Immune

I'm fully vaccinated against COVID-19.

Two shots. 95% immune, so I'm told.

I have incredible and unjustified privilege that allows me this immunity -- I live in a place that has made vaccines available to the general population, I have the freedom to make medical decisions about my body, I have transportation to and from healthcare facilities, I have the ability to take time off work to be vaccinated. I have no medical conditions that would make vaccines contraindicated or ineffective. I've lived this long. I didn't get COVID. I didn't die. I'm privileged, so I'm safe.

But I'm still not going out any more than I have to. I haven't gone to a restaurant or any other non-essential services. I haven't socialized or gone to public events. I've soured on the prospect of making new friends.

Why?

Because I haven't forgiven you yet.

I'm safe now, but I don't forgive you.

You, who kept your businesses open all through the pandemic, even as your employees got sick and died.

You, who refused to wear masks and refused to enforce mask requirements in your businesses.

You, who gathered and socialized and carried on as normal.

You, who argued openly and publicly that it was better to let disabled people die of preventable disease than to expect abled people to sacrifice the slightest bit of profit or convenience.

You, who even now, lobby against unemployment benefits and raising the minimum wage so you can force desperately poor people to risk their lives for starvation wages.

You, who supported and still support politicians and policymakers who would leave millions worldwide to suffer and die to protect their own profits and power.

You left my people, the worldwide community of disabled people, to die. Many of us did die. I was privileged enough to survive. I'm safe now. But I do not forgive you.

So, no, I don't want to get together. I don't want to hang out. I don't want to get drinks, now that I can do so without risking my own life. I don't want to be friends. I cannot look you in the eye. I do not forgive you.

Writers are saying that we're irrational, the vaccinated people still socially distancing. Maybe so. But I am not quarantining anymore. I'm boycotting. I don't want to give you my money, my time, my friendship. You've shown me who you are, and I cannot unknow that you would have left me to die. That you did leave so many others to die. That you don't regret it. Because most of the dead don't matter to you. Disabled people. Elderly people. Poor people. Minimum wage workers. Immigrants. People of color. Line cooks. Nursing aides. Slaughterhouse workers. Warehouse workers. Farmhands. Refugees. Prisoners. People whose lives you don't value. People we can never get back. People whose lives, memories, knowledge, and love are lost forever. And still you don't regret it, your meals out, your haircuts, your parties. You're fine. You survived. It wasn't that bad, you say.

I'm safe from you, now. But we are not friends. I do not forgive you. Maybe I never will.

I don't say that. Not out loud. I make excuses. "Better safe than sorry." But the last bit of trust I ever had in the community is irreparably broken.

I am safe now. But I do not forgive you.