The Guardian Weekend | 13 February 2021 The Guardian Weekend | 13 February 2021 37 37school, for example, “ you should think twice before breaking
that friendship, and try and work things out. But if they are
people you aren’t that close to, it might be easier to just move on.”
Of course, such conversations only work if both parties accept the reality
of the pandemic. Attempting to reasonably engage with your conspiracy-
theorist friend can only be deeply frustrating. Edward Farrow, a 47-year-old
bank communications worker from Rochester, fell out with a childhood
friend over his anti-lockdown views. “ Blocking him [on social media] wasn’t
a decision that I took lightly. But he’s tweeting this extraordinarily dangerous
stuff that isn’t backed up by evidence .”
Friends since school, the two men had followed a similar path into
adulthood. They met up regularly for drinks when they both lived in
London; and after Farrow left the city, stayed in touch online. Farrow knew
his friend was a contrarian by nature. “He’s always had that propensity,”
he says. “But I liked that he’d sometimes challenge me, and we’d have
interesting debates.”
Now, when Farrow attempted to challenge his view that Covid is a hoax,
he became ill-tempered. “He told me that he was ‘disappointed in me’ for
being swept up in this ‘propaganda’. He got quite aggressive .” After he shared
a Lau rence Fox tweet urging the public to take off their masks and gather in
groups , Farrow blocked him, eff ectively bringing an end to a friendship of 30-
plus years. He occasionally thinks about trying to de radicalise his old friend,
but there doesn’t seem to be any point. “It wouldn’t go anywhere,” says
Farrow. “And I would lose my mind.”
And of course conspiracy theorists are likely to feel just as alienated
from their friends as people whose views are grounded in reality. Fatima, a
28-year-old account executive from London , spreads misinformation about
Covid online. “At the end of the day it’s a cold,” she tells me. “The death rate
is not as extreme as people are making it seem. A lot of the people [who died
of Covid] were meant to die [anyway ].”
When she shared these views with her best friend from school in April, the
relationship dwindled. “It was like I was a stranger to her, or a traitor. She
said, ‘Why are you thinking like this? ’ She doesn’t call me as much. I would
love to stay friends with her. I hope that when Covid is over, we can talk it out
face to face.”
Many of the people I spoke to shared a sense of loss, even grief, at realising
that people they were friends with for decades might not be any more.
“I avoid going places where I might bump into them,” says Page of her former
friends. “I don’t want to have to make conversation, and I defi nitely don’t
want to argue. I keep myself to myself.” Geoff worries about what will happen
when normal life resumes. “My real concern is how comfortable I’m going to
feel meeting these friends again. How will I move on with people when this
is over? ”
Some rifts will be irreparable. If there is someone in your life you just
can’t respect any more, advises Roberts, tell them – kindly. “Ghosting is
horrible,” she says. “Don’t do that. Tell them they are doing something
you disagree with, and you are choosing to end the friendship.” She
also advises us to remember that, for those lucky enough to survive the
pandemic, Covid will one day be a distant memory. “Take a step back,” she
counsels, “and remember why you became friends with that person in the
fi rst place. Everyone’s emotions are heightened at the moment. Maybe
in a few months, you’ll be able to reestablish a relationship, when you’re
feeling a bit more positive, and the pressures of lockdown aren’t there any
more.” If you can salvage a friendship, do. You might need them on the
other side
Some names have been changed.As a nation, we have become fearful and fed-up – and
often, we take it out on each other. Friends have fallen out
for all kinds of pandemic-related reasons: for rule infractions ;
for being insuffi ciently attentive on the weekly Zoom; or for being
always bored and grouchy. “There’s a lot of frustration right now,” says
Mahzad Hojjat of University of Massachusetts Dartmouth, co-author of The
Psychology O f Friendship. “People may have lost their jobs. They are tired
of a pandemic which feels like it is never going away .” The past year has laid
bare fundamental diff erences in our values, attitudes and priorities ; many of
us have seen friends in a new light. “People view their friends breaking the
rules as a personal attack ,” says Holly Roberts, a psychotherapist with the
charity Relate.
It wasn’t always this way. At the beginning of the pandemic, many of us
reconnected with friends and acquaintances, or joined Covid-19 mutual
aid groups. Geoff , a 69-year-old retired graphic designer from Cheshire,
was one of those people. “I set up a WhatsApp group among our friends,”
he says. “ I thought that we could share worries and fears and jokes.
Within three weeks, I had bailed out of my own group .” It all went wrong
when he started to criticise the government’s response to Covid. “I got
a comment back from one friend saying, ‘We all have to be a bit more
positive.’” He realised that most of the group only shared baking photos ,
and weren’t interested in chatting about politics. So he checked out. “I can
make pitta bread now,” he says, “but I’m not interested in sharing a picture
of it.”
Since then, Geoff has grown further estranged from his friends, mostly
because of what he sees as their liberal interpretation of the lockdown
rules. “It’s been lots of seemingly small incidents that collectively leave my
partner and me feeling isolated from people we thought shared our values
for 30 years. It feels like we’re the only ones complying .” He fell out with one
former work colleague because of her decision to form multiple support
bubbles with neighbours (she lives alone). “One bubble suddenly contained
15 people,” he says. “You think, I don’t want to cause big arguments, but
this is lunacy.” Another couple decided to travel from a tier 4 to a tier 2 area,
justifying it as “no big deal” because they weren’t planning to leave the
house much.
Some might think he is judging his friends too harshly , but others who
have lost loved ones , or who are still living with Covid’s lingering after-
eff ects , would share his frustration. “The reason Covid is so divisive is
because it’s a moral issue,” explains Roberts. “If people are hanging out with
others and spreading the virus, that is harmful. It can be hard for people to
accept that their friends are behaving in that way, and when you lose respect
for someone, that’s diffi cult to come back from.” Like Page, Geoff has avoided
challenging his friends. People become defensive, he says. “ They snap back
at you. You think, OK, I’ll back off .”
Roberts advises caution if confronting a friend on rule-breaking behaviour.
“The main thing is to try not to be accusatory,” she says, “or to shame
someone. Everyone has their own circumstances and deals with things in
diff erent ways. Start from the place of saying, ‘I am letting you know how
your behaviour is aff ecting me, and I’d like to hear your point of view.’ You
can have a conversation rather than a shouting match.” Hojjat advises calmly
and carefully referencing the bigger picture, and the eff ect their actions
could have on vulnerable people. “Explain that this isn’t just about one
person’s behaviour. It’s a public health issue.”
That said, it is not always worth getting into it with friends. “You should
make a distinction between long-term friendships that you really treasure,
and acquaintances,” says Hojjat. If you have been friends since primary
school, for exampl
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