Are we truly changed?

Lately, I've been thinking a lot about August 14, 2003.

On that day, the lights went out across the Eastern seaboard, the result of a bug that knocked out power around 4pm.

It was one of the largest and longest power outages in recent history, and in Toronto, workplaces were quickly emptied out and people made the long trek home, squinting into the fading sunlight and checking how much cash they had on hand as transit systems, ATMs and other services on which they had come to rely were rendered temporarily unavailable.

Life without power had different ramifications, of course, depending on what floor you were on, how much food you could afford to replace if spoiled, and how able you were to navigate in the dark.

And, as nightfall came with no resolution, there were fears of looting, of misbehaviour, of danger and risk.

But as darkness descended, what materialized was not panic or opportunism, but moments of magic and a seeming commitment to widespread social cohesion.

People checked on their neighbours. Gathered in parks. Restaurants fired up generators and played music on the sidewalks. 

Candles were lit and people gathered together, marvelling at the stars that were suddenly visible in the sky. People were mostly good, because mostly people are.

Every year since, I have thought about the missed opportunity of that moment, of the potential it held for us to confront our vulnerabilities and also our potential.

But the pause was fleeting. The bug was fixed and the lights came back on, and we all went back about our business.

As Ontario and other parts of the world prepare to ‘reopen’ after months of pandemic induced isolation, I fear that this time we are squandering a truly seismic opportunity for reflection and change.

Yes, we have declared this period as unprecedented and ourselves forever altered, but it seems that the time and effort for introspection, redesign and a reordering of our social contracts seems to be quickly slipping through our well scrubbed fingers. The enduring symbol of our capacity to change is simply a mask we will don temporarily and then discard.

Unless we choose to make this into more.

These last months have shown us what truly matters; and it is us.

We understand now the beauty of time with our kids, as well as the necessity and privilege of time without them.

We understand the pain of being separated from our loved ones, the helplessness and injustice of letting someone we love die alone.

We recognize the true value of sustenance, as well as the people who actually work to put food on our plates.

The global health threat has brought into high relief for us the systemic inequities that underline almost all of our systems, from food supply chain to workforce dynamics to policing. They are impossible to deny. And most of us have been forced to recognize that our chances of survival exist in direct relation to our proximity to power.

We have also seen each other respond to these circumstances and these truths with greatness and clarity of purpose.

People have banded together to try and mitigate the impacts on their local economies, shopping locally and not just via Amazon and Uber.

We have seen people volunteer, donate, pack food hampers, deliver groceries to their friends and neighbours.

We have seen people call out injustice, taking to the streets in response.

We have seen people speak their truth and breathe new life into the winds of change.

I also believe that we have felt how powerful these acts can be - the glory and satisfaction that comes from heroism, community, compassion, decency.

And so we must challenge ourselves to keep chasing that thrill, that potential, as things return to normal.

Because we should not just be brave when we ourselves are uncomfortable.

We should not just be caring when it is our own lives at risk.

Now is the moment to ask why. To recognize that the systems that threatened our own livelihoods and well being still exist to threaten others.

The lasting change of this period cannot just be lower real estate overhead for large corporations, a further shifting of stress and responsibility and vulnerability onto the workforce without the corresponding rewards.

We cannot content ourselves banging pots and pans in the evening while refusing to contend with the difficult changes that are necessary to truly support our nurses and doctors, our vulnerable citizens, our teachers and students.

It is not enough that we can finally have alcohol delivered and sip it peacefully in the street (although you will claw that advancement from my cold dead hands) we must ask what other rules are unnecessary, and which ones are truly there to keep us safe.

As we reenter the world, we must prioritize things beyond simply ‘getting people back to work.’

We must remember that Zoom calls felt empty. That Amazon over charged. That it was nice to spend time with our children. That bicycles and trampolines saved us as much as our phones. That we bought our food from people whose employers would not even pay them more per hour than the cost of our two ply toilet paper. That we are luckier than others and that luck may well have saved our lives and not theirs.

We must remember the unfairness of risk faced by migrant workers, lower income neighbourhoods, working women, Black and Indiginous peoples and all those whose disadvantages run deep, and will not be cured by any vaccine.

We must remember that so much of this felt like a necessary correction. Not in lives lost, of course, but in priorities reset.

That we could once again see the sky.

When the stakes were high, we glimpsed what truly matters. Our humanity, our reliance on each other. Our ability to put aside distractions and make efforts to keep one another alive and healthy and happy and seen.

We don’t necessarily have to permanently change our behaviours, but it is the moment to permanently reassess our allegiances and demand more from ourselves, from our systems, from our employers and our leaders and from each other.

This was a time that brought both darkness and magic, where we stood momentarily blinking at our own reflection and wondering who exactly we had become. Let’s remember that when the lights came on, the machinery of modern life whirs back to life, and we go about our business once again, drowning out the voice in our head that tells us something just isn’t right.