By Mordechai Vanunu

I am the clerk, the technician, the mechanic, the driver. They said, Do this, do that, don´t look left or right, don´t read the text. Don´t look at the whole machine. You are only responsible for this one bolt. For this one rubber stamp. This is your only concern. Don´t bother what is above you. Don´t try to think for us. Go on, drive. Keep going. On, on. So they thought, the big ones, the smart ones,> the futurologists. There is nothing to fear. Not to worry. Everything is ticking just fine. Our little clerk is a diligent worker.
He´s a simple mechanic. He´s a little man. Littte men´s ears don´t hear, their eyes don´t see. We have heads, they don´t. Answere them, said he to himself, said the little man, the man with a head of his own. Who is in charge? Who knows where this train is going? Where is their head? I too have a head. Why do I see the whole engine. Why did I see the precipice - is there a driver on this train? The clerk driver technician mechanic looked up. He stepped back and saw - what a monster. Can´t believe it. Rubbed his eyes and - yes, it´s there all right. I´m all right. I do see the monster. I´m part of the system. I signed this form. Only now I am reading the rest of it. This bolt is part of a bomb. This bolt is me.

How did I fail to see, and how do the others go on fitting bolts. Who else knows? Who has seen? Who has heard? - The emperor really os naked. I see him. Why me? It´s not for me. It´s too big. Rise and cry out. Rise and tell the people. You can. I, the bolt, the technician, the mechanic? -Yes, you. You are the secret agent of the people. You the eyes of the nation. Agent spy, tell us what you´ve seen. Tell us what the insiders, the clever ones have hidden from us. Without you there is only the precipice. Only catastrophe. I have no choice. I´m a little man, a citizen, one of the people, but I´ll do what I have to. I´ve heard the voice of my conscience and there is nowhere to hide. The world is small, small for Big Brother. I´m on your mission. I´m doing my duty. Take it from me. Come and see for yourselves. Lighten my burden. Stop the train. Get off the train. The next stop - nuclear disaster. The next book, the next machine. No.

There is no such thing.

Tillbaka till Innehåll
Mordechai Vanunu sitter sedan elva år tillbaka isolerad i en minimal fängelsecell i Israel. Som före detta kärnvapentekniker avslöjade han delar av Israels hemliga kärnvapenprogram, vilket ledde till att han kidnappades av Israels underrättelsetjänst och dömdes till 18 års fängelse. 1987 tilldelades han The Right Livelihood Award (det alternativa nobelpriset) för sitt arbete mot kärnvapen och för en öppen diskussion. Dikten skrev Vanunu i fängelset. Den är hämtad ur boken "Swords into Plowshares" av Art Laffin och Anne Montgomery.