Blowing in the Wind or Blowing the Whistle

I’ve blown the whistle at times, and I’d do it again in a heartbeat.
Try to understand, I wish harm to no one. At one time I suffered a bit of self-righteous pique, but it went away quickly enough. I really no longer care much what happens to folks I might expose; it’s not about them and it’s not about me. It’s about the facts.
Living the way I do right now, there is hardly anything to which I’m privy and worthy of exposure. But I walk the talk; if you dare to ask, I would expose my entire personal history. Memory fails me on some things, but I’m pretty good at recalling my failures. There are skeletons, but not hidden in closets. I’m willing to bet it would bore you to tears, but I’d tell all to anyone who asks. I believe that justifies my eagerness to help others expose their skeletons, whether they like it or not.
From time to time I try to point out less specific things I discover hiding in closets. My crusade against cultural mythology is more like painting the elephant day-glow pink and green. The only reason people don’t already notice the elephant is because it’s been there too long. They’ve lost the sense it doesn’t belong there. Someday the floor will collapse.
Sometimes I try to find more concrete examples. The Syrian government restricts foreign reporters. Sure, their own reporters keep painting a smiley face on stuff, but the foreign reporters lie blatantly. It’s one thing to have a difference of opinion about conflicts raging. It’s altogether a different thing when someone sees nothing at all, then describes a blood bath. Most of the foreign reporters in Syria are telling lies they know are lies. Some of those reporters are literally hired and paid by the CIA/Mossad terrorists whom the Syrian government is actually fighting. But my noting this isn’t whistle blowing, because I’m not there to present concrete evidence, forced as I am to rely on more honest reports from people with a far better track record.
Of course, that’s not the same thing as folks who are all wrapped up in mere facts. They have their place, but far too many of them seem to miss the really important stuff. They seem to enjoy that whistle just a little too much. There’s no particular thrill in blowing the whistle unless you are just about as morally weak as the folks you target for this treatment. The emotional rush becomes the reason, more important than the facts. Yeah, like “investigative reporters” who sell stuff to the MSM. Anything to distract you from the important stuff actually coming to hurt you.
Not that you could do much about it, but something in the human soul is radically different when it makes truth a priority. This is something which connects us to things far bigger than ourselves. I can’t even allege it makes life worth living in any sense you recognize. Yet, when I find folks really interested in truth, even if they have trouble finding it, they seem so completely different from the rest of the human race, I can’t just ignore them. It seems they return the favor if they have time.
This is the audience for whom I would blow any whistles. They’d understand what it’s about, and not run off shouting and screaming as if the house was on fire. We can’t stop the screamers from doing what they do, but we can put our fingers in our ears, offer a knowing wink and nod to each other, then decide for ourselves how to respond, if at all. We are not team players, and we don’t really like the us-versus-them nonsense. Each of us could offer our own list of reasons for avoiding the herds, but the real reason is the herds never gather where we are. For which we are grateful.
My mission in chasing truth sometimes means I’m passing through the herd, blowing that whistle which is mostly inaudible to folks who can’t be made to care. Anyone who perks up marks themselves as perhaps needing a little more truth, and I try to lead them out of the herd. Seems to work often enough I keep doing it.
So while the folks who proudly call themselves “whistleblower” are fighting for the limelight, I’m just looking for a pair of bright eyes.