During the 35 years of Left regime, there was no independence. We

Hearken, children of memory, to the words of Nagma: “During the 35 years of Left regime, there was no independence. We were left at the hands of torturers.” In this harsh utterance lies not mere grievance, but a lamentation for the lost dignity of a people; and with it a warning that freedom, once surrendered, may never be reclaimed without cost. Let us walk together through its meaning, its spirit, and the lessons it holds for all who would guard their souls against silence.

When she speaks of “35 years of Left regime,” she conjures a long epoch in which the dream of liberation became a cage. The Left, once cast as champions of equality and justice, may in time become oppressors themselves—if they betray the sacred trust invested by the people. Under that dominion, she claims, there was no independence: the autonomy of thought, action, and dignity was taken from the people, and they were reduced to shadows under the iron hand of power. To live without independence is to wear one’s own chains — to walk, but not to rise; to breathe, but not to be alive in spirit.

When she says, “We were left at the hands of torturers,” she speaks both literally and metaphorically. In many lands, political regimes that centralize power suppress dissent through fear, coercion, and repression. The tortured are not only bodies broken — they are voices silenced, spirits humiliated, and wills bent. In such a context, the very essence of human dignity is crushed, and obedience is mistaken for devotion. But obedience wrung by fear is not loyalty; it is the hollow echo of subjugation.

Across time, similar stories have been written in many lands. Consider the tale of those who labored under apartheid regimes, or those who lived behind the Iron Curtain. They knew the pain of a regime that claimed to stand for the people, yet ruled over them as masters. When the walls fell, the first act of many was to reclaim their words, their songs, their histories — the invisible threads of independence. For those spirits had never truly died: they slept, waiting for the dawn. So too is Nagma’s cry a call to wake the soul from its long captivity.

But note: she does not simply accuse. Her voice carries a demand for vigilance: that the people never hand their freedom away to any regime, however righteous its rhetoric. For the path from idealism to tyranny can be narrow and steep. The freedom fighters of old were betrayed whenever power forgot its purpose and became its own master. Those who build systems must always remember that their structures exist not to bind, but to guard the liberty of every being.

From this, we draw a clear lesson: never mistake authority for justice, nor submission for peace. Even in times of hardship, the soul must guard its independence, for once it is lost, the cost of recovery is often paid with blood, grief, and memory. And so, practical actions beckon:

1. Speak truth courageously — even when voices tremble in the dark. A people’s heart is nurtured by honest words more than silent compliance.

2. Bear witness to the past — preserve stories of oppression and resistance, so that the next generation may learn and not repeat the same chains.

3. Hold power accountable — whether in state or in society, structures that claim to serve must be scrutinized, challenged, and constrained.

4. Cherish inner sovereignty — even when outer freedom is denied, guard your inner life, your dignity, your capacity to imagine justice.

May Nagma’s words be a caution to the ages: that freedom is fragile, and power, once unchallenged, becomes a prison. But also a beacon: that remembrance, resistance, and the resolve to live with courage are the keys to breaking any chain — so that a people may stand upright, no longer as subjects of fear, but as masters of their own fate.