Benjamen Walker's Theory of Everything - Withdrawal

Episode Date: March 11, 2021

After one year of island confinement, your host joins AlamoFort -  a clubhouse alternative, and discovers a new community in the #covid1984 room. Plus the true meaning of the Island of the Blue Dolphins.

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Episodes every other week at neverpo.st and wherever you find pods. This installment is called Withdrawal. I thought people say it. About a month ago, I received an invite to Clubhouse, the new hot, hot audio conversation app. At first, I was overjoyed. Finally, I'd have the chance to participate in something. Finally, I'd be able to join communities of shared interests. Finally, I'd be able to converse with other people.

But then, I realized Clubhouse was only available for the iPhone. I was crushed. I hurled my Android across the room, lay down on the carpet, and wept. And then I got back up and went looking for a Clubhouse alternative. That is how I found Alamo Fort. Alamo Fort was started by a bunch of conservatives who got the bright idea to create their own audio-based community platform before the inevitable cancellations and deplatforming brought Clubhouse down. Of course, I didn't know any of this when I downloaded the app, but that said, there were clues.

The first invite I received was for the Pizzagate is Real room. I declined, but I did accept the invite for the It's Worse Than You Think room, but that one was filled with people discussing the intricacies of QAnon, so I left without even saying hello. And then, just as I was poised to delete the app, a suggested room caught my eye. COVID 1984. I clicked enter. Like many social apps, Alamo Fort allows you to create an icon. But thanks to advances in image processing, on Alamo Fort, your icon speaks. It's like the cat filter for Zoom. But you don't even need to use your camera. On Alamo Fort, the image processing animates your voice. When I entered the COVID-1984 room, Maria, the dolphin,

was holding forth. This virus has sickened and killed millions of people, and this is tragic, she said, her head bobbing just above a clear tropical blue line of water. But the lockdowns, curfews, school closings, and economic slowdowns have affected every single human being on the planet. Billions of people are suffering from loneliness, anxiety, and desperation. And we are discovering that when people lose their connections to their friends, their teachers, their colleagues, their family, they don't simply wait it out. They withdraw. This is when the Punisher Homer Simpson noticed me.

Hey, looks like we got a new Mel. A unicorn, a frog, and a zombie Barack Obama all shouted in unison, Hi, new Mel! I forgot to mention, when you join Alamo Fort, you get a default icon, which is the blue and red streaked face of Mel Gibson from Braveheart. Welcome, friend, Maria said. Do you want to say hello? Hi, I stammered, clicking over to the list of icons. Yeah,

just joined, I continued, stating the obvious as I scrolled through different iterations of frog legs emerging from cracked Twitter eggs. How's it going? Maria asked sweetly. How are you holding up? Okay, I guess, I replied after selecting a silver seahorse. I mean, yeah, I miss my friends, my home, my life. But you totally nailed it. What I'm really worried about is how much I have withdrawn. It was surreal to see this seahorse speaking with my voice, sharing my intimate feelings. But perhaps this is what made it possible. So I continued.

I told this anonymous group of anthropomorphs all about how lonely I am, trapped here on this island with only my partner and kid to talk with. And I told this group about how safe I feel in my little office. I told them all about how I can spend hours, sometimes entire days, by myself just reading and writing and researching. I told them all about my deepest fear, that my current state of withdrawal might be permanent, that I might be unable to back out of this shell that I've crawled into.

Maria the dolphin's head bobbed up and down. Well, perhaps the place to start is here with us. I thought people would say it. Soon, I was spending all my days and nights in the COVID-1984 room on Alamo Fort. I had discovered a new community, a new group of friends. Once again, I felt connected to the world. Of course, we did our share of arguing. Most everyone in COVID-1984 is anti-mask. At first I tried to explain how stupid of a hill this is to die on and how things might actually go back to normal faster if people would just wear their damn masks.

But no one wanted to hear this. Especially Lex the Punisher Homer Simpson, even after I explained to him that most of the population here on the island is elderly. If those old people are worried about their compromised immunities, he shouted, they should stay inside or move to another island. You should never have to compromise your health sovereignty. Health sovereignty. This is a phrase that gets used a lot in the COVID-1984 room. It's kind of like the opposite of public health.

But that said, everyone in COVID-1984 truly believes in this ideal. In fact, I've learned that it is the principle that unites and inspires this whole growing movement of people who feel abandoned by the politicians, scientists, and public health officials. The mask has become an easy target for their rage and despair. Maria the dolphin, like me, has no problems wearing a mask in public, and she plans on getting vaccinated as soon as she can. For her, the enemy is COVID absolutism. She believes that people who are following the rules and doing their best to reduce risks should not be shamed or called out or punished for trying to maintain connections with other people.

It all started when someone yelled at her when she was running without a mask. A couple pulled over in their car, got out of their vehicle and proceeded to scream at her for endangering other people. Maria explained that there is very, very little risk of transmission outdoors, and that she always keeps her distance from others when she runs. She even showed them the mask in her pocket. But this couple wouldn't quit. They followed her in their car for blocks, honking the horn and flashing their lights. Murderer, the woman screamed before finally driving off. After this encounter, Maria started inviting her friends and relatives who like her are also extremely careful over for dinner parties. She doesn't ask them to wear masks, nor does she require anyone take a COVID test before showing up.

If we go the route of COVID absolutism, Maria the Dolphin says, our schools will never open, our economy will never recover, and our mental health will continue to deteriorate. Our loneliness will grow and our isolation will deepen. So two weeks ago, when my friends Brian and Franny wrote asking how we felt about the idea of them taking the train from Paris for a weekend visit, I immediately typed yes into the WhatsApp chat, followed by 50 exclamation points and one jumping dolphin. I showed up at the train station in La Rochelle just as the Paris train was rolling in. I washed my hands with some gel and rolled down the windows. And then my phone buzzed.

It was Max, our neighbor on the island. Well, he and his family live in Bordeaux. They only spend their summers on the island. We actually haven't seen them since they closed their house up for the winter last August. Max was writing to say that he'd just arrived on the island. A last-minute trip to pick some things up. But there was no food in his house. So could he eat with Matilda and I?

With hindsight, I realize I should have replied that we had friends visiting from Paris this weekend, and they were very nervous about COVID, and adding another person to the mix just wouldn't do. Obviously, I couldn't say they were COVID absolutists, but I could say they were COVID maximalists. But I didn't. I just wrote, yes, we have guests visiting from Paris, but yes, we would be happy to have you over for dinner. I felt nauseous as soon as I typed my reply. What was wrong with me? Why do I always do things I don't want to do? Brian and Franny emerged from the train station and got into the car. They took off the masks that they'd been wearing since they'd left their Paris apartment. I tried to explain what I'd just

done, but I wasn't making any sense. Who is Max? Franny asked. We all laughed nervously as I backtracked and went through the whole thing again. Then I missed the exit off the highway for the bridge. I had no sense of orientation because it was now dark and I've never driven home from La Rochelle in the dark before. Embarrassed, I sunk into the steering wheel as Brian pulled up Google Maps and directions to my house. When we arrived, Max was already in the kitchen with Mathilde. He turned to Franny and Brian and told them how amazing it was to see me with visitors. This guy, he joked, he's the most COVID scared guy on the island.

All summer long we made fun of him. He wouldn't even kiss women. I could tell Franny was suspicious and Brian was concerned. I could tell they were both wondering if this guy was some kind of COVID denier. And then, as if he knew he had to address this, Max dropped a bomb. My grandparents, he announced, both got COVID last week. Then he switched to French to elaborate. I was able to make out some of it. The grandparents are 90. They live in Normandy. They've been inside all year.

Like me, they've been extra, extra careful. They didn't come to visit this summer, even to see the grandkids. They've been getting all their food delivered. But how then did they get COVID? I interrupted in English. The doctor, Max replied. The doctor who comes to their house, he gave it to them. We all shared our sympathies about this terrible situation,

but Max waved us off. No, no, no, it's good, he said. This was a week ago, and my grandmother didn't get any symptoms, and my grandfather was only sick for three days. So it was just like a little flu. They're fine. But now I can't help but wonder if we're doing this all wrong. Because if COVID can't kill my 90-year-old grandparents,

why the hell are we all locked up? Why is everything shut down? Brian responded first, that is truly wonderful about your grandparents, but surely you've noticed that millions of people around the world have died from COVID. But have they, asked Max, shaking his finger at Brian. Perhaps they're dying from being overweight or having, how do you say in English, bad genes. I turned to the stove. Everyone started arguing in French. Franny was having none of this. And eventually, Mathilde had to butt in and change the topic of conversation. But this only made things worse. Max started talking about himself, and no one could get a word in. Mathilde, Franny, Brian, they tried to engage, but Max, he just wanted to talk about his car, about his boat, his wife,

his kids. Perhaps this was why he'd driven up to the island. Perhaps this was why he was here in our kitchen. Perhaps in Bordeaux, he has no one to listen to him talk. I pretended that the broth needed my full attention, but it didn't. It was perfect. And then something incredible happened. Max's phone buzzed. He took it out of his pocket and shouted. I turned around. His face was ash white. My grandfather was just admitted to the hospital. He's on a ventilator.

No one said anything. I think I should drive to Normandy. And then Max was gone. I thought people said... I put the music back on, and we ate a lovely meal. We drank six bottles of wine, and we danced into the early morning. But something was off. I was nervous. I laughed at all the wrong things. There were numerous long pauses. At first, I blamed Max for all this, or me for

having said yes to Max coming over in the first place. But when Brian and Franny said goodnight and Matilde took them upstairs to show them their room, I realized that the problem had been me. All along the problem was me. I put my shoes on and walked out into the garden. I haven't been outside at night for many months now, not because of the curfew, but more because I don't have anywhere to go. I decided to walk to the beach. I closed the gate silently behind me so none of them would hear me leave. The moon filled up the sky. The ocean was calm. I contemplated walking into the water to see how far I could go. But then I saw something fluttering by the water's edge. It was a dolphin. It was still alive, but barely gasping for air. I sat down next to it and tried to comfort it. I stayed until it breathed no more. Numerous dolphins have now washed up on the beach.

The other day, on the front page of the island's local paper, I saw a photo of two more casualties. There are many conspiracies floating around on social media, stories of careless British fishing boats, and impending ecological disaster. I would love to discuss these with my friends in COVID-1984, but sadly, the room is no more. Apparently, there was another room on Alamo Fort, a room dedicated to mounting another attack on Washington, D.C. There were plans to bind and gag congressmen and congresswomen with COVID masks soaked in gasoline.

So Alamo Fort was seized by the feds. The very weekend that Brian and Franny came to visit, I never even got the chance to say goodbye. I tried looking for Maria, but all I came up with was an image of a girl swimming in the water, surrounded by dolphins. This turned out to be a film still, from the 1964 movie Island of the Blue Dolphins.

A film based on the true story of Juana Maria, a Nicoleno Native American girl who spent most of her life living alone on a San Nicolas island in the 19th century. Look! Look, Corona! It is a fine crab. I will have it for my supper. If father does not want it for his supper. At the beginning of the film, we meet Karana, a young girl who's living happily with her tribe.

But then, one day her brother Ramu spies a ship. Run until father is coming. A giant canoe. I want to stay and watch. Do as you're told. It's the white man. He comes ashore with his dog and asks to speak with the chief, Karana's father.

I am the captain of these men. I am Chawig, chief of Galasat. The white man wants to hunt seals and he offers spears and beads as trade. Karana's father says yes, but only if the white man also gives them iron knives. You bargain well for your people, Chief Chowek. All right, I agree. But when the white men finish hunting, they murder Karana's father and bomb the island. Ah!

Dozens are slaughtered. After the burials, the remaining tribe members decide to leave the island with some missionaries. Hurry, everyone! We must hurry! But Ramo doesn't want to leave, and when Karana realizes her brother is not on the boat, she jumps into the water. Karana! Karana, come back! Come back or you will be left behind! Please! This is when she meets the dolphins.

They guide her back to the shore and back to her brother. But Karana and Ranu are soon threatened by the wild dogs of the island. Go away! Go away! Someday I'm going to kill all the wild dogs, especially the leader. Their leader is the white man's angry dog, who was also left behind. Promo! But it is the dogs who kill. Promo.

After she buries her brother, Karana makes a crossbow. Now I will kill the alley-oop dog. The one who killed Ramo. The dog whose master killed my father. She shoots the dog in the throat. But he doesn't die. And Karana decides to nurse him back to health. Yes, she nurses the dog who killed her brother back to health.

Your eyes are like those of a fox. They grow closer. Karana renames the dog. I will call you Rantu. It means fox eyes. Karana and Rantu spend years together, fishing and swimming with the dolphins. They even make music together. They both are very, very happy. A message, perhaps, that we must learn not only to live with death, but love it.

But then, one day... Rantu? What are you doing back there? Rantu falls ill. Get up. Get up. Karana pleads with the gods of her island, but it's no use. Rantu dies. And once again, Karana is alone.

And she remains alone for many, many years. Until one day, when the missionaries return, and Karana decides to reveal herself and leave her island. After the real Juana Maria was brought to Santa Barbara in 1853, it became clear that no one could understand her language. Some of her words were, however, recorded, including a song she liked to sing. Toki toki yohami mena. Toki toki yohami mena. Toki toki yohami mena. Welishkima nishu yohami mina.

Toki Toki. These words were officially noted as meaning, I live contented because I can see the day when I want to get out of this island. But since no one could actually understand Juana Marina, this particular interpretation is meaningless, or perhaps meaningful only as a projection of those who took her from her island. You have been listening to Benjamin Walker's Theory of Everything. This installment is called Withdrawal. This episode was written and produced by me, Benjamin Walker, and Andrew Calloway. The Theory of Everything is a proud founding member of Radiotopia, home to some of the world's best podcasts.

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