Reading “ Unpopular Opinion: They Pronouns” and wondering what’s the use of language

We live in a fast changing world, one that doesn’t seem to allow us to stop for a moment and breathe. There’s  almost no time for that. I can vouch for it, because I was born and raised in a former communist country and in 1989 only à very few in our country had a PC1 or 2. Then Revolution came and we opened the gates to the new world. And we changed. A lot. And so did our language to.

   By the time my children grew up, the official Dictionary of Romanian Language was full of novelties, may of them coming from English language via computers. Of course, not all the additions are making everybody happy. There seem to be some sort of carelessness nowadays in using language. A kind of laziness in creating nice, well built sentences. We read less, we write less but we talk a lot. Language changes accordingly to the necessities of communication. I am not desperate about it. I know that despite the growing tendency for  practical attitude, the need for artful beauty never dies. It’s in our fabric as species.

     One of the domains where groundbreaking changes have started is that of gender diversity. Though we are only at the beginning of unraveling the secrets of our own gender identity as species, it’s certain that this is a normal and natural feature, just like the color of the eyes or the shape of the ear. It comes with the territory and it’s there with us right from our birth. Then when it comes to define ourselves, a right each of one needs and deserves, current language seem to lack  the necessary pieces. So something has to be done, words needs to be created, to be adapted to give everyone a chance to express its own uniqueness. Of course, as usual not everyone is happy with the outcome. It’s almost funny to see people who can express themselves without difficulties, arguing over the right of those for whom there’s no such existing tool of expression and communication.

   I am not amused. I am sad. Language is for all of us and ignorance and prejudice are not qualities. This is why I have decided to write this post.

Here is the link to the article in the title : Opinion:They Pronouns. It belongs to a lovely young writer who expressed, with genuine sincerity and good will, her own mixed feelings about these changes.

Here is my answer to her : “… Language is a living tool that belongs to all of us and it serves each and everyone for the necessary communication with others. As a living tool, it is shaped by the users, it is enriched by creators of language or by the necessities of diversifying activities. You can imagine Shakespeare’s shock if he would suddenly wake up to our times. Maybe he would think that we have ruined the language he loved and mastered. So, though the plural you “hate” might sound odd for now, it is a first try to adapt the existing tools to a reality that is finally getting its deserved, rightful spotlight. I am Romanian and our language, like all the Latin ones, is gendered so it’s even more difficult to adapt our language to the necessity of gender diversity. But I am working on it, along with others who know that everyone deserves a proper pronoun. And while you are annoyed by the “odd plural that is a singular”, languages like my native one have their own problems adapting words coming from….English, for instance. But we do it because this is the way language works: bridging people…”

  Well, the beautiful, rich and versatile English language offers alternatives for this problem. I first encountered such a solution in reading the English translation of a wonderful, mind opening book : “The Cage of Zeus” by Sayuri Ueda. It was reading the book that I had the chance to acomodate my mind with the Spivak gender neutral pronouns. It was….strange at first, then while becoming captured by the world of the novel, I became familiar with this new way of expression. I have seen both the practical and  the beautiful side of gender neutral pronouns.

You can read more here on Spivak gender neutral pronouns:

    So, all I can say is that we all should work on easing the way to a proper, clear and true communication. We should work on building bridges between each other. Give language the chance to become such a bridge. Don’t hate! Create!

The Invisibles-Chapter 2.

-Cora! Are you ready? Can I come in?

The voice of Galaor was slightly nervous. Coming back abruptly from her reverie, Cora opened the door and embraced her father.

-I’m ready, Dad, don’t worry. Look!-she said and turned round. The sunlight was dancing around her, sparks bouncing off the slender figure dressed in a blue-green dress and tunic, embroidered with gold rimmed leaves. Cora’s fiery hair was combed into an intricately tressed tail  held together by blue and green hair-pins. She took her father’s arm and left the room, walking confidently towards the Ceremony Hall, followed by her beaming mother and excited little sister. The rest of the family and friends were walking behind them, whispering to each other about their beautiful Queenie.

   The high doors of the hall opened, letting in the ten young girls and their escorts into the spacious chamber where the most important Court members were waiting for them. Soon as everyone gathered inside, the sound of the Soul Bell started to ring, announcing the arrival of the Queen. It was a deep sound, seemingly coming from the body of the Tree around them, enveloping the audience in waves of soothing music,serene yet solemn. The hind wall of the room opened and the Queen  stepped forward.

    Cora watched her, mesmerized by the majestic gracefulness of the elderly woman. She was tall and lean, her face preserving the original beauty, despite the marks of so many ages. She was wearing a long, amber colored dress decorated with emerald vines and miniature blue butterflies. Her white hair was flowing freely around her shoulders, creating a halo around her face. The wings of the Queen were glossy and translucent, with purple-blue iridescence. But the most striking feature were her eyes: deep blue with a gaze that could see behind any pretense.Still, the appearance of the Queen was exhaling benevolence and kindness. People around her bowed respectfully as she walked towards the circle of blushing and nervous Queenies. The young girls bowed deeply and the Queen gestured them to rise so that she could see each of them. The First Lady joined her, carrying the silver tray containing the Royal Acts of recommendation.

  Wise Matriarch of her little nation, the Queen stopped by each Queenie and handed out the enscripted roll, saying a few words of  personally tailored wisdom and encouragement. She gently touched their forehead with her hand, sharing protective magic that was coming from the Tree. When the Queen finally stopped in front of her, Cora sensed the powerful aura surrounding her. They looked each-other for a moment and Cora felt her heart opening like a flower under the scrutiny of those eyes. The Queen  put the roll in the hands of the girl and then she gently touched  her forehead.  Cooling sensation ran through Cora’s whole body and for a fraction of a moment, she felt a total communion with the Tree. She was the Tree from its intricate web of roots embracing the land, to the last trembling leaf up in the highest branch. The flow of magical sap was rushing through her veins and her heart was filled with emotions. There was awe and joy but also concern and surprisingly, there was fear. Something malevolent and menacing was lurking beyond the boundaries of their land….But what could that be?

“ Follow your fire, my child-she heard. Follow your fire….”

The whispers of the Queen brought the girl back to reality.

“I will-she murmured.

Music exploded around her as the ceremony resumed as the Queen left the Hall. Families, friends, people surrounded the Queenies, congratulating them, sharing their good wishes and hopes for their safe and victorious return. Cora regained her composure and smilingly joined her loved ones. After all, this would be their last family afternoon together for a while.

-Amita! Come, let’s take a flight!- she said and picking up her little sister, she flew out of the room, up to the top of the Tree. The giggling of the little girl filled the air.


When she opened her eyes she found herself standing inside a glowing, reddish orange mist. The only firm thing was the ground under her feet. No sound, no directions. Nothing, just the faintly pulsing mist. Then, a deep sigh and muffled sobs broke the silence and she turned abruptly towards the source of the sounds.

-Hey! Who are you?! What happened?!

In response a sudden vortex appeared inside the orange mist and it seemed like something was coming towards her.

“ Me and my big mouth…”-thought Cora.

Up before her stood a huge bulge of white fluff, hovering above the ground. The face of that ghost-like creature was childlike, with sad little dark eyes.

-My Tree is dying….-it veiled in a small voice. Nobody helps it and I’m frightened and lonely….

Cora’s heart sank.

-What Tree? Where is it?

But before the creature could answer her, a strong draft of bone-chilling wind push them apart and all she could hear was a faint cry.

-Help meeee……Don’t leave me alone…..!

-Don’t be afraid! I’ll find you!!-she shouted.

-Who do you want to find?-asked Bella. Did you have a nightmare? You were shouting in your dream.

 She was sitting on the edge of the bed with a worried expression on her face. Cora shook her head with a reassuring smile.

-No, no Mom, it was just a silly dream. I am little nervous about the flight-she chuckled.

Bella sighed. She was nervous to. All of a sudden, she wished her daughter was an ordinary girl, not a Queenie. But it was too late for that, so she better helped Cora to get ready for the flight. She helped her dress up and served her favorite meal for breakfast. Galaor joined them, checking each strap on the flight suit and giving his final pieces of advice. Amita rushed in and jumped in Cora’s arms, covering her face with smacks. Hugs, kisses, tears and goodbyes shared, at the sound of the Core Bell, the Golden Doors of the Tree opened wide and the row of Queenies took flight in the crisp air of the morning, followed by the loud cheer of the gathered Arberiens.

-This will be a long year-whispered Bella, leaning close to Galaor and holding Amita in her arms.

-This will be a long year-thought the Queen, watching the colorful flying squad diminishing in the horizon.

    The Golden Doors closed with a thud behind them, marking the beginning of a journey into the unknown.




Somewhere faraway, under another sky, a  young woman was hurriedly preparing her confused and frightened son. The child couldn’t understand the reason why his mom woke him up at night and why she kept silencing him, why was he dressed up and why was she wiping her eyes on and on. He saw his mom taking a small bottle from a hiding and slip it in her pocket , then turning off the faint light. She took his hand and spoke to him in a muffled but firm voice:

-Avik, listen to Mommy. Don’t say a word outside. Just hold my hand and follow me in silence and if I say “run!” then you run and don’t look back! You understand?

-Yes, Mommy!- came the answer in a little voice.

The young woman unlocked the hind door and slipped into the night with her child. She wasn’t going to let him suffer the fate of the other Changers; nothing could frighten her off and she couldn’t care less for the so called fate of the Tree. If the survival of the Tree was coming at the price of the life of an innocent child then something was wrong. Very wrong. Avik was her son and  she was determined to save him no matter what the White Guardians were saying. Her child was not going to become an Invisible, he wasn’t going to starve in the streets of the Silver City, unseen by the others, unable to get help, food, shelter. Her child was not going to be found lying lifelessly in a corner, pushed aside like a piece of garbage. The mind of the young mother was swirling with heavy questions.

 How did they end up  giving in to such horrors? She held the little boy closer and they hurried down the dark street. It was a long way to the northern wall and she wanted to get there before dawn.

Crucified freedom-in memoriam Mashal Khan and many other unknown victims of bigotry

A painfully lucid analysis of brutal chain of events in Pakistan and India. But how far are we from this? How did we end up with a Europe that is ruled by mediocrity and where the ugly face of fascism is rising again, winning places in national parliaments, generating “exits” from a the union of nations?
If there is something to mourn these days of holy days, then I feel that this time its Humanity that we should mourn. We silently crucify our valuable ideals, we hammer the nails of fear, prejudice, bigotry into the hands of our hopeful Future. We build walls instead of bridges and we hide in mindless fear and hate behind them. Where are our dreams and love of freedom, when we build prisons for ourselves inside those walls?
As this brave and wonderful young man writes in his piece of thought below, silence is not an answer.Silence is acceptance. Here you can read his point of view:

“Recently, Cow Vigilantes murdered Pehlu Khan, a dairy farmer over suspicion of cow slaughter. Now, over allegations of blasphemy, students murdered Mashal Khan in his own university. The first incident occurred in Alwar, India and the other one happened at Khyber-Phakhtunwala, Pakistan. Both incidents occurred in broad daylight.
Most people only speak when it hurts their community and remain silent when their own community is the perpetrator. This is hypocrisy at its worst.
Lynch Apologists say- “Killing is wrong, but one should not hurt the sentiments of the people”
By saying that they indirectly hold the victim responsible for his own murder. People should learn to take offense and still keep violence out of their response. Killing is wrong there is no ‘but’ to it.
Moreover, If your religion does not allow you to eat something, draw something or say something, don’t do it nobody is forcing you to, but don’t impose your own views upon others.
Some add, “These are the extremists, most people of this community are peaceful”
Killers of Pehlu Khan include an accounts’ teacher, a school physical trainer, three students, and one nurse. Killers of Mashal Khan were his own colleagues from his own university. In both incidents, perpetrators were not poor, uneducated or connected to any terrorist organization.
Which is responsible for it now? Lack of Education? Poverty? Radicalization? Or blind adherence to faith?! Or incredible zest to impose tenets of one’s own faith on others?!
One cannot rationalize one of these incidents without legitimizing the other. Those who ask for Sharia Law should not cry foul when Manuvadi Ram-Rajya befalls them. Both of these incidents are mirror images of each other. India is quite behind Pakistan in intolerance, but we are catching up fast. We should be wary of it.
Muslims should condemn Mashal Khan incident in the same vein as Alwar Lynching. Silence is not an answer. Silence is acceptance.” ( Azhar Khan)


Those of you who have not heard of Mashal Khan, here’s his last poem written shortly before his brutal death:

“”I am lost
It has been several weeks
that I filed a complaint before police
I go to police station daily ever since
and ask the station officer
Any clue about me?
The sympathetic police officer shakes his head in disappointment
He says in his shaking voice
That I found no clue about you
Then he consoles me
One day
you will be found
on a roadside
or critically injured
in a hospital
or dead
in some river
I get tears in my eyes
I leave for the market
to welcome me
buy some flowers from a flower shop
for my wounds
from the chemist
some bandage
some cotton
and pain-killers
for my funeral
a shroud from the shop near the mosque
and for remembering me
some candles
Some people say
when someone dies
candles should be not lit for them
but they don’t tell
that when the apple of some eye goes missing
where do you get the light from?
If the lamp of a house goes missing
what should they burn?”

No one should end up lynched. No one should be lynched for his ideas and ideals. No one should remain silent when such horrors occur. Because the moment we turn our heads and look aside, we open the door to murderous madness…. the one that sooner or later will set the whole world in fire the way it did too many times.

We owe to the memory of this young man, Mashal Khan to not let it fade away. We owe this to us and to the next generations. The time to speak up is now. The time to act is now.


Reading “ Estelle’s Tattoo” or Why did We end up with Rape?

     Reading Paul White’s short story “Estelle’s Tattoo” is a shattering experience. As you reach the final line, it’s hard to find the proper words to leave a comment. This piece of writing is food for thought and fuel for attitude. It has haunted me since yesterday and it stirred something inside me.

   This morning I suddenly realised that Estelle’s tattoo is engraved in each young girl almost from her birth. When you are born a woman, your life stands under the shadow of being a potential rape victim. As a girl born and raised by two women, this mark was all too familiar, even if we never discussed it openly. But this status of “potential victim” was hanging in the air and became one of the main reasons for disliking my femininity. And I was not living in a war zone.

  In fact, I was born and raised in a quiet and peaceful, less complex and complicated society, with a low rate of criminality, a place where my Mom could come home from her night shift at the newspaper, walking all alone the streets at 3 am. Still, my mother and my grandmother were watching over me and protecting me as I was growing into a teenage girl from that possibility of becoming the victim of a man. So I’ve learned to watch my back, to walk in broad light and main streets, to hurry up if I a man was following me, to learn to read their glances, smiles or smirks and keep out of trouble. I grew up learning that I can be a prey so I’ve learned to avoid the hunters. This “survival kit” has grown into me without being fully aware of it. Luckily, I am an optimistic person so I didn’t become paranoid about men. In fact, I seldom gave a thought about this, once I became an adult. Until yesterday when I’ve read this heart wrenching story about rape and the life under its permanent threat.

You might dismiss this topic as an exaggeration. “Come on, this is not happening here…We are not like this”. I beg to differ when I see how the community of my fellow citizens reacted at the news of a collective rape happening in a Romanian village. Half of its inhabitants were blaming the girl for luring the boys into having sex with her, despite all the proofs that this was a premeditated act of two of the perpetrators who lured the girl into a friendly meeting, then called in their friends for the …fun.

   You might suggest that women should take defense technique training. But why would they? I for instance, I’m a non-conflicting person despite my strong opinions; I dislike any kind of aggressivity. And for what reason should I train myself in fight? Do I live in a jungle? Is that the real face of thousands of years of civilisation? What happened to us? How did we drift this far that a person has to live her life carrying that shadow of threat simply because she was born a woman? How did we end up losing the count of “Estelles” who have died and keep dying all over the world?

    We keep reading about such cases or hear about them in the media. For days we keep debating…then another shocking event sends the rape case into oblivion. Sometimes we dismiss it because we think that this is something happening only in less civilised areas. Wrong. The fact that a rape victim has tremendous difficulties to report what happened to her is the best proof that in all kind of societies there is something deeply wrong about how we think about women.

   When you learn that in all too many cases/places the victim is first to blame, when you learn that there’s “corrective rape” against lesbians, when you learn that women need to “learn their place” and so on, then you come to realise that rape is a socially/historically ingrained habit that emerged as a byproduct of human civilisation. You won’t find rape at our close relatives, the Bonobo chimps. We share with them a lot but rape is our own cultivated flaw. THIS is something to think about. The fact that rape is a cruel and criminal act performed nowadays not only against women but anyone vulnerable (Gay, Transgender or children) only puts this act in proper light.

   We need to educate this out from our human inheritance, we need to educate mutual respect and we need to cut off from the long forgotten conditions that had lead to this act.Each time when a  “ NO!” it’s disregarded, each time when someone forces itself on another one because it can, it’s à rape and and the life of the victim is brutally changed, if not taken away.

It’s a long way out of this dark shadow and the moment to start is now. We live in the dawn of a new century. We cannot let the “Estelles” to keep dying and to die in vain. We owe them that much just as we owe to our daughters, sisters, mothers, girlfriends to give them the chance to live their lives in freedom and dignity, and not as potential prey/victims.

Paul White’s “Estelle’s Tattoo” is à Must Read. You can find it here :

Don’t scroll down easily. Let’s break the habit and let’s erase rape from our long term inheritance!

Copiii si protestele

Prezenta copiilor la proteste este o lipsa de responsabilitate si o lipsa de consideratie fata de copii din partea parintilor. Regret ca atat de multi parinti tineri cu un nivel de scolarizare ridicata nu vad cum un astfel de gest face parte din indoctrinare.
Nu folosesti copilul intr-o activitate care ii depaseste nivelul de intelegere. Nu intereferezi in lumea inocenta a copilului tau cu probleme ce tin de responsabilitatea ta de adult, cu atat mai mult, nu-l aduci intr-un loc in care nimeni nu-si asuma raspunderea pentru siguranta ta si a copiilor.
O astfel de implicare a copiilor ridica serioase semne de intrebare din punctul meu de vedere cu privire la nivelul maturitatii respectivilor parinti cat si a celorlalti protestatari carora nu le-a trecut prin minte sa-i trimita acasa de la proteste.
Ce facem? Folosim copiii in luptele politice? Chiar atat de greu e sa realizezi ca un astfel de gest se revendica de la indoctrinarile staliniste, fasciste sau cele bigot-religioase? Chiar aveti impresia ca ati facut un gest de educatie? Eu zic sa ma reflectati. Copiii vostri nu va apartin ca sa faceti ce vreti cu ei; copiii vostri sunt responsabilitatea voastra. Ceea ce e cu totul altceva decat implicarea lor in proteste politice.

In memoriam profesorul CONSTANTIN MAXIMILIAN

La data de 11 aprilie 2016 s-au împlinit 19 ani de cand a plecat dintre noi, discret şi prea putin evocat, profesorul CONSTANTIN MAXIMILIAN, medic, genetician, ilustru om de ştiinţă, membru corespondent al Academiei Romane.

In sumara biografie de pe Wikipedia citim:

« Constantin Maximilian, un mare genetician și unul din pionierii relansării bioeticii în România, în formula sa modernă, a formulat pentru acest domeniu următoarea definiție concisă: bioetica este un punct de întâlnire al tuturor celor care urmăresc destinul uman supus presiunilor știintei”[1]

În 1958, Constantin Maximilian a organizat primul laborator de genetică medicală din România. A redactat peste 20 de volume de antropologiebioetică și genetică umană, între care Dicționarul Enciclopedic de Genetică, apărut în 1984. »

Textul continua cu evocarea carierei bogate şi inovative ale domnului profesor, a contribuţiei sale importante  într-un domeniu de varf al ştiinţei şi a recunoaşterii muncii sale pe plan naţional şi internaţional.


Există însă în text un paragraf ce m-a întristat şi revoltat în egală măsură : «  N-a fost niciodată membru plin al Academiei Române. A fost iubit de puțini (mai ales de studenți) și a fost urât cu înverșunare de marea majoritate a confraților. Acum este uitat aproape cu desăvârșire.”

M-am întrebat de multe ori cine a putut să-l urască pe gentilul şi discretul profesor Constantin Maximilian? Eu n-am avut şansa să-l văd de prea multe ori la televizor însă am urmărit probabil ultimul său interviu la televiziunea natională şi am fost profund impresionată. Am văzut şi ascultat un mare umanist, un om de ştiinţă de excepţie, un om distins şi cald, un mare profesor. Rememorand acele clipe şi făcand o analiză a evoluţiei societăţii romaneşti in ultimii 26 de ani, realizez că o astfel de personalitate nu putea scăpa invidiei şi urii viscerale a mediocrilor care i-au fost confraţi.

V-au urat , domnule profesor pentru că n-ati sacrificat adevărul ştiinţific de dragul politicii şi intereselor de moment. V-au urat pentru că aţi avut curajul, demnitatea şi coloana vertebrală care lor le-a lipsit şi care le lipseşte în continuare. N-aţi putut deveni membru deplin al Academiei Romane deoarece instituţia respectivă a abandonat idealurile pe care a fost clădită, a abandonat promovarea ştiinţei, a valorilor perene, incontestabile, a abandonat cauza ştiinţelor fundamentale în învăţămantul romanesc şi s-a pliat în faţa presiunilor politice. Trist. Ruşinos.

Dragă domnule profesor Constantin Maximilian ! Ne lipsiţi enorm.

I have a dream….varianta Tariceanu de Dan Poenaru

Asa cum era de asteptat, in urma deciziilor lui Crin Antonescu asistam la o precipitare a vietii politice in sanul miscarii liberale. Mai intai decizia de a iesi din USL a avut ca efect demisia lui Tariceanu din Partidul Liberal si iritarea unui grup restrans de membri marcanti (vezi Chiliman sau Iliesiu). La ora respectiva gestul de demisie a fost intempestiv si parea gratuit, chiar caraghios, protagonistul pliindu-se pe lozinca “USL traieste” inventata si sustinuta cu viclenie de PSD-isti. Personal cred ca motivatia spargerii USL se poate regasi in conflictul dintre orgoliul de prezidentiabil a lui Antonescu si smecheria de sforar a lui  Ponta. Pana aici miscarea lui Tariceanu era sortita esecului, gestul neavand ecou in sanul partidului sau al electoratului in ciuda ajutorului oferit de PSD.

Numai ca, dupa alegerile europarlamentare, in mod cu totul surprinzator Crin Antonescu a facut greseala dupa greaseala in numele partidului. UNU:pierderea identitatii partidului prin abandonarea grupului liberal ALDE in favoarea popularilor europeni. DOI: decizia de fuziune cu PDL-ul. Aceste doua gafe reprezinta o sansa neasteptata pentru Tariceanu a carui miscare politica de azi incepe sa devina credibila iar imprastierea liberala de la inceputul anilor ’90  se repeta. Desi nu nutresc o simpatie pentru fostul premier Tariceanu, sunt nevoit sa apreciez ca miscarea lui se instaleaza pe calea corecta a liberalismului romanesc, acesta sustinand atat distantarea  fata  de orice fuziune pe plan intern cat si pastrarea identitatii liberale pe plan extern. In aceste conditii Tariceanu inceteaza sa mai fie perceput ca un outcast  si isi marcheaza revenirea in prima linie a politicii printr-un discurs fulminant in care face apel la istoria si traditiile liberalismului romanesc pentru a -si legitima noul proiect politic. Interesant este ca in enumerarea pe care o face, prezinta unele realizari politice si economice importante dar sporadice pentru Romania, faptuite de lideri istorici ai partidului. Uita insa ca printre fondatorii Partidului Liberal de acum 140 de ani s-au numarat personalitati importante care au facut parte din “Mostruoasa coalitie”, grupare politica ce a dus la abdicarea lui Al. I. Cuza, cel care in scurta lui domnie, prin reformele sale a dus Romania din Evul Mediu in Epoca moderna.

Dar sincopele culturale ale domnului Tariceanu nu se opresc aici. Simtindu-se cu sacii in caruta s-a lasat purtat de patosul oratoric  si a esuat in ridicol. Perla discursului sau o consider apelarea la celebra expresie ” I have a dream” (Eu am un vis). Dorind sa-si ralieze auditoriul si probabil electoratul dupa modelul “Udrea cu blugii”, oratorul Tariceanu a transferat paternitatea expresiei respective grupului suedez de muzica pop, ABBA.  In felul acesta  ni se dezvaluie vastul sau orizont cultural dobandit  in adolescenta. Numai ca orice politician care se respecta cunoaste sursa acestei declaratii emblematice;  este vorba de celebrul discurs al luptatorului pentru drepturi civile , Martin Luther King  Jr, rostit in 1963  de pe treptele Memorialului Lincoln, in timpul marsului spre Washington. Acest discurs este marca incontestabila a luptei pentru drepturi civile in Epoca moderna.

Daca domnul Tariceanu nu stie acest lucru sau se face ca nu stie este la fel de grav pentru el, atat ca politician cat si ca om. Si uite asa, din gafele regretabile ale lui Antonescu, castiga teren inginerul semidoct Tariceanu care incearca sa abureasca populatia Romaniei (cum a mai facut-o dealtfel) cu imaginea de om serios, cu pretentia ca vorbele sale ar avea consistenta. In realitate competenta lui  nu se ridica cu mult deasupra unei forme fara fond.