The Scars of the Erasure_web

Erasure_4a 10.1.11 20:29 Page 49YOU CANNOT FIGHT THE SYSTEM ALONE49have papers, without anything. Naturally, I didn’t steal, I didn’t want to. But I humbledmyself so much that I asked a man for a piece of bread. Since I was considered a foreigner,I didn’t have the right to social assistance. I didn’t receive help from the Red Crossor Karitas either – if I had been a refugee, I’d have been entitled according to their criteria,but since I was not, I didn’t belong there.Of course there were people, several individuals, who helped me. I don’t know howit would have turned out without their help. For example, in 1998 I met Mr. M.N. whohas a restaurant in Tomačevo and rents out rooms. I told him how it was with me, thatI didn’t have anywhere to sleep, and asked if he had a room. He said that he had a vacantroom. I asked him if he was renting it out and what was the price. And he replied byasking me if I had the money. I told him I didn’t have money. “Why do you ask then? Goupstairs and take it.” And that’s what I did; I went “upstairs” and stayed there for severalyears. In return, I worked in his restaurant. I helped him roast pigs and I served guests.During the time I worked for him I was almost deported to Bosnia. This was in2001. Until then I was successful in hiding, I didn’t cause any trouble, I didn’t steal, Iwalked around the town as little as I could. And then it was like this. It was seven inthe morning, we were drinking coffee when five policemen entered the restaurant. Onecame to me and wanted to check my identification. I told him I didn’t have documents.Then he said it didn’t matter: “Tell me your surname.” I told him and it was enough.They had almost finished, they were practically leaving, when the other police officerlooked in my direction and told the first police officer: “And this one has no documents!”As if he knew that I didn’t have them. The first one told him I didn’t have documentsbut said that he already wrote down my name. The other one insisted on processingme. One of them followed me to my room, and I presented my invalidated ID cardissued in Slovenia. For them it was an invalid document, so I had to go with them. Theytook me to the Ljubljana Bežigrad police station.“Now you go before the judge for minoroffenses,” they ordered. The judge issued the ruling that there was no reason for expulsion.But, despite this, the police officers put me back into the police car and took me tothe Detention Center, which was in Šiška at that time. It was Monday. They told methat on Wednesday I’d be on the plane to Sarajevo. They didn’t respect the ruling. Inthe center I had the right to make one phone call. I called Matevž Krivic and he calledMr. M.N. They both came to fetch me, and they got me out. If those two had not reactedso fast, I’d have been on the plane flying to Sarajevo on that Wednesday in 2001.My friends and acquaintances didn’t know that I was erased, except for one policemanand M.N., of course, who rescued me from the Center for Aliens. Later, after2003, when I obtained citizenship and began to appear on television and in the newspapers,they were very surprised: “We didn’t know, why didn’t you tell us?” I indeeddidn’t talk about it with anyone, except with one policeman who protected me. If wewent somewhere, he said: “Come with me, when they see that I’m a policeman theywon’t check your identification.” I went out with him; otherwise I didn’t. I didn’t ask myfriends for help.I found my way around on my own. Because I was ashamed. I had a good lifebefore that, as a waiter I had quite a good salary, and then I found myself practically at