There’s something sad about watching something rot slowly. Not rotten enough to leave, not whole enough to hold on to.
I live in a country that says it’s free.
But every day feels like a new kind of colonization. Not by strangers, but by those standing on the podium, smiling too wide to be trusted.
Law doesn’t feel like justice anymore. It feels like a show. Polished, staged, dead.
Judges wear robes like costumes.
Police wear power like gods.
And the system,
well, the system just pretends not to know what’s happening.
Our leaders talk about unity, but what they mean is silence. We are told to shut up for the sake of peace. To forget what’s wrong for the sake of what’s left.
The military is not just guarding borders anymore. They walk into offices, meetings, even into our school~
not as protectors,
but as reminders:
that you can speak, but not too loudly.
Civilian power is weak. Like a dying battery, still blinking, but already useless.
And freedom of speech?
Yeah, you can talk.
Just be ready to be watched, reported, or even made to disappear.
I remember what Orwell said
“In a time of universal deceit, telling the truth is a revolutionary act.”
But here, truth is edited.
Posted, then deleted.
Spoken, then silenced.
Dostoevsky might laugh at us. His fiction is our daily news now. And Kant, who believed in moral reason, might cry seeing how humans here are treated not as ends, but as tools for votes, for clout, for power.
This country doesn’t explode.
It doesn’t fall apart.
It just slowly dies.
In the smiles of people in suits.
In the silence of those who know, but look away.
And in our own hearts,
that are getting used to everything,
even injustice.
Maybe the real danger is not dictatorship. Maybe it’s when we no longer feel like we’re being oppressed.