Growing from the Pandemic

I was recently watching a YouTube clip of James Corden interviewing Ana de Armas for the Late, Late Show. Ana is Cuban — just like me. Like me, Ana moved outside of Cuba when she was young. She moved to Spain, where she, as she told Corden, ate an exorbitant amount of candy. Candy is typically a delicacy in Cuba. We don’t have M&M candy theme shops, or any other kind of candy stores. The most you’ll see in Cuba that’s made out of pure sugar is a pirulí — a delicious treat, but without much variety, like most things in a communist country. So, you must understand my excitement and that of my classmates when, in middle school, my friend Laura brought a beautifully wrapped candy to class.

We found ourselves at a crossroads: how were we to share this really tiny piece of candy? In an act of sacrifice, Laura passed the candy to me, and I tasted pure joy as the chosen one. Unfortunately, as soon as I did that, everyone’s faces turned sour in disappointment. It turns out that — Laura explained patiently, if she were to cut it, it would have shattered to pieces and no one would get to enjoy it. So, she gave it to me to take a little bite before passing it to my other classmates, and certainly not wolf it down. Everyone nodded in agreement. In what seemed to me the only way to solve this issue, I spewed out the candy into the trashcan only to be met with ultimate resentment, the kind you only get to experience when you turn on the TV to watch Saturday cartoons only to find Fidel’s speech broadcasted in all three channels and running over time. They couldn’t believe that the candy had gone to waste! Everyone cried and it took many recesses to be forgiven. What I didn’t understand then is that I had actually given them something that they sorely needed: a villain.

The truth is that candy was never meant to be shared. Laura should have definitely had it at home, but now everyone knew she had candy, and someone had to take the fall. I know what you’re thinking. ‘You weren’t a villain; you were a scapegoat!’ Sadly, I will have to disagree. I desperately wanted to eat it. Go watch that interview with Ana de Armas and hear her talk about candy. It’s a big deal! I willingly chose to disregard all the cues because I was blinded by gluttony. That was my first taste into an interesting phenomenon surrounding villainhood.

Growing up, I encountered my own villains. There was Mr. Delvin, who ardently favoured the gifted kids while bullying the rest, and somehow this made the bullied kids study harder — in their own study group. Then, there was Marly, without whom I would not know the value of therapy. Marly was my graduate school thesis advisor and a complete despot, and you can trust me: I experienced a dictatorship for 14 years of my life. I hated Marly so much that after I finished grad school, I didn’t care what kind of work I did as long as I had sanity. I ended up picking a job based on the manager, Eva, the kindest person I’ve ever met. I was delighted and full of hope. A fresh new start! But something odd happened. The people in my new workplace didn’t get along; my workplace essentially thrived on cliques and gossip. Under Marley’s management, the work culture certainly wasn’t like that. But at Eva’s, experiencing any level of comradery always required alcohol (and gallons of it). What is it about terrible people that makes others come together?

It seems that villains have an uncanny ability of bringing people together. Terrible people and circumstances wake an evolutionary instinct of community in all of us. According to a study published in BMC Evolutionary Biology, unity is a by-product of adversity. In their paper “Environmental adversity and uncertainty favour cooperation,” Drs. Andras, Lazarus and Roberts proved with the use of mathematical models that plants and animals tend to come together in extremely harsh or uncertain environments. In other words, it’s in our nature to capitalize on difficulties.

We often see cooperation in situations where people must work together and pool their resources in order to succeed. Fisheries are a great example; although, based on the treatment of M’ikmaq fisheries by fellow fishermen in Nova Scotia, fisheries might not seem to fit this criterion for cooperation. But that’s because when we suffer, we also tend to want others to suffer. Economists, evolutionary biologists, and psychologists know that people like to punish others. All you have to do is cut in line at the grocery store to summon the wrath of others. A more recent example of people seeking punishment for others would be Toronto’s small businesses calling for the closure of bigger business that remain open as essential businesses, but profit from selling non-essential items. However, the latter might differ from the events in Nova Scotia; what’s happening in Toronto might be a better example of what psychologists and economists call functional punishment. Functional punishment would entail performing an action that may cost you but that will lead to an eventual benefit to you or others. Such is the case with civic duty and laws that maintain orderly conduct in societies. In the case of the small shops in Toronto, these businesses are hoping to force the Ontario provincial government to find a solution that is fairer to all parties. However, in contrast, the fisherman burning down M’iqmak properties would like to eliminate equity altogether, out of spite, which in contrast to functional punishment, produces no gains for either party. It would seem something that should not be selected throughout evolution, as it would not enhance the continuation of our species. And yet, it is pervasively human. While altruism was first defined in the 19th century, spite was recorded five centuries earlier. It seems that, though we stand nothing to gain from being spiteful, seeing others suffer is simply the goal.

Sometimes, this is how I explain to myself what happened to the Cuban population that voted for Trump in 2016 — not those that typically vote Republican, but those that voted based on the hateful and divisive rhetoric. In Cuba, I grew up with people who were ardent supporters of the revolution, but who became vehement supporters of MAGA. One might say, “Well, that’s just what happens when you spend so much of your life in oppression.” But now that I know functional spite (the act of causing harm for the sake of causing harm, at your own cost and that of others) is a phenomenon studied across many disciplines, I think otherwise. In other words, you can take a person out of extremism, but you can’t take the extremist out of a person. People can thrive on spite. However, you may draw comfort from the fact that functional spite is extremely rare.

Yet, it can seem hopeless and disheartening to see others act in spiteful ways, especially given that they are seeking to hurt others on purpose. However, the best solution to those situations is communication. It is only through open communication that trust can be developed. The current US administration’s divisive messages around coronavirus only served to further spread COVID-19 across the country. Communication is vital to our survival. This is why, in 2016, when my liberal and conservative Cuban friends began unfriending each other based on their voting choices, I decided to follow a different route and not unfriend anyone in any social media platforms. I decided to keep all my friends, especially Betty, who I knew had hit her head very hard in the 3rd grade.

We have experienced many adverse events throughout human history and we use them as cautionary tales and metaphors to empower future generations and help us thrive. Perhaps in the absence of drastically antagonizing people or events, we have the privilege of growing complacent. This year certainly did not lack in adversity and uncertainty; a villain in its own right, it will be a year we will tell future generations about. Particularly, the COVID-19 pandemic consuming the globe has been the necessary evil of this new decade to remind us that human rights are important. COVID-19 forced us to grapple with our existence and way of life, allowing us to reach a threshold of desirable difficulties — challenges we are eager to overcome and spend a considerable amount of effort to change. This certainly seemed to be the drive behind American youth in the most recent presidential election.

I am not here to argue that villains are good but simply that they are part of human nature, and perhaps a necessary component of progress, and the only way altruism might be invoked. But mostly, their existence implies that the problems we face, which are in no way small, have become the norm. Take the racial divide in the US, for instance; it has always been there, but it took a white supremacist president to truly show how wide the gap remains. Racial injustice is not a unique issue to the US. My very home, Canada, with its characteristic angel complex and cultural tolerance hype, saw multiple protests erupt in solidarity for the Black Lives Matter, and the Land Back movements to seek justice for black and indigenous communities. Though we hold our nation in high regard, Canada’s racial disparities continue to grow, but perhaps the lack of blatantly obvious villainhood explains the insidiousness of Canadian issues. We may not have needed a pandemic to remind us of racial inequality, but the pandemic certainly forced people’s eyes open to the injustices around them. Indeed, the events that have transpired in 2020 have served to highlight broader systems of oppression in need of reform. Late this year, acts of free speech suppression in my native land, Cuba, resurfaced through social media platforms when a group of Cuban artists demanded democratic reform.

I feel for my beautiful Cuba. Colonization has forced it to bear children only to have to send them away and try its best to care for the ones who stay. My beautiful island and all its children deserve better, and for the first time in a while, I have a glimpse of hope. Whereas dissidence was once swept under the carpet, for the first time social media is amplifying Cuban voices and protests are being organized worldwide, allowing many to see the ugly side of my birthplace. I hope, as naïve as it may sound, that this hope will remain alive with the youth of Cuba, without governmental interception or external destabilization. Because it is the youth of Cuba who will bear the brunt, not those already looking from afar, who may be out of touch with life inside. It’s a lonely road Cuban youth must face, having to meticulously distinguish which advice to trust. It is difficult for me to believe that these injustices could have been highlighted at any other given time. This year’s villainous circumstances are to thank for this development, as the top priority of the Cuban government (which has always believed one piece of candy is enough for a whole population) has been to mitigate the impact of COVID-19.

It will take another 20 years to recognize 2020 for what it was: the year that forced people around the world to come together. So, I am thankful for 2020, and for the lessons it brought me, but we must not let them go to waste. We must continue to educate ourselves, and keep advocating for those whose voices need amplification. It might seem overwhelming, but every little action matters. We have been presented with unique circumstances and a foundation for change, but we must be the ones to lay the first brick.