ST. PATTY (Again)

          Today, March 16, 2024, marks the fourth anniversary of COVID lockdowns in the state of Pennsylvania.  The sudden shutdown of the economy, church services, and all social interaction (with the exception of leftwing street demonstrations), was our introduction to the world-wide “pandemic response,” a years-long campaign of edicts, propaganda, and censorship by government executives and bureaucrats, pharma companies, social media, and the state-run broadcasters.

In the U.S. and almost every Western nation, there was suddenly an official story, and any attempt by citizens or responsible doctors and scientists to question the authorities or suggest alternative courses of action was stifled by police, military, regulatory and taxing authorities, and the state-sponsored demonization of dissenters as dangerous, stupid, uncaring people.

No one has been held to account for the COVID security state that was created, or the millions it killed and continues to kill.  In fact, much of the legal infrastructure to reconstitute it still exists, and the official position of the American and other governments is that the totalitarian “pandemic response” actually saved lives.

I first published this short piece a year ago:   

 

         On March 16, 2020, the day before St. Patrick’s Day, Pennsylvania went into lockdown for COVID.   Most businesses, including bars and restaurants, were closed indefinitely by order of Governor Wolf.

           I remember it vividly.  The lockdown was to go into effect at 5 PM, so at 2 PM, I raced over to Billy Murphy’s Irish Saloon, at Conrad St. and Indian Queen Lane in Philly.  My plan was simple: get a drink before the world, or something, ended.  Nobody knew what was coming, but I didn’t like the look of it.

           The door was locked.

           I stood at the door and heard muffled voices inside.  I later learned they had closed early and were having a staff party, both to celebrate the Saint and to mourn the lockdown.  In a way, it was a perfect Irish moment, composed of equal parts laughter, melancholy, and alcohol.  Standing there, I thought about pounding on the door and trying to talk my way in, but I didn’t.  It was their bar.  It was their party.  I’m not even a little bit Irish, I don’t celebrate St. Patty’s Day, and it wasn’t even St. Patty’s Day yet.  Still, knowing they were there and wanting to join them but not being able to, I don’t think I ever felt more Irish.  And I don’t think I have ever wanted a drink more than I did at that moment.

Copyright2023MichaelKubacki