They asked, “Who do you think they will appoint as prime minister?” I mentioned a name, but I couldn't immediately recall the person's last name. While I was thinking, the middleman who asked the question said the last name of the prime minister candidate I had in mind, and I confirmed that yes, that was the person I meant.
I came to work, and for the prime minister position, they mentioned a different person’s name. Then another last name was brought up. Finally, our colleague whose time to be prime minister was ending said that most likely they would trust a young cadre because there is a policy of rejuvenation in staff selection.
We don’t have much to do with it. Our generation (Soviet generation) wasn’t lucky, we came during the transitional period, and it was not in our fate to be elected as members of the municipal council by God’s decree. Maybe it existed initially, but during those difficult years all records got damaged or lost.
Therefore, we quietly sit and watch who will become prime minister, who will be appointed as his first and second deputy. We can only hope that the new secretary of the Cabinet’s press service will someday be a colleague we know and greet. That is like the apricot in the garden issue. In today's time, a person who has apricots in their garden doesn’t greet others; after the apricots in the garden are gone, they go open an NGO and send out a press release.
In summary, as socio-political activists, we have dismissed the current prime minister. During the popular times of the TV series “Valley of the Wolves,” people used to say in such situations that they “broke their pen.” But the teacher held a meeting yesterday and signed some documents with his ballpoint pen.
Let me say that activists didn’t come to this idea out of nowhere. They were inclined towards this thought by the conjuncture of the last 10 years. For years, people who were portrayed this way in the media are usually outgoing. Before that, it wasn’t like this. Between 1993 and 2015, there was no high-ranking person (ministers, committee chairs, executive power heads) who was not in media and conversation, but none of them were dismissed. In recent years, however, having the name of an official mentioned negatively on websites and in newspapers is similar to a Soviet-era official being criticized in the “Kommunist” newspaper.
Young people today don’t know: from 1920 to 1990, any communist official criticized in the party newspaper would be shot between 1920 and 1953, arrested but not shot between 1953 and 1964, and dismissed from work and party between 1964 and 1990, and they would usually develop heart failure.
Now there are no party newspapers, instead modern media knows well what is advisable to write and what is recommended not to write. If a person’s pen is strong and they don’t hesitate to break it, who could have any dealings with them?
If you pay attention, theoretically, the “appointments” in place of the dismissed teacher are given verbally rather than in writing. Everyone talks, but no one writes or names names. Because there could be consequences. If we mention someone’s name, enemies will take action, the person might not only fail to become prime minister, but might even be dismissed from their position, and we would become the cause.
I remember that in the 1990s (specifically in September 1996), the position of parliament speaker became vacant, and many journalists “chose” Health Minister Ali Insanov for the post, while many of our colleagues insisted on Labor Minister Ali Nagiyev. Both claimed the position.
During those days, when I was chatting casually with the veteran journalist Jafar Aliyev, he said that neither Ali nor Vali would be appointed as the parliament speaker; they would appoint teacher Murtuz. It sounded interesting, I knew the teacher was an informed man, he had worked abroad and had friends and acquaintances everywhere. I cautiously asked where this information came from. Our elder colleague said: “It’s not information, it’s a conviction. Recently, I went to Baku State University to meet teacher Murtuz, and I saw that the number of the professor’s guards had tripled, and no one was allowed near him. Even I barely managed to meet him; usually whenever he knew I had come, he wouldn’t keep me waiting and we would immediately meet and talk. That means something must have been said to him.”
This conversation happened in the first days of October 1996 in Yasamal. About 14-15 days later, teacher Murtuz was elected as parliament speaker. If professor Jafar were alive, we would ask him. He certainly knew who would become prime minister.
What I mean is that in such situations, it is necessary to remain calm and look out the third window on the right.
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The world is the old world, those aspiring for high positions are new.
Samir SARI