by Rhoda Wilson, Expose News:
Childhood vaccines are not safe and effective, as is claimed. So, why do parents accept a false reality and follow the childhood vaccine schedule to the letter?
In the following essay, Lies are Unbekoming uses the film ‘The Truman Show’ to explain why mothers fall for the “vaccines are safe and effective” lie.
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The Guards Who Love You
I. The Cocoa Box
In Peter Weir’s 1998 film ‘The Truman Show’, a man raised on a live-broadcast set from birth discovers his entire life has been staged for a television audience. Late in the film, the following scene occurs.
Meryl stands at the kitchen counter with her back to her husband. He is coming apart. He has spent the morning trying to name what he cannot name, that people are lying to him, that his marriage feels staged, that the town he was born in has a border he was never allowed to cross. He is looking at her the way you look at a piece of evidence.
She turns from the counter. She smiles at no one standing in the room. She picks up a box of cocoa, holds it toward a camera her husband cannot see, and begins to read the label.
“Why don’t you let me fix you some of this new Mococoa drink? All-natural cocoa beans from the upper slopes of Mount Nicaragua. No artificial sweeteners.”
The scene lasts perhaps ten seconds. It is the moment the film gives away its whole architecture. Meryl is a paid actress. She knows she is lying, and has known since day one of her eight-year contract. What the film gives away in this scene is not the lie itself but the recital quality of the lie, the fact that a person paid to deceive for eight years cannot improvise when the target starts asking questions the schedule does not accommodate. Nothing in the scene is addressed to Truman. The whole performance is aimed past him at something he cannot see. And Truman, for one half-second, sees this.
The paediatric office runs the same scene daily.
The paediatrician stands in front of the mother with a laminated schedule. She recites the interventions due at this appointment. Two months. Four months. Six months. Twelve. The recital is competent and warm, delivered with eye contact and vocabulary of care. The mother, exhausted, holding a baby who was crying five minutes ago and will cry again in ten, receives the words as care.
The recital is not addressed to the mother.
The recital is addressed to the framework that trained the paediatrician: the guidelines committee, the continuing medical education modules, the package inserts drafted by manufacturers’ legal departments and the licensure board that will remove her right to practise if she deviates. She is not lying. She has not memorised a script written by anyone she has ever met. She has been fed the words over a decade of training and a career of professional maintenance. This is Meryl’s scene. The cocoa is the schedule. The camera she is reading to sits behind the mother’s shoulder, behind the exam-room wall, in a conference room in an office building in a suburb the mother will never visit.
