Mistletoe Musings
By: Ayush Varma
Tags: Think, Lockdown, UK, Coivd 19

I’m no libertarian — well, at least, that’s what I keep telling myself, to reassure the snowflake inside of me. At the same time, I also have, by all measures, a strong sense of civic duty, even more so in times like these. As a result, like so many others, I’ve spent the large majority of this year inside: even when lockdowns have eased, in perhaps the most un-British way possible, I’ve tried my upmost to stay, comfortably, within the realms of whatever myopic regulations Boris and his chums have drawn up. In most instances, to the ire of my family and friends, I’ve gone even further, self-imposing more draconian measures.

Yet today, I surprised myself.

For those of you, lucky enough to be living under a rock, London, like much of the South East, finds itself in Tier 4. As a result, there are strict rules in place, prohibiting different households from congregating, and also, travel to and from the city. The majority of Londoners, from what I can see — if my instagram feed qualifies as a reliable sample size, which I believe it does looking at Third Stage clinical trials for Russia’s Sputnik V ;) — are abiding by the rules. However, there are exceptions. Awkwardly, they include some neighbours and close family. Surely, trips to the sea aren’t essential, even more so given the weather.

Upon learning of these transgressions, my sister — who has seen the devastating impact of COVID 19, up close, and has borne (and continues to bear, like the other frontline workers) the seldom spoken, physical and emotional burdens of treating COVID 19 patients — was incensed. Incensed enough to lodge an official complaint to the Met Police. And I, to my surprise, talked her out of it.

As a I said, not a libertarian. Yet I cowered at the thought of reporting a ‘near and dear’ one (in the most loose sense possible). Why? Am I loyal to fault? Or is it something I learned from the ‘streets’? By streets, I mean, nearly a decade listening to Hip-Hop music: Jay-Z said it himself, “The labelling of a snitch is a lifetime scar / You’ll always be snitch, just minus the bars.”

More likely than not, it’s to do with the fact that my own personal definition of civic duty is narrower than I first thought. I am mindful of how my actions impact others, and in that sense, believe it’s my civic duty to police myself, and wherever possible, act in the public good. However, when it comes to policing others, all I can offer are sermons and platitudes. That isn’t to say, I believe actions should not have consequences; my neighbours and close family have every right to be fined and reprimanded.

Nevertheless, in the current environment, I firmly believe the onus on detecting such transgressions, lies solely with the Government, and the Government alone. This willingness to shirk responsibility is symbolic of the UK government’s wider COVID-19 strategy: from blaming Public Health England for the earlier mishandling of the pandemic to its reluctance in setting up Public quarantine and isolation facilities.

At the same time, it’s important for the government to lead by example, even more so given the unprecedented sacrifices, we’ve been asked to make. The inability to appropriately penalise transgressions by the Prime Minster’s top Aid, Dominic Cummings, and Cabinet Minister, Robert Jenrick, set the wrong precedent. It gave rise to the idea of exceptionalism, at a time when it was important to show that the burden of the lockdown was being borne equally, however idealistic that might have been in actuality.

Once again, in no way am I making excuses for those concerned, neither is this piece a means of rationalising my remorse, or an exhaustive critique of the government’s mishandling of the pandemic. Perhaps, my internal deliberation, is symbolic of something much bigger? The need to re-evaluate and draw the boundaries of civic responsibility, or more generally the social contract between a government and its people.