On the platforms at Flinders Street Station – one of the city’s major hubs of activity – a pre-recorded message sounds to waiting commuters and workers advising all to take extra of themselves and others. The message echoes routinely, every few minutes, telling everyone to be vigilant as to what they touch, to wash their hands regularly and maintain a respectful distance from one another. There is no trace of alarm as the morning rush typical of a Melbourne weekday is nearly absent. Yet, at the nearby supermarket on Elizabeth street, people are queuing up, a kindly attendant offers baskets while regulating the number of customers who can enter. On the windows, are signs reminding customers to limit their purchases to just one of each item they’re shopping for. There is anxiety, even impatience as some are on their phones hastily asking “Do we need this?” and “Have we got enough of this?” Outside the supermarket, the city has become quieter as more and more people are taking the option to stay away from the ambiguity of a “mass gathering”. They are either at risk to others or to themselves and as this period of uncertainty continues, it is a risk very few people are willing to take.
It has been roughly three months since the first reported case of coronavirus which originated in Wuhan, a city in China’s Hubei province sparked headlines. One month after the initial outbreak, the first confirmed case of the virus was reported in Australia. As of March 18th 2020, the Department of Health has confirmed 454 cases of COVID-19 in the country with 40 new cases in the last 24 hours. Additionally, 228 cases were traced to overseas acquisition with most originating from USA, Iran, Italy and the United Kingdom. Furthermore, the rate of confirmed global cases has been counted as more than 190,600 and 7,700 deaths. However, as cautious as our politicians and health experts try to be, within our industries of information and consumerism, there is a persistently undignified attitude where the erosion of reason can do more harm than the virus itself. Fights in our supermarkets over toilet paper, media narratives bordering on conspiracy and cultural bigotry are a separate, just as dangerous pandemic. As the demand for toilet paper and other household necessities increases in the face of a two-week quarantine for those diagnosed or at-risk, the uncertainty and panic evoke a need to ration. The rationing mentality is nothing new when dealing with a crisis in ensuring there is adequate and fair distribution of goods but the current social setting which relies on an individualised form of convenience and instant gratification is too much for shops to keep up with and for observers to bare.
With any disease, the symptom that spreads the quickest is fear. In a recent article published by the New York Times, a number of people expressed their feelings of being treated like pariahs in their communities. Many had been tested and cleared of the virus but this connection to coronavirus left them diagnosed as guilty by association. Many felt rejected by their social groups, received scathing attacks on social media, even death threats. Additionally, this new disease has brought up old stigmas related to historically marginalized groups in Western countries. In Melbourne, our celebratory spirit for our multicultural city appears to be on hold as a result of gossip of “no-go zones”, particularly in areas of prominent Asian communities including Box Hill and Little Bourke Street in the CBD.
In Australia, the biggest story the coronavirus has produced is the great toilet paper emergency. With all the bewilderment, frustration and memes this event can pave the way for an intriguing discussion of a developed country in the throes of a consumerist panic almost for the sake of it. While some supermarkets have declared a limit of two packs per customer, this form of rationing is more for the sake of sanity instead of survival. The act of rationing supplies inherently is about ensuring a sense of order in the event of a crisis, but it came with a sense of necessity and dignity. During the Second World War, for example, the British government established a special department to deal with food production and distribution – The Ministry of Food. Rationing began in 1940 even though these measures were forecast back in the mid-1930s when war had been looming. While civilians were designated their rations and booklets other measures were implemented to ensure people were getting the most of their new supply. Though limited, the ministry created a variety of cookbooks and ad campaigns to encourage civilians to get creative with what they were reduced to which inherently could assist with a degree of morale. Generally, rations encompassed weekly supplies for one adult. The ration pack included, amongst other items, bacon, ham, cheese, tea and cooking fat between 2oz to 4oz while one also received 8oz of sugar and 3 pints of milk. However, unlike the current fixation on toilet paper, butter, which was rationed to 2oz (or 57g) per week for each adult, came with symbolic significance in the British conscious during this precarious period; something the media tried to evoke outrage towards.
In exploring the history of rationing, Terry Charman, formerly a senior historian of the Imperial War Museum describes a sense of collective social responsibility that had the potential to be hindered by irresponsible media narratives. One prominent publication responding to the rationing system was the Daily Mail that indignantly expressed its outrage at the rationing of butter as representative of a broader decline in the British Empire. However, while ideologically flexed, there was a different view expressed by civilians who viewed rationing as a necessity to ensure fair shares and resist opportunistic profiteering – complaints that had pervaded from the previous war. However, if we were to fast forward to what had emerged in the post-war period, the economic shifts resulted in a prolonged time of plenty and the seemingly limitless supply of goods always within reach has made us comfortable to the point of discomfort at the prospect of disruptions to our modern conveniences. Indeed, when the toilet paper supply runs dry it leads to the most ludicrous display of entitlement where minds become fixed in a state of pseudo-resilience and preparedness as though we are in a time of impending disaster like a war. But this is not a time of war, at least in the conventional sense, it is a time of overreaction where the main attack is on civilized behaviour.
If there is any existence of a crisis in Australia, it is one of reason. Reason is not something to be rationed for, it is the only item that will ultimately make us immune to any impending pandemic. However, as demonstrated in our supermarkets, reason is in a much shorter supply than toilet paper. If there is some form of guidance that we can rely on at present, we can refer to the third law as uttered by Moreau’s Sayer of the Law – not to spill blood, are we not men?
