Calling people idiots won’t change their minds

I guess it’s been coming to this for a couple of years now: the great vaccine polarity.

Perhaps too much time was spent focusing on the medical science of the thing – developing the vaccine – and not enough on the communications required to convince people to get vaccinated.

And so here we are. More than enough vaccines available, in South Africa at least, and not enough demand. Our most powerful tool for combating Covid-19 lying unused and gradually expiring in pharmaceutical facilities across the land.

Or, seen from another perspective, an increasingly authoritarian government, on the verge of violating the personal integrity of its citizens by allowing vaccine mandates right across society. For a disease that might not even be that serious, using a vaccine that’s not even that effective, and possibly even dangerous.

Full disclosure, I am firmly pro-vaccines. I’ve had a double Pfizer, I keenly await the opportunity for a booster shot and even as I type this, I am nursing a sore shoulder from some kind of an anti-flu, vitamin-B double-shot combo they were offering at work, and which I sommer went for on a whim.

ALSO READ: You can’t stop matrics from partying, so let’s at least be sensible about it

I believe what I believe, as a result of the media I have consumed, and the opinions and convictions of the people I trust. It is no different for the people on the other side of the vaccine divide.

And it is a divide.

In some parts of our society, vaccination against Covid has become a viscerally divisive issue. It stirs up passions like few other topics. Let’s face it, anything that can convince white people to get off their phones and protest, has a seriously emotive resonance.

At work, I eavesdrop on my colleague solemnly viewing WhatsApp clips about how there is almost no Covid in Africa, and therefore no need to vaccinate.

On social media, some of my oldest friends declare themselves disappointed in me for getting vaccinated. In other corners of the cyberverse, people revel in calling each other idiots for their vaccine stance.

Somehow, we feel justified in disrespecting each other savagely because of where we stand on this particular issue.

“Good morning to everyone,” an early-morning tweet might declare, “except everyone who isn’t vaccinated!”

A more prosaic version was “Are you vaccinated, or are you a p**s?”

From across the aisle came the assessment of a journalist who encouraged vaccination, “You’re an idiot! We have the right to bodily integrity!”

It gets heated. The pro-vaxxers believe it’s the civic duty of every one of us to get the jab to protect our fellow citizens – especially our vulnerable loved ones.

Anti-vaxxers point to the lack of conclusive facts around the pandemic and a virus that we are still learning about, not to mention the vaccine itself, which was rushed into production, initially as an experimental inoculation, to hasten its legal approval.

Then there’s the matter of our human right to decide what goes into our bodies.

The upshot has been the utter polarisation of opinion on the issue. This has been encouraged by our modern political landscape, which thrives on polarity, instead of consensus. Simply put, people with more powerful beliefs are more likely to support a certain stance, so much political comms – and this is a political issue – is geared to inflame opinion, rather than calm it.

Empathising with another point of view is currently so wildly out of fashion, it seems almost comical. Me, the wise, correct one, empathise with you, the idiot? Don’t be ridiculous.

That is all very well, when we’re debating whether Chelsea will win the Premiership. But when we’re really trying to convince each other, it’s no good at all.

Despite the glut of communications we are subjected to every day, there seems a dire shortage of persuasion. When last did you hear of someone who had (gasp) changed their mind?

It’s quite a rarity. In fact, it’s seen as almost shameful. Change your mind and you’re a flip-flopper. How can we believe anything you say, if you lack firm convictions?

Today, we seem to have more respect for someone who clings stubbornly to an ossified set of inviolable personal commandments, than someone who’s a bit overwhelmed by an enormity of considerations, insights and nuances.

Firm beliefs: strong. Fluid opinions: weak.

Social media algorithms feed off this, amplifying our tendencies by serving us content that confirms our incipient beliefs.

We are herded into camps, each convinced the other is a bunch of idiots.

But here, the issue is not which of two somewhat similar politicians to vote for, it’s about whether to vaccinate our entire population with a drug that was developed in a year and put on the market last December.

Depending who you believe, the stakes are either losing further millions to a disease that will continue to spread and mutate across the planet for years; or else we’re already poisoning our population, while turning them into obedient slaves to the global elite.

That’s a critical distinction. And we seem to have lost the ability to persuade each other, to dissuade each other from our beliefs.

The missing ingredient is empathy. Our friends, family, neighbours, colleagues and fellow travellers are the same as us. They are no more or less intelligent than us. My old mate from Gqeberha is not suddenly an idiot, or you know, a p**s. He is a human being who has formed an opinion.

And if I want to change that opinion, the first thing I need to do is respect him as a person, and approach him with understanding. As I hope he would do with me.

Calling them an idiot seldom changes anyone’s mind. Perhaps sharing one’s personal journey might do it, telling the story of how you got to where you are.

With compassion. Empathy. Dare we say it, with love?