SPIEGEL sets the scene:
He's a thirty-five year old student leader wearing Trotsky glasses. He told the reporters he's twenty-nine which is OK because they think he's ageless. He claims to know and like computers -- and some people as well. His friends call him "The Brute" despite his slight stature. He is confident his enemies will some day become refugees -- if they survive to flee the country. The same applies to those "friends" who call him Brute.
Desperate, I swim to Florida and ask for Asylum. The border agents are Mexican illegals doing a job Americans will no longer do. They don't believe I'm a Cuban entering illegally and refuse me permission to stay (I speak halting Spanish with a heavy Ohio accent). I tell them I will not show them my identity papers because they are all wet. I'm thrown into jail, but only for the customary two hours. Then I am given a court date and a bus ticket to Akron (they said they'd send me wherever I wanted to go but I didn't believe them and said Akron).
The moral: don't try to reason people out of a revolution they were not reasoned into. And if anyone asks you where you want to go, don't say Akron.
The violent unrest that followed the shooting of a 15-year-old boy has driven Greece to the brink of a political crisis. The rioting marks an explosion of rage by the country's young people who have few prospects of carving out a place in a society where all initiative is stifled.I see the Speaker and his throng and I think, "Greek Throngs still smoke cigarettes? And smell of sweat? No wonder the world thinks they're revolting." I watch. I listen.
The mood in the jam-packed auditorium was reminiscent of the student protest movements of 1968. Hundreds of young people thronged their way into the dark room, sat on the steps or stood on tables. They shouted "murderers" and "pigs" -- and thunderously applauded calls for revenge. Cigarette smoke and the smell of sweat hung heavily in the air.
He's a thirty-five year old student leader wearing Trotsky glasses. He told the reporters he's twenty-nine which is OK because they think he's ageless. He claims to know and like computers -- and some people as well. His friends call him "The Brute" despite his slight stature. He is confident his enemies will some day become refugees -- if they survive to flee the country. The same applies to those "friends" who call him Brute.
BRUTE: We have to hold out until the government steps down!I want to encourage the young mob and almost shout "Kill the pigs!" and "Keep the Cycle of Violence going!" But the better angles of my nature intercede. I decide to move the throng towards peace.
THRONG: (Cheers. Applause.)
BRUTE: We have to transform the protests into a political movement.
THRONG:(Cheers. Applause. Howls. The Throng is in Thrall -- that's a suburb of Athens.)
BRUTE: We have to formulate political objectives!
THRONG:(Cheers. Applause. Howls. Foot Stomping in Thunderous Ovation--that's the rented hall in Thrall.)
ME: Oh, Throng! I say, Throng! Calm down Throng and please listen to reason. What you need to do is think this thing through.I run to the Bastille for safety. Throng storms it! I run to the winter Palace. Throng burns it! I fly to Guantanamo Bay. Throng closes it!
THRONG: (Irritably) Who is this guy? (Malevolently) Capitalist tool. (Creatively) Let's play "get the Fascist." (Delightedly) Cut out his entrails!
Desperate, I swim to Florida and ask for Asylum. The border agents are Mexican illegals doing a job Americans will no longer do. They don't believe I'm a Cuban entering illegally and refuse me permission to stay (I speak halting Spanish with a heavy Ohio accent). I tell them I will not show them my identity papers because they are all wet. I'm thrown into jail, but only for the customary two hours. Then I am given a court date and a bus ticket to Akron (they said they'd send me wherever I wanted to go but I didn't believe them and said Akron).
The moral: don't try to reason people out of a revolution they were not reasoned into. And if anyone asks you where you want to go, don't say Akron.
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