A bad bout of empathy fatigue

I can’t anymore! I actually can’t, with everyone watching President Cyril Ramaphosa and worrying that he looks tired. Or that he has bags under his eyes.

It’s 20:00 on a Monday night when he speaks to us. Who isn’t tired? Have you seen the bags under my eyes? Speak to me mid-morning or even afternoon, and I look a lot more spritely and unquestionably less worn down.

I know the president had a busy day on Monday what with meeting the vaccines and taking selfies with the deputy president and stuff, but we are also busy. And exhausted. And it’s 20:00 for Pete’s sake! Netflix is hardly going to watch itself.

The term I heard is “empathy fatigue”, and I think I might have caught a terribly bad dose of it in recent days. It has been a sudden onset, and I appear to be suffering from a severe form.

Because quite suddenly, I find myself genuinely not caring that he looks pasty, or that our kids are having a bad year when they are privileged and cared for, or that until this week, Muizenberg beach was closed.

I might have cared in December how the president looked, mourned the loss of the year along with our offspring, or lamented beach closures when I wanted to go and couldn’t. But honestly, now, I find it difficult to be moved by any of it. And if they had to keep Muizenberg firmly shut until December, it wouldn’t phase me.

Not. One. Bit.

What do I care about right now? The vaccine. I care that we acquire, distribute, and immunise the nation. I care about people behaving responsibly. And I care about getting back to social and commercial freedom. Because I crave it.

I care about my parents-in-law and others like them who are slowly losing their minds in isolation, away from family, and who need to get the vaccine sooner than later.

I care about my one son who is waiting to get to Israel for his gap-year programme, and another who is desperate to see his friends without worry and anxiety.

I don’t care that the president looks tired. Or that he has bags under his eyes.

I care that the most vulnerable in our society are water-cannoned while waiting in line for a measly financial grant. I care that so much of the available funding has been looted, and I care that the African National Congress remains so arrogant, it thinks that it can continue to ask for financial assistance and we will trust it. We won’t.

I care that it has dropped the ball regarding vaccines, but expects us to celebrate the arrival of a delivery that in terms of size is insignificant. And whereas I do understand the symbolism of the first tranche, I also understand that this isn’t a time for symbols.

It’s a time for action.

Which is pretty much all that I care about. And Netflix.