“… all animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others…” — George Orwell.
About a decade ago, I was privileged to read George Orwell’s stellar and most poignant and astutely written novel, Animal Farm. The thing about it, though, at that time, I never quite understood the sheer gravity and the whole gamut of what Orwell was alluding to in (his) metaphorical literary work of art. I figured he employed a tactful skill in meandering literary devices to tell a rather chilling tale, but at that time, I was still somewhat befuddled. Lost in the historical fiction, was a somewhat paradoxical premonition for the predicament that we in Belize would one day find ourselves in. Yes, we are living in an “animal farm,” and, rather unfortunately, some animals — well, are more equal than others.
It’s disheartening, to say the least, what tiny Belize has come to. The people who are citizens of this democracy and believe that such exists, have been let down and disappointed time and time again. Several times have the people been railroaded into adapting and adjusting when, in fact, that wasn’t part of the plan to even begin with. Take, for example, the issue of vaccination. One would have thought that in a system such as ours, we would have had the open choice to exercise our free will and good conscience, only to realize that we have been railroaded into taking it by making it appear that we have a “choice”.
Oh, comrades, we were all called upon to make grave sacrifices, comrades! We couldn’t quite afford it and muster a way to give what was asked, so they “consulted” with us only to find out that they still took what they came for. So we got angry, and we marched along the major thoroughfares of the Farm, only to find out that we didn’t have any real choice, and so we surrendered quietly and retreated into the barn house. We yielded a portion of our produce and also we agreed to forgo any future benefits for the “purported collective betterment of the farm”. So we adjusted again and, given the very nature we are, we buried our heads in the dirt.
As we continue to toil, comrades, we are constantly reminded to keep heart and that better days are coming. When we question certain decisions, movements and procurements around the farm that don’t benefit the majority of us and quite frankly are in stark contravention of the (plan), we are told that tough decisions sometimes have to be made to keep the farm running smoothly. Orwell, in his stellar piece, put it like this: “I trust that every animal here appreciates the sacrifice that Comrade Napoleon has made in taking this extra labour upon himself. Do not imagine, comrades, that leadership is a pleasure! On the contrary, it is a deep and heavy responsibility. No one believes more firmly than Comrade Napoleon that all animals are equal. He would be only too happy to let you make your decisions for yourselves. But sometimes you might make the wrong decisions, comrades, and then where should we be?” And thus, we continue to trust their judgement and ability to lead and we, well, we continue to toil and hold down the Farm’s front.
So as we continue to bear the sun’s brutal brunt, we in our very nature, scour around the Farm, and in our usual fashion — grumble and complain amongst ourselves. In between tilling the soil and threshing out grains with a small flail, we get an occasional word or two about the latest happenings taking place that will affect the Farm. Much to our great displeasure, we find out once more, that we aren’t as “equal” as they claim, and well, there are others whose worth and value far surmount ours. So while we give and work with the little we have, still bringing in more for them, while they cut back from us, we learnt that some of the “more equal animals” were just informed that they won’t be required to make any further sacrifices. To this end, the farm animals stomped in the dirt, grumbled among themselves, and carried on working for the greater good of the Farm.
Whilst indeed the likes of what is taking place is eerily synonymous to that of Animal Farm, the tale has already been written. We are merely living out its horrid and decrepit chapters. The thing is, however, we can decide at which point we will close the book and flip the script. We do not have to go down to the same conclusion. However, in order to flip the script and alter the ending, we first have to realize the power that we have. The sooner we realize that it is us who toil the farm, that it is us who keep the farm running, that we are valuable and important to the farm and that we have the power on the farm, then will we be able to shift the cataclysmic ending that this paradox is heading towards.
Orwell said, “I saw a little boy, perhaps ten years old, driving a huge cart-horse along a narrow path, whipping it whenever it tried to turn. It struck me that if only such animals became aware of their strength, we should have no power over them, and that men exploit animals in much the same way as the rich exploit the proletariat”. Therefore, comrades, the script is written. The writing is on the wall. We can continue to live out Orwell’s Animal Farm, or we can wake up, pause, realize our great potential and the sheer gravity of the power we possess and flip the script.
Ultimately, it’s up to us, Comrades! It all comes down to us — we the givers, because the takers surely don’t have any limits! How foolish were we to have been sorely deceived into believing that they could have been any different. How naive were we to have thought that they would have held us in high regard and treated us like equals. We were deceived to think so, but it’s now time, comrades, to pick ourselves up from out the dirt and recoup. We must call an urgent meeting of all comrades to chart a way forward — for we cannot continue to go on like this. We were promised a platter, and instead of oats and honey, wi di eat sour pudding (and choke up) pan wi own vomit!
And so, with that said:
“The creatures outside looked from pig to man, and from man to pig, and from pig to man again; but already it was impossible to say which was which.” — George Orwell, Animal Farm
Unchained Reflections Of A Liberal Pragmatist.