text: My name is John Livingston. I am the 42nd spokesbird for the Brooklyn Birds Confederation. I am a willet, or you can call me Tringa Semipalmata if you want to use your high school Latin once in a lifetime. I am named after the legendary Jonathan Livingston Seagull. I encourage you to Google him. We willets are the selected species for the spokesbird of the BBC. The first time we were selected for this duty at around 1820 when a few of us confused our migration path and never left Brooklyn again. We were selected specifically because of our inspiring voices that are perfectly suitable for any kind of public speaking. We birds do not host any TED Talks, but if we were, the most-watched ones would have been the ones presented by us willets. You homo sapiens generally write and read our words as will, will, willet, will, will, willet -- even though it is much more complicated than that. Anyways, today, I am not here to talk about us, but you. Since the recent COVID-19 pandemic, you, and I am not talking about all of you, but about those voyeuristic perverts of you, got out of control watching our private lives. For the record, we are terribly sorry about the pandemic and glad that this time it wasn’t from us. As a reminder, bats are not birds; they are mammals. For years, we birds tolerated your perverted actions. We, I must say, even liked it up to a certain extent. Bird watching as you call it when kept in limits, is understandable. We, too, use online maps that are connected to your bird watching apps to draw strict borders to define where this vice can happen. These defined places include parks, arboretums, lakes, and some private houses of the filthiest of yours. Parks and so are public places. They are for all of us. We are smart enough to be considerate of our actions in those areas. Even in our mating season, we keep our private lives away from those places. Homes, on the other hand, are a little different. Not all of us are interested in the delicious nuts you leave for us going through hell and high water to keep them away from the squirrels -- our sworn enemies. Some of us, especially Instagram influences like red cardinals, have their moral sentiment. They feel ok with special home visits. I must say, it should be very hard to resist those red-cardinal-attracting bird feeders on Amazon. No sir; we are not jealous. Absolutely not. Their body; their choice. Once again, when it is limited to designated areas for a few of you, we like being the center of attention. I must add: “All birds equally love being watched, but red cardinals more equally love being watched.” Now I ask you: where is the problem? Let me explain. All around the world, quarantines, and shelter in place orders were released. And you fine people, very well, obeyed them. When all of you are stuck in your homes, jobless, or with jobs with so-called (flies a foot above the podium and makes air quotes with its feet here) working from suitable jobs, your balconies, patios, and even regular windows become screens to our private lives. What we eat. When we sleep. How we sing. And even, pardon my french, how we mate become the new binge-worthy series to your eyes. Your social media posts and respectable news institutions’ stories that are talking about how we sing, where to find us and so, are encouraging people for this meretricious activity. Amateur bird watchers, who don’t know the rules for respectable interaction, increase their headcount every day. Another pair of eyes appear on our behinds every three seconds. Photographers, who cannot shoot fashion models anymore, zooming into our bedrooms. Musicians, who cannot go to their studios, stealing our songs. People, ordinary people try tricks in all shapes and sizes to get us closer. Now I ask you. No. Now I beg you. Please. A Little bit of privacy.