MARCH 29, 2020 – Pandemic. It’s as old as civilization. And how about civilization? We’re making it up as we go along. Viewed optimistically, it’s a record of progress. Seen pessimistically, it’s a descent into inevitable self-extinction. Evidence abounds for each perspective.
I believe, however, that the more accurate depiction of the human record is a collection of amusement park rides. They come in all designs. Some carry lovers gently to lofty views, while other rides spin violently, separating riders from what they last ate. Yet other rides catapult daredevils to the sun and yank them back.
And then there’s the carousel, aboard which painted horses have their ups and downs as they go round and round to the nostalgic sound of the old, familiar calliope.
That would be America—a grand carousel at the center of the park. In the middle of this ride stands the “the operator,” and to him we attribute the ability to start and stop, slow and speed the great merry-go-round as it spins its mounted riders. In fact, the machine is run by an engine powered variously by steam, diesel, or electricity; an engine filled with gears, pistons, and levers that growl and clatter away to turn a hundred horses and a thousand lights into a merry blur.
The American carousel has seen many so-called “operators.” Many were unremarkable; others, flamboyant; yet more, expert at pulling levers and sounding bells and whistles. On occasion, the operator at the time yanked the cord or discharged a fire extinguisher in a moment of distress. To those operators, the riders owed their lives; the ride, its continued existence.
Since January 2017, the person posing as “operator” has been a cheap carnival barker. He has nothing but contempt for the old carousel, its bright lights, its antique horses, its gaily spirited riders, its vintage engine, still fully serviceable if properly maintained. Long-time riders, who appreciate the finer, gentler points of the carousel, are appalled by the crass barker pretending to be an “operator.” Yet half the riders think differently. They are tone deaf, color blind, and photo-insensitive. They can’t distinguish a drum from a calliope; a painted horse from a mud-covered pig; a string of bright lights from a big, black void. These passengers can’t tell a painting of Jesus (the classic Western version) from a depiction of Satan (in classic Halloween costume), let alone a carnival barker from a legitimate carousel operator.
So round and round and up and down we go. Soon the engine will blow. Yet, riders who have no sight, no hearing, no ability to tell up from down, on from off, cheer the “operator” as he runs the ride into the ground.
We who can see and hear, who know the teachings of Jesus from the pitchfork of Satan . . . we who know a carousel from the Bungee-on-a-Prayer ride, owe a duty to posterity. That duty is to overcome and remove the current operator from the controls before the pandemic throws our whole nation from the saddle.
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© 2020 by Eric Nilsson
