Sindikat - Moja dežela

Petek, 12.9.2008, ob 22h,
Gala Hala, Metelkova mesto, Ljubljana
Vstop: 5 €

Včeraj je bil prav poseben dan. Kot ob vsakem mlaju, sem zapustil rodno jamo v upanju, da bom našel dovolj hrane za svojo družino. Ker je v naših krajih bore malo divjadi, sem se odpravil proti goram. Ko sem prišel do vhoda v prelepo dolino, sem začuden obstal pred tablo z napisom, ki pravi:

Sindikat - Moja dežela

Gala Hala
Metelkova mesto
12. September 2008

Medtem ko sem poskušal doumeti, kaj naj bi to pozabljeno obvestilo pomenilo, sem na zatilju nenadoma začutil hladno kovinsko cev. »Kdo si in kaj počneš tukaj?« me je nagovoril hripav glas. Ustrašil sem se, kot še nikoli, saj zunaj še nikoli nisem srečal drugega človeka. »Oprostite, nisem vedel, da je še kdo tukaj. Primanjkuje nam hrane. Pravijo, da so v gorah živali.«
Starec me je obrnil proti sebi in se začel krohotati, kot da je slišal najbolj smešno šalo v svojem življenju.
»Živali?!« je zakašljal ves zaripel v obraz. »Tiste dvoglave spake? Te niso užitne, že odkar so se začele hraniti s hitro hrano, ki je ostala v mestih. Prej bi tebe spekel in pojedel!« Zdaj me je začelo že resno skrbeti.
»Pridi!« mi je pomahal, potem ko se je pošteno odkašljal. »Nabral sem polno vrečo poganjkov, verjetno se bo dalo kaj skuhati. Že dolgo nimam nobene družbe, ti pa si prav hecen poba.« Popeljal me je v svojo jamo.

Potem ko sem se mu primerno zahvalil za topel, četudi ne ravno slasten obrok, si je prižgal zvitek iz suhega lipovega listja. »Veš, nisem bil vedno tak samotar. Včasih sem bil precej znan slikar. Tisti napis tam zunaj je sicer zadnja stvar, ki sem jo naslikal, preden se je vse spremenilo.« Pogledal me je izpod obrvi, »Verjetno se ti niti ne sanja, o čem govorim. Oklepniki? Razglasitev? Sindikat?« Opazil je moj prazen pogled. »Vašim staršem je očitno precej nerodno govoriti o starih časih.«
»Na katere čase mislite?«
»Ah, vi mladi ste popolnoma izgubljeni. Te res zanima? Potem dobro napni ušesa!«

In razkril mi je neverjetno zgodbo o naši preteklosti.

*

Pred mnogimi zimami, ko so naši stari starši še živeli v mestih, je bilo precej drugače kot danes. Skupnost, katero so bili ustvarili, je bila kot velik in zapleten stroj, v katerem je bil sleherni človek le majhen zobnik. Vsakdo naj bi s svojim delom prispeval k dobrobiti države, ki so jo vodili ljudje, ki so bili izvoljeni vsaka štiri leta. Vsakič ko so se bližale volitve, se je vnel boj za priljubljenost, v katerem med nasprotnimi tabori ni manjkalo nizkih udarcev, obtoževanj, obrekovanj in podtikanj. Ljudje, ki jim je bila ta predstava namenjena, pa so po vsakem soočenju hiteli drug drugemu soliti pamet o tem ali onem kandidatu.

Vse to je bil le pesek v oči. Globoko v sebi ni nihče nobenemu taboru zares zaupal. Ljudje so hoteli verjeti v svobodo izbire, a vsakič ko je prišel čas, da na volilnem listku zapečatijo svojo usodo, jim je roka omahovala z vse večjo negotovostjo. Povprečen človek je iz leta v leto delal vedno več in zaslužil vedno manj, nezadovoljstvo je raslo, v poplavi informacij pa ni bilo več mogoče razlikovati med lažmi in resnico. Zato je razumljivo, zakaj zgodbo tujega novinarja o nekih vojaških oklepnikih, tako rekoč, čez noč razneslo.

»Bedaki! Vsi po vrsti!« je zavpil, »Medtem ko so se vsi ukvarjali s tem, kdo je koga podkupoval in ali dokazi res obstajajo, se ni nihče vprašal, čemu so bili sploh ti oklepniki namenjeni.«
Ker so mi doma starci velikokrat pripovedovali o vojnah, sem zaključil: »Za vojskovanje tam nekje na vzhodu, kajne!«
»Kje pa! Te kante ne bi zdržale niti en dan v puščavi. V resnici niso nikoli zapustile naših meja.«

*

Igrišča za golf. Za igro, ki so jo igrali le premožnejši, je primanjkovalo prostranih zelenic, zato so z oklepniki ravnali gozdove in ustrahovali kmete, ki so s svojimi polji odžirali dragocene površine.
»Tako ali tako jim ves pridelek poberejo toče, suše in poplave,« so si mislili, »zakaj ne bi vsaj mi imeli kaj od tega. Gozdove pa bodo kmalu začeli ograjevati, če česa ne ukrenemo.«
»Kako … kruto in … nepravično!« sem zajecljal. Z mojega obraza je prebral, da mi postaja jasno, kako globoko je bil tudi sam vpleten v celotno zgodbo.
»Tako je pač bilo. Sam sem imel to nesrečo, da sem poznal preveč ljudi. Jaz pa sem hotel v življenju le slikati.«
Nekaj časa sva sedela v moreči tišini, nato pa sem se spomnil: »Ampak, kaj pa je ta…Sindikat?«
»Ha!« se je nenadoma razveselil, »Ti štirje so nam jo šele zagodli!«
»Štirje?«
»No, in vsi njihovi prijatelji, s katerimi so prirejali dogodke, ki so se navzven zdeli kot nedolžna zabava. Prosili so me celo naj jim narišem vabilo.«
»Tisto tam zunaj?« se mi je začelo svitati. Na tabli so bila štiri nenavadna imena.
»Prav tisto. Še vedno se mu velikokrat iz srca nasmejim, ker me spominja na to, kako ironično in nepredvidljivo je življenje.«
»Istega večera, potem ko je osramočena vlada zavrgla preklete konzerve med staro železje, se je ta Sindikalna banda pretihotapila na odpad, si ’sposodila’ vse oklepnike, s katerimi nihče več ni hotel imeti ničesar, in še tisto noč vdrla v prestolnico in jo zavzela.«
Ostal sem brez sape.

»V naslednjih urah so izklopili vse televizijske in radijske postaje, ustavili vse tiskarne in zaprli vse kinematografe ter celotno mesto spremenili v zapor. Nato je sledila Velika Razglasitev. Vdrli so v vse klube, gledališča, galerije in dvorane ter jih razglasili za ozemlja Svobodne Dežele Sindikat.«
»Ne razumem,« sem se čudil, »kaj so hoteli doseči?«
»Biti resnično svobodni, zavreči vsiljene družbene vloge, biti sprejeti v svoji drugačnosti, se prenehati obremenjevati s preteklostjo, ki se je že iz dneva v dan spreminjala do nesmisla, prenehati verjeti v prihodnost ob tako nestanovitni sedanjosti ter se ob tem nemoteno, brezsramno, brezbrižno in vztrajno zabavati!«
»In, jim je to uspelo?« sem nestrpno vprašal.
»Pa še kako! Beseda se je širila hitreje od gozdnega požara. Kmalu so njihovemu zgledu sledile skupine daleč naokrog in sam hudič ve, ali se je ta plaz sploh kdaj ustavil.«
»Ampak, kaj je bilo s tistimi, ki so ostali zunaj?«
»Brez množičnih medijev, ki bi jim narekovali, kdo so, kaj naj jedo, kako naj se oblačijo, kako naj razmišljajo, od kod izvirajo in kam gredo, so se tisti, ki so ostali ujeti zunaj, končno zavedli svoje notranje praznine in se znašli zopet na samem začetku.«
»V jami,« sem zaključil po dolgem premisleku.
Obrnil se je k meni in me pogledal na način, ki bi ga lahko zamenjal za občudovanje.
Dvignil je glavo. Debelo me je pogledal in opazil sem da me je začel gledati drugače.
V njegovih očeh sem opazil nekaj, kar bi lahko bilo celo občudovanje.
»Kot da bi to zgodbo že od nekdaj poznal. Si kdaj pomislil, da tam zunaj morda iščeš nekaj več kot le hrano za preživetje.«

Zrl sem v temo in v mislih odplaval daleč stran. Zaspal sem, izgubljen v vrtincu negotovosti.

*

Zjutraj sem skozi meglico prebujanja ugotovil, da starec ni zatisnil očesa vso noč.
»Rad bi ti nekaj podaril, preden odideš,« je dejal in mi podal porisan kos papirja, ozirajoč se na moja oblačila, ki so se zložena grela ob ognju, »Za tisto beležnico, ki jo nosiš s seboj v žepu.«
Na risbi sem bil jaz, ki gledam tablo z vabilom na Sindikat, zgoraj levo pa je bil nekakšen citat, ki je precej dobro povzel njegovo pripoved.
Še poslednjič sem se mu temeljito zahvalil za vse in se odpravil na pot proti divjim belim konjem, ki naj bi živeli tam nekje za gorami.
Preveva me občutek, da grem zadnjič na lov. Skozi starčevo pripoved sem spoznal, da sem tu zunaj na sledi nečesa resničnega.

Sindikat Web
http://www.sindikat.tv
Sindikat MySpace
http://www.myspace.com/sindikat82
Sindikat Facebook
http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=587702674
Gala Hala
http://www.galahala.com
Metelkova mesto
http://www.metelkova.org

Sindikat - Moja dežela

Friday, September 9, 2008, at 10pm,
Gala Hala, Metelkova City, Ljubljana
Entrance: 5 €

Yesterday was a very special day. The moon was almost full and it was time again to leave my birth cave in hope of finding enough food to feed my family. Because there is barely any wildlife left in our parts, I decided to head for the mountains. As I arrived to the entrance of a beautiful valley, I stopped in bewilderment in front a signpost that read:

Sindikat - Moja dežela

Gala Hala
Metelkova mesto
12. September 2008

While I was trying to comprehend what this forgotten message was supposed to have meant, I felt a cold metal barrel press against the nape of my neck. »Who are you, and what are you doing here?« a raspy voice demanded. I was scared out of my mind because I’d never met any living person outside the cave until that very moment.
»I’m sorry, I didn’t know anyone was still out here. We’re running out of food. They say there are animals up in the mountains.«
The old man swiveled me around and started laughing so hard as if he’d heard the funniest thing in his life.
»Animals?!« he coughed with veins popping out of his red face, »Those two-headed freaks? They’re not edible since they started feeding on all the junk food that was left in the cities. I’d sooner put you over a fire and eat you!« I started getting very worried.
»Come!« he waved at me after coughing his lungs out »I’ve filled up a whole bag of buds, and I guess I can use them to whip up something to eat. I haven’t had any company in a long time, and you sound like a funny bloke.« He took me to his cave.

After I had thanked him accordingly for the warm, yet not very tasty meal, he rolled a cigarette from some linden tree leaves and lit it up. »You know, I wasn’t always such a loner. I used to be a pretty famous painter. That sign you saw out there happens to be the last thing I painted, before everything changed.« He peered at me from beneath his eyebrows, »You probably have no idea, what I’m talking about. The tanks? The Declaration? Sindikat?« He noticed my blank expression. »Your parents must find it really embarrassing to talk about the old times.«
»What times? What do you mean?«
»Bah, you youngsters are completely lost. You really want to know? Then listen carefully!«

And he revealed to me the incredible truth about our past.

*

Many winters ago, when our grandparents still used to live in the cities, the world was, indeed, very different from what it is now. The society they had created was like a big elaborate machine, in which each and every person was a small cogwheel, helping it drudge along. Each person’s work was supposed to contribute to the welfare of their country, which was run by people that were elected every four years. The looming election time consistently sparked a battle for popularity, in which the opposing camps were increasingly generous with low punches, accusations, detractions and imputations. This travesty was contrived for the people who hurried after every face-off to enlighten each other about this or that candidate.

But all that was merely smoke and mirrors. Deep inside, nobody truly trusted any of the caps. People wanted to believe in the freedom of choice, but every time the time came to seal their fate on the voting ballot, their hands faltered with ever increasing uncertainty. It is then quite understandable why a foreign journalist’s story about some armoured vehicles exploded practically over night.

»Damn fools! The lot of them!« he yelled, »While everyone was busy speculating who was bribing whom, no one even stopped to ask what the purpose of these tanks really was.«
»For fighting somewhere in the East, I guess« I concluded from the stories I was told at home by the elderly.
»Like hell! Those buckets wouldn’t have lasted a day in the desert. In reality, they were never meant to leave the country.«

*

Golf courses. In order to provide acres of grassland, which was needed for the game that was reserved for the wealthy, they used the tanks to flatten the forests and terrorize farmers into surrendering their fields, which were taking up so much valuable space.
»Their crops are always getting destroyed by hail, droughts or floods, anyway,« they thought, »why can’t we at least put the land to good use. And it won’t be long until the forests are all fenced in, unless we do something.«
»How… cruel and… unfair!« I stuttered. He must have noticed I was starting to realize how deeply involved he was in the whole thing.
»That’s how things were. Me, I had the misfortune of knowing too many people. And all I wanted to do in life was paint.«
We sat in dreary silence for a while, then I remembered: »But, what about this… Sindikat?«
»Ha!« he suddenly lightened up, »Now, that foursome really stirred things up!«
»Foursome?«
»Well, along with all their friends, who took part in their events, that appeared to be nothing more than harmless fun. They even invited me to draw up the invitation.«
»The one out front?« it started to dawn on me since the sign contained four peculiar names.
»The same evening, after our humiliated government had scrapped those damned tin cans, that crazy Sindikat gang sneaked into the waste yard, ‘borrowed’ all the tanks, which nobody wanted to be tied to anymore, and stormed the capital that very night.«
I lost my breath.

»In the following few hours, they shut off all radio and television transmissions, stopped all the press, closed down all cinemas and turned the whole city into a prison. After that, they issued the Great Declaration. They broke into all clubs, halls and theatres and claimed them in the name of the Sovereign District of Sindikat.«
»I don’t understand,« I wondered, »what exactly were they trying to achieve?«
»To be truly free, to reject imposed social roles, to be accepted as different, to stop agonizing over the past, which was being constantly distorted to the point of absurdity, to stop believing in the future with such a volatile present and to have careless, shameless and perpetual fun!«
»And, did they succeed?« I asked impatiently.
»Did they ever! The word spread like wildfire. Pretty soon, similar groups everywhere followed their example and only the devil himself knows if this avalanche ever subsided.«
»But, what happened to the ones that remained outside?«
»Without the mass media, telling them who they are, what to eat, how to dress, what to think, where they come from and where they are headed, they finally became aware of the gaping void inside them and ended up right where they had started.«
»In a cave,« I presumed after pondering for some time.
He turned to me and I noticed he regarded me in a different way. In his eyes I saw something one could have easily mistaken for admiration.
»It’s almost like you’d always known this story. Have you ever considered the idea that what you are looking for out there is something more than merely food to help you survive?«

I gazed into the darkness while my thoughts carried me far away. I feel asleep in a disorienting swirl of incertitude.

*

In the morning, through the haze of waking, I noticed the old man had stayed up all night.
»I wanted you to have something before you leave,« he said and offered me a painted piece of paper, glancing at my clothes, folded neatly by the fire, »For that notebook you carry in your pocket.«
The painting was of me, looking up at the board with the Sindikat invitation. And in the top left corner, a quote, which perfectly summarized his story.
I once again thanked him thoroughly for everything and headed off toward the wild white horses, which are said to live somewhere beyond the mountains.
I’m overwhelmed by a feeling that this will be my last hunting trip. The old man’s story made me realize I really was out here in search of something real.

Sindikat Web
http://www.sindikat.tv
Sindikat MySpace
http://www.myspace.com/sindikat82
Sindikat Facebook
http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=587702674
Gala Hala
http://www.galahala.com
Metelkova mesto
http://www.metelkova.org

2008-09-12 - Sindikat: Moja dežela » (42 Föotoš)