Tag Archives: coronavirus
Love in the Time of Corona
Welcome, ye converts!
We knew we were onto something with Evidentialism. But we never expected such a widespread conversion. No worries; we can accommodate you all, though it’s clearly a limited-time offer.
For here we are, called to collective Mass by Circumstance. Our heads are bowed, our hands are clasped. Of course, we have a lot of time for solemn reflection lately; we can’t go to most public gatherings, schools are closing, sports are canceled. What’s a body to do besides pray for a body?
Yet those heads are bowed not for a higher power to smite an enemy, not a savior to bring forth justice with great vengeance and furious anger.
No, we’re praying to science.
Look at the way we changed our everyday lives when science told us of an imminent, existential threat. We now elbow-bump. We wear medical masks to the grocery stores. We have suspended human interaction until further notice.
The urge here is great to make this column one long endorsement of Evidentialism, the faith that posits that science is a faith. It’s tempting to point out that folks aren’t flocking to their houses of worship (haven’t you heard? Pope’s taking confession on Instagram.). Normally, I’d point out that, suddenly, we’re not hearing from anti-vaxers clamoring to get to the bottom of the list. I might even take a shot at friends much smarter than I who dismiss the science-as-faith concept out of hand; if that praying for a cure you’re doing isn’t an act of faith, I might ask, what is?
But I’m not going to do that.
The larger precept here is much simpler; COVID-19 underscores the dangerous habit of acting without evidence. The American political system has made a cottage industry out of turning science into ideology. Corona smashed that to hell in a week.
Whether it’s politics or religion or the weather, beware those who act without evidence. If anything, resist it. Yeah, it makes you an asshole. But it’s time we pucker up and give resistance to stupidity.
As Evidentialism loves to cite, we do it in our everyday lives anyway. Imagine: You live in a place that gets a real winter. You’re in day 3 of a winter storm that’s dumped 8 inches a day and dropped temperatures to sub-zero.
Your brother walks into the living room, icicles dangling from his nose and eyebrows, dressed in nothing but a t-shirt, jeans and sandals. “Man!” you’re brother proclaims. “I’m freezing!” After laughing your ass off at the dullard, you’d probably ask why he didn’t bother checking the forecast — or looking outdoors.
Yet on deeper issues — issues that shape the core of what makes you you — it’s impolite to ask whey they hold the opinion they do. It’s rude, we’re told. It’s intrusive. People are free to think what they want.
Exactly. So why not find out where they’re coming from?
A Wonderful Calamity
Yesterday should have been a shitty day.
I woke up nauseas and filled with bile after hearing President AssHat call the coronavirus a hoax. That man is a living argument for abortion and atheism.
When I got to my polling station for Super Tuesday (it had been changed to a far less convenient location for some reason), cars were gridlocked. The geniuses in the party had selected an elementary school as the new station, as it could hold more ballot boxes. Fair enough.
But the school was at the end of a quiet cul de sac, and it was a school day. By 2:30 p.m., tiny Basset Street looked like the 405. Volvo station wagons backed fearfully down the street as kids darted about. When you did find a parking spot, a line that led out the auditorium and into the parking lot awaited you. There, too, adults and kids had to play bullfighter with the cars, narrowly dodging iron bulls.
After a 35-minute wait, I reached the auditorium — where an election volunteer announced that the entire system crashed. In an exasperated monotone, she listed other voting polling places as if she were reading school closures after a heavy snow. Van Nuys Elementary. Van Nuys Animal Shelter. Bueller. Bueller? She didn’t bother with addresses.
After much muttering, the people in the auditorium dispersed. One woman yelled at a volunteer for not having a backup system, as if that were his task. After she was done berating him, I walked up. “You guys should hang a sign outside so people don’t go through the hassle of parking and waiting,” I told the man, who was frantically packing up tape and boxes.
“Thank you,” he said without looking up. “You should call the party and suggest that.”
I sighed and walked out, then began walking the length of the line to tell them that the system and crashed and they were misdirecting us.
Not a single person moved, asked a follow-up question or even acknowledged the warning they were in for a half hour cattle call.
And that’s when the day turned. I realized: They weren’t moving because they suspected I may be trying to discourage them voting. And they weren’t having that. I looked: That was a longer line than I’d ever seen for a California election, including Obama’s. I heard: People were joking, laughing, and seemingly unconcerned with the bureaucratic hoops they had to leap to vote. When I got home I saw a local news report from another polling place that had also fritzed out. Regardless, the reporter said, people planned to wait the estimated 1 1/2 hours to get the machines back up. And you just know they waited longer than that.
But it’s hard not to feel the palpable energy in the populace. I had received no fewer than three texts and two visits from political volunteers leading up to Super Tuesday. Friends reported the same. People seemed ready to brawl. The silver lining on the day now felt blinding.
I still don’t think Trump will give up the keys to the White House, even if he suffers landslide losses. I still think he’ll appeal the election up to a Supreme Court he owns. That fucking pisses me off.
Yesterday I learned I hardly own the patent on the sentiment.
