A tale of two cities in a time of pandemic

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.’’ Charles Dickens’ opening words to his novel, A Tale of Two Cities, are among the most famous in history and it is easy to see why. Just consider how well Dickens’ words apply to the current times when the ‘‘best’’ co-exists with the ‘‘worst’’ and when wisdom, belief, light, and hope are intermingled with foolishness, incredulity, darkness, and despair.

We have the wisdom of science alongside the foolishness of conspiracy theories. We have those who believe how serious this pandemic is and those who disbelieve it. We see light where there is good governance, and darkness where there is neglect and death.

We have those who hope for a kinder, more Earth-friendly future and those who despair of a technology-driven dystopia ruled by surveillance capitalists.

In the age of Covid-19, the Dickensian duality and contrasts are all around us. I got a taste of it on a recent gorgeous sunny afternoon as I walked with my husband around Hagley Park. It’s been a place of solace that has comforted us through every disaster that has befallen our city – from earthquakes and mosque shootings to the current pandemic.

As we walked, marvelling at how pleasant the temperature was and how magnificent the colours were on the trees and below our feet, we reflected on our lockdown experience.

It really had not been that bad, we agreed. Our 17-year-old son wasn’t driving us crazy, and we loved the quieter pace of life and our daily walks.

It wasn’t long after our moment of reflection and gratitude that we heard angry voices coming from the other side of the road. A woman had got out of a parked car and was yelling in distress.

I couldn’t make out what she was saying, or whom she was saying to, but a few people momentarily stopped and then moved on when the woman got back into the car and the street became quiet again.

Something told me that I needed to cross the road to make sure she was OK. As I got closer, I could see the woman was siting with a toddler at the back of the car and a man was sitting at the front. I could also tell from hearing muffled voices that the arguments were still continuing.

I walked to the car and confidently locked eyes with the man sitting on the driver’s seat.

I am not normally a brave person but I felt secure because my husband was there. Also, my involvement with Shakti, which looks after ethnic women who experience domestic violence, has made me more determined to intervene where there is a threat of violence.

‘‘It is stressful times, are you OK,’’ I asked, addressing the young man only. I wanted him to know that I cared for him, that I had not automatically assumed him to be the villain.

As Dickens reminds us in his novel, it is often injustice that boils into perpetual violence, so I took care not to appear partial.

Looking at the man, I could see he was young, almost too young to bear the heavy load of parenthood.

He stared back at me. His face was tense with pent up anger, but he showed no aggression. In fact, he almost looked relieved to see me. He pulled out a cigarette but before he could light it, I urged him to go for a walk.

‘‘It’s such a lovely day – a walk will make you feel better’’. To my surprise, he didn’t hesitate. He got out of the car and walked off.

It was only then that I turned to the woman sitting at the back and asked if she felt safe.

She burst into tears and thanked me, time and time again, for ‘‘stopping’’ and for ‘‘caring’’. ‘‘This happens all the time. He gets very aggressive,’’ she said through her sobs. The toddler sitting next to her looked placid. He was autistic.

The woman knew how to get help – she had been through the process before, she told me.

I tapped my number into her phone. Later that night I sent a short text to make sure the mother and son were OK. She didn’t really say. She just thanked me again for caring, saying I had ‘‘no idea how grateful’’ she was.

I still have no idea what the yelling and the arguments were about or who was at fault. All I know is what I saw: two human beings broken and in pain on a sunny autumn afternoon.

And so it was that I came to write to you about the tale of two cities – where some are getting through this pandemic relatively unscathed while others are pushed to the brink of despair as their daily struggles intensify with added anxiety and stress.

Take care everyone and remember to be kind. You never know what others are going through.

Some are getting through this pandemic relatively unscathed while others are pushed to the brink of despair.