Pravica do imena: spominska znamenja za aktivistke iz NOB na Cerkljanskem

V marčevski številki revije Svobodna misel je izšel moj članek z naslovom "Pravica do imena: spominska obeležja za aktivistke iz NOB na Cerkljanskem". Gre za skrajšano verzijo eseja, ki bo v celoti izšel jeseni v Idrijskih razgledih. Napisala sem ga lansko jesen, po festivalu Cmakajne, na katerem sva z Ano Čigon gostovali z dogodkom Ulica spomina na ženske. 

Esej sem napisala na podlagi zgodovinskih virov, videov Ane Čigon in kolektivnega spomina udeleženk in udeležencev pogovora: Ane Grobler, Maje Kraljič, Slobodana Malića, Mateje Mlakar, Teje Oblak, Tadeje Pirih (vsi prihajajo iz ljubljanskih skupin Lezbično-feministična univerza in Rdeče zore), upokojenih učiteljic Marije Rejc in Dragice Kravos, Olge Zajc ter Matjaža Peternelja, predsednik kluba CMAK, ki je poskrbel tudi za praktično izvedbo dogodka. Milojka Magajne, kustosinja Cerkljanskega muzeja, je napisala strokovne popravke in priporočila za nadaljnje raziskovanje. Vsem se toplo zahvaljujem za sodelovanje.

Pravica do imena 

Spominska znamenja za aktivistke iz NOB na Cerkljanskem

Italijansko društvo Toponomastica femminile (Ženska toponomastika) želi letos raziskati število ulic, ki so v slovenskih mestih poimenovane po ženskah. S pomočjo prostovoljk in prostovoljcev želi preučiti razmere po posameznih občinah in promovirati poimenovanje ulic, trgov in cest po zaslužnih ženskah. Do preimenovanj ulic običajno prihaja ob političnih spremembah, saj »prava« imena lahko legitimirajo družbeno moč, ki jo je s politično zmago pridobila nova oblast. Društva Ženska toponomastika k projektu ni spodbudila želja po tovrstnem revizionizmu, temveč statistično dejstvo, da je velika večina ulic poimenovana po moških, in feministično dejstvo, da morajo žensko zgodovino zapisovati ženske, sicer bo utonila v pozabo. 

Ob mednarodnem dnevu žensk sem raziskala razmere v Cerknem. V mestecu s približno 750 prebivalci in prav toliko prebivalkami je 23 ulic. Večina jih nosi krajevna imena, devet ulic pa je poimenovanih po zgodovinskih osebnostih, večinoma aktivistih in borcih narodnoosvobodilnega boja. Niti ena ulica ni poimenovana po ženski, čeprav je v Cerknem že pred vojno delovala vrsta političnih delavk. Cerkno seveda ni izjema, ki bi potrjevala pravilo. Pravila še vedno določa patriarhalni red. Ker ta ženske ceni samo v nezgodovinskem območju zasebnosti in doma, ženske v zgodovinopisju vse do sedemdesetih let prejšnjega stoletja niso obstajale kot politična bitja. Prav zato, ker so bile skozi zgodovino nevidne, ker niso imele jezika, s katerim bi opisale svoje izkušnje in boje, je feminizem drugega vala vzklikal: »Osebno je politično!« 

Doprsni kip zdravnice Franje Bojc Bidovec

Feministične zgodovinarke zgodovinopisje razumejo kot boj za interpretacijo. Da bi dobile vpogled v žensko zgodovino, so v sedemdesetih začele raziskovati zgodovino vsakdanjega življenja in kolektivni spomin. Sama sem preštevala cerkljanske ulice in spominska znamenja v želji, da bi ženske iz lokalne zgodovine prikazala v ustreznejši, aktivnejši luči; zato da bi se osnovnošolke in osnovnošolci, ki vsak dan hodijo po tamkajšnjih »moških ulicah«, vprašali vsaj to, kam so izginile. Dejstvo je, da poznajo vsaj eno: spomin na dr. Franjo Bojc - Bidovec, upraviteljico Slovenske vojne partizanske bolnišnice Franje, je gotovo živ. Zanimivo pa je, da so vsa ženska znamenja na Cerkljanskem iz obdobja druge svetovne vojne. Ob tem se poraja vprašanje, kako je mogoče, da so ženske ravno takrat množično stopile v javnost in zgodovino.

Pomembno vlogo je nedvomno odigrala Antifašistična fronta žensk (AFŽ). Nastala je leta 1942 na pobudo komunističnega vodstva, ki ji je že dve leti kasneje očitalo preveliko samostojnost. Iz kritik, ki so leta 1953 privedle do njene samoukinitve, veje strah pred feminizmom kot domnevno meščansko in separatistično ideologijo, ki naj bi delovala proti ciljem delovnega ljudstva. V tem lahko slutimo dejansko moč AFŽ; moč ženske organizacije, ki je napovedovala politično prevzgojo moških. Slednji se zaradi patriarhalne tradicije niso bili pripravljeni brez odpora sprijazniti z drugačno vlogo žensk. Ker moški ob dodatnem obremenjevanju žensk niso prevzeli deleža neplačanega skrbstvenega in gospodinjskega dela, danes govorimo o le deloma uspešni emancipaciji žensk v SFRJ, še raje pa o njihovi trojni obremenitvi (z neplačanim delom na domu, zaposlitvijo za polni delovni čas in političnim delom).

Mati, ki daje kruh partizanu

O tem, da je reproduktivno delo po vojni ostalo v ženskih rokah, pričajo tudi nekatera spominska znamenja v Cerknem. Najvidnejši spomenik stoji pred knjižnico v Platiševi ulici. Leta 1954 ga je postavila cerkljanska zveza borcev, upodablja pa mater, ki daje kruh partizanu (mater je izdelal akademski kipar Stane Keržič, partizana pa akademski kipar Marjan Keršič - Belač). 

Spomenik matere, ki daje kruh partizanu

Na podstavku piše: Zemlja domača, iz tvojih gozdov, iz dolin je vrela ista moč, iz tvojih globin je klical glas in odmeval med brati. Vsak, kdor te je ljubil, je bil moj sin, vsakemu sem bila junaška mati. Napis anonimno starko s kruhom v roki postavlja v tradicionalno vlogo skrbnice in jo kot »darovalko življenja« izenačuje z »zemljo domačo«. O partizanih govori v izključno moškem spolu (»brati«, »sin«) in s tem sugerira, da je bil boj na terenu rezerviran za moške. Iz trilogije Slovenke v narodnoosvobodilnem boju (1970) in iz številnih drugih virov vemo, da to ne drži, a vseeno se velja vprašati, ali si osnovnošolke dandanes sploh lahko predstavljajo zamenjani vlogi, torej očeta, ki daje kruh partizanki.

Grobnica NOB

Večina Cerkljank in Cerkljanov spomenik razume alegorično, kot zahvalo vsem ljudem, ki so iz zaledja podpirali odporniško gibanje. Ob tem velja opozoriti na ime, ki so ga spomeniku nadeli mlajši. Pravijo mu »pekarija«. Šala ima grenak priokus, če vemo, da se dandanes zaradi brezposelnosti veliko mladih po študiju vrača k staršem oziroma »hotela mama« nikoli ne zapustijo. Izenačevanje žensk z »zemljo domačo« se ponovi ob grobnici NOB na robu katoliškega pokopališča ob cerkvi Sv. Jerneja (Goriška cesta). Ob grobnici stoji napis: 739 partizanov, talcev in žrtev nasilja, 95 garibaldincev in 176 borcev neznanih imen spi v bratskem objemu svoj zadnji sen v materinskih nedrih teh tihih grobov. V boju za svobodo proti nasilju, za lepše dni izkrvaveli so v grudi cerkljanskih bregov. Vsi so nam dragi, za vsemi nam srce ihti, slava jim večna kot večna je pesem šumečih gozdov. Enačaj med »materinskimi nedri«, ki dajejo življenje, in zemljo, ki ga jemlje, je nenavaden. Kako je mogoče, da na tem mestu prsi predstavljajo smrt? Ali so postavljavci znamenja vsem, ki so umrli nasilne smrti, želeli posmrtnega miru vsaj v kolektivnem spominu sodobne levice? Bolj verjetna se zdi razlaga, ki jo v svoji analizi začetkov kapitalizma ponudi feministična zgodovinarka Silvia Federici. V knjigi Caliban and the Witch (2004) pravi, da so že v poznem 15. stoletju delavke postale nadomestek za zemljo, ki so jo delavci izgubili z uvedbo privatizacijskih zakonov. Ženskam so prepovedali opravljanje plačanega dela in jih spremenili v javno dobro ali naravno bogastvo, »ki je na voljo vsem, tako kot sta nam na voljo voda in zrak. To je bil zgodovinski poraz za ženske.«

Spomenik padlim tečajnikom in tečajnicam

V grobnici NOB so pokopane številne aktivistke in partizanke, med njimi Alojzija Bevk, Rezika Golob, Rozika Mezek, Milojka Štrukelj, Slavica Udovič, Zika Kvetoslava in Fani Žele, udeleženke partijske šole, ki so jo leta 1944 napadli nemški vojaki. Spomenik, posvečen vsem padlim tečajnikom, stoji na Brcah. Nanj je vklesan napis: V tem kraju je 27. januarja 1944 leta padlo 47 slušateljev partijske šole v Cerknem. Mladih partizanov in aktivistov iz slovenskega Primorja, Istre, Beneške Slovenije, Gorice, Trsta in Gorenjske. Bili so žrtve belogardističnega izdajstva in nemškofašističnega napada. Slava njihovemu spominu. Tudi ta napis je izključno v moškem spolu. Če udeleženke partijske šole ne bi bile navedene poimensko, bi na tem mestu znova lahko sklepali, da dekleta in ženske v času NOB niso politično delovale. Na kozolcu pod spomenikom stoji spominska plošča Milojki Štrukelj z napisom: Na tem mestu je poklonila domovini svoje življenje 27. 1. 1944 komaj 19 letna dijakinja Štrukelj Milojka iz Solkana. Zdi se nenavadno, da ima aktivistka posebno znamenje. Ga je dobila zaradi svojega izjemnega angažmaja? Kustosinja Cerkljanskega muzeja Milojka Magajne pravi, da razlog tiči drugje: za postavitev si je prizadevala aktivistkina družina, še posebej njen brat Joško Štrukelj.

Spomeniki ženskam

Poimensko znamenje je posvečeno tudi Štefaniji Tušar - Fani. Za njo so ostale samo štiri izjave znancev (hrani jih Cerkljanski muzej) in spominska plošča, ki sta jo leta 1979 postavili ZB NOV in ZSMS Eta. Plošča stoji na kamnitem stebru nad Goriško cesto, na njej pa piše: Ob potoku je bila 27. 3. 1945 zverinsko mučena in ubita 22-letna skojevka Tušar Štefanija Fani. 

Spominska plošča Štefaniji Tušar Fani

Ker so v Zvezo komunistične mladine Jugoslavije (SKOJ) vabili samo predane in preverjene aktiviste in aktivistke, je Štefanija Tušar - Fani gotovo spadala mednje. Na obdobje NOB v Cerknem opozarjajo tudi številne spominske plošče na pročeljih hiš. Milojka Magajne je omenila znamenje v Žabžah (pri vasi Bukovo), spominsko ploščo z imeni štirih aktivistk OF iz Žabž in Kojce, ki jih je okupatorska vojska zažgala v hiši (Zorka Mavri, Rozalija Feltrin, Frančiška Mlakar in Frančiška Golob). 

Edini ženski, ki imata na Cerkljanskem in Idrijskem svoj poimenski kip, sta partizanski zdravnici in upraviteljici bolnišnic Franja Bojc - Bidovec in Pavla Jerina - Lah. Slednji so v Zdravstvenemu domu Idrija leta 2010 postavili doprsni kip, doprsni kip dr. Franje Bojc - Bidovec pa stoji pred vhodom v Cerkljanski muzej (izdelal ga je akademski kipar Anton Logonder). Velja opozoriti na težave, ki jih je kot upraviteljica bolnišnice dr. Franja Bojc Bidovec imela s svojim politkomisarjem. Ta je leta 1944 proti njej »stuhtal« obtožnico pri Višjem vojaškem sodišču 9. korpusa NOV in POJ. Ta jo je med drugim obtožila jemanja avtoritete politkomisarju. Po dveh mesecih dokazovanja, da so obtožbe neutemeljene, jo je vojaško sodišče razbremenilo obtožb. V komisarjevem maščevanju, lahko prepoznamo šikaniranje, ki ga ženske ob vstopu v tradicionalno moško polje delovanja in na položaje moči doživljajo še danes. Učiteljica Marija Rejc ob tem dodaja, da režirani proces ni zamajal ugleda, ki ga je med Cerkljani in Cerkljankami imela doktorica Bojc - Bidovec: »Ostaja pojem junaštva, ljudje jo nosijo v svojih srcih.«

Spominska plošča aktivistkam OF v Žabžah

Ob mednarodnem dnevu žensk si želim, da bi junaštvo – tudi zaradi prizadevanj društva Ženska toponomastika – prepoznali v življenju številnih žensk, ki so delovale pred in med drugo svetovno vojno ter po njej. Na Cerkljanskem na javno priznanje, na pravico do imena, čakajo še številne, denimo borke proti poitaljančevanju po letu 1920: Božena Sattler, Marija Močnik (Karuzova), Angela Bevk (Migučeva), Fanica Obid, Vika Obid (por. Jeram), Katarina Eržen (Mrzlovška Kotre) in Mici Kumar. Zahvala, da so se njihova imena ohranila v zgodovinskem in ne le v ustnem spominu, gre zgodovinarki Ani Štucin, Cerkljanskemu muzeju in ljubiteljskim kronistom.

Če želite sodelovati v raziskavi društva Ženska toponomastika, pišite dr. Eleni Cerkvenič, referentki za stike s slovensko manjšino v Italiji in s Slovenijo: elenacerkvenic@gmail.com.

Besedilo in fotografije:Tea Hvala

Lektura: Mirjam Furlan Lapanja

Aprilska oddaja Sektor Ž: Seksualnost(i) žensk

Seksualnost(i) žensk

V aprilski oddaji Sektor Ž bomo raziskovale širok spekter seksualnosti žensk - ne da bi za to rabile spekulum. Najprej bomo predvajale kratko reportažo z okrogle mize “Ženska seksualnost”, ki je ob 30. obletnici feministične skupine Lilit, 2. aprila 2015, potekala v Klubu Gromka. Komentirale jo bomo z vidika pro-seks feminizma Susie Bright in drugih aktivistk za osvoboditev ženske spolnosti. V krajšem intervjuju se bomo o tabujih in tišini, ki obkrožajo žensko seksualnost, pogovarjale z Gabrijelo Simetinger, ginekologinjo, socialno delavko in eno od dveh strokovnjakinj za spolno medicino pri nas. Sledijo recenzije knjig, namenjenih raziskovanje naših spolnih želja, fantazij, potreb, strahov, izkušenj in užitkov. Zaključile bomo z branjem erotičnih pesmi in zgodbic, ki jih pišejo ženske.

Aprilsko oddajo pripravljamo Tea Hvala, Klara Otorepec in Teja Oblak. Vabljene_i k poslušanju!
Sobota, 18. april, ob 12h na Radiu Študent (ali kasneje na tej povezavi).

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Women's Sexualities The April edition of feminist radio show Sektor Ž will focus on a broad spectrum of female sexualities - without a speculum! First, we will report from the public debate “Female sexuality” that took place on April 2nd 2015 at Club Gromka in Ljubljana as part of the celebrations for the 30th anniversary of Slovene feminist group Lilit. We will comment on this debate from the viewpoint of pro-sex feminisms of Susie Bright and other activists who fight for the liberation of female sexualities. In addition, we are going to interview Gabrijela Simetinger, gynecologist, social worker and one of the two Slovene experts on sexual medicine. We are also going to recommend some books on women's sexualities; books that raise our curiosity and encourage our fearless exploration of our own sexual desires, fantasies, needs, fears, experienc and pleasures. We are going to round off the show with a a pub(l)ic reading of erotic poems and stories by female authors.


The show is prepared by Klara Otorepec, Teja Oblak and Tea Hvala. Tune in!
Saturday, April 18th 2015 at noon at Radio Študent (or later, in the show's archive).

Pobjednički ožujak u Sloveniji / Victorious March in Slovenia

Na portalu Vox Feminae je izšla moj kolumna Pobjednički ožujak u Sloveniji, v kateri slavim tri feministične, lezbične, gejevske in trans zmage, izbojevane v marcu - čeprav meseca še ni konec. Kolumno je iz angleščine prevedla Vida Starčević.

Croatian website Vox Feminae published my column Victorious March in Slovenia, celebrating three feminist, lesbian, gay and trans victories that were won in March - and the month isn't even over yet!

Osmi mart, a sreće niotkuda

Srbski kulturni center Danilo Kiš je oktobra 2014 v sodelovanju s portalom Peščanik in skupino S.T.R.I.K.E začel projekt Osnaživanje žena na tržištu rada: medijska kampanja za bolje informisanje, obrazovanje i aktivniju ulogu žena. V okviru kampanje za informiranje, izobraževanje in aktivnejšo vlogo žensk v Srbiji je odprl spletno stran Radne žene, kjer objavljajo članke o politični in ekonomski emancipaciji žensk.

Devetnajstega marca so objavili srbski prevod moje kolumne "Osmi marec, sreče pa od nikoder", ki je izvirno izšla v mobilnem časopisu Torek ob petih. Kolumno je prevedla Tamara Raftović Loštrek.

Osmi mart, a sreće niotkuda

Risba: Anna Ehrlemark

Starija komšinica, zaposlena u fabrici, odbrojava godine do penzije. Kaže da je umorna, ali šta da se radi, treba preživeti. Kako se osećaju moje prijateljice koje su već dvadeset godina zaposlene po ugovoru u kulturi, ni ne znam. Retko se viđamo jer imaju previše posla i premalo vremena, a honorari kao i obično kasne. Poznanice, koje su postigle ugled kao umetnice i univerzitetske profesorke, ponekad se prituže da su razočarane nad sistemom u kome, uprkos svom talentu i trudu, nemaju iste mogućnosti kao muškarci. Na pitanje kako je sa njihovom zdravljem i socijalnom sigurnošću, odmahnu rukom. Javno se radije ne žale. Mislim da zato što već znaju kakav će biti odgovor.

Samozvane gurujke će im reći da bi svet danas bio mnogo lepši, »da je emancipacija položaj koji usrećuje žene«. Poslovne žene, koje su barem ekonomski emancipovane, dodaće da ni njima nije lako jer »paket “moderna žena” pod maskom snage, samostalnosti i nezavisnosti nosi sa sobom prazninu, bol, duge unutrašnje borbe, bol u srcu i u duši«. Mojim poznanicama će savetovati da dozvole sebi da u njima »polako ponovo proklija ženstvenost« i da sviraju »po notama ljubavi i sreće«; sve ostalo će doći samo po sebi. Ugledni političar će im savetovati da se radije bave venčanjem, a premijerova partnerka kako treba dati prioritet partnerovoj karijeri; za početak neka bude »pošteđen kućnih poslova«.

Utisak je da bogate dame nisu srećne. Kad ni one nisu srećne, kako tek mi ostale da dostignemo sreću? Stvarno, kako to da sreće nema nigde? Ko nas je prevario?

Psihoanaliza tvrdi da ljudi ionako nisu stvoreni za sreću; da previše uživaju u patnji. Ovoj depresivnoj tvrdnji dodaje da živimo u vremenu kada niko ne veruje u stare autoritete koji bi nam određivali kako da živimo, »zato izmišljamo nova pravila koja bi regulisala ovu strahotu novostečene slobode« (Renata Salecl). Nova pravila mogu biti veoma stroga; tako stroga da podsećaju na stara pravila koja su ženama u ime Boga ili Nauke propisivala ćutanje i rad. Čutanje danas više nije popularno, u ime Kapitala je potrebno, pre svega, raditi. A ako znamo da unovčimo govor, još bolje. Ako se uz to još ženstveno smeškamo, možda nam se i osmehne sreća.

Problem sa novim- starim pravilima jeste da ih se teško pridržavati, jer im se sve više žena otvoreno podsmeva. Ove bezobraznice sugerišu da povratak starom redu više uopšte nije moguć! Upravo zbog njih je u Sloveniji u poslednjih dvadeset godina, uprkos svim zavadama, došlo do konsenzusa. Kapital, Nauka i Bog našli su zajedničkog neprijatelja. Za sve naše probleme krive su, naravno, »agresivne žene« koje »ubijaju pravu romantiku«. Krive smo mi feministkinje jer kao posledica ekonomske nezavisnosti žena u romantičnim vezama »ne postoje više područja u kojima su žene potčinjene i u kojima dominiraju muškarci«. Pored toga, mi, feministkinje, u prošlosti smo pokušale da »uništimo brak«. To nam nije uspelo, ali na sreću naš rad nastavlja danas »homoseksualni lobi«.

Još najrazumnije objašnjenje zašto su heteroseksualne žene svih uzrasta i klasa toliko umorne, isfrustrirane i nesrećne, pruža biologija. Objektivna nauka ne diskriminiše. Studije su pokazale da feministkinje, kao i manje agresivne žene, »za partnere češće biraju muškarce koji ili poseduju više materijalnih dobara ili su ambiciozniji i imaju barem potencijal da će pribaviti takva dobra i podeliti ih sa svojim partnerkama i decom«. Pa kako onda da dostignemo sreću kada nas geni, umesto na ljubav, nagone na oportunizam? Možda na ovom području više mogućnosti imaju neudate heteroseksualke i lezbejski parovi koji požele sreću majčinstva? Nauka kaže nikako. Kaže da je ova želja apsurdna: »Mnogi ljudi imaju svakojake želje, ali mi lekari ne moramo uvek da im ugodimo«. Pošto nada umire poslednja, polažem je u ruke ginekologa koji će možda uspeti da prepoznaju apsurd u maratonu molitvi za »spas nerođenih ljudskih života«, koji se ovih dana održava u Ljubljani.

Biće teško, jer je čak i rektor univerziteta u Ljubljani mišljenja da je problem u tome »što žene nemaju ambicija«. Žene smo, dakle, same krive za svoju nesreću. I zato što smo nesrećne, uprkos činjenici da smo postigle sve što smo mogle da poželimo, nerazumno je (ili barem nerazumljivo) da mi, feministkinje, i dalje insistiramo na tome da nam se čini nepravda, dok pri tome nemilosrdno napadamo i muškarce i žene koje misle drugačije. Štaviše, vređamo ih da su antifeministi, seksisti, šovinisti i homofobi, a kada nam vrate milo za drago, mi se uzrujavamo. Kao da mi, feministkinje, još uvek nismo shvatile da živimo u tolerantnim vremenima kada moraš da poštuješ sve, čak i ako se ne slažeš sa njegovim ili njenim mišljenjem. Nismo shvatile da nas u stvari niko ne osuđuje: poput svih ljudi i mi takođe zaslužujemo poštovanje, samo ako nismo previše agresivne. Ustvari, najviše nas cene kada nas nema nigde.

U Sloveniji, i vernici i nevernici imaju tu sreću da ih svakog dana usrećuju čak tri državne religije: katolička vera nas usrećuje božjim zakonima, vera u biologiju zakonima prirode, a vera u kapitalizam tržišnim zakonima. Među našim verskim vođama povremeno dolazi do sukoba, ali u vreme univerzalnog relativizma, nije im teško da se slože da je život kakav poznajemo dobar za sve. Na to da trojna vera od svog ustoličenja, stanovnice i stanovnike ove države gura u pravcu nesreće je upozoravalo (i još uvek upozorava) više generacija feministkinja i lezbejskih aktivistkinja. Poslednjih godina su se im pridružili i feministi i gej aktivisti.

Već više generacija skreće pažnju na laži kojima nas kljukaju katolicizam i seksistička nauka. Na osnovu bogatog iskustva, feministkinje su prepoznale i laž koja je svoj antifeminizam uvila u ženama prijateljski nastrojen jezik. Ova laž je najopasnija jer se paradoksalno poziva na uspeh istorijske borbe za emancipaciju. Ova laž, kao i svi ostali antifeminizmi, tvrdi da je feminizam nepotreban, jer smo mi žene dostigle sve što smo želele. Razlika je u tome što je zagovaraju žene koje su, upravo na račun prošlih bojeva, mogle da se dokopaju klasne moći koju poseduju privilegovani muškarci. Dobro obrazovane i klasno privilegovane Slovenke zbog toga danas mogu ohrabriti siromašne žene i radnice da u ekonomskom dobitku bogatih žena vide pozitivne promene za sve žene.

Kada nas na Međunarodni dan žena karijeristkinje ponovo budu ubeđivale da svaka žena koja to dovoljno želi može uspeti, da je sreća odmah iza ugla, samo ako nismo previše pohlepne, ne smemo zaboraviti da sloboda privilegovanih žena još uvek zahteva potčinjavanje svih ostalih žena. Ne smemo zaboraviti da je sve više ljudi, kako žena tako i siromašnih muškaraca i radnika, nesrećnih i iznurenih zbog ekonomskog nasilja, a ne zbog feminizma. I pored tako intenzivne potrage za ličnom srećom, ne smemo zaboraviti da je Međunarodni dan žena radnički praznik; da će nas borba za radnička prava možda osloboditi čak i od potrage za srećom. U svakom slučaju, oslobodiće nas više nego ženstveno sviranje po notama ljubavi.

Svi navodi, osim citata Renate Salecl ,bili su krajem februara nominovani za seksističku izjavu godine na internetnom portalu Spol.si i objavljeni uz dodata imena. Pobednici su 8. marta 2015. na 16. međunarodnom feminističkom i queer festivalu Rdeče zore »nagrađeni« vilinim sitom.

Torek ob petih, 03.03.2015.
Radne zene, 19.03.2015.

Prevod: Tamara Raftović Loštrek

Oddaja Sektor Ž: Ženske zadruge

Ženske zadruge - nova prizadevanja za ekonomsko neodvisnost žensk

Marčevska edicija Sektorja Ž se bo osredotočila na prizadevanja za ekonomsko neodvisnost žensk v obliki zadrug. V oddaji bomo na kratko predstavile zadružništvo kot obliko dejavnosti, kaj so njegove prednosti ter razloge za vključevanje in odločitev žensk za tako obliko delovanja. O tem nam bo v krajšem intervjuju spregovorila Jadranka Vesel, ki v Sloveniji deluje na področju zadružništva. Sledili bodo prispevki na temo ženskih zadrug iz oddaje Zvučna etnografija, ki je temo uvedla prejšnji mesec. Za razmislek nam bodo tudi služila predavanja, ki so se odvila na festivalu Rdeče Zore (Olga Boldcrayon: "Ženske gradijo za ženske") in festivalu Deuje babe. Zaključile bomo s kratkim poročilom z obeh festivalom in izjavo meseca. 

Marčevsko oddajo pripravljajo Klara Otorepec, Teja Oblak in Tea Hvala.
Vabljene_i k poslušanju v soboto, 21. marca, ob 12h v živo na Radiu Študent. Kasneje na tej povezavi.  

*
Women's Cooperatives - New efforts for women's economic independence

The March edition of a feminist radio show Sektor Ž will focus on the topic of efforts for women's economic independence in the form of cooperatives. First, we will briefly present cooperatives as a form of activity, what are its advantages and reasons why women decide to participate in them. This will be presented by Jadranka Vesel who actively works in the field of cooperatives in Slovenia. This will be followed with contributions from the radio show Zvučna etnografija, which already introduced this theme in the previous Sektor Ž. The lectures which took place at the festival Rdeče Zore/Red Dawns (Olga Boldcrayon: "Women are building for women") and Deuje babe will also serve us for reflection on the topic of women's cooperatives. We concluded with a brief report on both festival and the statement of the month.

The March edition of Sektor Ž is made by Klara Otorepec, Teja Oblak and Tea Hvala.
Tune in! Live on Saturday, March 21st at 12.00 at Radio Študent, later in our archive. 

Osmi marec, sreče pa od nikoder

Starejša soseda, tovarniška delavka, odšteva leta do penzije. Pravi, da je utrujena, a kaj hoče, treba je preživeti. Kako se počutijo moje prijateljice, ki so že dvajset let pogodbene delavke v kulturi, niti ne vem. Redko se vidimo, saj imajo preveč dela in premalo časa, honorarji pa kot običajno zamujajo. Znanke, ki so dosegle ugled kot umetnice in univerzitetne predavateljice, kdaj pa kdaj potarnajo, da so razočarane nad sistemom, v katerem kljub svojim talentom in trudu nimajo enakih možnosti kot moški. Ob vprašanju, kako je z njihovim zdravjem in socialno varnostjo, zamahnejo z roko. Javno se raje ne pritožujejo. Mislim si, da zato, ker že vedo, kakšen bo odgovor.

Samooklicane gurujke jim bodo povedale, da bil svet danes lepši, »če bi bila emancipacija pozicija, ki bi osrečevala ženske«. Poslovne ženske, ki so vsaj ekonomsko emancipirane, bodo dodale, da tudi njim ni lahko, saj »paket ‘moderne ženske’ pod pretvezo moči, samostojnosti in neodvisnosti s sabo nosi praznino, bolečino, velike notranje boje, bolečino v srcu in duši«. Mojim znankam bodo svetovale, naj si dovolijo, da v njih »počasi vzklije zopet ženstvenost«, in da naj igrajo »po notah ljubezni in sreče«; vse ostalo bo prišlo samo od sebe. Ugleden politik jim bo svetoval, naj se raje ukvarjajo s poroko, premierova partnerka pa, da naj dajo prednost partnerjevi karieri; za začetek naj bo »opravičen gospodinjskega dela«.

Vtis je, da premožne gospe niso srečne. Če niti one niso srečne, kako naj potem dosežemo srečo vse ostale? Res, kako to, da sreče ni od nikoder? Kdo nas je ogoljufal?

Psihoanaliza trdi, da ljudje tako ali tako nismo narejeni za srečo; da preveč uživamo v trpljenju. K tej depresivni trditvi dodaja, da živimo v časih, ko nihče več ne verjame v stare avtoritete, ki bi predpisovale, kako naj živimo, »zato izumljamo nova pravila, ki naj bi regulirala grozljivost te novo pridobljene svobode« (Renata Salecl). Nova pravila so lahko zelo stroga; tako stroga, da spominjajo na stara pravila, ki so ženskam v imenu Boga ali Znanosti zapovedovala molk in delo. Molk danes ni več popularen, v imenu Kapitala je treba predvsem delati. Če znamo unovčiti govorjenje, toliko bolje. Če se ob tem še ženstveno smehljamo, se nam mogoče nasmehne celo sreča.

Težava z novimi-starimi pravili je, da se jih je težko držati, ker se jim vse več žensk odkrito posmehuje. Te nesramnice namigujejo, da povratek k staremu redu sploh ni mogoč! Prav zaradi njih je v Sloveniji v zadnjih dvajsetih letih kljub vsem razprtijam lahko prišlo do konsenza. Kapital, Znanost in Bog so našli skupnega sovražnika. Za vse naše tegobe so, jasno, krive »agresivne ženske«, ki »ubijajo pravo romantiko«. Krive smo feministke, saj zaradi ekonomske neodvisnosti žensk v romantičnih zvezah »nimamo več področij, v katerih smo ženske podrejene in v katerih dominirajo moški«. Poleg tega smo feministke v preteklosti skušale »uničiti zakonsko zvezo«. To nam ni uspelo, a na srečo naše delo danes nadaljuje »homoseksualni lobi«.

Še najbolj razumno razlago, zakaj so heteroseksualne ženske vseh starosti in razredov tako utrujene, razočarane in nesrečne, ponuja biologija. Objektivna znanost pač ne diskriminira. Študije so dokazale, da si tako feministke kot manj agresivne ženske »za partnerje pogosteje izbirajo moške, ki imajo bodisi več materialnih dobrin ali pa so ambicioznejši in imajo vsaj potencial, da bodo te dobrine prinašali ter jih delili s partnerico in z otroki«. Kako naj torej dosežemo srečo, če pa nas geni namesto k ljubezni silijo k oportunizmu? Imajo morda na tem področju več možnosti samske heteroseksualke in lezbični pari, ki si zaželijo materinske sreče? Znanost pravi, da nikakor. Pravi, da je ta želja absurdna: »marsikdo ima marsikakšno željo, zdravniki pa mu nismo dolžni vedno ugoditi«. Ker upanje umre zadnje, ga polagam v roke ginekologov, ki bodo absurd nemara prepoznali v molitvenem maratonu za »rešitev nerojenih človeških življenj«, ki te dni poteka v Ljubljani.

Težko bo, saj celo rektor ljubljanske univerze meni, da je problem v tem, »da ženske nimajo ambicij«. Ženske smo si torej same krive za svojo nesrečo. In ker smo nesrečne, kljub temu, da smo dosegle vse, kar bi si lahko želele, je nerazumno (ali vsaj nerazumljivo), da feministke še vedno vztrajamo, da se nam dogaja krivica, pri tem pa neusmiljeno napadamo tako moške kot ženske, ki menijo drugače. Še več, zmerjamo jih z antifeministi, seksisti, šovinisti in homofobi, ko nam vrnejo milo za drago, pa se razburjamo. Kakor da feministke še nismo dojele, da živimo v tolerantnih časih, ko moraš spoštovati vsakogar, četudi se ne strinjaš z njenim ali njegovim mnenjem. Nismo dojele, da nas v resnici nihče ne obsoja: tako kot vsi ljudje si tudi me zaslužimo spoštovanje, če le nismo preveč agresivne. Še najbolj spoštovane smo takrat, kadar nas ni nikjer videti.

V Sloveniji imamo tako verniki kot nevernice to srečo, da nas vsak dan osrečujejo kar tri državne vere: katoliška vera nas osrečuje z božjimi zakoni, vera v biologijo nas osrečuje z naravnimi zakonitostmi, vera v kapitalizem pa s tržnimi zakonitosti. Med našimi verskimi voditelji občasno prihaja do sporov, vendar se jim v času vsesplošnega relativizma ni težko zediniti, da je življenje, kot ga poznamo, dobro za vse. Na to, da troedina vera že od svojega ustoličenja dalje prebivalke in prebivalce te države peha v nesrečo, je opozarjalo (in še vedno opozarja) več generacij feministk in lezbičnih aktivistk. Zadnja leta se jim pridružujejo tudi feministi in gejevski aktivisti.

Že več generacij opozarjajo na laži, s katerimi nas pitata katolicizem in seksistična znanost. Zaradi bogatih izkušenj so feministke opazile tudi laž, ki je svoj antifeminizem zavila v ženskam prijazen jezik. Ta je najnevarnejša, saj se paradoksalno sklicuje na uspešnost zgodovinskih bojev za emancipacijo. Tako kot vsi drugi antifeminizmi trdi, da je feminizem nepotreben, ker smo ženske dosegle vse, kar smo želele. Razlika je v tem, da ga zagovarjajo ženske, ki so se prav zaradi preteklih bojev lahko dokopale do enake razredne moči, kot jo imajo privilegirani moški. Dobro izobražene in razredno privilegirane Slovenke tako danes lahko spodbujajo revne ženske in delavke, naj v ekonomskih pridobitvah premožnih žensk vidijo pozitivne spremembe za vse ženske.

Ko nas bodo na mednarodni dan žensk karieristke spet prepričevale, da lahko uspe vsaka ženska, ki si to dovolj močno želi, da je sreča tik za vogalom, če le ne bomo preveč pohlepne, ne smemo pozabiti, da svoboda privilegiranih žensk še vedno zahteva podrejanje vseh ostalih žensk. Ne smemo pozabiti, da je vse več ljudi, tako žensk, kot revnih in delavskih moških, nesrečnih in izmozganih zaradi ekonomskega nasilja, ne zaradi feminizma. In ob še tako srčnem iskanju osebne sreče ne smemo pozabiti, da je mednarodni dan žensk delavski praznik; da nas bo boj za delavske pravice morda osvobodili celo od iskanje sreče. Vsekakor nas bo osvobodil bolj kot ženstveno igranje po notah ljubezni.

Vsi navedki razen citata Renate Salecl so bili na spletnem portalu Spol.si nominirani za seksistično izjavo leta in opremljeni z imeni. Zmagovalca sta bila 8. marca 2015 na 16. mednarodnem feminističnem in queer festivalu Rdeče zore »nagrajena« z bodečo nežo.  

Kolumna je prvič izšla v mobilnem časopisu Torek ob petih.

Izšla je nova številka revije Borec

 

V novi številki revije Borec so v vsebinskem bloku "O spolni dominaciji" izšli moji prevodi dveh feministično-marksističnih razprav o reproduktivnem delu (Maya Gonzales in Dora Levačić) in teksta Andree Jovanović, ki razpravlja o pomenu AFŽ za današnji čas. V bloku je izšel tudi prevod razprave Marthe Gimenez.

ANDREA JOVANOVIĆ: Antifašistična fronta žensk v času socialistične družbene transformacije
DORA LEVAČIĆ: Ne/produktivni odnos med marksizmom in feminizmom
MAYA ANDREA GONZALES: Spolno zaznamovana cirkulacija: branje skritega reprodukcije
MARTHA GIMENEZ: Kapitalizem in zatiranje žensk: vrnitev k Marxu

3. festival Deuje babe

Ob mednarodnem dnevu žensk bo v Cerknem med 6. in 8. marcem potekal 3. festival Deuje babe. 

Festival se imenuje po arheološkem najdišču nad dolino reke Idrijce, kjer so po ljudskem izročilu prebivale neukročene ženske. Festival je zvest izročilu, saj predstavlja »divje« umetniško izražanje in aktivistično delovanje deklet ter žensk. Daje jim možnost, da svoje delo predstavijo širši publiki, prednost pa daje tistim ustvarjalkam in borkam, ki zavračajo stereotipne predstave o ženskah ter kršijo nenapisana pravila o »normalnem« videzu, obnašanju, spolni usmerjenosti, načinu življenja, poklicni izbiri ipd. Festival Deuje babe zagovarja enakost vseh žensk – tudi tistih, ki se niso rodile kot ženske – in pravičnejši svet za vse: za ženske, moške in otroke.

Celoten program je objavljen na CMAK-ovi spletni strani.  

Maruša Lipušček in Tea Hvala sta ob tej priložnosti posneli radijsko oddajo Festival Deuje babe, kjer sta podrobneje predstavili festivalski program z gostjami Nado Žgank, Maro Vujić in Janjo Hiti (Radio Odmev - Primorski val, 5. marec 2015).

Foto Nada Žgank, plakat Tea Hvala in Matjaž Peternelj

CMAK festival tudi letos pripravlja v sodelovanju z Mednarodnim feminističnim in queer festivalom Rdeče zore iz Ljubljane in društvom Grrrls Kulturverein iz Gradca. Prvič sodeluje z ljubljanskim Mednarodnim festivalom sodobnih umetnosti Mesto žensk in Društvom upokojencev Cerkno.

Oddaja Sektor Ž: Reproduktivno delo v akademiji in kulturi

Izsek iz digitalnega kolaža Rad Ljubavi (2014) Andreje Dugandžić in Adele Jušić

Februarsko edicijo Sektorja Ž bo zaznamovala tema nevidnega in reproduktivnega dela, čigar breme še vedno v veliki meri sloni na ženskih ramenih. V času krize finančnega kapitalizma se še povečuje. Osredotočale se bomo na reproduktivno delo v akademskem svetu in kulturi. V premislek nam bodo služili aktualni javni izrazi seksizma v akademski sferi; na to so se z javno izjavo in akcijo pred ljubljansko univerzo kritično odzvale Vstajniške socialne delavke, ki bodo v oddaji komentirale svojo izjavo in odzive akademske srenje. Nadaljevale bomo z diskusijo performansa Teje Reba z naslovom Made with love (Delo iz ljubezni), ki ga je nedavno izvedla v Stari elektrarni in v njem tematizirala vsakodnevno reproduktivno delo kulturne ustvarjalke.

Predstavile bomo program prihajajočega 16. mednarodnega feminističnega in queer festivala Rdeče zore, ki bo potekal od 5. do 8. marca v Ljubljani. Na koncu bomo prisluhnile izseku beograjske oddaje Zvučna etnografija, točneje njihovi reportaži z beograjskega festivala BeFem, kjer so se decembra lani predstavile nove ženske kooperative, zadruge in socialna podjetja v Srbiji. S prispevkom najavljamo marčevsko edicijo Sektorja Ž, ki bo v celoti posvečen prizadevanjem za ekonomsko neodvisnost in sodelovanje žensk.

Sledijo druge napovedi drugih ključnih feminističnih dogodkov (sprotne dogodke bomo od sedaj naprej posredovale preko FB profila Sektorja Ž).

Februarsko oddajo pripravljajo Klara Otorepec, Teja Oblak in Tea Hvala.

Vabljene_i k poslušanju!

Sobota, 21. februar ob 12h, v živo na Radiu Študent. Kasneje na tej povezavi. 

Osobna povijest slovenske zine scene

Hrvaški portal Vox Feminae je objavil prevod mojega teksta o fanzinarski sceni iz konca devetdesetih. Iz angleščine ga je odlično prevedla Vida Starčević.

Osobna povijest slovenske zine scene

Psst... #2, Sp. Idrija, cca. 1999.

Za postojanje zineova doznala sam negdje 1993., kada je jedan od lokalnih slovenskih glazbenih zineova Rock Vibe krenuo u redovitu distribuciju. Prodavao se na svakom kiosku i stajao je odmah kraj Brava. Bravo je bio glazbeni dvotjednik iz Njemačke u kojemu su se mogle naći naljepnice i posteri od New Kids on the Block, Roxette, 2 Unlimited, Guns'n'Roses i ostalih tinejdžerskih idola.

Dok se nismo dočepale Rock Vibea, najbolja prijateljica i ja imale smo sreće kada bismo uspjele ugledati bilo kakav imalo "alternativni" bend u Bravu, pa bismo pokušavale nagovoriti kolegicu iz razreda koja je kupovala časopis da nam izvadi tu četvrtinu stranice. Nije nam bilo važno što nismo razumjele ni riječi njemačkog – fotografije su ionako bile puno zanimljivije. Prije nego što je Rock Vibe ponudio novi način bijega, stvarnost života u mom malom selu izbjegavala sam pretvarajući se da mi je Eddie Vedder brat, čitajući romane o Drugom svjetskom ratu i vodeći srcedrapateljne dnevnike o svojim beskonačnim simpatijama. Za to vrijeme, moja progresivnija prijateljica bježala je od vlastite tuge slušajući heavy metal, pišući poeziju i držeći seanse s Indijancima iz slikovnica.

Tekst v celoti.

A personal history of the Slovene zine scene

The Croatian website Vox Feminae published my essay on the Slovene - and international - zine scene of the late 1990's. It would have never been written without Jane Graham's invitation. Jane, the author of amazing zines Shag Stamp, Hickey and Floozy, edited an anthology on grrrls' zines and our involvement in the punk scene. Unfortunately, the book never came out. Maybe some day it will. In the meantime, here's my ...     

...personal history of the Slovene zine scene

I became aware of the existence of zines around 1993, when one of the Slovenian local music zines, Rock Vibe managed to get regular distribution. It was sold in every kiosk, or newsstand, right next to Bravo. Bravo was a music biweekly from Germany that included stickers and posters of New Kids on the Block, Roxette, 2 Unlimited, Guns’n’Roses, and other teen idols.

 

Until we got our hands on Rock Vibe, my best friend and I considered ourselves lucky if we managed to catch a glimpse of any "alternative" band in Bravo and would then try to convince the schoolmate who bought it to rip out that quarter of a page for us. It didn’t matter that we couldn't understand a word of German – the pictures were far more stimulating anyway. So, until Rock Vibe suggested new escape routes, I fled the dull reality of my tiny village by pretending Eddie Vedder was my brother, indulging in Second World War novels, and keeping sighing diary notes about my endless crushes. In the meantime, my more progressive friend fled her misery by listening to heavy metal, writing poetry, and holding séances with picture book Native Americans.

I didn't spend much time quizzing over what the word zine might possibly mean. The fact it represented something obscure was enough to get me interested. I ordered the first zine listed in Rock Vibe's review section through the mail and received 13. Brat along with an illegible letter and a bunch of flyers advertising other zines. Those flyers, and 13. brat's review section sealed my fate, so to speak, for many years to come. Both zines came from Nova Gorica, a border town between Slovenia and Italy where, lucky me, my dearest blood relatives lived as well. As a kid, I had spent many summer holidays at their place. They lived on the ninth floor of a 14-storey block of flats and I remember being fascinated by the balcony view. One of the things you could see if you leaned over the balcony was, of course, the downstairs neighbours' balcony. There was a white chalk drawing of a circled A sign on one of the dark red walls. To me, it looked like a promise of a different world, one that lurked just beneath my feet. Imagine my surprise when I first checked 13. brat and realized that one of the zinesters lived in that block. It didn’t take me long to figure out he actually lived – downstairs.

I want to be your friend, too

And so, my family grew. At the time, Nova Gorica had a pretty active hardcore and punk scene. Concerts were the meeting place and since I got to know zines together with hardcore music, I accepted the whole package. In effect, I wrote with and hung out with guys only. Not that it bothered me; I considered myself a boy anyway and couldn’t have cared less about girls. It took me years to start wondering why I didn't have any girl friends, why there were so few girls around, why I knew only one or two girl zinesters, and why I choose to identify with boys in the first place. At the time, I was more preoccupied with fitting into the boys' club. It seemed the only logical thing to do. Needless to say, the irony of the zine’s title escaped me completely – in English, 13. Brat translates as The 13th Brother.

In my view, I had encountered a wonderful community that encouraged my sense of belonging to a chosen, rather than given system of values and ideas. My identification with the scene was further encouraged by the fact that zines were such a well-kept secret that practically nobody outside the scene knew what they were. Zines were available from their authors or from small distributions only. You could order them through mail, buy them at concerts, exchange them in squats and youth clubs, borrow them from friends or the anarchist library in Ljubljana – and that was it. It was certainly fine with me. Zines were my secret place and I wasn't prepared to let in just anybody, most definitely not some random postman.

Once, when I received yet another badly wrapped package of zines from this or that country, I noticed a tiny handwritten note in the corner of the parcel. In Slovene it said: "I want to be your friend, too." It infuriated me: not because I thought I was being stalked, but because whoever had written that had trespassed upon my secret.


^{Fanzini: komunikacijski medij subkultur, Petra Kolmančič, Subkulturni azil, Ceršak, 2001}

It was only inevitable I would eventually start writing my own zine. I released the first issue of Pssst… in 1997. The timing was excellent, since those were the most prolific years of the local zine scene. Petra Kolmančič documented the Slovenian scene of the 1990s in her study Fanzini (2001) and claimed that between 1995 and 1997, up to twenty zines came out at least once per year. They were mostly preoccupied with punk and anarchism, so art zines like Petra's Sirota Jerica were a most precious exception. My own work fitted the category of personal zines, or "perzines" rather well since it consisted of obnoxious rants that viewed – and judged – all issues from my limited perspective.

I was 17 then and excited about moving to the capital. In Ljubljana, I would study literature and sociology; I would finally be able to meet other zinesters in person and get the chance to participate in the scene. The most exciting part of it all was that I was going to live on my own and become financially independent. As unlikely as it sounds, I became financially less dependent on my parents because of zines. That is, I received a scholarship for "artistically talented pupils" once it dawned on me that zines could be viewed and "sold" as proof of my creativity. When I eventually submitted a thick envelope of zines and flyers to the scholarship commission, I was grinning from ear to ear. In my mind, this was pure subversion. Was it really possible to disguise my attacks on the educational system as "creative writing"? Was it possible that the very system I was criticizing was going to encourage me to continue doing the same?

It was: after all, this was capitalism. Of course, those texts look pretty harmless today, even if they must have been a real nuisance to read. Moralistic and affected, they were the scribbles of a teenage mutant who believed the Earth was dominated by hypocrisy - whereas she, naturally, came from an ethically superior planet. I thought the rule of moral majority was best represented by a drawing published in my Belgian pen friends' zine Tilt. It showed a million smiling Nazis standing under a banner, proclaiming: "A MILLION HAPPY PEOPLE CAN'T BE WRONG". I am no longer sure if the people on that image were really defined ideologically. I probably turned them into Nazis myself in order to simplify the point. Either way, integration was not an option and I attacked "hypocrisy" with a passionate and destructive frankness. I was one big exclamation mark yet I must have sensed that I would have to radically compromise my "honesty" as soon as I took other people's opinions into account, for I stubbornly avoided doing it.

Social experiments

Instead, I preferred to describe specific people in abstract ways and frequently discovered universal truths in highly volatile bodies. It was about shyness, too. For instance, when I wanted to try out something new, I couldn’t do it unless I disguised it as a "social experiment". Eventually, in order to test my "patience", I tried to see whether I could learn to listen to other people’s rants as well. I went to the local old folks’ home and, strictly in the name of science, asked a nurse whether there was someone there who didn’t receive any visits but wouldn’t mind chatting with a total stranger. She told me to go see an eighty-year-old lady called Marija. "She's interesting to talk to," she said, "although she is quite forgetful, and complains of her age problems a lot." I was pleased. If the lady kept telling the same story, that meant I would have to be really attentive or I would miss all the variations.

I visited Marija regularly for the next two months and learned that the variations were… slight. Time stood still in that room. Every time I came, she was laying on her bed, resting. She always wore the same navy blue dress with large brown flower prints. She complained about her rheumatism and her snoring roommate but preferred to talk about her family, especially about her beautiful young grand-daughter. My visits must have been a painful reminder of her absence. They were embarrassing too, since Marija remembered neither my name neither "whose I was", as she put it when she wanted to know who my family was. I talked about my kid brother, my parents, my grandparents. At the same time, I thought about my other family, the zine community, since those were the siblings who would soon read about the findings of my experiment.


^{Pssst... #2, Sp. Idrija, cca. 1999}

In the second issue of Pssst..., they could learn that my listening abilities were very poor, largely because I was "too selfish" and "too bored" with the old lady. I never went to see her again and continued to conduct my research among my peers. Funnily enough, it never occurred to me that I was already practicing the art of dialogue by reading, writing, and exchanging zines. They were the perfect medium for articulating ideas and learning to respond to other people's writing because they took time to make, took time to reach about one or two hundred people through "snail mail" and people took time to respond. In theory, and contrary to the possibility of instant publishing today, they encouraged reflective, rather than affective writing.

Not that I practiced reflective writing. At 17, the prevailing feeling was that of emergency, combined with my complete identification with the scene. I was part of a transnational community that connected me to hundreds of local scenes. In my euphoric moments, I believed I was participating in a revolutionary movement, and the fact that it recognised writing and self-publishing as legitimate forms of resistance was almost too good to be true. So I plunged…

I wrote most of my "public diaries" in English because I wanted my foreign pen friends to be able to read them. I managed to photocopy the first fifty copies for free in my school. A hundred copies of the following issue were sponsored equally by the local students' organisation and my mum. When the number of copies increased to two hundred, I had to start using every free or cheap copying possibility I could find. I made several covers by hand and got high on spray paint in my mum's cellar when I stencilled a hundred covers for Pssst… no. 2.

I cut my increasing postage costs by using the old zinester trick: I coated the stamps with paper glue or soap and asked the addressee to send them back. Nearly everybody did it. It was both a gesture of solidarity and a guarantee that sooner or later new zines would come my way together with my fading stamps. I ended up corresponding with people from all over former Yugoslavia, Western Europe, parts of Eastern Europe and North America, even Chile, Argentina, the Philippines and Malaysia. The evidence – boxes of zines, books, letters, photos, post cards, even teabags and toys – is still gathering dust in my grandmother's attic.

Almost too good to be true

In the beginning, my international zine exchange was limited to Western Europe and North America. I wondered why it was much harder to find zines from post-socialist countries and other capitalist peripheries yet, at the time, I figured there were either no zine scenes there or they were nationally bounded, so zines were probably written in languages I couldn't understand. It did not occur to me that the accessibility of Western zines had more to do with Western economic and cultural domination; that, as in other fields of culture, one had to make an effort to reach non-Western scenes. Since the latter should have felt closer to my world in all respects, I often wondered why I wasn’t motivated to make that effort. I think that, like so many other people, I idealized Western European and North American communities: I saw them as more creative, more radical, and more exciting.

My first trip to Western Europe turned out to be a very sobering experience. Yes, that world was richer and more varied, but it was also moving at a frenzied paste and obsessed with purchasable identities, making human contact a somewhat less heartfelt and more instrumental experience. It was indeed sobering to realize that the zine scene was part of it. When I came home, I felt like I had seen our future. Since the fall of socialism in the East and the fall of social states in the West raised neo-liberal capitalism from the dead, it had to happen, there was no choice: soon enough, Slovenia – and perhaps the whole post-socialist region – would look and feel exactly the same. In fact, with the loss of social security and solidarity that was thrown away along with socialism, the situation ended up being even worse for most people.

Still, I never experienced Western cultural influences as an ideological intrusion upon my world. I grew up with them. Moreover, the local zine scene of the mid 1990s was strong and creative enough that it did not have to accept everything that came from the West. Actually, I don’t think there were any significant differences between Eastern and Western scenes. In the case of Slovenia, the only difference might have been that older zinesters maintained their connections with their colleagues from former Yugoslavia. For them, that was the most important frame of reference, both before and after the war. For me, it became important much later. In 1991, when it looked like the war was going to break out in Slovenia, I was 11 years old and too young to grasp the full meaning of the forthcoming tragedy. School was off for the summer and I have just gotten my first brand new mountain bike. All I could feel was anger; I knew I wouldn’t be able to ride my bike once the war started for real. It didn’t, at least not for me. Instead, in 1992, it moved to Croatia and then on to Bosnia and Herzegovina, where there were a lot of kids who couldn’t ride their bikes.


^{Sirota Jerica #2, Petra Kolmančič, Ormož, 1997}

In 1997, I went to the second zine gathering in Maribor. The organizers wanted to bring together zinesters from all Yugoslav successor states, but in the end only about six of us showed up, all locals. People from Croatia, not to mention those coming from other states, had neither the money nor the necessary papers to join us. I was disappointed because I was hoping to meet zinesters from Croatia and Serbia who had just recently become my pen pals.

Only when NATO started bombing Serbia in 1999, I realized that our friendships and zine collaborations were political per se: they were a protest against nationalism, against wars. During the bombing, a friend from Belgrade phoned me almost every evening. He said he needed to talk to somebody who had nothing to do with this madness. So we cracked jokes, gossiped, talked about all the exciting things we wanted to try, all the cool places we wanted to visit.

When I hung up, I looked at the sky and thought of NATO airplanes that rose from the American air base in Aviano. They crossed Slovenia on their way to Belgrade and I realized I was very much involved in the madness. The maddening part was that our friendships couldn’t stop it.

I moved to Ljubljana for my studies in 1998 and started volunteering for the anarchist library and the women’s festival. I also started working as a journalist for Radio Študent, wrote for other independent media, and joined the editorial team of a satirical monthly. Suddenly, I was making friends in real time and space, and learned to appreciate their vicinity. Distant friendships became painful to maintain and I stopped writing those long, pondering letters, especially after I started using e-mail, got the chance to travel and met some of my best pen friends in person. I fell in love in all sorts of places, too. By the time I realized I missed the charm of handwriting as well as the contemplative nature of old-fashioned letters, I was already too busy doing other things and lost my interest in zines.


^{Hickey, Jane Shag Stamp, Sheffield, 1996}

After reading, making, exchanging and distributing zines for four years, I became disturbed by the scene’s limitations. The zine culture I knew was obsessed with a predictable array of topics, namely music, comics, anarchism, squatting, drugs, tattooing, sex, feminism, self-sustainability, and animal rights. Since most of us recycled the same pro et contra arguments, the discussions became boring. Also, I was disturbed by the increasing number of straight edge and other similar zinesters who propagated their lifestyles in very arrogant ways. I remember receiving a sticker that said ‘x I AM BETTER THAN YOU x’ and tossing it where it belonged – into the trash.

On the other hand, many zines corresponded with my growing interest in fiction, feminisms and queer politics. They were a subculture within a subculture, one that helped me accept my body, my sexuality, and my changing identities. Most of the people whom I still meet at various festivals and conferences belonged to that scene. It is inspiring to see that they found other media to suit their needs, and that many former zine-makers, to different degrees, still aspire to the principles of doing-it-yourself.

Whether it is individual acts of resistance or collectively organized protests, whether it is art projects or self-managed communities, whether it is raising children or dreaming through days and nights, all of these things are, in my view, re-envisioning and transforming society – and us. This is one of the most precious lessons I learned in the zine scene. For that, I am thankful to all the zine-makers who brought me up, and grew up with me.


^{A Small Shimmer of Things, Kara Sievewright, Maker of Nets Press, Vancouver, 2003}

 

Biography
Tea Hvala (1980) is a writer, translator and journalist from Cerkno, Slovenia. She published her first zine in 1997 and has been writing and (self)publishing ever since. She co-organized the Ljubljana-based feminist and queer festival Rdeče zore (Red Dawns) between 2001 and 2013, and ran a series of workshops on collaborative writing of feminist-queer science fiction In Other Wor(l)ds between 2007 and 2013. She co-authored and edited two anthologies: Rdečke razsajajo (KUD Mreža, 2010) and Svetovi drugih (KUD Anarhiv, 2011). Currently, she is the co-author of Sektor Ž, the only feminist radio show in Slovenia.

Zinography
Pssst… #1-4 (1997 – 2000)
Potopis kože (2001)
Slastičarna (2002)
The Curved (2004)
In Other Wor(l)ds (2008)
Togi nasmehi / Stiff Smiles (2013)