Dreams and beliefs

Once upon a time there was a little English girl who grew up believing that those people who worked in the big palace in London, and all the people who worked for the councils, were something called Civil Servants.

She had this notion that a servant was a person who worked for another person; a person who did the bidding of the person who employed them in return for monetary reward.

The little girl continued to believe that this was true until she had almost reached her forties, when she was brutally disabused of this foolish, childish notion.

The same little girl grew up believing that her parents were the people who were there to take care of her, and who were the ones who chose if, when and where to delegate her care. The same little girl grew up believing that her parents were seen as responsible adults by those people who worked for them, and as such were quite able to make the decisions that needed to be made for her, until such time as she was able to make them herself.

The little girl continued to believe that this was true until she had almost reached her forties (and was a parent to four children of her own), when she was brutally disabused of this foolish, childish notion.

The little girl spent some of her teenage years living within a walled city, surrounded by a country who believed its citizens were not able to make decisions for themselves or their children; who believed they must be protected from the horrors of the west and those beyond the wall; who believed it was acceptable and right to keep detailed files on its citizens; who believed it was acceptable and right that children should report on their parents, that neighbours should report on neighbours, that family and friends should report on each other; who believed it was right to control education and religion, freedom of thought and association; who believed it was acceptable to shoot and kill those who could not live under such conditions and who tried to escape to freedom.

The little girl watched students being gunned down in a square in the east for daring to voice their opinions.

The little girl believed that one day these things would stop, and that everyone would be free to live a life like hers. A life where she was free to think what she wanted; free to associate with whosoever she chose; free to protest against injustice; free to take care of herself and her future children in the way she felt best; free to live free of interference; free to be trusted to do the right thing unless she showed otherwise by breaking the law; free to question; free to take photographs without being considered a terrorist; free.

One day the little girl's dream came true, or so it seemed.

She was brutally disabused of this dream when she had almost reached her forties and realised that the country she had always thought was a beacon of freedom; a place where difference or eccentricity was a cherished part of the fabric of society, was actually moving ever faster towards the country the walled city had sat in during her teenage years, and she cried for the loss of her innocent, childhood dream, and for the loss of her children's freedom, but she dared to dream a new dream of the old dream, all the same.

ETA this link which is well worth reading.