“We learn the most from what
we have experienced ourselves; and it’s not
important whether it brought us pain or joy. Before the
mystery of life, the one who looks the most serious and
responsible is the one who accepts life as joyful
sorrow,” says Archbishop Jovan, imprisoned for a
number of years in Idrizovo.
“Why did you betray us,
priest?” was what the policeman asked Archbishop
Jovan (Vranishkovsky) in Skopje’s Izidrovo prison,
letting him know how little he respects his ecclesiastical
rank and what he thinks of his mission, which Archbishop
Jovan considers his life’s work. This mission is to
return the faithful of Macedonia to unity with all the
other Orthodox Churches.
Archbishop Jovan was once
consecrated (the youngest bishop at the time) in the
uncanonical Macedonian Orthodox Church (MOC), and later
became Metropolitan of Veleshko-Povardar. From that
moment, in 2002, he was the only Macedonian hierarch who
responded to the call by Serbian Patriarch Pavle to return
to canonical unity with the Serbian Orthodox Church, and
legal processes began against him. He was sentenced for
“self-rule,” “inciting religious and
national strife,” and embezzlement. Nevertheless,
the policeman did not ask him about the first, second, or
third counts. He just asked him straight out:
“Priest, why did you betray
Macedonianism?”
If you read this episode in the book
by Archbishop Jovan, Freedom
in Prison, you get the impression that the Macedonian
policeman was not particularly interested in hearing an
answer. But Archbishop Jovan answered that he did not
betray “Macedonianism” by taking a step that
he is convinced will return the Orthodox Church of
Macedonia to the boundaries and unity with all the rest of
the Orthodox Churches. Because of his mission, he has
become one of the rare bishops—if not the only
bishop—in twenty-first century Europe who has been
to prison for his religious convictions. It is no secret
that he was offered pardon of all his accusations if he
would only leave Macedonia. This is sufficient proof that
they were groundless, and shows how determined Archbishop
Jovan was to remain in his own country, with his own
convictions. In early February (of 2014), Archbishop Jovan
was released on probation after over two years in
prison.
“Even in my student years I
experienced pain and great concern over the fact that the
Church in my fatherland is in schism from other Local
Churches. When I was chosen bishop of the MOC, which was
in schism, in my homily on the day of my consecration I
promised to do everything I could to heal the schism in
the Church of the Republic of Macedonia. Therefore, my
intention to stand up for unity with the Church was not
unknown or unplanned,” said Archbishop Jovan in his
interview with Politica
news.
* * *
—Your Eminence, was it hard to
accept the accusations made against you by the Macedonian
court?
—If I were to say that it was
hard for me I would be acting insincerely. After all, it
seems that I quickly recognized the need to make some kind
of sacrifice in order to restore unity on an
ecclesiastical basis alone. From the very beginning, unity
in the Church has been restored only through
sacrifice—first of all through the sacrifice of
Christ Himself as the Protomartyr, and then also through
the sacrifices of many martyrs and confessors of Church
consciousness.
—What are your meetings with
Macedonians now like now? Do they still ask you,
“Why did you betray us?”
—Only people who are far from the
Church, and those who have the tendency to ask such
questions out of political motives, in the form of a
statement and declaration, and not at all out of a desire
to begin a dialogue and receive an answer. In my opinion
(which may be partial because it is after all my personal
opinion), after I had served my sentence, people in
Macedonia practically stopped asking me that question. It
is as if my time spent in prison answered it for them.
What they have seen is enough for people: I acquired
nothing for that supposed “betrayal.” They saw
that not only have I no personal interest, but to the
contrary, I have sustained a definite loss. Therefore,
they themselves come to the answer to that question; they
understand that this is all a matter not of betrayal or
lack of patriotism, but of the desire to resolve a
long-standing problem.
—Describe a day in prison for
you.
—When we are talking about prison norms, many are
usually expecting to hear that there is at least some
elementary regime or discipline established there. Most
people think that prison life goes on like in the western
films. But in Izidrovo prison in Skopje, things not only
are not that way—I would even say that everything
there is the other way around.
The daily schedule begins with wake-up
time, but no one gets up at the prescribed time. Prisoners
can sleep unbothered through entire days, because they
have nothing else to do. All prison industry organized at
one time by socialist Yugoslavia has been closed for a
number of years. Out of 1700 prisoners (that’s how
many there were at that time), only thirty
worked—those who prepared and distributed food.
There was no work for other prisoners. That is why the
prison administration preferred that they sleep as long as
possible, because when they wake up they cause
problems.
I tried to organize myself in that
chaos, but I can’t say how successful I was in this
effort. In any case I did try to rise early, because the
early morning is considerably more tranquil and peaceful,
and I could read or write a little. All the books that I
brought to read had to be approved by the prison
administration. Books in foreign languages took longer to
get approval. But I waited the longest for them to return
a formatted copy of the second, expanded publication of my
book, Freedom in Prison. While I was in preliminary
imprisonment—it was very long, more than a year and
six months—we had a walk once a day for forty
minutes; in prison the walks are much longer, but no more
than two hours. As for newspapers, the prison authorities
had stopped purchasing them several years earlier due to
lack of funds, and we read only those newspapers that
visitors brought to the prisoners.
—With whom did you share your
prison cell?
—I was in a cell with thirty-nine
other prisoners. The room was rather large, but despite
its size the presence of so many people within four walls
is torturous for anyone. If you can imagine that each man
would talk at least five minutes a day, then altogether
this would make 200 minutes, that is, three and a half
hours during the course of a day. That is to say nothing
of the noise arising from other sources. In a room of
forty prisoners there were over ten televisions. Often
each television was tuned to its own channel. Well, you
can imagine how they watched those
televisions.
—How did the other prisoners
treat you?
—You know, I am already an
experienced prisoner, and didn’t arrive yesterday.
If you add up all the time I spent in prison beginning
from 2005 to 2015, it would be no less than five years. So
my experience gave me a certain advantage… I am
joking of course, but to be honest I never had any
problems with the other prisoners. They behaved themselves
very decently with me. Naturally there were problems here
and there with the prison guards, who ordered provocations
against me. But this cannot be called unbearable. The
prisons in Macedonia have been since recently under
observation by many European human rights organizations,
and therefore neither the administration, nor the guards
can treat the prisoners completely despotically, as they
did before. On the other hand, there were many prisoners
who wanted to talk to me. There was no possibility to
organize divine services; the prisoners do not confess or
receive Communion, but there were opportunities for talks,
and this brought me joy.
—Were you able in the prison
to fulfill the confession of your
faith?
—No, only partially. Even though
the Constitution of the Macedonian Republic guarantees
religious rights to every person, including prisoners, in
the prison there is no way to really put this into
practice. There are no rooms specially prepared for this,
never mind that there still are no churches, no place for
people of other religions to do their services. Now that
it’s all behind me I can reveal that I was secretly
brought the Holy Gifts, so that I could receive Communion
in prison. The only thing I could do was pray, but I
mentioned earlier what the conditions were like for this.
Unfortunately that is how it was, and I don’t think
I need to be silent about this.
—As your brothers from the
Orthodox Archbishopric of Ohrid have indicated, Izidrovo
prison is overcrowded; there are considerably more
prisoners than its size would allow. Was there a place for
solitude in that
“anthill?”
—There is practically no place
for solitude there. At that time there were 1700 people in
a prison that was built for 700. In the cell where I lived
there were three-story bunks. It is hard enough to climb
into and get out of the second level, never mind the
third. Nevertheless, sleeping on the third level was a
privilege, because some of the prisoners did not even have
a bunk. Many slept on the floor. In such conditions it is
impossible to achieve the true aim of the punishment;
after all, punishment does not consist simply in living in
poverty. Under those conditions there can’t be any
notion of correction. I repeat and am entirely sure that
prison in the Republic of Macedonia beats everything for
senselessness. A prison organized like this brings harm to
the government, society, and many families; and of course
to the prisoners themselves. Prison in principle should
demonstrate the strength of the state, but in the case of
Macedonia it demonstrates only weakness and
infirmity.
—Would you gladly forget
Izidrovo and everything that happened to you there, or is
there after all something that might be beneficial, if
only as a memory?
—Christians should not try to forget things. They should only try to forgive. Pushing aside those negative events that are now history is what people want to do who do not understand life as a struggle. History is the best teacher. We learn the most from what we have experienced ourselves, and it’s not important whether it has brought us joy or sorrow. I consider that before the mystery of life, the one who looks the most serious and responsible is the one who accepts life as joyful sorrow. And so I think the memory of these prison woes is beneficial—of course, not for the sake of woe alone, but for the sake of the joy that goes along with it. Those who have experienced prison know what joy I am talking about.
