It began with rumours in
various countries that the health system would very soon have to prioritise
life-saving treatment. Priority was said to be given to the under 70s, or some said
under 60s.
Some American voices could be heard saying that the older
generation would gladly die to save the economy for the younger one. Does anyone,
anyone at all, believe that these disgusting Republicans do not have personal
arrangements to ensure that when push comes to shove, they would be given access
to the treatment? That they personally would not have to pay the price, which they
suggest the rest of the old population should?
A few days ago, the 80-year-old
Israeli philosopher, Asa Kasher, whose claim to fame was writing the ethical
code for the Israeli army (sounds like a contradiction-in-terms), wrote
an article, all up-in-arms about this suggestion that a 50-year-old should have
priority over a 90-year-old.
It is wonderful what the eye of the beholder can do. With that understanding, Kasher, if he is up to it,
may wish to spend his remaining days to ponder, how a Palestinian would write
the ethical code for the Israeli army.
Prioritising treatment, based on an assessment of whether it will pay off in terms of longer run survival, is not new, of course. It happens daily in hospitals everywhere. Long term life expectancy, with or without the virus, declines exponentially(?) with advancing age, but it is not the only factor: in Lombardy, 99% of deaths have been among people with a significant underlying health condition and half of those have had three. The majority, naturally, also happen to be over 70, but their underlying health, or lack of it, is what invited their (slightly?) untimely demise. The english vernacular for pneumonia is 'the old man's friend' for a reason.
ReplyDeleteIf there is a brewing 'war of the ages', it flows from the crass presentation of dismal medical statistics and the further fragmentation of fragile social cohesion by stratified social media. Discuss.
I end on a lighter note. While strolling isolatedly (sic) through Regents Park, I detoured to the rear of London Zoo to consult experts in the art of survival as an endangered species. For the path borders on the back yard of the Orangutan pen. The inhabitants were, as usual, in reflective mood, though I detected a trace of a thin simian smile. The irony of the situation had not escaped them. The authors of their demise as a species were now under siege themselves from a small, but resilient, fragment of DNA. This was less threatening to human life itself, for only a small proportion of those infected would succumb, than to the hopelessly complex edifice of society that greedy, technological human beings had created - at the expense of their own endangered species. They were minded of a drole line in a film they had seen "Some people are born bastards, you are a self made man"