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I suspect this will be the last post I write for a bit on this subject, since it’s not really energising me, as you can probably tell from the paucity of posts. There is sadness, and there is anger, but, suprisingly, since the last time I posted, there is also a significant amount of hope. Hope, for me, because of three things.
The first is a personal thing that feels huger than it perhaps is, which is that I’m going to be leaving the company I’ve worked for since 1989, thirty one years, at the end of the year. It’s voluntary, because it’s time to go, it’s absolutely the right time, and although it feels a bit scary to be stepping outside the faux-family I’ve been a part of for so long, it’s also not such a big step as it might be, given that I’m presently only working 14 hours a week and I haven’t really been into the office since last year. End of an era, and I am certain it’s time to make the move because I shared these two pictures with a close friend and colleague this week:
The second thing (or, to be strictly accurate, things) is (or are) the vaccine developments that have been all over the news for the last couple of weeks. It feels as though there is, at last, the possibility of some return to normality. Not soon, probably not as soon as next spring, but possibly by next summer. Enough, anyway, to make the prospect of next year a lot brighter. It’s hard yards right now, to quote my lovely swim friend Dan Abel, but with at least the strong possibility that the yards may get easier at some point in the not too distant future. With the prospect of a vaccine, it gets easier to endure lockdown and masks and social distancing and restrictions; we are doing it all with a purpose, to keep as many people as safe as we can until we can get sufficient numbers of people vaccinated to make it possible to return to some sort of normality. Thank god, oh thank god, for the scientists. By the way, if the anti-vaxxers are driving you bonkers, it’s well worth listening to this excellent episode of The Long View from BBC Radio 4, which proves there is nothing new under the sun: back in the late 19th century, tens of thousands of people were demonstrating against, of all things, the smallpox vaccine (apparently people genuinely believed that it would turn you into a cow). And if you think the people opposing a coronavirus vaccine are nuts, consider how mad or ill-informed you would have to be to oppose something which would stop you getting smallpox, a disease which was quite unbelievably nasty, as demonstrated by this extraordinary article from The Guardian on the very last case of smallpox in the world, in, of all places, Birmingham in 1978.
The third cause of hope is, of course, the election of Joe Biden as US President. In the run-up to the US election I was trying not to think about it too much, to remain hopeful, to keep calm. I woke up early on Wednesday 4th November, the last day before lockdown, to go swimming, and the tone of the BBC Today programme on Radio 4 seemed to be that it was close, and that Trump might have swung it. I listened to Today all the way to Beckenham to meet my friend Ruth, and all the way the feeling seemed to be that the Republicans had done enough. By the time I got there I was in despair, wrongly, I think – friends who have Sky have said they were listening to that instead as Sky News was much more optimistic about Biden; sometimes I think the BBC may go too far to avoid being accused of liberal bias. But as it was, I arrived at the lake in deep despair. What felt like a real prospect of a Trump victory revealed what a dreadful thing it would be. Prior to the election I had been able to believe that I simply wanted him to lose because it would be such a personal blow to him: I wanted him to hurt, and hurt bad, as revenge for all the hurt he has caused. But that Wednesday morning I saw in horrible relief that a victory for him would mean a real threat to US democracy, and, by extension, the world. I was angry, but more, I was very, very sad.
Fortunately for me, it was a glorious morning, and it was, as ever, wonderful to meet Ruth. When she arrived, she asked me how I was, and I replied “Trying to think about the small things I can control, rather than the big things I can’t.” She agreed, and by silent mutual consent we avoided the topic of the election. As we waded into the 11º water, she said “Now, stop and look around, Barbara, because this has to sustain us for a while.” We did. It was beautiful.
I spent the rest of the day and the evening studiously avoiding any news or commentary on the election. I listened to loads of episodes of Cabin Pressure, which cheered me up no end, and I have to say that if you are determined to take your mind off the ever-present threat of fascism, there is nothing like considering how many otters you could get on an aeroplane to do the trick. I may have seen a Facebook post from a friend asking if Michegan had gone blue, but I ignored it. I woke up on Thursday without the radio, fed the cats, got my tea and porridge, went back to bed, and steeled myself to open The Guardian app on my phone.
And. And…..! Biden had won, not just Michegan, but Wisconsin. Wisconsin! I had been sure it would go red, but it had been called for Biden. So had Arizona. Georgia was looking better all the time, and so was Pennsylvania. The consensus was that Honest Joe had done it. He had done enough. He, and the US voters who turned out for him, had saved the world. I get a bit teary even now thinking about it. And after that it was just fun, watching Trump’s hopes fading slowly, so agonisingly slowly, imagining how painful it must be for him watching as every chance evaporated, sucking every last bit of pleasure from the days whilst the US networks hesitated to call the election for Biden despite all the evidence in favour, in a caricature of the BBC on that Wednesday morning, presumably for fear of being accused of partisanship. I was on a Zoom call with friends at 4.30 on Saturday when they finally called it and we erupted in cheers and whoops of joy, even as Rudy Giuliani was making a godawful fool of himself in front of a landscape gardeners. Who says the universe doesn’t have a sense of humour?
Of course I’m not stupid enough to think it’s all over. Fascism is far from defeated. The anti-vaxxers are still there. Qanon are still spreading their poison. The pandemic is still wreaking terrible havoc, and Boris Johnson is still in charge in the UK, although, when Dominic Cummings went too, it did start to feel a bit as though, in some celestial air traffic control, somebody had got back to their desk after an unusually long coffee break, glanced at the 2020 screen, yelped “SHIT!!” and started frantically pulling levers and pushing buttons. There are still a lot of hard yards to do. But right now, things feel, if not right, then at least better, at least for a time. A small respite, a bit of a break from being sad and angry. I’ll take that. 🙂