RUTHFULLY YOURS

My anecdotal count is obviously personal and informal, without larger statistical warrant, but I would say that nine out of every ten people I meet and converse with are all for locking down and masking up. I have neighbors who rarely emerge from their apartments, more than a year into a serial disaster. I observe, incredulously, masked parents pushing strollers of masked infants impervious to the virus, swallowing their spittle and exhalations. I see far too many people driving masked, making it hazardous to navigate in the city, especially at traffic merges. We have had several narrow escapes as increasingly maladroit drivers, no doubt drowsy from breathing in their own narcotic CO2, seem to regard the roads as a dreamscape. The lack of awareness, both mental and sensory, beggars belief.

Moreover, people rush to the vaccination tents like adolescents to a rock concert, completely unaware of or indifferent to the large number of adverse reactions to the vaccines. This is true of many populations around the world, but Canada seems exceptional in the extent of its compliance. As mentioned, my personal tallies are anecdotal, but I know of several individuals who were hospitalized with critical reactions, some of whom have died. It is hard to escape a veritable cloud of despair that shadows my waning respect for my countrymen, 70 percent of whom vote Left—which tells one everything one needs to know about Canada.

A friend sends an example that stands as a symbolic marker for the vast majority of my fellow Canadians. On a hike through a 20+ mile conservation area, whose trails circle a man-made lake, he noticed a kayaker who looked fit and healthy. “He was miles from anywhere he could have launched from,” my friend writes, “fishing and just tooling around out on the lake. Outdoors. On a sunny day. Alone. In the middle of a lake. WEARING A MASK.” My friend wondered about the organic composition of this man’s brains—to put it decorously—which explained why “politicians will never let us get back to normal”—or why, we might add, many people seem quite happy with things continuing as they are. “Things as they are/Things as they will be by and by,” wrote poet Wallace Stevens, “A fat thumb beats out ay-yi-yi.” Ay-yi-yi is a reasonable sentiment in context. It has been said of this country that the most discouraging thing about it is the people in it.

My wife and I have long discussed the national decline and considered our personal prospects. We are pinioned here for now, partly from family obligations, and partly as a result of the draconian travel restrictions imposed by our overlords. We couldn’t go anywhere no matter how much we wanted to. But as soon as opportunity permits, we will be decamping to the free and rational jurisdictions in the U.S., possibly Texas, most likely Florida, where we have friends. We have been doing our due diligence, researching the best alternatives. Everything considered, Marco Island seems like a good bet.

As our rare and clarion-voiced media contrarian Rex Murphy writes, “We are not a serious country…It’s a sad time for Canada.” He is right. The country is sick. “Is there such a thing as collective trauma?” he asks, and replies to his own question, “If there is, Canada is going through one right now, or will be.” The viral load of cowardice, smugness, ineptitude and intellectual stagnation, of poor leadership and public submissiveness, will lead, as Murphy warns, to a grim and depressing sequel.

The problem is, there is no known antidote to CANADA-19, except flight.