Mick Clifford: What happens when compassion runs dry?

There is recent experience in this country of how the public moves on from a humanitarian crisis that corrals public attention for a defined spell

Tessa May Stewart Miller, 11, at a vigil outside the Ukrainian embassy in Dublin over the Russian invasion of Ukraine. The widespread, genuine compassion for fellow Europeans being killed or fleeing for their lives has been manifest right across society.

TWO questions leap out from the growing crisis in which this country now finds itself. Where have all the savings gone? And what is going to happen when compassion fatigue sets in?

As the full effects of the war in Ukraine feed through, galloping inflation is going to ramp up even higher. The speed of price hikes, particularly in the energy sector, is alarming.

Some people are really getting it in the neck, their circumstances falling below the basic standard of living.

There are those who can’t afford to fill their cars with petrol. There are people who have to consider whether to heat their homes sufficiently or eat proper foods. In some sectors of society, the cohort struggling to make it from one end of the week to the next is increasing.

Those who fall into that category are entitled to special treatment during what is effectively an emergency. There are also, however, many among us who are equipped to shoulder the burden, but are annoyed, even angry, at being subjected to galloping inflation right now. Yet, despite this, the Government is acting as if we are all feeling the pain equally.

There was no equality of suffering during the pandemic. 

Last October, the Central Bank announced that deposits held by Irish residents had reached a record €135bn. Specifics on who had managed to save that money were not available, but a survey the previous year by the CSO showed that 70% of respondents had experienced stable incomes during Covid, while 22% had experienced a decline.

From that, it would be reasonable to assume that many of those who were in a position to continue working remotely did all right financially out of the existential crisis. For sure, some among that cohort most likely don’t own their own homes and continue to be subject to a demented rental market.

But that still leaves a considerable number, possibly up to half the working population, who emerged from the pandemic in better financial nick than entering it.

Why is the Government regarding them as if they have backs to the wall?

So far, for the greatest part, there have been blanket interventions to tackle rising prices with a €200 energy handout for everybody and the reduction this week in excise duty on fuel.

Are these measures either prudent or fair? Social Justice Ireland director Sean Healy responded to the excise cut earlier this week pointing out it should provide some relief, but was no solution to the real problems.

“[The] Government must recognise that the long-term, blanket solutions such as these do not work for everybody. Decisions around measures to address the rising cost of living must be focused on improving the situation of those who are most impacted by the rising costs.

“Households on fixed or low incomes are already fully stretched financially, they have no financial breathing space. They have already cut back everywhere they can.”

Blanket solutions

Yet both Government and opposition parties put forward mainly blanket solutions. Surely it’s not because those who can ship the pain also happen to be both middle class and older and, therefore, most likely to vote in an election?

Economist John Fitzgerald told Newstalk Breakfast on Tuesday that the excise cut was a mistake.

“What the Government needs to do is what it did really well during Covid and that is protect those on low incomes, those who will be really badly affected,” he said. He pointed out that money raised through taxation will be required in the near future to provide for what is going to be a major influx of refugees from the war in Ukraine.

“They will need large resources to deal with the refugee issue,” he said. “If the numbers go to 5m, you’re looking at 100,000 [coming here]. You’re talking in terms of billions to take in these people and find accommodation. The Government is facing huge challenges.”

There’s no doubt about that. And those challenges will get even steeper when, as it seems likely, compassion fatigue sets in. Right now, the pictures and words coming out of Ukraine have shown this nation in its kindest light.

There is widespread, genuine compassion for fellow Europeans being killed or fleeing for their lives. This has been manifest right across society, including with the offer of accommodation from private individuals of up to 12,000 beds, through the Irish Red Cross.

But what if the war and humanitarian crisis persist? What happens when the emotional fuel of compassion runs dry? 

There is recent experience in this country of how the public at large moves on from a humanitarian crisis that corrals public attention for a defined spell. When the country began emerging from the last recession around 2013, it became apparent that the ranks of the homeless were swelling. It was a new phenomenon and the response from the media and the public was one of shock.

The death in December 2014 outside Leinster House of Jonathan Corrie was greeted with outrage and sadness. Summits were called, promises made, the media followed the story assiduously in response to interest from the public. Three years after Mr Corrie’s death, Apollo House was occupied by housing activists, and temporary accommodation was provided for up to 200 people who had no homes.

Again, widespread compassion was drawn from a deep well. Again, there were pledges and promises and predictions that this was a turning point.

Since, the numbers of homeless have increased right across the board. For instance, families in emergency accommodation in the country increased from 300 in June 2014 to 1,548 by January 2020, according to research by Focus Ireland and Trinity College Dublin.

The numbers rose further throughout the pandemic. It would appear that most people have now become inured to the sight of tents pitched around the State’s cities and beyond.

The outrage, the raw and genuine compassion for those thrust onto the margins, has largely disappeared, despite the problem getting much worse.

How are things going to progress in this country if Putin’s savage war continues for years? How will the general public cope with tens of thousands of displaced people requiring services and particularly housing? Will the compassion eventually run dry? Will there be an acknowledgment that as a relatively wealthy nation the actions taken to alleviate suffering for others should be based not on compassion but on obligation?

Don’t bet on it. There would not appear to be any sense of obligation attaching to how State resources are distributed during the current crisis. It’s every interest group, every demographic, every electoral cohort, for themselves.

There are few voices pointing out that while many are capable of swimming, albeit with difficulty, in the prevailing rough seas, others are in real danger of drowning.

The body politic is obviously intent on responding to fevered anger and even, in some cases, a sense of entitlement, but there is precious little debate on where lies social justice at a time of global and economic upheaval.