Excuse me, are you senator Simons?” It’s early afternoon at the Old Strathcona Farmers’ Market and I’m buying myself a big bag of carrots, for the borscht I intend to make for dinner. Senators—and political columnists—enjoy a strange degree of semi-celebrity. We’re not quite famous enough to be regularly recognized, so any time a stranger comes up to me to say hello, I’m a little bit surprised, and a little bit leery.
Still, the Venn diagram of people who shop at the hipster Old Strathcona Market, and people who might be expected to follow my work in the Senate contains a lot of overlap. So if I’m going to be recognized anywhere in Edmonton, it’s likely here.
“I just want to thank you,” the woman says. “I want to thank you for wearing a mask.”
It’s true. I’m at the market this afternoon wearing a sturdy N95. A couple of years ago, lots of people in this crowded market would have been wearing masks too. But on this sunny Saturday, the woman and I are pretty much the only two people still masking up—despite news reports that indicate COVID-19 rates are rising again and the flu season has arrived early.
She thanks me one more time, not just for wearing a mask in the market but for sharing videos and photos of myself, with my mask, on social media. She tells me how much it helps her to find the courage to mask herself when she sees me, a public figure, doing so.
If the sight of my mask makes you angry or uncomfortable, you should ask yourself why.
I thank her and continue my shopping. But her voice echoes in my ears.
Yes, I’m still wearing a mask. And yes, it takes some courage. Any time I post images of myself in a mask on my Facebook page, the insults and jeers come thick and fast, mocking me for wearing “a face diaper” or for being too stupid to know that COVID is “over.”
I’ve had strangers shout angry abuse at me as I walk through airports. But I think the most exasperating are the jokes and eyerolls from colleagues and family members, who seem to take my mask as a personal affront or insult. These friends and relations bug me—jokingly, but incessantly—to take it off, or tease me for what they perceive as my neurosis. I had one Senate colleague make fun of me for masking—only to tell me, in his next breath, that he was just getting over his fourth case of COVID.
People ask me: Why are you still wearing a mask? Isn’t it uncomfortable or inconvenient? Aren’t you tired of it?
Well, yes. It is. All of those things. And yet I mask. Even if that makes me an outlier.
I have what you might call “a high-risk lifestyle.” I fly on jam-packed airplanes twice a week. I attend many meetings and busy receptions with hundreds of guests. So the odds of my being exposed to the coronavirus are higher than average—and so are my odds of spreading it to others.
I have a personal health history that makes me wary. I shan’t bore you with details. Let’s just say that if I were to get COVID, it might be nastier than the average case. I’ve been careful to get every shot, to wash my hands, to mask in crowded indoor spaces. And, touch wood, I haven’t had COVID. Yet.
I confess, though, I do feel a glimmer of glee every time I trigger a troll with my mask.
Maybe that’s naughty. Look, I know people are tired of COVID, I know how badly we all want to forget how awful things were at their worst, how many millions died, how many more were left with long-term health consequences. Like a modern-day memento mori, my masked face reminds people of horrors they’d rather deny. But no matter how hard we wish it away, we’re still dealing with an infectious disease that can make some people quite sick, even though the latest mutations and variants are less dangerous than the original virus.
Perhaps my mask isn’t protecting me as much as I think it is. At this point, I accept that it’s also something of a talisman, to help me deal with my anxiety about catching this disease, or about spreading it to someone more vulnerable than I am. But I don’t apologize for that. If I am wearing a mask for my own psychological comfort, well, that’s not really anyone else’s business either. Frankly, I’m sick and tired of people harassing me about it, online or in person.
But my encounter this day at the farmers’ market reminds me that I’m not just wearing my mask for myself. I’m wearing it for all the people who are masking because they are seriously immunocompromised. Or because they’re caring for someone who is immunocompromised. I’m wearing it as a public figure, to give permission to everyone else who needs or wants to mask. I will go on masking, to tell them they are not alone. And to remind everyone else that this thing isn’t done with us yet.
So, if the sight of me, in my mask, makes you angry or uncomfortable? Perhaps, instead of making fun of me, you should ask yourself why.
Paula Simons is an independent senator and the host of the podcast Alberta Unbound. She lives in Edmonton.
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