The mask of shame

King Ernest was frustrated. He was beginning to feel like he was losing control of his people. It’s not that he was facing anarchy in any real sense. Admittedly crime rates were slightly up but a certain amount of rape, murder and robbery was to be expected. These were the middle ages after all. What was not acceptable, however, was free speech. Unfortunately this subversive trend seemed to be creeping into everyday life. Just the other day the King was travelling through the market in his carriage when he overheard someone say that the Crusades were all about the West trying to gain political and economic advantage. King Ernest was so shocked by this treacherous viewpoint that his aides had to get the smelling salts out to revive him. The week prior to that, he heard one of the speakers in the town square telling everybody that the earth was round. “That kind of misinformation could actually put people’s lives at risk, especially seafaring folk, who might be lulled into a false sense of security and sail off the edge of the world,” the King thought to himself.

Unlike some of his brutish predecessors King Ernest was a very refined and sophisticated King. He was extremely well educated and had a passion for some of the more modern sociological ideas. He found the ignorance of the masses almost unbearable and the language and manner of the peasants was particularly worrisome to him. It’s not so much that the peasants were revolting; it’s just that they were…well…revolting. Using non-inclusive language, displaying homophobic and transphobic attitudes and refusing to acknowledge their white privilege were just a few of the hateful practices amongst those troublesome roughknecks. Free speech would have to be stamped out altogether if King Ernest was going to protect the ideals of tolerance, diversity and respect.

There was only one thing for it: King Ernest would have to start cancelling anyone who publicly displayed inappropriate views or used non-inclusive language. He had the ideal tools at his disposal and now it was time to get them out of the torture chamber and start utilising them for the sake of community cohesion. “I think the mask of shame could be just the thing to teach people to be kind and tolerant to each other,” he told his chief torturer. These instruments of punishment were muzzles in an iron framework that enclosed the head of the perpetrator so they were immediately recognisable. Also referred to as stigmas, some masks of shame were quite plain in design whilst others were grotesque depictions of demons and animals like dogs or pigs.

The King needed a scapegoat to get the ball rolling and the ideal place to catch someone out was the town square where speakers would gather to preach on their soap boxes about anything from religion to politics. It didn’t take the King and his guards long to find their man.

“Leeches are not safe and they are not effective!” The speaker roared out to his captive audience. “They will poison your blood and you will die young! They offer no protection whatsoever from the Black Death. It is all a big scam to make money for the leech farming industry and the plague doctors are in on it. Do not fall for it. Do not book up your leeching appointment and if you have already had one do not get your booster!”

“Seize that man!” the King instructed his guards, excitedly.

The anti-leecher was thrown into the back of the prison cart and taken to the dungeons to have his mask of shame fitted. He never uttered a bad word about leeches in public again.

For the next few weeks the King continued to focus his efforts on the speakers and philosophers of the town square. Although this small group of intellectuals were far more refined and intelligent than the peasants they were equally as annoying as they seemed to have their own ideas and opinions about things. Many of them were elderly, so they were easy to manhandle and rounding them all up was a doddle.

Next were the drunken slobs, who were also an easy target particularly just after pub closing time. Muzzling them was popular with members of the public, as many of them had been on the receiving end of their rude comments and offensive behaviour. But to get everyone on board the King had to go much further. Large numbers of ordinary people now had to be punished for their wrongthink. For this the King relied heavily on people snitching on their neighbours. Hate crimes such as intolerance, severe impatience and heavy sarcasm were all reported with great fervour by some of the more puritanical villagers.

King Ernest’s programme of social change was now in full force. He ordered his Royal artisans to construct five hundred thousand masks of shame and before long nearly half of the local population were wearing them. The only problem was that the sheer numbers meant there was no longer a stigma attached to the stigma. The King needed to find a way of taking things to the next level. He couldn’t just throw half the population in jail; there weren’t enough jails or prison guards. Then out of the blue the answer struck him. He could take people’s freedom away completely by taking away their right to use cash. Simple! He wasted no time in decreeing that anyone in a mask of shame would be barred from giving or receiving cash. “Hooray!” King Ernest shouted out. At last he had found a way of fostering the inclusive and caring society that he so passionately longed for.

Soon, half the people in the town were unable to buy food or clothes and they could not even get paid for their work. Sadly, some of them starved but the cleverer ones found ways of surviving through bartering and dealing on the black market. So much so that bartering began to take over as the preferred way to buy and sell goods. The black market thrived and the value of the sovereign started to drop as people demanded to be paid in bronze, clay or other goods they could put to practical use.

As time passed the value of the sovereign sunk so low that it was almost worthless. The Royal guards’ pay packets were therefore also worthless and they deserted the King in their droves. The King looked out from the top of his castle as he reluctantly admitted to himself that things weren’t going to plan. He knew fostering a free and caring society was never going to be easy but this really was a setback.  “I was only doing it all for their own good,” he muttered to himself. It all seemed so unfair to him. He was King after all and as such had the divine right to rule in whichever way he saw fit. “Oh well,” he said to himself. “At least I still own all the land and every creature that lives upon it.” He looked up to the clouds as a beautiful white dove flew overhead. A fraction of a second later, a large, slimey projectile that the dove had ejected from her rear-end hit King Ernest between the eyes.

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