The Fabulists (Kipple)

There is a context to me selecting this poem. It is that we are being lied to: the science has moved on but we are left with a series of policies without basis, which we are told is scientific, and if it is challenged that is misinformation. This comment sums it up well.

I have read this article four times and I find the logic impossible to fathom. It is actually saying that we will need border restrictions and lockdowns indefinitely.
“Skegg also called for a review of the health system’s capacity to cope in the event of an inevitable outbreak, and for elimination to be re-named with a te reo Māori name.”
Of course. The elimination strategy will have a Maori name.
And it gets worse…
“…. travel should be at first restricted to vaccinated Kiwis going overseas from New Zealand for short trips, and should begin with shorter stays in managed isolation.
So there you have it. If you are not vaccinated you will be prohibited from leaving New Zealand. And you can go on a “short trip” and stay for a shorter time in managed isolation on return. You know the managed isolation where demand exceeds supply by a factor of 10.
Effectively we are kicked up despite being fully vaccinated. The lucky few who can get a managed isolation slot can go on a short trip.
I am beyond angry about this. Many people in New Zealand and around the world will be in despair. Oh but the elimination strategy will have a Maori name. Brilliant.

The lies are official, and truth misinformation. The Chinese would now allude to myth. Fortunately, in English we have Kipling, who wrote of this a century ago.

The Fabulists
1914-18

"The Vortex"–A Diversity of Creatures

When all the world would keep a matter hid,
Since Truth is seldom Friend to any crowd,
Men write in fable, as old Aesop did,
Jesting at that which none will name aloud.
And this they needs must do, or it will fall
Unless they please they are not heard at all.

When desperate Folly daily laboureth
To work confusion upon all we have,
When diligent Sloth demandeth Freedom’s death,
And banded Fear commandeth Honour’s grave–
Even in that certain hour before the fall,
Unless men please they are not heard at all.

Needs must all please, yet some not all for need,
Needs must all toil, yet some not all for gain,
But that men taking pleasure may take heed.
Whom present toil shall snatch from later pain.
Thus some have toiled, but their reward was small
Since, though they pleased, they were not heard at all.

This was the lock that lay upon our lips,
This was the yoke that we have undergone,
Denying us all pleasant fellowships
As in our time and generation.
Our pleasures unpursued age past recall,
And for our pains–we are not heard at all.

What man hears aught except the groaning guns?
What man heeds aught save what each instant brings?
When each man’s life all imaged life outruns,
What man shall pleasure in imaginings?
So it hath fallen, as it was bound to fall,
We are not, nor we were not, heard at all.

Rudyard Kipling