At the start of lockdown, a message came: “Hi Jess, I have an unusual request. A friend of mine has a lot of marine fishtanks. He uses vodka to clean them with but with the lockdown he has run out. Do you happen to have any?”
“I’m very sorry for your fish”, I said, “But I drank my last bottle of vodka half an hour ago”.
I do actually know where to get vodka. And cigarettes. And a rad haircut. I know at which police station you can buy whiskey, and how to get an essential workers’ permit. I have both. I also know that Christian bootleg wine sellers feel bad about selling Two Oceans for R200. So you can still get a very good deal. Jesus also liked wine. And he wanted everyone to have some. Mr Delivery will bring you dope cookies. Drug dealers are in clover. I can find you any narcotic.
I could pretend I know this because I am researching a story on bootlegging and the psychological effects of prohibition. But I can’t really be arsed to finish it. With hundreds of other freshly furloughed journalists chucking opinion pieces at The Daily Maverick, i’m better off selling my information, going back to laying out academic reports in Russian, and playing Minecraft.
In fairness to noble intentions I did start, re-reading Fitzgerald and trying to force fit the roaring twenties into these twenties. For a while I was all war trauma, the rise of the underbelly, the nouveau riche, history repeating, moonshine and bathtub gin, but it quickly sunk to unfollowing half of facebook and crapping on white South Africa for being such stupid, spoilt, entitled dicks. All the fucking moans. Nothing roaring, just boring.
Oh Jess is such a rebel they say, or else, laughing but gripping tightly onto their husband’s elbow and keeping their children tucked under their skirts, ‘such a free spirit’ And I have retorted, sadly not. Not at all free. Just someone who used to run in the evenings to fill the void, who misses people so much, that now when the pit is bottomless, drowns in contraband instead. Some say I am as bad as the surfers I lashed out at, but unlike the surfers, I don’t feel entitled, I don't think i’m Nelson Mandela. I know I am an asshole. So they said, okay Jess, then you are worse. Supporting the government and then going behind it’s back.
So let us turn to the psychologists to see what they say about ‘rebels’. And then let me explain what psychologists say about trauma. Or you could click on any psychology-we-can-all-understand website.
On the happy side there is an enjoyable creativity about the rebel. A knack for problem-solving. Passionate, enthusiastic, critical and courageous with nimble, compelling and intelligent justification for disobedience. Sometimes the rules are plainly hurtful, cruel and stupid. And they are brave enough to say so.
Or there can be those that simply don’t like doing what they are told. Or not used to not doing exactly whatever they want to do. Not being used to anyone saying no, sweetheart you can’t go canoeing, until everyone can go canoeing. You can’t go swimming with sharks, until everyone can.
‘Coaches’ will say something like 'typically rebels are driven by a false sense of superiority and a wounded sense of powerlessness stemming from their early childhood experiences. Their rebelliousness, a compensation mechanism.” Yes we know.
And then there is trauma. Read about trauma. Understand it. Tell your friends about it. Ask your pal to direct you to youtube videos. Ask me. My friend Margaret sent me some information about this, and I can send it on to you. In one podcast, a man called Dan Allender speaks gently and kindly about what trauma does to us. Trauma being when something happens that we weren’t meant to experience – were we still in Eden. An accident, an ending, a loss, a war, a pandemic, Covid-19. A violation of the life we loved. Separation from the people we love.
Left with uncertainty and powerlessness, we fragment. We can’t remember what we’ve done that day. Parts of our brain shut down. We think we have ADHD. Out goes planning, assessing, concentrating and getting things done. In comes lucid dreaming. In comes distraction: eating, boozing, addiction. When viral or economic anxiety surges into our bloodstreams we need to quickly deal with it, re-establish a sense of control. Who’s fault is this, we ask? The government, the Chinese, the scientists, the alt-right, the Internet, my maskless neighour, my husband’s mistress, the taxi driver, my domestic worker’s aunt.
If we can find someone to blame then maybe there is a cure because there is a cause. If there is a cause and someone is behind that, then I can be angry with them, I can attack them and then I have my power back. And then we hurt people. And then they hurt people. And then there are many many casualties. And we call it the new normal. Find your inner asshole. Forgive her. Happy Friday!