Their shelves might be groaning, but preppers have missed the point

Readers may recall that I’ve recently been watching a reality TV program called Doomsday Preppers. I’m still not sure whether this viewing choice makes me fashion-forward, for taking an interest in matters apocalyptic before the world actually started ending, or slow on the uptake, for not following the preppers’ lead.

For those who are unfamiliar, Doomsday Preppers profiles ordinary Americans who believe that the apocalypse is nigh, and are determined to survive it. These people hoard supplies in dodgy underground bunkers, while training their long-suffering children in the fine art of survival. In one episode, a crazed father forces his sweet little children to help catch and then slaughter a goat, while in another, a man feeds his son squished field mice.

The preppers all fear different disasters, and they all prep in their own distinctive ways. The only constant is that, as Americans, they all assemble massive stockpiles of weapons. Because they believe that, when disaster strikes, we’ll all be on our own. And you wouldn’t want anyone stealing your supply of flattened mice.

Over the past few weeks, I’ve been thinking a lot about those preppers, and how smug they must be feeling. Slapping themselves on the back, telling themselves they were right, and we were wrong. I saw one guy on Facebook, boasting that his decision to buy a gas mask has now been vindicated. People laughed at the time, but would they still be laughing now? Well, there might still be a few sniggers when he’s spotted at Woollies, picking up his groceries in a full-face gas mask. But it’s a small price to pay to stay safe, right?

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While the preppers gloat, the rest of us walk around like stunned rabbits, at a carefully maintained 1.5 metre-distance from one another, staring into our own, specifically tailored, headlights. How will I feed my family if I can no longer work? Who will take the children if my husband and I get ill? And for me, what will I do if my elderly mother and aunt in Sydney get sick?

I tell my son that, even if we do find ourselves in a protracted period of social isolation, things will get easier over time. We just need to settle into this new normal. Yet I worry that I’m deceiving him, and myself.

I’ve always found the prepping attitude distasteful – the idea that people would focus so many resources on protecting themselves, rather than working with others to avert the threats that we collectively face. Yet now that the pressure’s on, it has sometimes felt like those who acted quickly, to look after number one, are the ones who’ve been rewarded. They’ve got shelves full of rice and hand sanitiser and toilet paper, while the rest of us struggle to cobble together a meal out of various scraps of pasta we found at the back of the pantry and some tomato paste that’s only slightly over its use-by date.

But maybe there’s nothing new in this. Haven’t we always treated the very rich as if they were the most important and admirable people in our society? And what are the wealthy, except the biggest and most successful hoarders?

Yet as the age of coronavirus settles in, and we start to glimpse the outline of that new normal, there are signs of hope. Last week, I woke to a text message from a woman I hardly know, the daughter of one of my mother’s old friends, asking whether she could do anything for her. Another friend dropped off a box of groceries at my aunt’s flat. He’s never met my aunt, but he knew she was on her own, and he wanted to lend a hand.

I’m hearing stories of people spontaneously leaving notes in their neighbours’ letterboxes, asking if they need anything. My local Facebook Good Karma site is awash with offers of help to those who might be in need, as well as tips on how we can all support struggling local businesses.

It’s early days, of course. But it seems that, instead of responding like those preppers, and closing themselves off to the world, people are opening up to their neighbours. From a distance of 1.5 metres, of course. True, the preppers might have slightly cleaner bums, but it’s looking like the key to surviving catastrophe isn’t having a well-stocked bunker after all. Rather, it’s having a well-developed sense of community.

How ironic it would be if a disaster that requires us to socially isolate is the very thing that finally reminds us that we’re all part of a society.

Twitter @monicadux