A classic parable from historians begins with a powerful leader seeking a plan from a top expert. The expert goes to work and presents a proposal. The adviser who reviews it tells him it is not good enough and orders a revision. When the plan is improved, the boss still questions it. What if subordinates struggle to execute well? The cycle repeats, and after the sixth attempt, the boss finally praises the work, calling it a completely different matter.
But that is exactly the plan the adviser brought at the start.
The boss grows furious and flings a prop—an ornament short of a weapon—at the subordinate. The pristine white suit is ruined. The subordinate does not stay indebted. He places a basket of trash on the boss’s head. Self-respect matters because both stand as equals in a land of citizens who deserve dignity. They both stay in place, no one is fired, yet greetings fade and personal ties become tangled matters.
The figure of authority is linked to a real historic leader, a British prime minister commonly known as Robert Anthony Eden, 1st Earl of Avon. His subordinates include Henry Liddell Hart, a noted military theorist and author of many works. The situation echoes the Suez Crisis, a conflict involving Israel, France, Britain, and Egypt after Egypt nationalized the Suez Canal. Behind this crisis, the Soviet Union commented on serious military upheaval. It is hard to dispute such arguments, and many would argue that a kind word paired with decisive action carries more weight than a simple kind word alone.
While scanning the newspapers, the narrator learns that a group stood on a street on February 19, celebrated as a major holiday. In 1861, the February 19/March 3 Manifesto of the abolition of serfdom marked a turning point, and the Tsar is remembered as a savior, though law remains law and life remains life. A reminder sits that a long arc has passed since the abolition of slavery, spanning roughly 160 years.
The narrator recalls not understanding the notion of a dress code until a respected company explains its own standards. Only the president and vice presidents wear plain suits, department heads wear striped suits, and smaller players wear suits in more muted tones. The presidential reception hall has seating, but back support is discouraged. Magazines lie beside the chairs, yet glancing at them is discouraged. A small precaution is suggested before making a call to the head, so as not to be tempted to excuse a trip to the restroom. Time is precious, and every moment matters.
Thus the traditional dynamic appears: the boss proclaims, I am in charge and you are a fool, then the roles invert and you are in charge while I am the fool. Perhaps the central question is whether February 19 should still be celebrated. In the first grade, a poem by Sergei Mikhalkov was shared about a man who dreamed of labor and freedom rather than captivity.
Recently the so-called smoking room paradox draws attention. In the main hall, one speaker is praised as a genius, while in the smoking room colleagues claim that anyone reporting to each other is an idiot. The tension between order and common sense becomes apparent. The speaker notes a lack of audience support, no questions about the merits, and a noticeable crowd that breaks during breaks to chat and snap photos. Some wonder why the room is quiet during talks and why the rector emphasizes quiet work, even as the audience drifts elsewhere for a moment of connection.
A retired colonel once described a sense of freedom found in service, where every need is described by a charter and everything else is up to the individual to handle. Civil life, by contrast, often feels less clear and more chaotic to those who have spent years in structured duty.
This tension appears in a poem by Nekrasov, where the question is asked who benefits from life in Russia while serfdom has already ended. Some insist that nothing has really changed, as if old habits persisted beneath new law. The public holiday on February 19 is invoked as a symbol of these debates, hinting that law and common sense still struggle to find a common ground.
A final tale returns to a grand mansion. The leader gazes at the building and decides to light his favorite pipe, but a watchman warns that smoking here would be unsafe because fire could spread and bring ruin. The law remains the law. There is no alternative but to adhere. A later note arrives—a letter and a cash bonus for conscientious work and vigilance in guarding an important facility. Acknowledgment comes from the highest levels, and the scene concludes with a nod to history and duty.
The year is 1939, and the Georgian SSR mansion under examination has already met its demolition. Yet the story resonates within the collective memory of those who worked at the exhibition grounds, encouraging a respect for dignity and the aspiration to live by laws rather than fleeting concepts. This remains a guiding resource in governance and personal conduct. Perhaps it is time to revisit the February 19 celebrations and reflect on how law, duty, and human dignity continue to shape the path forward.
The narrative presents a personal perspective that may diverge from editorial positions.