I suppose I was a rather serious teenager thirty years ago. But then why not? That was the era of the Bosnian War, Rwandan Genocide and the end of Apartheid in South Africa.
While my peers were enjoying a party life, I was found publishing a homemade magazine devoted to human rights and development. No wonder I was considered an oddball.
Those seeds had been planted in my mind at a youth festival on the Isle of Iona. And, well, by my family which I suppose I hadn’t realised was quite progressive for the time.
Despite living in a great big house in the affluent suburbs, notions of poverty alleviation and anti-racism were never far away. Ours was a Christian home, in which those concerns seemed second-nature.
I couldn’t really have known that this was not the ethos of those I’d soon move amongst, who simply considered my worldview extremely suspect. Given the diversity in my own family, I hadn’t considered that ours was a society deeply divided.
I’ve spent a good few years since then cringing at the thought of my actions. But now that we have teenagers of our own, I find myself capable of being more generous to my youthful self.
Cringeworthy or not, my heart was in the right place. I wanted to create a better world for all. I just didn’t realise that at the time our primary objectives were to look cool and have fun, nothing else.
Last modified: 21 September 2024