Suicide as protest in Romania and Tunisia

On 24th December 2010, in the Romanian parliament, a bleeding man was shouting “Freedom!” while being carried outside by the paramedics. He had just tried to kill himself, jumped from the journalists’ balcony, little before the prime minister began his speech.
This surreal image is the pitiless representation of  Romanian society: an autistic political class and an aphasic public opinion.

“We are afraid to be united. We are used to be poor and we don’t want to become poorer if we open our mouths”. This is how Adrian Sobaru, the 42-year old electrician, survivor of the suicidal act, watched online all over the world, explains the total absence of reaction to his gesture by Romanians.

One week earlier, the incendiary suicide of young jobless Mohamed Bouaziz had swept away Tunisia and the entire Maghreb, inflamed by protests and new suicides against the high costs of living and the governments’ corruption.

But what is the difference, between the act of the Romanian and that of the Tunisian young man? Why did they both choose the same form of expression, even if differently declined? Adrian jumped from the parliament’s balcony, Mohamed sets himself fire. And which is the difference between these courageous men and the suicides of Chinese Foxxcon workers of Shenzhen, of  French Telecom or those of the Italian bus drivers of Bologna? Are these expressions of suffering in the age of global crisis, or of refusal to continue paying a crisis generated from the top of  society? Or maybe it’s about the crisis of expression, in societies that feel the impossibility of expressing themselves in any other way, if not through extreme acts?

In the 2010-2011 biennium, although not only then, suicide may be viewed as an indication of the level of social cohesion. Mohamed’s gesture catalyzed the discontent of Tunisia and of the neighbouring countries, because these countries are still able to react. Tunisia has an explosive, young population, just like French banlieues in 2005. This youth won’t bend to daily humiliation and will claim its need to be respected, using violence or even self-sacrifice. The jobless Tunisian immolated himself in front of the headquarters of the political power, as if waiting for an answer. And he received it from his fellow countrymen, who ennobled that gesture by granting continuity to it. The empathy built between young Tunisians transformed them instantly in a unique body, intolerant to political parasitism and immortal in the face of repression, to the point of determining the removal of president’s Ali.

Adrian and Mohamed have something in common: they both interrogated the society they were living in. Their act were set in public places because they were aimed at others, because they believed their inner crisis might have been understood and shared by others. It was a message, a warning, a question. On the other hand, the suicides of  Chinese, French and Italian workers, seemed to be more introspective, resigned, as if a solution to a problem that was not shared with anyone else.

But in the case of Adrian, in spite of the spectacularity of his act and the fact that his suicidal attempt was directly addressed to the parliamentary power, it did not receive any answer at all.  Or almost.

Surprised and traumatized, Romanian parliamentarians cried in front of the tragedy of a common citizen. In their declarations they all addressed a disturbing element: closeness. That act was somehow irritating, because it forced too much the gaze of people used to daily blindness. None of them would have cried for another electrician, who, a month earlier, had committed suicide in his office. Because they didn’t see him dying right in front of them.

And this is why Adrian Sobaru – the Romanian who jumped wearing a t-shirt on which he had written  “You killed our children’s future. You can take our life and our money, but not our FREEDOM!” – moved both the media and  Romanian people to pity. Influential psychologists explained to a traumatised audience the dynamics of depression and paranoia. “He was probably feeling guilty for not being able to maintain his family” was their  detached comment. With great generosity, money was offered to him, to take care of his autistic son. And everyone's conscience was once again clear. The important thing was that he had not died.  If he would have, who knows what he would have expected us to do?