This playful philosophical fiction is designed to tickle your brain about how philanthropy is shaped in today’s world. Are those in power well-meaning but hilariously off the mark, or are they cleverly orchestrating inequalities on purpose?
Thoughts?
The Great Divide
I surveyed the old building that fancied itself intimidating and important. It wasn't. That was my role—I was the one who was intimidating and important.
Today, I had been granted, by a superior being, the opportunity to set things right in the world. I was given the power to make the world a better place.
“Let them in,” I commanded in my most authoritative voice, startling the small, petite woman standing below me.
“I do apologize, Janice, I didn’t see you there,” I chuckled.
She looked bemused but nodded and proceeded to the back of the courtroom. Taking advantage of the moment, I adjusted the oversized wig my superior had insisted I wear, blowing a frustrated breath into the ringlets that dared to interfere with my beard.
Moments later, a noisy crowd entered the room, followed by another that was eerily silent.
“Silence! SILENCE in the court!” I demanded, feeling smug and self-satisfied with my command. “And please, do ensure you go to the correct places. You need to be in the right spot to receive the right justice... Go on, then,” I added, impatience creeping into my voice.
I waited for everyone to be seated before stepping down and walking through the aisle that divided the people. “You have all been summoned today to plead guilty or not guilty in the case of... Buckleburghing!”
The crowd exchanged confused glances, and I smiled as I continued to pace with a swagger.
“Buckleburghing? That’s not even a word! This is a joke... I’m leaving!” a young man on my right exclaimed.
I scoffed, letting out a small laugh as he attempted to leave, only to be stopped by an invisible force.
“Oh, you can’t leave. I’m here representing the superior power. I have the authority to determine universal fate. Buckleburghing is my new word—do you like it? I thought it was quite creative, even philosophical. It’s alliteration, and it sounds good. Quite clever, really.” I smiled and hurried back to my high perch, the wooden bench that towered over all. “Buckleburghing means one who hinders good things from happening. This is not your typical judicial system. There are two groups here: the defendants and the jury. I am the judge who will give you the chance to speak. You will not have representation—you represent yourselves.”
To my right, a sharp-looking woman with fierce eyebrows raised her hand.
“Go on,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“If we’re going to entertain this absurdity,” she began, “can we just get on with it? You’re waffling, and we have really important things to do. This isn’t some silly game. We’re here to make a difference in the world, and you’re making a mockery of it!”
I stepped back, caught off guard by her outburst, but I strangely appreciated her directness.
“Fair enough,” I said, loosening my top button, shaking my head, and clearing my throat. “The people on my left, opposite you, come from all walks of life, from every corner of the world. They’ve endured traumas you could never imagine. I want to know why they aren’t treated better and why you have failed them!” I shouted passionately, waving my gavel for emphasis.
Another defendant stood, about to speak, but I stopped him with a gesture. “Sir, you must raise your hand first.”
He complied, raising his hand, and I nodded for him to continue.
The defendant was nervous—I could see him trembling, his words barely audible, but I heard him. “To make a difference in the world, we need more resources. Nothing comes free. Resources are tight, and we can’t create significant change with what we have.”
“I see. Janice, are you noting this down?” Janice nodded in response, typing away. Another hand shot up from my right. It was the woman with the fierce eyebrows again.
“Go on,” I said.
“You need to be more specific. Who are these people? What are their needs? What exactly are they representing? How can we possibly answer a question based on one vague statement? And why is there a fox sitting with them? This is ludicrous... at its best!” She made a move to leave, but the invisible barrier blocked her, and I decided to silence her so she couldn’t utter a word—not even a murmur.
“I will answer your questions in due course, ma’am, but do not think you can dominate this courtroom. I hold the power here; I am in charge. Remember that, and know that your insults will not serve you well.” I cleared my throat and continued, slamming down my gavel—just because I could.
“These people represent all forms of trauma: poverty, childhood abuse, inequality, ableism, mental health struggles, hate crimes, trafficking... the list goes on. I don’t have the time or the details to cover it all. As for the fox, he’s my advisor—an outsider looking in,” I responded confidently, though I could sense discord in the crowd. The silenced woman, now even more animated, tried to communicate with me using her crazier-than-ever eyebrows. I raised a single brow in return and dismissed her obvious disobedience.
An older gentleman, close to my age, stood up and raised his hand. Perhaps he had something more substantial to offer.
I nodded for him to proceed.
“It might be helpful if you allowed one of the jury members to speak for themselves. That could add some credibility to the process,” he suggested calmly but with a hint of firmness.
I loosened a second button and shook my head. “That’s not possible. I’ve silenced them so I can speak on their behalf. Don’t worry, I’ve spoken to them, and I have all the information I need.”
The man sat back down, looking utterly defeated. I wanted to smile at my triumph, but something was bothering me, making it difficult.
Another hand shot up, this time from someone familiar—my dear friend Jack.
I nodded and smiled, allowing him to begin.
“Harold, it’s good to see you again, though I’m saddened by the circumstances. I know you as a kind and caring man, which is probably why you were chosen for this task. I appreciate that you’ve spoken to the jury, but even with the best intentions, you can’t be the sole conduit for their voices. You can’t carry it all alone,” he said before sitting back down.
I felt a wave of emotion, unsure why I was starting to feel defeated. I was powerful, I was in charge, and I was right... or so I thought.
The right side of the room, aside from the eyebrow woman, was now buzzing with conversation. It was time to reassert my authority.
“Enough!” I shouted, slamming my gavel down. “I’m taking a break to consult with my advisor. When I return, I will deliver my verdict. Jury, you are granted permission to discuss your verdict amongst yourselves, and I expect it written on a piece of paper and handed to Janice. You will not have the capacity to speak to the defendants, and they will not be able to listen to you.”
A smug-looking fox trotted beside me as I walked down the great divide and through the large oak doors ahead.
The fox and I discussed what we had learned and reached a verdict together. The fox insisted we include the jury’s verdict as well, though I felt it unnecessary... but what do I know?
As I returned to the podium, I had to use my gavel again to silence the court. I gestured for Janice to hand me the paper containing the jury’s verdict.
I unfolded the paper, revealing the words “NOT GUILTY.” Below was a small note from Janice: The jury has asked if one person could speak… they only need one sentence.
I scoffed but kept the paper. Glancing over at the fox, who nodded and smiled, I hung my head for a moment before looking up defiantly and grabbing the paper again.
“In light of my discussions with my advisor and the jury’s verdict, I would like to…” I hesitated, taking in the room’s mixed emotions—defeated faces, angry but silenced ones. “I’d like to admit that I’ve been a fool. I’m dismissing the verdicts for ‘buckleburghing.’” I paused to gather myself. “No one in this room is guilty. I see that now. But what I’ve learned is that we need to…” I stopped again, noticing the confusion on the faces before me. My friend Jack was smiling back, hands poised in a prayerful gesture. Feeling too emotional to continue, I handed it over to the left.
“I can’t express it properly. Could the spokesperson for the jury please stand and make your statement?” I nestled back into my chair, wiping a tear from the corner of my eye.
A member of the jury stood up and said, “As a whole, we need to listen, represent, communicate, be fair, and build trust so we can learn from each other.”
The member nodded in appreciation before sitting back down.
I smiled and nodded before turning to the right. “I represent the world when I say this: We don’t need people to silence us; we need others to tell our stories in a way that fosters learning. We all have different needs, and while managing this is challenging, we must communicate better and manage our resources more fairly and with greater trust.” I paused, clearing my throat.
“On a personal note, I need to be less assuming.” I bowed my head in shame, flushing crimson before raising it again.
“I conclude that we could all benefit from a nice cup of tea and a good chat. Janice, could you please put the kettle on for our guests?”
Janice smiled and nodded, leaving the courtroom.
Suddenly, I jolted awake on the sofa. The sound of the kettle whirring had pulled me from a deep sleep.
“You’ve been asleep for quite a while. At one point, you were talking about a fox and a wig,” my husband said, laughing at my startled expression.
I reached up to touch my beard—it wasn’t there. I was back to being a middle-aged woman, sitting in front of the TV, watching Judge Rinder.
I looked at my husband. “Did you know I just ruled the world in my sleep?”
“Oh, really? Did you do a good job?” he replied.
I laughed and shook my head. “Not really, but I do wonder what would’ve happened if I’d stayed for tea and a chat.”
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