Bassim
VIP Member
- Joined
- Mar 1, 2008
- Member Type
- Student or Learner
- Native Language
- Bosnian
- Home Country
- Bosnia Herzegovina
- Current Location
- Sweden
Would you please correct the mistakes in the second part of my text?
About fifteen minutes later, two police cars with flashing lights stopped with a screech, and four policemen came out. They looked impressive in their body armour and with their gear and weapons, but in practice, they were powerless and the locals ignored them and treated them without respect. On rare occasions, when the police arrested someone, the youths would immediately revenge by burning more cars, breaking more windows and throwing stones at the firefighters and paramedics. The police were not allowed to use their weapons, and they would run after the rioters from one street to another the whole night, dodging flying stones and petrol bottles. In the morning, they probably felt like idiots. They were like childminders taking care of disruptive children while criminals were using an opportunity to commit serious crimes.
This game of cat and mouse has been going on for years and there are no signs it would end in the near future. The youths are torching the cars and property of their poor neighbours and creating more misery for everyone, but their protests will not even cause a ripple in the exclusive suburbs where the elite enjoy their pleasant evenings with tasty meals and expensive vines. In their narrow and well-protected world, immigrants and refugees exist as a formless mass imported to the country as a cheap labour who will do low-paid jobs, which the natives do not want. The damages of the riots will be substantial, but the taxpayers will pay all costs incurred, and they will never question any government decisions, because they have been told since childhood that government only wishes well to its citizens.
The tall policeman squatted and peered under the seats looking for the stones. He got up, his face flushed, and he held them in front of him in the two transparent bags, with a look of a scientist who had just discovered a new specimen. The passengers sneered and shook their heads. They knew that the evidence was useless and the stones would eventually end up in an archive never to be open again. He and his colleagues were going to return to the suburb a few days later, picking more stones and probably running for the cover when the hail of them started to fall. “You were lucky,” he said to our driver before he got off. “Last week one of our cars got hit by a big rock.” He spread his hands to show how large it was. Boys threw it from the bridge. It hit the bonnet. Had it hit the windscreen someone would have been killed. He gasped and shook his head, and the driver said, “Madness, sheer madness.”
The policemen went into their cars and drove off at speed. I pitied them. They have their hands tied, and at the same time, the government demands from them to take control over the unruly suburbs. But their first hand experience tells them that would be an impossible task without the use of considerable force. And more force will certainly lead to more killings and more retaliations. That is the price which nobody is willing to pay, at least in this moment. In this case, ordinary policemen are victims just as much as the youths who throw stones at them. Although they stand on opposite sides, both groups are sacrificed by the government, which, in its arrogance, has lost touch with reality.
Later, I passed by Stockholm City Hall, its red bricks and three golden crowns on top of the tall tower gleamed in the sun. I had never been inside, but I know that every year this impressive building is the venue for the Nobel Prize Banquet. This is where a chosen group of bright minds gather to eat in the company the Royal Family and other dignitaries. Before I came to Sweden, I did not know much about the Prize and I believed in my naivety that it was indeed given to the best writers, scientists, economists and politicians. Then when I understood what was really going on in Swedish society, I felt only scorn for it. Alfred Nobel had had certainly a noble idea to award the brilliant people for their achievements in science and literature, but after the end of the Second World War, the Prize had become an opportunistic tool in the hands of Swedish elite to make political statements. This was glaringly obvious during the Cold War.
TO BE CONTINUED
About fifteen minutes later, two police cars with flashing lights stopped with a screech, and four policemen came out. They looked impressive in their body armour and with their gear and weapons, but in practice, they were powerless and the locals ignored them and treated them without respect. On rare occasions, when the police arrested someone, the youths would immediately revenge by burning more cars, breaking more windows and throwing stones at the firefighters and paramedics. The police were not allowed to use their weapons, and they would run after the rioters from one street to another the whole night, dodging flying stones and petrol bottles. In the morning, they probably felt like idiots. They were like childminders taking care of disruptive children while criminals were using an opportunity to commit serious crimes.
This game of cat and mouse has been going on for years and there are no signs it would end in the near future. The youths are torching the cars and property of their poor neighbours and creating more misery for everyone, but their protests will not even cause a ripple in the exclusive suburbs where the elite enjoy their pleasant evenings with tasty meals and expensive vines. In their narrow and well-protected world, immigrants and refugees exist as a formless mass imported to the country as a cheap labour who will do low-paid jobs, which the natives do not want. The damages of the riots will be substantial, but the taxpayers will pay all costs incurred, and they will never question any government decisions, because they have been told since childhood that government only wishes well to its citizens.
The tall policeman squatted and peered under the seats looking for the stones. He got up, his face flushed, and he held them in front of him in the two transparent bags, with a look of a scientist who had just discovered a new specimen. The passengers sneered and shook their heads. They knew that the evidence was useless and the stones would eventually end up in an archive never to be open again. He and his colleagues were going to return to the suburb a few days later, picking more stones and probably running for the cover when the hail of them started to fall. “You were lucky,” he said to our driver before he got off. “Last week one of our cars got hit by a big rock.” He spread his hands to show how large it was. Boys threw it from the bridge. It hit the bonnet. Had it hit the windscreen someone would have been killed. He gasped and shook his head, and the driver said, “Madness, sheer madness.”
The policemen went into their cars and drove off at speed. I pitied them. They have their hands tied, and at the same time, the government demands from them to take control over the unruly suburbs. But their first hand experience tells them that would be an impossible task without the use of considerable force. And more force will certainly lead to more killings and more retaliations. That is the price which nobody is willing to pay, at least in this moment. In this case, ordinary policemen are victims just as much as the youths who throw stones at them. Although they stand on opposite sides, both groups are sacrificed by the government, which, in its arrogance, has lost touch with reality.
Later, I passed by Stockholm City Hall, its red bricks and three golden crowns on top of the tall tower gleamed in the sun. I had never been inside, but I know that every year this impressive building is the venue for the Nobel Prize Banquet. This is where a chosen group of bright minds gather to eat in the company the Royal Family and other dignitaries. Before I came to Sweden, I did not know much about the Prize and I believed in my naivety that it was indeed given to the best writers, scientists, economists and politicians. Then when I understood what was really going on in Swedish society, I felt only scorn for it. Alfred Nobel had had certainly a noble idea to award the brilliant people for their achievements in science and literature, but after the end of the Second World War, the Prize had become an opportunistic tool in the hands of Swedish elite to make political statements. This was glaringly obvious during the Cold War.
TO BE CONTINUED
