I was skeptical when my children arrived home from school Wednesday and informed me they could not play outside, irritated when they used the faculty fearmongering to demand screen time, irate when we pulled into the drop-off line Thursday morning. There was the crossing guard in an N95, a teacher in the same. A small boy was wrapped in useless cloth, dragged to the front steps by a mother sporting a surgical mask and a smart business suit. Evidently, cartoonish shoulder pads are making a comeback after a three-decade slumber, but mass panic barely had time to take a nap here in Washington before bureaucrats roused it in the name of public safety.
It feels as though we are living in a horror movie and a particular one at that: the rushed sequel to a surprise box office hit. Sure, in the first film the antagonist was shot, stabbed, decapitated, set ablaze, frozen, exorcised by a clergyman from the One True Apostolic Church, the ashes shot into the sun, and not just any sun, but one in another dimension. Audiences loved it. Which means the writer-director-auteur who spent a decade meticulously crafting that first film has four months to transport the villain back from another dimension, reconstitute the atoms, solidify the ashes, find that head and have it swear an oath to the Prince of Lies before he can get back to the serious business of killing mischievous teenagers.
There is a wildfire raging in Canada at the moment and all that wood has sent up some smoke. Smoke that has blown southward and made the sky a tacky color in our most fashionable locale. You can forgive New York City elites from panicking at the unfamiliar sight of haze — they built their fortunes and status on helping companies transport emission sources from American union shops to Chinese slave laborers. Lest the color fail to keep people indoors, the government turned to the scariest analogy possible: the general public soon learned that standing outside in New York City for a full twenty-four hours would be the equivalent of smoking — literal gasp!!!! — six cigarettes, or, as we call it in the McMorris household, breakfast.
The situation alarmed transportation secretary Peter Buttigieg, who warned that the smoke may lead to flight delays in New York City and throughout the Acela corridor. The press will no doubt point to his brave tweet as an example of stalwart leadership — the better for the voters to forget the toxic train derailment in East Palestine under his watch. The explosion and black plumes filled with actual poison happened way out in the Rust Belt— that’s nothing compared to the havoc of extended wait times into JFK, or Gaia forbid, helipad logjams in the Hamptons.
All of this has occurred just two months after President Biden officially lifted the Covid emergency order that enabled the government to hand-deliver millions of relief dollars without a shred of accountability. You get the sense the fearmongers were itching for any excuse to intrude upon the lives of the public. The bureaucracy is only human; they respond to incentives. And after witnessing Americans turn against their neighbors and families and unmasked toddlers, why wouldn’t the power-mad try their hand at getting the average American to be fearful of the sky itself?
They will only stop with the fearmongering when Americans start to ignore them, no matter how many times they flash their credentials. That is not happening. The Yankees and Phillies — the only two franchises in baseball more evil than the Dodgers — canceled their Wednesday games; the Nationals followed suit Thursday. At first blush, this is yet another example of mega corporations with antitrust exemptions joining with government propagandists to scare baseball fans — that’s the type of clichéd trope you would expect from a rushed sequel.
There is another possibility: the teams recognize that all it takes these days to get people to skip the ballpark and barricade themselves indoors is a stern tweet from Mayor Pete. If that’s the case, get ready for the critically acclaimed, gritty reboot.
