by: Ryan Huff, 2024

His fractured world split by invisible lines, Alex grew up knowing exactly who they were supposed to be. Their family lived on one side of the divide—a side with its own truths, its own heroes, its own enemies. The television hummed with voices that reinforced their beliefs, social media scrolled with posts that fueled their outrage, and every conversation at home sharpened the edges of their certainty. To Alex, it was normal, even comforting. They were part of something bigger, something right.

But woven into that certainty was the Wetiko mind virus—a silent sickness that spread through repetition and division. It wasn’t a virus you could see or touch; it lived in the mind, feeding on blind loyalty and the refusal to question. It convinced young people like Alex that the world was simple: us versus them, good versus evil.

The first crack came with Jamie.

Jamie was Alex’s best friend, a steady presence through years of school projects and late-night chats. Their families stood on opposite sides of the societal rift, but Alex and Jamie had always sidestepped it, keeping their friendship safe from the poison of politics. Until one day, they couldn’t.
It started with a meme—a barbed joke about Jamie’s “side” that Alex tossed into their group chat. Jamie didn’t laugh. “That’s not true,” they said, voice tight. “It’s just what your people want you to think.”

“My people?” Alex shot back. “You’re the one swallowing lies.”

The argument erupted fast, each hurling words they’d heard from parents, newsfeeds, influencers—words they hadn’t fully examined. It ended with Jamie storming off, leaving Alex alone with a sting of anger and a flicker of unease. Why am I so sure? a small voice asked. Alex pushed it down, but it wouldn’t stay quiet.

Days later, scrolling through their usual feed of fiery posts, Alex noticed something. Every story, every headline, painted the same picture: their side was noble, the other side monstrous. But Jamie hadn’t seemed monstrous—just hurt. Curious, Alex typed a question into their search bar, one they’d never dared ask: What does the other side actually believe?

The answers were messy. Some of what Alex found challenged everything they’d been taught; some of it rang truer than they wanted to admit. There were distortions on both sides—half-truths dressed up as facts. The Wetiko mind virus, Alex began to see, didn’t care about ideology. It thrived on certainty, no matter who held it.

At school, a history project pushed Alex further. Ms. Elson, their teacher, assigned them to argue against their own beliefs. “Truth isn’t owned by one side,” she said. “You have to wrestle with it.” Alex picked the issue that had broken their friendship with Jamie and dug in.
The research was a tangle of perspectives. Alex found valid points in unexpected places and flaws where they’d assumed perfection. Ms. Elson, with her earnest lectures, believed she was guiding students toward justice—but she rarely questioned her own slant. Meanwhile, a local influencer Alex had once admired posted rants that twisted facts for likes, their motives less about truth than power. Good intentions and bad ones blurred together, feeding the same virus.

When Alex tried to talk about it at home, their family bristled. “You’re too young to get it,” their father said. “They’re playing you.” Friends were worse—some called Alex a traitor for hesitating to pick a side. Even Jamie, when Alex reached out to apologize, was guarded. “So you’re flipping now?” they asked.

“No,” Alex said. “I just want to understand.”

It felt like standing alone in a storm.

Then came Sam.

Sam was new, an outsider who didn’t fit the school’s factions. After class one day, Alex overheard them mention “Wetiko” to Ms. Elson—a term Alex had stumbled across online. Intrigued, Alex approached.

“You said Wetiko,” Alex ventured. “What is it?”

Sam grinned. “It’s this old idea—a mind virus that spreads greed, division, whatever keeps us stuck. Look around. Everyone’s infected.”
“How do you stop it?” Alex asked.

“You don’t stop it for everyone,” Sam said. “You start with yourself. Question everything.”

They teamed up, meeting to dissect articles, trace biases, and unpack their own assumptions. Together, they launched a blog, Unlearning the Echo, sharing the messy truth they found between the extremes. A few classmates followed, drawn to something that didn’t demand allegiance.
Not everyone liked it. The influencer attacked them online, accusing them of sowing doubt for attention. Trolls followed, and Alex’s parents worried they were stirring trouble. “Why can’t you just leave it alone?” their mother asked.

“Because it’s not about winning,” Alex said. “It’s about seeing.”

The tipping point came at a school assembly. A debate over a local issue turned ugly—students shouting, parroting lines they’d been fed. Alex watched, heart pounding, as the Wetiko mind virus flared bright. Then they stood.

“Stop!” Alex’s voice cut through the noise. Heads turned.

“We’re not even hearing each other,” they said. “We’re just yelling what we’ve been told. It’s making us hate each other—and for what?”
A murmur rippled through the crowd. Someone jeered, but Jamie stood up. “Alex is right,” they said. “I don’t agree with them on everything, but this isn’t working.”

Others rose, not united in belief but in fatigue. The moment didn’t heal the divide—it couldn’t—but it cracked the virus’s grip.
Alex didn’t fix the world. The lines stayed, the arguments continued. But within themselves, the Wetiko mind virus lost its hold. They’d learned to question, to listen, to stand in the gray space where motives were unclear and intentions tangled. It wasn’t victory—it was freedom.
And maybe, just maybe, that was enough to start.