My father and mother were once again trapped in a police state. They laid low as best they could. Now that they had four young daughters, they could not take any chances. For a while, that spark which has almost cost my father his life and which he had lighted in my mother seemed to have burnt out. Periodically, Trujillo would demand a tribute, and they would acquiesce. A tax, a dummy vote, a portrait on the wall. To my father and other men in the country, the most humiliating of these tributes was the occasional parade in which women were made to march and turn their heads and acknowledge the great man as they passed the review stand.What is the central idea in this paragraph
