The most useful thing about fear is what it does to judgment. A frightened person becomes easier to direct. Less curious. Less suspicious. More willing to accept inconvenience, incompetence, intrusion, contradiction, expense, humiliation — provided all of it arrives carrying the correct emergency label.
This is why fear is such magnificent administrative technology.
You hardly need expertise to notice how public life cycles through alarms. Pandemic. War. Migration. Crime. Collapse. Shortage. Threat. The object changes. The posture remains. Look here. Worry about this. Please do not examine the plumbing.
Take migration. The fear itself is almost beside the point. The more interesting question is why wealthy modern states, equipped with satellites, databases, drones, ministries, procurement departments, consultants, armored vehicles, biometric systems, and enough bureaucracy to suffocate a horse, can still behave as though a border were some mysterious natural phenomenon beyond human comprehension.
A fence deteriorates. A post sits empty. Money disappears into projects whose principal visible achievement is the continued existence of the project. Then everybody announces that the situation is deeply concerning.
Naturally.
Concern is cheap. Competence costs money and has the unfortunate habit of producing results.
Our rulers often resemble beheaded cockroaches: twitching, persistent, faintly disgusting, and somehow still capable of locating food. Scientifically, this comparison is unfair to cockroaches.
The political specimen has developed additional talents. It can feed through procurement. It can feed through consultancy. It can feed through emergency spending. It can apparently feed contactlessly.
All it requires is quiet. Fear helps.
A frightened public asks fewer awkward questions. It accepts postponement more readily. It forgives waste. It tolerates secrecy. It becomes grateful for announcements.
This is where government information starts becoming theater. We are told what to fear with extraordinary precision. We are told when to fear it. We are told how gravely everyone in authority regards the matter.
What arrives less frequently is the vulgar little detail called a solution.
Watch closely and you will notice the pattern. Problems are acknowledged with great ceremony. Officials appear before microphones wearing the facial expression of undertakers who have misplaced the body. Committees are formed. Statements are issued. Reports are commissioned. Everyone agrees that the matter is serious.
Seriousness fills the room. Results do not.
This has advantages. An unsolved problem continues producing fear. Fear produces compliance. Compliance produces a wonderfully peaceful feeding environment for the cockroaches.
The problem, therefore, develops a curious political value. Solve it too well and people may calm down. Calm people start looking around. They examine invoices. They remember promises. They compare what was said with what was done.
This is dangerous behavior.
Thinking has side effects. Given current tendencies, I expect it will eventually require a warning label.
BECAUSE thoughts TOO are dangerous. It IS LIKELY THAT soon the WHO will classify them as pandemics
Please consult an approved authority before forming one. Do not exceed the recommended dosage. If independent judgment persists for more than four hours, seek immediate supervision.
The machinery of fear also depends on sequence. Fear resembles pain in one useful respect: attention tends to crown one sensation king.
People can worry about many things, but public panic works best when the spotlight stays narrow. One crisis dominates, then another, then another. Yesterday’s terror quietly leaves through the service entrance while the new one walks onto the stage wearing fresh makeup.
The audience gasps on cue.
This is efficient.
Multiple fears competing at once would be wasteful. They might cancel each other out. Worse, people might begin comparing them.
Comparison leads to proportion.
Proportion is catastrophic for panic.
So the ration is simple: one fear at a time. Enough to keep the pulse elevated. Enough to keep the questions small.
Any more would merely be a waste of perfectly good fear.
