Yesterday evening I got into a heated (though civil) conversation with a dear friend for whom I have great affection. My friend said (in response to my defence of freedom), that “freedom” was “just a concept”. Freedom is certainly not just a “concept”. Freedom is the right to criticise the government without fear of arrest or (in extreme cases) death. It is the right to peacefully enjoy any property you may own without the constant fear that it may be confiscated without compensation or due legal process. The absence of freedom is the Nazi concentration camp, Stalin’s gulag, Mao’s Cultural Revolution and the desire of a myriad crackpot utopians who try to create heaven on earth and end up creating hell. Freedom is, of course sometimes talked about in abstract terms. However it is much more than a mere concept, and we as writers should be strong in its defence.
Listening to the rain. Safe inside, no fear of the midnight knock on the door. I am at peace free to think my own thoughts. No pyres of burning books, no sound of jackboots coming over the hill. Only the noise of the comforting rain wild and free.