No, not this antivaxer (and winner of this award). She’s a pussycat compared to some real lions out there in anti-vax world. The people who really scare me are the ones that smile at you when they are angry at you, the ones that grin as they tell you to [screw] off.
|“Go [expletive deleted] yourself, darling,” she seems to be saying.|
And that’s exactly how that lady up there comes across all the time. She’ll be demonizing people, and even encouraging her followers to harass someone at their place of employment, but she’ll do it all with a smile and a look of a grandmother who wouldn’t hurt a soul.
Of course, she’s not the only one whose facial expressions don’t seem to match their words. This one is also another one who will smile while she gives you the evil eye.
And this guy? This guy will write and sing lullabies about the evils of vaccines, but when pressed about his daughter’s death and why he is convinced that a vaccine killed her, he doesn’t seem to like to offer up the evidence:
“Talking with [him] in his Bainbridge Island home, it’s apparent that he doesn’t like to be questioned about his account. Easygoing and welcoming when he picks a visitor up from the ferry, he turns irritable when asked for a fuller version of events. “Going into details is very painful,” he says.
Yet it soon becomes even more apparent that there are a lot of unanswered questions about his portrayal of [his daughter’s] death and its aftermath. Asked, for instance, if he is sure that the medical examiner talked to Merck before switching her assessment of [his daughter’s] death, he says: “I think so. I told her to.” In other words, [his] allegation is based on nothing more than his own suggestion to the examiner, prompted by his suspicions about the vaccine.
He’s also not sure, now that he’s asked about it, whether it was the examiner or, as seems more likely, the police who came to his apartment looking for evidence of child abuse. “I don’t know . . . somebody . . . don’t ask me,” he says.
Most crucially of all, [he] says he doesn’t know where the pediatrician’s notes are that prove that the examiner initially determined that [his daughter] had a swollen brain. “You have to take my word for it,” he says.
Later, asked whether he would consent to having the case file from the examiner’s office released to Seattle Weekly, he declines. “To me, it’s a very invasive and intrusive request,” he says, questioning the Weekly’s “fixation” with[his daughter’s] death. “To me, it’s not the story.””
Fixation? Like his fixation with comparing healthcare providers and experts in vaccine science with the Nazis? But I digress…
The people that you really need to worry about are not the ones that give it to you straight. I have a lot of respect for people who have openly told me that they hate me and that they wish to one day see me dead. I am not afraid of them. Not in the least.
The ones that I am afraid of are the ones so seemingly disjointed that they want to pass off as benevolent and nice — “warrior” parents just looking out for our children — but who then turn around and say or do the most vile things. That apparent disconnect between what they feel and how they express it is worrisome, even for me. (And, if you know me, you know I’m not one to be afraid of things or people.)