Christmas dessert for one, and the compassion we've lost
During the blazing hot days in Cape Town, a friend of mine used to take a deck chair to his local Woolies and make himself at home in the frozen food section.
“Coolest place in town”, he’d declare. He also had endless funny observations about the customers and management’s tolerance of his ‘squatting’.
That was of course before COVID.
When I look back over 2020, two experiences encapsulate so much of what I will remember of this “annus horribilis” (to quote Queen Elizabeth). Funny enough, both involve Woolies. The first happened shortly after Level 5 lockdown in March.
One morning I woke up to a seemingly endless stream of irate texts. (From time-to-time, I become the people’s favorite I-hate-the-government agony aunt.) The thing that seemed to have pushed many of my (very well-off) texters over the edge this time was the fact that – due to the COVID restrictions– they could no longer buy hot pies at Woolies. They were furious. My gentle suggestion that this might be a small price to pay to keep our fellow citizens safe (and perhaps that they could consider buying a frozen pie and sticking it in the oven) was met with outrage and a lot of swearing emojis.
The second experience happened two days ago.
I was weaving my way through Woolies at the speed of a Formula 1 driver. (I hate grocery shopping). As I slowed down just enough to grab some bacon and chuck it into the trolley, I suddenly spotted an elderly woman, slightly unstable on her feet, staring at the frozen desserts. Her blue eyes, filled with sadness, met mine over our respective masks. I stopped. “Too many choices?” I asked. “It’s not that,” she replied. “They are just so big.”
“What are you looking for?” I asked. “A dessert for Christmas Day,” she said. “But just for one… just for me.”
Behind my mask, I bit my lip really hard not to cry in front of her. We chatted for a few more minutes, while we scanned the desserts for smaller portions. Then we said goodbye and I made my way to the check-out counter in a haze of tears.
This is the incredibly cruel world we now live in. A world where we wear masks and can’t smile at people, where our fellow human beings are a potential death sentence, and where elderly people have to choose between being alone or risking said death sentence just for seeing their loved ones for Christmas.
Not in my wildest dreams could I have thought a year ago that this would be what our lives looked like now.
So why are these two stories sticking with me?
Well, it seems to me that it teaches us a very important lesson.
Even though it is true that many people gave (and are still giving) heroic and selfless service to others during this pandemic, the vast majority of people around the globe have cared (and complained) more about the inconvenience of the regulations than the lives of others.
I have never spoken so much about cigarettes or alcohol in my work- or for that matter in my personal- life, as in this last year. Not to talk about the “right” to exercise or hang out on the beach.
Of course, that is part of my job, but what struck me was the lack of compassion when it came to relatively small sacrifices (what I call the Woolies hot pie phenomenon), or the callousness with which people would say: “We can’t let the economy suffer for a few thousand deaths. The price we and our children will pay is just too big.”
“UNTIL IT IS YOU OR YOUR CHILDREN THAT DIE!!” I often wanted to shout.
Of course, I understand the fatigue. I have it too - in spades. However, as hard as it is, we have to find compassion during this time and especially around Christmas.
And that means to accept, albeit begrudgingly, that the rules have been put in place to protect us all. Clearly, there is nothing for the President or government to gain in the Grinchlike “stealing” of our Christmas. If anything, they have tried very hard to keep a differentiated approach and not just declare another hard lockdown as has been done by most worried European governments – even though the numbers most probably justify it.
If we want to be angry, surely we should rather direct our energy to all those people who have been partying, or sending their children to raves, or not wearing masks, or failing to observe social distancing?
If it wasn’t for them, none of these new regulations would have been necessary.
The thing I want more than anything for Christmas is for my family and people I care about to stay safe so that a year from now, we can all lie on the beaches and be free to be with anyone without hiding behind a mask.
That will take a gigantic effort from all of us. It will also involve sacrifices - as that elderly lady in Woolies knows all too well.