February 21, 2023
The Canal and the Canaille (Adrian Pătrușcă)
Motto: “Like a pelican, Thou hast wounded Thyself in Thy side, O Word…”
We opened our borders to them on the first day after the invasion. Out of all our poverty, we received them with open and laden arms. We invited them into our houses. We gave them to dip in the same dish with us.
Some were glad of the hospitality. Others did not even notice us: they swept past us at speed in their luxurious limousines, spattering us with mud.
We gave them everything they wanted. We even made them a television channel. We made ourselves a doormat at their feet. We hoisted their flag on poles beside those of NATO and of the EU.
There was no longer room for our own flag. In all our history, our poles have been short.
We opened the frontiers and let endless convoys of weapons pass along our ruined roads.
We opened the Danube and let the barges of infested, cheap grain pass towards Europe — grain that destroys our agriculture and our stomachs.
Because of them — ostensibly in order to cripple the Russians — it is we who grow poorer by the day.
We have plunged up to our necks into a war that is not ours. And in which we risk disappearing altogether.
But they? How have they treated our sacrifices?
A year before the invasion, Zelensky declared: “Northern Bukovina was occupied by the Romanians.” He has not retracted it to this day.
The powers in Bucharest breathed not a word about this baseness. Only in 2022 was it discovered by the subversive press. Then the corpse-washers were hastily called up: they began explaining to us that Z had not said what he said. That we had misunderstood. That the meaning had been lost in translation.
Z is a good man. Z is a just man. Z is a hero. Z never errs. Only, sometimes, the translators.
A fortnight after the war began they brought down an aeroplane and a helicopter of ours, by a recipe they would go on to patent in Poland as well. Eight dead.
But Z never errs. So Bucharest said they had fallen because of the wind.
For the courage of having spoken the truth — that Northern Bukovina, Herța and Budjak belong by right to Romania — Professor Andrei Marga was placed by the Kiev security service on the Death List.
He may be executed at any time. Like Dugin’s daughter.
Z is a just man, but a harsh one.
Nor is Marga a nobody. An authentic intellectual, a former Minister of Education, a former head of Romanian diplomacy.
Yet not one official in Bucharest protested against his being threatened with death in the purest mafia style. Not one of the intellectuals so vocal in easy times. Rags do not protest. Their dream is to become doormats.
Beneath the feet of heroes like Z.
They forbade Romanians to be taught in their mother tongue. They entered their churches with the security service. They assaulted and arrested their priests.
Our Church answered, smacking its lips delicately: “They are not under Us.”
They began hunting Romanians in the streets with the lasso and sending them to the front. To die for the patch of land they are accused of having occupied.
Z is a hero. To remain a hero, he needs cannon fodder as an addict needs cocaine.
In Bucharest, not a murmur of protest.
“They are THEIR Romanians. Let them do their duty to THEIR homeland.”
Hands washed. Full stop. Pontius Pilate.
The regime on the Dâmbovița is too busy selling what is left of the country. Heaven forbid the war should end while there is still stock in the warehouse.
Now they have returned to their old hobby-horse: the Bystroye Canal. They want to deepen it. To make it navigable for heavy vessels.
That means the destruction of the Danube Delta. The last wealth left to us, after the resources of the subsoil, the mountains, the waters and the forests were put up for auction.
Since the situation was altogether too thick, our diplomacy gathered its last shred of courage and asked Kiev for an explanation. In the manner of: “Forgive us for disturbing you; you had a speck of lint.”
Zelensky told us curtly where to go: “We have other priorities now.”
The curs of Bucharest diplomacy scurried off with their tails between their legs, happy to have got away with that much. In this trade, saving one’s skin is essential: every man for himself.
Not one real man was found to give the khaki-clad little monster a smack on the snout.
On the contrary, the rags of the Pandemic were reactivated, having only just finished pouring ashes on their heads.
They began explaining to us scientifically that there is no danger: Bystroye has not been deepened. It has merely been scratched a little on the bottom. Everything is under control.
The Canal is Safe and Efficient.
Zelensky bears no guilt: he is only a nobody hoisted by others to the head of affairs, defending his offshore accounts and his skin. Not his nation — his nation he destroys.
The true, the great culprits are among us. At our head. Everywhere, in key posts.
Politicians, journalists, influencers, intellectuals. Who for thirty-three years, like an army of Judases, have been selling this country piece by piece. They have sent it to the breaker’s yard.
Never has the poison been so widespread. Never has the national organism been so weakened. Never has the danger of death been so great.
Never have so many swarms of crows darkened the sky, watching for our carcass.
We lie in agony in the Garden of the Mother of God.
The Carpathians are our backbone, the Danube is our blood, the Sea is our Dream and the Tidings brought by Andrew.
Everything has been overrun by cancer.
There remains the Delta… wondrous, mystical, fragile, secret… The Delta is the emerald ring on the finger of the Mother of God. The token of her betrothal to this nation. It is our Soul.
Are we still able to save our Soul?
We meet tomorrow, 22 February 2023, before the Ukrainian Embassy in Bucharest, from two o’clock.
Find the post on FacebookThe Facebook archive keeps no permanent addresses for posts, and this entry has no photograph from which an address could be rebuilt. The button above opens directly a search by a phrase from the text, on the author’s page.
Comments
Have your say. Comments appear once approved.