(A fable for those who think)
Once upon a time, there was a Farm surrounded by tall hedges of silence. There were no mirrors, no ponds. No one knew what they looked like. The enclosures were there, but no one would ever dare cross them.
Inside, every day, the animals were trained by the elders to obey. No one asked what freedom was — but all believed they were free.
Life moved along to the rhythm of old harmless marches, humming day and night. They carried no depth, no real joy — only a fake sense of warmth and harmony.
Mountains enclosed the horizon. No one ever wondered what lay beyond the hedge.
Everyone greeted each other and pretended to be a community. But it was just a façade. Each looked after their own patch of ground, and barely tolerated outsiders.
Right at the heart of the Farm stood a grey building everyone called the Animal Court. Next to it stood — looming, rusted — the Conformity Machine. It ground feelings, stories, and feathers of love into a uniform paste.
It hummed day and night, whistling old innocent marches that gave the illusion of politeness and order. At the top, a funnel; at the bottom, a slit. Whatever entered above came out below — normalized. Measured. Sorted.
In the Farm lived — or rather survived — many creatures.
🦉 The Blind Owl delivered judgments without seeing or listening. She had no interest in the complexity of (human) relationships. She preferred simple solutions, easily written down and quickly applauded by the others.
If anyone questioned her decisions, she simply replied:
“Everything is according to procedure.”
The animals nodded. That’s what they had been taught.
🐹 The Nest Hamsters looked soft and sweet.
But they were the gentle face of the same system.
They decided who could stay with whom — always for “educational reasons.”
They entered the nests when parents weren’t around.
They wrote reports.
And when asked why, they would say:
“It’s for your own good.”
The Hamsters explained that the nest belonged to the Farm, not to the birds who built it. And that the Farm had the right to decide who lived in it — and who didn’t.
🐕🦺 The Scribbling Hyenas sniffed pain. They bared their teeth, offered help — in exchange for feathers. They promised endlessly. But once the feathers were gone, they apologized and admitted their powerlessness.
🦜 The Perch Parrots repeated everything they heard. They didn’t understand a thing — but they said it loud and often.
You may be wondering what the Perch is.
Let me explain:
The Perch is the pulpit of consensus.
Where those who land don’t sing — they repeat.
Where words aren’t born from truth,
but from convenience.
🐍 The Two-Tongued Snake wrote the rules, speaking of protection and safety for the little ones — while silently allowing their annihilation.
🐣 The Sleepy Ostrich represented the many: head in the sand, body in the sun, indifferent to pain. And when it raised its head, it was only to check how many likes its latest post had received.
🕳️ The Moles guarded the unspoken memories. Curious little creatures, they watched over truths that could not be told — destined for oblivion.
And then, there was him:
🐦 The White Crow.
Different. Humble. A stranger.
He didn’t caw like the others. He didn’t perform.
He had found himself in the Farm without knowing why. He thought he would build his nest there. Raise his chicks with a love that no sentence could ever measure.
One day, he was summoned.
“It appears you are a threat to the stability of the nest,” croaked the Blind Owl.
“We cannot allow you to raise your chicks in difference.
Here, Sovereign Order must reign without exception.”
“Your chicks will be raised by the Hamsters. You are not allowed near the nest under any circumstance.
It’s for your own good. And for theirs.
And let’s be honest: you haven’t shown real interest in the relationship.”
“Everything is according to procedure.”
The Crow protested. He thought his love would protect him. But realizing the absurdity of the process, he sought an appeal — and turned to the Hyenas.
The Hyenas sniffed him, counted his feathers, and said:
“Don’t worry. We know the Conformity Machine well. We’ll save you.
Just give us your feathers.”
The Crow, relieved, let himself be plucked.
Soon after, the Hyenas returned, full of regret:
“We couldn’t do it. Prepare for your journey of redemption.”
So he went to the Parrots.
The Parrots repeated the verdict word for word.
“But you’re supposed to tell the truth. You can’t leave me alone,” said the White Crow, disheartened.
The Parrots pretended to listen, then resumed reading:
“According to subsection 3, paragraph 5, …”
Then he turned to the Snake.
The Snake hissed:
“It’s the price of the greater good — the protection of your chicks.”
“But you’re the ones who write the laws. You can’t just erase fathers,” the Crow protested.
The Snake flicked its forked tongue and said:
“Of course we include fathers. That’s what the Hamsters are for —
they’ll take care of you.”
Lastly, he asked the Ostrich to listen.
But the Ostrich buried its head in the sand and ignored him.
“Listen to me!” shouted the White Crow.
“It could happen to any of you.”
But the Ostrich lowered its head even deeper — and heard nothing.
One night, in despair, he flew near the branch where his chicks had once hatched.
He heard the Hamsters whisper:
“Don’t look for your father.
He doesn’t deserve you.
He flew away.”
In that moment, he understood.
He was inside the Conformity Machine.
They didn’t just want to take away his children.
They wanted to push him into darkness.
To turn him into a regular Black Crow.
Into a monster.
Into something he was not.
But he raised his beak to the sky and declared:
“I am a White Crow.
And I will never become what you want me to be.”
He began to observe more closely.
And he noticed a forgotten corner — a small, unremarkable burrow.
Guarded by Moles.
One Old Mole, weary but wise, whispered:
“Down there is the Burrow of Unheard Words.
It holds the records of all those who were sent through the thresher
before they could be normalized.”
“If these documents ever came to light… this whole charade would collapse.”
The Crow waited.
Two minutes were enough.
He went in and took just one parchment.
It was the right one.
It proved that the Owl, the Hamsters, the Hyenas, and the Snake had always known.
That they had all agreed.
The Crow took flight and released the letter.
For a moment, the Farm trembled.
The Conformity Machine screeched and stopped.
The Court began to unravel.
The Hyenas howled and fled.
The Hamsters hid in their holes.
The Snake tied itself in its own lies.
The Parrots changed their tune:
“We’ve always had doubts.”
The Ostrich lifted its head.
But it lasted only a moment.
Then everything went back to the way it was.
The Ostriches buried their heads again.
The Parrots published a retraction.
The Snake untangled itself and declared the crisis over.
The Hyenas returned, hungrier than before.
The Hamsters resumed their stories with the little ones.
And the Conformity Machine slowly began to hum again.
So the White Crow flew higher than he had ever dared.
And he disappeared from the sight of the other animals.
The Farm forgot his story.
It forgot that, for one moment, everything had nearly collapsed.
It even forgot that a White Crow had ever existed.
But the White Crow lived on.
Far away, above, in his difference and his true freedom.
Every now and then, he thought of his little crows.
And he wondered if they had turned black like all the others —
or if, somewhere deep inside,
they had kept a touch of white.
And that last idea… made him smile.
🦉 The Blind Owl
The justice system. It delivers rulings without seeing or listening.
It wears the mask of legality, but has lost sight of justice.
🐹 The Nest Hamsters
Social workers. Sweet words, devastating acts.
They say they protect, but they divide.
🐕🦺 The Scribbling Hyenas
The family law lawyers.
They feed on pain. They multiply conflict.
🦜 The Perch Parrots
The media and official voices.
They repeat without understanding.
The perch is the pulpit of consensus — whoever lands on it doesn’t sing, they repeat.
🐣 The Ostriches
Public opinion.
It knows everything — but chooses not to see.
🐍 The Two-Tongued Snake
Institutional rhetoric.
It speaks of protection, but acts for control.
🕳️ The Mole
Buried memory.
It guards documents no one wants to read — truths meant to be forgotten.
🐦 The White Crow
The human being who refuses forced transformation.
He does not want to become a monster. He wants to remain himself.
If you didn’t recognize any of these animals,
maybe you don’t live in a Farm.
Or maybe... you live too well in one to notice anymore.