[ WP ] You are the Historian , a shapeshifting , immortal being that gives historical figures a push in the right direction .

`` Who the hell is [ Tarek el-Tayeb Mohamed Bouazizi ] ( https: //en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Suicide_of_Mohamed_Bouazizi )?'' I ask. I know history. That is kind of important to my job after-all and I have never heard of this guy. 
 
 I am baffled by this new assignment. My job is to go back in time and `` nudge'' important people in the `` right direction''. By `` nudge'' we mean, trick, coerce, bribe, blackmail, threaten, whatever, and `` right direction'' means whatever direction I am told to push someone. I've long come to accept that what I do matters and however I accomplish my goals, it is justified. 
 
 But `` Tarek el-Tayeb Mohamed who-the-fucks-knows Bouazizi''?. Who is this guy? 
 
 Turns out he is some anonymous shopkeeper in Tunisia and I am to go back to use this Bouaziz guy to start a region-wide revolution or something. How the fuck does that work? 
 
 But I am assured this assignment is just the first step in a grander plan. My job is to set the revolution in motion - which in itself will inexorably lead to chaos and death - but others of my profession are assigned to redirect the revolution in order to create some kind of nirvana on earth bullshit. 
 
 Whatever. 
 
 I'll do my part. Let the others do theirs later. If they fuck it up, it is not on me. 
 
 So back I go. 
 
 December 10, 2010. 
 
 And I find Mr. Bouazizi selling fruit to seemly unwilling buyers. And, despite the poverty, the abuse he gets from the local police, and facing a life of endless want, Bouazizi seems happy. I watch as he gives an apple to a clearly underfed child, as he helps an old lady lift heavy bags into a taxi, as he smiles at the world. 
 
 This will not do. 
 
 I watch and wait and then, a week later, I do what is required. I saddle up next to Tarek ( for, after a week of watching, I feel I know, and that I love, this man ) and I quickly douse him in gasoline and light the match that will start a revolution. 
 
 I then make my escape. First to another section in the market and then to another time altogether. 
 
 I am still kept awake by that assignment. By the sight of Tarek's vain attempts to put the flames out, by the smell, by his screams. But I am assured it was worth the price Tarek paid. 
 
 I am not so sure. 
 
 I am sure though that it was not worth the price I have paid. 

