Reflections on a Lost Year

Even for us who haven’t contracted COVID or whose families have been somehow unscathed, 2020 was a lost year.  I struggle to not mourn the loss of familiar routines and pastimes when so many have been infected, or worse, lost loved ones in the pandemic, but sometimes I backslide.  The six-week winter break has begun, the first sustained period off work since we went to remote instruction, leaving me time to ruminate on the situation.

I began the year with a small irony.  On New Year’s Eve, the day China reported its first COVID cases to the World Health Organization, I was on a flight from Hong Kong to San Francisco.  I had spent the previous week in Hong Kong and Macau, sightseeing and eating dim sum.  Many of the people I saw wore face masks, but it really didn’t register since it was East Asia in the wintertime and masking is a common practice. 

I think I started noticing the news reports toward the end of January.  Spring semester began, and I was engrossed in work.  The pandemic cropped up periodically in conversation as the weeks went on.  A few people began wearing face coverings here and there.  News reports told of mass lockdowns in China and police checkpoints in Italy, but it still seemed so far away, so unreal. 

As February gave way to March, you began to see large containers of hand sanitizer in classrooms, offices, and public areas on campus.  There were exhortations to wash hands frequently.  Finally, word came down that we were going to remote instruction.  We were given about ten days to make the transition, and the administration predicted we might be able to return before the end of the term.  I took the news in stride and didn’t change my routine.  When the appointed day arrived, I taught my scheduled classes and went home.  And have stayed there ever since.

I am not proud of my complacency; I am puzzled by it.  I’m normally alarmed by news of disasters on the doorstep, but in this case I carried on nonetheless.  Looking back, I am fortunate to not have been infected or infected someone else.   The widespread resistance to mask mandates even as infection rates are again skyrocketing beggars explanation.

For me 2020 bears an eerie parallel to another lost year, 2000.  The main difference is that 2000 was lost to me and this year was lost to us all.  The two years have a lot in common, though, a controversial presidential election being the most prominent feature.  In my case, I spent that year socially distancing by default.  I was recovering from a near-fatal accident that left me permanently disabled, I was facing the loss of my career as a consequence, and my marriage was imploding.  I was hundreds of miles from home in a military hospital temporarily housed in a bare room in a soon to be demolished annex while my family stayed behind.  Then as now, tedium and anxiety over an uncertain future stalked my thoughts.

Given a choice, I would take this year over that.  I am reasonably healthy now, and the prospect of going broke is not a concern at the moment.  The continuous nausea and lack of appetite from the morphine prescribed for my pain aren’t an issue, nor do feelings of malaise keep me in bed some days.  My biggest headaches are technical glitches. If I get cabin fever, I can always go for a walk and come back feeling renewed.

It’s the uncertainty that’s the worst aspect of the pandemic aside from the disease itself.  What will work and school look like after?   Will travel at home or abroad ever be safe?  Can we even socialize normally after this?  Anthony Fauci summed it up for many when recently told an interviewer the thing he looks forward to most is dropping by a bar for a beer and a burger.  That likely won’t happen anytime soon.   I’m still leery of circulating in public unless it’s necessary.  A few months ago, I thought about marking the anniversary of my accident as I normally do.  I made a dinner reservation at a place with outdoor seating.  As the reservation time grew closer, I began to question the wisdom of going out.  I cancelled and spent the evening in.  No point taking unnecessary risks.

Signals are mixed as to how the future plays out.  Hope and dread don’t settle well with each other, but it’s the prevailing sentiment.  On a conference call with higher education administrators, Dr. Fauci said last week that with widespread immunization students and professors could return to the physical classroom as soon as fall semester 2021.  Then again, there is ominous news of a new mutation of SARS CoV-2 running amok in southeastern Britain which has led a number of EU countries to bar British visitors.  Even as I write, reports of yet another mutation in China are making the rounds.

Nevertheless, the pandemic will subside at some point.  There remains the matter of preexisting ills exacerbated by the crisis.  Social division and a slide toward outright violent conflict won’t miraculously subside just because Donald Trump is leaving office.  We’ve arrived at a point where we are incapable of living together.  The last four tears, and this year in particular, have pulled back the screen to reveal us as a fragmented people seething with hatred and resentment.  I don’t think there is any turning back; the damage is permanent.  We’ll return to a form of surface normalcy, but the dysfunction will persist underneath.

 

© 2020 The Unassuming Scholar

Bloody Shirt

 

As the Electoral College casts its vote, the “Stop the Steal” crowd is doubling down on its baffling inability to accept that their man lost the election.  The hyperbole emanating from social media is disturbing.

Although Arizona’s 11 presidential electors cast their votes earlier today for Joe Biden, the Arizona Republican Party retweeted a post from one of the true believers proclaiming, “I am willing to give my life for this fight.”  The AZ GOP appended the comment with its own: “He is.  Are you?”

I want to shrug off rhetoric like this.  Four years ago, I would have simply responded with an eyeroll.  Events since then, and particularly in the past year, make me take it seriously.  It isn’t that I expect mass violence to break out, though months of confrontation between Trump supporters and civil rights activists gives cause for concern.  Inflammatory statements like this tweet are bound to motivate some crazy fool to act on them.

During the countdown to Inauguration Day, expect the heavily surreal political atmosphere to thicken into a pall.  The astounding refusal of the “base” to accept the outcome in the face of contrary evidence reflects a complete break from reality.  Their fealty to a morally bankrupt man has morphed into a quasi-religious cause, with gestures such as the AZ GOP retweet being akin to the waving of a mythic bloody shirt.

Fortunately, I can socially isolate and don’t have to chance the possibility of face to face discussions with these people.  But I did learn the sentiments of some of my students since November 3^rd from their discussion posts and written assignments.  Several of them asserted the election was illegitimate, that votes weren’t counted, that dead people and the “illegals” cast votes, and so forth.  It’s annoying to read this tripe, but I resolved to remain professional (and keep my blood pressure down) by choosing not to engage.  I did the same in my live classes before we went remote, even when the Trumpies became more vocal as the election cycle got closer.

It’s too soon for me to worry about personal confrontations on campus or elsewhere, being that the pandemic has entered another lethal wave.  (That said, another brand of irrationality will cause some of us to refuse masks or to receive the vaccination once it becomes widely available, thereby prolonging the crisis.)  I have the luxury of watching events unfold from my living room.  But we need to learn to live together once the dust has settled, and there is a feeling somehow that a line has been crossed.  Don’t expect the violence of words and of deeds to abate after January 20^th.

 

 

© 2020 The Unassuming Scholar