I think any kind of unfairness begins in the mind. We may hold a belief that world should be a certain way, and then it turns out to be a little tilted, leaning some other way. The belief of fairness is perhaps rooted in our deepest desire as human beings to be regarded as a human being, as any human being, but this world, with all the centuries of narrative silt settled on its already jaded thinking has decided to segregate human beings into different adjective classes, and it talks but moves little and moves slow to change the larger narrative arc.
The way people are raised, the narrative background helps form thought chains which then bind them, root them, hinder them, restrict them - at times, without their even noticing or relenting that these are chains - to a given, inculcated worldview. You keep telling little girls that they are made of sugar and spice, and all things nice, and keep repeating such rhymes, you raise women wishing to live upto that narrative. (And here, even I don't know how many thought chains I'm bound with).
Words and thoughts take shape, lend permission and conjure boundaries. By spelling them out, a possibility field is created, allowing, and then bounding behaviour. Not explicitly, but implicitly, taking life from and lending weight to societal judgement.
Ideally, people, being rational beings, rise above and question these narratives and make fresh judgement and think for themselves. But fresh thought requires courage and energy. And our modern lives leave little energy for purity of thought or questioning of the basics that form us. And the way current media works, questioning human thought fights a long, tiring and possibly losing battle, because it takes a lot to keep fighting off established narratives which are deepened further every passing day with each new post, tweet, song and movie. Eventually, it pushes you out of your depth (which you never get a chance to gauge well), tires you, making you fall back on the handy float of instilled and reinforced narratives - new 'propaganda' with a lovelier name.
The other traitor in the camp is the paradoxical way human mind works - where we tend to see reinforcements of what we wish to see, and the what-we-wish-to-see is actively being shaped through this battle, as if, our pawn, with each new step changes shade and by the end of the crawl becomes the opposite queen.
In such cases, perhaps, the way to bring about any change is by straightening the narrative, by nudging it gently in the direction of fairness, which ultimately means letting people be their own people in all their brilliant glory and unbrilliant folly without needing to seek permission to just be rather than operate as adjectived human beings. (as long as they are not a nuisance to society - and there again, the definition of nuisance is similarly loaded).
So, since this is March, and since I feel like it, sharing this poem by Ogden Nash - nice fun poem for anyone who feels bound by invisible thought chains (and they may not just be little girls and boys and their parents singing rhymes of sugar and spice, but all those people who find themselves in the little camp against bigger narratives).
Adventures Of Isabel (Poem by Ogden Nash)
Isabel met an enormous bear,
Isabel, Isabel, didn't care;
The bear was hungry, the bear was ravenous,
The bear's big mouth was cruel and cavernous.
The bear said, Isabel, glad to meet you,
How do, Isabel, now I'll eat you!
Isabel, Isabel, didn't worry.
Isabel didn't scream or scurry.
She washed her hands and she straightened her hair up,
Then Isabel quietly ate the bear up.
Once in a night as black as pitch
Isabel met a wicked old witch.
the witch's face was cross and wrinkled,
The witch's gums with teeth were sprinkled.
Ho, ho, Isabel! the old witch crowed,
I'll turn you into an ugly toad!
Isabel, Isabel, didn't worry,
Isabel didn't scream or scurry,
She showed no rage and she showed no rancor,
But she turned the witch into milk and drank her.
Isabel met a hideous giant,
Isabel continued self reliant.
The giant was hairy, the giant was horrid,
He had one eye in the middle of his forehead.
Good morning, Isabel, the giant said,
I'll grind your bones to make my bread.
Isabel, Isabel, didn't worry,
Isabel didn't scream or scurry.
She nibbled the zwieback that she always fed off,
And when it was gone, she cut the giant's head off.
Isabel met a troublesome doctor,
He punched and he poked till he really shocked her.
The doctor's talk was of coughs and chills
And the doctor's satchel bulged with pills.
The doctor said unto Isabel,
Swallow this, it will make you well.
Isabel, Isabel, didn't worry,
Isabel didn't scream or scurry.
She took those pills from the pill concocter,
And Isabel calmly cured the doctor.
Personally for me, the takeaway is this - it is this, this ability to say 'bring it on' to anything that life in its beautiful mesmerisation of randomness throws at you, the 'bring it on' allows you to live fully and truly as a human being, and gives a more open and malleable mental make-up to take on the new, and to live the way Shakespeare suggests - above all to thine ownself be true, etc.