In March 2020, the phrase “Fifteen days to slow the spread” circulated faster than the SARS-CoV-2 virus itself. At that time, the rationale—to give frontline healthcare workers a brief window to prepare—seemed measured and justifiable. Around the same time, Dr. Anthony Fauci echoed longstanding scientific consensus in his 60 Minutes interview, stating that masks were not particularly effective in stopping respiratory viruses.
Shortly thereafter, in a Snapchat interview, Dr. Fauci addressed the calculated risk of in-person dating during the pandemic, concluding that young people should assess the risk themselves: “Because that’s what’s called relative risk.”
Even the authors of the widely cited Nature Medicine paper, which argued in favor of a natural origin of the virus, presented what appeared to be a good-faith scientific hypothesis. They acknowledged the plausibility of discovering SARS-CoV-2-like viruses with polybasic cleavage sites in animals and admitted that future data could tip the balance toward another origin theory.
But now, five years later, after exhaustive animal sampling and millions of genomic sequences analyzed, we still haven’t found a close non-human progenitor of SARS-CoV-2. In contrast, researchers in 2003 quickly identified the animal source of the original SARS virus using comparatively primitive tools.
Unfortunately, that brief moment of scientific honesty was quickly replaced by tribalism, censorship, and politicized dogma. Reasonable discussion about the virus’s origin became branded a “conspiracy theory.” Questioning official narratives—even with evidence—was met with accusations of racism.
Surgeon General Jerome Adams took to social media to teach the public how to fashion “life-saving” masks from old t-shirts. Dr. Fauci, who initially advised against mask-wearing, later reversed his position and justified his earlier comments by claiming he wanted to prevent a run on supplies. Soon, public messaging devolved into absurd theater, with suggestions of double- and even triple-masking.
Dr. Deborah Birx’s most memorable contribution to pandemic guidance was the statement: “We know that there are ways that you can even play tennis with marked balls so you’re not touching each other’s balls.” Rather than offering serious public health leadership, her words became a late-night comedy punchline.
The initial promise—two weeks to flatten the curve—was not meant literally. It morphed into indefinite restrictions with shifting goalposts and questionable logic.
As a microbiology professor with nearly 25 years of experience, I reached my personal tipping point when I entered an elevator on campus and saw stickers instructing where to stand (Fig. 1). It was clear: we had traded empirical science for symbolic compliance.
Soon, businesses were subjected to labyrinthine safety regulations. I was brought on by a fortunate few—deemed “essential” and therefore allowed to operate—to advise on “safe” practices. What I encountered resembled a field hospital more than a retail environment (Fig. 2): masked customers lined up behind ropes outside, subjected to health screenings that included questions about gastrointestinal symptoms. A nearly 100-degree day required multiple temperature scans per customer. Inside, a gauntlet of one-way arrows, sanitizer stations, Plexiglas barriers, and occupancy tracking screens awaited them.
The excess didn’t stop there. In California, public health officials went so far as to issue Thanksgiving dinner guidelines banning singing, chanting, and shouting. Parks and beaches were closed, and in one infamous incident, a lone paddleboarder was arrested off the Santa Monica coast. One expert from Scripps Oceanography speculated that SARS-CoV-2 could linger in the ocean and become airborne again—an assertion that defied all biological plausibility.
At first, I tried to dismiss these overreaches as isolated or anecdotal. But it became clear that even among my academic peers, rational discussion was being displaced by irrational fear. Government data consistently showed that COVID-19’s impact was overwhelmingly concentrated among the elderly with significant comorbidities—particularly obesity (Table 1).
When I signed the Great Barrington Declaration and discussed “focused protection” in my courses, I was met with hostility. Critics labeled me “ageist” and accused me of “fat-shaming” for citing data. Suddenly, those who used to proclaim “science doesn’t care about your feelings” began prioritizing feelings over science.
Despite being warned not to speak to the university newspaper, I gave an interview in an effort to broaden the conversation. I regret it. The article misrepresented my views and claimed I created a “power imbalance” in the classroom. I was accused of promoting “junk science,” all while my colleagues unquestioningly accepted the unproven “six-feet rule”—a policy that caused immense societal disruption. Outlets like NPR defended it with vague reassurances: “distance still protects you.”
In class, I raised questions about inconsistencies: Why were Trump rallies considered super-spreader events, while BLM protests were not? Why was “Wuhan virus” acceptable terminology on CNN until Trump said it? And why was it deemed racist to discuss the SARS-CoV-2 genome’s signs of possible lab manipulation?
These questions led to condemnation from university groups, including calls for my resignation. As mask mandates escalated (Fig. 3), I decided to conduct my own research.
I looked at case data from New York City and found that mandates were often implemented after case counts had already declined (Fig. 4). Mandates and fines did nothing to prevent a larger second wave. In my lab, I performed a simple experiment with my daughter, comparing petri plate spray patterns from sneezes with and without masks. The results were nearly identical (Fig. 5). I then stamped the outside of her mask onto a plate and observed dense microbial growth (Fig. 6)—a compelling illustration of Dr. Fauci’s early point that fiddling with masks might spread, not prevent, disease.
Despite sharing these findings and emphasizing that mask science was “mixed at best,” I was again labeled a promoter of misinformation. No one seemed interested in data, only conformity.
Meanwhile, my lab was tasked with analyzing SARS-CoV-2 in wastewater (Fig. 7). We discovered that wastewater virus levels were a reliable leading indicator for case surges. We also found that mask mandates had no observable effect on viral transmission.
The argument that N95s could have stopped the pandemic ignores the reality: if the solution is not scalable or feasible, it’s not a solution.
Yet the push for control intensified, culminating in vaccine mandates. As Dr. Michael Osterholm pointed out, Big Pharma was eager to avoid being left “holding the bag” again, as it had after the SARS crisis of 2003. So, natural immunity—long a bedrock of immunological science—was suddenly memory-holed. If people knew natural immunity worked, fewer would line up for the vaccine.
After I tested positive for COVID-19 and recovered with mild symptoms, my family chose to build immunity the old-fashioned way—through exposure (Table 2). My children experienced mild illness and gained a hands-on education in microbiology. Predictably, I was vilified for “giving my kids the sniffles.” Some even suggested reporting me to Child Protective Services.
Despite having high antibody levels, I was still required to take the vaccine to return to campus. There were no exemptions for natural immunity, and my experience with the treatment of colleagues like Dr. Aaron Kheriaty showed that dissent carried a price.
The lockdowns didn’t personally inconvenience me—I had job security, full pay, and even earned extra income for my essential lab work. But the relentless personal attacks ultimately silenced my public engagement. While society hoarded toilet paper and accused neighbors of “killing grandma,” my family tuned out for a time (Fig. 8).
Eventually, hope re-emerged when I was invited by Dr. Scott Atlas to join the Academy for Science and Freedom. There, at Hillsdale College’s Kirby Center, I met kindred spirits—doctors, scientists, and journalists—all committed to restoring the core principle of public health: voluntary cooperation over coercion.
Many of the key architects of the pandemic response have now exited the stage. In their place are figures like Drs. Tracy Beth Høeg, Jay Bhattacharya, Matt Memoli, Vinay Prasad, Martin Kulldorff, and Marty Makary—many of whom endured far more backlash than I did. While their vindication is welcome, media outlets still smear them as “anti-vax,” “anti-science,” or “extremists.”
I now understand how I was likely misled on other issues I once voted for—massive health care bills I never read, for instance. But they were never going to fool me about the science of the pandemic.
In the end, their lies and arrogance sparked an awakening—not just for me, but for many. Like Neo in The Matrix, I emerged into a harsh reality, finally seeing the machinery behind the illusion.
I just hope that the leaders now shaping our institutions are committed to rebuilding trust—not through mandates and censorship, but through transparency, humility, and real science. If they do, they won’t need to convince the public that they were fooled—people will come to that conclusion on their own.