For the first time in many of our lives, we are placed in a situation that we might not have been able to understand prior to 2020. And perhaps, for some, the ‘right now’ of the new normal that we are experiencing is not deemed an opportunity but solely a personal inconvenience that renders one frustrated at the temporal loss of freedom of movement.
Yet, for the first time in our lives we are given the chance to understand — not entirely but just a little better, what it might be like to be in another person’s shoes.
A person who is undocumented or refused documentation. A person with no identity card. A person who is stopped and fleeced by authority. A person who has spent most of her adolescent and adult life making multiple trips to various buildings of authorities to apply, wait and hope to obtain a permit. A piece of paper that will allow her to merely cross a few plantations or, at most, the South China Sea. A piece of paper to get on a plane — not just for the fun of it — but as part of long-term survival.
For the first time in our lives, from a very privileged stance, we are given a lesson in empathy in the freedom of movement. What it feels like to need a police permit to travel between districts. What it feels like to put in the mental energy into mapping out your movements and to weigh multiple routes and scenarios with authority. Using up mental energy, typically reserved for elsewhere, such as a business decision, an outfit choice, or a data plan. Because everything else was, well, automated or a no brainer (e.g. health insurance, immunisation, savings, deliveries, or travel).
But now, for those of us who are placed in a strict lockdown, where movement between districts is forbidden, we face yet another decision-making process. What do you write on the application form? What if it’s rejected? What if your movement is not considered essential? What if you can’t get to work? What if you can’t get to a loved one? What if you meet a power-tripper at the roadblock? What if you’re asked to turn around? What if-, what if-, what if-?
See also: ‘The Breakfast Club — after hours’
For the queue jumpers, who believe the rules don’t — and will never — apply to them, regardless of the number of daily new infection cases; who believe a special plate on their car, titles and stacks of cash will suffice, perhaps the loss of freedom of movement will never be a lesson for them.
But for the rest of us, we get to observe and understand the difference between privilege and entitlement. And perhaps, in this moment, from an extremely privileged point of view, we get to very lightly prick the surface in order to begin to understand what it means to not have the freedom of movement and what it can do to a person’s psyche and well-being.
Read: ‘Then and Now’ — an online exclusive for Plates, Vol.3: Water
