Spare us an annual Covid Memorial Day
Ayear on from the beginning of lockdown, thousands lit candles to commemorate those who had lost their lives in the pandemic. Momentum is growing for this to become a regular event; scores of MPs and peers from both sides of the House have written to the PM urging him to establish an annual “Covid Memorial Day” to mourn the dead and honour front-line workers.
Advocates argue that we observe a minute’s silence for war victims, and that the total of Britain’s Covid dead exceeds the civilian death toll in World War Two. Yet I feel deeply uncomfortable at the prospect. In the world wars the flower of the nation’s youth was snatched away. In the pandemic the average victim was 82.
Why not have an annual day of mourning for the victims of cancer, dementia or even previous pandemics? Most importantly, there is clearly a specific point to be taken from the two world wars, as on Holocaust Memorial Day – “Never again.”
What form might Covid Memorial Day take? I’d hope it would be a private, respectful silence, but I suspect it would rapidly become politicised; inevitably descending into a jamboree for “Our NHS”. And just how authentic would it be?
Take “Clapping for Carers” last year or the pressure on sports players to “take the knee” for BLM, or even the Tory MPs vying to display the biggest Union flag in their sitting rooms. Though some of this is doubtless sincere, I suspect much is due to social pressure or opportunism. And just as authenticity suffers, so does consistency – one minute we’re clapping furiously, the next demanding solemn silence. These fluctuations mirror our own national dilemma, torn between the cult of sentimentality and the last remnants of the British stiff upper lip.
The word “hero” had been undergoing a form of aggrandisement ever since we took to calling all members of the Armed Forces “heroes”. Yet it has inflated still further over the last year; encompassing teachers, all healthcare staff, every front-line worker – and if everyone can be a hero, in a way, no one is.
The twinkly-eyed centenarian Captain – later Sir – Tom gallantly walked endless laps of his garden, raising millions for the NHS, and was rightly revered for his altruism. Yet when he died the public mourning industrial complex sprang into action with calls for statues, Bank Holidays and streets to be named in his honour.
Captain Sir Tom was clearly a kind, thoughtful person who did a wonderful thing, but what would he have made of his elevation to sainthood? I’m convinced my own grandfathers, both decorated war veterans, would have felt deeply uncomfortable at being eulogised on such a grandiose scale.
Over the last year, many people have behaved heroically and deserve recognition for their extraordinary devotion to duty; but let this be with a fitting public memorial, not some enforced mourning ritual. It would be an overreaction, exemplifying our newfound insistence that every death be viewed not as a loss but a tragedy. Our fetish for public emotion has gone too far.