The Contribution of Women to Peace and Reconciliation
The Contribution of Women to Peace and Reconciliation
The Contribution of Women to Peace and Reconciliation
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st<strong>and</strong>ing any more. He wanted me <strong>to</strong> stay in Split <strong>and</strong> continue <strong>to</strong> take<br />
care <strong>of</strong> the household <strong>and</strong> my brothers <strong>and</strong> sisters. He didn’t want <strong>to</strong><br />
give me money. I was desperate, <strong>and</strong> found out that it was possible <strong>to</strong><br />
go <strong>to</strong> Germany <strong>and</strong> earn money there. I thought that I would earn<br />
enough in a year <strong>to</strong> come back after that <strong>and</strong> be able <strong>to</strong> study literature<br />
<strong>and</strong> philosophy.<br />
Early work <strong>and</strong> political life in Germany<br />
I was <strong>of</strong> age, so I could go <strong>to</strong> Germany against my parents’ will. When<br />
I went, my father had <strong>to</strong> be held down by three men. He threw himself<br />
on the ground, a doc<strong>to</strong>r was called <strong>and</strong> only when he started <strong>to</strong> take the<br />
syringe out <strong>of</strong> his bag did my father get up <strong>and</strong> say, “I’m not crazy,<br />
doc<strong>to</strong>r. Pack the needle up.”<br />
I went from Split <strong>to</strong> Zagreb by train, which <strong>to</strong>ok all night, <strong>and</strong> flew from<br />
there <strong>to</strong> Schönefeld Airport in East Berlin, <strong>to</strong>gether with eighty other<br />
women. After that parting from my father, it was as if I were drugged. I<br />
only came <strong>to</strong> when I was in the aeroplane <strong>and</strong> was aware <strong>of</strong> my surroundings.<br />
Next <strong>to</strong> me was a man reading a book by Dos<strong>to</strong>yevsky. He<br />
lent it <strong>to</strong> me. I never saw him again, <strong>and</strong> I still have the book.<br />
Porcelain holders for the electric cables were fastened <strong>to</strong> the high wall<br />
on the border <strong>to</strong> West Berlin. <strong>The</strong> soldiers held submachine guns <strong>and</strong><br />
wore jackboots. Stiffly, without any expression, they scrutinized our<br />
passports <strong>and</strong> our faces. I thought <strong>of</strong> the Second World War, <strong>of</strong> the<br />
death <strong>of</strong> a young woman in the electrified barbed wire <strong>of</strong> a concentration<br />
camp in the Yugoslav film “<strong>The</strong> Ninth Circle” (Deveti Krug, 1960).<br />
<strong>The</strong>n we drove through the city. I saw houses with walls scarred by shelling,<br />
many old, pale women with little dogs <strong>and</strong> many men whose legs<br />
or arms were missing.<br />
<strong>The</strong>re was barbed wire strung on <strong>to</strong>p <strong>of</strong> the wall around the hostel <strong>to</strong><br />
which we were taken. Eighteen years later, when I prepared an exhibition<br />
on Yugoslav women in Berlin, I learned that before the Second<br />
World War, this building had been part <strong>of</strong> the Argus Works, in which<br />
parts for dive-bombers <strong>and</strong> tanks were made. Forced labourers worked<br />
there, for each <strong>of</strong> whom the SS was paid eight marks per day. I learned<br />
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