Dear Stephen,

I have undertaken to write a small tale for you to read on your trip. I hope you like it.

There once was man and a woman who lived in a verdant valley where they raised four children. They worked hard together every day, they built a sturdy stone house to shelter the family from the cold winter nights, they planted gardens and ate all they needed to keep strong and healthy. They dried and stored their surplus crops, and traded with neighbours for things they could not make for themselves. Their children were happy, and golden-skinned from their days of playing in the sun. As they grew, they helped their parents in daily chores, and thus learned the skills they would need when they had children of their own to shelter and feed.

The valley was a day's travel by horse to the nearest village, and about four times a year the family would go there to stock up on cloth, tools and a few treats. They met many distant neighbours there, and stories were traded, jokes were laughed at, and the young adults searched for love.

Now, it was known that the world outside of this valley was not as beautiful, abundant nor as peaceful. News of struggles from the outside filtered into conversations at the market, over dinner, or on the front porch. There were people who were on the move, looking for food and shelter of their own, and it was only a matter of time before they came to the valley. Most people agreed they would share what they could when the strangers came, thus making friends out of them, and removing any threat. There was plenty for everybody.

One night the man and woman awoke to a banging on their door. The man got up and opened it. There stood a rough-looking character in bare feet, unshaved and filthy.

"Give me your place!" he demanded loudly. He drew a long dagger, grabbed the man, and held the weapon to the throat. The woman screamed, tried to stop the assault, and received a wound in the effort. The children screamed, as they hid behind the stove in the dark kitchen.

"We would gladly share what ever we could with you..." cried the man, as he held his wife, bleeding in his arms.

"There won't be any more sharing here. It's all mine. Get your brats and get out of here. Consider yourself lucky I don't kill you."

Now, the story could go on, and it does. But the question is this: Just because the thief was hungry, did he have the right to take everything from the family in the beautiful valley? Of course not. He was a violent thief, a criminal in anyone's judgement. Just because he had a very large dagger, did that give him the title to whatever he wanted? Most would come to an outraged "No!"

But, in essence, this crime is exactly the one that has been committed by the big banks, their conquering armies, their police states, and their puppet governments. Through writing their own policies and "laws" to serve their own desires, they have ripped away happiness, security and prosperity from all those people who just wanted the freedom to live their lives in abundance without hurting anyone else. Time and time again they have stolen land and property that others had been using for lifetimes, decimated, assimilated, or enslaved the populations, and have created the most cruel feudalist dictatorships.

If you are one of the thieves in the night, you will one day realize that happiness has eluded you to your death, and that true wealth is based on how many people love you. Correcting the popular and cynical saying: in the End, the one with the most FRIENDS wins...

I hope you remember Canadians at the G20 in Pittsburgh, which is in session as I write this.

Sincerely, Teresa Wild

Editor's note: This article is part of a series of letters being sent directly to PM Stephen Harper by citizen journalist Teresa Wild. Copies of the same letters are being posted simultaneously to her Dear Stephen section here on The Cumberlander.

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