Bosniaks between virtual beauty and real nightmare: Expecting better while 'following' Kija, Luna and voting for political bandits

If Facebook were a street, Bosniaks, the people of Bosnia and Herzegovina, would be the greatest revolutionaries and rebels in the history of mankind. 

But, that social network is a virtual world, with a lot of the unreal and even more of the fake. That is why Bosniaks are cornered today. That is why the socio-political being of Bosniaks is confused and headless. 

The leaders of a people who long ago forgot their roots have lost touch with reality. That is why they rule in some paranormal and immoral play. Political struggle has turned into a one-way street where you drive if you have asked "am I there?" in time. 

And the people, often compared to sheep, wander through the expanses of poverty and hopelessness. They seek bread by serving abroad, and leave their roots to wither and one day disappear, under the roots that will be put down by those who come. 

It is difficult to find a people who love their homeland so much, and yet respect it so little and fight for it. That is the Bosniaks, divided between a false battle with foreign enemies and bowing before the internal system of apathy, lethargy, and backwardness. 

Bosniaks are actually a buttonized people of one party, a few party officials, and their own inability to wake up from hallucinations and induced life coma. 

Bosniaks are mostly followers of Islam, and they vote for thieves, criminals, who have terrorized them for decades and kept them in one of the worst holes in the world. The last Islamic revelation, the Quran, commands Muslims, and thus Bosniaks, "Read, in the name of your Lord who created, who created man from a clinging substance! Read, and your Lord is the most generous, who taught by the pen, who taught man that which he knew not.". 

But Bosniaks will not read. They would rather go to some Torabi's séances and confusedly bow their heads to problems. Ignorance has become an accepted category for them. 

In the past month or two, the focus of life in Bosnia and Herzegovina has been the question of whether the Reform Program is an ANP or some mutation. After part of the Reform Program was published, some claimed that the Program was an ANP, and others that it was not. In the absence of the original BiH document for comparison, Patria published the Montenegrin ANP. 

In a Facebook comment on that news, the first comment read "Me to read?". That comment contains the biggest part of the internal problem of the socio-political being of Bosniaks. 

THEY DON'T READ!

And that leads them to the abyss. Because, he who does not read the lines today, will not know how to read between the lines tomorrow, where the danger for a people who survived genocide was almost always hidden. Bosniaks read headlines and defend their leaders based on them. With half-open eyes and empty stomachs, a Bosniak, at least the vast majority, becomes enthusiastic if you tarnish their leader who should be in a prison cell instead of an armchair. 

But, a Bosniak does not only read headlines. There is something they love more than that. Zadruga, Farma, Pink, Grand. Bosniaks do not sleep, but not because they are thinking about how to improve tomorrow, but they watch with whom Luna will sleep now, what Kija Kockar has to say wisely, what Stanija will say from a professional point of view, and what advice Vendi has. 

And when they come out of such a night, burdened, to relax their brains a bit, Bosniaks grab the remote control and switch from Latin American, through Spanish to Turkish and Indian series. From dawn to dusk. While watching, they dream that they too will one day steal days from God in luxurious villas and argue with brothers, sisters, and sisters-in-law over inheritance. Then they fall asleep and dream all of it. 

Out of anguish from the fact that it was all a dream, they switch to news channels, grab their phones, and bombard their confused brains with political yellow journalism, lies, deceptions, nepotism, corruption…

So, in the sea of these news, they see that governments will fall, then they "grab" Facebook and organize groups that they think will bring them a gram of justice. They shout on Facebook and protest as loudly as they can, rebel, vent their anger because their child has just come home from school, hungry as a wolf. This morning, while watching series, they forgot to give him some money for lunch. In fact, while dreaming of living in luxurious villas and sleeping with Luna and Kija, they forgot that their wallet was empty, so they couldn't give him a mark. 

And then a year passes. The first Sunday of October arrived. Elections arrived. Today they got up, set the system to record series for them, and they combed their hair and went straight to the polling station. While standing in line, they thought about what Gastoz did to Luna, then imagined that one day they would do the same. 

And then they remember that it has already started to trickle. Before they went to the polling station, their neighbor, who is in the municipal board of a party, came to their door. He gave them a five-mark note, but to take them to the polling station with his man, to see if they would vote for the first Bosniak, his party, his wife, relatives, and friends. 

Poor Bosniak, between the unreal madness of reality shows, series, politics, lack of money, hopes that the zeros on the five-mark note will multiply hourly. 

And he chose the first Bosniak, his wife, brothers, sisters, relatives, and associates. One relative of that Bosniak, who lives in Goražde, God forbid, voted for a Croat. And for a Croat named Edim. This one in Sarajevo also voted for a Serb. It's not a joke, really for a Serb. This one's name is Haris. 

In addition to those who are the first Bosniaks, a Bosniak knows how to choose political bandits, who, like chameleons, know how to change their ethnic and any other affiliation. If necessary, they will even change their religion. 

The child of that first Bosniak has grown up. He doesn't need money for lunch, but he needs new sneakers, shirts, some money for a normal life for a young man. But the zeros on the five-mark note did not multiply. The five-mark note ran out on the first trip to the grocery store, because the refrigerator had been empty for a long time. 

The child became a man and decided to leave. He will clean German stables and behinds, carry blocks and mortar. He has to. 

And those who remain will fight for a little air, for a medical report, a prescription, help. They will fear the policeman as much as the criminal. Life in his house is a dreamlike fairy tale, and on the street, a nightmare. 

Because of that Bosniak with the five-mark note, little Nadin will not be treated by anyone. That's what the first Bosniak ordered. At the same time, that first Bosniak does not stop leading that people to the abyss, and his brothers, sisters, relatives, and party followers have stolen what they haven't stolen so far. 

And all that remains for the Bosniak is to return to Kija, Luna, Gastoz, Grand, series, portals, televisions. 

Or, perhaps, to wake up and try to change something. 

I don't know. Judge for yourself. But first, read something!