Every man who knows no shame was once a child. A small, innocent, sincere human being who knew nothing of office, status, connections, interests, political parties or boards of directors. He had no idea who mattered, whom to smile at, or in whose presence it was wiser to keep quiet. He laughed when something was funny. He cried when something hurt. He got angry, then forgot about it. He did not know how to scheme. He was not born shameless. That has to be learned.
The first lessons begin early. In kindergarten, he discovers that what actually happened is not always the most important thing. What also matters is who reaches the teacher first – and how they tell the story. If he lies, he may blush. He still has a sense of shame.
At school, he begins to notice that the best do not always fare the best. One child knows. Another knows how to get by. A third has a mother who knows someone. Some people learn very early that merit and reward need not have much to do with one another. Then come the years when belonging matters. If everyone thinks one thing, you think it too. If tomorrow they think something else, you change your mind. Something inside may still bother you from time to time. It will pass.
Real life begins with the first job. That is where our future man without shame discovers that work, knowledge and responsibility are useful things. They are simply not enough. You have to be noticed. You have to know people. You have to know when to speak – and, better still, when to keep quiet. And, of course, whose jokes to laugh at.
Then comes the first serious compromise. You know something is wrong, but you go along with it anyway. The first time, it does not sit well. The second time, you tell yourself you did not invent the system. The third time, everyone does it. Then you have a family. You have to make a living somehow. You are not going to change the world. And then, one day, you stop explaining yourself to yourself.
A person gets used to things. He also learns not to treat everyone the same. With those above him, he is courteous, tolerant and always ready to compromise. For those below him, there is always a rulebook. At first, the spine aches a little. Later, it becomes astonishingly flexible.
But that is still amateur level. For serious advancement, politics is required. And here, the first choice matters. You do not join just any party. The safest bet is the party already in power. But anyone can do that. Real talent is recognising the one that is about to come to power. You have to join early enough. Not too early. There is no point struggling unnecessarily while nobody even knows who they are. But certainly not too late, once everyone else has already rushed aboard. You have to catch the right moment.
Early enough that one day you can say: “I was there from the beginning.” That is how you become one of the first faithful. Later, those few years will be carefully retold. A little will be added. A few things will be forgotten. And by the end of the story, it will seem that victory itself would probably have been impossible without him.
Perhaps, at first, he even believes in something. He is young. Why not? Then he gets to know the party. He quickly learns that the programme matters, of course. What matters far more is who gets to interpret it. Having an opinion of your own is perfectly acceptable – provided it happens to coincide with the opinion of the person who decides where you will be sitting tomorrow.
Then he makes it to party headquarters. There are no novices there. Everyone is capable. Everyone is loyal. Everyone believes. Everyone nods. And everyone, naturally, is there for the citizens and the country.
The competition is serious. Being obedient is no longer enough. You have to outdo the obedient at obedience. You learn whose birthday must be congratulated first, whom to stand beside in a photograph, and who, as of yesterday, is no longer to be acknowledged. It takes a particular talent to recognise a man who is falling while everyone else is still fawning over him. An even greater talent is knowing when to move to the side of the man who is rising. And our hero clearly has a gift for it.
Then comes the first position. A committee. A council. A commission. A board. A directorship. It hardly matters. What matters is that you are in.
From that moment on, keeping quiet is no longer enough. Now you have to say what needs to be said and – far more difficult – make it look as though you genuinely believe it. Holding office also teaches you certain things that appear in no political programme. Where to sign. Where absolutely not to. And, eventually, you arrive at the safest rule of all: Never sign anything unless you absolutely have to. And if you do have to, perhaps the deputy can sign it. What else is a deputy for?
Along the way, your general education improves as well. You learn what “offshore” means. You discover where Cyprus is. Where Malta is. Where various islands are that, until yesterday, you may not even have known existed. A career can be wonderfully educational. It even teaches geography.
Meanwhile, the declaration of assets develops a curious tendency to grow. An apartment. Another apartment. Some land. A garage. Perhaps a holiday property. The salary, admittedly, has not quite kept pace with this development. But who lives on salary alone?
With position comes caution. Conversations are remembered. Some are preserved. Agreements, just in case, are documented. Files are kept. Everyone knows something about everyone else. But it is much safer when what you know can also be proved. Not for blackmail. Let us not be malicious. For protection.
And in time, he learns something else. A beginner wants to be seen. He wants the photograph. The title beneath his name. The front row. The cameras. A professional wants the opposite.
The ideal is to become the power behind the throne. You know everything. Nothing important happens without consulting you. The phone rings before a decision is made. Yet you are nowhere to be seen. No signature. No photograph. No name. As far as the general public is concerned, you barely exist. Others face the cameras. Others sign. Others explain. But everyone knows who has to be called. That is the higher level. To have power while leaving as few traces as possible.
With office, other things begin to change as well. The suits get better. The shoes more expensive. A proper watch appears on the wrist. Soon he learns that a watch is no longer merely there to tell the time. Now one is expected to know something about movements and manufactures. Then come the wines. Once, there were simply red and white. Now there are grape varieties, vintages, regions, decanting and the correct glassware. Once, he was perfectly happy eating pilaf. Now he eats risotto. And he makes sure he knows the difference.
Then comes the cigar. He learns how to cut it, how to light it and how to hold it. A cutter is purchased. A proper lighter. Then a humidor. He even learns the correct humidity level inside it. Perhaps he does not even like cigars. That does not matter. A man need not enjoy everything that comes with status.
Restaurants change. Cars change. Holidays change. Company changes. Manners change. And eventually, his wife comes next.
The first wife was there when there was nothing. When there was one suit. When holidays were taken wherever they could be afforded. When wine came in two varieties – red and white. When a watch was something you wore to know the time. She knew him before the position. And that is where the problem begins. Because she remembers. She remembers how he used to speak. Whom he laughed at. Whom he despised. What he once swore he would never become. Worse still, she remembers him from when he was not important.
In time, she too no longer fits the new life. Much like the old car. The old clothes. Half the old friends. Of course, he will meet his obligations. He will pay whatever needs to be paid. Everything will be civilised, respectable and within his means. But the new picture calls for something else. Someone younger. Prettier. More polished. Someone who better suits the man he now wants others to see.
The new wife does not have to remember the beginning. She met him after he was already successful. With the position. The suit. The watch. The restaurants. The people who greet him first. It fits the image much better. Because once a man begins to live as his own advertisement, sooner or later he starts replacing everything that no longer fits the ad.
But no one stays aboard the same party ship forever. Only the faithful do that. Our hero outgrew faithfulness long ago. The ideal moment is to change ships while the old one is still afloat. Not too early. It may yet keep sailing. Not too late either. Once everyone starts jumping ship, you are no longer a visionary. You are simply another rat deserting a sinking ship. You have to sense the moment. Leave while your side is still in power. Then your departure takes on an entirely different meaning.
You did not flee. You rebelled. You did not switch sides. You simply could no longer remain silent. Suddenly, you remember all the things you had disagreed with for years. The repression you had somehow endured while sitting in office. The pressure you had been subjected to. The principles you could no longer betray. Presented properly, a man who was part of the government yesterday can become a political outcast overnight. Better still – a victim of the system. And that makes an excellent calling card for the next government.
So he does not enter the second party as a turncoat. He arrives as a man who had the courage to say “no” when saying no was hardest. The fact that this great moral awakening happened to occur at precisely the moment it became obvious who would soon take power… Well. There is no need to look for bad intentions in everything. Our hero has simply done what he does best once again. He recognised the man who was falling in time. And moved to the side of the man who was rising.
In the second party, he is no longer a beginner. He arrives with experience. With contacts. With information. And, most importantly, with the ability to be useful. The old photographs still exist. So do the speeches. There may even be a recording in which he describes the man beside whom he now sits as the greatest disaster ever to befall the country. So what? Circumstances change. People mature. It is merely curious that our hero’s political maturation always seems to coincide with a change of government.
At the top, he finds others just like himself. All professionals. Serious competition. Ordinary shamelessness is no longer enough up there. It is no longer enough to change your opinion. You have to rewrite your past. And so two political parties become a wealth of political experience. Two completely contradictory political lives become a story of continuity. The people he once fawned over become the people he claims to have fought all his life. The people he once spat upon become old friends. Positions obtained through the party become proof of professional expertise. And the early loyalist from the first party becomes a man who, when things were hardest, “had the courage to change sides.” The biography is clean again. The career spotless. A man of principle.
By now, he can lecture others about hard work, honesty, responsibility and the fact that nothing happens overnight. And he will be entirely right. It did not happen overnight for him either. It took years of bending. Years of silence. Years of changing opinions, friends, wives and political parties. Years of catching the right moment. And standing on the right side. And now he has everything. The position. The connections. The reputation. A phone full of important numbers.
One day, he comes home. He takes off his jacket and places his phone on the table. His child runs towards him. Small. Smiling. Innocent. The child still does not know who matters. Does not know what a political party is. Does not know what holding office means. Does not yet know that there are people whose jokes you laugh at even when they are not funny. Nor does the child know how far a spine can bend while a man somehow continues to stand upright. The father looks at him. And perhaps, for a moment, somewhere deep inside, he remembers himself. The self from before all of this. He picks up the child, kisses him and says: “You won’t have to struggle the way I did.”
Author: Nikola Skeledžija
© 2026 Nikola Skeledžija. All rights reserved. Quotation is permitted with proper attribution to the author and source. Reproduction, distribution or adaptation of this text, in whole or in part, without prior written permission of the author is prohibited.