| ||||
|
|
|
|
||
|
Wir versuchen alle Texte in allen Sprachen zu veröffentlichen. Wegen begrenzter Ressourcen ist dies nicht immer möglich. Sollten Sie Interesse haben Texte für uns zu übersetzen, bitte schicken Sie uns eine Email. |
Trudicemo se da sve tekstove predstavimo na svim jezicima. Obzirom da su nam izvori, budzet i broj ljudi veoma ograniceni znamo da necemo biti u mogucnosti da ovaj cilj u potpunosti postignemo. Ukoliko zelite da nam pomognete oko prevoda molimo vas da nas kontaktirate na. |
April 2d, 1999 Today is Catholic holy Friday, people are getting mystical about it, because of the bombs. They see good and bad signs everywhere, in the pattern of days, clouds preventing air strikes, the celestial signs of a destiny. Another blow to the common sense of a common person. The son of my friend phoned last night from the battlefield: he could hardly speak, he said he was somewhere not saying where and that he was OK but that some of his friends were not so. The age limit for the volunteers who want to join the war has been raised to 75 for men. What about women, no age limit, often they are even louder in their patriotism. Arkan the indited war criminal is promising on CNN lawful and merciful procedure for the three American soldiers: this is freedom of the press. Children are getting sick in the shelters, grown ups are emotionally distressed, our day/night schedule has tightened: we plan by the minute our stay out of home and as the night falls, we plan where and how to spend the night, sharing information we had during the day. Radio B92 is definitely closed, lawfully, a court decision has been made, new people have come, demanding the old ones to collaborate, it happened in the last few years to other independent papers. And still new papers spring up. My hope speaks, you cannot stop creativity. It is pretty much the same everywhere in the world: even where you have absolute freedom, you cannot guarantee creativity. I watch the sea of refugees orchestrated from both sides on the borders with Yugoslavia, Macedonian, Albania. It reminds me very much of the scene I saw in ‘95, when Serbs from Krajina poured into Serbia for days and days, without resistance, thoughts, or ideas of what and why has happened. I had the feeling it was orchestrated, everything except for the pain and actors themselves, they were natural. We are trying to present all texts in all languages. However, due to a limited resources we are not always able to achieve this goal. If you would like to translate material for us, please contact us. |
||