I’ve just finished listening to the excellent BBC podcast Invisible Hands. My morning walks have turned into a deep dive into this new narrative series in which David Dimbleby traces the history of the hidden force that changed Britain (and the whole world) – the free-market revolution – and the invisible hands that shaped it.

The more I listened, the angrier I became.

We have been the target of these ideologies working behind the scenes, turning the whole stage into a dystopian play. Margaret Thatcher was one of the leading witches who didn’t give a toss about the poisonous chalk she brewed in her political pewter pot. And there is a direct line from her to the cruelty of Trump, Putin, Netanyahu and the other war criminals operating in plain sight today.

Behind all these political operators are those invisible hands that move the needle to stick into our necks and deep into our brains, causing the paralysis of ethics, morale and decency.

What does this mean to me as a novelist?

I returned to my values as a writer and as a human being.

I cherish compassion above all. For me, it is always about standing with the marginalised, tortured, abused and forgotten. In my world, compassion is a verb. Empathy is a mild acceptance that someone is suffering; compassion demands that something be done about it. For me, that “something” is writing stories that matter, elevating those who have no voice and exposing the powerful, greedy and ignorant who pursue money, fame and prestige at the expense of the rest of us.

Then comes wisdom. I’ve always tried to use not just common sense but wisdom to understand what lies behind the stories. What drives people to do horrible or beautiful things to each other? For me, wisdom means looking at the world through facts and becoming aware of one’s biases as much as possible. It means taking responsibility for one’s choices – and making choices that sustain life and celebrate its diversity.

The hardest value to uphold is courage. Am I courageous enough to speak for the marginalised and rejected, and to speak against tyranny, authoritarian operators and big powers? Two of my heroes (Tsunesaburō Makiguchi and Jōsei Toda) were imprisoned as “thought criminals” during the Second World War in Japan because they opposed the militaristic government and the war the country was driven into. Makiguchi died in an icy prison cell in 1944 after years of interrogation, torture and malnutrition. Do I have the courage to follow in their footsteps? Do I have the guts to challenge those in power when I see injustice?

Which leads me to my fourth value: justice.

From a small boy’s anger to adult fury

I was less than ten years old, maybe nine or eight, when our teacher did something that still makes my blood boil. She was, in my books, an arrogant bitch who greatly abused her position as the headmistress of our rural school. And she adored those who had “status” in her eyes.

It was Christmas time. She brought out some homemade marmalade pieces on a plate and offered them to us. One of my classmates – from a very wealthy farm – saw his chance to pick up the largest piece, but the teacher moved the plate and, in his hurry, he ended up grabbing the smallest.

I felt deep schadenfreude. The boy was a bully, always picking on the smaller ones. But lo and behold, the teacher saw what had happened and interpreted it as a virtuous act, saying:

‘Look what Tom (not his real name) did. He took the smallest one because he is a modest and gentle boy. Now, Tom, you can pick another piece as a reward for your selfless act.’

I could have killed the teacher there and then if I’d had the means. We all saw what had really happened, and when I expressed my anger, pointing out that she had made a mistake, I was put in detention. I still remember Tom’s glee when he was off the hook – again.

Why do I remember such a tiny incident so vividly? Because I hate injustice, and I’ve had my fair share of it for being unable to keep my mouth shut.

Now more than ever, we need everyone to take action and not simply let things happen. We can – and we must – challenge those in power.

And that brings me to my final point in this rant about values.

Do we put those on trial who deserve to be prosecuted?

I recently watched the film Nuremberg.

It was a stark reminder of the aftermath of unleashed power. The Nazi trials were just the tip of the iceberg, and the film forces us to face the consequences of authoritarianism, warmongering and the abuse of power.

We live in the same world as the Nazis did then, and fascism is making a comeback. Now more than ever, we must be vigilant and refuse to stay silent, because each of us belongs to a minority of one, and on any given day we can become the target of cruelty born of unhinged greed, anger and ignorance – the breeding grounds of human misery.

The antidote to this greed, anger and ignorance is to establish a set of values like compassion, wisdom and courage, grounded in a strong sense of justice.

As a writer, I try to uphold these values in every sentence I write. I’m not writing manifestos, nor am I writing allegories, but stories that carry truth – just as my slogan says:

In fābulā vēritās inest!

Cheers

Janus

And rember to check these authors, too:

Janus Lucky
www.januslucky.com

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