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Life’s changed so quickly, it’s been hard to keep track. I’ll admit my initial response was childishly self-centred. Woe is me, my favourite conference is cancelled; I won’t be able to give my talk and sell half a dozen more books. But, soon after, I saw the point when large gatherings were banned (although it was a shame my Wednesday afternoon choir couldn’t do its final concert). Next came concern for the mental well-being of those whose lives were restricted and livelihoods lost. |
I felt grief when schools and pubs and restaurants were closed, despite not having much use for any of them; and guilt when a minor health issue kept me from my usual outdoor volunteering, with staffing already low as the over 70s were advised to stay at home. I welcomed the lockdown in bringing some order to an atmosphere of chaos and confusion, despite being appalled when I saw it happening to my publisher in Spain. I found a host of silver linings and even admired the most egotistical prime minister and the most extreme right wing government’s management of the crisis. And then the doctors and nurses began to die.
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I totally get staying at home to protect the health service, but it’s easy for me to play my part. Sharing a large house with only one other easy-going person, is a world away from being stuck in a tiny flat with a partner prone to temper tantrums and a crowd of hyperactive kids. Watering an ailing pot plant cannot compare to wandering a garden where I watch birds, bees and butterflies; where I grow fruit, vegetables and wildflowers. While I miss my longer walks in the Peak District, I know that, with fields across the road, I’m luckier than most. An hour’s exercise within walking distance of home isn’t so pleasant in areas where green spaces have been eroded, partly through short-sighted planning decisions that put profit before people.
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I'm so lucky to see this from my desk.
I'm so lucky that I can take my morning walk here.
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Ah, but you say, this pandemic was unprecedented; these consequences could not have been foreseen. Perhaps, but we’ve had decades of politics to protect the rich and punish the poor. The bedroom tax ensured that only the better off would have the option of self-isolating a symptomatic family member away from the rest.
And now it’s the low-paid workers who are keeping us going: supermarket staff; refuse collectors; delivery men and women on zero-hours contracts. Suddenly, without choice or consultation, they’re on the frontline.
Parallels with wartime are ever present, and often misused, but I can’t help thinking we prepare for war much more successfully than we’ve prepared for this. Because the government should have seen this coming, but they’ve repeatedly done too little too late. Leaving the EU on 31st January took precedence over clubbing together with other European nations to purchase personal protection equipment for staff in health and social care. The Prime Minister’s ego – or at least his public persona as optimistic and upbeat – delayed the decision to put the country into lockdown, despite the lessons from Italy and Spain. Tracking back further, billions have been wasted on missiles that will never be used while stockpiling PPE was vetoed as costing too much.
And now doctors and nurses and staff in care homes are paying the price. Doctors who, while eventually earning a decent salary, begin their careers with massive student-loan debts. Nurses who were denied a pay rise while politicians voted to give theirs a boost. Staff in social care paid a pittance because wiping bums in a manner that preserves the dignity of both parties is deemed less important than managing a hedge fund or owning a football club. Many of these heroic workers come from the vilified European Union or have felt the brunt of racism and the hostile environment to immigration of which this government was once so proud.
And now it’s the low-paid workers who are keeping us going: supermarket staff; refuse collectors; delivery men and women on zero-hours contracts. Suddenly, without choice or consultation, they’re on the frontline.
Parallels with wartime are ever present, and often misused, but I can’t help thinking we prepare for war much more successfully than we’ve prepared for this. Because the government should have seen this coming, but they’ve repeatedly done too little too late. Leaving the EU on 31st January took precedence over clubbing together with other European nations to purchase personal protection equipment for staff in health and social care. The Prime Minister’s ego – or at least his public persona as optimistic and upbeat – delayed the decision to put the country into lockdown, despite the lessons from Italy and Spain. Tracking back further, billions have been wasted on missiles that will never be used while stockpiling PPE was vetoed as costing too much.
And now doctors and nurses and staff in care homes are paying the price. Doctors who, while eventually earning a decent salary, begin their careers with massive student-loan debts. Nurses who were denied a pay rise while politicians voted to give theirs a boost. Staff in social care paid a pittance because wiping bums in a manner that preserves the dignity of both parties is deemed less important than managing a hedge fund or owning a football club. Many of these heroic workers come from the vilified European Union or have felt the brunt of racism and the hostile environment to immigration of which this government was once so proud.
You know all this, I don’t have to tell you. And we all need to stick to the rules while keeping going the best way we can. For now, I’m stoking my anger because, when this is over, I want lessons to have been learned about who is fit to govern and what government should do. I want us to undo the damage that began with Margaret Thatcher’s famous phrase There’s no such thing as society. Yeah, what would you have to say about that now? It’s not what I anticipated when I began this post, but there’s a great excuse for me to read to the opening of “The Witch’s Funeral”, one of the stories in my collection, Becoming Someone.
I wrote this about a week ago but left it to see if my anger would fester or fade away. It seems it peaks on Thursdays when the hypocrites gather to clap for the NHS. Don’t get me wrong: I was moved when I saw the footage of people out on their balconies or leaning out of their windows of the high-rise apartments around a hospital in Italy – or was it Spain? And I don’t begrudge those who feel a sense of solidarity with their neighbours: it must be great for those who are socially isolated and for helping children understand why they can't see their friends.
This video is amazing!
— Dev Sharma MYP (@DevSharmaMYP) April 15, 2020
Diversity is amazing ????#YouClapForMeNow pic.twitter.com/ogI7be80uj
But, let’s face it, most aren’t clapping for the healthcare heroes; they’re clapping to feel better about themselves. And I might have joined them if I didn’t live in a former mining town which turned Tory at the last election but one. I’ll shop for my neighbours and greet them warmly (at a distance) if we meet on our exercise walk. But I won’t pander to the delusions of those who elected a government that prides itself on hostility to migrants and wants to privatise the NHS.
Some would argue that this isn’t the time for politics; if not now, when? The NHS has always been political. How we support or don’t support the vulnerable is political. As is how we divide up the common pot.
Some would argue that this isn’t the time for politics; if not now, when? The NHS has always been political. How we support or don’t support the vulnerable is political. As is how we divide up the common pot.
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My American friend Charli Mills is much better than I am at creating literature from emotion while it’s still painful and raw. But this week’s prompt for a 99-word story couldn’t come better for me. While I have a much-loved crazy character – who, along with her “colleagues”, ran amok earlier this week in response to D Avery’s Characters Okay Morale Corral – this is where I needed to go. I’m no poet, but I’m rather proud of this piece:
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One Thursday evening
Out they poured from their houses
Paused on their doorsteps
Ready to proclaim
Their support
The ritual way
With their hands.
Primed by the media
The government briefings
The slogans targeted at their hearts,
They knew what was needed,
They’d done it before.
In common cause with their neighbours,
Albeit socially distanced
In their separate booths,
They picked up the pens
They marked their crosses
In the box
For the party that promised
To rid dear Blighty
Of the infection
The virus
The scourge of immigration
Of social justice
Of healthcare free at the point of delivery for all.
Out they poured from their houses
Paused on their doorsteps
Ready to proclaim
Their support
The ritual way
With their hands.
Primed by the media
The government briefings
The slogans targeted at their hearts,
They knew what was needed,
They’d done it before.
In common cause with their neighbours,
Albeit socially distanced
In their separate booths,
They picked up the pens
They marked their crosses
In the box
For the party that promised
To rid dear Blighty
Of the infection
The virus
The scourge of immigration
Of social justice
Of healthcare free at the point of delivery for all.
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Excuse the plethora of links in the earlier part of this post; they’re partly here as reminders to me. Do check out the videos if you have time. Click on the images for my other posts on the coronavirus pandemic. |
My fellow IQ author, Clare Stevens, has put together a wonderful post on how Inspired Quill, stranded in Spain, is keeping going through the lockdown. Supporting them has just got a whole lot easier with four short story collections – including mine – discounted when purchased in e-book format directly from the publisher.
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