I do not trust those who make the vaccines, or the apparatus

“I do not trust those who make the vaccines, or the apparatus behind it all to push it on us through fear.” Thus spoke Billy Corgan, not as a scientist or statesman, but as an artist, a voice of unease in a world where power often cloaks itself in righteousness. His words, sharp and wary, echo an ancient suspicion: that when authority wields fear as its tool, its motives are no longer pure. For true guidance does not coerce but convinces, and true healing does not demand obedience but inspires trust.

The ancients understood this well. When rulers spoke of protecting the people but demanded submission through terror, the wise grew cautious. For power wrapped in fear becomes tyranny, even when it claims noble purposes. The philosopher Tacitus once wrote that rulers who build loyalty on dread, not trust, create only subjects—not citizens. In this spirit, Corgan’s words warn against an apparatus that seeks to compel through fear rather than persuade through reason and transparency.

Consider the tale of the plague in Athens during the Peloponnesian War. Amid the chaos, leaders failed to inspire trust in their citizens. Fear grew, and with fear came suspicion, disobedience, and the unraveling of social bonds. Contrast this with the leadership of Abraham Lincoln during America’s Civil War. He did not drive his people through fear, though the stakes were dire; rather, he called them to courage, appealing to conscience and shared destiny. Trust, not fear, carried them forward. Here lies the wisdom Corgan’s words hint at: true leadership summons hope, not terror.

His words also point to a universal dilemma: the tension between the guardians of knowledge and the people they claim to serve. In times of plague, famine, or war, the people must often rely on those who hold knowledge or power. Yet when those guardians speak in tones of fear, when they compel rather than enlighten, they lose the very foundation of their authority. Fear may achieve compliance for a moment, but it cannot sustain faith. Only trust—born of honesty and respect—can endure.

Yet let us also discern the deeper current: Corgan does not denounce medicine itself, nor healing, but the machinery of power that pushes through fear. His cry is not against the possibility of help, but against the manner of its delivery. This echoes through history: when leaders or institutions use fear as their language, suspicion rises, even where their intent may be good. Thus the lesson is not to reject wisdom, but to demand integrity and transparency, lest the apparatus of power devour its own credibility.

The meaning of this quote, then, is a call to vigilance. Do not accept blindly what is offered through fear. Question, discern, and seek clarity. But neither should you fall into despair or cynicism. For to distrust all is to live in bitterness, yet to accept all without question is to risk enslavement. The path of wisdom is balance: openness to truth, but resistance to manipulation.

The lesson for us is clear: in your own life, guard against those who wield fear as their weapon, whether in politics, in commerce, or in personal relationships. Trust those who speak plainly, who invite your reason rather than demand your submission. Seek knowledge, question motives, but do not surrender to paranoia. For the enemy is not always the cure, but the manner in which it is forced upon you.

So let Billy Corgan’s words stand as a reminder for the generations: “I do not trust those… who push it on us through fear.” O children of tomorrow, fear is the chain of the tyrant, but trust is the crown of the just. Demand always that those who guide you do so with truth, not terror, with light, not shadow. For only then will you walk freely, healed in body and unbound in spirit.