It was bound to happen sooner or later, I guess. My co-nationals were bound to take notice of me, eventually. Not that I was in a hurry for that really. One’s own lynching is not something one can look forward to. For reactions to what I have to say are bound to be ugly. Very ugly.
And how can they not be when the usual definition of a true patriot is one that wears a blindfold on his eyes in times of national crises, one that would all too readily offer his life and soul for the “leader of the nation,” no matter how corrupt and incompetent he happens to be?
Pointing out the incompetence of our leaders, on the other hand, is something that can only be done in the privacy of our homes in those little edgy jokes that we tell each other with our voices lowered below whispering levels, just in case those surrounding walls did indeed prove to have ears.
I am glad I am not a true patriot. I enjoy too much speaking at a normal tone, and I wouldn’t mind freeing an occasional shout.
But there was no shouting at the interview today. I spoke as I usually do, in my normal steady voice, and I gestured with my hands when I had to, and I waxed indignant, and I waned hopeful, at the appropriate moments, all while I span my decaying yarn describing the ongoing suicide of my country.