I’m temporarily leaving the “Opposable” format to look back to the beginning of the pandemic that changed us all in ways we are only beginning to understand. It started for me in New York City.
March 19, 2020, NYC
“Historically, cities have made it easier for people to live alone without experiencing constant loneliness. For single women, with or without children, cities offer domestic infrastructure. The city itself becomes a kind of partner, providing for single women the kind of services that women have, for generations, provided men.” —Rebecca Traister
As Covid-19 hangs over the city, many of those city-bred services are gone. Loneliness, merged with isolation, is now enforced. Tonight, along with the sweetness of cherry blossoms, the spring breeze carries a scent of fear, not only of Covid, but of the future itself, when so many of the city’s low-income workers—a paycheck away from disaster—will see their jobs, their children's education, and perhaps their lives vanish as if by cruel magic trick. Unlike me or the denizens of Wall St., these truly essential people cannot work from home or flee the city.
One remarkable change is how the definition of “essential” slips down the class rungs as society (all too briefly) notes previously invisible, undervalued workers: healthcare providers, first responders, grocery store clerks, trash collectors, subway and bus workers.
Whether propelled by lack of choice or commitment to serve, they do their jobs despite the lack of protective masks and sanitizers that would ease their worry and increase their odds. (In 2020, Covid was key in driving down life expectancy 1.2 years for whites, 2.9 years for Blacks, and 3 years for Latinos) By 2023, one third of New Yorkers; more than 3 million people, caught Covid; 43,000 died, some isolated or alone.
Meanwhile, I try to figure out when and how to get back home to Vermont, which seems safe, but, of course, isn't. And there, too, essential workers, like this Mexican dairy farm worker, show up, do their jobs, and keep us going.
Next, Part 3: Back in Vermont
Superb writing and images. I think my naive sort of trust in “community” has taken a beating. Most now refuse to wear masks, even in medical settings, where elderly and immunocompromised people continue to be at risk. Our government has given up on the idea of “public health” completely. Nevertheless, the continuing high level of care given by medical staff despite a lot of abuse has been heartening. Downright thrilling are the ongoing voluntary efforts by hundreds of people organizing to provide mutual aid.