Microdosing Heroism

I’m, perhaps ironically considering we’ve just gone into lockdown in Sydney, thinking this morning of the thousand small interactions we have with others. Each of these, no matter how brief or seemingly inconsequential, provide some opportunity to change the course of one’s own and the other person’s day (or, I suppose in a larger sense, can have an impact on the rest of our lives). I don’t want to make that thought too grand as it would be exhausting to carry around and have it at the forefront of our consciousness wherever we go (especially in an urban environment where one has so many fleeting encounters each day). However, I think there is some space, especially in difficult times, to be more aware of and for each other with compassion and intent.

There are, to my reckoning, a glut of superhero films and series available to stream and binge on during lockdown. As a child, I dreamt of gaining superpowers, vanquishing foes (I probably did use the word ’vanquishing’ at age ten) and saving the world from all danger. The evident popularity of these stories (back to the Iliad and the epic tales of heroes) is partially from a desire to have agency and do good in the world or at least know that there is someone who has that ability. I doubt that I will suddenly be granted a superpower and don’t know that I would have the wisdom to wield it with any sense. I’m not sure that I would want to live in a world where such powers are arbitrary distributed as what humankind has already mustered seems to exacerbate the problems that we have and create more where there were none.

However, I think there is something innate in us all; there is a little bit of heroism and power that we carry and perhaps don’t tap into enough. It’s different with each of us; I can’t say what it might be for you and it probably changes depending on the context. But it may come in that fleeting moment when you interact with one person; it may be made from the connection of two people in a situation that will never occur again. We may never be heroes in the superhero sense but can, at any given time, microdose on superheroism by stepping in at a critical moment to perform an act for someone that helps them. I think it’s enough to take up the task of heroism in whatever small way one can. There won’t be one superhero that saves us all, but all of us in conglomeration can have the same effect in the end.

I remember reading once about an Indian tradition that, if one is in distress or urgent need, it’s acceptable to ask a stranger ‘can you act as god for me?’ That, in that moment, this person who can help would be granted extra grace and ability. I’d like to think the cosmos is there standing by to open up something for both the one in need and the one who can provide on a scale that’s adequate for the occasion. Or else, why are we really here? I can’t fix everybody’s lives or expend myself to remedy the massive problems of the world. I can microdose heroism though that might help someone on the course of their life with the issues they are facing. I can, in doing that, if everyone is doing that, import some change in the world.

Don’t discount your own abilities to be a superhero within the bounds of your ability and the specific circumstances you are in (this can also overlap with the capacity one has to be a jerk on a power trip by doing the opposite if we are using the metaphor of villains and heroes). Be, wherever you can be, a hero and a god to others—maybe not in the epic sense or even in a way they might recognise—but in a way that carries that spark of help and hope as we live with each other day to day.

The Essential

Before I begin writing about this, I want to acknowledge, while there is much discussion about the pandemic as a shared catastrophe, it will obviously fall upon us all in very different ways. I’m writing from relatively ‘safe’ Australia where, despite initial fumbles, the authorities and public have quickly adopted measures that seem to have warded off at least the initial hard impact of the virus. Yes, at the biological level we are all equally at risk; however the mitigation of that risk is vastly different depending on your location and/or socioeconomic status. Also, even within the societies that have prepared well and are taking adequate measures, the economic fallout from this will be significant (and ‘significant’ seems too muted a word). I’ve retained full employment and am able to readily work from home; that’s not the case for a tremendous number of people who either can’t do this or who are currently stood down from work in an industry that has closed shop for the duration. 

I say all that because I found myself writing notes for this post and almost romanticising the situation with all manner of hopeful thoughts for how ‘we’ will emerge on the other side. But this was only for the ‘we’ who probably have the resources and protections to endure with some level of safety and comfort. Yes, ‘we’ can talk about all the constraints and limitations we face under lockdown; but the spectrum of that is so broad that it’s easy for ‘us’ not to realise it goes into wavelengths that aren’t even visible to our eyes. I have, for reasons I’ll explain below, been in isolation for the past four weeks so even my perspective of what is happening here in my own city is fairly limited. I will not begin to compare the practical lived experience of someone on the other side of the world with mine even though we are both in ‘lockdown’. There are billions of people who do not have the luxury of considering this with the same level of security I have at this moment. 

Having said that, I think there are universals that can be helpful to consider (both for now and the future). There are very few catastrophes everyone in the world can relate to and to which we are literally not immune. Pick any crisis in the news and, even if you are only one or two steps removed, how easy is it to isolate that as something ‘over there’ and unrelated to you own life (that’s not necessarily a criticism; we must do that in some ways to avoid becoming overwhelmed). Even major regional natural disasters like the Boxing Day Tsunami do not stop the world from operating elsewhere. They disrupt the lives and security of people in that place but leave the rest of us to either ignore or feel a sense of empathy. I’m sensing, at least with myself, I need to cultivate a third way of looking at this. I’m finding myself, in thinking and discussions about the pandemic, still falling into one of those two lines of thought. There is so much to be overwhelmed with that I can’t consider what’s going on in all places and make a sum of it all. However, I’m also starting to compare and contrast the experiences of other people and places with my own and saying ‘well at least it’s not as bad as country X here’ or ‘God, it’s going to be awful in this other place’. Neither of the above are helpful for my psyche and only serve to reenforce the us/them outlook that pervades everything else. 

This is abstract and of course not possible or practical but, at least in my spirit I think I need to strip everything I mentioned before away and just become a human on the Earth at this time. I will continue living and working as I am; this is not the beginning of a desire to become a hermit (though I’m starting to feel like one shut in my flat). But I think, to even begin to hold all this, I have to remove myself from either the weight of worry that I have or the feeling of security and acknowledge that I am neither in control—or entirely powerless. There is a balance point here that may be different in practice for each of us, but that we all have. There is a lot to give over that is beyond our control but at least those limitations, in some ways, make things easer to define. They may be starkly defined but as we settle into whatever these new norms are, they become apparent. Also (again acknowledging my own protections and privileges here), I have increasingly clear notions of what I do control and have agency over. Through all the uncertainties, it’s important to maintain perspective on what’s at hand day to day. 

I was going to write a whole paragraph here about what the next months might look like but it would all be speculation and talking into the air. I don’t know; there are smart people who are trying to model things out, but there are so many overlapping variables I think it’s the best we can do to just shelter in place and be kind to one another. Depending on where you are, there have either been sensible precautions put into place or spectacular failures of leadership. That range is too much to consider in a blog post and, I’m sure, will be unpacked for decades. 

But I do want to think about what follows; that’s almost easier. This is after we have a cure/vaccine in circulation and we are on the path back to whatever ‘normal’ can become again. What I hope for is that positive changes occurring in the midst of this become normalised. These are everything from the small scale interactions I’m having with neighbours to larger societal shifts around working at home, food distribution, welfare, job protections, banking and social safety nets (again, milage may vary depending on where you are). What is a constant, no matter the location, is the sudden shock to the system that there is a particular thing that everyone in every country has to face all at once. I think this can be the enduring and, perhaps, most beneficial outcome of the whole experience. We are facing another global catastrophe in climate change that has been unevenly acknowledged; what, if anything, could act as a better model for responding to that than something like what we are going through now. Not to diminish at all the impact of the pandemic, but it’s basically transitory and something that will be mitigated through known pathways of science and medicine. We’ve know about climate change for decades, the impact is effectively permanent and the remedies are, while apparent, systemic and increasingly difficult to implement. This may provide a model for working together on something that will fall upon us all. It’s a window into what happens if we either choose to act or fail to and face the consequences. 

We are also prompted to examine how our societies are set up, the vulnerabilities of individuals who may already live on the margins and what that means for the whole (in that, if a significant portion of the population are only a step away from either paying rent or not, what does this mean for everything else up the chain). What happens when all airlines close simultaneously? The industry hasn’t collapsed as we assume it will all come back afterwards; but what happens during this hibernation? What changes can we make to protect individuals and the systems we all rely on so that, when this happens again, the uncertainties we faced in the past month are diminished and we have a plan in place (in the same way we practice for fire evacuation in our offices; it may never be needed…but when it is…)? It’s going to lay out clearly also what we must hold in reserve to be prepared for these things and where funding should be focused (here in Australia it might make the difference between our spending billions for a new fleet of submarines for unlikely naval battles or laying up gear and supplies for the situations we face now). 

I think we can also now frankly understand what an ‘essential worker’ is; these are often the people who don’t get the recognition they deserve but in these times stand out and are hailed as heroes. Nurses and doctors are there literally putting their lives on the line. Teachers are staying in schools despite having even fewer protections than health care workers. Then there are people like all the delivery drivers; I’ve suddenly discovered the power of ordering almost everything online and suddenly have a new appreciation for the guy who brings packages to my door!

And, when one contemplates a disease that can literally kill you, the idea of what is personally essential comes sharply into focus. As I said above, I’ve been in at home for several weeks. Part of that time was in medically mandated isolation as we were unsure if I had COVID-19. I presented with similar symptoms and then discovered I was exposed to someone who had the virus; I subsequently tested negative. I did end up in hospital several times (once by ambulance early in the morning). We eventually discovered that I have, of all things, Epstein Barr Virus—which I do not recommend for adults if possible. Nevertheless, I’ve been sicker than I’ve ever been at a peculiar time to be ill. During this time, I’ve had a lot of headspace to consider my connections to others. I’m far away from family and was not able to see friends or loved ones here either. Now, of course, with the social limitations in place, we are restricted to the people who are closest and most dear to us (and even then, we often can’t see most of these people either). I’m not an especially social person to begin with but this is certainly honing down my sense of who is most dear. It gives me a new perspective on people with whom I want to share my life. Maybe, in a shifting and unsettled world, this is the most important thing to hold on to. 

Everything arises out of silence

I often consider the tumult of this world—both the outer and inner turmoil that seems to pervade the lives of many people. However, nearly everything ‘outside’ this one small planet is silence. The primary function of the Universe is silence. We are the rarity; I think it’s not so much that life is rare, but perhaps the more significant rarity is the situation of a whole system in which sound is generated and received. We have a place where those vibrations can emerge and we can be a witness.

I think the situation of our encountering one another (both the ordinary and in crisis) offers the opportunity to generate a space of silence. Unlike sight, for instance, where we can close our eyes, there is no ready muting of sound; silence is something we have to create or protect. So I think there is some kind of spiritual significance to making that space (in that silence is the norm for everything outside this environment we are in; it’s as if we are given a special opportunity where we must actively return to silence). That becomes more difficult—and more necessary—as we make the world a giant mechanism of noise. We evolved in quiet spaces and formed ourselves and social interaction in that space. There is so much talk of our inability to communicate properly now. We have not lost the ability to communicate, we have lost the ability to be quiet. 

When we are really present; people sense both the respect we have for the individual and, I think, the respect for the sacred space of silence. When we speak we begin to codify and form and then ‘everything arises’. That’s necessary as well; but the arising can’t come without a space of silence to begin (and then perhaps everything returns to silence in the end). Perhaps ‘Everything that has Arisen’ was created simply to witness and eventually comprehend the Silence that was before and to follow. I wonder often about all that’s been written about God and, though it’s maybe a necessary effort, it’s not the end of understanding (this is why I am so wary now of any faith that professes ‘the Answers’). The understanding of God and the silence—or God in The Silence—is something arising and, I think, will continue to emerge till it all folds back into silence.

That, maybe, is what people sense when we sit with them quietly. That’s why just being present is so dearly important and healing. It’s not that people so much need an abundance of words and sound; they need to find a passage back into silence. It’s a situation equally helpless and empowered; that sharing that vulnerability and strength with someone in an honest way is the most healing thing one could do. There is an opportunity for emancipation. There is the ability to take up strengths that haven’t emerged before. 

Some years ago, I had an extraordinarily painful surgery which rearranged my entire ribcage…all at once. I remember, during my time in the hospital and recovery, though I was the one in pain, I became the pivot point of reassurance and support for those concerned for me. It activated an understanding of the place of pain and comfort in me—and I was the one in that situation who could become a conduit for others. I certainly had the support of my parents and carers in the hospital but I had to actively engage with the whole thing to make the cycle complete. I have heard many times before people wishing they could ‘take on the pain’ for people living through it; they can’t (and I wonder if that somehow diminishes the experience of the person in pain). How does one face pain with people in the midst of it and, equally so, how do you work through that pain in what is voiced and what remains in silence?

Democracy Inaction

I have, along with everyone else in Sydney, spent the last month and more dealing with smoke from bushfires across the state. This is however, obviously not the worst of the national disaster we are now in the midst of as there are countless families who have been burnt out or displaced in rural areas and even some suburbs of cities, millions of animals dead with some pushed to the edge of extinction from habitat loss, and over 5,900,000 hectares (15,000,000 acres) of forest and bushland up in smoke. The relentless news of this ‘new normal’ is really starting to wear on me (as is the heat; I did have plans to do some small projects and travel over the holidays but find myself just escaping in my flat under fans or A/C). Also, the places I was thinking of going are either on fire or blocked from road closure and evacuation. What are we to do other than taking short showers and having a bucket under us as we do? This afternoon I wrote my local MP, Linda Burney about my concerns. I’ve met her a couple times and know that these sentiments are already what she advocates for in Canberra; but I think it’s important as a citizen of what’s ostensibly a functioning democracy to voice them regardless:

Dear Minister,

I’m writing as I watch social media posts from one set of friends evacuating Mallacoota by navy ship and another picking up the pieces down the coast at Rosedale. For the past many weeks we have all suffered through smoke and heat here in Sydney and the months ahead look set to be much the same. What cannot remain the same are the responses and denial from Canberra as we enter a new decade. We, as citizens of a country both blessed with resources and limited by scarcity, expect leadership and coherence from our politicians; however, most of what we encounter is either nonsensical or farcical with little reference to the reality of what’s happening. 

I recognise you and your Labor colleagues have attempted to put forward sensible plans for our future but have been frustrated at the polls and hindered by misinformation; please persevere regardless. The alternative is that we, as a country, are blindly led further down the path we have traversed for years that has resulted in this emerging disaster. 

Please continue to advocate for immediate action to address both our international commitments and the advancement of changes that can surpass them where applicable. We have immense capacity for renewable energy (including retraining and new jobs for people currently working in the fossil fuel industry to justly transition workers from the old to new); however, the window to accomplish this with any sense of order is quickly closing. We cannot wait till all the coal is burnt and the rivers have run dry to decide it’s time to make the shift. We cannot close down every TAFE* in the country and expect to have the skill base needed to rebuild from the ashes. We cannot divert the flow of our watersheds to grow cotton and expect to have ample supply for our expanding urban populations. Something has to change either now or, alternately, in the future at the ragged end of chaos. Please do all you can to make it the former while that’s still an option.

*TAFE is Australia’s national vocational educational system; it’s gone from world class to massively privatised and decimated over the past ten years.

News of the Day

Whilst setting up for a podcast in the studio today, I began reading an automatically transcribed report from our broadcast news service. The AI seems to have inadvertently created a stream of consciousness libretto for a Philip Glass opera.

Whilst setting up for a podcast in the studio today, I began reading an automatically transcribed report from our broadcast news service. The AI seems to have inadvertently created a stream of consciousness libretto for a Philip Glass opera.