Month April 2021

A Prune in the Shade

Dusty Leave a comment

So my wife and I bought a house this week, and this weekend has been busy with cleaning and moving. I haven’t had time to write. But on Friday, I did start writing something: a short dramatic scene as an example for my AP Lit class, who were assigned a similar scene, one or two characters, which would show the student’s opinion of the characters in Lorraine Hansberry’s brilliant play A Raisin in the Sun, which we just finished reading. And for the first time in a few months — since before we started looking for a house, I think — I got caught up in the writing. And I’m actually quite pleased with the result. Even though the title is lame.

You don’t need to know Hansberry’s play to understand, though this will make more sense with Raisin as the background. Hopefully you will enjoy, regardless, my portrait of myself as an unmarried author living in the 1950’s in the apartment below the five Youngers, on the day they move out of the building.

Theoden “Crankyass” Humphrey lives alone in a small apartment on Chicago’s South Side. Well, not alone: he shares the small space with his Maine Coon cat, The Witch King of Angmar, Lord of the Nazgul (familiarly called Angmar) and also with the noises from the occupants of the apartment above his: the Younger family. The apartment is dark and filled to the brim with books, piled on shelves lining the walls, mounded in haphazard stacks all over the  floor. The kitchen is neat and well-kept, with a massive apparatus that appears to be part still, part uranium enrichment device, taking up a large portion of the counter space. There is also a desk in the background covered with papers and pens and a typewriter. A single small window, open, lets in weak sunlight; in the square of light, in a great, heavy ceramic planter, is a large and thriving ponytail palm. 

Front and center there is a pair of large, overstuffed wingback chairs, with a small table between them; one of the chairs is occupied by Crankyass, a late-middle-age man with glasses and a graying beard and a permanent scowl. The other is occupied by Angmar, a glorious avatar of feline fluffiness and royal indifference. As the scene starts, Crankyass is talking out loud, equally to Angmar and to the apartment; Angmar is sleeping. His tail occasionally twitches. There is a certain amount of noise coming from above, footsteps, voices, the sound of heavy objects dragging along the floor, being picked up and put down again; at intervals the footsteps descend the staircase outside the apartment’s front door. The noise is constant, but never very loud.

Crankyass: (Looking up at the ceiling and scowling) Jesus Christ, what the hell are they doing up there? Sounds like the goddamn firebombing of Dresden. Or maybe a troupe of drunken elephants practicing their tap dance routine. 

Angmar: (twitch)

Crankyass: Every day they’re up there making noise, stomping around yelling at each other. Do they think they’re the only ones in the world? The only people in this apartment building? How about a little consideration for their neighbors?

Angmar: (twitch)

Crankyass: At least for the poor guy who lives one level lower down in this Hell-building. Sorry — (gestures placatingly towards Angmar) The poor guys. Plural. 

Angmar: (twitch)

Crankyass: I mean, we all have to live together here, in this devil-infested Hell above ground, in this… inverted Abyss. (He is pleased with the phrase, and grabs a notebook and pencil from the table between the chairs, writing it down while repeating it to himself under his breath. He closes the notebook and replaces it, and then scowls as the footsteps come down the stairs, this time accompanied by voices giving directions: “Careful! Watch that corner! Hold on, let me — okay go!”)  We all have to face the same problems, the same torments from the same grinning demons with their pitchforks and whips. We should at least try not to get on each others’ nerves, right? Isn’t that the responsibility of people who have to live with other people, to not make it worse for everybody else who has to live here?

Angmar: (twitch)

Crankyass: (Grabbing up a broom that was previously hidden behind stacks of books, he pokes it up vigorously, reaching the low ceiling without standing, and thumps it several times. A small shower of dust falls, but the noises above continue. He puts the broom down.) HEY! Stop all that racket! My cat is sleeping!

Angmar: (twitch)

Crankyass: (shaking his head) Can’t believe how inconsiderate people are. Inconsiderate and irresponsible. And the Youngers are nice, too — well, mostly. That kid’s annoying, of course. Just like any kid. Running up and down the staircase like his ass is on fire and his head is catching, stomping on every step, shaking my walls like a train passing by! 

A train passes by at this moment, on the El tracks outside; the walls shake, the window rattles; Angmar lifts his head and hisses, though the sound is lost in the racket from the train. The noise is clearly far louder than the footsteps going up and down the stairs. When the train rumbles off into the distance, Crankyass continues.

Crankyass: And do you know what I saw him doing last week? Poking a rat! A DEAD rat! Not bad enough he has to pollute my peace and quiet with his noise, he’s got to bring the Bubonic plague in here!

At this moment a rat appears, climbs atop a stack of books, looks around, and then casually departs. Angmar notices. He does not move.

Crankyass: (He also notices the rat. He also does not react to it, merely looks at Angmar not reacting. He sighs.) I guess that kid’s not too bad. Never breaks anything or throws rocks or crap like that. He’s always polite when I see him outside. Doesn’t treat me like a leper, either, like most people around here do. (His scowl deepens.) Not that I don’t understand. Not with people like that prick Lindner walking around here, making every other white person look bad. Did I tell you about him, Angmar? (Angmar lays his head down again and closes his eyes. In truth Crankyass did tell the cat about that prick Lindner, but of course that wouldn’t stop him from telling the story again.) I ran into him this morning. Snotty bastard from the suburbs, of course. Wearing a suit like he invented them. Walking around here with his nose wrinkled like there’s a bad smell. (He pauses, sniffs deeply, and his scowl deepens. He gets up and goes to the enormous contraption in the kitchen and begins turning wheels, opening valves, moving beakers about. He adds water from a clear glass bottle, and some kind of powder. A rumbling begins, then turns to a gurgling, then a whistle. Crankyass collects something from the inner bowels of the machine, and then pours it into a mug: the machine is a coffeemaker. Crankyass inhales deeply from the steam rising from the mug, and sighs in satisfaction. He turns and rants more at Angmar, now shaking an admonitory finger.)  Though of course he was polite to me. Part of the tribe, right? Us whitefolks got to stick together. Hell. He probably thought I was the landlord, come here to throw some more of these decent, hardworking folks out because they lost their jobs and can’t pay the goddamn rent. (He turns and spits contemptuously into the sink, then takes a new mouthful of coffee and swishes it around as if to wash out the taste of Lindner’s presumptions.) It’s people like that who cause the trouble, I’ll tell you that. Cause all our troubles. Turn this neighborhood into a slum, trap people here — and then act like it’s our fault that the building is falling apart, infested with rats and cockroaches, like there’s anything the renters could do — like it’s not the goddamn owner’s goddamn responsibility to take care of his property! Ohhh, he’s fast enough to bring down a world of hurt on an “irresponsible tenant” who damages his property — (He grabs the broom and pokes at the ceiling once more, harder this time, bringing down a flurry of plaster particles) — but anything that results from his neglect of that same property? Not a problem, it seems! (He throws the broom down, slams a kitchen cabinet door. Then he sags, and slowly returns to his chair with his steaming mug of coffee. He sits and scowls for a minute.) No sense of responsibility, that’s the problem. These people, they know their rights, they demand their perquisites, God forbid anyone say no to them when they want something — but they act like they don’t have to give anything back. Not even basic human decency. Consideration for others. (He scowls more, sips coffee.)

Angmar: (twitch)

A voice is heard above, a man’s voice, loud and penetrating, but the words are unclear.

Crankyass: (Looking up, listening. He puts the mug down, and then speaks to the ceiling.) He’s like that. Walter Lee. He wants what he wants, and it doesn’t matter how it affects anyone else. He comes first, and that’s the end of it. If there’s anything he has to give to other people, it’s just gonna trickle down from him when his happiness is overflowing. No sense of responsibility. 

Angmar: (twitch)

Crankyass: Too bad, too. He’s got a nice kid. Good wife, too — probably why their kid is decent. That Ruth’s a peach. Hardworking, sweet, knows how to tell a joke and how to laugh when one’s told. (His eyes grow dreamy) She’s pretty as hell, too. (Sips his coffee, then shakes his head. The dreaminess leaves him.) No idea how she puts up with that guy sometimes. Especially when he’s been drinking — good Lord, he even grabs me and throws out his big plans to get rich and important when he’s got a few shots in him. (Snorts a laugh) Jesus Christ, a liquor store. And why would you bring it up to me? Like I’m an investor. Like I’ve got money. Man, do you see where I live? Same place you do, but one floor farther away from the penthouse? (He breaks up and snorts a laugh on the last word.) How much do you think I make from these books I write? Do you think I’d stay here if I had anyplace else to go?

Angmar: (twitch)

Crankyass: (Nods as if the cat has made a valid point.) Okay, no, you’re right, I could go somewhere else. Don’t have to stay in Chicago, after all. I could probably buy a whole lake up north with what I pay in rent here. Might be nice, actually. 

Angmar: (twitch)

Crankyass: But I like it here. I like Chicago. I like the South Side. I like the building, honestly. Nice people here. (There are voices from upstairs again, but then they cut off and only one person speaks: it is Mama. Crankyass nods.) Lena Younger. She’s enough reason for someone to live here all by herself. When I moved in, it was the Youngers who greeted me, welcomed me. Lena cooked for me. Damn good cooking, too. (Pause, sip of coffee.) I didn’t think too much of her man. Walter Senior. But he told me I could ask them if I needed anything. Man. If I need anything from them. Pause) That guy worked his ass off. Drank too much when he wasn’t working, and got mean when he drank — but damn, did he work. (Looks at Angmar) How did he manage to have those two lazy-ass, spoiled kids? (He blinks, then looks chagrined) Three kids. Only two now. (Sighs)

Angmar: (twitch)

Crankyass: No, you’re right, Beneatha’s fine. She’s not lazy. Bright kid. Her, I can have a conversation with, at least. A real one. No idea how she came out of these goddamn schools, I’ll tell you that. It wasn’t Chicago Public that gave her what she’s got in her head. But Walter Lee — you know, he’s about the opposite of what his father was. Walter’s not bad to be around, not even when he’s been drinking; pretty funny, pretty friendly. Says some stupid things, sometimes. But he’s not mean. Big Walter was mean. But Walter Lee, he doesn’t know how to treat his wife, and whatever else Big Walter was, he was a family man. And his boy can’t stand to do an honest day’s work. 

Angmar: (twitch)

Crankyass: (Laughs) All right, you’re right: nobody in this here apartment works hard either. But then I don’t have a family to be responsible for. (Pause, finishes coffee. Looks around the apartment) And it’s a different thing to work hard when you’ve got a shit job like Walter’s got. (Picks up a book, flips the cover back, closes it again) He’s no dummy either — I remember him when he was Travis’s age. In fact, they were a lot alike. Walter’s mom was a peach then, too. (Suddenly a memory strikes him) Good Lord, Lena Younger’s peach pie! (It is a memory worth spending time with, and he does. Then he shakes his head, gets up and returns to the massive coffee maker, once again running it through its paces; this time he also opens the icebox and removes fixings for a peanut butter and jelly sandwich; he scarfs it down while the machine rattles and howls and steams, and as he finishes his last bite, he has coffee to wash it down. He once more returns to his chair with a full mug.)

Angmar: (He has raised his head when the icebox opens, and watched carefully; when the peanut butter and jelly came out, he lay down again; one can feel his disappointment. When Crankyass returns to the chair, Angmar does not deign to acknowledge him.)

Crankyass: Hey. (His tone is different, and Angmar responds instantly, sitting up and looking attentive. Crankyass reveals a full sardine in his hand, and reaches over to present it to the cat, who takes the fish with alacrity but without fawning thanks. He eats. Crankyass goes on with his ramblings.) Hard to say if Walter Lee put himself where he is. I say he doesn’t work hard, but who would want to work hard in that job? And for what reward? To work himself to death like Big Walter did? Walter Lee’s smart enough to have learned that lesson from his father, sure enough. He’s not much of a family man, I say, but. Easy for me to talk about having family to be responsible for when all I’ve got is the world’s laziest cat. (He pauses and glares, obviously bitter about the rat.)

Angmar: (twitch)

Crankyass: (Shaking his head and moving on) So is it Walter’s fault that he’s got a wife and a kid? Is that a fault? Was it a decision he made? Seems to me like people just fall in love — especially with a good woman like Ruth — but is that the same as choosing to be responsible for a family? Is it even a conscious choice? I maybe chose not to have a family — but maybe I didn’t have the same need for one. If you take one opportunity — say, falling in love with a good woman — does that make you responsible for the family that follows? Do you choose family when you choose love? And if not — are you responsible for that family when it does come?  Are you responsible for family you didn’t choose, just because it’s family? (He stops, considers, and then pulls out his notebook and writes for a few minutes while Angmar finishes his fish and then cleans his paws and ruff.)

Crankyass: (Reading from the notebook, occasionally scratching out a phrase and then rewriting it as he speaks.) Responsibility. The ability to respond, to give to someone something they ask for. And if you’re responsible, you respond, if you are able. Doesn’t matter if it’s fair, doesn’t matter if you have needs of your own; if you’re able, you respond. That’s it. That’s what it means to be responsible. That’s what it means to have family. To have friends. To love. To be human. (Pause; he writes for a minute more, and then continues.) If you have people you love, you should pay attention to their needs, so that they don’t need to ask with words. They can ask with need. They can ask with sorrow. They can ask with hope, or with desperation. They can ask by giving: what they give to others, they need for themselves. (Pause, sip of coffee; erases a word) But nobody can give all the time, nobody can respond to everything that other people need. Other people need more than one person has to give. The only way you can possibly survive being responsible for another is if you have other people being responsible for you, in exchange. You give to them, they have to give back to you: otherwise you’ll — you’ll give away your life.

He stops, puts the notebook down. Angmar rises, steps grandly down from his chair, crosses to Crankyass’s chair, and places himself in Crankyass’s lap. Crankyass smiles, all of the scowl disappearing for the first time, and pets and strokes the cat, who purrs loudly and comfortably. Then Angmar’s head comes up, his eyes open: the rat has returned. The cat begins to move; Crankyass recognizes the shift in mood and lifts his hands clear away from the cat: The Lord of the Nazgul moves slowly off the human’s lap — and then like lightning, he pounces, disappearing behind stacks of books; there is a brief squeal, it is cut off, and then Angmar returns, bearing a freshly killed rat. Crankyass rises, smiling broadly now, and goes to the fridge; he quickly fixes a plate of sardines, and trades the plate for the dead rat, which he puts in a bag and rolls the top down before putting it into the garbage can; he moves the garbage can over beside the door, to be taken out to the alley and disposed of later. Angmar eats his reward, nobly allowing a brief stroke from Crankyass in passing.

Crankyass: (Looking at the ceiling above, then turning towards the footsteps now coming back up the staircase outside his door; the voices of a man and a young boy can be heard in playful banter from the stairs. Blues music descends from the apartment above, though the sounds of objects moving do not stop.) Hmm. Think maybe I’ll drop in on the Youngers. See how Lena’s doing. Make sure that ass Lindner isn’t bothering them. (Pause, looks at Angmar, who has finished his fish and has now jumped up to the sill of the open window.) Maybe I’ll ask Walter if he wants to get a drink sometime. 

Angmar disappears through the window. Crankyass opens the door to the apartment — and the hallway outside is blocked by movers carrying out a large couch. Crankyass is taken aback: his mouth drops open, then snaps closed; he looks up at the ceiling, sags briefly — then laughter is heard from upstairs, several women, the sound joyous, harmonious. Crankyass smiles. Once the stairway is clear, he goes out to the stairs and climbs up, moving quickly, energetically. From the stairs his voice is heard:

Crankyass: Lena! I didn’t know you all were moving! Anything I can do to help?

But wut ’bout mah RAHTS??

Dusty 1 Comment
Got this image from this blog, which says the same things I’m saying, but nicer, and almost a year ago.

All right. I have something to say.

I have several things to say, actually. And I suspect that once I start saying them, even more will bubble up to the surface, like noxious gases from the bottom of the primordial swamp (Or hey, maybe like the scintillant bubbles in effervescing champagne; I probably should shift out of the habit of being maximally dark and depressing. See, there’s another thing I should write about, breaking free of the morass and floating to the surface and freedom, blpblpblpblppPOP!), and soon enough I will have once again exhausted either my readership or my store of ideas. But right now, those things are stacking up, taller and taller, and the ones at the bottom are being squished. Time to Jenga them out of the pile and set them up in their own little spaces.

It’s time to blog.

The first thing I have to say is actually something I’ve said several times already, in various arguments around social media; another reason for me to get back into writing these things. (Yet another reason is that I just said “thing” three times in one sentence: I’ve let my edge get dull, methinks.) You see, I’ve been arguing a lot. It hasn’t gone well. I’ve already destroyed one acquaintanceship (Terrible word. There needs to be another word for the relationship you have with people online who are on your Friends list on Facebook. This guy was not my friend, but I knew him, and we had common interests and values in some areas. So what is that? Normally I’d say acquaintance, or something more specific like coworker or neighbor or my local witch doctor; but what is that when it’s someone on social media? “Mutuals” is a term I appreciate from Twitter and Instagram, meaning someone you follow who follows you; but that doesn’t apply to Facebook. Oop – lost the thread. See? I really do have too much to say. I’m picturing these parentheses as the thin curved walls of the bubbles as they rise up from the depths of my poor swampy head.) and pissed off I don’t know how many people; and so far as I can tell, I have changed zero minds. I know it’s because of the way I’ve been debating these things. Not things, sorry: these issues. The details of it should wait for another post, because I’m too far along the tangent now, but the point is, I realized some time ago that, rather than engage in acrimonious debates with individuals on social media, I should take their topics, and write about them here, where I can make the points I want. The arguments just make people mad. Really, I don’t have them to change minds; I have them because I want to speak my piece, to say what I think – and this is the right place to do that.

I know that the people I have been arguing with, the people who are, in a word, wrong, will not come and read these blogs; but the point is that I haven’t been convincing my opponents anyway, so the arguments have been a waste of time and energy and have produced little more than anger and bitterness, and probably only solidified people in their (wrong) opinions. But maybe if I write a post about the issue, and present my ideas here, people who are interested will read the piece, and maybe spread it in conversation or on social media, and hopefully people will be able to gain some information? Or some inspiration? Or some alleviation of their own turmoil? And maybe that will make a difference.

Enough of my borborygmus. (Hell yes, it’s a word.) Let’s get to the topic.

The question for today is this: do I have a right to not wear a mask?

I know, it probably seems like a dumb question. Because really: who cares if I have a right to not wear a mask? It’s the reasonable and decent thing to do; why would anyone want to not wear a mask during a pandemic? Heck, there are people who love the masks, who have decided to continue wearing them even after the pandemic is over, and bless those people.

But there are millions of people, several of them on my Facebook feed, who hate the masks, hate the restrictions, and REALLY hate the vaccine (I hate to say this, but I’m going to need to write, again, about why vaccines are good and anti-vaxxers are bad. I apologize in advance. But that’s not this post, so let’s let that one sit down in the swamp for a little longer. Down in the toxic murk, where anti-vaxxers come from and where they belong.), and if you talk to them about all of this, at some point they will say “The government shouldn’t get to tell me what to do, where to go, whether or not I should wear a mask or put chemicals in my body. What about my rights?!?!”

That’s what I want to address first. What about my rights? Do I, in fact, have the right to not wear a mask? Do I have the right to keep my business open, which means the government does not have the right to shut me down for purposes of quarantine? Do I have the right to refuse a vaccine?

First, let me say that rights are slippery buggers. I don’t fully understand them, and I won’t pretend to. There is a long and complicated – and fascinating, and important – debate about what a right is and why we have them and which ones we have. So while I have an opinion about this issue of the right to not wear a mask, I freely admit that there may be and probably are factors that I have not considered; I may be wrong. If I am wrong, I invite correction. But here we go with my opinion.

The simple answer is no. I do not have the right to not wear a mask. Not a natural right, nor a moral right. Not an inalienable right, and not a legal right. The Constitution, the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, the Magna Carta, the Bible – none of them say anything about your right to a bare bottom half of your face. A law or regulation requiring you to wear a mask is not a violation of your rights.

Because what would be the basis for it? Again, rights are complicated things and nobody has an incontestable definition of what they are and where they come from, but essentially, the three main sources of rights are: our identity as individual rational human beings; the laws of society and the social contract; and God. God, so far as I know, has not decreed that humans don’t need to wear masks (Indeed, the Abrahamic God seems to be more in favor of covered faces than not). The laws of society are exactly the ones that people are arguing about, because they mostly mandate masks, and the social contract is the main focus of the rest of this writing – and it also probably mandates masks. Our identity as individual rational human beings is the source, according to John Locke among others, of our right to life, liberty, and property; most of the Constitutionally-enumerated rights derive from this. We have the right to speech because we have individual thoughts and opinions, and the free expression of those is a recognition of the value of our individual thoughts and opinions. We have the right to bear arms essentially as a means of self-defense and protection of our continued existence – because I can only exist as an individual rational human being if I’m alive, and my ability to defend myself is a protection of and a recognition of that essential right to exist. My ability to choose my own destiny implies the right to do so, and that’s why I can’t be wrongfully imprisoned. And so on.

But there’s no right to not put cloth on my face. It is not a necessary condition of my individuality. It is not a reflection of a defining characteristic of my reasoning mind. It is not even an inherent preference: in cold weather, most people prefer to cover up their faces as much as they can get away with. When I was a kid in Massachusetts, my favorite piece of winter clothing was a ski mask. And not because I liked robbing banks: because it kept me warm.

There are exceptions, of course, which we all know about (mostly because smug twerps have used them as the basis for false claims to avoid following the guidelines and restrictions) – someone with a phobia or a health condition that might prevent them from safely wearing a mask has a right to refuse to wear a mask, because there is a right to life and to the prevention of bodily harm; nobody has the right to hurt me, nor to force me to hurt myself, in a preventable way. But masks are generally harmless, so we’re going to stipulate those (rare!) occasions where people can’t wear masks with the general statement that people who can’t wear masks are obligated to try to find an alternative that does work for them, that achieves the same purpose as a mask but does not cause harm. And regardless of whether or not someone can wear a mask, the essential obligation of mask-wearing remains.

So let’s get to that. Because while I don’t have a specific right to refuse to wear a mask, that doesn’t mean I should be forced to wear a mask for no reason: the presumption for any question of rights and obligations should be that the individual has every right unless there is a reason to restrict it; that is, all things being equal, I have the right to wear a mask, to not wear a mask, to wear 25 masks stacked on top of one another, to wear a Michael Myers mask while I drive around – I should be free to do whatever the heck I want provided it does not harm anyone else or infringe on any other rights. (The Michael Myers thing is probably an infringement on people’s general well-being. But I think it gets the Humor Exception. Different topic.) What I said above generally holds true: my ability to choose my destiny implies a right to actually do that, to make my own choices and live as I wish to. Every action or inaction should be presumed to fall under my general right to liberty and personal sovereignty – unless it is shown to have an impact on others. If it has an impact on others, then it becomes a question.

The question here is does my not wearing a mask affect other people? And the answer is yes. My breathing, my talking, my sneezing and coughing, without a mask on, has direct and tangible impacts on other people: I can spread a virus to them. It’s provable, it’s known – it’s common sense, really; we’ve all been spat on by close talkers, all been sneezed or coughed on by people who didn’t cover their mouths, all been asphyxiated by the bad breath or our fellow human beings. We all know that a bare mouth and nose in a public space has an impact on other people. As soon as we learned the germ theory of disease, and the properties of viruses, this impact became more clear. Honestly, it’s not clear to me that any of us should ever go without masks: even without Covid-19 as the main reason, we still give each other colds and flus and a dozen other infections simply through bare breathing; maybe face coverings should be universal.

The question then becomes one of burden. Is it reasonable to ask me to wear a mask to protect other people from my spit-propelled infectoids? Is it more reasonable to ask other people to avoid those infectoids? Is the means of prevention a greater burden than the risk of said infectoids getting on with their infecting of other people? If they do get infectionalized (Sorry – like I said, it’s been too long since I wrote, and it’s like a peat bog inside this brain of mine.), does the potential harm they might suffer outweigh the burden on me of prevention? Because again, while there is no enumerated, defined right to not wear a mask, the presumption should be that someone who doesn’t want to wear a mask doesn’t have to wear a mask; individual liberty should be first and foremost in our minds, all the time.

I’m actually going to leave those questions alone for now. Because they are determined by specific circumstances. Basically, the answer is that wearing a cloth mask when I am out in public, in enclosed spaces, within six feet or so of other people, is a lesser burden than the risk of infecting someone with Covid-19. So I should wear a mask during this pandemic. I don’t know if it’s a lesser burden than the risk of infecting someone with the flu; it may be. It is interesting to realize that a generation or so from now, mask-wearing may not even feel like a burden; it may just be the norm, and this whole debate will just be silly. But my topic here is a right: do I have a right to not wear a mask? I do not.

The same argument applies to social distancing, to handwashing, to avoiding handshakes and hugs and so on. It applies to weddings and funerals, to in-person classes and live sporting events. It applies to keeping your business open and serving customers during a pandemic. All of it comes down to the same thing: you are presumed to have the right to do whatever the heck you want with your time and your property; you have control over your own destiny – unless and until it impacts others. All of those activities and preferences, for in-person church, for birthday parties, for holiday gatherings with family, for traveling in planes, trains, and automobiles: all of them create a risk of spreading Covid-19 to others. None of them are necessary for an individual’s continued existence. None of them are rights. I do not have a right to have a wedding or a birthday party or a funeral in the manner and at the time and place of my choosing. All things being equal, I should be presumed to have the liberty to choose my wedding and my funeral arrangements; but not all things are equal during a pandemic. I can still be an individual rational human being without seeing other people in large groups in enclosed spaces without masks and closer than six feet.

There is some question of work: the right to work and to derive an income from work is a right we have, as it is both an expression of our rational selves and a necessity for the continuation of life; there has to be some negotiating around that conflict. If, for instance, society can provide me with an income sufficient to keep me alive and essentially free, then that would compensate for the loss of my ability to work as a waiter or a bartender, for instance. Or if my work can move online, as my job teaching high school English did, then that means I can continue the necessary parts of my human existence, without imposing a risk on other humans that might prevent them from continuing their existence. I do not have a right to make my income however I want. I do not have a right to do my job only in the way I want to do it. I do not, unfortunately, have the right to keep open the business I worked my entire life to create. It breaks my heart to say it, but it’s true: my entrepreneurship, my blood sweat and tears, my lifelong dream – I don’t have a right to any of those. I have a right to exist, and to work to continue my existence. I don’t have a right to thrive: and if my thriving puts other people at risk, as it might during a pandemic, then I don’t get to thrive while putting an undue burden of risk on other people.

Put it this way: if I had a right to keep open my beloved mom-and-pop store, what would that mean if my business failed? If another mom-and-pop store opened right next door to mine, which had lower prices and a better product? Would I have the right to take some of their money? Would I have a right to force customers to come to my store? Would I have a right to demand taxpayer money from the government? Or what if my store caught on fire? What if there was a hurricane, or an earthquake? If I had insurance, then I would get the coverage I paid for – but you don’t need insurance to get your rights, you just get those. And there is, sadly, no right to have my dreams come true, or to keep them from being taken away by a pandemic.

All I have is a right not to have my life taken away because somebody doesn’t feel like wearing a mask.

The last thing I’ll say about this is that anyone who claims to have a right to not wear a mask, or to get a vaccine: you do have that right. You can choose to say no to masks and vaccines. It just means you can’t be around people. At all. If you are willing to quarantine yourself in such a way that you have no risk of spreading the virus to anyone, then you have the freedom to do whatever you wish in terms of refusing masks and vaccines: because your choices will not have any impact on other people, and so your individual freedom prevails. But if you want to live in society, then you have to help society live. That free choice, to be a part of society or to leave society, is the final protector of your individual rights. Again, it is a complicated choice, because not everyone can survive separate from society, and a choice that leads inevitably to my death is no choice at all; society has some responsibility to provide for my continued existence if I can’t have that existence outside of society; that’s why society has a responsibility to provide a minimum income, basic needs, to all members of the society who cannot provide it for themselves. And our particular society does not do a very good job of that. But that’s a topic for another day.

For today, wear your mask. And if you can, get the vaccine.

Do what’s right.