In recent years, I have become increasingly aware of a general transformation—not only in society, but in the way people relate to authority, values, and one another. Opportunism has ceased to shock. Theft is instantly justified. Responsibility is displaced with theatrical ease. Someone steals, then explains that at the time they were wearing Tutankhamun’s hat—therefore the fault lies with the hat, not with them.
This way of thinking has become normal. Laws, rules, ethical frameworks are for fools, while the clever navigate freely through what they call “the ashes of empires.” I have heard institutional leaders openly boast about their protection: “Go ahead, sue me. I’m related to the person who writes the President’s emails.”
Apparently, even a comma can decide destinies.
We live in confusing times. Respect for human values has been dangerously eroded. And yet, on moments meant for reflection—national days, symbolic anniversaries—I believe we should return not to abstract history or exhausted ideals, but to something more concrete: the individual.
I belong to a generation that has already lived through such decay. For that reason, turning inward is not narcissism—it is a survival strategy. In a world made of borrowed hats and fake authority, the first and most solid reference point is yourself. If you trust yourself, you can also trust your choices. And your choices should be limited to those who resemble you morally.
A deep rift has opened between the disappointed and the others—some of whom were once human. The disappointed are everywhere: intellectuals, ordinary citizens, even the occasional politician. They are quieter now, weary, but they are also more numerous and stronger than the noisy reptiles feeding on scraps inside publicly funded offices.
These disappointed people are my only reference points today. Not abused history, not values shouted until hoarse, but people of the present.
Lately, I hear a piece of advice repeated more and more often: ignore.
Someone insults you? Ignore.
Someone asks you for something you know you will never do? Don’t justify yourself—ignore.
At first, this philosophy scandalized me. Now I consider it essential. When a structure is irreparably broken, repairing it is a waste of time. Ignore it. Move on. Build something else. Another house.
To summarize, the reference points I still believe in are few but firm:
trust in the individual
confidence in personal choices
refusal to engage with systems that cannot be repaired
and, finally, the courage to plan and organize before rebuilding
What do we lack most today? Moral integrity.
For decades we have watched small concessions turn into collective nightmares: applauding out of convenience, praising impostors, staying seated at shows we despise, tolerating minor abuses that later grow into systemic corruption. Things that once led to prison are now considered normal procedures.
Politics bears primary responsibility. Opportunistic alliances, diluted values, and endless “protections” have weakened human dignity. But this is not only a political failure—it is a moral one.
And yet, we possess something invaluable and constantly underestimated: people.
There are many moral, intelligent, talented individuals, capable of love and responsibility. Unfortunately, the price of the ordinary citizen is low. Humiliated by bureaucracy, exploited by politics, underpaid, forced to migrate, stripped of ideals, the individual becomes hunted, distrustful, isolated.
Where will we be in ten years?
If I had no hope, I would be dead. I believe in change and in the human capacity for reinvention. One person can change a system. One individual can restore dignity. I am still waiting for that person.
Until then, my message is simple:
Believe in yourselves. Nothing can truly destroy you. And if you feel alone or tired, remember this: somewhere, a writer cares.
