Rebecca Whitfield-Baker: How can closing off from the rest of the world until the cows come home be the answer?
The smug-looking Mark McGowan speaks like the “resilient” folks from the “Golden State” are a different species, writes WA ex-pat Rebecca Whitfield-Baker.
Opinion
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So, McGowan’s keeping those dirty, disease-ridden Eastern Staters out of his western third of the nation indefinitely?
He’s desperate to keep his “safe, sensible, responsible, reasonable and cautious” residents, well “safe, sensible, responsible, reasonable and cautious” … at least when there’s no coveted AFL Grand Final hosting gig up for grabs.
The decidedly smug-looking premier, Mark McGowan, speaks as though these “resilient” folks who hail from the west are some sort of superior, protected species.
I can’t help thinking there’s a part of him that secretly hopes the rest of the nation is obliterated, so he can bask in the glory of being the last man standing.
But how is that being a team player? How is that “being in this together”?
Who knows when interstate-based grandparents will meet their precious new grandchildren, or families will get to see their desperately-missed loved ones face-to-face.
There would be many who’ve been crossing the days of their calendars, counting down until February 5 when they’d be welcomed into the self-proclaimed Golden State, who’d be happy to mask up and do RAT tests daily (if only they could be accessed).
And just as many sandgropers who’ve been excitedly planning for the arrival of their nearest and dearest.
I know of a particular grandmother in the grain-growing central wheatbelt region of the state who’ll be devastated by last night’s bombshell announcement, who’ll have her broomstick at hand, ready to sweep the WA leader into the dust, if he turns up on her doorstep.
Seriously, it’s been too long for many people. There’s been too many special moments lost.
Too many things we can’t get back. Hugs, laughter, life.
It’s not just holding the hand of a dying loved one that matters, it is sharing in the everyday moments. It’s having the chance to bond with your young grandkids – something they’ll carry with them and treasure all their lives.
I listened this morning as a broken-hearted SA grandmother called talkback radio, to say she’d barely seen her young WA-based grandchildren in the past two years.
“To have different hopes and expectations, raised and then dashed … it’s cruel,” she said before breaking down in tears.
If we are going to learn to live with this pesky disease as it metamorphoses into goodness knows how many variants, surely it is time to learn to do just that?
I get the apprehension in the west, I really do. To be honest, I think this state stuffed up its border reopening – the chaos, confusion and changing, spur-of-the-moment decisions on the eve of Christmas was maddening.
I’m not happy our kids don’t get to start the school year properly, back at school with their mates, and I can’t imagine what it’d be like to be trying to juggle family life amid the craziness of close contacts at childcare at the moment.
But we can’t just keep moving the goalposts. The deal was the WA borders would open on February 5, pending the state reached a double vaccination rate of 90 per cent.
Last night, Mr McGowan said getting 80 to 90 per cent of the WA population triple vaccinated was now the answer. What comes next – a fourth, fifth shot?
Life doesn’t just stop. People grow older. People need each other.
I feel like we need to get perspective, surely it is time to just mask up and learn to live with this – there are so many other priorities and needs. Time doesn’t just stop. Life is real.
“Allowing hundreds or thousands of omicron-infected people to fly straight into WA from February 5 with no testing, no quarantine, no public health measures will cause a flood of Covid across our state,” says Mr McGowan.
Well why, after more than two years, is the state not better prepared? Why isn’t there a testing plan for visitors in place? Why aren’t public health measures in place?
How can closing off from the rest of the world until the cows come home be the answer? Seriously, if you are not ready now, when will you be?
My beautiful dad died suddenly in August 2020 while checking his sheep on his beloved farm.
I often think of how he’d cope now, not being able to see his cherished South Australian-based grandsons.
I can’t help thinking that to him the chance to see them would be well worth the risk of catching Omicron.