Lemminkäinen's Mother, by Akseli Gallen-Kallela
There has been talk recently about how we are all living through a collective moment of grief. In our own ways, we have all experienced loss due to the pandemic: whether that be the lives of loved ones; a loss of physical connection with others; a loss of normalcy or economic security. One loss which I think we as a society are experiencing, however, is the loss of a sense of autonomy or control. What COVID-19 has made strikingly clear to us is the ways in which our lives are radically interdependent and vulnerable.
One thinker who has written on both grief and vulnerability is Judith Butler. In her book Precarious Life Butler describes how humans are fundamentally social and interdependent beings. From birth we have a physical dependency on others. What Butler crucially identifies, however, is that this dependency does not end as we leave childhood. Rather, at every moment we exist as beings in relation. Butler beautifully writes that the ties which we have to one another “constitute what we are” and “compose us.”[1] At every moment we are radically dependent, both on each other and the social world we inhabit, for our physical, emotional and psychological wellbeing. We are therefore “invariably in community, impressed upon by others, impinging upon them as well, and in ways that are not fully in [our] control or clearly predictable.”[2]
This dependency, however, leaves us vulnerable. We are left open to exploitation and harm. Many of us have been privileged enough to have been unaware, until recent events, of this dynamic between dependency and vulnerability. The current pandemic has opened our eyes to this reality. As Butler writes: “Humans share the air with one another and with animals; they share the surfaces of the world. They touch what others have touched and they touch one another.”[3] Our physical health is reliant on the health of the people we come into contact with; the people whose lives are intertwined with our own. Crucially we have also been made aware of our dependence on the health and wellbeing of those people whom we might never meet, people in countries we might never visit. This reality of interdependence and vulnerability invites us to rethink our understanding of responsibility: to think through the ways in which we hold collective responsibility for the physical and emotional lives of one another.
What the pandemic has also put into stark relief, however, is that while we are all vulnerable to the virus, not all of us are equally vulnerable. In government briefings we have repeatedly heard that ‘the virus does not discriminate.’ Although the virus itself may not discriminate, there are social and economic structures in place which render certain groups more vulnerable than others. The virus may not discriminate, but the systems which organise and structure human life do.
Butler reflects on the complex ways in which vulnerability is socially distributed. She invites us to consider how certain lives are regarded as more valuable and hence more worthy of protection within society: “Lives are supported and maintained differently, and there are radically different ways in which human physical vulnerability is distributed across the globe. Certain lives will be highly protected … Other lives will not find such fast and furious support and will not even qualify as ‘grievable.’”[4] We are dependent on the social world we inhabit for recognition as a grievable human life that is worthy of protection. Butler’s concept of grievability reminds us to pay close attention to the ways in which public discourse shapes our understanding of what a good and worthwhile life is, and hence what constitutes a grievable death. The language used within public discourse exposes the hierarchies of value which shape our moral imaginations.
This is pertinent to the current situation, as the public health discourse surrounding COVID-19 can reveal to us these underlying assumptions regarding whose lives have value and hence whose lives are considered particularly grievable.
At the beginning of the pandemic in this country, it was proposed that establishing herd immunity by allowing the virus to spread through the population was a viable solution. We were told to expect to lose loved ones before their time. Simultaneously, reports announced that COVID-19 appeared to be deadly ‘only’ to the elderly and those with underlying health conditions. Reports of people’s deaths were accompanied by the qualification that they had ‘underlying health conditions.’ Whilst this was important information to be shared, nonetheless, some of these reports seemed to be presented as consolatory; as if they expected us to release a collective sigh of relief that only the elderly or those with pre-existing health problems were at risk. This sort of language was called out by members of those risk groups as ascribing unequal value to their lives. Kathryn Hearn wrote that the underlying assumption here appeared to be that COVID-19 was only deadly to those already near death; hence their deaths could be regarded as less tragic and less grievable.[5]
This sort of language would perhaps constitute what Butler would term ‘a violent circumscription of reality’ by organizing and valuing the lives of human beings according to notions of ‘a valuable life’ and hence grievable death. Butler also reminds us, however, that it is equally as important to interrogate the lacks within public discourse surrounding the virus: Whose vulnerability do we not publicly acknowledge? Whose lives and deaths, both those within the UK and overseas, do we not publicly see and mourn? These lacks help us to understand whose lives are regarded as not having value within society, and whose are considered disposable and therefore less grievable.
Another way the pandemic exposes the diverse ways in which vulnerability is socially distributed is by laying bare the health inequalities which infect the country. Research has shown that where you live in the country and your level of socio-economic deprivation influence your risk of developing long-term health conditions. Research has also shown that disturbingly, but perhaps not unsurprisingly, this has led to disparities in the impact which the pandemic has had on the population.[6] The virus has also had a disproportionately severe impact on black and minority ethnic groups. Many have theorised the potential causes for this, and while the underlying causes will be complex and multi-layered, evidence suggests that the disparate impacts are linked to the underlying structural and socio-economic disadvantages and discriminations which these communities already face. Members of these communities are also disproportionally represented in high-risk, and often low-paid, key worker jobs and thus are at a higher risk of exposure.[7] Although COVID-19 does introduce a new and unforeseen fragility into people’s lives, perhaps it is more accurate to say that, instead of creating vulnerability, the pandemic lays bare the vulnerabilities, precarity and inequalities to which people are already subjected. We do not face the virus on a level playing field.
The beating heart of Catholic Social Teaching is the belief in human dignity: the belief that all humans have intrinsic value. Moreover, a key tenet of CST is the idea that we should have a preferential option for the poor and most vulnerable. Thinking through the current situation with these foundational beliefs in mind invites us to question: Whose lives are considered valuable and hence grievable and worthy of protection in this time of global pandemic? Whose vulnerability and precarity do we attend to and offer protection for, not just during a pandemic, but also in times of health? Whose lives are regarded, perhaps unconsciously, as disposable? And, what does this say about where we as a society place our value? Reflecting on these questions makes us wonder whether the pandemic unveils an insidious underlying societal belief in the disposability of certain lives, hidden beneath public discourse and prevailing structural inequalities. These ethical considerations also highlight the work remaining to be done in the task of creating a more just and equal society for all.
Charlotte Bray is a PhD researcher in the Department of Theology and Religion, Durham University. Her research traces the development of ideas of structural sin in Catholic theological discourse.
[1] Judith Butler, Precarious Life (London: Verso, 2004) p.22.
[2] Butler, Precarious Life, p.27.
[3] https://truthout.org/articles/judith-butler-mourning-is-a-political-act-amid-the-pandemic-and-its-disparities/
[4] Butler, Precarious Life, p.32.
[5] https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2020/mar/19/underlying-conditions-coronavirus-health
[6] https://www.health.org.uk/publications/long-reads/will-covid-19-be-a-watershed-moment-for-health-inequalities
[7] Ibid.