Can we stop loo-sing the plot over virus fears?
MY children have been infected by the coronavirus. OK, not technically and not physically … but this isn’t a case of #fakenews, clickbait or sensationalism. They really have been infected – by panic.
Worse than that, they’ve been affected by the childish behaviour of adults – although describing our national toilet paper tantrum as “childish” gives a bad name even to a two-year-old after a red cordial binge.
It’s disgraceful is what it is. Unlike the actual virus, I feel quite helpless to protect my children. I can make them wash their hands but I can’t quarantine them from the screens where misinformation and panic spreads unchecked.
While they are mildly fearful of catching COVID-19, I’ve managed to reassure them that if even if that happens, statistics show they will be just fine.
Already at their young age they’ve endured whooping cough, influenza A and more cases of gastro than I care to count – if they’ve lived through that, they’ll live through this.
I’m not worried about our ability to survive, but I am worried about what they’ve learned about our community.
It’s not just that I’ve busted them counting out our remaining rolls of toilet paper, it’s that they’ve witnessed images on television of adults punching each other over the last pack of Quilton. It’s that jokes are spreading among their peers about certain nationalities and disease.
We’ve gone from witnessing the very best of our country after the devastation of the bushfires, to the very worst over … what? What has actually happened yet? Other than the sinking of the stock market and the tanking of the tourism industry (hardly insignificant issues, I accept … but also absolutely nothing to do with the need for bog rolls), the personal impact of coronavirus is extremely limited.
So far, that is.
It’s fear of the future that is fuelling this crisis, and that is the absolute last lesson I want my children to learn. Like President Roosevelt once said: “We have nothing to fear but fear itself.”
It’s a sentiment echoed in the now-viral social media post from Canadian infectious disease expert Dr Abdu Sharkawy, who warned that people’s exaggerated reactions to the spread of the coronavirus could do more damage than the disease itself.
As he so beautifully summarised: Facts not fear. Clean hands. Open hearts.
Which is the opposite of what I experienced after ducking into our local grocery store on the way home from school yesterday.
I’ll admit, I was absolutely stunned. Not that the toilet paper aisle was devoid of all except a few packs of Cottonelle (have to agree with the literal a-holes of society here, it’s never been my loo roll of choice either), but by the demeanour of the employee manning the selfcheckout lane.
Her shoulders were hunched, her face was tense, her smile was brittle.
I asked her how she was doing.
“It’s just been brutal,” she said, shaking her head.
“I never thought I would see this from our shoppers, these are people I see every week and I never thought I would see them behave like this.
“We haven’t had actual physical fights, but we’ve had to break up shouting matches and we’ve copped plenty of abuse as well.”
Even as we spoke, trolley after trolley was rolling through with, yep, toilet rolls.
As I pushed my own trolley towards the exit (with no rolls – I refuse to buy into doomsday pooping), she stopped me, touching me on the shoulder.
“Thank you for asking,” she smiled. “And wish me luck.”
But I wish her more than that. I wish for her to find the helpers.
It’s what I’ve reminded myself of yet again, as I try to do with every crisis.
There are the little girls in Far North Queensland who are wheeling around a wagon of toilet paper (paid for with their pocket money) to distribute to pensioners.
There is the mum from school who is sharing posts about where to find toilet paper for those in need, and looking for hand sanitiser to send to a friend who has an auto-immune disease.
There is the Carrara Aldi worker helping an elderly lady with a walker who was without any toilet paper at all. A friend saw this worker quietly slip the customer an Aldi bag stuffed with a few rolls of TP from the staff bathroom.
And there’s anyone who refuses to buy into this pandemic of panic.
These are the acts of humanity I want to focus upon. This is what I want my children to see.
To all these helpers, I just want to give you all a highfive.
And then go wash my hands.