What does an activist day of CIVIL on the ground look like? Many people have asked me this question, and I think that I have never managed to capture the true image of the way it really is. This is probably because of all that goes on, mixed emotions, conversations, stories, laughter, arguments, many times also with tears in the eyes of the interlocutors and a curse or two that you go through all within only 24 hours, something for which you need days to become aware of what you really had went through.
CIVIL’s last activist undertaking of yesterday was one of them. Five municipalities visited in just a little more than 12 hours. So let’s start from the beginning.
February 24, 2018, Saturday, 8:20 am – telephone conversation with Ermin.
Ermin: Helooo…
Me: Have you gotten up yet?
Ermin: Yes, I’m getting ready! (yawns)
Me: Ok, see you at 9. (I hang up)
I think to myself, it’s good that I called him, he would have fallen asleep again…I talk with the rest of the team, we confirm the time and place of departure. I give the children a kiss, leaving them with their grandmother and grandfather, the dog sends me to the door and I head off.
First destination, Kumanovo. Before we reach the building of the Committee, we stop in front of a local market to buy several bottles of water for the seminar participants. Part of the team enters. At the cash register in front of us is a granny who is asking for a half a kilogram of potatoes and a loaf of bread, “but one that is stale, the one that costs 10 denars”. The total price is 25 denars. We continue to the Committee, in silence…
The ringing of my mobile phone stops the silence. “Where are you”, asks Bibe. I tell her that in a few minutes we will meet her in front of the Committee. We check to see if we had brought everything we need. We get ready in the seminar hall, the participants arrive. The seminar on citizen journalism can start.
We divide into two groups, one remains in the Committee, the second goes on the road. I am in the second one.
Next destination, Staro Nagoricane.
“CIIIIVIIIIIL in Staro Nagoricane, CIVIL in Rankovce.!”, echoes Dehran’s voice from the back seat of the automobile in the style of Vlatko Gjorchev during the “best” years when he used to announce the victories of his party.
We laugh. I “warn” Dehran to stop. Just out of a habit, because I know that he has no intention of listening to me….
Sometimes, after thousands and thousands of kilometers traveled with the same people, on literally all the roads that connect the municipalities throughout the country, these kind of jokes are the only way to survive the day. And the day is gloomy. Cloudy. The temperatures are not very low, but the grayness in front of you make you feel like you’re about to freeze…
We pass the barrack of Ivan the Healer after I don’t know how many times, and we try to stop there after I don’t know how many times. We don’t stop.
“We don’t have time”, says the “director”.
The director is actually Goran. The person who is “directing” all of these trips, and the person to who you say “yes, director!”, “of course director” and “whatever you say director”, if you want to tease him a bit. He probably does get annoyed as much as Xhabir does when we call him “president”.
We arrive in Staro Nagoricane. Everything is the same as it was the last time. There is not a living person there. A chicken or two on the streets and a rooster, two dogs lazily raise their heads, just to see if we are some kind of danger or if they can continue with their nap. We drive towards the store where we are usually able to see a person or two.
A car stops in front of us. We see a sign that seems to have been put up recently in front of a not so new building on which SDSM is written. Two people come out of the vehicle. But before we reach them, they enter the headquarters, which for us is something new in the municipality.
“Well then let’s hand out newsletters to the chickens”, I say ironically to Deki and Goran.
We reach the store. It’s closed. Not a single person in sight. We continue towards the church. We notice smoke on the right of the road. We stop. Four villagers around a fire. They are probably burning garbage. Goran approaches them in order to talk with them and to give them our latest newsletters. I take the camera to take a picture of them.
“Hey, don’t!” says one of them. “I really respect you very much, but don’t put me on CIVL”. The others have no problem with the photographing.
While Goran and Dehran are talking with them, I notice a very old house, almost in ruins. Interesting for my amateur photographic eye. I take a picture of it, while one of the villagers says to me: “See, you’ve come on time. Take a picture of it before it collapses”. To be honest, most of the houses looked like that also.
We say goodbye and continue onward. The Church of “St. Gjorgji” is in front of us. We meet a woman in front of it. Dehran starts talking with her. Further on, in front of a house is another man. We explain to him who we are and why we have come – to talk with the people about their problems and to give them copies of “Free Society”, our little newspaper.
“Problems? Oh, so many”, he takes the entire pile of newsletters that are in Dehran’s hands “I will hand them out, and I know who to give them to. It’s good that you have come here”, he says. We exchange contacts and arrange to meet again soon.
Staro Nagoricane is behind us. Next destination – Kratovo.
At the very entrance we notice flags that have been raised quite high on every poll of the city, the national flag and the flag of the municipality. While we are asking each whether today is a holiday or not, on the street in front of Sileks Hotel we are greeted by a huge movement of vans, busses and cars.
“Market day”, says Dehran. And indeed, to the right of the hotel is the market. A crowd of people. That’s what we need! We smile, because luck has smiled on us and we head for action.
“CIVIL? Well, wheeeere have you been CIVIL!”, shouts an elderly man while I’m giving him a copy of the printed material.
“Let me ask you now something. How can I become a member of CIVIL?”, he says to me.
I explain. He tells me that even though he is an older person, he regularly follows us on the Internet. In the meanwhile, his telephone rings. “Hey, I wanted to tell you that the mushrooms are here”, he says to his interlocutor, “and don’t bother me now, I’m talking with CIVIL”.
While he is explaining about life in Kratovo, he doesn’t miss the opportunity to point out to all those passing by that we were from CIVIL. More and more people gather around us. One lady shyly peeks from one side. I give her a copy of the latest newsletter, and she thanks me as if I had put the entire world on the palm of her hand, while in her eyes there is some kind of grief for which I don’t think I have the courage to ask her, nor does she have the courage to speak about. I smile and quietly say to her: “all of our contacts are inside”. “Thank you, child, thank you!, she keeps replying after I don’t know how many times.
We end the conversations and get ready to head further on.
“We will vote for CIVIL”, shouts the man with the mushrooms as loudly as he can. The entire market starts laughing together with us. We head towards the car.
“Now, now, here she goes again with the artistic impression”, says the “director” to Dehran, loud enough for half of Kratovo to hear him, and of course me, warning me to stop photographing the city and that we need to hurry up.
Next station – Rankovce.
Of course in front of a “convenience store” on a Saturday afternoon is the place where you can see more people. Our previous experience has showed that we were right this time again. Here a lot of talking about politics goes on. A group of a dozen people greet us, on a high table are bottles of empty beer lined up…Goran and I start a conversation. From the conversation we learn that nothing has changed since the last time we were here.
Goran enters the supermarket.
“Come on in CIVIL, welcome”, says one man who later we find out is the owner of the market, before we even say anything.
“Hey, how do you know that I am CIVIL”, says Goran to him.
“How can I not know. I recognize you. Nobody else comes here except you!”, says the owner.
Following conversations with the citizens of Rankovce, we continue towards Kriva Palanka.
We enter the city, reach the place where we usually set a stand in the center of the city, and just before we park we notice two traffic officers. They stop us.
“Good afternoon, your documents please. Driver’s license, vehicle registration certificate and ID card for the fine”, says one of the officers in one breath.
We look at each other. “What kind of fine?”, asks Goran.
“Well, a fine of 20 euros because you don’t have the lights on!”, he replies.
“I do have the lights on, look”, says Goran and points to the handle where you can see that the lights are on.
“Do not touch anything and step out of the vehicle”, replies the police officer.
Goran steps out of the car, while Dehran and I look at each other confused. I can hear Goran explaining to the police officer. The problem is that in the meanwhile the left traffic light of the vehicle had stopped working and we hadn’t noticed this, because it was still daytime. He comes back in to the car and takes the vehicle registration certificate and his driver’s license. He doesn’t give his ID card, hoping to convince the police officer to let him off with just a warning. He explains that we are from CIVIL, that we are going to set a stand here and that we will change the traffic light at the first gas station as soon as we leave.
“You give me your ID card, so that we can show that we too have been working something”, replies the policeman. “Why do you care CIVIL, what are 120 euros to you. You are rich!”, he continues.
I think to myself now where did these 120 euros come from when just a while ago he said 20? Later I found out that he wanted to fine him because his ID was a little cracked…At the end he decided to let us go with a warning after he took all the information. The policemen disappeared as we started to park. We were probably the last ones to fulfill their daily quota, so that they can “show that they too also worked”
“Are you sure they are not going to fine us?”, I asked Goran.
“I’m not”, he replied. “But what do you care, we’re rich, loaded”, he smiled ironically.
I grabbed tightly the thirty denars that I had in my pocket and headed towards a refreshment booth to buy water and to take an “Aspirin”, but I had no luck. “We do not have water”, said the salesperson. I’ll make it somehow I thought to myself.
We set our stand in the park and notice that right next to us is an elderly gentleman, who also has some kind of an improvised stand. Honestly, I didn’t pay any particular attention. I take the camera and start photographing. Citizens start coming to the stand, some stop to talk, some just pass us by, some even nervously fold our flyers and throw them on the streets. I notice Dehran getting closer to the stand next to ours. They start a conversation. I can’t hear them because I’m on the other side of the street. After a longer conversation the gentleman takes one of the newsletters. After that I see him nervously gesticulating with his hands and Dehran moves away.
I go to him and ask him what is happening.
“He is collecting signatures”, says Dehran. “For the name not to change”.
“All right”, I say, “but why were you arguing”?
“He called me a commie”, says Dehran.
While I’m talking I can hear the gentleman mumbling. We pay no more attention and in the end he gives up. During those two hours that we spent there, some younger boys came several times to check how things were going with the signatures. They would pat the elderly man who was standing alongside the table on the shoulder and would return to the café bar that was right across from us.
Shortly before packing, for a moment I was alone on the stand. Goran and Dehran were a bit further and were talking with a man who obviously had some kind of a problem that he wanted to report.
“Are you also a commie?”, yelled out the elderly man to me.
I looked at him quietly while collecting our things and I replied: “No, I’m just very hungry”. And I wasn’t lying. It was almost 5.00 pm, and we hadn’t even had breakfast. I continued packing, and he continued cursing until Goran came back to the stand. Not realizing what the man was actually saying, Goran approached him. All of a sudden the anger on this man’s face and the ugly words directed at me all disappeared. In front of him was no longer just a young girl who could be his granddaughter, but also an adult person to whom he obviously did not have the courage to tell him everything he told me. Goran has no idea what’s going on. Through some kind of a fake smile he offered us to sign, and I returned an even more fake smile and we all left.
We packed and headed back to Kumanovo, where the other team was concluding the seminar on citizen journalism.
We sat in a café bar, ordered a cup of coffee and started working, after we previously told each other everything that had been happening to us that day. Contents, texts, videos…From that improvised “collegium” in a café bar in Kumanovo came out the idea for this text of mine dedicated to all those who want to know what a day on the ground with CIVIL looks like. For some it is hope, for others it is another commie day.
And you can find on our websites every day the things that the citizens in this country want to share with you.
I come home just a little before 9.00 pm, leaving the rest of the team to manage with the unloading of the equipment. The children are already asleep, my husband half awake and glancing at a movie on TV, and the dog is also somehow too drowsy to be delighted to see me.
Today is Sunday, which in my free translation means, in addition to me writing this text, also making up for what has been missed. I am happy that I have this day, even though I wish it would last at least three days.
Maja Ivanovska
