I kept telling myself that I shouldn’t read Romanian news anymore, but it’s too late, I’m addicted. The more I want to read about our authentic values, about things that would caress souls that have travelled afar, the stronger the words about my fellow citizens appear: “De cacat, Romanians!”
Ignoring the bad smelling connotation, what else is there hidden behind these words?
Thefts in Switzerland, rapings in Spain, crimes in Italy. And they all are of a Romanian brand, because, you know … it’s in fashion.
The Swiss are really upset. They want no Romanian foot to step on their alpine meadows. Italians are ready to fight and set on fire all owners of a Romanian identity card. The Spanish carry repulsion within their pockets everyday, just in case they might meet a Romanian.
I move my eyes to a spot somewhere on the blue sky that enters my living room through the window and try to figure out what exactly I feel. I didn’t put my head down in shame, so it means I’m not ashamed. And if I am not feeling ashamed, then I really don’t have any reason to be.
I left behind a Romania where people steal and bribe and politeness has no definition, where the only values are the material ones, where coarsness is a good quality and cheating equals intelligence. A Romania where everybody is smart and all the people around are stupid (especially the ones who manage to prove the contrary). Yes, Romania is a beautiful country. It’s a pity is populated. Populated by mediocrity and airs, by arrogance and bad taste, by pathetic poor human beings with limited knowledge and no desire for getting beyond their own condition. Yes, all these might be true but NO, Romanians are not shitty! I know this because of all the exceptions that contradict it.
My Romania is hard to live in but honest and my Romanians mean quality people, people who I’ve met or I wanted to meet, modest but valuable. Romanians can be mean and envious and stupid but those are not my Romanians. And if they’ve ever been, I politely apologized and turned my back while I searched for something I thought would fit me and my expectations better.
Yes, a few Romanians went to some 5 star countries to do bad deeds. What do I care? There is Justice to take care of them. Some call them crows, some say they are gypsies, some believe they are just ’Romanians.’ We can easily call them Hungarians or British or Chinese or Somalian.
I don’t care!
They are not my Romanians.
Nothing from what they do, defines me as a Romanian because my Romania is not theirs.
We are just put on the same boat by the media. The same media I used to serve a while ago and from which I divorced due to my principles that would never align to what I like to call ‘propaganda behaviour.’
The media is the one that applies labels and nourishes people’s desire for sensationalism in a sort of masochistic attitude. And, let’s admit it, Romanians are thrilled when it comes about yelling and criticizing. If there were only positive news, Romania would become a depressed, inert country. This never happens, we are champions at overcovering an event, providing daily pleasure to the aroused readers.
And reactions are always erectile!
I’m not the best to judge things, but in my opinion, Romanian criminals and their acts in and outside the country are not a journalistic subject. They are actually no subject at all. They are the undesired consequence of a frustrated, poorly educated or mentally challenged people. They are, unfortunately, the reality of an imperfect world, but they don’t define Romania.
For every bad Romanian I can give you one thousand good ones, from which maybe 10 are exceptional.
Why will be all defined based on the actions of some? Why wouldn’t I want to speak Romanian anymore? Because, instead of cleaning our dirt and painting the fence white, we’d rather scratch more at the dirt and put a lot of effort into this. So much effort that, in the end, being worn out, all that’s there left is to invoke the bad smelling dejection.
I declare: I’m Romanian and I’m odourless!
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