MAN CHANGES THE ENVIRONMENT (NOT ALWAYS FOR THE BETTER) On protests and futility

Romanians are often accused of passiveness. I am fully guilty of this myself, especially since there were times when I liked to think of myself as a man who likes to act. Of course, a man of a lesser influence, but after all, it"s the thought that counts. I wanted to find an explanation for the inaction that has seized me latently, so I took a trip down memory lane through several years and a series of events.

I like to vote, just like most people who were granted this right after 1989. I"ve placed my stamp on the vote card one election after the other, getting more disenchanted each time, and mildly annoyed at betting on the wrong horse each time. Even so, I kept going to vote, until a certain moment. Namely, when I had to deal with the elbowing and persistence of a team of "professional" voters, who were on a "voting trip". I didn"t want to be lumped in with them, so I avoided getting dirty and I decided that in the future, I would just passively watch the electoral process from my living room.

These past few years, there were moments where I felt that my country was being insulted, both from the inside and from the outside. I get the nationalist thrill quite often, so I felt required to make a stand. I realized it was an uphill struggle when I had to argue with people and try to get them to understand that my nationalism was healthy and honest. The jokes of my acquaintances, who alluded that I needed medication, much like the leader of a certain political party, succeeded in dampening my nationalism. I put it next to me, on the couch.

Some of the government"s measures were not what I expected. I thought that the only way that I, a very lowly citizen, could talk to the elected politicians would be by going out on the street, in an organized protest. Vocal union leaders kept urging people to attend street protests. They seemed genuinely concerned with the fate of the many. Except that once I arrived in the square, the protest turned into a grotesque carnival, with singers who spoke when they should have been singing and with speakers singing out of tune, with people spasmodically doing the already notorious "penguin dance", with crosses and empty coffins shamelessly paraded around. My decency told it was better to go home, lest I get covered in shame.

I am a supporter of walking, but obviously the times require that I travel by car. So the unnatural rise in the price of fuel did not leave me indifferent. The oil companies had to be made to listen. Barely had I finished the thought, that a new crop of jokers showed up, those who decided to pay for gas using the smallest coins they could find among those issued by the Mint. Something like that makes you want to stay in and drink one liter of premium gas in the comfort of your home. Such is life, any inclination to protest met its untimely demise under a mountain of loose change.

Things being what they are, I have only one hope left, that it is all part of a generalized manipulation, which is trying to kill any civic responsibility, dragging every noble gesture through the mud of ridiculousness. Because if this is not the case, the conclusions would be far too sad to be put into words.