There have been many stages of our collective COVID-19
reaction.
There was the initial panic, with the shortages of toilet
paper (I still haven’t completely figured that one out) and Lysol. In those
days, one dared not even cough in public. I had a cold when I was in Los
Angeles. I sneezed, and a friend misted me with sanitizer.
اضافة اعلان
I believe that I experienced the pandemic like many others:
stunned and isolated, shocked by the sudden withdrawal of social life and
social customs.
In the beginning, many of us found it frightening but also
thought that it would be — or could be — brief.
Donald Trump terribly mismanaged the American response,
meaning that people died who didn’t have to. A study by The Lancet Commission
on Public Policy last February reported that the US could have avoided 40
percent of deaths if its death rate reflected that of other leading industrial
nations: Canada, France, Germany, Italy, Japan, and the UK.
Many of us assumed that with a new administration and a new
COVID-19 policy, we would see an end to the pandemic. But Republican governors
wouldn’t implement better policies, and the virus itself proved harder to deal
with than we thought.
Many of the same Group of 7 countries that fared better than
the US under Trump are still struggling with the virus, as we are. For millions
around the world, the pandemic continues to drag on.
Last summer, after the initial panic had passed, I began to
gravitate to comforting experiences, both sensory and psychological.
I took joy in cooking. I learned to make bread. I followed
Tabitha Brown, a vegan cook who dished out big-smile affirmations with her
recipes.
I bought more plants. I wasn’t the only one. Sales of house
plants soared during the pandemic.
We still believed that if we did the right things — at least if enough of us did them — that the pandemic would pass, and things would snap back to the way they were.
I tuned into D-Nice’s “Club Quarantine.” I listened to the
Verzuz battle. I turned to music as a salve. The rhythm provided continuity
when routines had been disrupted.
I watched more TV than I ever had, and even there, I returned
to classics as much as I explored new offerings.
All of us, I believe, were simply waiting to see when our
lives would reset and what the new normal would look like. We still believed that if we did
the right things — at least if enough of us did them — that the pandemic would
pass, and things would snap back to the way they were.
But, as each month passed, and then each year, it became
more and more clear that COVID-19 would most likely move from pandemic to
endemic.
As Dr. Anthony Fauci, the White House’s chief medical
adviser, said last month: “If you look at the history of infectious diseases,
we’ve only eradicated one infectious disease in man, and that’s smallpox.
That’s not going to happen with this virus.”
Fauci said that what we should hope for is that COVID-19
would eventually be reduced to a “low level” at which it is “integrated into
the broad range of infectious diseases that we experience.”
COVID-19 is likely to be here to stay.
The Omicron variant that swept this country and the world
this winter is probably not the last one to upend our lives. And we have no
assurances that current vaccines will work against subsequent variants.
In 2020, Trump said of COVID-19: “It’s going to disappear.
One day — it’s like a miracle — it will disappear. And from our shores, we —
you know, it could get worse before it gets better. It could maybe go away.
We’ll see what happens. Nobody really knows.”
That was never going to happen. But now, we know that it may
never disappear.
This raises some very serious questions for us as
individuals and as a society.
In a Monmouth University poll last month, 70 percent of
Americans agreed with the statement: “It’s time we accept that COVID is here to
stay and we just need to get on with our lives.”
In the early part of the pandemic, when some Republican
governors were following Trump’s lead, politicizing the virus by bucking
Centers for Disease Control and Prevention recommendations, many Democratic
governors held the line and committed to following the science.
But now, many of them seem to be buckling as well, lifting
mask mandates against CDC recommendations.
The urge, both political and social, to simply “get on with
it,” is incredibly strong.
The number of lives taken by COVID in the US alone — north
of 900,000 — is almost unfathomable. But, somehow the public has absorbed and
reckoned with it in some way. We have taken on a Darwinian sensibility about it
all, accepting it as the sudden thinning of a herd, a form of natural
selection. It is both sad and stunning.
COVID has made us reconsider everything, the meaning of home
and work, the value of public space, the magnitude and immediacy of death, what
it truly means to be a member of a society.
We are still finding the answers to those questions, but the
America we knew ended in 2019. This is a new one, scarred, struggling to its
feet, dogged by moral and philosophical questions that on one hand have
revealed its cruelty and on the other have forced it into metamorphosis.
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