forgotten Fairness

Forgotten Fairness

By: John Kazerooni

Once upon a time, in a far-off corner of the world, there lay a vast, vibrant forest where birds of every color and song lived together in peaceful harmony. In that forest, every tree was a home, every fruit a gift, and every melody a shared joy. There were no walls, no borders—just a chorus of freedom.

Their society was simple, beautiful, and just. The birds had only a few sacred rules:

Every bird could nest in any tree, eat from any branch, sing any song, and soar wherever the wind carried them. These rules bound them in peace, and for many seasons, they lived without fear.

Then came her—a bird like no other.

With feathers that shimmered like sharpened steel and a voice honed to command, she perched on the tallest tree and declared,

“This tree is mine. No others shall touch it.”

At first, the other birds were confused—but they were polite, and peace was precious.

So, they let it pass.

But that was only the beginning.

She seized more trees. Then more.

Soon, she and a small circle of loyal followers controlled nearly every tree in the forest.

And with that control came new rules:

No bird could nest without her permission.

No bird could eat without her approval.

No bird could sing unless she allowed it.

Every chirp, every flutter, every bite was regulated.

Any bird who disobeyed—even by mistake—was dragged away and thrown to the beasts below.

The punishments were cruel, public, and final.

But her followers didn’t just admire her—they worshipped her.

They called her a chosen one, a holy messenger sent to bring order.

They sang her praises, not the free melodies of the past, but hymns of obedience and devotion.

Her word became sacred, her will unquestionable.

Anyone who spoke against her was labeled a traitor—not only to the forest, but to the truth itself.

And the strangest part?

Even the other birds began to justify it.

“She is wise,” they whispered. “She knows best.”

Her loyal followers could steal nests, hoard food, silence others—and never face punishment.

They were above the rules, shielded by their devotion.

Justice became one-sided.

Fear became law.

And the forest fell into silence—not the quiet of peace, but the hush of submission.

But the silence did not stay contained.

From distant forests, powerful birds observed her rule and grew hungry.

“If she can do it, why not me?” they thought.

Soon, imitators emerged—birds who craved power, territory, and control.

They declared their own forests, rewrote their own rules, demanded loyalty, and seized what was not theirs.

The conquerors began to clash.

Their pride turned to suspicion.

Their greed turned to hostility.

And war erupted—first between forests, then between skies.

Birds turned on birds.

Trees burned, nests fell, and the air itself trembled with chaos.

What began with one dictator grew into a storm of destruction.

The war spread until it covered the whole world.

The skies once filled with song now echoed with screams.

The colors of the birds faded beneath the ash of conflict.

Hope vanished into smoke.

But even amid the thunder of wings and the cracking of branches, one voice rose—quiet, but unwavering.

A small bird, ordinary in color but radiant in spirit, began to ask,

“Why must we ask permission to live?”

“Why do we justify cruelty and fear?”

“Why do some rule with no consequence while others suffer in silence?”

She sang the songs of the old days—of freedom, kindness, and truth.

She reminded the birds of what they once had, and what they had lost.

And from one forest to another, her voice traveled.

It pierced the fear.

It touched hearts.

It awakened memory.

One by one, the birds began to resist.

They laid down their fear, their weapons, their pride.

They reclaimed their skies, their trees, their freedom.

They stripped the tyrants of their stolen power—not with rage, but with unity.

And the forest, the skies, and the world healed.

Birds returned to the harmony they had once known—

Where no one ruled by fear,

Where no one needed permission to nest, to eat, or to sing,

And where the song of one became part of the music of all.

All because one bird dared to ask,

“Why not justice for all?”

Questions That Still Linger from the Forest 

Why were punishments only applied to some, and not to all?

Why did fear allow injustice to become sacred?

How did admiration turn into worship—and silence into virtue?

Why did so many believe one bird was above truth, fairness, and consequence?

Why did the need for permission to live become normal?

How did wars erupt in skies meant for peace?

Why did the songs of freedom become hymns of control?

How many forests must burn before one voice dares to question?

And perhaps the most haunting of all:

Could it happen again?

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