(This is a rush translation. The version may not be in its final form.)
Why was I such a coward, he would say to the short, almost white, almost Lower-upper-middle-class boy. It was in 1984.
He looked at the men in social shirts, they could be fanatics. People posted photos of their books on the Internet, voting was on the teacher or barbarism. How he'd been fooled, it did look like a democracy.
But he had donned a bourgeois shirt, was trying not to have any expression.
He remembered the girl attacked in front of the museum for having a red button. A friend fired for having a "red" work permit.
The man at the entrance to the school smiles. No political symbol, all neutral, religious and white walls.
Because it was childish to be afraid.
But he remembers the Thought Police. Remember that you have created an enemy to seize power. While delivering the document, he remembers what the candidate said: "Whoever looks for missing bone is a dog." You are being watched. You have to be helpful. You are being emptied and cannot be anti-progress.
They will not hit me. They will not threaten me with a piece of wood. I will not be stabbed like the park's gay boy, the transvestite from the downtown bar.
I'll vote and come home in silence.
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