Choices have consequences

“It was their choice and nobody ever was going to force anyone into doing something they don't want to do. But there are consequences when you don't. You cannot choose to put at risk your co-workers. You cannot choose to put at risk the people sitting beside you on an airplane.”

- Justin Trudeau, Canadian Prime Minister

Pick any social media post about the harms inflicted on the covid unvaccinated in the name of public health, and in very short order you will find someone whose pithy retort has just three words: “Choices have consequences”.

I have thought long and hard about this phrase - both what it might mean, and what might inspire someone to write it.

It is, of course, a truism. Every decision leads to an outcome. If you watch another episode, you’ll be tired in the morning. If you don’t pay your bills, the electricity will be cut off. We’re not always happy with them - and they're not always fair - but all choices (including the choice not to make a choice) are followed by consequences.

It can also be a threat. If you don’t eat your vegetables, you won’t get dessert. If you don’t sleep with me, you’ll never work in this industry again. In short, if one party doesn’t comply with the demands of the other, there will be repercussions - and usually consequences the first party would rather avoid.

But in this context - the choice not to get vaccinated against covid - the phrase is used to convey moral righteousness. It expresses the idea that someone who makes a choice that doesn’t align with your values deserves to suffer the negative consequences of that choice.

This is not an uncommon use of the phrase. It’s not like we clap someone on the back and say “Choices have consequences!” any time they make a decision that ends with great results. The phrase is reserved to rationalise the misery of others as being a product of their own behaviour. It sits in the same drawer as “You make your bed, you lie in it” and “You reap what you sow”.

There are, of course, scenarios where this kind of value judgment may be appropriate. However, problems can arise with this attitude if our moral code has been led astray. Because once we perceive another person’s behaviour as fundamentally immoral, all sense of proportionality flies out the window. We are absolved from our normal empathy and compassion. We will not flinch to see the person suffer horribly - even if, by any reasonable and objective measure, their suffering is completely disproportionate to their choice, and the actual harms that flowed from it.

I believe this is what has happened when it comes to the covid unvaccinated. The campaign to demonise and dehumanise the unvaccinated has been wildly successful. Despite limited evidence that mass covid vaccination results in any broader societal benefits (i.e. herd immunity), the refusal to vaccinate is still viewed by many as a moral failure. Such people aren’t able to get to a point where they can rationally consider whether the sanctions imposed are proportionate - because they simply can’t break through a deeply-held belief that the covid unvaccinated inherently deserve to suffer for their sins.

My choice

I have chosen not to get vaccinated against covid.

I was an early sceptic of the global pandemic response of lockdowns, social distancing, and harsh restrictions. It was clear there had not been sufficient analysis of the risks and benefits. Many of the rules were harshly upheld, and yet deeply illogical under the most casual scrutiny. The “science” was presented in cute infographics with catchy slogans, but didn’t address the most basic questions. The “experts” were holding all the cards, but would never show their hand.

Worst of all, from very early on, all public discussion was suppressed. “Doing the right thing” not only encompassed following the rules, but refraining from questioning their absurdity or utility. Anything else was treason and murder, punishable by exile and death. The few brave souls who voiced countervailing views were hounded until they faded from (mainstream) view.

Like many, I had no existing antipathy towards vaccination. I have taken many vaccines and my children are vaccinated against standard childhood diseases. I initially looked forward to the development of a covid vaccine, simply because I believed it could end the insanity that had gripped the world. It was increasingly obvious that the extreme social restrictions were both ineffective at controlling the disease and disproportionate to the threat. However, many people were now so overwhelmed by fear that they clung to these rituals like a safety blanket. I believed covid vaccines could be used as an ‘offramp’ to coax the world back to normality.

Nonetheless, I was surprised and concerned by the speed of vaccine development. Living in Melbourne, one of the most locked down cities in the world, I was keen to move things along. But the one thing we need to understand the potential long-term impacts of a new medical treatment is time - and time is the one thing we can’t fast-track. This was particularly concerning when it came to the vaccines deploying what I understood to be novel mRNA technology.

As a relatively healthy 40-something, I knew I was never at significant risk from covid. So I decided to wait. And while I was waiting, the illogic returned. And the censorship. And the misinformation. If the vaccines were 90% effective at preventing transmission, why were all the vaccinated people in Britain and Israel suddenly catching and passing on covid in huge numbers? Since when did we ignore natural immunity from infection? And why was it so hard to get information about the individual risks and benefits of vaccination from our government authorities, our media, and our medical professionals?

These were the same people who had ignored the obvious detriments of lockdowns, silenced those who spoke out against them, and hijacked the concept of “science” for political gain. How could I trust their word that vaccines were now the new “right thing” in the fight against covid?

My initial decision to wait became became a decision not to get vaccinated until my questions could be adequately addressed. But the longer I waited, the more the questions mounted - and the more impossible it became to ask them in public, let alone get a sensible answer from a credible source. I felt completely unable to make an informed choice.

Soon government authorities began to ramp up the pressure, placing greater and greater restrictions on those who had chosen not to get vaccinated. It started off as passing moral judgment, developed into social exclusion, and moved on to applying financial sanctions.

But the pressure only raised more questions. If a government was forcing its citizens to have a medical treatment, but was also legally liable for any ill-effects, wouldn’t they be incentivised to overlook data pointing to safety issues? Why were other treatments not only being ignored, but actively demonised? And if I let them do this to me, would they come for my children next?

I’m a stubborn soul, and the more they pushed, the more my resolve to hold out increased.

But, choices have consequences.

My consequences

Compared to most, the consequences I’ve experienced for choosing not to get vaccinated have been extremely mild - and yet also, for me, profound.

In Melbourne the unvaccinated were excluded from all hospitality and entertainment venues; barred from entering any gyms, fitness or personal care studios; and could only work from home.

But although I couldn’t go into my office, my laptop job was never at risk. My social life simply continued its natural decline (begun years earlier on the birth of my children). And while I couldn’t take my kids to swimming lessons, playcentres, or the zoo, we still had a ball over Summer exploring our beautiful beaches, parks, and forests.

Nonetheless the way the world has treated the unvaccinated has taken a significant toll on my mental health - and has fundamentally changed how I see the people around me.

Despite being inundated with anti-unvaccinated rhetoric from official sources, I was not prepared for the level of antipathy from friends and family. I could just about cope with faceless society treating me like I was dirty and diseased - but what tipped the balance for me was that the vast majority of my friends and family were totally fine with it - and some even actively supported it.

The first three people I openly declared my vaccination status to did not respond well. The first, an old school friend, posted an article on Facebook shortly afterwards about the dangers of the unvaccinated “to explain why she would not be hanging out with unvaccinated people”. The second, a colleague, told me the unvaccinated were immoral and should be refused healthcare.

And the third, my sister, ghosted me for a month before advising that her medical specialists had given her “unequivocal advice” that she “should not catch up with people who are not vaccinated”. Christmas Day came around, but she still refused to see me and my family - not outside, not socially distanced, not masked, and not even after a negative RAT. Meanwhile she exposed herself to infection multiple times in other settings - but as we all know, covid caught from the fully vaccinated is a far superior disease.

It is one thing to face public censure from the government, who don’t know me from a bar of soap. It’s another thing to be judged and then abandoned by people who (supposedly) know me best. It has certainly been a huge blow to my self-esteem to realise that most of my friends and family can so readily dismiss my views as stupid or selfish or crazy (or all three), as it speaks volumes to their underlying opinion of me in the first place. But to watch them supporting (and in some cases revelling in) the exclusion of the unvaccinated from society was acutely disturbing on both a personal and societal level - and is something I can never un-see.

On top of this loss of connection and community is a deep-seated anxiety that I have been unable to shake, even as restrictions against the unvaccinated have been eased. Few vaccinated people may be able to understand that I genuinely spent nights awake planning how I could get my family out of the country, wondering whose attic we could hide in, and what skills we could use to survive if things got really bad. It sounds outlandish, but the fear felt real enough. Even now, the awareness remains that everything could be taken away from us at any time - and almost no one I know will notice or care - because it’s no less than everything I deserve for my choice.

Let the punishment fit the crime

We generally accept that it is appropriate for members of society to be punished for behaviour which runs contrary to public interests. However we also accept that these punishments must be reasonable and proportionate - or, as Gilbert & Sullivan wrote, “Let the punishment fit the crime”.

Humans are social creatures, so ostracism from society is a harsh punishment. We also need to be allowed to work so we can earn income to spend on basic necessities, such as food and shelter. To apply such severe punishments on otherwise law-abiding people - even temporarily - should have required governments to make a very strong case that allowing the unvaccinated to work and socialise would cause extreme harm to the balance of the population.

However, it was clear relatively early on that vaccinated and unvaccinated people could catch covid and pass the infection to others. Even if covid vaccines have a temporary impact on transmission and infection, it has not been enough to make a dent on case rates at either a local or global level (and for all we know may even have accelerated them). Further, due to the greater vulnerability of certain demographics and the limited longterm effectiveness of the vaccines, a moderately healthy unvaccinated person in their 20s still has a significantly lower risk of severe illness or death than a quadruple-vaccinated person in their 80s.

The mandatory mass vaccination of all citizens (regardless of age, health and other risk factors), and the segregation of the unvaccinated from the general population, simply cannot be justified on the basis of public health or protecting the vulnerable. It follows that imposing restrictions on the unvaccinated must be considered a punitive measure, rather than a protective one. Furthermore, it is a punitive measure for which the negative consequences for the unvaccinated are completely disproportionate to their choice to remain vaccine-free.

While my consequences were mild, there are many thousands of unvaccinated people around the world who have lost their jobs, their income and their housing; been permanently estranged from their family and friends; or lost their rights to see dependents, such as children or elderly parents.

It is true that most of these unvaccinated people knew (and had often been threatened with) these consequences when they made their choice. They therefore made their choice not to get vaccinated in full knowledge that it would take them down a path of suffering. However simply knowing the negative consequences of your choice does not mean you deserve to suffer them

I anticipate that many people believe the alternative path - taking the vaccine - is no big deal. Such people may therefore look at vaccine refusers the same way a parent might look at a child refusing to eat their vegetables - with a sense of frustration and anger that an individual is refusing to put a healthy substance in their body for their own benefit.

But to take this analogy further, let’s imagine that the child who chooses not to eat their vegetables is ejected from the family home and must sleep on the street. While the child’s refusal to eat their greens may not have been in their best interests, the punishment imposed by their parents is clearly disproportionate - and not only that, it is likely to cause the child much greater harm than not eating their vegetables. In fact, most people would have no hesitation in branding the parents’ behaviour as child abuse. We would also never say that the child deserves the consequences simply because they knew about them in advance.

Let’s imagine now that the child has reached the age of majority, and is old enough to make their own choices about their life. If they choose to drink cola for breakfast, they are free to do so. If they want to sleep with multiple sexual partners without protection, this is also their choice. However if they refuse to eat the broccoli and cabbage their housemates serve them for dinner, they will be dismissed from their job and banned from the pub.

The analogy is ridiculous (as they all are). However it brings to light the factor most often overlooked by just about everyone, which is this:

It does not matter if the covid vaccines are safe or unsafe. It does not matter if taking a covid vaccine is a big deal or no deal at all. The issue is whether the legal and social consequences of not taking a covid vaccine are proportionate to the harms caused by that choice.

But unfortunately the unvaccinated have already been tried and sentenced by the court of public opinion, ably led by governments looking for someone to blame, “experts” looking for a shred of credibility, and media looking to generate clicks and social division. So long as the general public continue to view the refusal to vaccinate as a moral failure, they will continue to support the discriminatory treatment of the unvaccinated. Indeed, the position is now so deeply entrenched that it may not entirely disappear without legislative or other legal intervention.

Facing the music

The friend who publicly rejected the unvaccinated has contacted me a few times recently to suggest catching up. Similarly, I am told that my sister no longer takes the position that the unvaccinated must be excluded from her presence on medical grounds (in fact, I’m supposed to be going out to lunch for her birthday this week).

In both cases, nothing has been explained to me about whether or why they have changed their stance. In fact, when I suggested to my sister that we talk the matter out before attending a family gathering, her response was an hysterical point blank refusal to enter into any discussions whatsoever (accompanied by the standard pejorative labels I’m now accustomed to receiving).

She later messaged the family group saying she just wanted us all to be back together and “to leave all this behind”.

What I took from this is that she wanted to avoid the consequences of her choices.

She’d made her bed, but she didn’t want to lie in it.

She’d sowed her seeds, but didn’t want to reap what she had grown.

And I suspect she won’t be alone.

In fact, I’m certain that many of the vaccinated will not be as keen on suffering the consequences of their choices, as they have been on ensuring that the unvaccinated suffer theirs.

Unfortunately, for many unvaccinated people this refusal to acknowledge the suffering we have endured is yet another form of injury in and of itself. It is an ongoing suppression of our experience - for, not only have our thoughts, opinions and questions been silenced on the basis that we might undermine the public’s faith in vaccinations, our feelings are now to be censored as well - presumably on the basis that we might undermine the public’s faith in their own moral compass.

Nonetheless, in the unlikely event I find myself in the position of meting out punishment for the harms done to me and other unvaccinated people, I will do my best to retain my compassion and empathy, and pass down a judgment that is both just and proportionate. I will remind myself that most of the people who treated the unvaccinated like dirt are still human, with all the frailties and flaws that come with it. I will try to only do unto others what I would have them do unto me.

But what I won’t do - what I can never do - is forget.

I won’t forget the people who so readily applied labels like anti-science, anti-vaxxer, misogynist, racist, conspiracy theorist, crazy, stupid, simpleton, selfish, nutcase and loony.

I won’t forget the people who called for the covid unvaccinated to be fired, excluded, punished, shamed, broken, pissed off, turned into social pariahs, uninvited from Christmas, and refused medical treatment.

But most of all, I will never forget the tiny number of people who supported me - and the very large number of people who didn’t.