Questions from an Expendable
Niki Colon
When COVID hit, I was reminded of my “expendability”
In March of 2020, when Coronavirus cases began proliferating exponentially in the United States, a sense of looming crisis pervaded the news and, thus, our social feeds. As a person whose immune system fluctuates between not working very well and so overactive that it mistakenly attacks my healthy tissues, my concern for my safety began to escalate. Even among those who downplayed the threat, however, the subtext was clear: there is a hierarchy of life, and the disabled, elderly, immunocompromised, and those with underlying medical conditions are at the bottom. Messages about my expendability as a chronically ill person are widespread; by now, we have all heard the ableist rhetoric: “COVID-19 is only deadly to old people, and people with underlying conditions and weakened immune systems.” These attitudes callously dismiss the 60% of adults in the U.S. living with a chronic disease, 40% living with two or more chronic diseases, and the 16% of the population age 65 and older.
Of course, invalidation and even dehumanization is nothing new to those who live with limitations. According to Time Magazine’s Time 100, philosopher Peter Singer, who champions a “quality of life” ethic, and advocates for the euthanization of disabled babies under the guise of beneficence (i.e., low-key genocide) is one of the “world’s most influential people.” Singer believes that disability is more a problem to be eradicated than a difference to be embraced and accommodated. Interestingly, Singer is a prominent animal rights advocate, whose book Animal Liberation affords ethical standing to animals on the basis of their capacity to suffer—a stance with which I agree. Singer, however, places more value on animal life than disabled human life such that he supports infanticide. It is, therefore, unsurprising that Singer also endorses age-based medical discrimination against the elderly during the COVID crisis. Singer’s assertions are clear: there is a hierarchy of life and the infirm are at the bottom. We are expendable.
In light of my chronic medical conditions, I worry about what might happen were I to end up in the ER with complications from the Coronavirus; how precious ventilators are allocated, and the snap decision making that deems one life more likely to survive than another based solely on the chronic conditions listed on a person’s chart. If it came down to the wire—or a handful of ventilators—would my life be considered worth saving? It turns out that my fear of inequitable treatment is substantiated—many states have rationing policies with the types of provisions that would place people with disabilities at the back of the line for ventilators.
When I hear conspirators promoting “PLANdemic” rhetoric and see “protestors” gathering in defiance, flaunting their mask-less faces in the name of liberty and patriotism, and asserting that the coronavirus is only a potentially lethal threat to the elderly and those with underlying medical conditions, it makes me feel disposable. Maya Angelou once said, “there is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you,” words that have always resonated with my personal experience with chronic illness. But now I feel as though the greater agony is the seeming consensus among pandemic resistors and objectors that my story doesn’t actually matter; that my life, and countless others, are inconsequential—worth less than individual conveniences and freedoms. But disability, underlying health conditions, and aging do not invalidate one’s worth. I am a fully functioning member of society insofar as I am gainfully employed, pay taxes, and participate in the economy. As a peer support and behavioral health specialist, I provide emotional support to people who need help; as a graduate student, I will develop ideas and contribute to knowledge, addressing a range of societal problems and needs. Why isn’t my life worth protecting?
To you, the dissenters, the maskless, and the conspirators, I would like to pose several questions: What if you’re wrong? Wrong, that is, about the existence, transmissibility, and severity of the Coronavirus? How would you feel if you were to contract this virus and pass it on to someone you love, such as your child, your partner, or your mother? If that loved one were to endure severe complications or—dare I say it—die as a direct result of your reckless behavior, how would you live with yourself knowing that their suffering was wholly preventable?
Despite the prevalence of chronic diseases and they ways in which the ADA has humanized accessibility such that we all benefit from it 1, I can understand how it might be difficult to place oneself into the shoes of a disabled person or a person with underlying health conditions. Like any privilege, able-bodiedness goes hand-in-hand with advantage blindness. Implicit in the notion of being “woke” is the unlearning of that blindness. Actively confronting our biases is not easy; it takes effort, and I get not understanding simply because one has never been expected to know better. But here’s the thing: chronic disease is something that 6 out of 10 Americans will eventually confront. If you had heart disease or cancer now, how would you feel about the people who refuse to do their part and accept their share of the public responsibility to protect your life? How does one reconcile their indifference toward people with underlying medical conditions with the statistical likelihood of chronic disease?
Five months deep into this crisis with no end in sight—what could I possibly say to change a pandemic objectors mind? I recognize that the answer is likely “nothing” at this point—that my questions are a futile attempt to effect meaningful change. So, I will conclude, instead, with a plea—please understand that the “people who will be high-risk patients if we get coronavirus can hear you when you reassure everyone we’re the only ones who might die.”
Please understand that when you say that the Coronavirus is only deadly to the elderly and those with underlying medical conditions, you are advocating a stance that life exists in hierarchical terms. That some lives are inherently more precious than others. Even if you are saying it unconsciously, the subtext is that vulnerable lives—potential friends, family, and colleagues—are not worth protecting or saving. Now that you are aware, will you have our backs and remember that we are people with a right to live, too?
