Don't say anything

I heard this song for the first time at a party. It would seem there’s no room for this kind of sadness between the rum and the bad dancing, but yes, when we hear, ”Don’t say anything,” we obey immediately: maybe it’s the custom, maybe not.

So they told me in elementary school when I didn’t want to go to the Museum of the Revolution, so they told me in junior high when they took away my right to continue my art studies, in high school when I couldn't adapt and ran screaming through the halls, in technical school when they marked me down for poor political participation… so they tell me at the university when I take tests in history and philosophy.

So my family said when I didn’t understand why they had to be on guard, why they had to belong to the CDR, as did my friend who was with me when we got arrested for taking the night ride, my mother when I didn’t want to sign that the socialist character of the Revolution was immortal (or something like that) in 2003, my boss when I explained I wasn’t going to go on the march, the union when I refused to pay, my cousin at the time of the Gorki thing, my best friend when she found out I had a blog: Don’t say anything, Claudia.