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Some parts of this page won't work property. Please reload or try later. Keep track of everything you watch; tell your friends. Full Cast and Crew. A murder mystery movie set in Duluth, Minnesota that follows the journey of a woman navigating her past and a Native American police detective searching for a killer. How '' Changed Michael Mando's Life. Share this Rating Title: Use the HTML below. You must be a registered user to use the IMDb rating plugin. Edit Cast Cast overview, first billed only: Victoria Schaffer Kal Randa Rowdy Boy 2 Ashley Hovell Freda Schaffer Michelle Swendsrud Sonja Jonhausen Janan Terpstra Cass Miller Karl Randa Mark Sorensen Jordan Curtis Troy Berg Ron Houk Evan Borglund Dale R.

Edit Storyline Victoria, a smart and pretty girl from a poor neighborhood in Duluth, accepts a loan from a North Dakota gangster to keep her Williston trucking firm afloat.


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So I'm obviously not a big fan of the Manson family. Nonetheless, I always liked the answer Charlie gave years ago to a journalist who asked him if he was crazy: Nowadays everyone is crazy. Ecology activists, abortion opponents, and even computer hackers, at least according to the US Department of Justice. What happened to the good old days, when there were real terrorists? They actually intended to kill people, and they did, again and again, scores of them.

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Or Nelson Mandela, who openly advocated violence and led an organization responsible for hundreds of civilian deaths and bombings. And let's not forget all the state terrorism, from the Gulags to Goli Otok. Many of you in the audience tonight were victims of that, including Mr. In more recent times we have Guantanamo, now fortunately in the process of disintegration. So although I give credit to the recent student strikers in Croatia - who would also be terrorists by some governments' definitions - they showed a lot of spirit and soul, they didn't need a lot of courage.

In former Yugoslavia, they'd all be in prison, some would be tortured, and others might even die, and that's of course one of the reasons we hijacked a plane in , to bring those kinds of crimes to the attention of the world, to force the Western, democratic press, who didn't care, to print our leaflets listing all the human rights violations, imprisonments, murders. But in contrast with the RAF, the Red Brigade, Nelson Mandela, and scores of others, I guess you could call us fake terrorists, because we did not advocate violence, and we tried to avoid instead of deliberately harm others.

And the only death in our case was accidental, not intentional, and we will grieve it greatly the rest of our lives. By now some of you are probably asking yourselves if you've come to the wrong room. Isn't this supposed to be a book promotion? Shouldn't we be talking about the epistolary novel or the memoir genre, instead of unpleasant topics like terrorism? So to them, I apologize. Here we are, in all our splendor! But can you really blame us? After all, we've taken heart in the fact that other real terrorists show their faces on a regular basis and seem not the least bit ashamed.

Didn't the unrepentant Mandela recently celebrate his 90th birthday in London, greeting by 90, guests, including the British Prime Minister?

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And just last May, Karl Heinz Dellwo, former RAF terrorist or revolutionary, take your pick, was sharing his insights in Zagreb with the entire Croatia media, not so deep, not so profound: He didn't mention how he felt about it, what he had learned, what he might teach others. All he did was repeat in his many media appearances the empty, disembodied political cliches of the time.

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Dellwo was released after serving only 20 years of two life sentences for the deaths of four people in Stockholm. The media should be silent, though, say the self-proclaimed moral arbiters, about Zvonko's homecoming after 32 long years, and our case in general, even if we had agreed to please them by disappearing, to be airbrushed from existence, like former dictatorships used to do to politicians that had fallen into disfavor.

But let's think about the basic facts for a minute. A young and idealistic Croatian man undertakes a drastic hijacking to bring the world's attention to horrible human rights abuses, imprisonments, assassinations committed against his people, spends over half his life in prison, for these ideals, thereby paying his debt in full to society, his American wife who has no connection except love to a little place called Croatia, abandons her comfortable and, let's face it, pampered life to support her husband and also spends 13 years in prison, after which she waits loyally for him for 32 horrific years.

I may be a little bit prejudiced, but that sounds like a story people might want to hear and read about, and perhaps, if these two people have looked deeply into their souls, can learn important lessons from. How does it feel to see the stars and moon for the first time after 20 years, as Zvonko did? How does one emotionally survive the very real possibility that a loved one will die in prison, as I did? How can one carry without complaint the guilt of others as well as one's own, as Zvonko did after ?

Love, guilt, passion, sacrifice, pride, joy, empathy…. Even if it weren't our story, I would be interested in it. I would want to hear from such people, read about their experiences. Isn't that a normal reaction? Because what they have to say, if they can truly say it well, serves two functions, as literature of knowledge and literature of power, to teach and, more importantly, to move, as Thomas de Quincey postulated in his famous essay. Knowledge provides us with information, we know something concrete that we did not know before, and in our case, knowledge about our specific case, and not distortion and lies, is critical.

But the literature of power seeks to move us, to exercise and expand our own latent capacity of sympathy with the infinite, where every pulse and each separate influx is a step upwards, and I am gratified to hear from so many people that they have been moved and even inspired by our words. Just imagine, for a moment, all the power that we would be deprived of if people who had committed illegal acts were banned, shunned, isolated, or prevented from speaking and writing of their experiences. The world would be a grim place without the words of Wilde in de Profundis: Many men on their release carry their prison about with them into the air, and hide it as a secret disgrace in their hearts, and at length, like poor poisoned things, creep into some hole and die.

It is wretched that they should have to do so, and it is wrong, terribly wrong, of society that it should force them to do so. Society takes upon itself the right to inflict appalling punishment on the individual, but it also has the supreme vice of hallowness, and fails to realise what it has done.

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When the man's punishment is over, it leaves him to himself; that is to say, it abandons him at the very moment when its highest duty towards him begins. It is really ashamed of its own actions, and shuns those whom it has punished, as people shun a creditor whose debt they cannot pay, or one on whom they have inflicted an irreparable, an irremediable wrong. I can claim on my side that if I realise what I have suffered, society should realise what it has inflicted on me; and that there should be no bitterness or hate on either side.

Or this, also by Wilde: The very sun and moon seem taken from us.

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Outside, the day may be blue and gold, but the light that creeps down through the thickly-muffled glass of the small iron-barred window beneath which one sits is grey and niggard. It is always twilight in one's cell, as it is always twilight in one's heart".


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Yet instead of words of enlightenment, introspection, images to lift the human soul, the self-proclaimed moral arbiters repeatedly sneer at love, ignore saints, and build monuments to the decadent. Don't they comprehend that it is in vain to reiterate what reaches only the glands but not the heart?