The hardships of exile sound harsh also for those whose spirit would tend anyway to expatriate and explore what lies beyond the horizon. What has been left behind is after all a full explored world and a rich social network. It is however hard to fully appreciate the essential nuances of a foreign country without living there for years. Sometimes they turn out to be nuisances as well, but it is the cost paid by most of the explorers.
As well as feeling along, in the middle of a tempest and spotting around nothing else than icebergs. I havn't the foggiest whether to approach on purpose such a mass of ice could be a viable way to save the lifes of an unfortunate crew. Let's put some imagination, assume to experience a videogame where every false move could be redone. I drive my boat in the direction of the biggest floating mountain I detect, I set the collision course and I peacefully wait for the next move. If I will crash, fall into the sea and perish, then the game will be over and any further decision will be meaningless.
A true free world should actually enable all of the players to commit mistakes, reset their status and go on with a series of infinite attempts. Yet the bureaucracy adopted by the Soviet Uniot emerging from the other side of the Alps hardly allows a faux pas. Everything is well recorded.
The best instrument to keep everybody under control. An act against the rules issued by the government and you are out. The party says you are out. Even your closest friends start to deem your lack of civic sense as a definite hint of the presence on an evil spirit. You have got to spend the remaining days of your life as an exile, segregated far away from the advantages conceded by the state to the faithfull subjects.
I have not gone so far, but the fight I have started against the new established socialist republic, my flight on the other side of the alps, my very same writings, are enough to classify myself as potentially dangerous. I could still recreate some valuable and solid links in the free world, but I will ever miss that environment where I was born. Places and people of my past are fading away, lost beyond the iron curtain. If I will acquire any new friend in this world, they will be different. The old ones are now hard to rescue.
Unless crashing against the iceberg won't save some men from the crew, enough material to build a new boat, reach a safe harbour and assemble a whole fleet. I will still be solitary in command, but, if I will be summon enough authority, I could still hope to overthrow the authorities who have casted me away. It is like the final act of an opera, where the hero reveals not to have died, to have survived the vagary of fortune and eventually obtains the crown back.
Provided that the hero is a destituted prince.
I am just a follower of Adam Smith, looking for some mate of a similar mindset, ready to fight back and recover a paradise lost.