Interpretation of “Do not ask me” by Manos Loizos
For this entry in the series I have picked a song from the collection of composer and songmaker Manos Loizos. Manos was among the most influential artists of his era. Do not ask me is an old song that remains relevant: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iW26ERE2lnE.
Below are the lyrics, my translation of them, and further comments.
Μη με ρωτάς
Ερμηνεία: Μάνος Λοΐζος
Στίχοι: Λευτέρης Παπαδόπουλος
Μουσική: Μάνος Λοΐζος
Τα πολυβόλα σωπάσαν
Οι πόλεις αδειάσαν και κλείσαν
Ένας βοριάς παγωμένος
σαρώνει την έρημη γη
Στρατιώτες έρχονται-πάνε
ρωτάνε γιατί πολεμήσαν
κι εσύ ησυχάζεις
το δάχτυλο βάζεις
να βρεις την πληγή
Μη με ρωτάς, δε θυμάμαι
Μη με ρωτάς, μη με ρωτάς, μη με ρωτάς
Μη με κοιτάς, σε φοβάμαι
μη με κοιτάς, μη με ρωτάς, μη με ρωτάς
Στην πολιτεία βραδιάζει
το χιόνι τις στέγες σκεπάζει
Ένα καμιόνι φορτώνει
και κόβει στα δυο τη σιγή
Περιπολία στους δρόμους
και κάποια φωνή που διατάζει
κι εσύ ησυχάζεις
το δάχτυλο βάζεις
να βρεις την πληγή
Do not ask me
Singer: Manos Loizos
Lyrics: Lefteris Papadopoulos
Music: Manos Loisos
The machine guns have quietened
The towns have been evacuated and closed down
A frozen north wind
sweeps the desolate land
Soldiers come-go
Asking why they fought
and you turn silent
you place the finger
to find the wound
Do not ask me, I do not remember
Do not ask me, do not ask me, do not ask me
Do not look at me, I am afraid of you
Do not look at me, do not ask me, do not look at me
Night comes to the polity
The snow covers the rooftops
A truck loads up
and cuts the silence in two
Patrol on the streets
and a voice that issues orders
and you turn silent
you place the finger
to find the wound
Do not ask me describes some of the horrors of war. Deserted lands and broken people abound. The average soldier was recruited under the pretence of moral superiority, of fighting for some noble cause, only to question everything after the fact; after they have been treated as expendable.
The war apparatus relies on impressionable folk who have yet to form a coherent and questioning view of the world. By the time they figure out how things work, they have already been given as fodder to the cannons or their vitality has been snuffed out. Whatever shell of a person remains subsists in desperation, while decision-makers and their corporate cronies are enjoying their newfound wealth.
War is devastating at such a mind-boggling scale in part because those who decide in its favour are not directly involved in the fighting. It would have been different if the president was leading the charge in his threat to erase an entire civilisation. Would genocide be happening if the prime minister was on the front lines? Would forever wars be a thing if all decision-makers were to form the vanguard as a matter of principle? I doubt it.
As with private matters, corruption occurs when actions are decoupled from their consequences or, at least, when there is a good chance that the decoupling will occur. Once combined with the power to determine the fate of nations, such corruption becomes an inexhaustible capacity for inhumanity.
Plans are drawn by policy wonks behind closed doors. The same core message is disseminated on repeat under the guise of impartial journalism through a network of channels that are owned by the oligarchs (i.e. the beneficiaries of the regime; a regime which claims the moral high ground). The moneymen who pull the strings connive on how to maximise their gains while socialising the costs.
Against this backdrop, the titular plea to suspend all questions is the veteran’s coping mechanism in the face of torment as well as the realisation of deep-seated misanthropy among the elites. Some veterans know they were offered as blood sacrifice to the altars of greed, yet cannot muster the strength to argue anymore. Such is their broken heart that they even fear the poetic “you”, which is presented as a benevolent caregiver figure.
This second person shows compassion. They are not there to make probing questions. Their role is to provide much-needed relief from what has transpired. As such, they focus on treating the wounds. We find here the interpersonal spark that gives people hope, including those who are dead inside.
It is the genuine caring for another in times of strife and uncertainty: the solidarity that ordinary people show when placed under collective duress. It does not conform with the profiteer’s calculus. It comes without strings attached. There is no fine print and hidden fees. It manifests as a gentle touch; a reminder that there is beauty to be found in the little things even when all seems lost.