To the editor,
‘Politician got on his jogging shoes,
He must be running for office, got no time to lose.
He’s been suckin' the blood out of the genius of generosity.
You been rolling your eyes, you been teasing me.’
Bob Dylan, “Summer Days”
This week’s mail flyer from the taxpayer funded offices of Senator Patty Ritchie was all about that swampy Mennonite menace, EEE (Eastern Equine Encephalitis). The mosquito fever that horses around and infects 11 human beings nationwide each year. Eleven people infected on average nationwide.
There have been 629 people infected with COVID-19 in the 48th District with nine dead since March and our lives and economy upended on an unprecedented level. Yet no flyer instructing about living with and preventing coronavirus. "Wear a mask. Wash your hands. Look at my legislation preventing your neighbors from being evicted."
Wake up 48th! Stop buying into the anti-science balderdash of a billionaire president and his down ballot cult of deflecting sycophants. Senator Ritchie does not want to let on that we should all wear a mask to save lives. Instead, hurry over to those rubber tires in the yard and roll them up beside Will Barclay’s election year recycling bribe, and no one will notice a respiratory shutdown virus coughing into our assisted living and nursing homes.
What kind of leader of communities instructs on prevention of an unlikely disease during a pandemic of massive proportion? What would Senator Ritchie have us do if our towns and cities were being bombed? Make sure we are aware of peak mosquito hours? “Hey, did you know that dusk to dawn are their favorite biting times (like vampires), but that some really talented ones bite all day long? Consider staying indoors when mosquitoes are most active and a 500-pound bomb just blasted out a crater in your front yard.”
Seven cases of EEE virus in humans have been reported in New York state since 2010. Since 2012 Senator Ritchie has acquired $1 million to combat the insidiously rapid onslaught of this mosquito borne illness that practically never happens.
Next week maybe we’ll receive notice about Mozart in the park, the last of the summer nights, when the golden rod dies back to usher in the dread of another election season. If you hold your ear up to the gentle breeze, you may hear a new agonized cussing of an eviction on the other side of town. Or the bell tolling for another unnecessary death due to political obfuscation.
Do not fret. It hasn’t happened to you. Yet