Laughter to survive yourself, anger to survive them

It's hard to remember the year 2000. When I tried to remember, I wasn't sure if that October 5th happened then. Or was it before or after 2000? Maybe it's my personal problem that I can't remember it. Or I don't want to. I prefer to remember things "my way". What and when exactly happened is no longer important to me. I don't think it matters to anyone anymore, except for historians and politicians. I remember that on December 31, 1999, my friend and I thought that when midnight struck, all computers would reset and there would be a general blackout of the entire electrical system in the world. I think it was called "The Millennium Bug..." or something like that. It was seriously announced. We waited for midnight and unfortunately nothing happened. Too bad.

It's hard to remember that year 2000. I was a student at the Faculty of Dramatic Arts then, but I remember that it was a good year for me. The previous one was also good, and the one before it was even better. Every year, every month, every day lived in Serbia at that time was an admirable success. Regardless of the fact that it is raining heavily and you are swallowing tear gas in the park near the Church of St. Mark, for not getting a visa, for drinking bad "domestic" wine; it was known what we wanted and who we were fighting against. I didn't think much about the future. We lived "here and now"; full lungs; to the end; counted small daily victories; and celebrated them. Who is alive, who is dead. More dead.

It's hard to remember the year 2000. When I try to remember some of the events, I'm not sure if it was 2000, '99. or some other nineties. Those years seemed to have neither December nor January, neither Christmas nor Easter, neither holidays nor birthdays. Everything was poured into one continuous endless stream. Time is measured by the change of day and night, but I don't remember that at all. The winters were without electricity. Summers without water. Shops without bread and milk, crowded stations without buses, tobacconists without cigarettes, and streets and people without some other people who have left forever, disappeared. And a continuous twilight - a day at sunset that can never pass and a night that can never fall and announce a new beginning. A new change. Dark twilight.

It's hard to remember the year 2000, because it didn't take much to be happy then. That year I made my first money professionally for the first time. I spent the money immediately the same evening. And I was happy. Happiness was measured by small trivial things, because we didn't know anything else. The only serious topic was whether to leave or stay. I solved that dilemma immediately. I knew I would stay, because who needs artists from Serbia? And art made sense here. It was a provocation, a reaction to reality, resistance, rebellion. In music, film, painting, literature - rebellion. It was an oasis of freedom. It kept us alive. Experiment, so even if it doesn't work, at least we tried. You don't know if you don't try. Always try.

It's hard to remember the year 2000, because I barely remember the pictures. I remember feelings, smells, sounds and songs better; the rhythm of Dragoljub Đuričić, which, along with the pots and pans of the citizens from the windows and terraces every day exactly at 19.30:XNUMX p.m., breaks through all of Serbia. I remember sitting next to the little red transistor in my parents' kitchen every day and listening to the only two radio stations that broadcast independent news (when there was no interference from military or police transmitters). Listening to the radio, I could plan that evening or the next day: in Kolarčeva, on Studentski trg or at FDU. Call your friends now, so who can. There was something serene about that complete freedom from any planning; it was only important to go out into the street, as soon as it was necessary. It was impossible to plan anything in the long run. In a month? No way. The only thing that was certain was that we would all still be there. Apathy and constant uncertainty. Real movie suspense (engl. suspense).

It's hard to remember the year 2000, because there was no fear. People had already lost everything - their loved ones, their houses, their streets, their houses, cats and parrots, money, dreams, their hope, their memories, themselves. They had nothing but indifference, or sometimes laughter and anger. Laughter to survive yourself, and anger to survive them. And that anger was felt everywhere. I remember when they announced that Ivan Stambolić had disappeared. Just a few days before that, it was said that he might be the main opponent in the presidential elections. People were disappearing even before that. Some were killed in the middle of the street. And everyone was used to it. It was normal to live like that. In addition to the dead and missing. But this was different. Fear began to creep in among "them". So they started taking out their anger on us. It was clear that nothing would be the same again.

It's hard to remember the year 2000, because nobody likes to remember ugly events. I quickly forgot them too. Sometimes I'm not sure if they even happened. And then some photo, song or recording, some anniversary reminds me that they are. And I wonder how it is possible. Today, that absurdity, that tragicomic shot looks so grotesque and perverse that it wouldn't even pass for a surrealist. And we believed in that. How is it possible that we lived all that, that no one had the strength and plan to stop it? Today, when all that is happening again, close to us, I don't think history has taught us anything. We have learned nothing from the past and everything can happen again. Now, here and now. There are many explanations for why this is so - sociological, psychological, political, philosophical. A smart person learns from other people's mistakes, and a stupid person learns from his own. What about those who never learned anything from their mistakes, while they started appropriating, using, turning into rules of others?

It's hard to remember the year 2000, because the only feeling I remember well is beg. In film language, escape is action. It can be physical or spiritual, internal or external. Some ran "out" and "from", and some "in" or "with". I belong here to others. But the escape cannot last forever. It became clear that resistance was necessary, and the goal was one. He had his first and last name, address and JMBG. All forces were quickly consolidated around that goal. Even the miners. In just a few months, the dissatisfaction culminated without blood, with a lot of smoke and noise - the dictator was removed. On the 6th of October, a beautiful and sunny day dawned, while the utility workers diligently performed their work. The main question that was then floating in the air was: "So, what now?" The grandson asks the same thing to his grandmother at the end of the "Family" series: "And what are we going to do now?" Now that the culprit is gone, what are we going to do? Is he the only one or are there more? Does it have anything to do with us or not? If there is, what are we going to do? If not, then what are we going to do? Is it our fault by any chance? No, it's only his fault. It's easier that way.

It's hard to remember the year 2000. And what I wrote, I'm not sure if it happened then or some other year. Is forgetting just a natural psychological defense mechanism; the issue of guilty conscience and guilt; complete moral numbness or the powerful events that followed and completely drowned out everything about the year 2000? I am convinced that memories are first of all an emotional category, and only later sometimes they are embodied in images and sounds.

But that emotion is not only related to the feelings we had then (in 2000 in this case) but also to the feelings we have today. Time is an ally. But before that we need to be honest with ourselves. If we haven't, time will help us there too, but this time let's realize that we were wrong.

Where did I go wrong?