1st part of The Emperor's New Clothes A metaphor

This fairy tale, which I choose as a representation of the pandemic, that in some strangely constructed way is affecting us all, worldwide, is as morbid, absurd, as inconceivable. It's turning our world upside down, the media into a frenzy, with censorship, control of testimonies, shared by whistleblowers, nurses, doctors, and virologists, also the testimonies of partners and family members, who feel betrayed and bereaved, without given a chance to say goodbye to their dying spouse, mother, father, brother or sister.

Are we hypnotized by a mirage? Are we blinded by a veil covering our eyes? In reality, we’re faceless wearing a mask in shops, hospitals, and public transport. To me, when the theories about a manmade virus, and deliberate spreading of it, are true, the designers of our present pandemic are equal to the dress-makers of the emperor, who doesn’t want to lose face, doesn’t want to admit that he might be a stupid man, by thinking that he can’t see the cloth on the loom, and his "magnificent" costume made of it.

In fact, nobody wants to lose face, pretending to see what's not present. It seems that when a certain number of our world population joins in this pretence, the prophecy becomes self-fulfilling in a weird way. A shared fata morgana? Each of us sees what we expect to see, a perpetual self-fulfilling prophecy that is like a Gordian knot waiting for a sword to be cut in half.