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Satire
Once upon a time, there was a little girl called Eve and she had a very important Mummy. Her Mummy had long black hair, and a big toothy smile like the crocodile in Eve’s storybook. She wore bright red lipstick that sometimes she put on Eve for a treat, just for fun. Mummy loved playing dress-up, even more than Eve did. She had some very special feathery cloaks, some long black scarves, and sometimes she wore a flowery crown, just like a real princess. At times she did a little dance, especially at the 1 o’clock propaganda pressers each day.
Her Mummy was so kind, and she said that kindness, and not being afraid to be kind, or to focus on, or really be driven by empathy was really important, and so she enjoyed getting different things from the dress-up box for special occasions.
Eve’s Mummy sometimes told her stories at bedtime, although not very often, as she was very busy on Facebook at that time. But when she did tell her stories, they were about the people who lived in poverdy in communidies far, far away from Eve and her Mummy. They lived in little houses some with lots of children and they often went hungry. Eve’s Mummy said that they didn’t have jobs because they were naughty and didn’t play nicely. She said they just had to get jabbed, and they would get a special piece of paper and then get a job because we are a very inclusive and egalitarian society.
Mummy also said, “not only will there be no forced vaccinations, but those who choose to opt-out won’t face any penalties at all, so you see, Eve, it is all very easy.”
“OOOOH”, said Eve, “but does it hurt to get jabbed?”
“Just a little prick, nothing very hurty at all”, said Mummy, “but,” she said, “it hurts much worse if you don’t get one, because your life will be jeopridised.”
“What happens then?” asked Eve, with eyes big and round behind her glasses.
“Well, then you can’t have a job, you can’t go to see Aunty Helen on the other side of town, or go to a café…”
“Not even for a fluffy?” asked Eve.
“No, certainly not for a fluffy”, said her Mummy, looking very stern.
“Oooh”, said Eve, in a small voice, “have you got a jab and a job, Mummy?”
“Well, yes, of course, Eve”, said Mummy. “I am the Wonder Woman of the People’s Republic of Aotearoa, and in the early days, I was called Socialist Cindy. I still am Socialist Cindy, and that is incredibly progressive, and I am covered in stardust, and this stardust won’t settle. I hope for all little boys and girls…”
“Yes, but what about the people without a jab and a special piece of paper and a job, Mummy?”
“Well, I would charitably describe them as idiots, and sometimes they get angry and they do silly things. A bit like you going on your trampoline when I said you were not to. And what happened then, Eve?”
“Mmm”, said Eve, “you told me off and made me get out, and I was all dressed up as Superwoman, and I got cross, and you made me sit on the naughty step.”
“So, you must always do just as Mummy mandates and then you won’t have to be punished. And, Eve, don’t listen to other people because mine is the single source of truth so you must dismiss anything else.”
“Did you tell the people to get a jab and a special piece of paper, so they can have a job and a fluffy?” asked Eve.
“That’s what it is, yip, yip, and how clever you are, Eve. So now we have two classes of people: the jabbed, and the conspiracy theorists.”
“So are they happy now?”
“Well, not all of them. But they don’t know what is best for them and the anti-vaxxers are a bit angry with Mummy. I did fib and say two jabs would work, and now, who knows how many jabs vaxxers will have to have. But I told them, kids, there will always be choice: always, you have my absolute commitment on that. But I will continue to lie to them, Eve, despite saying it is possible to exist in politics without lying and by telling the truth as I no longer accept the premise of that statement. And so they can lose. As it suits them. Eat or starve. By the way, did you eat up all your dinner tonight like a good girl, Eve?”
“Yes, Mummy. I ate all my fish and chips out of the wrapping, and then I had strawberries and ice cream, and it was all very yummy. I feel sorry for the poor kids, though.”
“You are kind, like me, but they have a choice, Eve, and their life is all about the choices I make for them.”
“But Mummy…”
“Now that’s enough, Eve, it’s late.”
“But I’m not tired, and I want another story. The one about how the right-wing extremists marched in the streets and waved signs with big writing on them and they had picnics and drove big tractors and illegitimate utes, and Daddy said just ignore them like Mummy does, Eve, and then the Police came and arrested…”
“No more, Eve. It’s bedtime, and we don’t want to fail at that. But I promise I will tell you that story another time – it is rather good, isn’t it! Such lovely fun. Shall we do that?”
“Ooh, yes, Mummy. I love your stories.”
Mummy starts to walk out…
“Mummy, what does democracy mean?”
“Whoever told you that word, Eve?”
“A lady said you didn’t have a clue what it meant, but I thought you knew everything.”
“Indeed, I do and don’t you worry your pretty little head about big words like that. The lady was wrong. I do know what it means, but it is not a nice word. We don’t use language like that in our family, Eve. Words are important and, the words that I wish to haunt me: my values and beliefs and the things that have brought me here. I do so in the hope that should I ever abandon them, I will have the good grace to leave.
“Sleep tight, Eve.”
