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It’s still dark outside as I write this. I couldn’t sleep last night so I gave up trying at 4:00am, got up and thanked my lucky stars that I’m retired, reasonably well off and probably one of the few whose life will barely be impacted by a level 3 lockdown. It would be so easy to sit back and let others do the emotional heavy lifting – after all it’s their problem, not mine – but I can’t. When our phones set off the alarm last night it sent shivers down my spine.
I looked at my beloved and I immediately knew that the State was taking control again. The State has a direct link into every home 24/7 and orders all of us to dance to their instruction yet again. The tens of thousands of small business owners and event organisers must live in fear of their phones. The drip-feeding of the emotional and financial stress they have had to endure throughout the last twelve months should never be inflicted by one upon another, especially when the one giving the orders bears no personal sacrifice.
There must be a better way. The call for kindness and compassion is a cruel contradiction to the reality so many are experiencing. We, in Auckland, are trapped in a well guarded geographical prison, inmates of the Government which is slowly bleeding the region to death. Why? Because two more people aren’t well! Ardern’s crocodile tears are becoming embarrassing. She may have lost control of the pandemic but she is totally in control of Auckland’s fate and like every other thing she touches it will only end up in tears. Not hers, but thousands of others whose livelihoods and dreams perish like rotting fruit in an neglected orchard.
The BFD. Cartoon credit SonovaMIn
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