the streets to demand back the democracy, as imperfect as it was, that they once had. But the king and his men are determined not to give up that easily. America would only have to huff and puff to blow that house down. But they choose silence. The EU too has choose silence. India and China have chosen silence.

Do the little people, with little economic ramifications, really not matter to us. Are our moral obligations weighed in cost effectiveness? The west bombs so-called democracy down the worlds throat whether they like it or not. But much like the immigrants we find on the street protesting in the very America that gives them the economic security they've always dreamt of - the Nepalese find themselves wondering 'does anybody really give a shit besides us?' I'm afraid the answer, by and large, is no.

Sofia City Center

2006-04-04T11:15:00.000-07:00

Flying into Sofia reminded me of many Balkan capitals. Socialist flats lining the outskirts of the airport like tombstones. High mountains in every direction. Old Russian logistic and firefighting vehicles lining the runway next to rundown warehouses.

This would be my first adventure to a country that exclusively uses the cyrillic alphabet. Luckily my frat days at uni taught me the Greek alphabet, which in turn helped me learn Serbian cyrillic, which in turn didn't make me feel like I had arrived in China when i landed in Sofia. It's amazing what a funny alphabet can do to your perspective of a place. Just the familiar letters made me feel at ease. Then the customs official spoke to me in Serbian. I was so dumbfounded that i had to ask him was he speaking to me in Serbian or in Bulgarian. The resemblance is striking. He informed me, however, that he was definitely speaking to me in Serbian. Fair enough.

Two young comrades were waiting for me after I effortlessly passed through border control and customs. Everyone was pleasant and unbalkanlylike not annoyed that i dare come to their country. Maybe its my trauma from the former Yugoslavia and the horrible entrances and exits to Romania that had me prepared from the worst. But I must say that the entire 20 minute Sofia Airport experience was a perfect one.

The two comrades quickly took me to a taxi. Now it gets Balkan. I jump in the back and have to slide down behind the driver. He has his seat in extra-cool taxi driver position, which means i have about NO room for either leg to fit in front of me. So I sprawl one leg over the other towards the comrade sitting next me. Even though after a few minutes i started to loose the sensation in one of my legs....i began to thoroughly enjoy the experience. Turbo Folk music beamed from the radio as we cruised down towards Sofia City Center (SCC).

I was pleasantly surprised in Sofia City Center about pretty much everything.
Run-down socialist buildings toking massive Coca-Cola and Oriflame adverts. Ridiculously expensive Mercedes stopped at the light next to a 1970 something Ficho. But as we neared SCC the architecture transformed, parks appeared, well kept cobble stone roads ran in every direction, beautiful Bulgarian women sported Europes best fashions in laid back and swanky cafe's. It felt like home. I was happy.

Being that I cannot disclose my reasons for being in Sofia (other than that is was, of course, for revolutionary purposes) I shall skip the details of my meetings. I checked into my four star hotel (for disguise purposes only of course - no legitimate revolutionary would stay in a multi-national hotel would they?). The location, the room, everything about the place was perfect, except one thing. There was no electricity. It wasn't a hotel problem, but just my room. Of course, I immediately expected it was the damn jankees who, once again, were following me and decided to eliminate any chances of easy communication with my other comrades. I went down to reception and the cute receptionist, shoes off and all, couldn't really be bothered with my complaint. She was obviously watching a very important soap opera and i was very obviously disturbing her. She did send the security guard to my room though. You can imagine how much that helped.

"Good evening sir'
'Oh, good evening comrade. I don't seem to have any electricity. Maybe its a circuit breaker or something?'
'Ah, I don't speak English'
Then i thought 'so why did you start speaking it to me in the first place?'

I then started to converse with him in Serbian, and we got to a point where he understood the problem. He confessed he was just a security guard and couldn't do anything until morning. I inquired about checking the fuse box, but he adamantly refused, shrugged his shoulders, and left me in a pitch black four star room. So I decided to be naughty and flip all the switches in the fuse box. The last one, as always, did the trick. And then there was light.

After a little horribly dubbed television i cut out my new found lights. End of day one in Sofia City Center. More tomorrow.

Pass the cheese please

2006-03-27T01:43:00.000-08:00

Hola companeros i dobar dan. I have been accused, on many occasions, of being a Eurofag sympathiser- those comments almost exclusively coming from the most wonderful los estados unidos; land of the free and home of the brave. Now, that automatically implies many things. Homosexual tendencies of almost a half a billion people? That an entire continent couldn't possibly contend with the greatest of the 300 million, largely obese population of the United States? That anyone embracing the principles of true multi-ethnicity of this ever growing melting pot is a fucking fag?

Well, we know how the gringos get when it comes to the Old World. We still use crank up planes and don't have indoor plumbing.

But I do have to say one thing, this Eurovision thing is a total farce. Eurovision is a horrendously cheesy musical contest between European countries and Israel. Why Israel, not sure, but that's not the issue here. Most Europeans, the classy, chic, cultured and beyond for some reason loose all rationality when it comes to this pitiful excuse for entertainment. The music in no way represents the best tunes coming out of Europe and, in the most awkward of ways, embraces the American way of tacky extravaganza's.

So the music sucks. Each country has a right to vote for any other country except for their own. I have been able to sporadically sit through a few sessions of this nightmare. And what i found appauled me. The few good quality instrumental and vocal songs were no where on the voting scale. Instead, local patriotism takes over and each region tends to vote for each other. Its gone to the extent that i have read interviews with country winners who, before the contest even begins, are encouraging neighbouring countries to vote for them! Disgusting really. The voting always looks a little something like this - Denmark votes for, guess who? Sweden and Norway. Czech Republic votes for? Yes, Slovakia and Poland. And Austria? Yup, you're getting the hang of it now -- Germany and Switzerland. It is pure cheese, I promise you.

So why am i bringing this up in the midst of the revolution you ask? Well, its another great balkan tragic comedy and its not the film Karaula. Serbia and Montenegro have almost always qualified for the eurovision contest. To be honest, they have usually had pretty good songs too. Now that the wars are all over though, they have no one to beat up upon except themselves. With an indepedence referendum on the table due to be cast the day after Eurovision on May 21, Eurovision for Serbia and Montenegro has become a new battleground. Yes, it even infultrates cheesy music contests.

So the scam goes a little like this. Serbia and Montenegro each have the same amount of votes on the jury panel. Before the finale, Montenegro chose its finalists as did Serbia proper. Then they meet for the grand finale to see who goes to Athens. Each country has six votes each. Montenegrins, in fine Balkan fashion, decided to give the Serbs a little taste of pre referendum snubbing. The Montenegrin jury gave zero points to any of the contestants from Serbia whilst Serbia, behaving uncharacteristically normal, gave a fair amount of points to the Montenegrin contestants. So the best band by far, The Flamingo's, who could have quite possibly taken the gold in Athens, came in second next to No Name from Montenegro. The proverbial cheese then hit the proverbial fan. The live emission was cut mid airing after the audience opposed the obvious political moves of the Montenegrin jury. Fights ensued, and it broke out in mayhem and became a national dilemma. Yes, over a stupid song. That's how deep all this stuff runs people. To the fucking bone.

So all this mayhem basically resulted in yet another split between the Orthodox brothers and sisters of Serbia and Montenegro. Media took sides. Political parties took sides. What it really comes down to is, legally, Montenegro wins. Morally, they lose. So who goes to Athens. Well, no one. Its been chucked out altogether and now Serbia and Montenegro forfeit the opportunity to participate in Eurovision for the next three years. Its sad, pitiful even.

This, unfortunately, is just how blurred Serbia and Montenegro's vision of Europe actually is. There is yet a maturely developed sense of constructive dialogue, ethics, compromise and trust that has brought the EU to where it is today. Will they lay to rest the ancient hachett of mistrust and backstabbing or move towards an imperfect, yet principled, European Union. Our brothers and sisters in both Serbia and Montenegro are struggling with rotten top layer of scum and corruption. But they have proved once they can overcome...and we shall help them overcome yet again. Another bowl of cheese anyone? Hasta la victoria!

Spring is here

2006-03-25T04:24:00.000-08:00

My dear companeros. Spring has arrived in the heartland of the Central Dinaric Alps. And with the melting snows and light rains comes a torrent of anger from pacha mama. Floods are occurring countrywide, thanks to our trusted forestry industry hacking everything in sight - and not in sight - down. But have no fear, for we are initiating an independent environmental task force to rid the country of its ludicrous forestry people. The revolution here is gaining ground, and we have identified sympathizers within the government fortresses. May there always be dissent amongst the political elite. The backstabbers never have enough knives here - but its sort of a welcome automated way to clean house. Spring cleaning is much needed. Get the trimmers out.

Che may be called to Pakistan to help our brothers and sisters begin rebuilding after last years quake. But that in no way effects the revolution. In fact, it will only spread it. I will keep you posted should i be called to serve. Don't tell my mom though, she'll have a heart attack. Just dealing with my resurrection after Bolivia was hard enough for the poor woman, i don't want to put her through more hell. Let her think I'm a postman in Travnik, its better for everyone.

Spring revolution fever has hit Belarus today - as our young take the streets as did the orange revolutionaries in Kiev last year. Thailand too is having a wave of massive protests to oust the president who's family just made a cool, tax free 1.9 billion by selling the telecommunications company to a Singapore state run company. Papua, Ecuador, France...the beat goes on. Unfortunately, my friends in los estados unidos still sit high on their capitalist thrones -- thinking they can't be touched. But the revolution is as much about bringing down capitalist America as it is to rid each country of its puppet elite and return the resources to the people. Beware gringos, your days may be numbered.

The cure or the disease

2006-03-19T07:50:00.000-08:00

It's a question that, i gather, we should all ask. Are we part of the cure or part of the disease? As a new age revolutionary one has to wonder if the two can ever be separated and, if they can, how? The great bigringcircus philosopher, Juancho, once told me that if we look at things around us - how much can we actually change? Where does it end? The war, the suffering, the greed, the hunger. Its a heavy load for any conscientious soul to say the least. But he wisely reminded me - if there is something we can do, then we need to ask what that something is. If we can't, we really need to be asking ourselves why not? So how far does our responsibility go? My guess is as far as your imagination will let you. That's the revolution, the evolution of our minds to manifest not an ideal world, but one that is based on our needs. One that is aware that we have similar needs, and that there is more than enough to fulfill those needs. Ending want and embracing our needs.

Bosnian farmers have picketed for over 250 days against 'free trade' policies that kill local economies and benefit larger multi-nationals.

Comrades in Britian have declared a war on want. That is their revolution.

The Aymara and Quechua companeros in Bolivia cause is focused on water privatisation -- water is a basic human need and not a commodity.

Our Papuan brothers and sisters are fighting against poverty and exploitation of their mountain of gold.

Desparate low caste families in India are struggling just to feed their children.

Angry French students are protesting biased labour policies for youth.

These are all direct results of the greed and wants of others. When is it enough? Where do we draw the line on the power we give our governments and these corporate giants who run our lives? Many of us are saying basta, many more of us need to.

Me....I'm here still trying to figure it all out. If i go with my gut, then it tells me we need to reconnect. Pacha Mama will lead the way and the indigenous peoples are our key to preserving the knowledge that will lead to the transformation of a sustainable and more harmonious world.

What, my friends, is your revolution all about? And if you don't have one, why the fuck not?

Talkin about a revolution

2006-03-18T01:56:00.000-08:00

I see now that anti-revolutionists have infultrated my blog. And although i prefer not to call it paranoia, i have my suspicions about new visitors who have 'stumbled' upon my rhetoric. This leaves me no choice but start my very own counter-propoganda campaign - sort of like we did in Santa Clara before the gringos jankees apparently 'got a hold' of me. Just as they claim to have captured Saddam, they claim to have slain me in southern Bolivia -- and now even have a Che Trail following my 'last' battle. I was thinking that i could partly fund the revolution with tourism royalties now that Evo Morales is El Presidente. Maybe i can cash in from the gringos trekking my 'last days' with my boliviano companeros. But that's not the point here. We're talking about a revolution, right?

My new little part of world has seen its share of revolutionaries. Comrade Tito, of course, would be the most famous of the moviementos socialistas. But there were really so many more and even greater ones that ole Josip Broz. There was 'Valter' from Sarajevo. Milan Djilas from Montenegro, for example, will go down in some history books as a traitor but he was everything but that. Just as i had serious issues with Fidel in Cuba, so did Milan with the way things were evolving within our revolution. Some were forgetting the people part, Milan and I couldn't let that happen. Valter never did. He drove the fascist Germans mad. Milan got the boot. I took off to fight the good fight in Bolivia. Old age got Milan, and everyone thinks the CIA got me. Think again imperialistas.

So why did i choose the western Balkans as my new playground. Quite simple really. Just as the bastardos de los Estados Unidos chose South & Central America as their experimental grounds in the 60's, 70's and 80's, the 90's to today has shifted towards this wonderful swath of land that connects east and west. It is no coincidence that it is here the North Atlantic Treaty Organization has chosen to redraw the world maps. It is, of course, of vital economic and military significance to control this part of the world. And that is exactly what they are doing. Piece by piece, country by country. The only thing we haven't figured out yet here is solidarity, too many sell-outs and conspiracy theories. I see it all as being quite transparent, with their goals and objectives flat out on the table. We, on the other hand - the squabbling southern Slavs that we are - don't know if we're coming or going and our loyalties go as far as our wallets.

That's why i, and many other hermanos and hermanas, are here. You see, we're talking about a revolution. Hasta la victoria siempre!

Top o' the mornin to ya

2006-03-17T06:30:00.000-08:00

Yes, it's the 17th.... court day and st. paddy's day. Well fans, rejoice and be glad. Paint the rivers green and get the pints in your face. The court case was....cancelled. Yup, the suer (sewer) postponed the final hearing until the 14th of April. He must have known that this was my lucky day, the luck of the Irish surely would have been behind me. I prayed to the sacred heart, to Jesus, Mary and Joseph and a united 32 county Republic of Eire and all i got was an unenthusiastic phone call from my lawyer. That's grand eh? Just fucking grand.

Maybe 'tis the luck of the Irish. Maybe this is a blessing in disguise. Maybe the man and his machine are squirming in their pants, wondering how to get themselves out of this self-made mess.

Rest assured, i shall not take this lightly. We shall fight on as the republicans always have, and i don't mean the right wing evangelists of the grand ole US of A. We are gathering the troops for a criminal case. If justice has no soul in this court system, then we shall seek other means to achieve our goals. So by golly, beware. The rivers will be running green. Our day will come.

Who dunnit?

2006-03-13T06:56:00.000-08:00

i knew this was coming. I could see it from a million miles away (or 1,562,500 kilometres). Here come the 'who done it' conspiracy theories from every tom, dick and harry in the balkans and beyond. It's the talk of the town, in every cafe, factory and office building in southeast Europe. The theories range from serious probabilities to fairy tales of the grandest kind. Everyone wants to believe one of them.

There are two mainstream conspiracies, each one entirely dependent on what side of the fence you sit on. There is the Serb theory and the rest of the former Yugoslavia theory. So it goes. Listen.

Many Serbs, including most of the mainstream newspapers in both Serbia and Republika Srpska, believe he was intentionally murdered by the 'international community' and/or the Hague War Crimes Tribunal (in the eyes of most Serbs they are one in the same). Mr. Presidents legal advisor conveniently produced a letter to the Russian foreign minister apparently written just days before his death that Slobo was concerned that 'they' were trying to poison him. Hmmm, smell anything yet?

By then the headlines were already reading 'Murdered in the Hague' and 'They killed him.' They has still not been identified by police, but the all points bulletin for they has, nonetheless, been issued via interpol.

Just for a little background check for you folks out of the Den Haag loop. Slobo has been on trial for some time, or should i now say was on trial for several years. The trial was stopped fourteen times due to his poor health. Fair enough. I must say though, he was a magician at dragging it out and making an utter circus out of the Hague and its procedures. As the Hague noose tightened, meaning that his trial was nearing an end, Slobo - like Slobo - came up with a great plan. 'I'm too sick to stand trial right now, i must go to Russia for treatment.' And then it all started. His brother went wheeling and dealing in Moscow to get guarantees that Slobo would be returned after being treated. After quite a long hand of wheelin and a dealin' a deal was struck, at least between Slobo's brother, the Russian government and Mr. Milosevic himself. Now they just needed permission from mom and dad -- the International War Crimes Tribunal. Well, you know how the story goes. What kind of treatment can Slobo get in Moscow that he can't get the Holland. Exactly the point, you probably can't compare it. So he was rejected. This is about when the story gets interesting...listen:

Several weeks before his death a drug was found in Mr. Presidents system that wasn't supposed to be there. I'm not a pharmacist, and prefer medicinal herbs myself, so i won't pretend to know anything about it - i'll tell you what the media has told me. It was a drug that started with an r and ended with in. This drug is apparently used for TB of all things, and not at all for his condition, which was strictly a blood pressure and heart one. Now, according to Dutch doctors, this drug can offset or negate the affects of the drugs used to lower his blood pressure. Maybe this was his plan. To offset his own blood pressure medicine so they would allow him to Moscow. Call me crazy, but the man is a wizard at creating distraction and chaos. Whenever the opportunity arose whilst in power in Serbia, he created chaos to avoid taking the bullet.

I think this time he missed the boat. Or maybe not. Maybe he figured that he could get to Moscow, hell, worth a try anyway. If i am refused, well shit, i'm not going to stand in front of the world and be the first president of any country on earth to be convicted for genocide. I will give no one the pleasure of seeing that. Mom and Dad killed themselves, why can't I?

Then you have the factor that Bosnia and Herzegovina is seeking reparations from Serbia and Montenegro for war damages. BiH has a very good case, and Slobodan Milosevic getting convicted of genocide would almost certainly seal the deal -- resulting in ten of billions in reparations which would kill Serbia. So that theory is now in play -- that the Serbs actually wanted him dead.

Then comes the theory that the Hague simply didn't have what it took to make the indictment stick. These rumours, mostly prevalent amongst the Serbs, have a large portion of the population convinced that it was the international community (or they, same thing) who killed him intentionally in order not to be embarrassed and show the innocense of the Serbs in the Balkan Wars of the 1990's. Granted, I think the Kosovo case against them was rather weak, as was the Croatian case. The Bosnian case, however, would have got him in the end.

So who done it is the question...and everybody is convinced that somebody killed him. Doctors have said, with Serbian and Russian doctors present at the autopsy, that he died of heart failure (doesn't everyone in the end?) and a seemingly natural one. The Russian doctor did comment that he had a treatable condition -- which again fueled the fire in Serbia. But if he was taking medication to offset his blood pressure medicaments, then of course he was getting treatment and someone was intentionally fighting against that treatment.

The theories continue to whirl and swirl through every living room in the former Yugoslavia. His funeral has finally been arranged for Pozarevac in Serbia, without a state ceremony in the capital. In fact, he was -- well his followers and family - rejected of the opportunity to have an open casket in the parliament building in Belgrade. He, instead, is being shown in the Revolution Museum, which has infuriated the Director of the museum. She claims it destroys the integrity of this cultural institution. So maybe the Serbs are fed up with ole Slobo, and only hundreds have come to pay respects and not the hundreds of thousands that fully supported him less than a decade ago.

The bottom line is, however, is that Slobodan Milosevic is dead. He didn't get a verdict on his trial which all sides agree is a tragedy. It is an end of one life, and possibly the end of long chapter for Serbia. Move on or stay in the trench of denial...regardless the former Yugoslavia has one big case of the 'who dunnits.'

RIP Mr. President

2006-03-11T08:34:00.000-08:00

Well, being thateveryone is talking about it, i guess i might as well and join the crowd. So i'm sure you've all heard, Slobodan Milosevic is dead. Yup, he's gone. Everyone dies. He was no exception to that rule. The so-called 'butcher of the balkans' is now on every major western network headline. We hear the predictable, that he was the author of the break-up of Yugoslavia and used extreme and violent means to do so. There's something new for the Balkans, huh? Or for the world for that matter.

Milosevic was an unbelievably clever individual. Whereas dippy-doo Radovan and his big balkan hairdew repulses me, i've always been fascinated by the intensity and occassional insanity of Slobo. Mladic has his god-complex, Radovan just simply has a big head (literally and figuratively speaking) but Slobo is work of art that at times makes you laugh, even cry, and then you walk away somewhat indifferently. He never had barbarious words like Karadzic, he never showed the butcher side like Mladic and Arkan. He was too clever for that. He tricked his own people, he tricked the world, hell - i even think he tricked himself into believing he was the last gatekeeper of a multi-ethnic Yugoslavia.

He's a man i always wanted to have a coffee with, not out of admiration for his leadership skills but more for his uncanny ability to tell wonderful lies....that everyone and their mother believes. I've never heard someone more convincing. I chuckle when i see him on trial at the Hague. Its like his three ring circus, and as long as he feels he's in control the man can not only bring a horse to water - but he can also make it drink. He dooped an entire nation, just as GW did with his Iraq war propoganda machine. The difference is though, most Serbs hold strong to the illusion that they were the victims, whereas at least some Americans have come around to see that GW and his white house mafia were and still are lying through their teeth, about almost everything. America and Serbia have a lot more in common than they both care to admit.

So the west will go on talking about the mad man of the balkans. The victims in Bosnia, Croatia and Kosovo will certainly be sorry that he never recieved the justice they believed he deserved. And the Serbs, well, you know, like most Serbs - they're going to play victim yet again. I can hear the comments streaming over the hill from Republika Radovan and Belgrade. 'He was a great Serb.' ' He wasn't the monster the propogandist west made him out to be.' 'It was all a set-up from the CIA.' The Hague killed him because they knew they couldn't get a guilty verdict on him.' But we shouldn't underestimate the Serbs. After all, it was they who ousted him with the long, sustained 'otpor' (resistance) movement in Belgrade. And it will again be the Serbs who will have to close this chapter in their history without making a martyr out a man who certainly doesn't deserve to be one.

This is a great opportunity for Serbia to move ahead, close a chapter in their bleak recent history book and sort out the house. My guess is, though, that they have for so long been in the practice of playing the victim that they will continue with their outlandish conspiracy theories, hiding war criminals, and not in any, way, shape or form acknowledge that it was them who went to war with not one, but four of their closest neighbours. Watch out Montenegro!

PCB Encounters

2006-03-09T13:56:00.000-08:00

Today i was asked to give an interview for a NTV Hayat. What they wanted was my opinion -- not because i'm an expert, but simply because i have this thing about injustice...and i've never quite learned to keep my big mouth shut. So when the shit hits the proverbial fan...i feel some strange moral duty to tell everyone about it. That's probably why i am being sued for slander. St. Paddy's day is just a week away, i can hardly wait.

So what balkan adventure is this about today you ask? It goes a little something like this. About two weeks ago there was a massive leak from a hydroelectric transformer in the Jablanica HE plant. Jablanica HE is located on the Neretva River, the famous turquoise coloured waterway that flows under the Old Bridge in Mostar. It turns out that 18 tonnes of gookety gook made its way into the majestic waters that feed the crystal clear Adriatic Sea just a mere 35 kilometres away. In fine Bosnian fashion -- we had no way to react to the ecological catastrophe that could in essence destroy this waterway and the Delta in Croatia. We have no rapid reaction force, we have no equipment to respond to such spills, we have no contingency plans. We basically just say, 'jebi ga, sta mi mozemo.' In layman's terms, 'fuck it, what can we do?'

Luckily someone had the sense to call Croatia, who immediately sent a clean-up team to try and contain the spill. And after several days, rumours had it that they had managed to do so. Then more rumours started to circulate and some started talking. Talking about what no one but ecologists and environmentalists talk about in private over 'what if' coffee sessions. We had no way of proving our suspicions and certainly no ears to listen to our concerns. Well, it seems like the what if has been confirmed.

The European Union banned the use of PCB for use in electric transformers in the mid eighties. By the mid nineties that had prohibited its use and shortly after eliminated from use in Europe. They also passed a treaty making it illegal to transport or sell it to non-EU countries. The French, famous for their sales and dumping of hazardous waste onto third world countries apparently sold a large shipment of transformer oil made with PCB to BiH in the late 1990's. Elektroprivreda BiH, the Bosnian electric company, denies this. PCB has been found in the transformer oil and the director of this ambitious Enron like company made a public statement that PCB is legal in Europe until 2010. Rubbish -- its first ban came in 1978 and total prohibition was implemented by 1999.

Bosnia and Herzegovina, of course, has no capacity of its own to verify the quantity of PCB in the leaked oil. PCB, by the way, is extremely cancerogenic and is extremely fluid, henceforth harder to contain in the event of a spill. The Neretva is the source of drinking water for, say, 250,000 people. Its also home to a large number of fish farms that sell fresh trout to numerous European neighbours. The electric company, quite possibly the strongest lobby in the country and completely immune to Bosnian law and regulations has outright denied the use of PCB's...and has now backtracked to say that there was only small quantities found.

Funny enough, this same director went to Slovenia today to sign a concession agreement for 23 mini-dams to be built on Bosnia and Herzegovina's richest resource -- fresh, potable water. Guess who is doing the PCB analysis? You got it, the Slovenians. How convenient. More test results are expected today -- i wonder what they may say?

So my beef is basically the complete lack of 1. transparency and 2. the simple fact that Bosnia and Herzegovina is the only country in Europe not to have any mechanism in place for an indepedent, multi-disciplinary task force that can react to such catastrophes. Even environmental impact assessments, by Bosnian law, must be carried out by the company investing in the development program - be it a forestry road or a hydroelectric dam. That's fucking absurd, a direct conflict of interest and downright irresponsible. And that's exactly the point, this government will at any cost avoid taking responsibility for anything. They love to play pass the hot potato game, which frequently lands in the lap of the international community.

Bosnia and Herzegovina claims to have a European vision. It claims to aspire to EU membership. It claims it is a partner that embraces what is perhaps the most progressive constitution on earth. It claims to live by the principles of rule of law and transparent governance. What this government is, and the big business that supports it, is a brutal medieval theifdom that embraces none of those principles - who ignores the very core of what Europe stands for; multi-ethnicity, tolerance, and justice. The Bosnian Enron will most certainly get away with this, just as they have with every other illegal move they have made in post Dayton Bosnia.

So we are gearing up for the Balkan Environmental Wars...our time has come, we have heard the call. Hasta la victoria siempre.

Not another book

2006-02-28T13:04:00.000-08:00

So i've been commissioned to write this book about Central Bosnia. That may sound exciting to some, but after four travel guide books -- all of them overdedicated to making heads or tails of this confusing corner of the planet, I just wanna blog. I've done my masters and PhD in Bosnian history writing these damn things.

I've locked myself in this little corner room of my home, exiting only to walk my massive Tornjak, an indigenous sheep dog from -- guess where, Central fucking Bosnia. But its not her fault that the ancient Bosnian kingdom was located on her mountain. How was she to know that Kotromanic Dynasty would collapse at the hands of the mighty Sultan way back when in 1463 when the Turkish army rolled through Bosnia. The dumb-ass king, what's his name, Tomas, thought the fortress at Bobovac would hold out for two years. SHIT! It fell in three days. The sassy Sultan had gotten a hold of canons, which the little Slavic seljak tribes hidden in the mountains couldn't even dream of -- guerilla warfare against a barrage of canons in the 15th century means only one thing -- you lose.

So thanks to Reilly, my Tornjak fury friend, i do get a breath of fresh air every now and then. When do i get to write the fun stuff though. Why doesn't the European Union commission me to sit here and bullshit to no one all day. I'll write a few sentences about the ancient handicrafts of the leather and coppersmiths -- if they'd just leave me alone.

And what kind of 'tourist guidebook' can i write when the only thing to see in these bloody places are slabs of stone that are supposed to represent a magnificent 14th century castle. There were no fucking glorious capitals. OK, it was made from stone....compared to shotgun shacks and prefabs it was probably quite beautiful, but these were communities about the size of average Albanian family for fucks sake. So a tourist goes to these glory day places and sees a bunch of old rocks, barely knee high and are supposed to be excited about it.

'You mean I paid for this?'

Half the book is dedicated to what was. Which is precisely the problem in the balkans today. What was. It's been distorted and contorted to such a ridiculous extent that the validity of almost anything here should be, must be, seriously questioned. Next thing you know they're going to prove the pyramid theory, then we're really in trouble.

So all this fuss about the Bosnian Kingdom -- whose greatest success was to really give a good century or two of 'fuck-off' to both the Catholic and Orthodox structures from the west and east. Sort of like the Doobie Brothers their philosophy was quite simple, don't drown me with your political shit, we think Jesus is alright so we're gonna go with it. But the thick forests and deep gorges couldn't keep the missionaries at bay. They came, one by one, waiving some stupid flag that these fuckers are still fighting over today. I can't even remember who my eighth grade teacher was let alone who one the battle at Kosovo Fields in 1389. Come to think of it, i don't give a rats ass who my eighth grade teacher was and even less about who did what in the fourteenth friggin century.

But, hey, everyone's gotta make a living. So back to the grind. I have a deadline tomorrow to tell the story of medieval central Bosna all the way to present day. It reminds of a fridge magnet i once read....

'the past is history, the future a mystery, this moment is a gift - that's why they call it present.'

All Aboard!!

2006-02-27T12:06:00.000-08:00

The train station in pre-war sarajevo, according to local legend, was the chic place to hang and shop. I somehow find that hard to imagine. Let me tell you why. Although the building has been reconstructed after Serbian artillery laid into it for some 1,400 days - it strikes me as a place where KGB agents might sneak up on you and slip a note into your pocket looking for asylum in the west.
I know, I know...the KGB is long gone, but the feeling is not.

Then i turn around and there are dodgy immigrants from Sandzak and Kosovo running shitty coffee bars (and lord knows what else from behind the counter). I step up to the counter to buy my tickets and they are very kind. That, i noticed, wasn't old school Sarajevo.

The clerks were attentive and smiling, did they get laid last night or what?

There was an older grumpy looking woman next to me. I had to wait for her to buy her tickets first, for although she was at the next counter, she had piled her grocery bags so high in front of my counter that there was no way i was going to climb kupus mountain this morning. Kupus is bosnian and serbian and croatian for cabbage. And there was lots of it.

When my turn did finally come i asked for my four tickets. She asked me if we were all traveling together, which seemed a bit obvious to me, but what the hell ya know. She then asked if she could write up all four tickets on one -- which made me happy as a hen, three less peices of paper in the river is always a good deal to me. She could have written them on my hand and i'd been cool with it.

I asked her if the trains were all on time and if everything was 'alright', as i buried my neck into my shoulders. I knew that the the day before the train had skipped the tracks just outside and wound up on the friggin street.

She acted totally oblivious to my concerns and answered 'pa da, sto da ne?' Translation...'well yes, why not?'

Fair enough, the train had certainly been lifted by a corps of massive bosnian men who LOVED working on the railroad. The company, half state and half private, seems semi-defunct, yet i haven't seen that kind of pride in southeastern Europe in quite some time -- unless it was some bad toothed mug of man who had just 'fucked the shit' out of his girlfriends cousin. So the finely dressed men of the railroad, with red caps and little whistles and hand flags stood almost at attention as we boarded the train.

The choice this morning was either a passenger carriage from 1972 Sweden or a later Eastern German version. The Swedish car, even though it was much older, was by far the best bet.

We sat just below the plaque that read ' A gift from the people of Sweden.'

Shit, they could have at least given us a train car that reclined or something. The lights flickered...and made a lot of noise doing so. We thought we might be in for a long ride.

So it was me, Bregje - my Dutch friend who i had met on my way from Lake Titicaca in Peru to La Paz, Bolivia last year. She was as easy-going as they come, and we hit it off on the long busride through the Andes and around the 4,000 meter above sea level lake. Oh yes, also traveling with us was Alex and Carly. Alex is a 1970 baby, former Seminole (he quickly abandoned us for the bulldogs of all things), and a great travel writer. He's also fucking hilarious and constantly sends me into deja vu with his tallahassee boy's sense of humour. His partner, a very cute, very Swedish looking southern bell from North Carolina is a great photographer and cooks a mean lemon cake. So the four of us decided to mingle on down to Mostar to check out the Oriental Mediterrenean jewel. I also had to pick up documents for my court case, but that's sort of irrelevant at the moment. The ride was smooth as we gently made our way down through the heart of the Central Dinaric Alps.

We stopped for a moment in Bradina. There he was, the bright eyed and bushy tailed station attendant. He was dressed in a blue suit, dawned his red had and hand flag and proudly waved us on from the bombed out station. This hole in the wall is only famous for one thing - Ante Pavelic, the fascist Croatian leader who aligned himself with Hilter, was born in this miserable place. No wonder he killed so many thousands. The only place where people got on was in Konjic. It must have been a workcrew or something that boarded, it certainly smelled as such. The ride down through Celebici and Jablanica was similar to that at Bradina. Proud men with barely any teeth waving us on as if Tito himself was watching over them. I liked it, I liked it very much. There they were in these run down, bombed out train stations where nobody got on and they couldn't have been happier. Maybe they still held onto the good ole days when the railroad workers unions were amongst the strongest in Yugoslavia and they enjoyed job security and helped people trek about that once beautiful socialist republic. Whatever is was, their smiles were contagious, and i too felt a slight tinge of their pride as the old swedish train pulled out of each station.

We reached Mostar by 9am. It was a decent morning, much warmer than Sarajevo. This train station had also seen better days. The Serbs bombed the shit out of it, the Croats did the same, and the Muslims do a horrendous job of taking care of what was reconstructed after the bang-bang, or boom-boom stopped. The floors are filthy and its an empty ghost-like place. In the lobby are about a half dozen cafe's, the rent must be cheap because its certainly not an ideal place to sip a nice hot cup of joe. In front we stumble across a memorial fountain for Jerrie Hume. Jerrie, a former royal navy admiral who was with the United Nations High Commission for Refugee's during the seige of Mostar, is single handedly responsible for bringing the conflict to the centre of political attention in 1993. The fountain, built in his honour for 'saving' the city of Mostar, is a black, mildewed, leaking pit now. So much for pride. No doubt we had arrived in Mostar -- the good, the bad, the ugly. Its all here.

All rise!

2006-02-17T05:19:00.000-08:00

I must admit that there was a slight case of the butterflies when i walked into the Cantonal Court in Sarajevo yesterday. Bosnian courthouses are quite a phenomen to me. I first walk through the metal detector with a wide range of metal objects on my person. The machine rightly beeps and alarms the policemen observing me in a more than uninterested manner. He sort of looked at me like 'what the fuck are you doing here?' He decided not to check me, or any of the other potential bomb toting terrorists entering the courthouse. He was simply there to listen to the sounds of the beeps, beeps that proceded my entire wait in the courthouse lobby.
The walls were splatted with barely visible no smoking signs. Their visibility was blurred by the plumes of smoke rising from almost every sole in the lobby, sort of like a chain smoke-along. My lawyer finally enters - he is a young, blonde haired, blue eyed looking Slav. Although i had contacted him months earlier, this is the first time since my first de-breifing that we have met. Hopefully the other lawyer is less serious than mine, i thought. Thankfully, i was soon to find out, he was. A scruffy, messily dressed man in a Tito-era suit was sitting in front of the judges office. That would be my opponents lawyer. Luckily his rhetoric would be as poor as his dress as he immediately began to barrage the judge with irrelevant mumbo jumbo, as they say.

From the very beginning i was a tad concerned on how this slander case had been processed so quickly. Each civil suit judge has an approximate backlog of 1,500 cases. A week later, i am summoned. So i called to the mighty protectorate OHR for assistance. The OHR has a special unit for court observation -- which means that a young, talented and neutral legal expert will observe the case from beginning to end. After all, the man and his machine is well known for trying to buy his opponents -- and he mananged to persuade the entire parliament of the Federation of his victimhood. This move of mine could work for me or against me -- but the gamble goes a bit like this. There is always a chance of something really dodgy going down when it comes to the mighty businessmen of Bosnia and Herzegovina. They enjoy similar freedoms as the mobsters of New York and Chicago did in the 1920's. My request could piss the judge off, but then again, many of them are fully aware of the absolute lack of 'rule of law' that currently dominates Bosnian life. The court observation is quite simply a psychological boost for me....and even the judge. She must, of course, be more careful and thorough than usual i'm sure, but she is also rid of any pressure coming from the idiots corner.

So it was me, my young blonde lawyer, the scruffy opposing lawyer, the sharp dressed man from the OHR court observation unit, the kind judge and her clerk of the court. The room was blanketed in stacks of green folders. All cases long gone or yet to come...i could not decipher, however, which was which. The sharp dressed man kindly suggested that the judge request a shelving unit for the mess in her office, she nodded and claimed she hoped by the time we come back for the final hearing she would have sorted that out. I am willing to bet my left arm that the stacks of green folders will only be larger and wider spread in a months time, but who am i to judge? Anyway, off we went. The judge went around the room introducing everyone and making official statements for the court records (which were actually being typed into a computer!). It was long and boring, but i was glad to be there. I was not required by law to be present this time, but i felt that at least a tiny chunk of my future was at stake so what the hell.

I won't go into the long and boring bits....i shall spare you of the torture I had to endure. In the end, the opposing lawyer whined that he was being targeted by the eco-mafia (that's me of course) and that all the other ecological crisis' in the country were being ignored. He went on with even more irrelevant BS until the judge kindly intervened and inquired as to the relevance to the case. The scruffy man couldn't come up with an adequate answer and the judge asked him to move on, please.

What struck me more than anything was not the socialist style setting, the improvisation by almost everyone in the room, or the disorganization of the entire system, but rather the seemingly genuine gest of the scruffy man to make jokes and get to know me. He constantly made references to the talk shows for which i am being sued, playfully laughing at the duels me and his client had on national television. I, on the other hand, didn't find it amusing at all. Yet he kept on, and no one around really reacted. So i just sat there, slightly dumbfounded, realising that this is just a game to him....and whether he wins or loses is not really the point. The point became rather obvious -- we threatened and bribed you to shut up, you wouldn't. So now we will hassle and trouble you with this miserable bureacracy until you either give up or buy shares in the sand quarry that the man and his machine have become millionaires from. The stall tactic is by far the best one. Bury it in the sea of reforming and transitional public court system and my sand quarry is guaranteed to keep on truckin for at least another few years until this fun is over. Democracy, maybe. Speedy trial? No fucking way.

The man and his machine

2006-02-16T02:13:00.000-08:00

Today is the day. Judgement day. It started several years back, during the war even. I think it was 1995 when i first visited the magical valley of Diva Grabovica, the natural border between the Mediterranean and Alpine climates. The valley is a garden of hundreds of endemic types of flora and flauna -- worthy of national park status anywhere on this good planet. The magnetic attraction to this place brought be wandering through its plush fields with a tent and a flashlight on several occassions. I just couldn't keep away. The towering peaks of Cvrsnica Mountain sprawl up over 1,800 metres from my lowlying tent, a mere 200 metres above the Adriatic Sea that is just thirty kilometres away. The stars always light the nights at Diva, and the starlight highlights the endemic Munika pine trees that somehow manage to take root in the massive rock faces. Veliki Kuk, the largest rock face on the Balkan Peninsula, is a climbers dream....or for some thier worst nightmare. Well over 1200 metres of sharp rock, many a seasoned, worldly climbers have failed on this face.

So i dreamt of buying a little house in the valley, writing and sipping Bosnian coffee. The thought of daily drinking fresh goats milk from the neighbours, having organic honey being produced in every one of the six tiny households in the valley, and the ridiculous abundance of figs and pomegranates, was all too enticing. Is all too enticing.

One day, not too long after the Dayton Accords starting to actually take roots, appeared a man and his machine. This man and his machine had picked my sacred valley as his location for a sand quarry. Being that the ancient dry riverbed delivered perfectly carved stones of all sizes, this quarry didn't even require much digging. All he had to do was clear the runway for the snowmelt runoff to trickle down into his lap. So he first embarked on eliminating all that bothersome vegetation that had coloured the dry valley. Underground aquifer systems were abundant in the area and a rich array of flora grew right in the middle of the runway. The man and his machine would take care of that, though.

Within a few months the man and his machine has cleared the valley, carved roads up the valley, set up his bright orange rock smashing unit, drilled into the aquifer systems and pumped it back towards his machine, which made a lovely shade of mud used to filter his rock turned sand. This mud, in turn, would run-off into the turquoise blue waters of the Neretva River just downstream. The man was so determined that he decided Diva Grabovica belonged to him, and nobody else but him (well, except for maybe his machine too). So when the government sought to see his permits, of course, he had none. He was the man, and this was his machine. What permits? But in the end, the man was forced to seek permits for his machine. The government said 'no, no'. And the man said 'yes, yes'. And this went back and forth for many years - whilst the man and his machine continued, on a daily basis, to turn rock to sand. The man was finally forced to go to court to justify the evil doings of his machine. Not one court, but two, said 'no, no.' In June 2000 the High Court ruled against the man and his machine and ordered him to cease activities immediately. He did nothing of the sort. For many years he ignored all he no-no's. That's when i reenter the picture.

Although it had pained me to see the man and his machine turn rock to sand and destroy the sacred valley, i didn't think this country nor its government had the will or the way to enforce any of its own decisions and/or laws. Sounds silly, but that is the reality of this central Balkan nation. But the people rose, and this time in large enough numbers to rock the boat...even if just a bit. So we went after the man and his machine via the 'proper channels.' Local governments and federal ministers recieved letters, petitions, and complaints. They all did nothing. So we then took it the Office of the High Representative. The OHR is a Dayton mandated 'protectorate' if you will. They have rather limitless powers to make decisions that the Bosnians simply cannot or do not want to make. They, of course, were not so interested in the environment. After all, how can a post-conflict transitional economy worry about the environment. We'll worry about that later, when the economy is better and our rivers are cesspools and our forests turned to grazing fields. So they passed the buck, and we moved to the Ombudsman's office. The Ombudsman, a quirky Swede, was very interested in our case -- particularly being that he had become so bored with all the human rights violations of returnees and refugees that dealing with a bunch of rocks, a man and his machine sounded like a nice gig.

They were persistent and professional. They nagged and threatened. And it actually worked, or so we thought. The Ministry of the Environment wrote two letters ordering the man and his machine to shut down or they would physically come to the sacred valley and dismantle it. They threatened to cut the electricity to the man's machine (little did they know that the men supplying the electricity were buying cement electricity poles from the rock turned sand produced by the man and his machine). We celebrated...rule of law. Respecting the decision by the high court! The man and his machine laid low, almost conceding defeat. But it was a ploy, and the standard way of avoiding the law is to just stick it out. Wait until the roar has dulled, people don't have patience and time. Once the noise dies down, the man and his machine would continue to turn rock to sand in the sacred valley. And so it was. He started again. And the government, as you can imagine, dropped the proverbial ball.

Back to square one. A few of us decided it was time to just make noise. So we kept making noise until one quiet evening I get a call from the man. At first, he was very nice and calm. He offered to 'work' with us, what is it that we really wanted? Hmmm? For you to leave with your machine I said. His voice seemed to crack and the next half hour was threat upon threat to what he would do to me and my mother (what does she have to do with this?) if i didn't stop harrassing his company. So what did i do? I went on two life talk shows and talked about the man and this machine...AND...his barrage of threats against me. This made him very angry. So we went on yet another talk show - FACE to FACE - where the man showed his real face. He screamed and barked at me like a neanderthal, while I sat rather calm (and secretly pleased) that he was finally starting to dig his own grave. I thought to myself, as many graves as he has dug in the sacred valley, it tickles me pink that he is finally digging his own. So he ranted and raved until the cameras went off. When they did he offered me to come to dinner to 'talk.' We could sort this thing out. If not, he warned, i would be summoned to court for slander. When we parted, we shook hands and he again invited me to 'talk'. 'See you in court,' were my last words. Several days later i was summoned to court. I am being sued for slander to the amount of $35,000.00. Maybe nothing to a corporate giant or even a Green Peace, but to me that is about $35,000 more than my total life savings.

So, after several months of waiting, today is the day. I go to my first round against the man and his machine in front of yet another man - the man. The man (the one with the machine) has publicly accused me of belonging to the eco-mafia. He has illegally exploited a strictly protected area for over nine years without a single permit and against a decision by the highest court in the land. If i ever needed mafia connections, today is the day. Lets hope my phantom eco-mafia godfather comes from above, or hell, even below, to finally put the man and his machine out of business.

White Mountain

2006-02-13T07:12:00.000-08:00

We traveled deep into the heart of White Mountain just recently, revisiting the ancient highland settlements perched on the Rakitnica Canyon, which is perhaps the most unexplored canyon in southeast Europe. With meters of snow piled on either side of the road, one wonders how, if at all, these Dinaric Alps shepherds ever leave the area over the winter months. Muharem greets us with his herd of sheep with the traditional kiss on each cheek. And in fine highlander fashion, drops everything he does to invite us in for a coffee. But the angel snow is all to inviting and the group is anxious to strap on the snowshoes and trudge up to Gradina - a primitive summer settlement where the semi-nomadic shepherds stay in the summer months with their herds. Although the cold is biting, the reflection of the sun on the snow blinds me. Thanks to Sierra Trading Post bargain barn my new pair of Northface shades save the day. My Celtic eyes can barely handle a sunny day let alone the powerful reflection beaming off of the snow. As we begin the trek we stop at Izmir's place. His wife will prepare some traditional food for our return, and in turn make a little money for him and his family. His wife is expecting twins...so they soon must abandon their village due to lack of facilities and medical care.

Past the ancient Muslim cemetery we start ascension...the sky's clear blue and the rugged peaks of Visocica and Treskavica veer out to the east whilst the barren valley of Dugo Polje overwhelms us to the south. Our route was an old Illyrian trading caravan one. The extensive mountain routes, totally isolated from the valley civilization, are thousands of years old. The Romans, conquering this region in the first century from the fierce indigenous Illyrian tribes, greatly improved the roads system, still found today in many of the highland areas in the Central Dinaric Alps.

We soon reach the Red Rock Faces, which is the entrance to Studeni Fields. Legend has it that many centuries ago there was a fiery dragon that was attacking and scaring the shepherds and their flocks. The villagers asked the local holyman to go and fight this wicked dragon. He agreed to do so, on one condition. He asked the villagers to pray for him and his safety until he returned. The power of their prayers would enable the 'imam' to defeat the beast. Off he went into the canyon. For days there was no sound or word of him. Yet the villagers continued to pray. It is said that the dragon climbed up the rock face of the canyon, with his large tail swithering up Studeni Fields -- creating the present day serpentine stream. They met near Gradina, and with the power of the imams prayers, along with the faithful below, the holy man turned the dragon to stone. The tail, mouth and head can be clearly seen engraved into the Red Rocks. The village was henceforth named Umoljani, which means 'in prayer.'

Once we approach the ridge near Gradina the winds pick up and pierces even the best of winter gear. The valley below Obalj Mountain, geographically dividing Bosnia from Herzegovina, creates a wind tunnel that we choose to avoid. We stay high on the ridge until we reach Studeni Fields. From the ridge the views of Visocica's glacier peaks stuns us all. We have now left any remnants of the highland civilization behind and have entered the untethered territory of Pacha Mama. The untouched, wind frozen snow is enticing for a jaunt down the slopes. Off we go, one by one, galloping down towards the stream. We happily trek along the banks of the frozen stream, now completely dwarfed by the rising peaks all around us. After some deep snow trekking slows us down and tires a few of us we circle back round the valley and head back towards Gradina. Now driving into the wind, the cold quickly takes its toll, turning everything to ice - including my tears brought on by the intense wind. The energy of the group seems to transform, more concentrated on the trek and dealing with the elements than prancing like reindeer as we did on our way down. We finally reach Gradina, and the downhill hike to Umoljani is welcomed. The other side of the valley spares us from the wind as two approaching cloud systems close down on us. By the time we reach the village the clear blue skies have turned dark grey and windy snowfall blasts the village.

By then we are all sipping homemade tea in Izmir's place. Fresh herb tea of mint, wild thyme, and chamomile brings the group back to life. Then comes the pita from homegrown potatoes. Pita is sort of the equivalent to the greek spinakopita. That is followed by buttermilk, fresh cheese and wood stove baked potatoes.

We engage Izmir in chat about the future of his village. There are only 14 permanent members left compared to the prewar population of well over 70. The average age is close to its prewar population. Izmir's family is the only one in Umoljani with children. There is no school and the nearest is a fifteen mile hike through impossible terrain for a child. Umoljani was destroyed during the conflict in early 1992, one of the first victims in the Serbs quest to first conquer the highlands around the capital Sarajevo. As old military strategy puts it 'the ones who control the highlands, controls the lowlands.' The old style homes, built with stone and covered with wooden shingles has been replaced by cheap red block structures provided by the international community. Although the village maintains its traditional way of life, the architectural integrity has been forever sacrificed....yet another lost trace of these ancient highlanders. Izmir no longer believes in the survival of his home. He is more than convinced that with time, when the elders die out, Umoljani will only be a place for families to return with their flocks in the summer months. Winter here, too long and lonely, is no longer bearable with the collapse of all the social services provided in Yugoslavia days. We provoke him with other options. Eco-tourism and organic agriculture are two viable and sustainable alternatives that we have applied in similar regions in BiH. They have worked, and people have been able to maintain their ways of life - at least as much as possible given the current political, social and economic conditions that dominate present day Bosnian life. Again, Izmir is skeptical, and sure no one would return even if ideal conditions were possible. 'People have gotten a taste of the city...we were cleansed from here over thirteen years ago, our kids have grown up down in the valley where they have school and we can find work.'

This once again confirmed our notion -- the reconstruction of Bosnia and Herzegovina, however noble and well-intended, has utterly failed in finding long term sustainable solutions for a country that is 65% rural. Without the social infrastructures to accompany their rebuilt homes, without exploring and introducing other options for the highlanders, the few remaining portals to Old World Europe will soon be dead. And with their death we lose the indigenous knowledge that is vital to our survival. Our quickly changing world will inevitably require us to simplify and harmonize our lifestyles. It is these cultures, whether the last remaining European highlanders or the Andean Quechua's that provide us with a door to our past. And perhaps more importantly, the key to our future.

slapwrist

2006-02-10T02:46:00.000-08:00

After being barraged by 'fuck you's' in my first blog i was reminded of a silly game we played as college kids...well, ok, and even after. Slapwrist was basically an incessantly annoying game whereas anything that was picked up or held in the hands of your unexpecting pal was subsequently smashed out of ones hands, regardless of how much skin was caught in the slap or if the object in hand was shattered in a million pieces. We loved it. And it brought us to tears with laughter.
Then there was the throwing of live darts at one another after many bong hits, lounging in the acid chair and listen to Taco's beastie boys album for the twelth time that day. It was certainly much more of a psychological game to watch dear friends squirm and twist throughout Cafe Elvis, but nonetheless, we did it relentlessly.
The forehead slap game usually came after waaayyyy too many beers and bong rips, but usually it was the beers that inspired a whopping (and, of course, unexpected) wallop to the forehead. If the forehead for some reason was not reachable, we opted for the back of the neck and a nice raw set of fingerprints implanted on our beloved.
When Sidney dared to step on to the stage the real fun began. The heckling and hazing would become so intense that heavy flying objects were projected on stage towards the wild turkey drunks on stage. Sidney, as always, responded with more insults and homosexual insinuations, whilst the crowd got riled up enough that Chuck, the hairy PR, ran for cover behind the Mexican bean pole.
Each time the same subliminal messages reached our deepest senses. First and foremost, hey dude -- i love ya and the second, and maybe more obvious, -- but FUCK YOU!

Here's to you Johnny

2006-02-09T08:33:00.000-08:00

I'm not entirely sure which news i should celebrate and/or pout about. In retrospect, i suppose the discovery of the Garden of Eden in the mountains of New Guinea should bring awe and excitement....and truthfully, at first, it did. The pouting has just set in though as I realize that what was just 'discovered' has now been officially opened to human handling. 'Just give us time, they said, and we shall inherit the earth.' Well shit, can't even a small chunk stay out of our greedy, needy reaches? First Galapagos, now the last remnants of the original south Pacific. But things could be worse. Halo ba!
The Christian right in America seem to be actually listening to the word of God - and are now confronting what GW has consistently called his 'base.' A loose coalition of righty repubs have called for immediate action against global warming? Mandatory emission cuts? Halo ba! Opposing baby bush's new corporate budget? And the Lord said, 'let there be light...and there was light!' Agnostics and Jehovahs unite!
Can you fucking believe it? A single parent, socialist, medical doctor, female as President of Chile. And we thought Hugo was a threat. Forget the twelve fighter planes (minus American parts, mind you) that Spain is selling to the Commandante Che-like rebel in Venezuela, and the indigenous, coca-farmer Presidente Evo Morales in Bolivia (Bechtel is still drying there eyes), how can Pennsylvania Avenue deal with a female socialist in South America's strongest growing economy. No wonder the Americans, even if just slightly, are abandoning ship and setting up shop for the final showdown -- Central Asia.
Don't think bombing Iran is out of the question. After all, if those Persian nutters decide to defy the American people and go EURO (just like Iraq had planned shortly before Bhagdad went up in flames) then America cannot simply let this became an example to other resource toting nations. Fortunately we've wrapped up our former friends and t-allies, the Talibani's, in Aghanistan and the pipeline is right on course and closely dotted by American bases. China, the brutal resource monger (how dare they challenge our consumption culture!) is being bullied by good ole Condoleeza to not invest in Africa just for their own resource needs but for the common good and sustainable development for the African people. Hmmm, just like the World Bank and our Bono converted buddy Wolfowitz do, huh? Halo ba!
But hey, who gives a shit about all this world politics rubbish when we have a new version of the pirates of the caribbean, in Somalia. The bandits in America abandoned Mogadishu are so sick of fighting for every bloody street corner that they have taken to the high seas. These mad fuckers are taking off some 80 odd nautical miles into the Red Sea to hijack large vessels for ransom. Is that fun or what? Africa, as our reliable disaster money area, on the verge of a few more 'picnics' for the international community to run to. Ethiopia and Eritrea are about to give it a go again and Congo, remember them, experiences the equivalent of a 9/11 just about weekly now. Halo ba! But hey, they don't call is the dark continent for nothing right?
So i wonder....and at times ponder, why on earth do i have to be so fucking 'heavy.' Why take so much of this to heart? Reading Johnny boys blog made me realize two things. One, don't forget to laugh at yourself and just take the piss more often than not. And two, one thing he said to me a long time ago -- 'if there is something we can do, we need to be asking ourselves 'what', and if there is nothing we can do, we need to be asking ourselves 'why not.' So here's to you Johnny from the crazy capital of the heart shaped land. Sarajevo, over and out ba.