Days of the Virus: The Best of Times And...

In my post on Saturday, I mentioned how much this reminded me of when Hurricane Andrew went through Dade County.  It turns out, it reminded someone else of that, as well:  Bryan Norcross, a meteorologist who was a high profile local figure in the lead up to the storm then.  He posted this useful reflection recently.  It was validating, as well as nostalgic, to hear his thoughts and comparison of our current national emergency to the disaster in South Florida in 1992.  It was also encouraging in that he emphasized our collective capacities, something I remember from the days immediately following the storm:  neighbors who had previously been strangers were pooling resources to help folks repair damaged homes, clear streets, and feed each other.  And Baltimore has always felt that way to me, with strong grassroots organizations and neighborhood identities that seem to undergird welcoming and active communities. 

But, as the daily news proceeds in its drumbeats of dire warnings, I also find myself imagining horrifying outcomes.  If disaster brings out the best in people, it can also bring out the worst.  Baltimore City, one of the most segregated cities in the US, has vast tracts of poverty that are already grossly underserved by the healthcare infrastructure (as well as education, transportation, food networks, etc.).  Given how close to the surface dissatisfaction with support and power structures has proven to be in the past, it's very easy for me to imagine that some of the people in these neighborhoods will feel pressed to express that dissatisfaction and to demand support in painful and destructive ways, as, at the same time, the virus runs unchecked through them.  Honestly, this makes sense to me.  What doesn't make sense is the likely response from the powers that be:  rather than attempt to meet the valid demands of the underserved, they will beat them, jail them, and leave them to die -- that is the "worst" being brought out, to my mind. 

And Baltimore is not the only place in the US where such conditions exist.  Americans in sum tend to treat the poor badly and, at best, misunderstand poverty and what there is to do about it.  In cities across our country, enclaves of the impoverished are cordoned off and ignored.  Yet, from even the most selfish perspective, it is in our collective interest to attend especially closely to these folks as part of our response to the pandemic:  without access to healthcare, they can easily become deep wells for incubating SARS-CoV-2.  And then we will blame them for it. 

Of course, at this stage, the point is almost moot.  There are already fewer hospital beds, ventilators, healthcare providers, etc. than are likely to be needed.  Today's situation regarding poverty in the US took centuries to evolve (one starting point that's as good as any is 1619) and it cannot be wisely resolved in a few weeks.  Still, to the degree that we can bend the curve on our cultural unwillingness to see ourselves as a collective, we can have a better chance of flattening the curve on the wave of SARS-CoV-2 passing through our national corpus.  May these potentially worst of times also bring out the best of us.