You remember the words of one of the Russian dissidents who took and drove from St. Petersburg to Moscow, Alexander Nikolaevich Radishchev: “I looked around me – my soul was wounded by the suffering of humanity.” Dissenters should memorize this immortal thought as “az-buki”. I remember her with or without reason.
There is no individual who would not scold the youth. Excuse me, “both in the tail and in the mane.” Not so and so on, so on. It didn’t start today, and it won’t end tomorrow. Now open your eyes and your soul will become wounded: the wedding palace rhymes with the youth square.
How many arrows-letters from restless pensioners pierced the mayor’s office and akimiat. And what about the great fabulist – “things are still there.” And next to it is a new attraction: along the path, not only childish legs, cars get stuck in the mud. Here, next to the neskver, which remained in dreams, with all the trees and flowers. The local authorities respond with knowledge of the matter that the Palace is city property, and the land around is private. Can anyone explain this ?!
Recently I heard an incredible, but nowadays quite real story. A complaint was made by a man who decided to give (free of charge) his vote for one of the many parties rushing to the city administration. It seemed that it was impossible, but eager to fulfill his civic duty without leaving his home (he is disabled), long and stubbornly sought this. First, he looked for phone numbers to check in. He, as is customary since antiquity, was sent from one to another responsible for elections (good, you can go through all the floors of power, pressing the phone buttons without leaving your place) and, at the same time, he was simply sent. Do you think he will want to deal with all those on whom our choices depend next time.
How many such stories have to listen to, and even more similar cases happen to each of us. Okay, when it happens to a salesperson in a store or bazaar. They poked around (sorry, low syllable), ruined each other’s mood, went on.
And here! This is not a false pathos: the fate of both the city and the state depends on each voice (as we were taught at school). It turns out that we are beginning to get used to rudeness. In big and small. And it, all-consuming, seems to us either boldness, then the cost of the burdens of life, then something else like that. And then our distance from obscenities affects the language of teachers “on the younger generation.” Isn’t lonely old age the rudeness of relatives?
Isn’t the arrogance of those who teach and treat our children rudeness ?! And the policeman who stopped you, who put on a uniform for a week or so, not so much indicating your violation of traffic rules, as looking into your pocket, where your wallet is, is not rudeness? I am not generalizing, I am only talking exclusively about exceptions that spoil our happy life.
I wonder how a person joins in rudeness? When was he humiliated with impunity as a child? Or, when he heard, saw the licentiousness? Or, when he felt humiliated by the division of those around him into rich and poor, referring himself to the latter? So rudeness is a reaction to humiliation. I agree. But … why would someone dare to cut my life? You can complain as much as you like, but tomorrow again someone, on whom my state of mind depends, will drench it verbally or with his official disregard, as if with mud.
I am not calling … It is useless. But … if everyone (and then went the tale of piety).
And now about the eternal. Once upon a time, in antiquity, a mirror was invented. For what? So that the one who looked into it could peer.
I propose a utopia. As it was with Alexander Nikolaevich – he looked and his soul shuddered.
Maybe I’m talking about particulars. And do not you need to waste your soul on trifles? But she is an independent lady. Knows when to shudder over great and small sorrows.
… and you say …
…That’s how we live…