On Feeling Guilty for Being Privileged Enough to Not Face the Worst of Coronavirus

When coronavirus exploded in our country, it brought with it a shift—an upheaval of socio-economic functioning for the sake of social distancing. But while the most I had to give up was Instagram-documented dinners, bear hugging my friends, gym workouts, the fear and panic created by the indefinite lockdowns threatened far greater losses for too many others.

Huddled in my cozy nest of middle-class privilege, I pored over articles of underpaid, underfed migrant workers threatened by suicide and starvation, with a cup of Dalgona coffee in hand. I got paid my monthly pocket money, clicking on a keyboard from the comfort of my couch, while reading stories of struggling freelancers facing job losses and evictions due to failure to pay rent. Even as Instagram influencers desperately tried to make jhadu pocha into a latest fitness trend , I shared house duties with my mother and my sister.All these factors should’ve made me breathe a sigh of relief. But in reality, every breath feels heavily anchored to anxious thoughts and a sense of shame about my situation.

Don’t get me wrong: I am fortunate to have food options on my table, an unlimited 4G data plan on days when the WiFi sucks (which is everyday), as well as a few friends to hang out with under the moonlit, starry sky of my terrace every night. But despite floating about in a bubble that brims with privilege, I also find myself sinking in a downward spiral of guilt that sometimes feels like it could engulf me whole. I feel ashamed for not facing the kind of hardships that flood my news feed, for being disconnected from the reported reality that is all too real for the rest of my country’s citizens. And when I do instinctively find myself cribbing about things that make me annoyed or sad—like being catapulted into long-distancing everything overnight or struggling to find a work-life balance, or simply not having access to my usual hobbies —I find myself feeling overwhelmingly guilty for complaining about the trivial luxuries that other people often don’t even have in the first place.

By definition, guilt is your conscience’s way of washing over your mind when you’ve done something wrong, a moral method to make you feel remorseful for bad behaviour. But the guilt that I, and I think many of my friends who find themselves in a similar situation in these unprecedented times are feeling, is far more sinister. It’s the kind that tickles your tummi with terror and makes you think twice before you share on social media that you’re actually starting to enjoy being in quarantine.As the pandemic presses upon our lives with a muddy filter, many psychologists have spoken about how this has prompted a mental condition that was previously associated with post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) in soldiers who went to war but felt liable for escaping alive. As we shut ourselves in to wage a war against a virus, it doesn’t seem shocking that we’re far more susceptible to mental distress. When you factor in the constant churn of social media and news blasts that leave you with no option to be oblivious to the reality, the crippling impact of what we’re going through hits harder. This is also the paradox of privilege, wherein a person's socio-economic advantage gives them access to their materialistic desires, but also leaves them with an unshakeable guilt for getting these, weighing down on their mental health.

From a young age, many Indians have been conditioned to believe that if someone is worse off than they are, it’s because they are getting their karmic balance, you know , "you sow what you reap" fable, Plastering a fact that our society breeds inequality by a default design which allows a minority to profit off the struggling majority. But when the entire community finds itself caught in the same conundrum, the glaring inequalities embedded into our system start to show up. We are all affected in some ways, yes, but the less privileged are far more affected and will take far more time and efforts to get out of this moment we all share. In India’s diverse societal fabric, we also have to take into account the roles of class, caste and religion in determining who gets to be privileged and who doesn’t. This essentially creates a chasm so deeply dangerous that ultimately only those who can afford to live in high-rise towers, practise the majoritarian faith and keep their savings stable can walk away relatively unscathed. So when you find yourself caught in a freefall of overwhelming guilt for being part of the privileged 10 percent , it can mess with your mind in ways you don't like.

It makes me put myself and my actions under a microscope, constantly making me question what I did to deserve to get away without facing the worst of a crisis that is overturning everyone’s lives. It makes me snap at friends who are venting about how they miss partying on Saturday nights, even when their FOMO is otherwise warranted. It makes me irritated with anyone flexing their quarantine cooking when it's just their way of coping. The thing is that it’s unfair on my part to do that. Pain, they say, is relative to each person’s experience and not an absolute. Every person is on a different emotional journey and everyone’s distress, including mine, should therefore be valid.

After dealing with this guilt for a while now, I have also come to realise that as with any recovery programme, acknowledging your demons is the first step in understanding them. Humans are programmed to feel guilt so they can be empowered with empathy, integrated as functional members of society, and learn to never take each other for granted. The horrors that surround you may be difficult to swallow, but awareness about them is a necessary prescription. Even so, it’s okay to take the occasional day off and soak in the illusion of ignorance, as long as you emerge from it with a more robust outlook.

Checking your privilege makes you more mindful about the personal decisions you make, more careful about the words you use and more grateful for what you’ve been given. At the same time, acknowledgement is the equivalent of adding viral news such as locker room fiasco, or the inefficiency of the government, to your Instagram story: it’s encouraged but unlikely to impact change. Long-lasting change can only come from holding people accountable, donating what you can and keeping yourself as well as the ones you care about informed in an age where unsuspecting citizens keep taking online classes at WhatsApp university.

As someone I saw in my Instagram story said: We are not in the same boat, but are facing the same storm. You may not be able to save someone from getting seasick, or protect their boat from capsizing, but you can always lend them your spare life jacket.

Thanks for reading,

H.K.