2020 has been a pretty shit year if I'm being honest. Of course, that can't be a blanket statement. There are certainly exceptions to the rule, and there are always reasons to be grateful. But, for many, this year has been revelatory in ways that are personally and professionally terrifying; in ways that we simply didn't see coming when we rang in the new year with grand plans and proclamations for the next 12 months. COVID-19, of course, had other plans. In many ways, I am a mouthpiece by profession. As someone who has spent most of her life putting pen to paper in order to make sense of the world, my eventual career as a writer seemed like an obvious, if not inevitable, fit. And when I applied my penchant for side hustles to the realm of fitness, stepping into a role as a fitness instructor and a boxing coach back in 2017, that seemed obvious too. I have long since grown accustomed to being a voice at the front of the room, and whether people love me or hate me for it has ceased to matter. It's just what I do, and a critical part of who I am. But this year, that role has derived new meaning. Because in the face of a global pandemic, I'm watching the gradual destruction of communities I know and love, and I just can't be quiet about that. Of course, it's hard to be eloquent when you're angry. It's hard to keep speaking up when it feels as though those words never amount to positive change. And for all the business owners who, after months of constant effort, feel defeated — I understand. I empathize. It's hard to keep screaming when it feels like no one can hear you. Over the last 8 months, I've tried desperately to get a handle on the information made available to the public. I've sifted (in relentless, often exhausting fashion) through click-bait headlines and articles missing critical context in an effort to discern any real, data-backed, and unbiased takeaways. My work as a writer has been consumed entirely by discussions of COVID-19; I have written about 'The New Normal' so many times that the mere mention of the pandemic catch-phrase leaves a bad taste in my mouth. In March, during the first lockdown, I was (temporarily) let go from my full-time job. In September, a studio at which I was a boxing instructor just last year, closed its doors for good. In October, I wrote a plea for the group fitness industry that was published in The Toronto Star. A quick scan of the comments told me all that I needed to know: the media had done incredible damage to our industry. Fitness and hospitality were the easy scapegoats, whether or not the data supported it (and for the record, the data definitely doesn't support it). Then, on November 20th, we were locked down again, and the studio at which I teach was once again closed to the public after months of reopening preparation, thousands invested in PPE, and not a single COVID-19 case. When I look around, I see, hear, and feel the defeat of studio owners who know that their time — and hope — is running out. Behind the scenes, our studio continues to work tirelessly to pivot (another pandemic catch-phrase I've come to hate) and offer virtual classes to our members while trying to ignore the elephant in the room: virtual services can't pay physical rent. My social circle — largely made up of studio owners and fellow instructors/coaches — remains plagued with set-backs, inconsistent regulations, and a lack of financial and public support. Today, a beloved local studio (BOLO) announced its permanent closure. BOLO was not the first business causality of COVID-19, and it certainly won't be the last. For me, this hits close to home because the fitness industry, in so many ways, is my second home. This industry doesn't just represent part of my income and livelihood, it's a place where I found myself. It's a place where I met many of the people who, if I was ever in trouble, would drop everything to be there for me. It's the place I go when things are great, and it's the place I go when my world has gone dark. I recognize that it may not hold the same weight for others, but that does not discredit the legitimacy of my experience, nor does it discredit the legitimacy of anyone else's attachment to these spaces and everything they represent. Moreover, my proximity to the fitness realm and the small business owners who occupy it has given me a truly in-depth understanding of the plight of small business owners across industries. I am, myself, a freelancer. The gig economy is a part of my identity, and I know how isolating and difficult it can be to advocate for yourself within a world that seems to happily take what you have to offer but is rarely there to catch you if you fall. Over this time, I've come to understand the threat and impact of the COVID-19 virus in a two-fold manner; the vulnerable population, and the local economy that currently hangs on by a thread. I've found myself arguing in circles with both strangers and friends on the internet, entrapped in a conversation with no end in sight because it is, ultimately, a debate of opinion and anecdotal evidence. But more than anything, I've found myself disappointed. The threat of COVID-19 is real, but there is another threat rearing its ugly head. Never in my life have I felt such a divide amongst us, such an obvious disparity between perceived 'sides'. Whatever middle ground used to exist, seems to be gone — perhaps another casualty of the pandemic we didn't see coming. Socially and politically, we are at odds. There is only extreme right or extreme left, and on either side, I watch people I know (and people I don't know) jump to conclusions about the beliefs of anyone who doesn't agree with them. We are seemingly too consumed by headlines and snapshots of data, or the media circus that is Adamsons BBQ, to look for any common ground with each other. To consider that maybe, there exists space between the left and the right, a space that welcomes those of us who do, in fact, have the capacity to care for human life and the economy at the same time. A space for those of us who question lockdowns as a primary intervention measure not because we subscribe to any radical right agenda, but because we believe in the possibility of a more pro-active approach. An approach that protects the vulnerable, but not at the cost of everyone and everything else. An approach that recognizes the widespread social and economic damage a lockdown can present when facilitated in this manner, and instead looks to invest directly into those vulnerable, at-risk environments (healthcare facilities, long-term care facilities, etc.). An approach that considers the other, under-reported but equally devastating outcomes of COVID-19, including poverty, unemployment, education insecurity, depression, addiction, suicides, and more. In no way do I pretend or proclaim to be an expert on political matters, the healthcare industry, or viral disease. I am, however, a member of the media, and this I know for certain: popular media is never without bias. Without sliding down the slippery slope of conspiracy theories, it's important that we continue to question any and all information that we are fed. Consider your sources — media outlets, social media, politicians, as these should all come with disclaimers. Consider everything (including my opinions stated here) with a grain of salt, and don't be so hasty to accept everything at face value. Do not buy-in to disregard, but don't buy-in to hysteria, either. Headlines and information without context can be dangerous. The opinion of individuals, shared from a platform of influence, can be dangerous. The promises of politicians who still, at the end of the day, are always campaigning for votes and power, can be dangerous. But more than anything, turning on each other is dangerous. COVID-19 is a problem that we have to work together collectively to overcome, but the threat to our local economy and city culture (specifically, small businesses and disproportionately those in the hospitality and fitness) is also real, and should not be understated. To minimize the plight of business owners under the guise of someone advocating for human life and decency is, to be frank, hypocritical (IMHO). The lives and livelihoods of business owners also matter, and businesses deemed as non-essential are still essential to the individuals and families which run them. Bankruptcy is a devastating outcome for business owners who have spent prime years of their life (and most likely, all of their savings) building and maintaining their business. There are human lives and aspirations and financial futures attached to these spaces and services that are now so easily being written off as a "sad but necessary sacrifice". I assure you, if you lost your entire livelihood tomorrow, you would not take kindly to someone shrugging their shoulders and telling you it "is what it is". We all deserve more empathy and understanding than that. And if you haven't been personally or financially affected by the pandemic, I am grateful for that. I wouldn't wish this rollercoaster on anyone. But please, in that same breath, recognize your own privilege to be in that position and remember that a little empathy goes a long way, and being 'woke' is not an excuse to attack someone else on public forums. And yes entrepreneurship is a risk — that is hardly a secret. The path to owning and operating your own business or empire (if you're lucky) is often plagued with uncertainty, long-days, all-consuming work, and financial strain. But, I assure you, the experience of the last 8 months... this simply isn't the risk anyone signed up for. I urge you to recognize that much of the support mentioned in press conferences and across media platforms is largely inaccessible or inadequate in nature. Rent relief isn't as clear-cut or readily available as you think. Landlords can still choose not to opt-in, and change the locks on their tenants. Business grants are not inclusive of all industries, nor is the $1,000 (or less) pay-out enough for businesses that have $30,000+ in monthly overhead. Face-value declarations of relief programs that sound great on-air and in print are, oftentimes, not as tangible as you think; certainly not tangible enough to save businesses now on the verge of closing their doors for good. But more than anything, rent relief and grants combined mean even less when banks are still collecting, and when business owners are told that, to pay their current debts, they should simply take on more debt. Another loan, another line of credit, another potentially devastating nail in the coffin. The closure announcements will continue and, if we do not change course soon, the social and economic landscape of our city will change. We are steering the ship towards a future in which the only brands left standing are big box, retail chains that are so conveniently deemed as essential, while smaller businesses with increasingly limited infrastructure remain crippled. When the dust settles, what will our city look like? Even those small businesses that are left standing, how will they still be able to offer affordable goods and services to the patrons they love with such gaping financial wounds to recover from? At the end of the day, I don't know if writing this will achieve anything. All I know is that I can't remain silent or complacent as I watch the steady demise of businesses, entire industries, and relationships in the face of this nearly year-long crisis. I also know that social and economic concerns and agendas do not exist in a vacuum; rather, they are directly correlated. You can care about social issues while still caring about the economic well-being of your city/province/country because, at the end of the day, it is all interconnected. Wanting a business to survive (and wanting to remain employed and able to pay your bills without relying on government support) is not capitalism. This isn't a conversation about greed, vanity, the industrial revolution, or privilege — I caution you to not view our current circumstances through such a polarizing lens. This is about the lives now at risk in the face of COVID-19, both those vulnerable to the virus and those vulnerable to the intervention methods we use to fight it. We are over a trillion dollars in debt, and we are now in our second lockdown. Debt is rapidly climbing (on both a personal and national level), businesses are still closing, and case numbers are still climbing. Long-term care facilities are still home to the majority of COVID-19 deaths and are still plagued with over-worked and under-paid staff on frequent rotation. Hospitals and schools still don't have the resources they need. So I have to ask — who are we protecting? Whether or not we get ahead of this in the coming months, and whether or not a vaccine is the solution to this problem, we will be feeling this for years and generations to come. We have to do a better job of educating ourselves and proactively protecting both the vulnerable communities and the businesses and jobs which, in large part, make up the very heart and infrastructure of our city. Or else, what (and who) will be left when this is all over?
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