The official meetings are over. Night has fallen on the headquarters. The guards are tired of making salutes. The advisors requested permission to leave. The odor of gloom prevails. The number of visitors has diminished. When foreigners disappear, the ruler feels isolated. Their absence gives the impression that something is slowly being covertly prepared. Some of the encomiasts have become turncoats. They are presently cleaning up their vocabulary so that they can put it at the service of others. The smells of their censers used to precede them as they gleefully advanced to appear before the ruler. At times, he even had to reprimand them for them to stop showering him with praise. Perhaps it is because he does not believe them, and perhaps it is so he can pretend to be modest. Now, they fall like autumn leaves; they fall and flee. They suddenly discovered that he does not love the people; that he does not like democracy; that he is the real leader of the killing machine; that his only concern is to remain in office; that the elections he used to hold were prepared by the intelligence services; that the parliament's effective task was to obstruct democracy, not enshrine it; that newspapers were printed to satisfy a single reader who despises them and never reads them; that the evening news anchor was an officer who used to pen each night disclosures about the extent of his colleagues' loyalty; that the media secretary personally supervised the selection of the leader's picture. It is a delicate mission. The wrinkles that dare to approach his glowing face must be dealt with. He must remain a symbol of youth and strength, so that the country's enemies do not think of aggressing it. He must appear determined with an iron fist. It is fine for him to show his kindness sometimes, such as kiss a child waving the flag or deign to receive a rose from a little girl who was brought to the celebration to express the people's gratitude. Those who used to praise his nobility, detachment, and sacrifices, have suddenly discovered that his rule is ridden with corruption. Today, they hang the family and entourage's laundry on TV, speak of fortunes and mines, and exaggerate the stories and the numbers. There is a whiff of treason in the air. They have drunk from the rule's cup and become engorged. They have traveled and committed perpetrations. They have bought and spent excessively. They have partied extravagantly. Suddenly, their conscience woke up. They loved the people and democracy; human rights; transparency and the rotation of power; institutions; the separation of powers. They were nothing but clapping hands and praising tongues. Suddenly, the storm came and took them away. Some of them already committed betrayal, others are getting ready to do so. Before sleeping, he finds nothing to do but watch TV. He will not watch the official channel, as neither he nor the anchor believes what is being said there. He will have to watch channels he hates. Al-Jazeera doesn't sleep. Al-Arabiya doesn't tire. He gets angry. The future of the nation cannot be put in the hands of journalists. He sees his picture, which is repeatedly shown. He watches bombs exploding. Corpses appear, disappear, then reappear after a while. How he wishes to get back his full strength and settle accounts. He stares at the TV screen. A young man who was surely born during his mandate has wrapped an insolent word around his head: “Leave”. Another protestor has written it on the palm of his hand. A veiled woman raises the word written in various colors. He turns to another channel and also sees his picture, the flames of explosions, and corpses that appear, disappear, then reappear. Suddenly, another young man shamelessly addresses himself to him and says: “It's time for you to leave.” He is in a blind rage. How can a boy who doesn't even have a driver's license yet insult the country's leader? Where are his parents? His guardians? The chiefs of his tribe? Where is the police? Where are the security men who used to search even the passing birds? “Leave”. He said the word and repeated it. A ruler does not come to leave. We are in no way related to those corrupt countries, which change rulers like they change socks. He said it and laughed at the comparison. “Leave.” He said it bitterly and added that a ruler belongs only where the seals are located. He dies when he leaves them; he dies when he sees them in other hands. How difficult these scenes are. It is a merciless world where the ruler turns into a spectator thrashed by TV channels. He turns into a corpse in the hands of reporters and commentators. How harsh this new world is, and how harsh is the word “Leave”.
