Like a traffic backup on I-5, the year 2020 effectively stalled our lives. Gridlocked us, our hindered progress so jammed that we had to adjust plans. A submicroscopic virus, something far smaller than a bacterium or a blood cell, absorbs the blame for halting everything we considered normal. And 2021 may bring more disappointment before remedial measures finally cap the spread of COVID-19 and lessen the devastation the virus has scattered to every habitable landmass on earth.
Family get-togethers, sit-down meals in restaurants, weekend day trips, movies, concerts, theater productions, haircuts, school activities, worship services, commencements, athletic contests, weddings, funerals, and workouts at the gym—all normal comings and goings became shadows of their original selves. Even an afternoon stroll in the neighborhood changed its course (oops, someone’s coming—better cross the street to preserve physical distance). Face to face encounters meant Zoom or Facetime meetings. Online religious observances became ubiquitous. Lines formed, safe spacing indicated by decals beneath our feet as we shuffled to enter essential businesses. Gate keepers took our temperatures and insisted that we wear prophylactic masks. Drive-throughs became a commonplace arrangement for banking, fast food pickups, and rapid testing for coronavirus. Getting used to all these prescriptions and proscriptions we regarded as the “new normal.” The old normal, one presumes, is far better than what we have experienced recently?
The pandemic as taken a toll on our collective mental health—loneliness, anxiety, food insecurity, and financial vulnerability foster nothing but trouble now and for the future. Like turtles, for safety sake, we found it necessary to retract our exposed lives into our shells where we are shielded from harm. But what about those people who cannot afford to withdraw, those who do not have the protection of a shell?
In our household we can afford to withdraw, to depend upon gig workers and minimum wage earners to provide services for us while we take cover. By circumstance and by good fortune, we have stayed clear of the hardships many people face. What about those legions of people who cannot afford to hole-up? What about folks facing empty food pantries? What about those people who face a stack of unpaid bills? Or those about to be evicted? What about those who suffer from crumbling health and have little or no meaningful shelter? What about those who simply do not have the money or the favored skin color allowing them to stand toward the front of the line?
Hard truth: we are not equal. Are we? Recent inequities prove the point. We measure people’s power by money and social standing, and just now that may mean life or death. Money and privilege are trump cards in this survival game. We are playing with a stacked deck. While I fuss over not being able to take that flight to Europe or enjoy that fishing trip to Canada, some of my neighbors agonize over holding fast to the basic needs of life.
Recently Charles Barkley, former brilliant NBA player, an African American, said that athletes should go to the head of the vaccine line because they pay more in taxes than most other folks. In his case, skin color is not an issue. Money is. His high and mighty assertion sort of makes my point. Half of it, anyway. If one can pay the price, one gets to go through the turnstile. To appreciate that thinking, reduced to its pith, Barkley asserts that proper protection from the virus depends on wealth, and he seems proud to make the claim. Essential workers get behind Barkley in line. Same goes for you elderly folks who are living on fixed income. Get behind the big guy in line all minimum wage earners. That goes for all of you suckers who don’t have a thick wallet.