Plus tri

Sedim preko puta devojčice koja je zakoračila u devetu deceniju života.Znam da to zvuči neobično, ali dok razgovaram sa Vidom Ognjenović, ne mogu da se otmem tom utisku. Ispred mene je žena koja je napisala toliko knjiga, režirala gotovo stotinu predstava, predavala na univerzitetima širom sveta, vodila Narodno pozorište, bila ambasadorka, postala akademik i dobila gotovo sva priznanja koja jedan stvaralac može da poželi. A ja i dalje vidim radoznalu devojčicu.

Možda zato što sam je nedavno slušao kako govori o svom detinjstvu u posleratnoj Vojvodini, o tome kako je sama naučila da čita pre nego što je napunila pet godina, o školovanju, knjigama i ljudima koji su je oblikovali.

I danas, dok razgovaramo o mojoj novoj knjizi Micy i čovek sa zvezde, shvatam da se ta devojčica nije mnogo promenila. I dalje je zanima sve. I dalje postavlja pitanja. I dalje razmišlja, piše, stvara, režira i pronalazi razloge da započne nešto novo. Kao da za nju vreme ne prolazi na isti način kao za ostale.

Ne bih rekao celu istinu kada bih napisao da Vidu Ognjenović volim samo zbog njenih knjiga, predstava i neverovatnog duha. Zapravo, ja je obožavam.

I to nije divljenje koje je nastalo juče, niti je posledica našeg prijateljstva. Zagledan sam u Vidu još od osnivanja Demokratske stranke, od vremena kada je bilo potrebno mnogo više od intelektualnog integriteta da čovek javno kaže šta misli. Bila je među ljudima koji nisu pristajali na ćutanje.

Nisam je cenio samo zato što smo delili određene političke ideale, već zato što je pokazivala da obrazovanje, umetnost i javni ugled podrazumevaju i odgovornost. U vremenu kada su mnogi birali da se sklone, Vida je birala da ostane vidljiva.

Posebno pamtim 9. mart 1991. godine. Beograd je bio prekriven suzavcem. Policija je razbijala demonstracije, ljudi su bežali, a vrata Narodnog pozorišta otvorila je njegova upravnica, Vida Ognjenović. Među onima koji su tada tražili zaklon bio sam i ja.

Možda će neko reći da je to bio samo jedan gest. Ali u istoriji postoje trenuci kada se čitav karakter čoveka pokaže u jednoj odluci.

Za mene je otvaranje tih vrata bilo mnogo više od pružanja utočišta. Bio je to dokaz da pozorište ne mora da bude samo mesto na kojem se govori o slobodi. Ono može biti i mesto na kojem se sloboda brani. I zato, kad god pomislim na Vidu, ne vidim samo književnicu i rediteljku. Vidim ženu koja je imala hrabrosti da svoja uverenja pretvori u delo.

Decenije su prolazile, menjale su se vlasti, ideologije i politički slogani. Menjali su se i ljudi.

Vida nije prestajala da govori. I danas, kada se pozorište ponovo našlo u središtu društvenih i političkih sukoba, njeni javni istupi podsećaju me na onu istu ženu koja je otvorila vrata Narodnog pozorišta 1991. godine.

Možda je upravo to ono čemu se najviše divim: doslednost koja ne zavisi od toga ko je na vlasti, niti od toga koliko je godina prošlo. A istovremeno, ona nastavlja da radi.

Njena najnovija predstava Krađa, prekrađa i nekrađa, koju je napisala i režirala, premijerno je izvedena 2026. godine. Dok mnogi u tim godinama odavno govore o onome što su nekada uradili, Vida stvara nova dela. Ne živi od stare slave. Ne prepričava samo uspehe. Ne čeka da je neko podseti koliko je značajna. Ona jednostavno nastavlja. I čini mi se da je to jedna od najlepših definicija mladosti koju poznajem.

Postoji još jedan, mnogo ličniji razlog zbog kojeg mi je Vida toliko važna. Jednom je predstavljala moju knjigu David iza duge. Sada je napisala recenziju za Micy i čovek sa zvezde. A danas smo razgovarali o mojoj novoj književnoj ideji. Saslušala me je, razmišljala, postavljala pitanja, savetovala i ohrabrila da nastavim.

I tu sam ponovo prepoznao onu devojčicu. Jer radoznalost nije samo potreba da čovek nešto sazna. To je i sposobnost da se zainteresuje za tuđu misao, da u njoj prepozna mogućnost, da pomogne nečemu što još nije nastalo. Vida to radi prirodno. U razgovoru s njom ne osećam teret njenog ogromnog iskustva i znanja. Ne osećam distancu između velikog pisca i nekoga ko pokušava da ispriča svoju priču. Naprotiv, osećam podsticaj.

Vida je napisala: „Malo je stvari u životu koje su same sebi početak.” Razmišljam o toj rečenici dok završavamo razgovor.

Koliko je samo početaka bilo u njenom životu. Od devojčice koja je sama naučila da čita, preko studentkinje književnosti i režije, do profesorke, književnice, rediteljke, upravnice pozorišta, ambasadorke i akademika. A ipak, kada sedim preko puta nje, nemam utisak da razgovaram sa nekim ko je stigao do kraja jednog velikog puta.

Naprotiv. Imam utisak da Vida stalno negde kreće. Možda je upravo u tome tajna njenog duha. Ne u broju napisanih knjiga, režiranih predstava ili osvojenih nagrada, već u sposobnosti da se svet i dalje posmatra sa uzbuđenjem nekoga ko ga tek otkriva.

Zato ovaj portret ne želim da završim nabrajanjem njenih zasluga. Njih je toliko da bi za njih bila potrebna posebna knjiga. Želim da ga završim zahvalnošću. Hvala Vam, Vido, za ona otvorena vrata Narodnog pozorišta. Za hrabrost koja je trajala mnogo duže od jednog martovskog dana. Za knjige i predstave. Za sve što ste govorili kada je bilo lakše ćutati. A posebno Vam hvala što, uprkos svemu što ste postigli, još uvek imate vremena i radoznalosti da saslušate nečiju novu ideju. Jer možda najveća vrednost jednog života nije samo u onome što smo stvorili, već i u onome što smo podstakli druge da stvore.

♥

I am sitting across from a little girl who has entered the ninth decade of her life.

I know that sounds unusual, but as I talk to Vida Ognjenović, I cannot shake that impression. Before me sits a woman who has written countless books, directed nearly a hundred plays, taught at universities around the world, led the National Theatre, served as an ambassador, become a member of the Academy of Sciences and received almost every recognition an artist could wish for. And yet, I still see a curious little girl.

Perhaps it is because I recently listened to her talk about her childhood in post-war Vojvodina, how she taught herself to read before she was five, and about her education, the books and the people who shaped her.

And today, as we discuss my new book, Micy and the Man from the Star, I realise that this little girl has not changed very much. She is still interested in everything. She still asks questions. She continues to think, write, create, direct and find reasons to begin something new. It is as though time does not pass for her in quite the same way it does for everyone else.

I would not be telling the whole truth if I said that I love Vida Ognjenović only for her books, her plays and her extraordinary spirit. In fact, I adore her.

And this admiration did not begin yesterday, nor is it simply a result of our friendship. I have admired Vida since the founding of the Democratic Party, from a time when it took far more than intellectual integrity to speak one’s mind publicly. She was among those who refused to remain silent.

I valued her not merely because we shared certain political ideals, but because she demonstrated that education, art and public recognition also carry responsibility. At a time when many chose to step aside, Vida chose to remain visible.

I remember March 9, 1991, particularly vividly. Belgrade was engulfed in tear gas. The police were breaking up demonstrations, people were fleeing, and the doors of the National Theatre were opened by its director, Vida Ognjenović. I was among those who sought refuge there.

Some might say it was just a single gesture. But there are moments in history when a person’s entire character is revealed in one decision.

For me, opening those doors meant far more than offering shelter. It was proof that a theatre need not be merely a place where freedom is discussed. It can also be a place where freedom is defended. And so, whenever I think of Vida, I see more than a writer and theatre director. I see a woman who had the courage to turn her convictions into action.

Decades passed. Governments, ideologies and political slogans changed. People changed, too.

Vida never stopped speaking out. Even today, as theatre has once again found itself at the centre of social and political conflict, her public statements remind me of that same woman who opened the doors of the National Theatre in 1991.

Perhaps this is what I admire most: a consistency of principle that does not depend on who holds power or how many years have passed. And all the while, she continues to work.

Her latest play, Krađa, prekrađa i nekrađa (Theft, Re-Theft and Non-Theft), which she both wrote and directed, premiered in 2026. While many people at her age have long since begun talking mainly about what they once accomplished, Vida continues to create new works. She does not live on past glory. She does not simply recount her successes. She does not wait for someone to remind her how important she is. She simply carries on. And it seems to me that this is one of the most beautiful definitions of youth I know.

There is another, much more personal reason why Vida means so much to me. She once presented my book David Beyond the Rainbow. More recently, she wrote a review of Micy and the Man from the Star. And today, we discussed my latest literary idea. She listened, reflected, asked questions, offered advice and encouraged me to continue.

And once again, I recognised that little girl. Because curiosity is not merely the desire to learn something. It is also the ability to take an interest in someone else’s thoughts, to recognise their potential and to help something that does not yet exist come into being.

Vida does this naturally. When I speak with her, I do not feel the weight of her immense experience and knowledge. I do not sense any distance between a great writer and someone trying to tell his own story. Quite the opposite. I feel encouraged.

Vida once wrote: “There are few things in life that are their own beginning.”

I think about those words as our conversation comes to an end.

How many beginnings there have been in her life. From the little girl who taught herself to read, to the student of literature and theatre directing, to the professor, writer, director, theatre manager, ambassador and academician. And yet, as I sit across from her, I do not feel that I am speaking with someone who has reached the end of a remarkable journey.

Quite the opposite. I have the impression that Vida is always setting out on a new one. Perhaps that is the secret of her spirit. Not the number of books she has written, plays she has directed or awards she has received, but her ability to continue looking at the world with the excitement of someone discovering it for the very first time.

That is why I do not want to end this portrait by listing her achievements. There are so many that they would deserve a book of their own.

I want to end it with gratitude.

Thank you, Vida, for those open doors of the National Theatre. For the courage that lasted far longer than a single day in March. For the books and the plays. For everything you said when remaining silent would have been easier.

And above all, thank you for still having the time and curiosity, despite everything you have achieved, to listen to someone else’s new idea.

Because perhaps the greatest value of a life lies not only in what we have created ourselves, but also in what we have inspired others to create.