photo by https://unsplash.com/photos/a-person-standing-in-a-dark-hallway-with-a-backpack-dGI_4U-CBY0
I’m not crazy, although it would be easier for everyone if I were.
For nine years, I have worked as a professor in four different schools, under four different principals. I learned early that competence is not currency here. Silence is. Obedience is. Ownership is. And I have none of those things.
I work honestly. My father and I do construction work when schools don’t call back. I don’t have gold bars hidden in my pockets. I don’t own land passed down through generations, no cow to sell, no inherited house, no testament I can liquidate to buy a position. In Serbia, that makes you suspicious.
I walk through the hallway of a special education school. The director looks at me only after I pass him. Sometimes he jokes that darkness will swallow me one day. He smiles when he says it. His colleagues smile too — loyal supporters of a quiet clan, a closed circle where everything is possible if you pay. They pull new people in silently. Pay, and you belong.
photo by https://unsplash.com/photos/a-group-of-people-walking-KIG7NctzD7s
They add inventions to my biography. Say I don’t do my job well. Say I am responsible when a restless child pushes a wheelchair with his immobile friend — past five colleagues standing in the hallway talking — and somehow I am the only one blamed, because the children were heading toward the gym where I teach physical education.
I am not crazy.
I am not crazy when you send me to expensive professional training at my own cost, only to give my position to someone else afterward. I am not crazy when you pressure me to “voluntarily” replace colleagues on sick leave without pay, without acknowledgment, without thanks.
I am not crazy when I stand up for a child who confided in me — a child verbally abused, medicated, physically mistreated by guardians — and I end up in a disciplinary meeting because a man with a prison record files a complaint against me.
I am not crazy when a colleague openly flirts with my wife at work, knowing he has the protection of the principal and that I can do nothing.
I am not crazy when you convince a student’s stepfather to be jealous, to believe I attacked his wife — and that same woman stands in front of everyone and says I always helped her child.
You work very hard to make me look that way. But truth is stubborn. It doesn’t shout. It waits.
I don’t ask to be liked. I don’t need approval from people who mistake power for worth. I only ask this: look back at your mistakes. Admit them. Repent quietly, if you must. Become slightly better than you were yesterday.
photo by https://unsplash.com/photos/person-holding-lighted-cigarette-stick-gcFAA1qoAI0
Because lies are not strong. They are smoke — impressive at first, then gone. Truth arrives differently. It looks you in the eyes and tells you what should never be done again. I am not crazy. I am still here. And that is something you could never buy.
On Serbian: Nisam lud
Nisam lud, iako bi svima bilo lakše da jesam.
Devet godina sam radio kao profesor u četiri različite škole, pod četiri različita direktora. Rano sam naučio da kompetentnost ovde nije valuta. Ćutanje jeste. Poslušnost jeste. Vlasništvo jeste.
A ja nemam ništa od toga. Radim pošteno. Moj otac i ja radimo građevinske poslove kada škole ne odgovore. Nemam zlatne poluge skrivene u džepovima. Ne posedujem zemlju koja se prenosi generacijama, nemam kravu za prodaju, nemam nasleđenu kuću, nemam testament koji mogu da unovčim da bih kupio mesto. U Srbiji, to vas čini sumnjičavim.
Prolazim hodnikom škole za specijalno obrazovanje. Direktor me pogleda tek nakon što prođem pored njega. Ponekad se šali da će me jednog dana progutati tama. On se osmehuje kada to kaže. Njegove kolege se takođe osmehuju - lojalni pristalice tihog klana, zatvorenog kruga gde je sve moguće ako platite. Oni tiho uvlače nove ljude. Platite i pripadate.
fotografija autora https://unsplash.com/photos/a-group-of-people-walking-KIG7NctzD7s
Dodaju izmišljotine mojoj biografiji. Recimo da ne radim dobro svoj posao. Recimo da sam odgovoran kada nemirno dete gura invalidska kolica sa svojim nepokretnim drugom — pored petoro kolega koji stoje u hodniku i razgovaraju — i nekako sam jedini kriv, jer su deca išla ka fiskulturnoj sali gde predajem fizičko vaspitanje.
Nisam lud. Nisam lud kada me šaljete na skupu stručnu obuku o mom trošku, samo da biste kasnije dali svoje mesto nekom drugom. Nisam lud kada me pritiskate da „dobrovoljno“ zamenim kolege na bolovanju bez plate, bez priznanja, bez zahvalnosti.
Nisam lud kada branim dete koje mi se poverilo – dete verbalno zlostavljano, koje su staratelji uzimali lekove, fizički maltretirali – i završim na disciplinskom sastanku jer čovek sa zatvorskim dosijeom podnese prijavu protiv mene.
Nisam lud kada kolega otvoreno flertuje sa mojom ženom na poslu, znajući da ima zaštitu direktora i da ja ne mogu ništa da učinim.
Nisam lud kada ubedite očuha učenika da bude ljubomoran, da poveruje da sam napao njegovu ženu – a ta ista žena stoji pred svima i kaže da sam uvek pomagao njenom detetu.
Mnogo se trudite da me predstavite tako. Ali istina je tvrdoglava. Ona ne viče. Čeka. Ne tražim da budem voljen. Ne treba mi odobrenje ljudi koji moć smatraju vrednošću. Samo ovo tražim: osvrnite se na svoje greške. Priznajte ih. Pokajte se tiho, ako morate. Postanite malo bolji nego što ste bili juče.
fotografija autora https://unsplash.com/photos/person-holding-lighted-cigarette-stick-gcFAA1qoAI0
Jer laži nisu jake. One su dim — impresivne u početku, a onda nestanu. Istina dolazi drugačije. Gleda vas u oči i govori vam šta se nikada više ne sme uraditi.
Nisam lud. Još uvek sam ovde.A to nešto što nikada ne biste mogli kupiti.
