A gentle breeze weaves through the city of Omendale. Gingerly, it kisses the cheeks of young children and encourages the wind chimes to sing their sweet songs. This day is no special from any other, for here every day is a celebration. Why wouldn’t it be? The people of Omendale never have reason to worry. I won't ponder over the happiness of Omendalians are for too long, there is not much to say about peoples who know not of struggle. As in your precious religious texts utopic havens are rarely described, rather the terrors of punishment are told in great detail.
I'm sure you’ve heard enough about utopian societies of Omelas and Um-Helat; Omendale is of a similar nature. Here, there is no suffering. Cures for every non-congenital disease and virus, free healthcare, free education, anything one can name. All is well in the city of Omendale.
How may I describe it in a way you’d understand? Maybe by the way you feel every time you look at your significant other. How you warm all over, how the corners of your mouth twitch erratically as you try not to smile. The way your heart beats surely against your ribs, not enough to be anxiety inducing, but just enough to give you that adrenaline high. No? Yeah, I guess that isn’t the most universal experience. Then how about the way you feel on a Friday afternoon after a long week? Miraculously, you have no work to plow through on the weekend, and you are home alone without any responsibilities. You are free to lounge on the one good chair in the house. Free to read that book you’ve been dying to finish but never got the time; you can feel the warmth of the sun shine through the windows to kiss your skin. Calm, you are at peace with everything as it feels like time stops at that moment. Whatever you so desire, remember how you felt during your happiest moments; this is what daily life in Omendale feels like.
Everyone is friendly to one another. In Omendale they all share the belief that they don’t have to agree with each other on all matters to show respect. Racism, xenophobia, sexism, transphobia, homophobia, classism all are nonexistent in the land of Omendale. Conflict and opinions do not lead to dramatic violence, for the Omendalians know how to say: “I disagree, but I respect what you believe.”
School is filled with curiosity inducing excitement for the children, they get to choose what and how they learn. Even the subjects most children in our world find mind-numbingly boring are molded to peak the interest of the Omendalian children. No adult is stuck in a job they hate as they were all able to pursue their dreams. Every interest, every small happiness is celebrated there, not shunned or wringed out. Unlike our world, the Omendalians really have no reason, no catalyst, to suffer. “Impossible!” You might say, you were raised on the idea that misery is mandatory to achieve happiness. No matter how illogical the joys of Omendale may seem to you, they all make it work.
You must be hesitant to believe me, the tales of Omelas and Um-Helat have left you suspicious. Well unlike the others I won’t lie to you, I’ll tell you the catch. There is a corner of Omendale that its citizens refuse to acknowledge; a forgotten asset that plagues the minds of many. The wind here is not gentle, it harshly pokes and prods at whatever it encounters. In this section lays tens upon hundreds of tiny metal cages; filthy and so hideously abusive to the eyes. Each is inhabited by a child, neglected to the extreme. They’re a taboo amongst the locals, but when they do, they refer to these children as the defects.
Cruel doesn’t begin to describe how these children are treated, a dung beetle is graced with more dignity. They have never experienced the warm touch of another or the gentle hum of a lullaby; not even a single toy or article of clothing.
Others will tell you that a defect’s humanity is lost, that they are no different than a rabid beast. It is natural to believe this, easier, let us look at one: in one of the cages, a creature is perched. Slouched over itself it wheezes in the dusty air, shaking in restricted anguish and fury. Its entirety is laden in a thick, scale-like armor that has seen many battles. Blood both fresh and dry paints this armor, you can only assume it's the remains of the creature’s previous prey, oh the horror it must’ve caused! Look, LOOK! Look at this disgusting animal! Observe the scars and wounds that scream of war; its broken and ingrown nails. Observe how atop its head is a pile of thick fur, reeking of an unexplainable stench. How its limbs are long and lanky, like a demon from the worst of horror films. Try to ignore the sick feeling in your stomach as you see its heart weakly beat through a thin layer of skin: thump. thump. thump.
It looks up at you, before you even get the chance to flinch away. It stares at you with the bluest eyes you’ve ever seen, an unnatural bright shade of lapis, clear as the ocean’s calm. Those eyes, they’re the key to it all. Now can you see? See his humanity? A look of such innocence is out of place on this tortured body, innocence that only a child can possess. Look at him again as a child, not a monster. He trembles, not shakes, for the small boy isn’t granted any clothing to shield him from the cold, so he shivers and sniffles violently. He is the size of a year old Omendalian, but is most likely older than four. He sits curled, not perched or slouched, on cold metal with a calloused bottom, feet, and toes. Watch closely as what you assumed to be armor seems to shift into skin that is caked with dirt and puss. His bones hold no flesh, just skin that desperately clings on. The blood is his, not a victims, for he is so hungry he resorted to biting off his own skin and nails to satisfy his aching tummy. See how the fur atop his head is hair, dark and matted; it shifts as if it were alive, crawling with centipedes and maggots that the boy is too exhausted to pick off and consume. This poor child is no monster at all, he has done nothing to deserve this fate. Yet he is one of many, there are hundreds here just like him.
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None of the defects can speak, they lost their voices in the years of sobs and pained screams, but the boy is different. He never had a voice to begin with, he was born without one, and for this reason he lies in that cage. Yes, this is the catch of Omendale. No matter how advanced the medicine, how extensive the healthcare, every so often a child is born with a disability, physical or mental, a flaw; a defection. Such is unacceptable to the Omendalians, no, no, no! Why, how can their beautiful city be without suffering when some are born to suffer? Even if they created aids for the disabled, how could they ever be truly equal to those of able body and mind? They see no worth in even trying. They resent the defects, spiteful at their existence how dare they attempt to tarnish perfection, to ruin their beautiful city.
It is not that Omendale is without flaws, it’s that they hide them all away. So desperate to make their world a textbook utopia, so… obsessed. True, raw beauty is lost in their warped vision for they cannot see the perfection in what is imperfect. How every dent, every scar, can tell the most incredible stories. They are too stiff to move forward. Too blind to see the beauty in blindness; too deaf to hear the honey-voiced mute.
No, they push the ideal that everything in Omendale must be impeccable. Thus the Omendalians found a way to rid themselves of all imperfections. Euthanizing the defects is never considered, they are far above dirtying their hands with such matters. Instead they opt to keep all defects locked up and isolated; until ‘nature’ takes its course. After a defect is born, they are fed once a day, after they reach 2 years it becomes once a week. Without the proper care, they all die out before the age of six, but realistically most will die far before then.
The locals will sometimes visit the defects. They’ll bring their children as they would to the zoo, all to marvel at the horrendous creatures. Omendalian children will cower behind their parents, peeking at the caged children with great fear. The defects will watch the loved children with envy as they are comforted and soothed. Although they don’t know what they’re missing out on, the defects still have an instinctual desire to experience the doting of a parent; to simply be protected from such a cruel world. Most will see the defects for the first time as children; but every Omendalian will eventually see the defects. There is one specific visit that matters the most, the first visit after an individual Omendalian has become mature. Once they gain the ability to think for themselves, to question all they see. Usually they will be in their late teens or early twenties, usually they will come alone. Each time they are faced with two choices: stay or leave.
The reason an individual may choose to stay matters not, as it will always have the same conclusion. But, I will tell you the most common reasons anyway. With the first reason, some truly see no problem, they never were able to see the humanity in the defected children. In their eyes the defects aren’t human, or even living for that matter; they view them as exactly what they are called: defective. Like throwing a chewed up wad of gum into the waste bin so no one will step on it, removing the defects from society only lifts a great burden off of the shoulders of Omendale. These Omendalian are content with their fairy-tale world, they see the treatment of the defects as only natural; an infinitesimal price to pay for the greater good.
Those who have the second reason are driven by fear and pointless pondering. They are indecisive, for they saw the humanity of the defects and are disgusted by their treatment. But they also realize that their own life is flawless, why would they want to risk that to help another? Why would they walk away from their family, their home, for a stranger? They are too scared of losing any part of their life that they decide to turn a blind eye. They rather live with the guilt of never trying, than to potentially sacrifice their own happiness for the likes of a pitiful child.
The third reason is a bit like the second. The ones with this reason also see the humanity in the small children; like you, they have looked into those eyes. Initially, they are driven mad with anger; they promise themselves and the defects that they will fight for their freedom. At first, they plan vigorously. Yet as time passes, their passion to help the defects fades, this promise is forgotten. They are too busy with the pure joys of their daily life to recall their broken promises. When they do remember they procrastinate, pushing their plan back over and over again. Again and again until one day, they just die. Their vow is lost to father time.
The content, the careful, and the progressive. The ignorant, the selfish, and the liars. They’re all the same, the reason they stay matters not. In the end, they will all forget about the defects and continue to feed off of their torture.
Now I’ll tell you of the ones who choose to leave. Unlike those who stay, those who leave all have the same reason: that they want no part of a society like this. Whether they leave on their lonesome or with their family in tow, the injustice dealt to the defects is so horrific to them that they see no other option than to walk away. When you talk to those who walked away from Omendale they ridicule those who stayed. They judge them for supporting such a treacherous system, it's almost as if they want to be praised for their great sacrifice. Oh, all bow down to thee! For they have left behind all they have known in protest! They have sided with the poor and unfortunate, how brave they are, how admirable! Excuse my language, but it’s complete bullshit. Think about it, really think. What makes those who walk away any better than those who stay? Either way, no one is helping the defects. The defects don’t care if the Omendalians stay or leave; in fact, they don’t even know if one chooses to stay or leave! Those who walk away aren’t brave, they are cowards who hold the facade of a hero.
The ability to choose is a privilege in itself. Let me ask you, when were the defects- the children, given the chance to choose? When was the locked up child in Omelas given a choice? Even that little blind girl in Um-Helat, when did they ever get to choose their fate? Those around them, the advantageous, have always chosen for them. Stay or leave, these children were never graced with that mercy; the mercy of control. Yet the privileged will always continue to whine over how hard it is to choose. They will huff and puff in mock empathy for those without the ability to, but do nothing to grant it to them. So I ask you,
will you stand with the ones who have no choice?