A Plea from North Idaho
The following letter was sent to Governor Brad Little:
Dear Governor Little,
I urge you to reconsider extending the emergency order past April 21st.
I don’t have to remind you, this is Idaho; freedom loving Idaho. If businesses want to close, that should be their choice. Those that need to, or feel the need to distance themselves from others, that should be their choice.
Forcing businesses to close and to let go employees, creates an enormous blow to the economy. Most of the people losing their jobs live pay check to pay check. They lose their income. They can’t afford food and medicine. They can’t pay their rent or mortgage. They can’t pay their taxes. They lose their motivation and their self-esteem. Depression sets in. It is a spiral downward that will pull on us ALL.
I am fortunate that I work for an “essential” manufacture. But because of other state lock-downs, business is slow and some have been furloughed. Those employees remaining are stretched to the limit covering the necessary duties.
My husband and I moved out of Massachusetts because we saw instances of similar “martial law light” situations. We chose Idaho because it still held on to many constitutional principles and liberties.
My freedom to choose has been taken from me. I find it very ironic that the left and the media repeatedly say “my body – my choice” when it involves killing babies. And now they want the government to control everyone’s bodies.
Looking at the unreasonable global reaction, I believe Orwell was an optimist.
I want to share the poem by Kipling:
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!
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