This is not a war

It is forbidden to call what is happening a "war." A well-timed decision.

What's going on is not a war. Everyone knows that.

But it's forbidden to say what this is, as it's not a war.

To write is forbidden, to talk is forbidden.

If you are going to write about war, it is forbidden call it anything other than peace.

The fighter planes you see are not fighter planes. The bomb engraved with the name of a "journalist" is not a bomb.

Those who call themselves war correspondents are not war correspondents. They are "operation correspondents."

All this time we have been saying "journalism is not a crime." No, it is a crime.

For people who say they do journalism in a time when journalism is forbidden, the color of the make-up on their faces is khaki.

But now it's their time.

It's the time of those who depend on the state and its tanks, artillery and weapons to threaten others, those who use demolished buildings as a backdrop to showcase their makeup, those who engrave names on bombs.

In just two days we saw once again who we are living with. Power-hungry journalists are soldiers. Legal experts, politicians, environmentalists, football players, actors, musicians, singers, and even members of the opposition are soldiers.

This is the law now: either be a soldier or be a victim of our wrath. Those who don't fear the wrath suffer; those who fear suffer more.

But there is still a way for everyone: it may be forbidden to speak, but staying silent is still allowed.

In these times, not talking about what's happening and merely speaking about everyday topics is embarrassing.

If it's forbidden to speak about the biggest reality, any conversation about any other topic is imprisonment by those who cover up that reality.

Let this be recorded for posterity: it is a crime for a captive to say they are a captive. It's even a crime if one doesn't yell loudly, "I am free and grateful!"

One of the Nietzsche quotes I read during my university years and never forgot: “Silence is worse; all truths that are kept silent become poisonous.”

We are being poisoned.

We are being poisoned by not being able to speak about what we see.

This year's Nobel Literature Prize was given to Austrian Peter Handke, sympathizer of war criminal Milosevic. Even he was surprised. Anyway.

In 2016 the prize was given to global poet Bob Dylan. And just like Dylan says in his song It's Alright, Ma (I'm Only Bleeding): "And if my thought-dreams could be seen / They'd probably put my head in a guillotine."

And let it be recorded for posterity: it is a crime to say we are facing the guillotine.

Let this be a lesson for all of us.

Let's leave the microphone to the master, with a few lines from his song The Ballad of Donald White:

"And there's danger on the ocean
Where the salt sea waves split high,
And there's danger on the battlefield
Where the shells of bullets fly,
And there's danger in this open world
Where men strive to be free,
And for me the greatest danger
Was in society.

So I asked them to send me back
To the institution home.
But they said they were too crowded,
For me they had no room.
I got down on my knees and begged,
"Oh, please put me away,"
But they would not listen to my plea
Or nothing I would say."