The vast majority of us woke up this morning to lives regulated by the government.
A local city or county department approved the location and size of our homes. The Ohio Construction Industry Licensing Board approved the professionals who installed the pipes and wiring, which are in turn regulated by industry standards at the national level.
The Environmental Protection Agency and the Public Utilities Commission of Ohio regulate the water that flows from our taps and the sewer lines that flow beneath our homes. The latter is what keeps us from throwing our night slops out the window each morning, where they would run into the street and eventually foul our water source, as often happened in medieval times.
This morning, we dressed in clothes with labels dictated by the Federal Trade Commission and made of fabrics and blends regulated by the Consumer Product Safety Commission in factories where working conditions were dictated by the Occupational Safety and Health Administration, part of the U.S. Department of Labor (if the factories were American).
Even wearing clothes, beyond being a largely self-enforced norm, is required by various ordinances and is the policy of most businesses. No shirt, no shoes, no service.
When we opened our refrigerators or pantries to scrounge for breakfast, the food there conformed to government standards. The USDA regulated the safety of the meat, poultry and eggs. The FDA regulated everything most everything else.
That two-day-old slice of pepperoni pizza we eventually decided upon — dry and pasty now but just waiting for revitalization in a microwave oven whose manufacture and wattage is also regulated by the FDA — was the result of oversight by a network of governmental bodies who weigh in on the growing, harvesting, processing, packaging, transportation, preparation and selling of individual ingredients.
On our way to the microwave we stopped to pet the dog, who wears a license issued by the county auditor’s office and paid for with a fee set by the county commissioners. Fido’s rabies vaccinations are mandated by the state.
After dressing and eating, we climbed into our cars, manufactured according to mandates set by the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration, which among other things conducts stringent crash testing to help protect the health and wellbeing of drivers and passengers.
As drivers, we are licensed by the state. We listen to radio stations on our car radios that are regulated by the Federal Communications Commission. We wear safety belts, another government mandate, drive on the right side of the road, obey traffic signals and stay at or below certain speeds, all regulated by the government.
If we break any of these laws, we are subjected to punishment by the government, up to and including temporary or permanent revocation of our driving privileges.
We dropped off our kids at a school where teachers are licensed by the state, where curriculum is approved by a locally elected board, where state-required tests are given, and where attendance is compelled by law.
Then, we headed to the barber or beautician for a haircut — at least those of us who are fortunate enough to have hair — and trusted our coiffures to a professional licensed by the state.
Next we went to a doctor’s appointment, where we put our health into the hands of people regulated by state medical and nursing boards, who prescribe medication approved by the federal government.
Finally, it was off to a lunch at a restaurant which follows food preparation and hygienic norms from state and local health departments.
All this regulation, an invisible web of interlocking safety standards that people seldom stop to ponder, and it’s only noon.
Why, then, are so many people angry about health officials restricting certain businesses and activities, advocating for six feet of social separation and advising that we wear masks in public? These are extra layers of caution — and temporary ones, at that — to protect everybody during a public-health crisis.
Given all the ways the nanny state safeguards our lives already, these additional elements are minimal.
It’s enough to make one wonder if it’s not really about the mask at all, but more about contrarianism for the sake of being contrary, a head-scratching and unconscionable way of saying, “I care more about me than I do everybody else.”
chris.schillig@yahoo.com
@cschillig on Twitter
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