Call me Maribel. I know we'll never be able to talk to each other, but I still wanted you to know my name. I live in el Pueblo de San Martín on the island of Puerto Rico. Whoever you are, I hope that when you find this letter, things will be different.
My grandma says that there used to be huge, open-air markets in town, and that our family used to sell our crops there. I can almost picture it; colors as vivid as those in Father's books, the loud din of people announcing their wares, and smells of spices. The only spices I've smelled are our bottles of ground cinnamon, cayenne pepper, and ginger, but I make up other smells for the rest. Grandma also told me that we used to grow things under the open air on our farm. No awnings or anything, and the crops were watered with rain.
That was before the socialists came. Now my family works for the government; our produce all goes to them, and they pay us a "wage" which we never see until it has been equalized with everyone else's. Inflation and price-fixing mean that the queues to buy things at the government-run businesses are blocks long. Everything is gone by a few hours after the shops open, so we don't even try to make it to town in time anymore. That doesn't mean that there isn't trade, though. The Black Market is thriving. People barter for items like cigarettes, gum, or toys—things that you can't get in the stores anymore.
Everyone is paid equally, even if they don't work hard. The politicians get more than an equal share, though they pretend not to. The resulting poverty means that factories can spew out all the toxic gas they want to in the air, and the police officers are too poor to refuse a bribe. The strong prey on the weak and steal their things with almost no repercussions. The cities are attracting seedier industries all the time.
We are glad that we still own our farm, and we won't sell it to the RDA's recently bought-out domestic resources company even though practically all our neighbors have taken their offer and gone to live in the city. You know, I'm not sure if the RDA is controlled by the government, or if the government is controlled by the RDA. The shortage of fossil fuels is giving that energy company a stronger and stronger hand in how much leeway it gets. As the last of the petroleum for aerial vehicles and the "source energy" like coal runs out, it doesn't matter if the wires are made of unobtanium and transmit it with almost no energy loss. People are dependent upon electricity for almost everything in life, so they'll do anything to scrape the last bits out of anything they can find—and that includes our farm.
Two weeks ago, we received a letter from the Puerto Rican government that we will have to take the RDA's offer. The scant natural resources on our land were just too precious not to be taken. Well, the payment for our land was very generous; we can get free maglev train tickets to anywhere in the world, and the cash they gave us should buy a pretty nice apartment. If we choose to move to one of the cities where the RDA is headquartered, they will guarantee a job for Dad with their company.
I've never been to Los Angeles, but I'll be living there after tomorrow. Wish me luck! They'll probably make me go to school, so it's a good thing that we'll live in the United States. From what I hear, propaganda is at a minimum there as opposed to other countries. You know, even though our country is too poor now to offer free schooling, I do have an education. My family's collective memory stretches back one hundred and thirty years ago to 2020, and I can learn lots of things from reading Dad's books.
I love those books. Their musty smell and yellowed pages are so homey to me, bringing back childhood memories of curling up with Dad on the couch every evening when he taught me how to read from the newspaper. We can't afford newspapers anymore, so I taught myself more vocabulary in spare moments with Dad's old volumes. I started with a dictionary, and then moved on to The Hobbit. I just struggled through John Locke's Second Treatise on Civil Government—I was glued to it for weeks. Mom keeps telling me to get my nose out of those books and help pack our things, but I can't help myself.
If only people would read those books. Maybe then they'd see that there are other ways of life besides socialism; where poverty is not a given, and people can keep what they earn. But most people in Puerto Rico can't read, especially not all those antiquated words. So maybe I'll be like John Locke and write myself. I can start in the United States, and if my writing becomes famous, it will eventually get on television or something. Only you will know if my efforts were successful. Viva la Libertad.
Yours truly,
Maribel.
"But let justice roll down as waters, and righteousness as a mighty stream." – Amos 5:24
"No, no, we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until 'justice rolls down like waters, and righteousness like a mighty stream.'" – Martin Luther King, Jr.