“All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others.”

Among pigs, sheep and donkeys: a very topical farm. The phrase “All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others” perfectly sums up the essence of George Orwell’s Animal Farm and his criticism of society. Now, if Orwell were writing the book today, he would probably have enough material for three more volumes — and still have plenty left to write about.

Published in 1945, the book tells the story of animals who become tired of working for Mr. Jones and decide to start a revolution. The idea was simple: drive out the boss, create a fair society, and live happily and equally ever after. There was just one small problem: when someone says, “We are all going to be equal,” it is probably a good idea to find out first who is going to be responsible for defining what “equal” actually means. And that is where the pigs come in (the ones in the book… calm down!).

Any resemblance to the Village of Never-Never Land is purely coincidental. We are all united, all friends, all good people… a real family. That is, until someone has to choose the seats. Because as soon as the time comes to distribute the chairs, brotherhood suffers a minor setback: after all, we are all very united… but strangely enough, everyone thinks they deserve the front seat. And that is when we realise that friendship is a wonderful thing — as long as it does not involve having to sit behind anyone else.

Napoleon, in Orwell’s work, begins as a revolutionary and ends up as a dictator. First, he says that everyone has the same rights; then he starts sleeping in a bed, drinking alcohol and living better than the others. When someone asks whether this does not contradict the principles of the revolution, Squealer appears, the official expert in explanations, statistics and speeches that make a lie sound almost like a scientific truth. Well, there are plenty of those…

Any resemblance to current politics is, naturally, purely coincidental. Today, too, we have politicians who promise to change everything, eliminate privileges and defend the people, only to discover, once they reach power, that there is actually a huge difference between governing and keeping promises. The problem is that, when the time comes to explain the contradiction, there is always someone who produces a graph, a poll or a sentence so complicated that nobody remembers the original question anymore.

Orwell is criticising precisely this: power does not need force alone; it needs a good story to tell.

On the farm — only on the farm, of course — that story is constructed through propaganda. Squealer alters the facts, rewrites the commandments and convinces the animals that they are better off than before. If the food ration decreases, it is not because they are eating less: it is because they are living through a period of “collective sacrifice”. If the pigs have more food, it is because they need to be “in good condition” to work. And if anyone dares to say that this seems unfair, they are probably accused of being against the revolution.

It is impossible not to think about today’s society. We have social media, television, commentators, influencers and politicians explaining to us every day what we are supposed to think. Sometimes it feels as though we live on one enormous farm where there is always someone shouting, “That’s not quite how it is!” while showing us a PowerPoint chart.

And then we have the sheep. The sheep are perhaps the most frighteningly contemporary characters: they do not think much, they question nothing and they simply repeat slogans. If Napoleon says one thing, they repeat it. If he says the opposite the next day, they repeat that instead. They are the animal version of that internet comment that says, “SOURCE: TRUST ME,” and gets three thousand likes.

But my favourite character is Benjamin, the donkey. And here lies one of the greatest ironies of the book: the animal called a “donkey” is probably the smartest of them all. Benjamin understands from the very beginning who Napoleon is and where the revolution is heading. While the others believe the speeches, Benjamin observes. While the others repeat, he thinks. While everyone believes that “this time it will be different,” he seems to be thinking: “I’ve seen this movie before.”

Benjamin, both in the book and in life, represents those people who understand perfectly well what is happening in society but who often prefer to remain silent. And here Orwell gives us another slap in the face: intelligence is not enough if we do not have the courage to use it.

Ultimately, the animals on the farm represent different groups in society. The pigs are the politicians who seize power; the dogs are the force used to protect the regime; the sheep are the followers who repeat everything; and the remaining animals are the workers who spend their lives working and continue to wonder why, despite working harder and harder, they have less and less.

And perhaps this is the funniest and, at the same time, saddest part of the book: the animals make a revolution to stop being exploited and end up simply changing their exploiter.

The owners change, the speeches change, the slogans change… but the recipe remains the same. Only the cooks change — and sometimes not even the apron. All that matters is silencing journalists. Where are we heading?

That is why Animal Farm remains so relevant today. Orwell is not merely talking about the Russian Revolution, Stalin, the left or the right. Today, he is talking about us. About how easily we believe promises, follow leaders, repeat opinions and accept inequalities when someone manages to present them in a sufficiently convincing way.

In the end, the pigs become so similar to the humans that the other animals can no longer tell who is who. And that is perhaps Orwell’s greatest joke — and his greatest tragedy: the revolution began to remove the pigs from power and ended by putting pigs in power.

And today, we have a government that is increasingly weak, without leadership, direction or a project — a true lesson in how to occupy power without ever seeming to know what to do with it. Government is conducted through improvisation, decisions are made for convenience, and when competence is lacking, there is always plenty of rhetoric. In the end, it is difficult to know whether we are looking at a lost government or a highly successful project for losing the government.

So, if there is one lesson to be taken from this story, it is a simple one: when someone says that everyone is equal, it is worth looking at who is eating better, who is giving the orders and who is writing the rules.

And we could start another story right now… Once upon a time, there was a donkey who was very clever. One day, he realised that the other animals spent their lives trying to look like one another, repeating what they heard and following the latest fashion. The donkey asked: “If everyone wants to be different, why does everyone do the same thing?” Nobody answered. So he began to think for himself. That was when they realised that, in that society, being a donkey did not mean being unable to think — it meant thinking differently. Think. Be genuine.

It is worth listening to Benjamin. Because, on that farm — and on many other farms around the world — the donkey was the smartest of them all. After all, as António Aleixo once said, “There are so many donkeys commanding men of intelligence.”

And a word of caution: nobody needs to kill themselves; this time, I am not speaking to our community. I am simply reminding us that, sometimes, the smartest people are those who notice what everyone else prefers to pretend they cannot see.

Romulo Ávila/MS

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