As the official death toll to COVID-19 in the US reached fifty thousand souls, some disorganized thoughts. (I'll spare none for the bungler in chief beyond that if his people think another government can be sued for letting the virus spread, so surely could his.)
An article in the Times this morning reports that while 74 percent of white voters [in New York City] said they did not know someone who died from the coronavirus, 48 percent of black voters, and 52 percent of Latino voters, said they did. Our over fifteen thousand lost are disproportionately working class and people of color.
I'm one of the 26% white voters who did know someone, but just barely. An elderly member of our congregation, whom I hardly knew, died three weeks ago. I also heard about three other cases: the teacher of the child of a friend, the father of the ex-boyfriend of a student, and the brother of a member of our college staff. There are probably more of which I don't yet know, but I don't expect it will be many.
Our staff member sent a thank you to those who sent him messages of condolences, in which he wrote: My brother Jack will be a statistic but to us he was a man that is special to us and will always be remembered.
An article in yesterday's Guardian by Robert Reich argued that in virus-stricken America a new class system is emerging. "Remotes" (35%) are doing fine, largely able to avoid the spread; "Essentials" are working but at greater risk (30%); the "Unpaid" (25%+) are jobless or furloughed, probably losing health insurance; "The Forgotten," comprising people in prisons, detention camps, nursing homes, Indian reservations and homeless shelters are at perhaps greatest risk.
While the particulars are specific to the US and its specifically gappy social contract, there must be similar breakdowns in other countries. Most people I know are Remotes - a fact borne out for me during a zoom reunion yesterday morning with three dozen classmates from the international school I attended in 1982-84. (Some of us haven't seen each other in three decades!) All are under lockdown in one country or another, working from home and enjoying walks. The only deaths mentioned were by an alumna in New Mexico, three family members of one of whose colleagues had died; all were Diné (Navaho).
A member of our church is chaplain to a hospital in Inwood, on the northern tip of Manhattan. Moved by the plight of the unattended bodies in the "morgue tent" next to the hospital (New York's hopiotal morgues are all at capacity, most with refrigerated trailers next door), she's started reading the Psalms outside its entrance every midday. I've quietly joined her a few times (from home, of course). Not knowing who's in the tent, and not able to be anywhere near it, it feels desperately abstract.
"Desperately abstract" describes my experience as a Remote, and is probably not so far distant from that of the folks who are bridling at lockdowns in other states, or those who think think the COVID-19 death tolls need to be contextualized in terms of other losses, other potential deaths - those for whom Jack has never been more than a statistic. It maddens me to be in the same cognitive space as these folks, even though I'm apparently at the epicenter. It's sickening to be reassuring concerned friends from other places that I'm fine, and everyone I know.
An article in the Times this morning reports that while 74 percent of white voters [in New York City] said they did not know someone who died from the coronavirus, 48 percent of black voters, and 52 percent of Latino voters, said they did. Our over fifteen thousand lost are disproportionately working class and people of color.
I'm one of the 26% white voters who did know someone, but just barely. An elderly member of our congregation, whom I hardly knew, died three weeks ago. I also heard about three other cases: the teacher of the child of a friend, the father of the ex-boyfriend of a student, and the brother of a member of our college staff. There are probably more of which I don't yet know, but I don't expect it will be many.
Our staff member sent a thank you to those who sent him messages of condolences, in which he wrote: My brother Jack will be a statistic but to us he was a man that is special to us and will always be remembered.
An article in yesterday's Guardian by Robert Reich argued that in virus-stricken America a new class system is emerging. "Remotes" (35%) are doing fine, largely able to avoid the spread; "Essentials" are working but at greater risk (30%); the "Unpaid" (25%+) are jobless or furloughed, probably losing health insurance; "The Forgotten," comprising people in prisons, detention camps, nursing homes, Indian reservations and homeless shelters are at perhaps greatest risk.
While the particulars are specific to the US and its specifically gappy social contract, there must be similar breakdowns in other countries. Most people I know are Remotes - a fact borne out for me during a zoom reunion yesterday morning with three dozen classmates from the international school I attended in 1982-84. (Some of us haven't seen each other in three decades!) All are under lockdown in one country or another, working from home and enjoying walks. The only deaths mentioned were by an alumna in New Mexico, three family members of one of whose colleagues had died; all were Diné (Navaho).
A member of our church is chaplain to a hospital in Inwood, on the northern tip of Manhattan. Moved by the plight of the unattended bodies in the "morgue tent" next to the hospital (New York's hopiotal morgues are all at capacity, most with refrigerated trailers next door), she's started reading the Psalms outside its entrance every midday. I've quietly joined her a few times (from home, of course). Not knowing who's in the tent, and not able to be anywhere near it, it feels desperately abstract.
"Desperately abstract" describes my experience as a Remote, and is probably not so far distant from that of the folks who are bridling at lockdowns in other states, or those who think think the COVID-19 death tolls need to be contextualized in terms of other losses, other potential deaths - those for whom Jack has never been more than a statistic. It maddens me to be in the same cognitive space as these folks, even though I'm apparently at the epicenter. It's sickening to be reassuring concerned friends from other places that I'm fine, and everyone I know.
