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https://brownstone.org/articles/sorry-this-is-not-going-away/

Sorry, This Is Not Going Away  

The kids are two years behind in education. Inflation still rages. White-collar jobs are disappearing thanks to the reversal of Fed policy. Household finances are a wreck. The medical industry is in upheaval. Trust in government has never been lower. 

Major media too is discredited. Young people are dying at levels never seen. Populations are still on the move from lockdown states to where it is less likely. Surveillance is everywhere, and so is political persecution. Public health is in a disastrous state, with substance abuse and obesity all at new records. 

Each one of these, and many more besides, are continued fallout from the pandemic response that began in March 2020. And yet here we are 38 months later and we still don’t have honesty or truth about the experience. Officials have resigned, politicians have tumbled out of office, and lifetime civil servants have departed their posts, but they don’t cite the great disaster as the excuse. There is always some other reason. 

This is the period of the great silence. We’ve all noticed it. The stories in the press recounting all the above are conventionally scrupulous about naming the pandemic response much less naming the individuals responsible. Maybe there is a Freudian explanation: things so obviously terrible and in such recent memory are too painful to mentally process, so we just pretend it didn’t happen. Plenty in power like this solution. 

Everyone in a position of influence knows the rules. Don’t talk about the lockdowns. Don’t talk about the mask mandates. Don’t talk about the vaccine mandates that proved useless and damaging and led to millions of professional upheavals. Don’t talk about the economics of it. Don’t talk about collateral damage. When the topic comes up, just say “We did the best we could with the knowledge we had,” even if that is an obvious lie. Above all, don’t seek justice. 

There is this document intended to be the “Warren Commission” of Covid slapped together by the old gangsters who advocated for lockdowns. It is called Lessons from the Covid War: An Assessment. The authors are people like Michael Callahan (Massachusetts General Hospital), Gary Edson (former Deputy National Security Advisor), Richard Hatchett, (Coalition for Epidemic Preparedness Innovations), Marc Lipsitch (Harvard University), Carter Mecher (Veterans Affairs), and Rajeev Venkayya (former Gates Foundation and now Aerium Therapeutics).

If you have been following this disaster, you know at least some of the names. Years before 2020, they were pushing lockdowns as the solution for infectious disease. Some claim credit for having invented pandemic planning. The years 2020-2022 was their experiment. As it was ongoing, they became media stars, pushing compliance, condemning as disinformation and misinformation anyone who disagreed with them. They were at the heart of the coup d’etat, as engineers or champions of it, that replaced representative democracy quasi-martial law run by the administrative state. 

The first sentence of the report is a complaint:

 “We were supposed to lay the groundwork for a National Covid Commission. The Covid Crisis Group formed at the beginning of 2021, one year into the pandemic. We thought the U.S. government would soon create or facilitate a commission to study the biggest global crisis so far in the twenty-first century. It has not.”

That is true. There is no National Covid Commission. You know why? Because they could never get away with it, not with legions of experts and passionate citizens who wouldn’t tolerate a coverup. 

The public anger is too intense. Lawmakers would be flooded with emails, phone calls, and daily expressions of disgust. It would be a disaster. An honest commission would demand answers that the ruling class is not prepared to give. An “official commission” perpetuating a bunch of baloney would be dead on arrival. 

This by itself is a huge victory and a tribute to indefatigable critics. 

Instead, the “Covid Crisis Group” met with funding from the Rockefeller and Charles Koch Foundation and slapped together this report. Despite being celebrated as definitive by the New York Times and Washington Post, it has mostly had no impact at all. It is far from obtaining the status of being some kind of canonical assessment. It reads like they were on deadline, fed up, typed lots of words, and called it a day. 

Of course it is whitewash. 

It begins with a bang to denounce the US policy response: “Our institutions did not meet the moment. They did not have adequate practical strategies or capabilities to prevent, to warn, to defend their communities, or fight back in a coordinated way, in the United States and globally.”

Mistakes were made, as they say. 

Of course the upshot of this kvetching is not to criticize what Justice Neil Gorsuch calls “the greatest intrusions on civil liberties in the peacetime history of this country.” They hardly mention those at all. 

Instead they conclude that the US should have surveilled more, locked down sooner (“We believe that on January 28 the U.S. government should have started mobilizing for a possible Covid war”), directed more funds to this agency rather than that, and centralized the response so that rogue states like South Dakota and Florida could not evade centralized authoritarian diktats next time. 

The authors propose a series of lessons that are anodyne, bloodless, and carefully crafted to be more-or-less true but ultimately structured to minimize the sheer radicalism and destructiveness of what they favored and did. The lessons are cliches such as we need “not just goals but roadmaps,” and next time we need more “situation awareness.” 

There is no new information in the book that I could find, unless something is hidden herein that escaped my notice. It’s more interesting for what it does not say. Some words that never appear in the text: Sweden, Ivermectin, Ventilators, Remdesivir, and Myocarditis. 

Perhaps this gives you a sense of the book and its mission. And on matters of the lockdowns, readers are forced to endure claims such as “all of New England — Massachusetts, the city of Boston, Connecticut, Rhode Island, New Hampshire, Vermont, and Maine — seem to us to have done relatively well, including their ad hoc crisis management setups.”

Oh really! Boston destroyed thousands of small businesses and imposed vaccine passports, closed churches, persecuted people for holding house parties, and imposed travel restrictions. There is a reason why the authors don’t elaborate on such preposterous claims. They are simply unsustainable. 

One amusing feature seems to me to be a foreshadowing of what is coming. They throw Anthony Fauci under the bus with sniffy dismissals: “Fauci was vulnerable to some attacks because he tried to cover the waterfront in briefing the press and public, stretching beyond his core expertise—and sometimes it showed.”

Oooo, burn! 

This is very likely the future. At some, Fauci will be scapegoated for the whole disaster. He will be assigned to take the fall for what is really the failure of the national security arm of the administrative bureaucracy, which in fact took charge of all rule-making from March 13, 2020, onward, along with their intellectual cheerleaders. The public health people were just there to provide cover. 

Curious about the political bias of the book? It is summed up in this passing statement: “Trump was a comorbidity.”

Oh how highbrow! How clever! 

Maybe this book by the Covid Crisis Group hopes to be the last word. This will never happen. We are only at the beginning of this. As the economic, social, cultural, and political problems mount, it will become impossible to ignore the incredibly obvious. The masters of lockdowns are influential and well-connected but not even they can invent their own reality. 

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https://edwardcurtin.com/deaths-secretary-tries-to-forget/

Death’s Secretary Tries to Forget on Cape Cod

We have come to Cape Cod for a few days to forget the man-made world that is too much with us. I have asked my forgettery to get to work. As my childhood friends used to say to me, “Eddy spaghetti, use you forgetty.” The adults had no idea what they meant.  Many still do not.

Here slowness reigns and forgetting seems possible, even if for just a few days.  In mid-May, the beaches are deserted except for the swooping gulls, the sandpipers prancing across the sand, and a few seals eyeing you from just off-shore.  An occasional frigate bird glides past. The wind rushes through your ears, making conversation almost impossible.

But no words are needed here, for the ocean speaks its own language and the tales it tells are deep.  You can only hear them if you shut up and listen. It utters reminders of the immensity of creation and the puniness of human aspirations. The sea dismisses with a roar the pretensions to power of the Lilliputians.

One minute it glistens in the bright blue sunshine and says all is well; then suddenly, as now, the sky and sea turn very dark and foreboding, the increased wind whipping the whitecaps into a maniacal threat.  There are limits, it wails, and do not try to exceed them, for if, in your hubris, you attempt it, you will discover that when you think you’re on the top, you’ll be heading for the bottom.

As the Greeks knew so well, Nemesis awaits your response.

If you stand on the forty mile long strand of the sandy outer beach and look out to sea, you realize that no matter how well you sail through life, and how deftly you tack your boat, you are not ultimately in control.  Those who seek to control others lack the spirit of the wind, the unseen mystery through which we move.

Henry David Thoreau stood on this beach looking out to sea and wrote:

A man may stand there and put all America behind him.

I wish it were so simple.  To forget the man-made world that is too much with us isn’t easy.  Ironically, it can only be briefly forgotten, for when we come to a beautiful and wild sea shore like Cape Cod when rarely a soul is around, the contemplation of its majesty implicitly draws us to compare it to human endeavors.  I look out across the wide Atlantic and see not just its wild power but the feeble pretensions of the Atlanticist countries that think they can still control the world.  Their illusions die hard as their sand castle empire crumbles before the incoming waves.

And here on this long stretch between bay and ocean, it is hard to forget that 10,000 years before the Pilgrims came ashore, the native peoples lived here and were eventually driven from their land.  Not far from where I stand sits the Nauset Light house, named for the Nauset original free people that once lived here.  You can travel all across the United States and even if you wish to forget, there are constant reminders of the genocide of the native peoples by the European settlers.  You bow your head in shameful remembrance.

Of course, to forget, it is crucial to remember to try to forget, and in doing so you are caught in the human web of thought.

We tell ourselves, let us go then, you and I, to contemplate the sea and sky, to let go of all the world’s woes and pack up our sorrows and give them to the elements as we vacate our minds.  Then – ouch! – we are jerked back by the sight of a dead sea gull on the sand or a plaque informing you that the long stretch of outer beach you walk with the ghost of Thoreau was preserved as the Cape Cod National Seashore by President Kennedy in 1961.  You find yourself walking with many ghosts: dead writers, sailors drowned in shipwrecks, ancient dead horseshoe crabs along the strand, and an assassinated president who loved this sea and land.  You realize that nature, while beautifully majestic, is also a cruel taskmaster, but not as cruel as humans, so many of whom seem to revel in killing.

You struggle to dismiss the thoughts associated with these aperçus, yet you immediately wonder if they are auguries of past events or harbingers of something else.  You feel you have been ambushed by another reality.  You hear Billy Joel’s words from his historical song, We Didn’t Start the Fire, “JFK blown away, what else do I have to say.”

You is I, of course, and although these words are addressed to those who might read them, I am also writing for myself, and I sense my word usage was a way to distance myself from what I sometimes find hard to accept: that for some reason of character or experience or both, it is my fate to be unable to escape for long from what my perceptions suggest to me.  Wherever I have gone on that strange word “vacation,” I have been trailed by thoughts that others may consider inappropriate for the occasion.  Un-vacation thoughts.  Wherever I have traveled I have always felt like William Blake as he wandered through each chartered street of London:

In every cry of every Man,
In every Infants cry of fear,
In every voice: in every ban,
The mind-forg’d manacles I hear

Is it a blessing or curse?  I don’t know.  Such knowing is overrated.  My father, an eloquent and brilliant man with deep religious faith, used to end his letters to me with the words: quién sabe (who knows)?

There is, however, another form of knowing that is vastly underrated; it is historical, a knowledge of history that illuminates the present.  I mentioned the Nauset people who lived on Cape Cod when the Pilgrims first temporarily dropped anchor in what is now called Provincetown Harbor.  The Nauset people’s story, like those of the other native people’s across the United States, is tied to the U.S. history of empire in significant ways.

This country was conceived in the blood of all the original free peoples who lived here for eons.  They were massacred to make way for the white technologists who sent their iron horses west as they slaughtered the horse riding natives – including the Pueblo, Pawnee, Comanche and Lakota nations – and other natives who went by shanks mare.

This history is crucial knowledge, for without it one cannot grasp the demonic nature of today’s U.S. wars throughout the world.  The history has always been demonic.  Nemesis is surely watching now, for what began in the blood of others, has a tendency to blow back on those who first unleashed the fire.  Those of us alive today might not have started the fire, but if we don’t know and recognize its long-term spiritual effects, we can’t understand today’s U.S. provoked war against Russia via Ukraine or much else.

If you wish to praise the American Revolution, you should be sure to emphasize its demonic side.  The mythology of the shining city on the hill needs to be abandoned.  American exceptionalism needs to be jettisoned together with reminders of Washington and Jefferson, both rich slave holders. There are no exceptional countries.  The Declaration of Independence and the U.S. Constitution read beautifully on paper as ideals, but those who promoted them were far from it.

Is it exceptional to massacre the native peoples and steal their land?

Is it exceptional to have built an economy on the backs of slaves kidnapped from Africa?

Is it exceptional to plunder foreign lands and make them part of your own?

Is it exceptional to wage endless foreign wars, assassinate at will, and steal the resources of other people to fuel a deranged consumer society?

Is it exceptional to grant full freedom to criminal corporations to pollute the land and water?

Is it exceptional to create endless crises and use propaganda to transfer vast sums of wealth from regular people to the super rich?

Exceptional perhaps, but only in the sense that other past empires considered themselves god-like and immune to Nemesis’s warning of retribution for such crimes?

A dark wind is blowing across the beach now.  The sand stings.  I see a storm coming, so we will leave for now and go to the nearest restaurant where we will order a dozen oysters for a buck a piece and drink some wine to enjoy our last day here.  When the dozen are gone, perhaps another dozen will taste even better.  All will be well for a small slice of time.  I will remember to forget.

I might later remember a photo of Gabriel García Márquez’s face, the look of a bon vivant who told stories to preserve the mystery of our ordinary, extraordinary lives.  The fierce journalist who exposed the mystifications that are used by the powerful to deny regular people their democratic rights.  A man who could enjoy life and oppose oppression.

If you can believe it, I will remember that he spoke of “the mission assigned to us by fate.”  And that the great English essayist John Berger says of him, when comparing his face to that of Rembrandt’s blind Homer:

There is nothing pretentious in this comparison: we, Death’s secretaries, all carry the same sense of duties, the same oblique shame (as we have survived, the best have departed) and the same obscure pride which belongs to us personally no more than the stories we tell.

Berger adds that Death’s secretaries are handed a file by Death that is filled with sheets of black paper which they can somehow read and out of which they make stories for the living.  No matter how fantastic they may seem, only one’s incredulity blocks one from entering their truths.

JFK had a secretary named Lincoln, Evelyn Lincoln, who late one night when tidying up his desk, found a slip of paper in his handwriting on the floor.  It wasn’t black.  On it was written a prayer Kennedy loved.  It was a message from Lincoln, Abraham Lincoln: “I know there is a God – and I see a storm coming.  If he has a place for me, I believe that I am ready.”

It’s worth remembering that was soon after the Bay of Pigs when Kennedy said he wanted “to splinter the CIA in a thousand pieces and scatter it to the winds,” and that he had just returned from a meeting with Nikita Khrushchev where he was shocked by Khrushchev’s apparent insouciance to an accelerating threat of nuclear war.

Death’s secretary can’t forget.

And yet those oysters.  Their taste upon the tongue!  So exquisite!  The sea’s sweetness in every swallow.

....

https://peakoil.com/production/its-the-quiet-oil-crisis-thatll-kill-you

It’s the Quiet Oil Crisis That’ll Kill You

We throw around the word “crisis” way too much today. 

Just scan the headlines yourself, and you’ll see exactly what I mean. You know the saying about making a mountain out of molehill, right? 

We don’t hold too much of a grudge against them, though, do we? After all, the hyperbolic, clickbait nature of today’s media can be quite entertaining most of the time; that irrational fear can send the Twitter world into a fit of histrionics. 

But sometimes, it’s the quiet crises that’ll get you. 

When you do come across them every now and then, you can’t help but wonder in amazement why nobody else is alarmed. 

That’s precisely what happened to me recently, and I’ll bet that most of my readers haven’t heard a peep about it. 

Well, that’s about to change…

We take a lot of things in this life for granted, and arguably nothing more than energy. 

I’m not talking about the vitriolic rhetoric thrown at the U.S. oil and gas industry from our own president; that’s all part and parcel of political theater. 

No, I’m referring to the fact that few Americans actually know where we get the energy to fuel our society. 

Whenever I ask someone where we get most of our oil, I’m met with a blank stare. 

Oh, there will be a few people who mutter “OPEC,” and a couple who get a perplexed look on their face as they think of Russia. I’ll bet there are a few people out there who know the United States experienced a once-in-a-generation oil boom around 2008 and now mistakenly believe that we don’t need to import oil in order to fuel our 20 million-barrel-per-day oil addiction. 

But they’d all be wrong. 

The answer is Canada. 

Truth is, we’ve comfortably relied on Canada for oil for so long that we’ve forgotten how important that supply is. 

When I tell you there’s a full-blown oil crisis taking place right now, you might laugh it off without much thought. 

Well, don’t start laughing just yet. 

Right now, Canadian wildfires are raging across Alberta, Saskatchewan, and British Columbia. In fact, these fires are 10 times worse than the average year, and more than 1,800 square miles have burned. 

If you’re one of my veteran readers, your eyes might’ve just lit up. 

Every day, nearly 4.7 million barrels of crude oil is exported to us from our friendly neighbors to the north.

Take a look at our growing thirst for Canadian crude: 

Keep in mind that Canadian crude, particularly the heavy oil from northern Alberta’s bituminous sands, plays a crucial role in U.S. supply. And during a period when U.S. domestic oil output has all but stalled around 12.3 million barrels per day, those crude imports are more important than ever. 

Right now, a couple hundred thousand barrels per day are currently shut down — but there are another 2.7 million barrels per day smack in the most dangerous wildfire zones. 

And here’s the rub…

We’re not even in the peak of the burning season yet, which means this situation could exacerbate overnight. 

And there hasn’t been a peep from the mainstream media. 

We don’t even need to see the worst-case scenario for oil prices to violently react. Like I told you before, it’s the quiet crises that’ll kill you.