在新冠病毒的時間下的小確幸
這城市面貌已經改變。
她住在華南埠的一個後面小徑上的農場。在城市里，她廣闊的前院應該已是一個有附加兒童遊戲區的小公園，或者幾十個戶人家的排屋住所，而在這里Warrnanbool，只有一個開車經過的鄰居才能看到她，她正戴著口罩，用她的坐騎式的割草機正在割草。
也許我們都錯了。
也許，在新冠疫情前我們中的許多人都生活在太多自由的暴政之下，而現在，他們從這種枷鎖中解脫出來，在我們的政府不斷的擴張的權力下找到了安寧，就像蜷縮在父母溫暖的翅膀下的小雞。
看看這麽多人不僅生活的舒適而且順應這些變化。他們正在積極地對我們中那些不那麽順從的人執行新的規則。
戴上你的面具 你想殺了我們嗎？
只要打針就可以了。就一直重覆。
今年聖誕節，他們將他們對新寵愛的獨裁主義提升到我們從未相信他們能過做到的水平。他們這些相信政府的獨裁主義者排斥沒有接種疫苗的家庭成員，拒絕為病人提供醫療服務，他們甚至公開通知那些被困在移植等待名單上的人，不打針不移植，不服從就得死。
仿佛許多人已經心甘情願地下載並安裝了一個新的道德準則，即 "欺負和羞辱不遵守規定的人，即使他們是家人，現在也是一項崇高的公民義務。
這就像，在等待我們的繼承權數千年之後，溫順的人終於站起來了，用武力奪取了世界，並取得了勝利。
或者說他們有嗎？
在去華南埠（Warrambool)的路上，在一家小咖啡館外，我們喝著外賣咖啡，等待著已經打開的天堂再次關閉。
我們要去華爾尼采訪任何想發言的當地人，然後為大家主持聖誕頌歌，但這場大雨讓我們覺得我們這個想法很瘋狂。
就在這時，我注意到在櫃台後面，有兩個女人沒有戴口罩但另外有兩個戴著口罩的女人。我問其中一個沒戴口罩的為什麽不戴，她說她有一個醫生的豁免。她還說，整天戴著口罩服務和做飯是多麽困難的事。那個戴著狗罩的女人看起來很緊張，甚至很生氣，因為她在烤架和油炸鍋上工作。
她是老板嗎？我問。
不，我是，那個擁有豁免權的女人說。然後，她像個拉拉隊一樣，咧嘴笑了。
那天晚上，我們都將住在一個可以俯瞰瀑布的農場上。圍繞著一個大火堆，直到深夜，我們都在大笑，開玩笑，嘲笑對我們來說似乎是新冠疫情世界產生的精神錯亂。但是，當我們醒來時，我們發現在風景之外，瘋狂的世界正在等待著我們。
早餐時，我們聽到了西澳大利亞州州長不允許兩位被雙刺的父母進入該州陪伴他們的女兒的消息，他們知道女兒的精神狀況並不好。然後在這個女孩自殺後，他們允許這對女孩的父母入境，但他們都必須隔離兩個星期。
對我們來說，那是一個沈默的時刻。喝著我們的咖啡，想知道我們在哪里，然而當我寫下這篇文章時，我想知道還有多少人在他們省長的羽翼下，在他們溫暖的地方為這個艱難而不妥協的決定喝彩。
我們真的是最後一個嗎？割草機上的那個女人戴著口罩，是因為她對病毒感到非理性的恐懼，或者說是為了向路過的鄰居表明她站在哪一邊，就像一個納粹標志？
在Warrnambool，有幾個人與我們交談，他們的故事大多是我們的領導人對covid反應的大屠殺的快照，許多我們采訪過的人在事後都擁抱了我們，熱情地擁抱了一會兒。
正是在這些擁抱中，就在那堆火旁，在我們開車回家的廂型車里，在我們的司機史蒂夫還在練習他的笑話時，我們的幸福現在就在其中。因為當你在暴政的浪潮中沖浪時，你怎麽能瞄準一個叫做幸福的未來？
但在華南埠，整個旅行在一個嬰兒的眼中得到了總結。
當我們即將結束時，一位帶著兩個孩子的年輕母親，其中一個是嬰兒，要求與我交談。
但是在華南埠，整個旅行被總結在一個嬰兒的眼睛里。
當我們準備結束時，一位帶著兩個孩子（其中一個是嬰兒）的年輕母親要求與我交談。
在寒風中，她告訴我，她的丈夫由於選擇不打針而失去了工作，現在正在掙紮。
他和另一個女兒在他們的車里，我們走近時他下了車。
他四肢松弛，舉止笨拙，但他堅定地握了握手，他的眼睛因擔心而發紅，當他的兒子在傍晚的水坑的鏡子里濺起水花時，我們悄悄地談論了促使我們在一起的那個龐然大物。
我希望我有一些答案，但我沒有，我說。除了說你並不孤單。他們決心讓我們覺得我們是，但你不是。只是對你來說很不幸，夥計，你們兩個是獅子。
他對此笑了笑，然後笑著說，他得到了一個免費的擁抱。那是一個強有力的擁抱。一個挑釁的擁抱。
然後我看到他的妻子也在笑，在她的懷里，她的新冠期間的嬰兒正在看著我們所有人，它眼睛是明亮的夾著困惑在充滿了離開的陽光。
當我在廂型車上睡著時，我可以看到那雙眼睛，後來醒來發現我的新家人，這些為自由而戰的兄弟姐妹們，說說笑笑，就像我們共同的幸福是一面革命的旗幟，是面紅色的並且在風中飄揚。
Happiness in a time of Covid
The Landscape has changed.
She lived on a farm in a back road of Warrnambool. In the city, her vast front yard would have been a small park with a playground, or dozens of units, whereas here, visible to only one neighbour who was driving past, she was cutting the grass on her ride on mower, whilst wearing a mask.
Maybe we have it all wrong.
Maybe, pre-covid, many of us were living under the tyranny of too much freedom and now, relieved of that burden, they are finding peace under our governments ever growing overreach, like chickens curling up under their parent’s warm wing.
Look how well so many have not only conformed but adapted. Together they are actively enforcing the new rules upon those amongst us who aren’t so compliant.
Put your mask on! Do you want to kill us?
Just get jabbed! On repeat.
This Christmas, they’re taking their new love for authoritarianism to levels we would have never believed they were capable of. Ostracizing family members who haven’t been vaccinated, and denying health care to the sick, they have even publicly informed those people stuck on transplant waiting lists, no jab no transplant, or comply or die.
It is as if the many have willingly downloaded and installed a new moral code that states “bullying and shaming and dobbing in the non-compliant, even if they are family, is now a noble civic duty.
It’s like, after thousands of years of waiting for our inheritance, the meek have finally risen and taken the world by force and won.
Or have they?
Outside a small café on the way to Warrnambool we drank our takeaway coffees and waited for the heavens, that had opened, to close again.
We were heading to Warrny to interview any locals who wanted to speak before MCing Christmas Carols for everyone, but this torrent of rain was making it look like that idea, and us were mad.
It was now that I noticed that behind the counter, two of the women weren’t masked and two were. I asked one of the unmasked ones why she wasn’t and she said she had an exemption. She also said how difficult it was serving and cooking all day with it on. The woman who had it on looked stressed, even angry as she worked the grill and the fryers.
Is she the owner? I asked.
No, I am, said the woman who had the exemption. And then, like a larrakin, she grinned.
Later that night we would all be staying on a farm that overlooked a waterfall. And around a large fire, and late into the night, we all laughed and joked and mocked to what to us appeared to be the insanity of the Covid world. But when we woke we found that beyond the view the insane world was waiting for us.
Over breakfast we heard the news that the Western Australian Premier hadn’t allowed two double jabbed parents into the state to be with their daughter, who they knew wasn’t mentally well. Then after the girl had taken her own life they let the parents in, but they both had to quarantine for a fortnight.
To us it was a moment to be silent. To drink our coffee and wonder where we were, yet as I write this, I wonder how many others applauded the hard uncompromising decision from their warm place under their premier’s wing.
Are we really the last? Was that woman on the lawnmower wearing the mask because she’s irrationally frightened of the virus, or rather to show her passing neighbours which side of the narrative she’s on, like a swastika?
In Warrnambool several people talked to us and most of their stories were snapshots from the carnage of our leaders’ reaction to covid, and many of those who we interviewed hugged us afterwards, warmly and for a while.
And it was within these hugs, and around that fire, and in the van as we drove home, where we poked fun at our driver, Steve who was still practicing his jokes, that our happiness now resides. For how can you aim for a future called happiness, when you’re surfing on tyranny’s incoming tide?
But in Warrnambool the entire trip was summed up in the eyes of a baby.
When we were wrapping up, a young mother with two kids, one of them a baby, asked to talk to me.
In the chilly wind she told me how her husband had lost his job, due to his choice not to get jabbed and was now struggling.
He was in their car with another daughter and got out as we approached.
Loose limbed and awkward, he shook hands firmly, his eyes red rimmed with worry, and as his son splashed in the mirrors of the evening puddles, we talked quietly about the behemoth that had driven us together.
I wish I had some answers, but I don’t, I said. Except to say that you are not alone. They are determined to make us feel like we are, but you are not. It’s just unfortunate for you buddy, that you two are lions.
He smiled to this, and then laughed as he was offered a free hug. And it was a strong hug. A defiant embrace.
And then I saw that his wife was smiling too and, in her arms, her Covid baby was taking us all in, its bright, baffled eyes full of the leaving sun.
And I could see those eyes as I fell asleep in the van, then woke later to find my new family, these freedom fighting brothers and sisters, joking and laughing, like our combined happiness was a revolutionary flag, red and blowing in the wind.