Hunkering Down

“Just a shadow in the moonlight

Just a shadow, shadow on the wall

A silhouette, the kiss of death

Did somebody take the fall?”

Robbie Robertson, Night Parade

What’s important? What matters most? Why are people hoarding toilet paper? How bad will the coronavirus be when all is said and done? How many people will die? How many small businesses will close their doors?

What seemed routine, normal, only a week ago is now unfamiliar, strange, foreboding. Empty restaurants. Bare grocery store shelves. Schools closed. Streets deserted. At Handlebar coffee shop on Canon Perdido street this morning -- a place that is normally hopping and buzzing during the week -- there were four patrons, two workers, and Kim, the owner, and she was saying she thinks the city might order her to close. Even if that doesn’t happen, Handlebar depends on patrons who work in the surrounding area and may close temporarily for lack of business. 

This morning it rained steadily, the temperature hung in the mid-40’s, and the mountains were dusted with snow. Very light traffic on the streets, much quieter than normal. The city, the world, hunkers down, and waits. I think of all the ramifications and risks and dire portents of this strange, uncertain period. I remember one summer when my son was eleven or twelve and he was fascinated by how the Black Plague swept over Europe. Time passes differently now, slower. My wife went to Ralphs yesterday and struck gold -- a nine-roll pack of TP. She also bought canned soup, ground turkey, boxed almond milk, yams, paper towels and cheese. When I got home and saw the pantry I felt almost triumphant; in the short run, we have the means of survival. 

Enforced patience. Maybe the entire world needs to settle down, step back, and think about what the collective WE is doing to our planet, our health, our children. I know this will not happen, at least not on the necessary scale, but I hope -- and almost want to pray -- that the rich, powerful and comfortable see how fragile we are without reasonable social supports like a public health system that provides care to all, not only those who can afford it, paid sick leave for all workers, better-than-miserly unemployment insurance, and ongoing investment in our critical infrastructure: roads, bridges, water systems, child care facilities, schools, hospitals, senior centers. These are the things that make a society stable and resilient, not to mention productive and economically strong.  

Consider this, written by Eduardo Porter: “Public goods are the indispensable glue keeping societies together. Societies normally pay for them collectively because nobody would individually. Think universal health insurance or public education or unemployment insurance, or even firemen, cops, and public roads—they provide society-wide gains greater than the benefits to any individual.”

What does a pandemic teach us? It should remind us of our vulnerability, how interconnected and dependent we are, not only on one another, but on public institutions. It should remind us that cooperation between neighbors and nations is powerful and necessary. There’s no America First or China First or Europe First in a pandemic, and where a virus originated makes no difference at all. It should remind us that life is more than earning money and accumulating goods and power. A stack of Ben Franklins will not give you immunity to a virus. 

If a pandemic fails to teach us the truth of life, what will?