Suntem generația ‘fiică’ a celor care au ‘produs’ Romania comunistă. Cu bunele și cu relele ei. Care n-au prea avut de ales. Care au avut libertatea limitată dur de condițiile geo-istorice. Suntem generația care a produs Romania post-comunistă. Cu bunele și cu relele ei. Care am avut libertatea limitată doar de fricile și de neputințele noastre. Suntem generația mamă a celor care au venit deja după noi. Care au, deja, sufletele înhamate în jugurile cu care i-am împovărat noi!
Amândouă variantele sunt la fel de valabile? Și-atunci? Cum am ajuns dintr-o parte într-alta?
One of my high-school mates had emigrated to Canada. From Romania. He’s been living there for 25 years now. We keep in touch. A few years ago, he told me:
“We come from their future. I currently experience things which had already happened in Romania.”
His prophecy had been fulfilled, and then some, yesterday. The sixth of January, 2021.
1991, Romanian miners occupying the Romanian Parliament.
The differences between the two instances exist and they are not insignificant.
Both Trump and Iliescu – the Romanian president at that time, had been democratically elected. Both on populist platforms, even if the concept wasn’t as widely used in 1991 as it is now.
Only 1991 wasn’t the first time the miners had come to Bucharest. In 1990 Ion Iliescu – the ‘cripto’ communist leader who had risen to power as a consequence of the 1989 uprising, had ‘thanked’ the miners for quelling a ‘festering’ anti neo-communist protest organized mainly by students. In fact, this had been yet another precedent. ‘Occupy’ Piata Universitatii 1990 versus Occupy ‘Everything’ 2011. In 1991, the miners had, again, ‘occupied’ Bucharest. Again, ‘supposedly’, under their own volition. The then prime minister, Petre Roman, had adopted some very stringent free market reforms. Which had fallen foul of both Iliescu and certain swaths of the population. Hence the miners had not been driven back to Valea Jiului until Petre Roman had been revoked from office.
And 1991 wasn’t the last time the miners had attempted to make themselves noticed… As the old saying goes, it’s harder to quiet down a hornet’s nest than to stir it up!
“How absurd to imagine that something we can make could actually deliver us from problems we could not free ourselves from!” Dr. Allen Ross, Dead Idols or the Living God
According to Abraham Maslow, people’s lives are ‘staged’. During the first four, each individual ‘must’ – ‘inside’ whatever circumstances Mother Luck had granted them, provide for their ‘needs’. Only after they had reached the fifth stage, individuals have the opportunity – but no ‘obligation’ other than that each of them impose upon themselves, to ‘reinvent’ their own personae. Maslow had used ‘self-actualization’ to describe the process.
In religious terms, the whole thing is known as ‘coming to peace with oneself’.
No more ‘absurdity’ here! There’s so much each of us can do in order to move ‘forward’…
‘And where is this famous ‘forward’?!? How are we, individually and/or collectively, to determine which is the ‘good’ direction?!?’
Is our ‘imagination’ good enough to come up with a solution for the “problems we could not free ourselves from”?
Is ‘induction’ a comprehensive enough solution? Or ‘too much of a good thing’ will never fail to become ‘bad for you’?
Confused?
Let me put it another way.
‘One size fits all’. How many times have you been really satisfied by such a ‘solution’? Do you really think an ‘idol’ fashioned by a carpenter – by the most talented carpenter, even, will ever satisfy the needs of at least one blacksmith?
‘But how about the idols fashioned by Plato’s king-priests?’
To answer this question – this excellent question, if I may say so myself, we must turn back to Dr. Allen Ross’ Dead Idols. To the difference between the Dead Idols and the Living God, to be more precise.
‘Criterion for what?’
If you pay close enough attention to what’s written above, you’ll notice that not passing the falsifiability test doesn’t mean than an assertion is false! Far from it, actually! Not passing the falsifiability test – ‘if a claim is compatible with all and any states of affairs’, only means that that claim is both ‘true’ and unscientific! Simultaneously true and not scientific!
‘And what has any of these to do with God?!? With the Living God or with any of the Dead Idols humankind has built for itself? And later discarded?’
I’m afraid you’ll have to come back for the answers. Or, to put it differently, I’ll gladly welcome you back!
This was one of the favorite slogans shouted by the anti-communist protesters in Romania’s ‘Piata Universitatii‘. And the anthem used by those who opposed the regime which had ‘confiscated’ the political power after 1990.
The only problem with this notion being that it doesn’t make much sense. Not on the ‘face of it’. Not in any rational way…
You see, most individuals would choose life against any other ‘alternatives’. When ‘the going gets tough’ most of us would accept almost any compromise in order to stay alive.
I’m not offering any examples. Use your own ‘imagination’.
Let me explain what ‘being a communist’ meant in Romania during Ceausescu’s rule.
First of all, in 1989 the ‘party’ was 4 million strong. 18% of the population were ‘proud’ carriers of the red membership card! Were all of them ‘die hard’ communists? Not at all! Most of them had accepted to become members simply because they had no other alternative. Without the party’s ‘approval stamp’ one could not ‘accrue’ any significance. Nada! Nothing! Could not get any promotion. Get an education higher than the equivalent of a college degree. Go visit a foreign country – not even a communist one! Nor could you move out from your parents home! Not easily, anyway. To be granted your own apartment, you had to submit an application to the relevant authority. Which application had to ‘checked’ by the relevant party official if you were to have any chance of success. Which ‘relevant party official’ was way more likely to approve your application if you were already a ‘member’. And so on.
Then why would anyone refuse to become a member?!?
Thirty years later, I finally figured out the real meaning of the whole concept. For you to get the whole picture, I must introduce you to a few more verses.
“Bum better than traitor Hooligan better than dictator ‘Good for nothing’ better than activist And dead better than a communist!”
By now, I’m sure most of you already had your Eureka moment.
‘Better to be dead than an ‘active’ communist’!
You don’t know what ‘activist’ exactly meant in communist Romania?
For starters, a ‘regular’ communist was just a ‘member’. You did have some ‘potential perks’ but you had to ask for them. And you were never sure your wishes were going to come true. The activists, on the other hand, were paid for their efforts. Their ‘well compensated’ job was to put in practice whatever the party had decided. What the brass had decided, actually… To convince the regular members – and, through them, the rest of the population, that whatever the brass had decided was ‘in the people’s best interest’! And to inform the higher-ups about the real situation ‘in the field’.
In a nutshell, it was the party activist’s job to keep the party together!
‘OK, to keep the party together… that makes sense… but … whose interests were promoted by the almighty party? And why had the whole thing collapsed like a house of cards?’
Let me answer your second question first. The whole thing had collapsed like a house of cards because there was no other alternative.
Because there was no alternative to ‘the’ party!
Because those at the top had drifted away from reality. Because those at the top had been driven away from reality by those below them. Who had been acting in a rational manner! Who in their right mind would contradict a powerful figure?!? Specially when there’s no alternative? When you, the ‘middle man’ see no way out? What alternative do you have but to become an yes-man? Who utters only what the higher-ups want to hear and keeps mum about everything else?
See what I mean? Do you finally understand Frank Herbert’s message? Do you still wonder why all authoritarian regimes eventually succumbs, being eaten from inside out by corruption?
‘Now you’ve lost me! Are you implying that by actively promoting ideas, and acting as a back-bone for a political party, one becomes an ‘accomplice’? An enabler?!?’
Well, let me answer your first question now! ‘Whose interests were promoted by the almighty party?’
On the face of it, the main ‘beneficiary’ was ‘the people’. Practically… the people had become ‘hungry’. ‘Hungry’ enough to applaud when the dictator had been assassinated on Christmas Night in 1989 …
You see, every established system tends to put its own survival before anything else. Every individual member of the system wants to conserve its position. Which is a reasonable thing. The problem with ‘single’ parties being what I’ve mentioned above. The party slowly drifts away from reality for the simple reason that there’s no competition to keep them ‘moored’. ‘No real alternative in sight’ allows any ‘single system’ to construe their own ‘alternative’ reality. Made of “alternative facts”.
So! You may promote whatever ideas you want. How ever actively you want to do it. Be the back-bone of any political party – or any other organization, you see fit.
But don’t be surprised that if you promote the ‘flat Earth alternative‘ you’ll eventually fall over.
Two days ago, I did a very stupid thing. I cleaned it, then I forgot to turn it back on.
A small freezer.
This morning, after throwing everything away and while washing the plastic containers, I realized – again, how much we depend on each-other.
The freezer itself was made by somebody else. The electric current it uses comes into my home as a consequence of many people cooperating for this purpose. The food I cooked and stashed away had been grown by an unknown number of toiling individuals and distributed, then sold, by yet another legion. The garbage I made on this occasion will be disposed of by yet another team of hard working people.
So, from time to time, you need to reheat some curry.
I’m not going to discuss here which of them can be reheated, after how much time and so on. Use your own discretion! It’s your tummy we’re talking about here, isn’t it?
All I’m going to do is share with you what I’ve discovered some time ago.
Work in batches, one serving at a time. Place the curry in a small bowl. Top the bowl with enough already boiled rice to make a serving. Add soy sauce – or any other, to taste. Top with a couple of spoons of stock. Or water. Place a small plate on top. Set your microwave oven to half power and 3 to 4 minutes. Place the dish inside the oven and hit start. Wait for 30 seconds more after the beep and enjoy.
If not hot enough, put it back for another minute.
Sprinkle some chopped cilantro if you like it.
Some people never reheat boiled rice. Researching for this post, I found out about Bacillus Cereus. Strangely enough, I’ve been eating reheated rice for … ever. I don’t remember how my mother used to reheat it. Anyway, I’ve been doing it in a microwave oven for more than 25 years now. I suppose the reason for never having any trouble from bacillus cereus – till now, at least, is the particular manner in which mother taught me to cook rice.
Rinse it in a strain. Drain it. Add it to boiling water. Or, preferably, stock. Leave it to boil on high heat for five minutes. Cover it, lower the heat to minimum and let it cook to taste. Fluff it with a fork after adding melted butter or any other fat you fancy. Keep it covered and refrigerate immediately after you’ve finished serving it.
Don’t rinse it at all. Fry the rice, stirring continuously for a couple of minutes in whatever fat you are going to use. After you had already ‘fried’ the spices, of course. Add boiling water. Or, preferably, stock. (You must be careful at this moment, a lot of steam will be produced and you need to keep stirring. Keep boiling it for a couple of minutes at high heat. Reduce the heat, put a lid on it – the heavier, the better, and proceed as above.
My guess being that bacillus cereus doesn’t survive this ‘treatment’…
Anyway, by reheating the rice on top of the curry – I’ll try the method using freshly boiled rice also, the curry remains moist while the rice is infused with flavor.
A good place to start understanding what Covid had done to us is the cemetery.
A man had died. A good man had died. Of old age. Covid had nothing to do with it.
But his beloved wife, and one of his daughters, could not attend his funeral service. They had tested positive while he was in hospital.
On the other hand… On my way home, I stopped by to see an old friend. He lives alone and has a rather frail health. No relatives and, due to his relativelly old age, only a couple of able-bodied friends. It’s a good thing that we have phones. If I’ll ever be quarantined simultaneously with his other friend, he’ll depend exclusivelly on delivery services….
Românii, precum mai toate celelalte popoare, se cred excepționali. Până nu demult, eu credeam că suntem – toți, oameni. Unii mai pricepuți la unele, alții la altele, unii mai civilizați, alții cu o cultură mai veche… adică diferiți. Doar diferiți! Și nici unii dintre noi excepționali.
De când cu pandemia asta a lu’ pește prăjit, am rămas cu un deficit de mers pe jos. Singurul sport pe care îl practic… De ceva vreme încoace, de când mi-am dat seama, încerc să remediez situația.
Așa se face că acu’ vreo oră eram la o trecere de pietoni. Așteptam. Lângă mine apare o … cetățeancă. Masca sub nas, privire ageră… Se uită-n stânga și-n drepta… apoi țuști pe carosabil. Cel care venea din stânga… ce să mai facă… frânează… ridică din umeri la mine și pleacă mai departe.
Conduc de vreo 30 de ani. Mă apropii de prima jumătate de milion de kilometri. Nu-i foarte mult… dar nici puțin… Mai interesant este faptul că am condus pe 4 continente. Dincolo de Istanbul, în insulele Canare – dar asta poate că nu se pune, e aproape ca-n Europa, în America… ‘Acasă’, adică ‘pe continentul nostru’, am ajuns până la Hamburg și până în Creta.
‘OK, și ce legătură e între ‘cetățeanca’ de pe trecerea de pietoni și accesul tău de lăudăroșenie?!?’
V-am spus că era și un semafor pe acolo? Cât se poate de roșu? Roșu pentru pietoni…
Peste tot e plin de nebuni. Inclusiv de oameni care se năpustesc printre mașini… Și totuși! În nici unul dintre multele locuri pe unde am condus n-am văzut atâția bătrâni traversând strada ca și cum ar fi fost ‘blindați’. Ca și cum ar fi datoria șoferilor să aibă grijă de ei… Nu se uită – sau chiar dacă se uită, nu le pasă… nu țin cont de culoarea semaforului…
După ce a trecut nenea care nici măcar n-a claxonat-o pe babă, am trecut și eu. Tot pe roșu… dar măcar n-a trebuit nimeni să frâneze pentru mine….
‘Băăă! Te caută moarte-acasă și tu umbli de nebun pe străzi!’
Do you really think they’ll make it? Does it really matter? What I think about it? You know what the alternatives are… Even they know it. Some of them, anyway… Those who agree with Darwin. Either… or… I know, I know… After all, this is the umpteenth time we’ve had this conversation… If they make it, we’re here to welcome them. If they don’t, we’ve lost our time watching them… They’ve wasted our time, actually. They’re the ones calling the shots… we’re here only to observe… Yeah, except for they don’t see the whole picture! They don’t know about us, for starters. And they don’t know what we’re here for…
Nobody asked me, yet, ‘why do you still keep this clock on the wall? It’s arms never move, the pendulum is frozen…’
Those who really know me have learned that I hate ‘ticking’. And that I’m rather accurate at telling time without any instruments. My son’s friends – the only ‘other’ people who come into our house, haven’t noticed. Or cared enough to ask…
Yet the story is interesting enough.
The ‘object’ was manufactured in the USSR. More than 50 years ago. I’ve no idea whether my parents bought it or it was gifted to them. Point is that I remember it ticking, and striking every half hour, during my entire childhood. Until I took my fate into my own hands! Into my left hand, actually. I sneaked it into the clock and bent the three rods inside away from the hammers. The clock continued to strike but the sound was muted. Still audible but way less annoying.
My parents said nothing. Maybe they didn’t like it either… The ticking remained, though. But the difference from the previous situation was so huge that it didn’t bother me anymore.
After a few years I moved out so I ‘forgot’ about it.
A decade or so later, my father and I decided to build a house. My mother had died, I was the only child… It was obvious for both of us that, sooner or later, we’ll have to ‘camp’ back together. He was already on the wrong side of 60…
When he moved in, the clock followed suit. I hanged it on the wall. Attempted to make it work. Something had happened to it while in transit. Left it be, for a while. At some point, my father asked me to take it to a repair shop. Brought it back. The guy had not only fixed the mechanism, he had also bent back the ‘chiming’ rods. Couldn’t sleep that night! Told my father the racket must stop. He agreed. He hadn’t slept either. After bending, again, those damn rods, we sat down to watch TV. The couch is right below the clock. After five minutes, we looked at each other. I stood up and stopped the pendulum.
‘But why don’t you just throw it away?’
It’s not that simple. It reminds me of my childhood. I don’t hate the object, only the sounds it makes. I’d have to hang something else in it’s place. There’s a hole in the wall and a ‘shadow’ on the ‘white wash’. And, above all, its stillness is an excellent reminder.
That even a broken watch is able to tell the exact time!
If it still has its arms. If you happen to look at it at the right moment! And only two times each day…
A few short weeks ago, Trump and his supportes were celebrating the Supreme Court as the last bastion of normalcy. As they saw it… Presently, the still President of the United States acuse many of the judges, including all members of the Supreme Court, of not having ‘enough courage’.
Consequences?
Who could have imagined something like this a few short years ago? The most powerfull democracy on Earth being the scene of such a tantrum?
nicichiarasa 