A Monday Afternoon, Spring 2020
By Lucas Giermann
There's yellow caution tape stretched across the playground by my house.
It's a warm, clear Spring afternoon here. The kind of day we so rarely see in Seattle this early in the season. I hear the trill of birdsong, the bark of a neighbor's dog, and—well, that's it, really. No traffic hum, no idle chatter. The usual white noise of Seatac planes departing (I live only a few miles from the airport) is uncannily absent.
A young couple out walking strays off the sidewalk as I pass them, deliberately arcing their path into the street and away from mine. We smile politely as we so obviously avoid each other. I'm not offended, of course.
A woman in a surgical mask is wiping down grocery baskets as I make my way into the store. The shelves inside are completely bare in places, and that's okay: I didn't bother with a grocery list. Many of the aisles have been picked clean, and a flock of buzzards (like myself) are circling, scoping out the choicest bits of food that remain. Anything non-perishable is noticeably, painfully missing. Pasta, canned goods, frozen foods, and bottled water were some of the first to go. There is no more soap, or flour, eggs, butter, or chicken. Well, and no toilet paper, of course. But one poor soul still waits in the toiletries aisle, staring mournfully at the naked shelf. A late-comer, by far.
The grocery clerk and I make small talk as we always do. Apparently, he's at 28 hours of overtime this week, and counting. It's a perfect time for the teenager to pick up hours: local schools will remain closed for three more weeks at least. All public schools, along with daycares, parks, restaurants, and movie theaters have been closed by statewide government mandate. And, yes, playgrounds, too.
Most of us know that more closures are inevitable.
Yet I see some still going about their days as if the shelves weren't bare, the roads weren't empty, and our neighbors weren't wearing medical face masks. They seem ignorant, or even indignant, to the reality that our world is different now. They laugh, and gather, and shop, and play because the death toll in our state only just broke 100 today. People die everyday, right?
There have been more than 6,000 confirmed deaths in Italy. At least 3,200 deaths in China. 2,000 have died in Iran. 3,000 have died in Spain.¹ These deaths shouldn't have happened. The deaths that are coming should not happen.
We are more mobile, more connected, and more populous than we've ever been in human history. These facts make the threat of infectious disease not only credible, but undeniable. The reality is simple: we're currently facing a global pandemic. A particularly resilient strain of coronavirus (COVID-19) is now forcing us to evaluate our preparedness and response to a global disease in a truly global society. And I'm horrified by what I'm witnessing.
Apathy. There's no other word for it. While many people are taking steps to help curb the spread of this disease, I see just as many behaving as if nothing has changed. And this is exceptionally arrogant. It is the obligation of the individual now, in this modern, jam-packed world, to do his or her part to combat the rapid spread of disease. Every time someone makes a choice to ignore this obligation, contagion gains another foothold. Yes, the COVID-19 death tolls still pale in comparison to the unthinkable mortality rates of, say, the Spanish Flu of 1918 (which claimed the lives of millions).
That's a good thing.
We owe it to our loved ones, our neighbors, our colleagues, and acquaintances to never relive a pandemic like that again. Let's keep up the momentum. Our predecessors gave us the gift of experience, and it's our choice whether or not to take advantage of it. Simply put, our actions today can prevent deaths. The gravity of that responsibility cannot be overstated. And if part of that responsibility includes wearing a mask, putting party plans on hold, and stymieing the gathering of crowds, then it's a small price to pay, if you ask me.
And to the parent pushing aside the caution tape so her daughter can play with her friends, I'm deeply sorry this pandemic is inconveniencing you. You're right. Let's just roll the dice and hope we get luckier than our ancestors.
I pray for your sake and your daughter's we all roll well.
¹ https://www.cdc.gov/