2020 Vision
Brian Stauffer’s “Under Control” via The New Yorker, Mar 9, 2020
It washes over us in waves: overwhelming, all-consuming, unforgiving waves, which devour portions of the population until we are told to go inside and lock our doors, to stop seeing our friends, to keep our hands far from our eyes and nose and mouth, lest the salty brine invades our bodies and consumes us, too. The virus has flowed from port to port, country to country, with a ferocious tenacity that still befuddles health officials and world leaders alike – even now, more than half a year since its outbreak. As we approach the impending “second wave” of the Coronavirus pandemic in Europe (or merely a continuation of the first?), while parts of the world have only just gotten the spread under control and others still struggle to cope, it is evident that our perception of reality has drastically changed without our consent.
We may be living in the beginning of a new era.
For many months, our collective vision of 2020 was simply the view from our windows. It became a period of both deep introspection and an uneasy, static clarity as we watched the world shutter through individual panes of glass. Equally, this year has been markedly defined by confusion and uncertainty. We watched our family members grow frightened, our friends grow distant, and our classes and jobs go online. We suddenly feared the door handles which we used to open every day without second thought. We learned to stifle our coughs. We realized the simple joys and undulating torments of living in isolation at home – or sometimes worse, away from home.
This year has shown us how vulnerable we are.
When the case numbers ticked up slowly at first in distant cities, we watched in disbelief as the virus began to creep its way to our own shores, numbers rising exponentially at home in short time – especially in countries which refused to take swift and drastic action (*cough* America *cough* Brazil *cough* Britain). The notion of our mortal impermanence began to sink in, like a pebble to the seabed. Suddenly, the fear of death rested in the palms of our unwashed hands.
This year has brought a collective sense of insecurity, inequality, and shared personal trauma for many. Younger generations have now been marked by the thumb of death, hovering just above our heads, normally nothing more than a shadow inching between us and the sun.
As a society, we can speak more openly about grief because it is suddenly all around us, but this does not make it any easier for the grieving. It does shine a light upon our unspoken morality, our human frailty, in a way that the Western world has not felt since the Second World War or the Spanish Influenza. Many of us are lucky to live in places where it is rare for the civilian population to feel so unsafe in our own cities and neighborhoods, until now. But this is a wake-up call – especially for the white population, who are so often able to take our enormous privilege and inherent sense of security entirely for granted.
Even faced with a pandemic which does not discriminate in its victims, white people are still at an extreme advantage in medical care, likely to get preferential treatment and assistance due to hundreds of factors, including both the conscious and subconscious discrimination embedded in our health care system. Black Americans are dying of Covid-19 at three times the rate of white people, not because the virus directly targets them more than any other population, but because racial discrimination in America has left staggering inequality which is systematically entrenched. It is one of life’s cruelties that those who have historically been oppressed and disadvantaged are hit the hardest when disaster strikes.
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Masks on, masks off, easing of restrictions, another lockdown. As countries stutter and stumble and rush to be first to create a vaccine, we have felt the grip of solitude, and now we wait with baited breath to push its cold hands away as quickly as possible... Unless we secretly enjoy the quiet and alone time more than expected?
Perhaps introverts found that they need human companionship more than they believed, or extroverts realized the guilty pleasure of falling off the grid and avoiding social responsibilities. Collectively, it is clear that lockdown has created a societal urge for authenticity, simplicity, and a return to the most basic and fundamental values that we hold dear. We search now for unity and hope, not just strength, but wisdom and compassion – from our friends, our surroundings, and especially from our leaders. We crave human connection and a sense of belonging in an era where Zoom and social media have become the easiest means of experiencing the presence of others.
There is no stone that the pandemic has left unturned. The way we think about human interaction, health and safety, capitalism, moral values, political expediency... Every aspect of our lives suddenly faces a stark, new reality to put minute details in harsh perspective.
The first thing to go was travel. Tickets cancelled, airlines going under, national borders closed to friendly neighbors. It seemed like an inconvenience in the beginning, when trips planned years in advance were no longer possible and large sums of money lost in the process. The rapid shutdown of international travel was shortly accompanied by a much more profound and gut-wrenching fear, though, as citizens abroad faced being trapped thousands of miles from their homes, their families, or sick and dying loved ones.
A flurry of heartbreaking stories emerged as people were forced to say their final goodbyes over FaceTime, often barred from entering the hospitals where spouses, parents, and children lay fighting for their lives. Doctors and nurses began taping photos of themselves smiling to their chests, so patients would know there was a friendly face buried under layers of bruise-inducing protective gear. Hospitals were overburdened and staff overworked during long and traumatic shifts of watching patients die alone, one after another. Stories from the frontlines where EMTs, doctors, and nurses recounted their experiences at the beginning of the pandemic (especially well-documented in the New York Times podcast The Daily), painted a bleak picture of our new world. Symptoms of PTSD became apparent in many medical workers, especially in the difficult months where we knew nearly nothing about the virus. Meanwhile, millions of people who were already ill or in need of medical treatment were cast aside in the chaos. We will never know how many additional lives were lost because Coronavirus became the priority over all else. The demoralization of watching your life be devalued by the system is trauma enough, without considering all the other implications the pandemic had for people who were already suffering from diseases like cancer.
The next to go was large gatherings. No more were the days of music festivals, concerts, theater or ballet; no sports arenas crowded with fans; no conferences, weddings, funerals, or cramped indoor bars and clubs. Entire industries were left floundering in the blink of an eye. Monolithic companies began announcing bankruptcy in succession. Public transport became a question of life or death. Grandparents were sheltered away, cut off from their families and frightened for their lives by mundane tasks like going to the grocery store. Students were left washed in uncertainty, especially those on the precipice of entering university. Nearly forty percent of students taking their A-Levels in the United Kingdom were subsequently downgraded on their results this summer, unfairly disqualifying them from universities which would have happily dolled out acceptances in any normal year. The worst affected were students from disadvantaged socioeconomic backgrounds, while private schools nearly doubled the portion of students achieving top grades in comparison.
We learned in due time that masks and social distancing were key in protecting those around us. We learned that you do not have to be elderly, immunocompromised, or in poor health for the virus to ravage your body; and we still cannot begin to comprehend the long-term health effects that Coronavirus wreaks upon its victims. People documented their experiences online, some explaining that even six months after “recovering” from Coronavirus, they still have difficulty breathing and completing normal daily tasks. We learned that being young does not mean you are invincible, as in the words of WHO chief, Tedros Adhanom Ghebreyesus, “Young people can be infected; young people can die; and young people can transmit the virus to others.”
The death of Tony-nominated Broadway actor, Nick Cordero, was a tragic example of how a young, fit adult could go from perfect health to the ICU in an astonishing short amount of time. His wife, Amanda Kloots, chronicled Mr. Cordero’s fearsome battle with Coronavirus over Instagram, which included weeks in a medically-induced coma and the amputation of his right leg. She detailed her hope, grief, and perseverance for their one-year-old son during Mr. Cordero’s ninety-five-day-long stay in the hospital before his passing, writing in one post:
“Nick is 41 years old. He had no pre-existing health conditions. We do not know how he got COVID-19 but he did. He went to the ER on March 30th and intubated on a ventilator on April 1. Since then has he has suffered an infection that caused his heart to stop, he needed resuscitation, he had two mini strokes, went on ECMO, went on dialysis, needed surgery to removal an ECMO cannula that was restricting blood flow to his leg, a fasci[o]tomy to relieve pressure on the leg, an amputation of his right leg, an MRI to further investigate brain damage, several bronchial sweeps to clear out his lungs, a sep[s]is infection causing septic shock, a fungus in his lungs, holes in his lungs, a tracheostomy, blood clots, low blood count and platelet levels, and a temporary pacemaker to assist his heart. He has spent 38 days now in the ICU. This disease does not only [a]ffect old people. This is real. A perfectly healthy 41 year old man! Bring awareness to his story.”
As Ms. Kloots urged followers to stay home and observe health guidelines, thousands were inspired by the couple’s strength. It became a rallying cry about the devastating costs that Coronavirus can have on even a perfectly healthy and young individual, offering intimate insight into the way grief shapes us along the way.
Has Coronavirus taught us collective resilience as a society? Some argue that trauma provides a sense of purpose. There is “no wisdom without pain,” as in the words of ancient Greek playwright and military veteran Aeschylus. However, it is hard to see the scar of wisdom gained by suffering as a blessing, because of all that has been endured in order to obtain that knowledge. Trauma and hardship are undeniably accompanied by a sense of profound learning which cannot be replicated by any other means, and this year has certainly brought more than its fair share of hardship – but it is exceedingly difficult to imagine that an individual would willingly submit to suffering purely for the promise of lessons on life and morality. In other words, trauma may provide us with wisdom and purpose, but most men would forgo this privilege if it meant freedom from suffering.
The classic understanding of generations which endure collective trauma, usually in the context of war, states that they emerge with a uniquely shared threat perception – one which is retained throughout their lives and where the threat is avoided at all costs, until following generations forget what it was like to experience such an event. Thus, history cruelly and ironically repeats itself.
If Thomas Hobbes was correct, all people must live in constant fear of loss and violence. Forget this, and we are lost ourselves.
How easy will it be to forget everything we have learned this year? We have only just reached the beginning of the university calendar in the U.K. and there is no clear end to the pandemic in sight. No functioning vaccine. Another lockdown looming on the horizon, perhaps within days. When everything around us appears normal – or as normal as can be nowadays – there is a comfort blanket of false security which we hug tight to our chests; but the second that façade of normality dissipates, our sense of security is ripped away from us in an instant.
Some nations are finding it harder to conform than others. The pandemic has not shaken America out of its partisan fever dream. According to a poll released at the end of August, nearly 57% of Republican voters considered the 175,000 person death toll in America an “acceptable” number when evaluating U.S. efforts to fight the pandemic, while 90% of Democrats said it was “unacceptable.” In the United Kingdom and in Sweden, it took months for the government to acknowledge the flawed theory of “herd immunity,” putting millions of lives unnecessarily at risk in the process and leading to thousands more deaths. President Donald Trump acknowledged on tape this month that he downplayed the entire pandemic to the American people, willingly withholding essential information which could have saved tens of thousands of lives. In France, bars, clubs, and raves never seemed to fully shut down. The pandemic has not impressed upon Parisian society that café culture, apéros, and the pursuit of pleasure and leisure avec amis should have been reconsidered in a year where proximity to friends and strangers could be the difference between living or dying. France is currently reporting its highest daily Covid case numbers yet: nearly 11,000 positive results in a single day.
Throughout the horror movie that is 2020, we are supposed to look for the cracks of light, the stars, in the dark endless night this year has become. I am not going to lie to you, dear reader. Our future looks bleak. What we need now more than ever is honesty, and especially to ourselves. It is not all bad, though. There are reasons for optimism and there are small, daily wins. We have come very far since the beginning of this year. But we are kidding ourselves if we think for even a moment that our futures will ever look the same. The wound of this pandemic is still open, oozing and contagious, and we will bandage it, but it has cut deep and it will leave a mark on each of us. The scar of this trauma will be branded on our generation and those to come. What we can hope for is wisdom. Purpose. And we are going to need it, because there are many more storms to come.
Emma Hemingway is a fourth year student at the University of Edinburgh studying International Relations. She is the founder, web designer, and Editor-in-Chief of Ensemble Magazine.