MOJA ODLUKA = MY DETERMINATION

Boban-Otporaš.

01-05-2016, 17:47

                      MOJA ODLUKA = MY DETERMINATION

As a kid of 11 years of age, I had always been working with my dad in the field hearing so many stories from my father related to the beginnings of World War 2, the events during WW2, and the happenings after WW2 from 1945 to the 1950’s. In my young brain in my head, …

Moja Odluka = My Determination

“How did this title come about and when? Today is Tuesday February 13 2024.

We were waiting for New Year’s Eve 2010 at our daughter Drina’s place in San Francisco, which was Thursday, December 31, 2009. Our daughter Drina had her friends there who would celebrate New Year’s Eve with us. There was also Mr. Scott Turner and while waiting for the arrival of the New Year, he asked me a question, exactly like this: Mr. Boban, I would like to know why you left your homeland Croatia. I thanked him for the question and when I started talking, my daughter Drina said to me: Wait, Tata, I’ll take my Lop-top computer and write everything you say, because I’ve never heard of those details either. The end of my story was that I was leaving for emigration, i.e. exile. Mile Boban.”

As a kid of 11 years of age, I had always been working with my dad in the field hearing so many stories from my father related to the beginnings of World War 2, the events during WW2, and the happenings after WW2 from 1945 to the 1950’s. In my young brain in my head, there were a lot of wonders why all of this had to happen. When I asked my dad some specific questions about the missing Croatians from my village, the answer was “You are too young to understand this, my son. Once you’re a little bit older you will know a lot of those answers. Now I cannot tell you too much because you would not understand.”

On Wednesday, May 31st, 1950, my father and I were working in a vineyard called “Padina”. Around 6:30-pm, with still a couple of hours of daylight left, three policemen came, passing through someone else’s land (trespassing on someone’s land), and walked straight to my father asking him, “Are you Comrade Petar Boban?” As soon as my father answered, “Yes, I am Petar Boban”, they pulled out tie-wire from their belt and tied up my father’s hands behind his back. When I asked those 3 policemen where they were taking my father, the answer was “You will find out.”

That evening, a score of Croatians from our village were arrested and were taken to the station of Posušje. From that day on, the men’s job fell on my shoulders as an 11 year old boy. My mom was pregnant. My oldest brother, Jerko, was in school in Zenica while my oldest sister, Jakica, was in school in Sarajevo. My mom did go as many times as it was permitted by the regime to visit my father in jail. He was in jail as an “enemy of the state” and was released on Saturday, July 3rd, 1953. During that time of 3 years, through my teenager’s head, I went through so many things and why’s; questions that I didn’t have the answer to.

During that time, I was working in the field, plowing and hoeing with men who were 25 years of age older than me and on. Maybe those 3 years did help me to sharpen my brain to be determined in my thinking. During that time of 3 years, as a teenager, in my village going to church, going to the field, talking to the people, neighbors and friends, I became a rebel. When I say “a rebel”, I didn’t mean to say “a rebel” to fight with the rifles against someone. When I say, “a rebel”, with these words I try to say that I was not a “yes sir” man. If I did not like something that is going around me caused by the communist regime of Yugoslavia, then I speak up my mind. Ci-joint is a picture as a sort of “rebel”. I am from the right pointing with my finger where we are going to shout, at my left is mu friend Perka Grubišić.
I knew very well that all those acts I did intentionally, boycotting the regime and its representatives (in this case, the police), I was not conscious, as a teenager, of the consequences of my behavior. So, when I heard from my mom inside the house with closed doors, telling me about the Croats, our friends, relatives and neighbors, disappeared during WW2 and that we do not know their fate whether they’re alive or dead or missing. And that the regime was particularly against any pronunciation of the word “Croats” and so on. Then when I go out in the street in the evening or during the day when I work with the elders in the field, I feel very equipped and superior of them to talk about Croatia, Croatians, WW2, missing of 23 Croatians from my village of Bobanova Draga, then I start to talk about it. One man by the name of Ikan Boban (born in 1917) Mišin told me “Milan, I’m going to tell you something. I was a soldier of the Croatian armed forces during WW2 and I know for a fact that Croatians armed forces with the civilians surrendered to the English army in Austria in May 1945. Then, the English army surrendered the Croatians to Tito’s army of Yugoslavia which slaughtered a few hundred thousand Croatians soldiers and civilians in Slovenia.” Then Ikan Boban (Mišin was his nickname) told me one song which is: Slovenia puna si borića i kostiju hrvatski mladića” which translates to: “Slovenia, you are full of pine trees and the bones of Croatian young men”.  Then again during the dinner, Ikan (Mišin) told me one other song: “Mene moja naučila mati, pjevaj sine živjeli Hrvati” which translates to “My mother taught me, sing my son, long live the Croats”.

That song, with my cousin and friend, Ante Grubišić, Lukin we started to sing through the village and through the region without thinking that this song might cause us problems. When I say problems, I have to explain that Yugoslavian communist regime did not allow Croats to express their nationalistic feelings through any means whatsoever (cultural, folkloric, historical, singing, talking, etc.). There were some people who did approach us telling us that we shouldn’t sing that; it was forbidden and the police might stop us. Ante and I, as teenagers, didn’t think that a simple song would hurt someone’s feelings. We were naïve.

So, on Friday, June 29th, 1956, in my village of Bobanova Draga there was a celebration of St. Peter and Paul holiday. As tradition dictates, after the mass which started at 11am, we went home for lunch and after lunch, around 2pm, we go to the main road which is about a few hundred yards away to meet with friends and neighbors at traditional croatian called Dernek (sort of Fair) to walk, talk and sing. We celebrate St. Peter and Paul every year in our village on June 29th. This particular day, my cousin Ante and I, we sang that song “Mene moja naučila mati, pjevaj sine živjeli Hrvati.” Suddenly, three policemen came to us and stopped us in the middle of the road. One was named Đuro (a typical Serbian name); he was a commander of the station. The other one was Milan Šorman (also a Serb) while the third one was Hassan, a Croatian Muslim, from Bugojno. The purpose of stopping us was that we couldn’t sing nationalistic songs because that is a provocation to the Bratstvo i Jedinstvo (which means “Fraternity and Unity”). Then I told those 3 policemen “I think that my song would not hurt anybody and I am just looking for someone who is going to forbid me to sing this song.” As soon as I said this, one of the policemen slapped me. As soon as he slapped me above my forehead, mostly on my hair, I grabbed him, Milan Šorman and threw him onto the ground by the side of the road. As I was struggling with him, Jerko Boban (nickname: Kebić, 1919-2009) and Franjo Boban (nickname: Tuka) jumped to help us, telling the police, “Do you know which village you are passing through?” (This comment was meant to highlight the fact that many distinguished WW2 Croatian generals (such as General Ranko Rafael Boban) and other soldiers came from this village and the Yugoslavian communist regime knew this and feared them.) They continued, “This is not 1945 that you can come with your guns pointed to the people, pulling them from bed during the night and executing them behind the walls wherever you find it!”

The next day, Saturday, June 29th, I was working with my father on the field around 10am where two policemen came. One was Milan Šorman, the other was Hassan, from Bugojno, a Muslim. They want to escort me to Sovići, a town 6km away, to the police station. I told them “You will not escort me on this beautiful day in front of our village for 6 km that my neighbors see me going with you as a thief. You go over there and I will be there.” They took my word for it and left and I left too. But, I didn’t leave to follow them. I left to exile.

Translated into Croatian language.

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Boban-Otporaš

01-05-2016, 17:47

                        MOJA ODLUKA = MY DETERMINATION

Kao klinac od 11 godina uvijek sam radio sa svojim tatom na terenu slušajući toliko priča od mog oca vezanih za početak Drugog svjetskog rata, događaje tijekom Drugog svjetskog rata i događaje nakon Drugog svjetskog rata od 1945. 1950-ih. U mom mladom mozgu u mojoj glavi, …

  Moja Odluka = My Determination

Kako je došlo do ovog naslova i kada?

“Kod naše kćeri Drine mi smi čekali doček Nove Godine 2010., a to je bilo četvrtak 31 prosinca 2009. Naša kćer Drina je imal tu svojih prijatelja koji će s nama slaviti doček Nove Godine. Tu je bio i gosp. Scott Turner i za vrijeme čekanja dolaska Nove Godine, on mi je postavio pitanje, točno ovako: Gospodine Boban želio bih znati zašto ste vi napustili vašu domovinu Hrvatsku. Ja sam mu se zahvali na pitanju i kada sam počeo pričati, moja kćer Drina mi reče: Čekat tata, ja ću uzeti moj Lop-top kompjuter i sve napisati što ćeš ti reći, jer ni ja nikada prije nisam za te detalje čula. Kraj moje priče je bio da odlazim u emigraciju, tj. ezile. Mile Boban.”

Kao klinac od 11 godina uvijek sam radio sa svojim tatom na terenu slušajući toliko priča od svog oca vezanih za početak Drugog svjetskog rata, događaje tijekom Drugog svjetskog rata i događaje nakon Drugog svjetskog rata od 1945. 1950-ih. U mom mladom mozgu u mojoj glavi bilo je puno čuda zašto se sve ovo moralo dogoditi. Kada sam tati postavio nekoliko konkretnih pitanja o nestalim Hrvatima iz mog sela, odgovor je bio “Premlad si da to razumiješ, sine moj. Kad budeš malo stariji, saznat ćeš mnoge od tih stvari. Sada ti ne mogu reći previše jer ti ne bi razumio.”

U srijedu 31. svibnja 1950. otac i ja radili smo u vinogradu Padina. Oko 18.30 sati, još je bilo par sati dana, došla su tri policajca, prolazeći tuđim zemljištem i krenuli ravno do mog oca pitajući ga: “Jesi li ti drug Petar Boban?” Čim je otac odgovorio: “Da, ja sam Petar Boban”, izvukli su žicu za vezanje iz pojasa i zavezali mome ocu ruke iza leđa. Kada sam pitao ta 3 policajca gdje vode mog oca, odgovor je bio “Saznat ćete”.

Te večeri uhićeno je desetak Hrvata iz našeg sela i odvedeni u postaju Posušje. Od tog dana, muški posao je pao na moja pleća kao 11-godišnjeg dječaka. Moja mama je bila trudna. Moj najstariji brat Jerko je bio u školi u Zenici, a moja najstarija sestra Jakica u Sarajevu. Moja mama je išla onoliko puta koliko je režim dopustio da posjeti mog oca u zatvoru. Bio je u zatvoru kao “državni neprijatelj” i pušten je u subotu, 3. srpnja 1953. U to vrijeme od 3 godine, kroz moju glavu maloljetnika, prošlo je kroz moju glavu toliko stvari i zašto; pitanja na koja nisam imao odgovor.

Za to vrijeme sam radio u polju, orao i kopaao s muškarcima koji su od mene bili stariji desetak godina i više godina. Možda su mi te 3 godine pomogle da izoštrim svoj mozak da budem odlučan u razmišljanju. U to vrijeme od 3 godine, kao tinejdžer, u mom selu sam išao u crkvu, išao na teren, razgovarao s ljudima, susjedima i prijateljima, postao sam buntovnik. Kad kažem “buntovnik”, nisam mislio reći “buntovnik” boriti se s puškama protiv nekoga. Kad kažem “buntovnik”, ovim riječima pokušavam reći da nisam bio “da gospodine” čovjek. Ako mi se nije svidjelo nešto što se događa oko mene uzrokovano komunističkim režimom Jugoslavije, onda govorim otvoreno svoje mišljenje. Prilažem sliku kao jednu vrstu “buntovnika”. Ja sam desno upirem prstom u što ćemo gađati, a lijevo je moj susjed Perka Brubišić.
Dobro sam znao da sve te radnje koje sam činio namjerno, bojkotirajući režim i njegove predstavnike (u ovom slučaju policiju), nisam bio svjestan, kao tinejdžer, posljedica svog ponašanja. Dakle, kada sam pričao s mamom u kući iza zatvorenih vrata, ona mi priča o Hrvatima, našim prijateljima, rođacima i susjedima, koji nestali u Drugom svjetskom ratu i da ne znamo njihovu sudbinu jesu li živi ili mrtvi ili nestali. I da se režim posebno protivio bilo kakvom izgovoru riječi “Hrvati” i tako dalje. Onda kada navečer izađem na ulicu ili danju kada radim sa starijima na polju, osjećam se vrlo spremniji i nadmoćniji od njih pričati o Hrvatskoj, Hrvatima, Drugom svjetskom ratu, nestalim 23 Hrvata iz mog sela. Bobanova Draga, onda počnem pričati o tome. Jedan čovjek po imenu Ikan Boban (rođen 1917.) Mišin mi je rekao: „Milane, reći ću ti nešto. Bio sam vojnik hrvatskih oružanih snaga tijekom 2. svjetskog rata i pouzdano znam da su se hrvatske oružane snage s civilima predale engleskoj vojsci u Austriji u svibnju 1945. Tada je engleska vojska predala Hrvate Titovoj vojsci Jugoslavije koja je poklala nekoliko stotina tisuća hrvatskih vojnika i civila u Sloveniji.” Onda mi je Ikan Boban (Mišin mu je nadimak) rekao jednu pjesmu koja glasi: Slovenija puna si borića i kostiju hrvatskog mladića”. Pa opet za vrijeme večere Ikan (Mišin) mi je rekao još jednu pjesmu: “Mene moja naučila mati, pjevaj sine živjeli Hrvati”
Tu pjesmu smo ja i rođak Ante Grubišić Lukin počeli pjevati na derneku i po selu  ne razmišljajući da bi nam ta pjesma mogla stvarati probleme. Kad već kažem probleme, moram objasniti da jugoslavenski komunistički režim nije dopuštao Hrvatima izražavanje svojih nacionalističkih osjećaja nikakvim sredstvima, (kulturnim, folklornim, povijesnim, pjevanjem, govorom itd.) Bilo je ljudi koji su nam prišli i rekli nam da to ne bismo trebali pjevati to mjesmu; bilo je zabranjeno i policija bi nas mogla zaustaviti. Ante i ja kao tinejdžeri, nismo mislili da bi jednostavna pjesma povrijedila nečije osjećaje. Bili smo naivni.

Tako je u petak 29. lipnja 1956. godine u mom selu Bobanova Draga bila proslava blagdana sv. Petra i Pavla. Kako tradicija nalaže, nakon mise koja je počela u 11 sati, krenuli smo kući na ručak, a nakon ručka, oko 14 sati, odlazimo na glavnu cestu koja je udaljena nekoliko stotina metara kako bi se našli s prijateljima i susjedima na tradicionalnom hrvatskom derneku ( vrsta sajma) hodati, pričati i pjevati. Petra i Pavla svake godine u našem selu slavimo 29. lipnja. Ovog dana smo moj bratić Ante i ja pjevali onu pjesmu “Mene moja naučila mati, pjevaj sine živjeli Hrvati”. Odjednom su nam došla tri policajca i zaustavila nas nasred ceste. Jedan se zvao Đuro (tipično srpsko ime); bio je zapovjednik postaje. Drugi je bio Milan Šorman (također Srbin), a treći Hassan, hrvatski musliman, iz Bugojna. Svrha zaustavljanja je bila da ne možemo pjevati nacionalističke pjesme jer je to provokacija Bratstvu i Jedinstvu. Tada sam rekao onoj trojici policajaca “Mislim da moja pjesma ne bi nikoga povrijedila i samo tražim nekoga tko će mi zabraniti da pjevam ovu pjesmu.” Čim sam to rekao, jedan od policajaca me ošamario. Čim me opalio šamarom iznad čela, najviše po kosi, zgrabio sam njega, Milana Šormana i bacio na tlo pokraj ceste. Dok sam se borio s njim, u pomoć su nam priskočili Jerko Boban (nadimak: Kebić, 1919.-2009.) i Franjo Boban (nadimak: Tuka) koji su policajcima rekli: “Znate li kroz koje selo prolazite?” (Ovim komentarom željelo se istaknuti činjenicu da su mnogi istaknuti hrvatski generali iz Drugog svjetskog rata (kao što je general Ranko Rafael Boban) i drugi vojnici potjecali iz ovog sela, a jugoslavenski komunistički režim je to znao i bojao ih se.) Nastavili su: “Ovo nije 1945. da možete doći s oružjem uperenim u ljude, izvlačiti ih iz kreveta tijekom noći i poubijati ih iza zidova!”

Sutradan, u subotu 29. lipnja, oko 10 sati sam s ocem radio na terenu gdje su došla dva policajca. Jedan je bio Milan Šorman, drugi Hassan, iz Bugojna, musliman. Žele me otpratiti u Soviće, grad udaljen 6 km, u policijsku postaju. Rekao sam im “Nećete me ispratiti na ovaj lijepi dan ispred našeg sela 6 km da me moji susjedi vide da idem s vama kao lopov. Idi ti tamo i ja ću biti tamo.” Vjerovali su mi na riječ i otišli, a otišao sam i ja. Ali, nisam otišao da ih pratim. Ja sam otišao u progonstvo, emigraciju.

Prevedeno na hrvatski jezik.