During the height of the COVID-19 pandemic, social distancing rules often descended into a kind of bureaucratic theatre that strained public credibility. Ministers solemnly explained that the virus was dangerous enough to justify sweeping restrictions on daily life, yet simultaneously reassured citizens that it became momentarily harmless if one was consuming food. One day, masks could be removed while eating only if seated, as though the virus politely respected chairs and tables. Restaurants were re-engineered around this logic, with patrons carefully timing bites and mask adjustments, participating in what felt less like public health and more like a ritual of compliance.
The following day, the guidance shifted again: masks could now be removed while eating standing up. The scientific rationale, never clearly articulated, appeared to mutate faster than the virus itself. These abrupt reversals—presented with unwavering seriousness—undermined trust and invited satire. Rules were not merely contradictory; they were very contradictory, conveying the impression that policy was being improvised in real time, driven by optics and administrative convenience rather than coherent risk assessment. In attempting to regulate every posture and movement, authorities often succeeded only in exposing the absurd limits of micromanaged public health.
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