PerthPublicSanity.ca / Sanity Blog / I Went to Vote Today...
Voting Maskless and with a Heavy Heart
Anonymous Perth County Resident | September 15, 2021
I was driving to the polling station, thinking that I would not wear a mask. I could not wear a mask. How could I? How could I choose freely for whom to cast my vote when I feel muzzled, when I feel silenced? Besides, what kind of person wears on her face a piece of crap that she knows does not keep out viruses any more than a chain link fence keeps out mosquitoes? Having reviewed all the research papers I could find over the past year and a half, how could I justify putting on a mask knowing that it was of no real benefit to me, or to other people, and in fact it carried a greater risk of making me sick? Every time I wear a mask, any mask, I can hardly breathe and I develop a sore throat.
Driving to the polling station I was thinking of my grandfather, M.M. In April 1944 M.M. decided not to leave his house any more. Why? because he refused to wear the yellow “Star of David.” After the Germans occupied Hungary it was decreed that as of April 5th 1944 all Jews had to display the yellow start on their outer garment whenever they left their home. Tragically, I could never meet my grandfather. Along with my grandmother, uncles, great grandparents and most other relatives, he was murdered in Auschwitz. I could never ask him, why would you not wear the yellow star? Was it because you did not want to be treated as “other”, as anything less than fully human? Was it a symbol of being dirty or sickening? Was it because you knew it marked you as someone to be segregated, robbed, exploited, treated as a slave, starved, deprived of all your rights as a human being, and finally murdered? No chance to ask him, no chance of receiving his reply.
On the way to the polling station I was thinking of myself as a child in grade school, wearing a blue triangular cotton cloth tie on my white shirt. I was a “little drummer,” as we were all called back then, sixty or more years ago in elementary school in socialist Eastern Europe. In higher grades the blue tie was replaced by the red triangular tie that we wore on the white shirt or on our school smock. By then we were the “young pioneers.” As a child, I wore the blue tie proudly. I was proud to be big enough to attend school. As a good “little drummer” I learned that always I had to tell the truth. I also learned that I was responsible to help others, to care for their well-being.
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| There were a number of organizations dedicated to inculcating and upholding socialist principles in Hungary. Upon beginning school, children entered into the first stage of the communist youth movement known as the Little Drummers. |
Later on, as I was becoming a bit better informed and more experienced, as I was wearing the “red tie” I was beginning to be aware of some problems. I began to realize that not everyone has learned to tell the truth. Or not everyone practiced telling the truth, even if they were taught to do so. Not everyone has learned to care about other people. By the time I got to university, I was expected to exchange the red triangular cotton tie for a proper red tie, the kind well-attired men used to wear, a tie made of better quality and more durable material. This tie symbolized maturity and commitment to the communist youth organization.
That is when trouble really began, with the communist youth organization. That is when I started to realize that nothing is what it seems to be. That our history books did not tell us why exactly all those wars that fill history books broke out? The books told us endless stories, exactly as the authors were instructed or directed to tell them. Directed by whom? Why? Why did they tell the stories that way? What led up to those events? How were they connected to previous events? Whose interest did they really serve? Why, for whom, and for what, did all those people have to die?
In the late 1960s and early 1970s the economic and political atmosphere was changing rapidly in my home country. Especially for a young person with no trusted adults who could or would provide guidance everything was very confusing. Only certain questions could be asked. And, if I was asked a question and answered it as truthfully as I could, I would often find myself in trouble.
Does that remind me of something in the atmosphere of today? Does it ever! Walking toward the polling station this morning I saw a tall young man at the door; he was wearing a mask. I did not know if he would stop me because I did not wear or even look as if I was about to put on a mask. I was wondering will he stop me? Will he ask me if I have a mask? Will he tell me to put one on? What will I tell him? How much could or would I tell him? How would he respond? Would he give me a chance to even speak? I was determined not to vote wearing a mask. He said nothing. I walked through the door. There were many people inside. All of them were wearing masks. I may have gotten some looks. I was determined; if I cannot go into the space to vote un-muzzled, I will not vote.
I was not challenged. I voted. I am not convinced it will do any good. In the past eighteen months I learned, more than ever, that truth does not seem to matter. Caring for the well-being of others does not seem to matter. Only the official narrative that sustains a “plandemic of fear” propped up by the MSM, by the ruling and the “opposition” parties, by the unelected, overpaid, and under-qualified “scientist-advisors” who are not even declaring their conflicts of interest, by the police and army in many places, by the professional organizations and by the major institutions; that is what matters.
My father was a Holocaust survivor. He lived in Canada for the last twelve years of his life. He never learned English (or French), but he always wanted to know what was going on in the world. I often think that if he were still alive and I had to explain to him why we were required to wear a mask, why we were told to “sanitize” our hands, why to keep two meters distance from other humans, why we were locked down, why kids did not attend school, etc., if I said to him that it was all because of “the pandemic,” he would have thought that I lost my mind.
He, who survived years of forced labour, cold, starvation, and concentration camps, heaps of corpses along in Mauthausen and elsewhere, would have seen no sign of mortal danger. He would have asked: “Where are all the corpses? Who has died? Of what did they die? How do you know? Were there autopsies done?
"If indeed there was a pandemic caused by a virus,” he would have said, “do you think any of these measures would work? If you say yes, you wasted all your time at school! Stop reading that trash and use your brain, girl.”
You can tell I miss my Dad. He was a voice of sanity, when he chose to speak. It was not too often. He had common sense; he had integrity; he had real ethical-moral character.... unlike.... many, if not most of, those who are our “leaders” in this world today.
About the author: Anonymous, written by an immigrant from “behind the iron curtain” and a “2G” (second generation Holocaust survivor). Any messages to the author can be sent to our help desk and they will be forwarded to her.
