One battle back

In 1984, I volunteered to work on a project to reduce the transmission of AIDS in my city's gay community. A team interviewed hundreds of volunteer subjects to gather information to develop harm-reduction tactics.

A small but instantly identifiable subset of our subjects said they would accept no measures that curtailed the sexual activity they preferred; this was typically framed as 'political' or viewed as loss of hard-earned rights. When I rolled my eyes after one of them said he was off to the bath house, my wise public health inspector colleague Tim said, "He is fighting one battle back."

He meant that a small percentage of interviewees were still focused on fighting for acceptance of diversity, which to them included practices that made them feel liberated, proud and out. Sometimes, after Tim concluded the questions, he would thank the man, and say, with far more benevolence than his words would indicate, "You stupid git, don't you want to live? I want you to live."

I think of this now, as the re-opening of my city begins. The parallels are far from perfect—but every time I hear myself, or a friend, moaning that we over 60 will be sidelined, I think of that other epidemic.

Some hard moments are coming up, as the younger population slowly return to a less-restricted life. I expect those over age 60 or 65 to be asked to maintain distance; perhaps those working will be encouraged to take early retirement. Multi-generational families will have to sort out how to include grandparents or elder relatives.

That cohort have had their "one battle back": the fight against explicit or hidden ageism. We made efforts to stay skilled, relevant and competitive, look vital, keep our faculties, and, god help us, not be sidelined in any aspect of life.

We are already anxious about when we will get to walk the Santiago del Compostela, visit family in NYC, help to build a school in Ecuador as we'd planned. Our world feels smaller, less controllable.

There will also be everyday Covid-senior-moments, too. Without a vaccine, will we eat in a busy restaurant, go to a concert hall, even visit the library? Many months—or even longer—could pass before we get our ringside seats back. Already, some have not behaved well; a Susanfriend told me about a house party last weekend on a nearby street that was busted for too many persons in attendance. It was a 45th wedding anniversary party at the couple's home.

I think of those militant young men whom I interviewed in '84, furious that their lifestyle was curtailed by a strange virus (which at the time was a death sentence), of their determination to live on their own terms. Tim told me that within four years, every one of those defiant subjects had died.

This new virus is not mitigated by safe sex, but safe intersections. I hope we will accept prolonged distancing with grace and forbearance; that we give warm appreciation to those responsible younger persons who care for us by respecting our vulnerability, and that we do not flout the restrictions just to prove we're not over the hill.

I tell myself I will travel abroad again, sit in a theatre, attend a friend's choir performance—but probably not as soon as my younger neighbours.

This will be the single most important contribution the elders can make in their time remaining.