The Democratic Republic of Congo, a nation that has seen more plagues than a biblical screenplay, has once again been graced by the uninvited guest that is Ebola. The World Health Organisation, in a statement that could be read by a particularly morose undertaker, has declared the latest outbreak ‘deeply alarming’. This is the diplomatic equivalent of saying ‘your house is on fire, but we’ve brought a hose the size of a drinking straw’.
But fear not, for the United Kingdom, in its infinite wisdom and with the moral high ground that only comes from having a queen on a stamp, has mobilised its rapid response teams. These are the brave souls who, armed with PPE and a stiff upper lip, will parachute into the heart of darkness to fight a virus that has no respect for borders or breakfast meetings.
Let us examine the term ‘rapid response’. In government speak, this means a flurry of memos, a zoom call where someone’s camera doesn’t work, and eventually, after three cups of tea, a plane takes off. But let’s not be cynical. The UK’s contribution is real, it’s money, it’s expertise. It’s the kind of gesture that makes you want to stand up and sing ‘God Save the King’ while weeping into your pint.
The outbreak, centred in the Equateur province, is the sixth in the past decade. Ebola, it seems, has become a recurring character in a David Attenborough documentary, but without the charming narration or the happy ending. The virus has mutated, as viruses do, into a more transmissible form. This is nature’s way of saying ‘I can top that’. And it has.
The rapid response teams, funded by your taxes and mine, will be doing the Lord’s work: contact tracing, safe burials, vaccination campaigns. They will be heroes, and they will be forgotten by the time the next royal wedding rolls around.
Meanwhile, in the world of public health, the real story is the gap between the alarm and the action. The gap between ‘deeply alarming’ and ‘we’ve got this’. It’s a gap wide enough to swallow a continent. But let’s not dwell on the negative. Let’s celebrate the fact that we have the science, the will, and the capacity to respond. Even if that response is a little late, a little underfunded, and a lot bureaucratic.
In the end, what we have is a story of human resilience. Of people who, faced with an invisible enemy, choose to fight. Of a virus that has been beaten before, and will be beaten again. And of a British taxpayer who, without knowing it, has just bought a vial of vaccine for someone on the other side of the world.
That, dear readers, is the kind of news that should make you raise a glass of gin. Even if it’s from a duty-free bottle. Because in a world of absurdity, a little bit of funded, organised, rapid response is the closest thing we have to a miracle.
