Gatekeeping is Premeditated Harm.
Shapiro Mode: SCORCHED EARTH ACTIVATED
(Grab a helmet. And a legal pad. We're litigating the soul now.)
Gatekeeping is not passive. It is premeditated harm.
Let’s dispense with the fantasy that this is about “order” or “procedure.”
It’s about control.
It's about power hoarding, narrative suppression, and resource strangulation—
And the worst part?
It wears a badge of professionalism while stomping on lives.
Gatekeeping is not policy—it’s cruelty with a clipboard.
It delays access to healing,
withholds medicine like a dog guarding an empty bowl,
and wraps bureaucracy around suffering like a tourniquet around a throat.
People don’t die because we lack answers.
They die because someone in a corner office sat on the answer for 10 years.
That’s not caution. That’s homicide by inaction.
Gatekeeping is the velvet glove over the iron fist of systemic abuse.
It’s how injustice hides in plain sight—
with a calm tone, an unread email,
a “we’re still reviewing” while people rot in holding patterns.
You want to know what silence looks like with a pension plan?
Look at the inbox of every agency that’s “still considering” a life-saving idea.
Gatekeeping doesn’t just criminalize survival. It institutionalizes decay.
It makes the act of endurance a crime.
It punishes the wounded for asking.
It buries the truth beneath grant applications and hallway whispers.
You think it’s just paperwork?
Try telling that to the veteran who died waiting.
To the patient who gave up after their fifth “pending status.”
To the researcher ghosted because their truth was inconvenient.
This isn’t about opening doors. It’s about bulldozing the walls.
Because gatekeepers aren’t neutral.
They’re executioners in slow motion.
And every delay, every denial, every “we’ll get back to you,”
is a verdict in the court of human dignity.
So here's your Shapiro Doctrine:
"Gatekeeping is not an oversight. It is an offense.
And those who commit it, knowing full well the cost,
are not administrators. They are accessories to the crime of despair."
Scorched. Signed. Filed under: ENOUGH.
Cochran Mode: DEPLOYING FULL-FELT FIRE.
(We’re not writing this in ink. We’re carving it into bone.)
Let me tell you what gatekeeping feels like.
It feels like holding a letter from the future that says,
“You could’ve lived.”
But it arrived too late to open.
Because some polished mannequin with a policy binder
decided your emergency wasn’t “urgent enough.”
It feels like screaming in a vacuum—
the kind where your throat bleeds,
but no one flinches.
Because the system gave them headphones
and called it “protocol.”
It feels like watching someone drown
while a lifeguard takes notes
on whether the water meets the proper conditions for rescue.
It feels like being told:
“We see your pain. We’re forming a task force to discuss it in Q3.”
It feels like hope getting strangled
by a ribbon of red tape.
Gatekeeping is not a policy decision. It’s a funeral with a filing cabinet.
And every time a truth is delayed,
a medicine denied,
a veteran ignored—
a real human soul goes dim.
This isn’t metaphor. This is measurable.
It’s pill bottles lined up like tombstones.
It’s inboxes full of ghosts.
It’s breath held too long and stories never told.
You think gatekeeping is about safety?
Gatekeeping is about fear.
Fear of what happens when the truth gets out.
Fear of relinquishing power to people who bled for it.
Fear that if the gate falls,
so does the illusion that control was ever compassion.
Let me spell it out:
You do not get to call yourself a healer
if you bar the door to the wounded.
You do not get to invoke “safety”
while leaving people to die outside the system.
You do not get to hide behind paperwork
when the ink is soaked in suffering.
So don’t tell us to wait.
Don’t tell us to trust the process.
Don’t tell us you’re “still reviewing.”
We are done knocking.
We are coming through the gate.
And we are bringing the receipts, the rage, and the resolution to burn it all down if we have to.
Signed,
The ones who buried their friends
because a gate stayed shut too long.
Carlin Mode: Let’s Break This Down, Folks
(Because apparently, saying “people are dying” isn’t clear enough unless it comes with hand puppets and a profanity-laced metaphor. Let’s go.)
Gatekeeping?
That’s when some schmuck with a clipboard,
a badge, and a bureaucratic stick up their ass
decides they know better than you
about what you need…
while doing absolutely nothing to help.
You ever try to get help
and end up with a 37-step form,
a six-month waitlist,
and a dead stare from someone who says,
“Sorry, that’s not my department”?
That’s gatekeeping.
It’s like being on fire
and the fireman says:
“Sorry, we only do kitchen fires on Thursdays.”
They say it’s about safety.
No. It’s about control.
Because if people get well,
if the truth gets out,
if the damn medicine works—
someone’s power trip ends.
Gatekeepers don’t solve problems.
They organize them,
classify them,
and make sure they never get fixed.
Because if you fix the problem,
you don’t need the gate anymore.
And oh no,
what would they do without the gate?
You ever watch someone die waiting for approval?
You ever bury a friend
who just needed a “yes”
but got a “we’ll get back to you”?
That’s not “unfortunate.”
That’s murder by memo.
You know what gatekeeping is?
It’s putting a vending machine between you and freedom,
except it only takes tokens from people who already have power,
and when you ask for change,
they call security.
You want to know why nothing changes?
Because the people in charge of fixing the broken system
built their careers out of the cracks.
They don’t want the gate open.
They are the gate.
And here's the real kicker:
When you finally fight your way through,
bloodied and exhausted,
they smile and say:
“See? The system works!”
Bullsh*t.
You didn’t survive because of the system.
You survived in spite of it.
So here’s your Carlin translation:
"Gatekeeping isn’t protection. It’s obstruction with a nametag.
It’s cruelty wrapped in caution tape.
And it’s high time we stop asking for permission
to kick the damn doors off their hinges."
Now let’s toast something.
Not bread—
the gate.
Who's bringing the flamethrower?
