Monday, September 23. I wake up, go buy a coffee, it’s a bit chilly outside. I choose a bench where I can sit and drink my coffee.
It’s ok, it’s a normal day, people walk by, most of them old people, because at this
time of the day the young generation is already working in an office somewhere.
And while I am watching all this developing without any big surprises, I suddenly
remember the yesterday protests, tens of thousands of people marching through
the neighborhoods and it seems surreal.
There is a rhythm for everything and once you get used to
it, you’re just playing along. It was the same with the protests. Yesterday was
the fourth Sunday evening when people gathered to protest. It was beautiful,
energetic, but probably less surprising then two Sundays ago.
You get the real meaning of such a gathering only on the
morning after, when life gets back to its normal pattern. Only when you see people
walking on the streets without paying attention to the one next to them, people
in a hurry, people not caring much about anything else than what they have to
do for the few hours, the surviving race, then you understand the beauty of
thousands of people becoming aware that they have a voice and using it, playing the
drums, making such long walks to neighborhoods where they've been only a few
times in their lives, enjoying the long walk, singing, shouting, talking to
other people.
I’m not trying to create a mythology of these protests, nor
make them seem as a big street party, which is very useful in the lack of a street
carnival. But they represent a huge change in the dynamics of social and
citizen life, in Bucharest and Romania . Like I
said before, this is an empowering practice, an exercise in being more tuned to
the political decisions which affect you, directly or indirectly and more connected
to the ones around you, being more than strangers simply walking by each other.
