It’s hard to put into adequate words the shift that has happened, both within me and – from what I can tell – the population at large over the last two years. When the pandemic first took hold, I was blissfully ignorant of the staying power it would possess; not in the sense of the evolution of the virus itself, but rather, the social and political ramifications of it. More importantly, perhaps, I was unaware of the way(s) in which the virus would insidiously creep into my life and social circle to tear away relationships and belief structures that I thought, at least back then, were as solid as the ground we stand on. I now know, with sad certainty, that the ground can drop out from underneath you at any moment, especially when our greatest fears are not only realised, but exploited.
Over this time, anyone who knows me – or at the very least, has come across my corner of the internet – knows that I have been vocal about my ever-evolving stance on the issue of the pandemic, business closures, lockdowns, vaccine mandates, and political corruption. For the record, although I’ve spent most of my life sharing my opinions to the public through writing, I’ve never had any desire to write my way into the muddy waters of politics. Not simply because I perceived it to be an impossibly complex and exhausting area of debate (although, I did and still do) but because I never felt compelled to educate myself enough to have and share a qualified opinion. This is something I’m ashamed of, admittedly. It should not have taken the world as we know it coming to a grinding halt for me to wake up and care enough to derive an informed opinion on the very politics which dictate how we live. By now, though, that has all changed. Whatever ignorant and impressionable view I once had of our world is still often ignorant and impressionable (this is, if you ask me, a reality of the human experience), but it is now informed by an appetite for context, critical thinking, and nuanced rhetoric. Rather than being complicit in the ongoing regurgitation of information and moral righteousness pushed forward by unchecked identity politics, I now aim to be an active participant in the learning (and unlearning) of the ideologies which took centre stage during the pandemic, and remain there today.
When I started writing articles about this, I anticipated backlash. Cancel culture has become a buzzword of sorts in the Western world, but the reality is, our current climate is not favourable to friendly debate or disagreement. The exchange of information today is easy, but it is simultaneously weaponized with our inability to separate information from misinformation, fact from opinion, and belief or political standing from identity. I knew there was a chance my DM’s and comment section would be flooded with reactive, angry or otherwise demeaning messages, and I was at peace with that. What I didn’t anticipate, however, was the way in which some of the relationships closest to me would implode on impact. It’s one thing to expect an attack from outside – it’s another for it to erupt within your home after you think you’ve secured the perimeter.
Last year, I began to notice those close to me who seemed uncomfortable, or otherwise inconvenienced, by my need to speak openly about pandemic policies and vaccine mandates. It’s like I was suddenly aware of the elephant in the room, one which made me feel like a burden to those who perhaps didn’t share my beliefs, even if we had never found ourselves in a direct debate or argument over it previously. I found myself tip-toeing through conversations, or trying to reduce or minimise my instinct to engage with the subject matter, so as to not be “too much” for anyone. But at the same time, I was acutely aware that self-censorship was, in many ways, the catalyst to the rise of dogmatic thinking. I felt torn – stretched between the version of myself that was easier on the palette and consumed with people-pleasing tendencies, and the version of myself that sensed we were wading into dangerous waters as a society. My desire wasn’t to be problematic or argumentative; rather, I simply believe that the truth can only be realised and agreed upon after a thorough vetting process. How can we arrive at a conclusion without discussion – not only with those who already sit in our perceived camp, but those who exist outside of it? How can we actually push back against misinformation if we aren’t allowed to have transparent, nuanced conversations about what information is correct?
Unfortunately, it appears to me that in the absence of practised religion, and in the face of fear, many of us have attached our identity to politics. We cannot argue issues in a fair or nuanced manner, because any objection to what we perceive as right or true is not only a threat to our own beliefs, but our whole person. We are so desperate to anchor our identities to something that feels tangible, meaningful, and universally recognized, that we have started to view ourselves in accordance with political stereotypes and tropes. There is no room for nuance or self-discovery in a world where our political vote or a decision to get vaccinated is leveraged as an oversimplified justification for dismissal. We’ve unknowingly ushered in an era of tribalism and mob mentality which not only groups us according to perceived political standing, but also pits us against each other in vehement, unforgiving fashion.
When this style of reactive rhetoric is paired with hot-button social issues such as race, gender, sexuality, and more, we collectively stumble into a minefield that is impossible to navigate without casualty. We look to play whatever trump card is available to us in order to silence, shame, dismiss or punish the person whose ideas oppose our own. And guess what? That’s where the debate ends. That’s the whole point. At every opportunity, we’ve learned to hit the kill-switch on conversations that challenge us, or make us feel uncomfortable, thanks to a culture that has been largely championed by political groups. This is a cheap and problematic ploy that further fortifies our respective echo chambers of opinion and ensures that we will, despite the proposed intent of the mainstream narrative, remain divided and at odds. Let me ask you – since when was it a bad thing to hear fresh perspectives? To ask questions? To have healthy disagreements or occasionally agree to disagree? Is this really the ideological legacy we want to leave behind? Doesn’t it seem strange to exist in a time when censorship is celebrated and critical thinking and honest expression are viewed as a threat?
What I’ve come to learn is that the social wounds from this pandemic will long outlast the virus itself. Even in the absence of lockdowns and a 24/7 COVID news cycle, I still feel the heaviness of the last two years. I’m still grieving the loss of relationships that I thought were strong enough to weather the storm of healthy debate and political variance. I still feel a surge of anger and hurt everytime I hear one of our politicians (or anyone, for that matter) justifying their divisive policies in direct contradiction to “the science” as it currently stands. For the record, I hate feeling this way. It has been (and still is) my foremost goal to not be reactive, and not succumb to the temptations of emotionally-charged argument. It is not my wish to grab at low-hanging fruit, nor is it in my nature to hold grudges or feel vindictive. But admittedly, the wounds accrued over the last two years are still gaping and stinging from the salt poured into them with continued attempts at maintaining a false narrative. I only wish everyone could see the hundreds, if not thousands, of messages I received from individuals who had their lives, families and jobs ripped away due to the hateful, divisive climate which our government played a direct hand in creating. I only wish some of the same people who were so quick to sit atop their perceived moral high-ground with respect to vaccines, lockdowns, and continued mandates, could see and understand the irreparable damage those policies (and their participation in the mob that empowered them) caused. After all, it wasn’t that long ago that mainstream publications felt emboldened enough to publish headlines and tweets essentially calling for overt harm or dismissal of unvaccinated citizens, and that is a hard sentiment to forgive and forget.
But even today, the war rages on. Our elected government continues to stand by their policies (and in cases like ArriveCan, even double down on them) despite global criticism and the emergence of new information. By now, we know that the available vaccines never did what they promised to do, and that the continued monitoring of vaccine status (or enforcement of a continued booster protocol) is unjustified and unscientific. We know, based on available science, that Trudeau was wrong to emblazon a culture of hatred when he championed the removal of unvaccinated people from their jobs and social circles. We know, unequivocally, that his decision to limit the personal freedoms of unvaccinated people (via domestic or international travel) was based on politics, not science. We also know – and somehow continue to justify – that the mass-administration of vaccines has led to an onslaught of adverse events, which could only be justified as a “small price to pay” in cases where informed consent was readily given. But when health decisions become provincial political policy, informed consent is abandoned. And at a time when most of us would scream “my body, my choice” from the rooftops, we all too easily turned our backs on those who held out for bodily autonomy in the case of a new, largely unqualified vaccine.
So, it’s not hard to understand – and identify with – the rage and heartbreak felt by so many even today when faced with news of ArriveCan and Digital ID, the passing of Bill C-11, the continuation of employment vaccine mandates, and the decision of some Canadian Universities to mandate third doses for on-campus residence or learning. It’s also not hard to understand the anxiety and pessimism felt by so many as we head into the fall and winter, knowing that our freedoms may once again hang in the balance due to another flu/COVID season and unrelenting political agendas. Collectively, trust and good faith has been broken. As Rupa Subramanya wrote in her recent op-ed, “Knowing what we now do about the travel vaccine mandate came into being, the Trudeau government or any government for that matter can’t simply blithely tell us that they’re following the science to justify future restrictions on our civil liberties. The threshold must be much higher than that and governments must be held to account if they fail to provide a convincing explanation as to why they need to curtail our freedoms.”
Similarly, I think, we must set a new threshold for the judgements and justifications leveraged towards friends, family members, colleagues, and even strangers on the internet when engaging in political, pandemic-related discourse. We must recognize the damage that has been done, and work to repair that damage as a collective whole, rather than one group still pitted against the other in the battle for righteousness and confirmation bias. Apologies must be made, forgiveness must be given, and trust must be regained over time. Truthfully, this won't be easy for many of us. But if you ask me, this experience should serve as a painful testament to the impact which identity politics can have on our society, especially when our government seems so willing to use our fear as a political and social pawn. I can only hope that, moving forward, we don’t fall victim to the same trap and can, instead, hopefully find healing and cohesion.
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