“They presented it to us one morning:
a white little rabbit.
It came in a cage.
At noon I opened the gate of the cage.
When I came back in the evening,
I found the rabbit as I had left it:
deep in the farthest corner,
close against the bars of the cage,
shaking with the fright of freedom.”

(Eduardo Galeano, El libro de los abrazos, p. 99)

One fine morning preachers and teachers presented us with the gift of freedom. They opened our eyes, they quickened our hearts, they reconciled us with life, they made us realize that heavens and earth belonged to us in sacred inheritance, that we all men and women are brothers and sisters, that the ground is firm and the sky is blue. Long ingrained complexes disappeared, prejudices vanished, fears flew away, chains and bars and locks fell with a clank on the cold floor of the prison cell. The day we had for so long dreamed of, had finally arrived. The long calendar painfully scratched stroke by stroke on the prison walls, had come to an end. The gate of the cage was opened, and the air inside and outside met and found their kinship.

But the little white rabbit did not come out. It remained all huddled up in the farthest corner. The prison cell had become even smaller for him, as he dared not now even approach the door for fear of coming out. He was afraid of the open space. He was afraid of the unknown world. He was afraid of freedom. He was begging, with his shrunk slavish posture, that they would close the door again so that he could feel safe, that they would protect him with the unyielding bars, that they would lock him in, that they would bring him his food at the appointed time, that they would clean his cage once a day and put out the lights at night. He was asking to be allowed to live as he had always lived. He knew no other life.

Safety seduces us and cheats us. Remain where you are. Do not change. Do not move. Do not open the door. If possible, not even the window. Do not allow new breezes to fly in, strange noises to be heard. A new idea becomes life’s greatest threat. The risk of adventure freezes the little white rabbit. It also freezes the mind, the imagination, the will of the person who does not want to face new hazards, and in consequence does not want to think. The need for security can be so great that it can justify jail itself. The little white rabbit refuses to come out.

Jail of prejudice. Fetters of custom. Iron bolts of dead routine. All the more dangerous as they are not seen. All the more invisible as they are always with us. The little white rabbit had been born in captivity. He did not know fields or prairies; he had not tasted the joy of getting lost in the high grass, jumping over bushes, seeking company, romping about together with others of his group and making friends. He only knew the monotonous safety of the square floor of his cell. Tiny solitude of parallel walls. There he chose to stay rather than risk the paths of the jungle that beckoned from far. For pity’s sake, leave me alone in my little corner!