Pandemic Ponderings: Less of Me

I've heard quite a few people talking about the positive side effects of the coronavirus lockdown. Some are grateful for a bit of rest, some are finding renewed creativity, some are seeing their kids blossom with less adult micromanagement, and many are grateful for time with family, especially to do activities they haven't done together for a while. Then there are, of course, the much-deserved praises and words of thanks being given to health workers and essential service providers. I frequently hear the rally cry to band together as humanity and work together for good. I hear the reassurance that this will not last forever and we will "win this fight."

That's all great.

But it's a very privileged view.

The facts that I still have money in the bank, food in my kitchen, gas in my car, and water and soap to wash hands show that I am part of a privileged group. But I would like to be done viewing this crisis through that lens. In fact, I've just "snoozed" a bunch of facebook groups that continuously post ideas of what to do during isolation for I realized that these just make me focus more on ME and US -- and I'm tired of it. 

I know people -- dear people -- in places like Jordan, Nigeria, and Palestine; places like my home city of Jos where the "big" hospital only has six ventilators; places like the Gaza Strip where people were already treated like prisoners with inadequate healthcare even before the spread of SARS-CoV-2 and subsequent isolation measures; places like Bethlehem that are low-income but completely dependent on tourism -- which isn't happening now or any time in the near future. When I hear that the situation in Bethlehem is dire and that Nigerian patients will just be left to die because there won't be enough ventilators, it hits me like a ton of bricks: I need to stop thinking of ME and start caring more about the "least of these." True, hardship is in some ways relative. And I do think that it's healthy for each one of us to name the ways we're under stress these days and see how we can find peace even in the lamenting. But it's also true that some hardships are just much harder than others. 

The problem with such a disaster as this, especially with it affecting the entire world pretty much at the same time, is that the tendency (and in some ways, the necessity) is to hunker down and care for our own. I ask, "Does my family have enough masks? Are we washing our hands enough? Do we have enough food?" Even, I hate to mention it, "What extra treats can I have on hand for us when we're missing family and friends?" I look at my country's statistics -- and my state's and my county's. And I would guess many do similarly. It's probably, in some ways, a survival technique. "I'm threatened so what do I need to do to make it? How do I protect my family?"

But in other ways, I'd venture to call it self-absorption and that's what I personally want to be done with. Yes, we're all suffering at the same time. Yes, our hospitals are also short on ventilators. Yes, we have the sick and dying here in America. But the danger is graver in these other places. The hospitals have much fewer resources, the people have less capital, the spaces are more crowded. I want my heart to be filled with love and concern for the least of these. I want my mind to be thinking of how to help or at least caring enough to listen. Less of me. Less of us.