The greatest enemy of any writer is self-censorship, especially if you are not aware of it. If you have grown up in an oppressive society, it’s tentacles reach so deep into your psyche that you can write within the confines of what it tried to teach you: who you are in relation to the governing system, for a lifetime and never realize it.

For example, due to a medical problem I have lost my sense of smell and in the descriptions of scenes in my stories I tend to leave it out. I could only remedy that by making a conscious effort to add it in.

Similarly in an oppressive society you may write about your people in the milieu of their oppression. It is easy to do that because it is “true to life”. Such a vibrant vignette may appeal to those who power the governing system, and you may be celebrated – everyone loves to vicariously experience the lives of the have-nots.

But is that worthwhile? Have you not failed yourself as a writer?

If I bring this scenario back to my country South Africa, it’s like writing with a small apartheid tokoloshe sitting on your shoulder. (Surely in the age of Google I don’t have to tell you what a tokoloshe is.)

However, if you vibrantly describe your community and take it out of your imposed isolation, adding the context in which it exists, the story gains depth. You may not gain so many admirers but the ones you gain are the ones invested in change. And do you really want to pander to the skapies (sheep) in your country who resist change?