I write this in the aftermath of a few conversations over the past few weeks with a range of people in Australia about COVID-19. The conversations have typically had a few themes. One — anxiety about the side-effects of vaccinations and debate about whether people should be vaccinated at all or just wait the pandemic out. Two — disquiet about having received the AstraZeneca (AZ) vaccination instead of the Pfizer vaccination (AZ has slightly lower effectiveness at preventing communicable disease but is 100% effective at preventing serious disease or death). Three — annoyance about plans being changed again, because of state-based lockdowns.
Full disclosure, as a resident of Melbourne, I have partaken in all of these discussions and have mourned canceled events and holidays and briefly anguished about having had the AZ jab two days before the vaccination program was briefly halted.
The conversations I have had with my family and friends in India are quite different[1]. The themes of those conversations have been. One — the people they know who have contracted COVID-19 or died from it (about 5 diagnoses in the last few days alone). Two — the impossibility of accessing appropriate medical care if someone was to get sick; hospitals have closed their doors, there are no beds, nurses, drugs or ventilators available, and people are turning to instagram influencers to source drugs and support. Those of us in the developed world with access to socialized medicine probably have no conception of what it would be like to be in a country where the government and health systems have very simply, washed their hands off the problem. Three — the government’s response (or lack thereof).
My sister’s summary of Prime Minister Modi’s speech? “You do you, boo”.
Four — sadness and anger about missing key events in each other’s lives. My sister was to get married this year. I won’t be there. I will be unlikely to see my family until (at least) 2022. I have a friend who is lamenting the closure of Singapore and India borders. His Indian mother now cannot visit to meet her first-born grandchild. If a member of my family was to become unwell or die during the pandemic, I would not be there. This is the stark reality of the global pandemic.
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Let’s name our privilege.
I recognize the immense privilege I hold as I write this. I am vaccinated, I reside in the developed world in a country that has somewhat amazingly — all but eradicated community transmission, I have been able to work through the pandemic and have enough health literacy and science education to have maintained low anxiety and emotional equilibrium through it. My family are able to sequester themselves at home, have jobs that they can complete from home, and both my parents have been partially vaccinated.
I write this piece, not to make you feel guilty about the privilege you (we!) have — but to highlight the responsibility we have, to ourselves, each other, and the world. Privilege-shaming is not a thing I engage in (if I won’t shame someone for being born into poverty or difficult situations, I won’t shame someone for being born into wealth), nor do I buy into the “first world problems” trope (we live in the first world, ergo, our problems will take on a different shape to those of someone who may reside in the developing world). I have lamented, and will continue to lament, the plans that COVID-19 has scuppered. I will also hold in mind, the immense luck that allows my worries to be comparatively miniscule.
However, I do believe that we all have a responsibility to be aware of the dire situation the world is in at present and to respond, in the best way we can. The stark reality is that COVID-19 has set the world ablaze, and has disproportionally impacted on the developing world and those with lower social and economic capital.
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Put your oxygen mask on first.
While you may not be able to fix the current situation in India/Brazil or elsewhere, we can all take some simple steps to protect ourselves and each other. Let’s use the analogy of oxygen masks dropping in an airplane.
Recognize that you are lucky to be flying and to have oxygen masks available.
Not everyone is able to get a vaccination or to be tested promptly when they need. The majority of my non-healthcare worker friends in Australia are still waiting to be vaccinated. The bulk of the population in developing countries will not have vaccinations available for many months. I know people overseas who have had to pay for each COVID-19 test.
Put your mask on first. Don’t quibble about it. Don’t argue about the brand of the mask.
Self-explanatory. If you are offered a vaccination, take it. If a vaccination has been through regulatory approval in Australia, the United States or United Kingdom, it is likely to have good effectiveness and safety. You may feel like you don’t need it now (I hear this a lot from people in Australia), but you will likely regret this decision if we have another outbreak.
You don’t need two oxygen masks. Let’s get everyone vaccinated before we start trying to double up on vaccines ourselves (I am referring to taking two different types of vaccinations, not both doses of a double-dose shot).
Convince other people to put their masks on.
Spread information, not misinformation and panic. There is enough bad advice, vaccine misinformation and anti-vaccination panic out there. We don’t need more. Understand the facts, understand the risks and share this information with people who may be less informed.
Allow the pilot to fly the craft.
Self-explanatory. I will always remember the anti-government rhetoric in Victoria during the harshest days of our lockdown. People blamed each other, they blamed hotel quarantine, but they blamed the government most of all. Daniel Andrews (Victorian Premier) and Brett Sutton (Victorian Chief Health Officer) received the majority of blame for implementing a lockdown. Nevertheless, they acted as they needed to based on the most-evolving health information and this held us in good stead.
Once you have your masks on, see if you can help other people.
Perhaps not people in India directly, but are there people around you who need help? Marooned international students? Friends separated from families? People who are out of work because of the economic fall-out of COVID-19?
There is power in stopping to look outside the bubbles we all live in and in recognising and bringing perspective to some of the struggles we face.
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[1] At the time of writing, India is experiencing a massive second wave of COVID-19 and stands on the brink of a humanitarian disaster.
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This post was previously published on Medium.
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