Читать книгу Leading with Empathy - Gautham Pallapa - Страница 9

The global pandemic of COVID-19 demonstrated how fragile humanity truly is, despite our technological, medical, and evolutionary advancements.

To say we are living in uncertain times is an understatement. In recent times, many of us have been scared, confused, and unsure of what could hurt us first: an unknown virus, a deepening economic downturn, or growing geopolitical tensions. Uncertainty about our future physical and financial health, combined with the pressures of required social distancing, has increased our worry and stress. All around us, we kept hearing stories of peoples' lives falling apart, incidents of injustice and cruelty, alarming mortality rates, and an unprecedented death toll. As a result of all these events, the number of people worldwide¹ experiencing high levels of psychological distress has noticeably increased since January 2020.²

Fear, frustration, panic, anger, confusion … we have all been dealing with these emotions (and many others) during these adverse times. News coverage and social media posts have managed to keep us in a constantly triggered state for long durations, making us paranoid, agitated, and insecure. What used to be normal is no more, and our lives have been affected in numerous disparate ways that we would have never anticipated or imagined. Mirthful conversations with friends over dinner and drinks on surviving a dangerous disease outbreak have slowly become a reality. Some people are unable to cope with these difficult conditions and are struggling with stress, anxiety, depression, and even suicidal thoughts.³ It is crucial for us to demonstrate love, compassion, and empathy in each and every encounter.

Many people are scared to interact with humans even when necessary. More patients are missing critical in-person screenings or are coming to the hospital too late for potentially life-saving treatment. For people living with serious chronic conditions, these feelings of fear, anxiety, and worry were amplified, manifesting into various degrees of harm. Those with serious, acute conditions often avoided the hospital due to a fear of catching COVID-19 and consequently ended up sicker, or dying.

Alarmingly, from March to May 2020, visits to hospital emergency departments decreased by nearly 40 percent.⁴ This was despite measures of how sick emergency department patients rose 20 percent between March and May. In Spring of 2020, non-COVID-19 out-of-hospital deaths increased, while in-hospital mortality has declined.⁵ Almost half of these decreases (45 percent) were seen in patients with cancer diagnoses, heart attacks (40 percent), and strokes (30 percent). Some leading health systems believed the death toll for these individuals would reach levels comparable to COVID-attributed deaths if patients continued delaying their care.⁶

Social distancing guidelines, lockdown protocols, rapidly changing information about the virus, portrayal of the virus's danger on media, combined with changes in our external surroundings have all played into individual cognitive biases influencing how people perceived the threat of COVID-19 and influenced their decisions overall. To further complicate matters, rising unemployment also led to real trade-offs in care and affordability. Nearly half of Americans said they or someone they live with had to delay essential care since COVID-19 began.⁷ Some countries have been suffering a debilitating second wave of the pandemic with a shortage of hospital beds, healthcare workers, medication, vaccines, and even oxygen supplies.

The COVID-19 pandemic put everything to the test—from healthcare systems to supply chains to social safety nets. It also tested our moral character. We didn't fail this last test, but we didn't exactly make the honor roll, either. Throughout lockdown, most of us behaved responsibly by practicing physical distancing and staying away from crowded places to flatten the curve. But as restrictions partially lifted, hundreds gathered unnecessarily in places like boardwalks, beaches, and parks, with no regard to safe distancing, just for a picnic. Many people resisted wearing masks in public, claiming an affront on their civil liberties, putting themselves and others near them at considerable risk.

Yes, isolation has been hard on many, especially in urban areas and small living spaces. But it was challenging to see people on the news and social media saying things like “I don't think this affects me,” or “The pandemic is a hoax,” or even, “I do not trust the vaccine and won't get vaccinated.” It might have been challenging as well to see people with hearing loss, for example, suggesting the use of clear masks. If we have trouble considering the well-being of others in the midst of COVID-19, how can we begin to empathize with anyone outside of our own experience?

How we behave in these situations is important, even beyond COVID-19. Our actions demonstrate our ability to put the greater good ahead of personal desires. Without that capacity, we'll never tackle other global problems, from endemic poverty and climate change to the biggest test of our empathy: systemic racism.

Once vaccine rollout was widespread, people certainly felt pandemic fatigue and many were impatient with the slow progress. They wanted to make up for lost time and regarded the slow vaccine rollouts as bureaucratic incompetence. Administering a vaccine to the entire population is challenging and requires complex planning, logistical management, and tactical execution. There are established protocols to follow, procedures to adhere to, and demographics to cater to. There are horrendous reports of people trying to cheat the system by providing wrong information, buying a prioritized place in line, or impersonating elderly or essential workers.⁸ A majority of these actions are by a section of society that has become entitled through their wealth and privilege and cannot comprehend a system of democracy where all people are treated equally. It is, therefore, appalling to see people complain about how an unfair system has singled them out and how they face injustice.

People of color and Indigenous groups face racial injustice every day. Those of us who live with racial privilege don't have that experience. Many people in developed worlds have never suffered severe hunger. They don't know what it's like to flee their home country to escape war. They have never had to worry about an unfair immigration system. A lack of lived experience doesn't relieve us of responsibility; it means we need to work harder at empathy. We need to work harder to understand how we might be connected to someone else's pain and to act accordingly.

Many of us understood that a relaxing day in a crowded park during a pandemic could help spread disease. We realized that our actions affected others around us—like healthcare workers, first responders, or grocery store workers who did not have the luxury of isolating themselves—a butterfly effect ⁹ at a global scale. Our daily habits are connected to climate change and to the Inuit communities most affected by melting polar ice. Our consumption habits are connected to workers in developing countries. From empathy, we can better understand this interconnectedness. And then we can move to action.

Above all, COVID-19 tested our willingness to make small sacrifices, to prioritize the safety of others before our own comfort, to think about others and how our actions affect our community. We can give up coffee or take-out dinners for a month and make a donation to a group most affected by the pandemic. We can stand up for an immigrant being harassed on the bus or speak out when a friend or family member makes racist comments, even if it makes us uncomfortable.

COVID-19 was a moral test of our time, assessing our ability to think about others before ourselves and to take action for the greater good. It was a test, but not the final exam. We still have the opportunity to learn. We can still build on the character strengths and fix the moral weaknesses that COVID-19 laid bare.