During the time of the Parliamentary protest here in New Zealand, when the country was split asunder by governmental decree into two camps, the jabbed and the unjabbed, I chanced to meet a friend at the beach. I knew her to be a wonderful musician and, I thought, an intelligent person, and we exchanged pleasantries. Taking her question about my well-being at face value – “How are you doing?” – I replied, “Terribly. I’m not allowed to go to a cafe or restaurant, can’t get a haircut, can’t get into the gym I’ve paid my subscription to, and I never would have believed New Zealand could have become this apartheid dystopia.”
She brushed me off and muttered something about how the jab would keep everyone safe, and so I engaged a bit more deeply.
“Since when is a healthy person a threat? And why do we need this thing anyway, when there is treatment?”
“Oh, you mean that horse pill?” she replied with a cheerful sneer.
“Ivermectin is much more than a so-called horse pill, it has been helping a lot of people ….”
She interrupted. “I’d like to see some double-blinded randomized controlled trials.”
She, mind you, wonderful musician though she may be, is not exactly a doctor. And I, though not a musician, did indeed study and practice medicine. I broke off the conversation because I realized she had swallowed the government’s fear-soaked pablum lock, stock and barrel. She demanded of a medication with promising empirical results in treating Covid and preventing hospitalisation what she failed to demand of an experimental, hastily developed so-called vaccine for which informed consent was, essentially, taboo. She is one of the Sleepwalkers – wilfully ignorant rather than malevolent, but destructive nonetheless.
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