"Time" journalist in the theater of the absurd

I have already bored God and the people by recounting the surreal experience I had three and a half years ago, described in detail in the text "How the 'Vremen' journalist liked the cells" ("Vreme" number 1319, April 14, 2016).

In short, I bought some foreign currency at the "Mićko" exchange on Vuka Karadzica Street in the center of Belgrade and went straight

to a nearby bank to pay them into the account.

When the employee at the counter told me that she had to keep one 50-euro bill because she suspected it was a counterfeit, I asked her in confusion what to do. After she advised me to go to the exchange office again, I returned to "Mićko". The guy who gave me the fake got confused when he saw me, so he called the boss. The boss, I guess it's Mićko himself, suggested that we go to the bank together. There he expertly stated that it was a pure forgery, and when we left, he hurled curses and threats at me.

PROLOGUE

I went back to the bank and insisted they call the police. Two guys arrived, I explained everything in detail, they invited me to go with them to the station in Maje Jevrosima Street and give a statement there. When we got to the station, they told me to go with one policeman, but to turn off and leave my cell phones. I naively boasted that I understood it because I know what official action is, we went down some stairs, the policeman took me into the cell. "You're arresting me?!" "You were caught with counterfeit money." "Who the hell, caught, I called you?!" Are you normal, I want a lawyer!!!" The door slams, the key clicks. I spent the next two or three hours in a smelly basement room without a toilet, sink or window, full of shit and urine. It took, in fact, an interminably long time. I skinned my hands and feet hitting the metal door, and when I remember what was going through my head then, it still gives me goosebumps.

When they finally brought me out into the light of day, distraught and angry, I first screamed for a phone to call my family who had already buried me, since for the first time in my life I didn't go to pick up my children from kindergarten and school and I didn't answer, and my phones were turned off. Then I deflated like a balloon, made a statement, signed it and went out into the normal world.

The next day I spoke with a lawyer. He later submitted a complaint to the Protector of Citizens and a lawsuit to the Constitutional Court for unlawful deprivation of liberty, and I wrote the aforementioned text. After that, countless people contacted me, expressing their suffering or the suffering of their relatives, who in similar places went through a much worse calvary than me. Some hanged themselves in their cells, some ended up with permanent mental damage that is still healing today.

"STATEMENT" POLICE

Then, in January 2018, my legal representative sent me a letter he received from the Protector of Citizens. Blood came to my eyes after reading that letter, so I wrote the article "Protector against the citizen", which was published in "Vremen" no. 1412, January 28, 2018.

In the conclusion of that letter, among other things, it is written that based on the "statement" received from the police, "available documentation", etc., there was no basis to conclude that the police officers treated me illegally, incorrectly, etc. etc.

In addition to a bunch of other brutal lies, there is a part where the police claim that the "named person" (me) until the statement was made "was in the hall in front of the Emergency Service, sitting on a bench while there was a police officer on duty next to him, that they were not temporarily taken from him cases, that he had not been detained, that he had been informed about the reasons for bringing him, about his rights and the outcome of the proceedings..."

I wrote then that I understand why the police lie shamelessly: they built a piggery, so they wanted to bury it, and that I think I know why they built the aforementioned piggery - those who did all that know Mićko, it's in their area, it could be to have some common business. When they heard that I reported him, they decided to scare me by putting me in the basement, believing that after that I would give up on everything.

I wrote, among other things, that I do not understand why the Protector of Citizens, whose job description is in the job title, trusts the police only at their word that they did not arrest and humiliate citizens, and I wondered why the Protector protects those who bully citizens, while also protecting criminals who counterfeit money is in circulation.

KINDNESS ABOVE ALL

Anyway, the protector then concluded what he concluded - the citizen is lying, the police in a white suit, he did his job. And then, on the same day that the text came out, the office of the Protector of Citizens called me. "Good afternoon, Mr. Turudić, this is the Protector of Citizens, Zoran Pašalić." "Please, how can I help you?" "I have read your text and documents about your case. And I think you're all right." "Then why did you send me what you sent me?" "I didn't work on that case...", knock-knock, and a polite invitation to come in for a conversation, because the protector thinks that there are loopholes that could cause my "case" to be reopened.

I didn't believe the unverified rumors that the protector Pašalić got furious when he read my text, and shouted that he was going to sue me and write denials, until someone called him on the phone and yelled at him to iron out the pigsty because he wasn't paid to do shit before the elections (I guess then some elections followed, prim.nov), and that's crap that gets passed around in the newspapers, which have nothing to do with politics but with stupidity, even if it was a journalist from "Vremena". So I accepted the polite invitation and went to the interview.

The dialogue was civilized, I again told my version of events, Mr. Pašalić promised that the case will be re-examined, noting that, even with the new elements, he cannot prejudge what the conclusion will be.

Months passed, in the meantime I moved abroad with my family. In the summer of last year (2018), someone from the office of the Protector of Citizens called me on the phone, told me that the office organizes meetings of citizens who have objections to the work of the protector, and asked me if I would like to make an appointment for an interview. I answered in the affirmative, but that I would only be in Serbia in September. I was promised that I would be invited in September, but there was no invitation. That's why I called several times in September, but the protector was always officially absent, and then I left the country again.

Since the new answer never arrived, although my legal representative repeatedly addressed the protector with a request to send it, in May of this year I addressed him personally. By e-mail, I politely reminded of the history of my case and stated, among other things, that it has been more than a year since my complaint was resubmitted and that I think all reasonable deadlines for receiving a decision have passed.

I also added that I hope that such a long wait for a decision is not a consequence of the fact that I wrote an article in the weekly "Vreme" about everything that happened to me, because I was forced to do so after the previous scandalous letter of the protector, and that I hope that it is wrong my impression is that the Constitutional Court and the protector are waiting for enough time to pass for my case to expire, and I'm getting tired and giving up on everything, because I'm certainly not going to give up either the lawsuit or informing the public about how the case is developing.

DEFENSE AND LAST DAYS

The very next day the answer to the complaint arrived, and it was so extensive that it seemed incredible to me that it had been written during the previous day. I maliciously thought that Mr. Pašalić must have kept it ready in his desk (computer) and did not want to send it earlier, for reasons unknown to me, but I could be wrong and that the reason for this efficiency was the fact that a beautiful word and an iron door opens.

However, in that answer, in short, the protector stated that "he determined that the controlled authority (police, ed. nov.) failed to hand Mr. Turudić a written notification about the rights of persons deprived of their liberty", and this is in relation to the first advertisement was the only newspaper found by the protector after the second investigation. As I understand the answer, I still lie that I was put in a stinking hole full of urine and shit so that the police would protect the criminals who stole from me. The only sin of the police is that they did not give me a paper "on the rights of persons deprived of their liberty", and I lie that I was detained and arrested without reason, warning, opportunity to contact a lawyer, family, to be examined by a doctor, etc.

On the website of the Belgrade Center for Human Rights, where my legal representative works, the statement "The Ombudsman incompletely investigated the complaint of a citizen deprived of his liberty" was published. In that announcement, among other things, it was stated in detail what the claims about the violation of my rights were based on.

The protector got really angry and promptly responded to the BG center. To cut short that long and cheesy answer, the bottom line is that the defense attorney claims that he found absolutely no evidence that what I claim happened; repeats that the police wrote to him that there were no irregularities in the treatment of me, and the protector obviously trusts the police without limit.

I was particularly impressed by the passage in which it is said that "the fact that the Protector of Citizens, in the absence of evidence, did not identify other shortcomings in the work of the MUP in this particular case, which would have fulfilled the expectations of the Belgrade Center for Human Rights..."

"Pašalić, Pašalić", my head was spinning as I read these lines, "well, no one in the BG center, not even me, thinks that the Protector of Citizens is Santa Claus who fulfills someone's expectations." Me, for example, perhaps naively, I think that the protector should, for the fat salary he receives and which is financed by all the citizens, do what is written in his title. I may be subjective, but it seems to me that my case is quite easy, that it does not require forensic tests and a three-year investigation to determine the truth.

photo: sava radovanović / tanjug

It is true that there are no camera recordings, because there is no camera, which proves that I was in the basement cell, but if I was not there, only paranormal abilities, which I do not have, can explain the fact that I know exactly where that cell is, and that I gave a detailed description of it in the texts I wrote. I was able to lead the protector myself directly to the place of my tanning. Probably, a face-to-face conversation with the protector, me and those who locked me in the basement and brought me out (I still remember them well), would have clarified at least something, but the protector was obviously not interested in that, he prefers to deal with the police only corresponds and makes its conclusions solely on the basis of that correspondence.

Still, it remains a mystery to me why Mr. Pašalić still believes the police report full of notorious lies, which is so easy to verify, as in the Holy Scriptures. For example, the MUP writes that they called from the bank and said that there was a person there with a forged banknote, that the policemen in the bank put handcuffs on my hands (due to the possibility of escape), and that's how they took me from the bank to the station. I made the complicated investigation easier for Mr. Pašalić, I myself went to the Unikredit bank branch in Rajićeva Street, where everything happened. The officers remember me, but they all claim that the police didn't arrest me there and put handcuffs on me; they also say that no one from the bank said, nor had the right to say, that there was a person in the bank with a forged banknote - the results of the expertise arrived only 15 days after that. So, there is no criminal offense, so there is no suspect, so why did the police "deprive me of my freedom"? There is no public arrest in the bank with handcuffs either, and for that the witnesses are numerous and easily available. To me, as a layman, it seems obvious that the police are lying, but it seems impossible for an expert, which is Mr. Pašalić, to establish that.

for an enlarged image, right click and »view image«

I did sign an official note in which it says that I have no objections to the behavior of the police, and the protector and the police stick to it like a drunkard. I signed and didn't even read it, I admit, but in that state, distraught after being taken out of the stinking hole, I would have signed without reading that I killed Kennedy, that I was Saric's key associate in drug smuggling, and anything else. Many lawyers told me that such signatures are not taken into account in court, because of the psychological shock experienced by those who are imprisoned for the first time, but I guess the protector knows better than them.

RETURN TO THE SCENE OF THE CRIME

Anyway, due to various obligations, I didn't make it to answer Mr. Pašalić publicly about the second decision I received, and then a month ago, my family members informed me that two policemen came to my doorstep in Belgrade. They said they were from the station in Majke Jevrosima Street, they were carrying an envelope for me. They mentioned that it was something related to my lawsuit and that I had to come to the station to pick up the envelope in person.

It may seem paranoid, but I went to the station with a legal representative. Whom the vipers prey on and the lizard is afraid of - the last time I responded to a polite invitation to come to that station, I ended up in the basement.

The conversation with the deputy commander of the station was polite, he handed me a blue envelope and a paper in which it is said that the Protector of Citizens noted certain irregularities in the behavior of police officers towards me when I was brought to the station in April 2016. The police also wrote to me that "acted according to the recommendation of the Protector of Citizens, so that the same or similar omissions would not occur in future work".

Confused, I asked the deputy if what it says means they arrested me and put me in the basement or not, and who will the police arrest if the next time, God forbid, someone steals from me and I call them - me or the thief? The deputy did not have a precise answer to these questions, he referred to the protector's statement. He told me to call him if I needed anything; I asked him to say hello to his colleagues who put me in the basement, to tell them that I haven't forgotten them, that they should pass on their greetings to their friends and colleagues in the exchange office, whom I also haven't forgotten. I also told him that I hope that the internal control of the MUP, at least away from the public eye, has dealt with the aforementioned colleagues. Despite the civilized conversation, I had the impression that he couldn't wait to see my back.

A RETURNING CRIMINAL

A little later, I entered a crowded GSP bus on Terazije and somehow managed to get hold of an empty seat. For a while I was idly thinking about the police, the protector, life, and when I looked up, I noticed an elderly gentleman standing next to me. I stood up. “Here, sit.” “Give me my wallet!” “You can sit.” (confused) “Give me back my wallet!” I leaned back in my chair and turned my head to the window. I just missed one of those crazy people who fight on buses.

"Guys, he stole my wallet!" cried the blanket. I looked at him, he was showing an open purse hanging from his shoulder. “Sir, I was sitting, how could I steal your wallet.” “You're lying, you were hanging around me at the door! Open your backpack!”

People started to stare at me and move away a bit. "See he didn't throw it under the seat," someone quipped. "He wanted to run, don't let him!"(blanket) "Oh, I wanted to give you a place..." "Don't be afraid, I won't let him out," said the big guy standing next to the blanket. "Open the backpack!" (blanket) The paranoid screamed in my head: "Don't open it, you might be framed!" "Call the police, and I'll open it."

The internal dialogue in his head continued: “You fool, you know what happened last time you called the police! So what should I do, try to go out and be beaten because they think I'm running away?"

"Master, stop it, he stole everything from me, call the police!", cried the blanket. "Oh, have we passed Slavia, if we haven't, they will take me to Mike Jevrosim again, it's the same area!", flowed through my brain. Fortunately, the bus stopped only at Autokomanda. "There's a policeman, call him!" (blanket) After a few moments, a guy in a fluorescent vest entered the bus, the door closed behind him. "Open his backpack, search him, he stole all my money and documents!" "Sir, I can't search him, I'm a traffic policeman. Do you have an ID?" (he turns to me). "Here you go."

photo: marija janković

The guy got out, the door closed again, the passengers murmured and looked at me sideways, the blanket foamed and shouted at me, I was looking out the window. Soon the doors opened, the passengers started to get out. "You two also get out, stand aside, now the patrol will come," said the traffic officer.

The station was already full, those who got off the bus explained to the others what happened and pointed in my direction. The patrol arrived, an older and a younger police officer, the traffic officer gave them my ID card. "Thief, he stole everything from me, search his backpack!" screams the blanket. The older policeman takes him aside and takes his statement, the younger one takes over from me.

“What's in your backpack?” “Spinal scans, physical therapy equipment…” He starts rummaging through his backpack. He takes a blue envelope with my name on it, the stamp of the Old Town police station, and a bunch of other stamps. My heart skipped a beat, luckily the guy didn't take a close look at the envelope. "There's a lot of stuff," he puts the backpack away. "Shake everything out, so that gentleman can see that there is nothing." (me) "Don't teach me my business! Are you under arrest?” ('Don't talk, there's no way you can explain, you'll go straight to jail!' screams the paranoid in the brain) “I'm not.” “Do you have a criminal record?” “I don't.” ('I guess I don't…') “I have to search you.” “Here you go.” I raise my hands, the large crowd at the station and passing drivers looking on curiously. “Is this money in your back pocket?” “Yes.” “Is it yours?” “Yes.” “Take it out.” I reach for my pocket. "Easy, with two fingers!" Order - execution, logically, what if someone has a gun. "Now bring them back slowly, also with two fingers."

"Do you work somewhere?" "Yes." "Where?" "I am a journalist and assistant editor-in-chief of the weekly 'Vreme'. I also occasionally work as a translator for the Asylum Office of the Serbian Police." Shocked expression and spontaneous: "Uh."

An older policeman and a blanket approach. "We have to go to the station." "Let me tell you..." (younger to older). "They said we have to bring them." (Elder) Places grandfather in the front seat, orders me to sit in the back. "Put the backpack down slowly." (senior police officer, commanding) "If you can, I have problems with my spine." "Ah, good."

He helps me, then sits next to me and measures me. “Where do you work?” I repeat the tirade. "Journalist? Do you have a press card?” Experiencedly, slowly and with two fingers, I take the card out of my back pocket. A deep sigh from the senior policeman. "Do you appear on television?" "Sometimes, last night I was." "Where?" "On RTS." An even deeper sigh.

The atmosphere in the car becomes uneasy as we approach the station. “You know, we have to show up, but we'll be done soon.” “I hope so, I'm going to the doctor, and I'm already late.”

As we enter the station, the senior policeman's phone rings, he answers. "It's not that, the man is the editor-in-chief of the weekly 'Vreme'..." "I'm an assistant," I joke. "Okay, that..." He continues his conversation with the interlocutor. "I will release him at my own risk." Well, the editor-in-chief of 'Vremen' won't pickpocket the bus, the man went to the doctor." (Žarković would probably say: 'What times have come for journalists, nothing is ruled out', but I don't dare to tempt fate with irony). "On my responsibility! We'll take him away, he's late."

We sit in the car, chat about Zvezda and Bayern, the opposition and the position, we arrive at the doctor. Kind regards and apologies.

NATURAL TEACHING

A lesson to Mr. Pašalić - the work can be done according to regulations and humanely, nothing hurts.

A message to those cops who put me in the basement to protect rascals and criminals - I always thought that the police were mostly honest people, and before this "pick-pocketing" story, I didn't believe that you scum were the majority.

Greetings to the Constitutional Court, which, according to my lawsuit, has been pretending to be dead for three years. It could be that he is overwhelmed with work and that my case is banal compared to some more important things, I would not believe that someone is waiting for the pigsty to become obsolete, if it is not already. In the last case, is there a court in Strasbourg or some other international body that is more interested in such things, I will ask.

And the message to fellow journalists is that the profession has reached a very low point, but the press card can sometimes help, only if it is taken out in time. At least slowly, with two fingers.