THE LOCKDOWN IS A PSY-OP, part 3: WEAPONIZED DEMORALIZATION
Continued from Part 1 and Part 2
One day in early March, I was chatting with an acquaintance who is an avid sports fan. By that time, I had already heard an earful about the much-ballyhooed "Coronavirus," as it was then exclusively being called: these were the days before the subsequent coining of "Covid-19" as the formal designation (though jocularly irreverent sobriquets for this condition, such as "the WuFlu," "the Kung Flu," and "the China Syndrome" were already widely in use).
As my friend and I sat in a bar (remember those?) and watched an NBA game on one of the many screens, he casually mentioned something that rather took me aback. The NCAA tournament, he told me, was going to be played in empty arenas this year, due to virus-related concerns.
It took me a full moment to grasp what he was saying. To use a cinematic metaphor, I was struck with disbelief much the same way that Marty McFly was upon learning that his elderly friend had fashioned a time machine out of a Delorean. In a tone similar to that of Marty's incredulous inquiry, I demanded, "Wait a minute! Are you telling me that they've stopped selling tickets to college basketball championship games?"
If the in-person audience was excluded, it seemed to me, then the viewer would be robbed of an essential aspect of the experience. The games themselves might of course still be close, intense, well-played contests, but without the roar of the crowd, it just wouldn't be the same.
In fact, the thought of those games being played without any spectators in the arena struck me as thoroughly depressing. I, of course, had no particular "skin in the game"; I wasn't a college hoops fan, nor did I follow or root for any school's team: none had won my affection through the years. But though I was, and still am, quite indifferent to the tournament itself, there was nevertheless something incredibly demoralizing about the notion that this powerful, culturally relevant, patently elemental phenomenon could get forcibly drained of its vitality like that, all on account of the national leadership's capitulation to immensely onerous CDC dictates concerning needful public behavior.
At this point, of course, I hadn't yet formed any opinion about the forces behind the making of such a decision. Soon enough, it became clear that the NCAA tournament would not be played before sepulchral venues full of empty seats; in fact, it would not be played at all. The tournament would be canceled, as, eventually, would nearly all other sporting events, both professional and amateur, across the world. When my son's school soccer league was announced to be "off," I wasn't just demoralized, however; I was in fact livid. My son loves soccer, and loves playing it with his friends, and I hated that it was being taken away from him by bureaucratic busybodies who actually believed that a handful of boys playing games on an open field in front of a couple dozen parents in attendance posed some serious public health threat.
It was around this time I began to sense that we were in the grips of what amounted to a "panic-demic." However, the panic hadn't sprung up spontaneously; I felt sure that it was, in fact, being orchestrated. Yet though I didn't believe the hype, I couldn't help but feel continually in the grips of demoralization as every day brought a new litany of announcements of closings. Conventions, concert tours, and other long-planned events all were either scuttled or indefinitely "postponed." Schools closed their doors for the remainder of the year, relegating students to hastily thrown-together online education; churches likewise ceased to operate or dispense the Sacraments to the faithful, instead offering only "streaming services" to their congregants.
The accumulated effect of this seemingly neverending string of shutdowns-- culminating of course in the infamous "stay at home" order relegating billions of people to the sudden status of house arrest, and the elimination of all jobs not deemed "essential," leading surely to dire economic circumstances-- was nothing if not funereal. At around this time, I recorded a video entitled "The Closings Will Continue Until Morale Improves," in which I formulated the notion that it seemed there was something purposeful in the manner with which normalcy as we knew it was taken away from us suddenly, with little warning, in the twinkling of an eye, on dubious if not non-existent legal grounds.
Then the "lockdown" really went into full effect. Restaurants, malls, movie theaters, and most other public places of leisure were forcibly closed down by order of some petty state, county, or municipal tyrant citing "emergency powers." And then came the technocratic babble justifying house arrest, ("shelter in place") and effectively preventing fraternization with friends or colleagues, ("social distancing."). Demoralization continued apace. Most ascribed their grim thoughts to fear of this solemnly-announced pandemic, now called "Covid-19," but in fact, the origin of such sentiment was much more likely ascribable to the nonstop message, communicated by both state and media sources, that the lockdown would never really end, that the new, suddenly-imposed dispensation was well-nigh permanent, and that we would all just have to adjust to a "new normal."
The phrase "new normal" was in fact circulated relentlessly, again, in a seemingly systemic manner, as if, like "social distancing" and "sheltering in place," it were being intentionally injected into our collective mind. One could even be forgiven for feeling that there was something eerily ritualistic about it all, like we were being primed for a transformation by our "betters," who were eager to make us over into something entirely "novel," which could only be achieved first by breaking us down through systematic infliction of trauma and by the relentless pummeling of weaponized demoralization.
As my friend and I sat in a bar (remember those?) and watched an NBA game on one of the many screens, he casually mentioned something that rather took me aback. The NCAA tournament, he told me, was going to be played in empty arenas this year, due to virus-related concerns.
It took me a full moment to grasp what he was saying. To use a cinematic metaphor, I was struck with disbelief much the same way that Marty McFly was upon learning that his elderly friend had fashioned a time machine out of a Delorean. In a tone similar to that of Marty's incredulous inquiry, I demanded, "Wait a minute! Are you telling me that they've stopped selling tickets to college basketball championship games?"
"Yep. And they've refunded the money of the tickets they already sold," he said.At this point I had edged beyond astonishment; I was, in fact, struck dumb.
"Can you believe it?" my interlocutor asked. I couldn't. "The Final Four is gonna be in Atlanta... imagine all the money that they'll be losing!"He was right: Atlanta stood to lose millions of dollars if they went ahead and excluded the in-person audience from the venues where the games were to be held. For me, though, what truly rendered the notion incredible was trying to imagine these fast-paced, high-profile, high-stakes games being played without any in-person crowd dynamic in effect. I just couldn't fathom it. When a lower-ranking team pulled off a stunning, bracket-busting upset with an amazing buzzer-beater shot, no one would be roaring with thunderous fervor! When finally one team was crowned champion, none would there to share in the ecstasy with the players and the coaches; as a result, the energy would be lost; the atmosphere would surely more resemble a practice scrimmage, or perhaps an insignificant pick-up game played on a street corner or in a humdrum gym.
If the in-person audience was excluded, it seemed to me, then the viewer would be robbed of an essential aspect of the experience. The games themselves might of course still be close, intense, well-played contests, but without the roar of the crowd, it just wouldn't be the same.
In fact, the thought of those games being played without any spectators in the arena struck me as thoroughly depressing. I, of course, had no particular "skin in the game"; I wasn't a college hoops fan, nor did I follow or root for any school's team: none had won my affection through the years. But though I was, and still am, quite indifferent to the tournament itself, there was nevertheless something incredibly demoralizing about the notion that this powerful, culturally relevant, patently elemental phenomenon could get forcibly drained of its vitality like that, all on account of the national leadership's capitulation to immensely onerous CDC dictates concerning needful public behavior.
At this point, of course, I hadn't yet formed any opinion about the forces behind the making of such a decision. Soon enough, it became clear that the NCAA tournament would not be played before sepulchral venues full of empty seats; in fact, it would not be played at all. The tournament would be canceled, as, eventually, would nearly all other sporting events, both professional and amateur, across the world. When my son's school soccer league was announced to be "off," I wasn't just demoralized, however; I was in fact livid. My son loves soccer, and loves playing it with his friends, and I hated that it was being taken away from him by bureaucratic busybodies who actually believed that a handful of boys playing games on an open field in front of a couple dozen parents in attendance posed some serious public health threat.
It was around this time I began to sense that we were in the grips of what amounted to a "panic-demic." However, the panic hadn't sprung up spontaneously; I felt sure that it was, in fact, being orchestrated. Yet though I didn't believe the hype, I couldn't help but feel continually in the grips of demoralization as every day brought a new litany of announcements of closings. Conventions, concert tours, and other long-planned events all were either scuttled or indefinitely "postponed." Schools closed their doors for the remainder of the year, relegating students to hastily thrown-together online education; churches likewise ceased to operate or dispense the Sacraments to the faithful, instead offering only "streaming services" to their congregants.
The accumulated effect of this seemingly neverending string of shutdowns-- culminating of course in the infamous "stay at home" order relegating billions of people to the sudden status of house arrest, and the elimination of all jobs not deemed "essential," leading surely to dire economic circumstances-- was nothing if not funereal. At around this time, I recorded a video entitled "The Closings Will Continue Until Morale Improves," in which I formulated the notion that it seemed there was something purposeful in the manner with which normalcy as we knew it was taken away from us suddenly, with little warning, in the twinkling of an eye, on dubious if not non-existent legal grounds.
Then the "lockdown" really went into full effect. Restaurants, malls, movie theaters, and most other public places of leisure were forcibly closed down by order of some petty state, county, or municipal tyrant citing "emergency powers." And then came the technocratic babble justifying house arrest, ("shelter in place") and effectively preventing fraternization with friends or colleagues, ("social distancing."). Demoralization continued apace. Most ascribed their grim thoughts to fear of this solemnly-announced pandemic, now called "Covid-19," but in fact, the origin of such sentiment was much more likely ascribable to the nonstop message, communicated by both state and media sources, that the lockdown would never really end, that the new, suddenly-imposed dispensation was well-nigh permanent, and that we would all just have to adjust to a "new normal."
The phrase "new normal" was in fact circulated relentlessly, again, in a seemingly systemic manner, as if, like "social distancing" and "sheltering in place," it were being intentionally injected into our collective mind. One could even be forgiven for feeling that there was something eerily ritualistic about it all, like we were being primed for a transformation by our "betters," who were eager to make us over into something entirely "novel," which could only be achieved first by breaking us down through systematic infliction of trauma and by the relentless pummeling of weaponized demoralization.
Andy Nowicki, Affirmative Right "editor at large" is the author of eight books, including Under the Nihil, The Columbine Pilgrim, Considering Suicide, and Beauty and the Least. He occasionally updates his blog when the spirit moves him to do so. Visit his Soundcloud page and his YouTube channel
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