Six Thousand, Two Hundred Five

Globally there are 24,765,771 confirmed cases of COVID-19.
In Australia, there are 25,923
Tasmania has only 239.
By the time you read this, there will be more confirmed cases and deaths.

Google tells me that nearly HALF of the world's population — more than 3 billion people -- live on less than $2.50 a day. More than 1.3 billion live in extreme poverty, which is less than $1.25 a day. This means that 1 billion children worldwide are living in poverty. According to UNICEF, 22,000 children die each day due to poverty.

In Australia, 51.1% of the population identify Christianity as their religion. 8.2% affiliate with religions classed as ‘other’. The rest of the population, 30.1%, class themselves as ‘non-religious’. There is a reason that these percentages don’t equal 100, but that’s not what this letter is about.

Apparently, Switzerland eats the most chocolate, equating to 10 kilos per person per year.
And our house eats the second highest amount.

Before I fill up this whole letter with statistics, I will stop googling and start actually writing my thoughts down.

This letter started when I was writing Dear Dot. As mentioned in that letter, 1 in 4 women miscarry. I wrote that down there and it made me think about all the women who had been through what I had been through. I have no doubt that their journey and their way of coping was different to mine. I recognise that I can’t understand exactly what they went through, but the same thing happened in all of our bodies.

I thought about the enormous number of women who have experienced a miscarriage; it was unfathomable and overwhelming. Then I thought about myself and how I represented the tiniest part of this enormous number. And although there were millions of other women who had been where I stood, when I lost Dot, I felt so very alone.

I hated the idea of being just another number added to ‘women who have miscarried’. Just another statistic. And then I thought about every other statistic I’m a part of. Women who have had abortions. Women who have 2 children. Women who have been divorced. People who live in Tasmania. People who are folders, not scrunchers. People who would choose winter over summer. The list never ends. Everything I do, everything I’ve been through, everything I’m going through, lands me on one side or the other of a statistic. Which I kind of hate. I don’t like being just another number, just another person in the crowd, nameless and faceless.

Sure, statistics are important. They help governments make decisions, doctors offer treatments and bankers invest money. Statistics guide the funding for health, education, justice and infrastructure. They help companies and organisations to know when people will be shopping the most, where they can make the most money. Statistics also offer insight into aide and social work. Statistics dictate so much of how things around us work and run. They exist so we can measure society, its flaws and its strengths. They help us to find solutions to problems. However, they also turn every individual into a number, forgetting that every individual is a number, and I hate that.

I read on the Australian Government’s Institute of Health and Welfare website that from from 2016-17, 17 adults were hospitalised every day in Australia due to assault by a partner or family member.
6,205 people.
I don’t know the latest numbers, but I didn’t look at this website for long because I found the numbers to be sickening. Why? Because, just like me and my miscarriage, every number represents one person. One person who went to hospital. One person who was hurt at the hands of someone who should have protected them. One person who is now considered a ‘domestic violence victim’.

When I look at the number alone -- 6,205 -- it removes all evidence of what that number represents. It becomes just a statistic; something I can’t do anything about. But when I look at the number, change it to 6,204, and think about just that last person, the one who would make the number 6,205, suddenly I’m moved to want to act. It is thinking about that one person, that one story, where I think about what I could do to make a difference in that one life. When we see the one person for who they are, not just the number they are a part of, that’s where change occurs. I can’t help 6,205 people, but I can help one of those people. And, so can you.

Alexis, all of this is a long-winded way of saying, you are more than just a number or a statistic. You are a one, and every one counts.
Every person you walk past on the street is more than just a number too. They are a one. They count, their life matters, and who they are is important.

We’ve seen the power of one person with the COVID pandemic. If one person who had the virus stays at home, it will slow the spread and potentially save many people’s lives.
All it takes is one person. One person just like you or me. We are all one. And we can help one another.

Society is more than just statistics on a page; society is family. Mums, dads, siblings, friends. Society exists because of the billions of individuals; because of all the ones.
Don’t get lost in all the numbers and don’t treat others as statistics. Every person has worth and value. Treat them as such. That one person could be hurting; they could be in a domestic violence situation, or they might have just miscarried. And you could be the one person who makes life just a little easier for them.

Statistics may make us forget the individual, but every statistic is made up of individuals.

I want to finish with a little story that one of my beautiful friends introduced me to a long time ago…

Once upon a time, there was an old man who used to go for a walk on the beach every morning. One morning, he was walking along the shore after a big storm had passed and found the beach littered with starfish as far as the eye could see in both directions.
Off in the distance, the old man noticed a small boy approaching. As the boy walked, he paused every so often, bent down then continued. As he came closer, the man could see that he was bending down to pick up an object before throwing it into the sea. When the boy came closer still, the man called out, “Good morning! May I ask what it is that you are doing?”
The young boy paused, looked up, and replied,“Throwing starfish into the ocean. The tide has washed them up onto the beach and they can’t return to the sea by themselves,” the youth replied. “When the sun gets higher, they will die unless I throw them back into the water.”
The old man replied, “But there must be tens of thousands of starfish on this beach! I’m afraid you won’t really make much of a difference.”
The boy bent down, picked up yet another starfish and threw it as far as he could into the ocean. Then he turned back to the old man, smiled and said, “I made a difference to that one!”

Everyone and every one counts.