The Mask

So, this isn't another chapter in my novel (though I've started the next one for those who are waiting and still anticipate a release date before the end of the month), but an attempt to just write more in general.  I don't know that I'm going to develop any theme for this blog yet - outside of the novel - but what are most blogs if not random thoughts generated by one individual to be read by three other people before the whole concept is abandoned?

Today I'm asking why people refuse to wear a mask during the most pervasive pandemic since the Spanish Flu.  I know the ostensible reason: it's a violation of individual rights that Americans hold so dear.  The fear is that if we give into this one thing for the government, the slope will become ever more slippery.  

The problem with that argument is that we've already yielded our specific individual rights for a collective society that functions relatively well.  You can't simply speed through select traffic lights of your choice all the while screaming "Don't tread on me!" out the stuck window of your 4Runner.  Only the most hardcore libertarian would make that argument (and I've heard them do so). 

That's also a massive problem I have with extremist philosophies (of which libertarianism is one, as is, even though I lean relatively far left, communism).  While it's good to identify how things may devolve if we don't keep our eye on the ball, it's a big stretch to assume that as soon as you're required to put on a mask, we'll time warp back to 1984.

So, why do people fight it?  Fear.  Not of their rights but of an invisible disease over which we have no control.  If it's labeled a hoax or overblown or a conspiracy, people have a greater sense of control - something with intelligence is pulling the strings, so it can be solved and defeated.  It allows people to ignore the truth of what's happening in the world right now and taps them into the sense that they - and they alone - "really know what's going on, not like the other sheeple."

The other tenuous argument I hear about this is that if people choose not to wear a mask, they should stay home, because they have the right to do so without infringing on the liberties of others. I'd flip the argument though.  A mask protects other people, not you, so you're being a selfish prick not paying attention to the well-being of others in your freedom-loving society if you don't wear a mask, so shouldn't you have the right to stay home if you don't want to wear a mask.

The bitter irony here is that, according to well-established science, if we'd all mildly restricted our liberty for about 8 weeks, this wouldn't be a debate now.  We may still need to wear masks, but we also still need to wear pants, so I'm not really sure what the logical contention is.  It's a small price to pay to literally save the world (and I don't even mean the death toll, I mean the societal costs that add up during times of massive uncertainty and leads to small fractures in our normal routines).  If you're one of the idiots that questions the "well-established science" and is about to deep state me with some mindblowing argument from a sibling blog as prestigious as this one, well, then I ask - at what point will you ever change your mind?  Your news sources likely just reinforce your own thinking, which isn't a healthy way to live.  Fox News tells you all the Cheetoh diet is healthy?  You may like hearing it, but it'll kill you way quicker than that vaccine you refuse to get.  A little skepticism and a healthy counter-argument are good for the soul and the intellect.

I was skeptical at first, too.  It's no secret the press likes to make mountains out of molehills and this looked like other localized diseases where we've been warned to batten down the hatches but that turned out to be all for naught.  But at some point the evidence became obvious.  And, at some point, you have to believe someone.  Or you don't.  But if you don't, you'll just wind up being some rambling redneck, getting drunk in your garage lamenting the good ol' days when you only declared bankruptcy every 14 years instead of every 7.

So, think of what would've happened if we all just would've followed medically approved advice for a brief period of time rather than acting like spoiled children with loaded assault rifles - we would've had a recovery like Europe - scary and isolating for 6-8 weeks but then a summer where we could feel more confident about the economy and with some further minimal (and, yes, I'll admit) state-sanctioned prophylactics we'd be able to live relatively normal lives until a vaccine's available.  

Instead, we still insist on our emphatic right to die (or, realistically, let someone else die without realizing that "someone" could be ourselves, but we're smarter and more invincible than that, right, Nabokov?) and inflict more self-harm on our nation than a horny teenager with a razor blade stuffed in his right hand.  

Chapter 28 - A Quiet Night

Politicians took notice of Spinoza's campaign against corruption. Tired of looking like fools -they took notice that they'd been caught in their half-hearted attempts to hide the most brazen corruption, but failed to notice they'd also been skewered because they were too incompetent to manage the city properly - they implemented institutional changes to burnish their image.

Their most prominent change was the replacement of the existing police commissioner.  

The city's keepers were keenly aware that the cost in violence for their ignorance of prohibition laws and norms was becoming tiresome to the electorate.  From their gilded offices, they unceremoniously dumped the current commissioner (and unceremoniously thanked him for his service by installing him as the new commissioner of the streets and sanitation department, where he could manage his organized crime ties with less visibility and new-found freedom).  In his stead, they installed "The Mad Hungarian."

"The Mad Hungarian" was neither mad nor Hungarian.  He was born William T. Buttons of Edinburgh and affected a mildly German accent while fighting in World War I for reasons known only to The Mad Hungarian.  The German accent layered on top of his Scottish burr provided those not paying enough attention reasonable cause to create a backstory to fit the role they wanted him to play.

While not mad, his methods were ruthless and exaggerated. He took the city's "War on Prohibition" slogan to heart and drastically changed the rules of engagement between cops and bootleggers.

Previously, the two would wink and nod cheerfully at each other while exchanging bulky envelopes or glasses of bathtub gin.

Under the Mad Hungarian's direction, officers were expected to find any charge, however small, to arrest a scofflaw. If the suspect resisted, officers were encouraged to escalate their use of force to exceed the assailant's level of resistance.

Given the city's general historic enthusiasm for embracing modern (read knee-jerk changes following the political winds) tactics, it wasn't long before interactions between police and hoodlums varied somewhere between mild armed skirmishes at best and block to block battles lasting into the wee hours of the morning at worst.

Inevitably, there was the occasional collateral damage - a luckless dog walker here, a misplaced tourist there. Citizens understood that sacrifices were part of a greater cause and first took the effort in stride.

However, when the casualty numbers for non-combatants began to exceed those of combatants, public opinion changed.

City managers and police brass felt they were over a barrel. They only believed they had two options - allow the criminals to run awash over the city and attempt to ameliorate the rampant crime by setting up a stable system of graft to keep the violent crime hidden, but risk excoriation by the press. Or keep up a relentless paramilitary campaign that harmed the populace disproportionately but could be touted as a devoted law and order decision. And be excoriated by the press. 

It never occurred to them that they could champion legal reform and lead - with the knowledge that leadership meant potential career suicide for a greater good - thus finding a saner, more humane path that would leave the city in much better shape. They instead continued to follow the law and order path.

It was under these conditions that Tannehill was redeployed from desk duty to lead raids against bootleggers. The department heads felt safe in their self-assurance that having one of their heroes lead efforts against prohibition bootleggers would strike the balance between the public's need for peace and safety, the public's demand for liquor, and the equally important requirement to ensure things ran as before so they, and their political bosses, could continue to profit appropriately from their devotion to public service. 

Tannehill's raids were largely devoid of bloody confrontation.  Rather than utilize a massive show of force parading through streets with an ominous "thump-thump-thump" of municipality-issued boots that struck a note of dread in the hearts of both criminals as well as civilians (and also giving their adversaries advance warning and a chance to prepare for battle) he chose smaller, more nimble squads.  

He often used a small squad of 5-10 uniformed officers to lead the raid with another 5-10 plainclothes officers to scout the raids and confuse the targets.  Mobsters often complained that the plainclothed officers were "un-sportsmanlike" because they didn't provide highly visible targets during battle and could be mistaken for their comrades in the booze trade, thus making shootouts much less straightforward.

In Tannehill's raids, an exchange of gunfire wasn't a forgone conclusion, but there were still occasions where someone from either side may wind up in the hospital. Or the morgue. So, Tannehill always approached each raid with an abundance of caution and a sense of apprehension.

This particular night's raid was no different. The streets just outside of the tony back bay neighborhood were slick with recent heavy rain, dampening low-level background noise and accentuating the benign punctuations of sharp, random outbursts common to any city. The rain kept people indoors and cooled the air, which reduced the officers' baseline stress levels. 

The operation they were raiding was as straightforward as anyone they'd had in weeks - a cousin of a cousin of someone connected was permitted to make a bourbon barrel or two per week for easy profit with low risk - don't get busted, no problem. Get busted, no problem, it's small potatoes.

From the department's standpoint, the payoff was likely good too - low production meant low security and low likelihood of bloodshed. A successful raid was always a great public relations win, no matter how small. It could be spun as nipping a burgeoning operation in the bud before it grew into something more difficult to exterminate. The bonus of no violence also highlighted the success of modern police methods and meticulous preparation. 

The men made their way among the muted, refreshed tones of the city - only the crunch of their soles on the pavement seemed to offer any cadence to the otherwise silent night.  They moved from alley to alley, efficiently securing the area and ensuring no bootleggers were waiting in ambush to confound them from their night's duty.

They approached the final alley before the makeshift still that was to be the target of their raid.  Alone at the front of the alley stood a single, brand new trashcan - seemingly emanating light through the cloud-covered night. Without warning, the lid clattered cacophonously to the ground.  The can followed immediately thereafter, briefly filling the air with an incredible and confusing din.

Tannehill, pistol already primed for the raid, turned in the direction of the garbage can and fired down the alley.  Twice.

[Author's Note:  So I didn't manage to get a second installment out before the end of May, but with June, I bring an additional 1102 words and a new milestone - 30516 words total.]