Missing the national carotid

Suicide is a protest against the world, in every case, even when the person suicidal person does it so their heirs can collect on the life insurance policy.

For every suicide that happens, that makes all of the seven billion people of the Earth who keep on living, for failing to build a world in which that person would have still wanted to live.

Us Romanians we should even all the more guilty, for the fact that a man who represented us a prime minister, minister of foreign affairs and president of the Senate, decided to commit suicide - he thus accused us by default of trying him using a crooked court system, which fabricated the case against him upon the order of Traian Băsescu, whom we preferred in his stead for the position of president of Romania and who used the power we thus gave him, to harass Năstase for eight years, to compromise him and in the end to take him away from his family and in the end put him in jail.

This is the message conveyed by the suicide of Adrian Năstase, regardless of what he wrote in his political will, which his son decided not to read in public.

That message would have been valid if, Heaven forbid!, Adrian Năstase had died.

But thank God!, Adrian Năstase, did not die, his condition is stable, he has undergone surgery and is beyond any danger, with cops waiting on the door of his room at the Floreasca hospital, giving him his two weeks of recovery, so they can put him away perfectly healthy.

It is interesting - people don't judge you by your intentions, but by the outcome.

So instead of being shaken, as a nation, by the guilt that we have pushed one of Romania's personalities to suicide, many of us mock him.

Now the cynics say: "Romania's number 1 one hunter missed!" (Adrian Năstase is the president of the Association of Hunters).

Or: "Come on shoot already, it's hurting me to keep stretching the skin on my neck!"

Or in a even more famous line: "Adrian Năstase didn't even get as far as Mădălina Manole!" (ed. note: Romanian female singer who committed suicide, as both cases occurred in spring-summer, which is statistically known as the "suicide season", and both did it as their birthdays were getting near).

Or even one with a disgusting note: "I am his best friend, he should have let me help him do it".

Or: "From now on, he's gonna be counting eggs in prison!" and the insulting reply which says that "No, he actually committed suicide when he found out they were going to put him in a cell without a cellmate".

Or: "The suicide was conceived by his PR advisor, the brilliant Garcea", (an allusion to the fact that the Năstase couple publicly hung out with the so-popular among the lower classes comedian, Mugur Mihăescu, referring to him as a "family friend", who, with a humor good for the illiterate, plays the part of a moronic policeman, whom you could easily imagine playing in a parody of the suicide scene).

Adrian Năstase is now a laughing stock, much more than he would have been had he allowed himself to be filmed while handcuffed.

The nations breathes a sigh of relief that it has escaped the blame of being the author (or the co-author) of the death of a former prime minister.

Had Adrian Năstase died, Heaven Forbid!, then things would have gotten a lot more complicated: it would have become impossible to explain the truth because, in his position as a prime minister, he not only did not do anything to eliminate corruption and to restructure the court system, so we can all get Justice, but on the contrary, he used it like one would a whore, dragging her deeper into vice.

It would have been impossible to explain that in fact it was a matter of a double suicide - a direct one, by his own hand, and an indirect one, through the legal system he perpetrated.

It would have been impossible.

Do you know why?

Because no explanation is more convincing then death.

Death drives away the power of arguments.

Remember how the woman in Piteşti who owned apartment tried to blackmail the mayoralty by threatening to set herself on fire to get awarded another one; she accidentally caught fire and died.

There was hardly anyone who would have dared to criticize how perverse her gesture was, and at any rate it did not matter anymore.

Even the dead person was right, even if it was wrong and it is cheating us in death, they are beyond everything.

Even though unfairly, we would have felt guilty.

So the bullet of Adrian Năstase actually missed our own carotid artery.

Thank you, Adrian Năstase!

Long live Dâmboviţa!