Updated: Jan 14
I don't know the source, but its sentiments strike a chord in my own heart (and I'm paraphrasing):
" I am not particularly bothered by questions that have no answer. However, I am deeply concerned that we have been presented with answers we are not permitted to question."
In the midst of a pandemic of questionable origins, the foreboding shadow of Adam Sutler has arisen among us. The truth we are instructed to believe blares from our televisions, computers, and smartphones with the hypnotic rhythm of compliance.
Our neighbors and friends flit around with a frozen stare of fear, peering through our windows, rummaging through our trash, as they shake the pointed finger of accusation in our faces demanding that we shackle ourselves with the chains of acquiescence. "Comply," comes the tortured screech of near panic, "it's for our own good."
It occurs to me as I lie upon my bed in the darkness of these early morning hours, that there are things I dread far more than death by a man-made bug.
I fear the idea of life in a sea of faceless humanity whose identity is being wicked away by a piece of cloth that does nothing to protect them from their unseen enemy while it slowly robs them of the will to think for themselves, to reason that decisions should be made after seeking out all available information, and above it all - to question.
I sat in my car yesterday, stuck in a long and congested line of traffic as I watched faceless men, women, and children plodding through their lives. I could see no features -only eyes - eyes that exposed a sad mixture of anxiety, suspicion, and loathing. Our little town was filled with people, but it was a people whose freedom to live is slowly ebbing away. Signs abound, giving instructions as to who can enter and who must stay away, who is welcomed and who is to be shunned.
I saw people so consumed by not dying that they have forgotten what it's like to live.
Strident voices tell me I must "trust the science." As a matter of fact, I do trust science but this is made more difficult when one doesn't trust the scientist.
Irritated voices demand that I mindlessly comply with the edicts of an individual who has never, in more than fifty years in politics, demonstrated that he is worthy of anyone's trust.
If I dare to question the scientist or the politician (and it's getting increasingly difficult to distinguish between the two), I do so at my own peril.
No, I don't particularly fear death. But, I do dread an existence of stumbling through life, peering over a mask anxiously waiting for a scientist or politician to give me permission to live.
And, I fear an existence of trying to navigate my way through a sea of marionettes so accustomed to life by permission of their masters that they are no longer aware of the strings that order their days..."for their own good."
"A good deal of tyranny goes by the name of protection." -Crystal Eastman-