Impotent Witness

I’d never met my uncle Fritz and the stories I’d heard about him being a Dollfuß fanatical fan could have been hearsay. But his idol became a martyr in his eyes, a vanquished father figure, for his own father was too tied up in his own business deals. Fritz, methinks, wanted an Old Testament god-like figure to look up to. Dollfuss, being short, fitted in the family, his stature softening the blow of authoritarianism.

I see myself several years down the line in a country with a dictator: polls already show that young people want a firm hand, want a strong ruler. Didn‘t Huxley say what you love will kill you? Huxley who? they say. „Who cares?“ they add.

I cannot stay in a country refusing to listen to history while I already hear the warning sirens. Who am I anyway in all this? An impotent witness whose time has come?

The internet is a buzz. It seems the world’s going to end because of global warming. My legacy must not disappear.

My birth house should become a museum and a site of pilgrimage for those espousing my ideals. The interior Minister who runs the area has decided that this will only last until 2028, but we all know that sites of pilgrimage have the tendency to last much longer than envisaged. My birth house is still there as a museum almost 90 years after I was murdered. And look what’s happened in the meantime, and look what’s happening now.

Polls say that the young want someone like me at the helm. They are already talking about a man, also slight of build, who may become the next Chancellor of the hard rightwing ilk.

I must locate all my memorabilia to furnish the museum and make it hard to farm out individual pieces. Complicate things to make 2028  forgotten. Yes. My legacy will surely live on and the very black see-saw end will prevail, perhaps even end the seesawing  for good.