It’s no surprise we have all become Covid kulaks
Anyone with a basic knowledge of Leninist wisdom knows that in a scarcity situation, it is essential to “liquidate the kulak” – the wealthy, hoarding parasite. This maxim surely applies more than ever now, with a pandemic sending everyone into a wild fury about the act of grocery shopping. The trouble is how to identify the enemy of our times: the Covid kulak.
The barrage of instructions on correct shopping practices doesn’t exactly help. We must go out as little as possible, the Government tells us, and must try not to go to the shops every day lest we spread germs and form dangerous queues. We must also try not to order groceries online unless we are “vulnerable”, because the elderly and disabled need scarce delivery slots more than anyone else – besides which, the supermarkets have announced, the system is at capacity and there are no more delivery slots anyway.
On the few occasions when it is deemed morally acceptable to procure supplies, we must also be very careful not to buy “more than we need” so that there is still plenty left for everyone else. In many cases, this is now enforced by rationing imposed by shops.
Once the food has been eaten, we certainly should not do anything so depraved as to throw away the leftovers, but should use them to make salads, stock, shoes, furniture and basic electronic components (or ventilators).
Well, here is the dilemma. If someone in a household should fall ill, then quarantine rules state that no one in that house is allowed out for up to two weeks. Getting a delivery is now almost impossible. So a prudent approach would be to stockpile at least two weeks’ supply of food for everyone in the house – perhaps a bit more, because it could take a while to obtain supplies when you are allowed out. And it would be wise to do this as soon as possible, because we keep being told that if we do not stop buying so much, the Government will have to impose mandatory rationing. The more we are told this, the more urgent and prudent it becomes to stockpile. But stockpiling, we are then told, is immoral.
The only conclusion I can draw is that there are now only two morally acceptable ways to make sure you can feed yourself and your family.
The first is to ensure you were one of the neurotic apocalypse planners who amused your friends by buying supplies in January before this whole shopping thing caught on and generated shortages (ahem). This behaviour is dangerously close to kulakism, however.
The second, morally safer option is to plant some vegetables in your window boxes and hope for the best.