He didn’t want to.
He had written poetry, plays, and several books. Even worked in a beer factory, under duress. He wasn’t a politician.
On the other hand, he had been in jail multiple times because of “political activity.” Many years in jail, for his writings. He would hide them in all kinds of places: even in plain view, as plays. You know, in that double meaning or even triple — in that abstract metaphoric way. Pushing the limits — against the banal evil. They would catch on occasionally — back to jail.
1989. Into the Theatre of the Absurd. Reality — There were challenges of governing a nascent democracy, when things mattered. No jails to be had, except, maybe, the jail of power. With the breakup of the Warsaw Pact, the Soviet Union finally disappeared in two years time. That banal Communist bureaucracy crumbled.
“In this postmodern world, cultural conflicts are becoming more dangerous than any time in history. A new model of coexistence is needed, based on man’s transcending himself.”
He didn’t want to. He knew. But he was elected to do…