What is the human cost of a lockdown? That question has swirled around Australian politics since the pandemic began – and perhaps there is no clear answer. But it seems like western Sydney has reached its breaking point.
I’ve lived in western Sydney my whole life – through many challenging times – and I’ve never felt the palpable sense of fear and paranoia that grips the region now. Speaking to doctors, tradies, lawyers, parents, teachers, academics, students, community workers and leaders, it feels like we are collectively on our last nerves.
Every day, everyone I know tunes into Gladys Berejiklian’s 11am press conference, waiting with bated breath for signs of hope, only to be disappointed.
My heart skips a beat whenever I hear mention of the LGAs of concern, knowing the disease is spreading among my community. The worry chews into your nerves, like a virus all on its own.
We know lockdowns are tough on mental health, but issues facing residents here are tangled and complex. Hearing authorities rebuke our communities has become a communal point of despair.
I won’t defend people who are breaking the rules, but the paternalistic and militarised approach authorities have taken to compliance in the region is taxing.
The eight western Sydney LGAs that were the first to be placed under tougher restrictions are some of the most diverse suburbs in the country. Many people in these communities have traumatic relationships with a military presence, yet police patrol the streets on horseback and the military doorknocks suburban homes.
This approach leaves residents feeling separated from the rest of Sydney, in need of tougher treatment.
It’s hard to deny the racialised element to this approach, when people ask me: where was the military when the outbreak was in the east?
People feel the double standard, but powerless to do anything about it.
It’s degrading to be treated that way, people tell me, infuriating even. Some say to hear about it causes pain in their chest that cuts deeper every day.
Then there is the desperate scramble for Pfizer. Many western Sydney residents are convinced of the need to get the vaccine, but refuse to take AstraZeneca.
People desperate to get out of lockdown see Pfizer as their ticket out, but can’t find it. They call GPs all over the city, scour online booking sites, call friends and family, anything to get their hands on it. Another worry chewing away.
When the Lebanese Muslim Association ran a pop-up vaccination clinic in Lakemba with very small amounts of Pfizer on offer, they said people camped out to be first in line. Can you imagine camping out in the cold for a vaccine? The level of desperation?
The financial crisis gripping the region has only exacerbated these problems. Millions unable to get to work are dependent on minuscule disaster payments to feed their families.
These areas are already some of the most disadvantaged in the city. Without proper wage subsidies, people are living day-to-day on the brink of financial collapse, juggling loans and payments in a desperate attempt to stay afloat.
They tell me their only hope is that the lockdown will lift at the end of August – something that increasingly looks unlikely and yet is their only source of comfort.
Anxious, desperate, scared, paranoid, angry and hopeless, residents in western Sydney are hurting. I only wish I knew what to say to comfort them.
