Abroad in the USA

TL;DR “Fellow white people: sit down, shut up, and open your eyes and ears to what’s happening around you.”

I first arrived in the USA in 1985, a naïve grad student who thought years of watching TV shows like Hill Street Blues and Dallas had given me a decent background on what life would be like here.

My first “things are not what you think” came only a few days later. A friend’s parents invited me to a backyard barbecue—twenty or so well-meaning, educated, middle-aged and solidly middle-class white people. They were delightful; until someone made a comment about race. This was only a few months after the Philadelphia police department had dropped a literal bomb on the roof of a building housing black anti-government activists, and periodic protests had continued through the summer months.

I still vividly remember the comment: “I just don’t understand what these people want!”

Other people at the barbecue joined in, making statements about ”they need educating” and “they’re not really like us” and “I can’t understand what they say.” I was stunned. I’d heard these kinds of comments for years back in the UK, uttered by middle/upper class people against the poor and working class. I’d encountered such people for the first time when I went to university and quickly learned to hide my distinctly working-class and regional accent. I became a chameleon and learned to pass.

But the utterances at that sunny Sunday afternoon barbecue left me floored. Don’t get me wrong, I was profoundly aware of discussions about race—but in Leicester in the 1970s the narrative was all around issues of immigration. “XX go home!” was the chant of the racists pouring out their hatred on people of Indian, Pakistani, and Afro-Caribbean descent. I naively assumed that things in America would be different—the whole country was descended from immigrants (willing and otherwise) and the civil rights movement had happened more than 20 years earlier. America had moved on, right?

I quickly learned otherwise.

Over the years I’d be aware, like any good white progressive, that things were not as they seemed. I remember one day noticing a building site on campus, with 20 or so men of all colors working on the scaffolding. When the whistle blew for lunch, they all climbed down and sat along a wall, unpacking their bags and boxes to eat. All half-dozen or so Black workers sat together on one end of the wall, the white workers sat at the other end, and the Latinos perched uneasily in the middle.

Still, life got in the way. I was absorbed with school, career, family. Every so often I’d shake my head at some awful bit of racist claptrap and think, “there are still some crazies out there,” then get back on with my life.

Then came Obama’s election. The staggering levels of vitriol directed his way during the campaign. The foaming-at-the-mouth hysteria of the so-called Birther movement (people insisting that this Black man wasn’t born in America, so he wasn’t eligible to be president; Trump was a leading proponent). It dawned on me that the racism was more than just a few idiots and that some of them had voices that were heard far and wide. Fox News was suddenly more than a joke; it was spreading this stuff.

But I didn’t really start to wake up until a couple of years ago, when I read a twitter thread that still burns my heart. I’d started following a Black SciFi author whose work I really admire, and through her posts and retweets of other Black writers and commentators, had started to realize that there was a whole lot I just didn’t see. I learned the phrase “white privilege” for the first time (I know, late in life but I’m working on it).

I learned to notice how fiction writers address race—describing the color of a Black or brown character’s skin, but never that of a white character. Because white is the default setting that we all just assume is present.

I learned that yes, I had spent years feeling out of place as I hid my background and accent in order to ‘fit in’, but I can pass as middle class, especially in America where they assume a British accent means clever and cultured. Had I been anything other than lily white it would have been 100 times harder.

I saw the move “The Hate You Give” and realized that yes, as the mother of sons, I had taught them to be respectful and careful around the police: “Don’t answer back, don’t argue, just do what they say.” But I had never once thought that I should teach them how to avoid getting shot during a traffic stop: “Put your hands on the dashboard and keep them there; don’t make eye contact; say ‘sir’ a lot; never ever reach for something in your pocket or the glovebox.” And even if they followed all those rules, they may be get killed. The realization that Black acquaintances carried this burden was gut wrenching.

Then came the tweet: A Black woman asking something like, “Hands up sisters, how many of you have had a white woman stranger just come up and touch your hair?”

I was floored. That really happens? I started reading through the responses, found one who said, “It’d be easier to ask if any of us have never had this happen.”

Fellow white women, think about that. Think about the lived experience where total strangers assume it’s OK to violate your personal space and touch your hair.

And that’s what really brought it home to me, that being white means we get to drift through life in a state of blinkered ignorance, assuming that our experience is everyone’s experience because this society amplifies our voices in a way that silences others’.

So yes, the civil rights movement happened over 50 years ago and yes, we elected a Black president for eight glorious years, and yes, we all carry burdens and have Stuff we have to overcome.

But fellow white people, listen up: Black people have been trying to tell us for years that there’s a profound problem with racism in this country and we either didn’t listen or politely nodded and turned away. So now, when the frustration, the grief, what I imagine must be the utter mind-numbing exhaustion of just trying to Live While Black, finally boils over, stop with the “But the violence! But the looting! What do these people want?”

This moment is not about us, but we are the ones who must listen. Think about the lived experience where strangers assume it’s OK to touch your hair. Let that reality sink in for a while. Then start learning and try to do better.

So, on the surface the leafy-suburbia version of the apocalypse turns out to be a rather mundane affair involving furious debate on the community Facebook page over whether it’s still OK to use the school playing fields (hint: it isn’t) and a strange obsession with toilet paper and paper towels (because both of those items have been essential to human survival for millennia?).

Even so, there are true horror stories coming out of New York, Florida, and mental health institutions and prisons everywhere. A friend who lives on Cape Cod notes that the usual influx of New Yorkers moving out to their summer homes has started very early. (“We have one small community hospital here with only a couple of beds, what happens if people get sick?”)

The lockdown—announced for the whole of southeastern Pennsylvania just hours after my last post—is finally, slowly, taking hold. The grocery stores are still open; neighbors complain online that there are used medical gloves scattered all over the parking lots. I haven’t been shopping since the 18^th but apparently our local Acme supermarket has taped X’s on the floor marking where people should stand at the various counters, arrows indicating a one-way system around the aisles, and plastic shields to protect checkout workers. Not a coincidence that this particular Acme branch is also unionized. A number of the local restaurants have closed but about half are still offering takeout.

Covid-related ads are starting to pop up on the TV, which is kind of surreal; mostly from restaurant chains boasting about their “zero-contact” takeout options. Most worrisome, layoffs are starting to take a toll across the state—Pennsylvania has reported the sharpest ever surge in unemployment claims in the last two weeks of March—and our local food bank is seeing a record demand for help.

And yet, when I ventured out on the 28^th to pick up some takeout for dinner, there were still a surprising number of cars on the road—less than usual at 6:00 p.m. on a Saturday evening, but certainly not the deserted streets I’d been expecting. And just yesterday the lawn care company came by and gave our grass its first mowing of the season; landscaping contractors are considered “essential”, which I guess is good for the workers but seems kind of an odd decision.

Wild goats are coming down out of the hills to roam the streets in Llandudno, dolphins have been spotted in Venice, and hungry monkeys are going on the rampage in Thailand because they can’t score food from tourists. Maybe the traffic still on the roads around here is the only thing stopping hordes of bears from venturing out of their lairs in the Pocono mountains to ravage the trash cans of suburbia?

Meanwhile, the local hospital’s social media appeals for protective gear are getting more urgent.

Which may explain why the chair of the County Board of Commissioners Val Arkoosh—a doctor, who has been a voice of calm reason and fact in near-daily media briefings—issued a decidedly testy message on the 30^th. Noting that there had been a marked jump to just over 500 tested-positive cases in our county over the past week, and 6 deaths, her statement concludes:

“There are now six families grieving the untimely loss of their parent, grandparent, husband, or wife. Many more families in our community will experience this tragedy if you don’t take steps right now to stop the spread of COVID-19. You must stay at home except for life-sustaining activity. By leaving your home today for any unnecessary reason, you are taking someone else’s life in your hands. Even if you feel fine, you could unknowingly transmit the virus to someone else. Your carelessness could kill them. Is that trip to the store worth it? Is seeing your friends in person worth it? Make the right choice. Stay at home.”

That was two days ago. This morning’s tally on the county tracking website is 8 deaths and 564 positive cases, and no doubt it will have jumped higher in this evening’s update.

Everywhere there are stories about private companies and institutions stepping up to organize medical supplies and protective gear. Younger Son’s university did an Instagram story last week describing the boxes of stuff they’ve been putting together for donation: masks and gloves from the biology labs; adapted protective gear from the athletic departments; and masks and gowns sewn from surplus stuff in the theater costume department. There are also reports of private organizations setting up field hospitals and some cities trying to adapt convention centers and sports venues for non-intensive hospitalization.

But it’s all very ad hoc. Because the reality is that there is no national healthcare coordination in this country—unless it involves regulation of drugs and corporate pricing. Even at the state level, any coordination is fractured because all the facilities and networks are essentially privately owned. I assume the various hospital networks are communicating to try to figure out who has what resources, but there is nothing like the national coordination seen in the UK via the (flawed but essential) NHS.

Note the sharply rising bright pink line in this graphic from the Financial Times. Yep, that’s the best-in-the-world US of A. And these are just the reported tested-positive cases.

Of course, there could have been national-level coordination via the CDC (Centers for Disease Control) and the pandemic response team at the National Security Council—but the former has seen its funding slashed and the latter was disbanded two years ago. Trump did not create Covid-19 but the staggeringly incompetent and venal actions of his government over the past three years have certainly ensured that way more people will die because of it.

And a number of state Governors are refusing to order strict containment measures, essentially saying, “We’re not like New York or California and the president says it’s not necessary.” Yes, they’re all Republicans. The list includes Alabama, Mississippi, Oklahoma, South Carolina, and South Dakota – and Florida. Yes, Florida. The state where thousands of college kids were partying on the beaches just two weeks ago and the state with a disproportionate number of retired folks. Wonderful.

So, it’s left to the likes of county-level elected officials to remind us that we’re all in this together, along with New York’s Empire State Building, which sent out this tweet on the 30^th:

“Starting tonight through the COVID-19 battle, our signature white lights will be replaced by the heartbeat of America with a white and red siren in the mast for heroic emergency workers on the front line of the fight.”

If you can, catch a video of the 9:00 p.m. rotating light show, it’s pretty cool.

As for me, the biggest challenge right now is keeping three adult males fed. A few days ago, I baked bread for the first time in many years (25? 30?). I used a recipe from blogger Autumn Ashbough called Shaker Bread. You can find it here.

Got to admit, I’m pretty proud of how well these loaves turned out. Unfortunately, they were both gone in less than 36 hours, and I only have enough yeast for two more batches.

UPDATE:

A few hours after posting the above, I decided to make an excursion to the above-mentioned local supermarket; what I found was horrifying. I can’t remember the last time I have felt that scared when out and about in public.

Yes, the store had installed shields at the checkouts and markings on the floor to aid in distancing and yes there were plenty of disinfectant wipes at the door. But none of that helped because almost no-one there–and the store was pretty crowded–paid any attention.

*No-one else I saw wiped down their cart.

*Lots of shoppers were wearing a medical-style mask and/or gloves–but that just made them more lazy. Did they not realize the problem with touching every thing on the shelf while play with their phones, before choosing their one item? And come to think of it, unless they were all front-line workers or immune compromised, why were they wearing that protective gear and not donating it to a nurse who really needs it?

*There were whole families there with 3-4 kids, one whose kids were romping around as if in a playground.

*I got sneered at for carefully using a disinfectant wipe to open a fridge door to pick up milk.

*I had one guy push past me, literally knock into me, all annoyed because I didn’t want to get within a couple of feet of someone else just so Mr Oblivious-And-Entitled could get where he wanted to go 30 seconds faster.

*And finally, there were discarded wipes all over the store floor and a lot of masks, gloves, and wipes littered around the parking lot.

When I posted on March 13, Montgomery County, Pennsylvania (aka Montco) had just started a supposed two-week shutdown of all non-essential businesses to try to “flatten the infection rate curve.” Within days it was clear that few businesses were willing to close—my local hairdressers stoutly declared that their sanitation practices were excellent so clients should not worry, and most restaurants not only stayed open but were surprisingly full.

So, on March 18 the Governor issued a detailed list of which Montco businesses must close (hint: most of them) and which ones can stay open. The restrictions were also extended to additional counties. Needless to say, hairdressers were not deemed essential, and restaurants can now only offer takeout.

A few days ago, the Philadelphia Police Commissioner announced the city would be “delaying arrests” for nonviolent crimes such as theft, drug offenses, and prostitution. People will still get charged once the emergency is over but for now, they want to avoid clogging up the jails. This triggered some hysterical social media posts about the breakdown of law and order and (because, America) “we all should go out and buy guns.”

Then on Sunday afternoon, Philadelphia’s mayor announced a stay-at-home order, effective 8:00am Monday 23^rd, prohibiting all public and private gatherings outside a single household. We are about three miles north of the city boundary; how long until we get the same order here in Montco?

According to the ongoing tally from Johns Hopkins, the US now has the third largest total of positive cases, second only to China and Italy; of course, the total is really much higher, but without widespread testing no-one knows the actual number. Montco now has a drive through testing facility, but you have to have an appointment via your doctor, and can only be tested if you have a notable fever (over 100.4 Fahrenheit, 99.6 for ages 65 and older) AND a cough; or, are a first responder or health care worker who’s potentially been exposed. For the rest of us, if you have a nasty cough and don’t feel great? Just stay home.

It’s finally dawning on people that the “two-week shutdown” will actually extend for much longer. May and June are graduation season in America—already, high schools and universities are announcing the cancellation or postponement of in-person graduation ceremonies, which will be an awful disappointment for millions of students and their families.

I moved Youngest Son home from his university on the 15^th (armed with copious amounts of sanitizer, wincing every time he hugged a friend goodbye, and dumping all his stuff in the garage for three days to detox). Like all the rest of the nation’s students, his classes have restarted online; but nothing can make up for the fact that his spring dance shows will never happen. I met some friends of his on the 15^th, one of them a senior. “Oh,” I said, “I’m so sorry this is how your four years are ending.”  She gave me a wan smile. “It’s OK. I’ve pretty much run out of tears, now.”

Five US states, together accounting for almost a third of the US economy, are now closed for all but non-essential business. As reported by Reuters, 5.4 million residents in those five states do not have health insurance. The state-wide shutdown includes New Jersey, the state next door to us, where everyone must just stay home unless they are an essential worker, going to buy groceries, or headed to a doctor’s appointment. I cannot imagine how this will be enforced.

Our local hospital network is already appealing for protective gloves and masks, asking businesses who may have them (beauty salons, landscaping companies) to please donate. According to a nurse who posted on the local community Facebook page, the standard protocol of using one N95 mask per nurse, per patient, has been changed to one mask per nurse and make it last as many days as you can. Local crafty-types are figuring out how to sew hospital-compliant masks to donate.

Our school district and local food bank together organized a weekly grocery distribution for families whose kids get free school lunches. No-one knows how long this may have to continue; the food bank reports heavy demand, and the work layoffs are only just getting started.

I made a trip to the local supermarket on the 18^th in search of salad vegetables. Thankfully, there seemed to be plenty, along with a full complement of fresh fruit. As expected, there were no paper goods (toilet paper, napkins, towels) and no cleaning supplies. There was also very little milk or frozen pizza, and no fresh chicken. I have no idea what it says about America, that these are the things people panic-buy.

Unfortunately, not only was the place much more crowded than usual for the middle of a weekday, but no one else seemed to use the sanitizing wipes by the door on their shopping carts. And forget staying six feet apart—I almost shouted at the lady who came bustling up behind me in the self-checkout line, especially when she made a “Oh, here we go!” remark as I carefully wiped down the register before using it.

The supermarket has now announced that weekday mornings, 7:00-9:00 a.m. are set aside for elderly shoppers (age 60+) and those with high-risk health problems. That sounded like a great idea—but a neighbor reported stopping by on Friday morning at 7:30 and finding the place so packed she turned right around and went home again.

‘Specialty’ food stores have had to close so Spouse made a last run to the local cake shop to stock up on cupcakes. Hey, we each have our own definition of what counts as essential supplies (especially as I seem to have no baking chocolate in the pantry).

Meanwhile, it is astonishing how much technology is helping to keep some aspects of life going.

There are scores of free online workout sessions available from gyms, yoga instructors, etc. Yesterday, a friend ran a live feed for her local church group, so they could watch the pastor’s sermon online. The local community’s Facebook page is full of links to resources for parents to keep kids entertained and educated, from celebrities reading stories to YouTube tutorial pages to live feeds from zoos.

Many kids, of course, won’t be so lucky. A young friend who teaches second grade (7-8-year olds) in a low-income neighborhood posted online that she is very worried that missing weeks of school will leave “her kids” irrevocably behind in their reading and math skills.

On the plus side, one of the most impressive feats of adaptation has come from the local dance studio. Within a couple of days of the initial restrictions being announced, the owner and teachers at Edge Dance Co. had figured out how to continue to run classes online via Zoom. So, on Saturday morning Oldest Son set up his laptop in the living room and World’s Greatest Granddaughter had her usual 10:00 a.m. dance class, led by the teacher from her own home. This actually worked much better than I would have expected with a dozen or so three-year-olds—except for the one clueless parent (there’s always one!) who failed to mute their laptop, thereby treating the whole class to their exhortations of “Look, see what Miss Rachel is doing? Look, do this!”

I think World’s Greatest Granddaughter was just thrilled to have an excuse to don her ballet slippers and pink tutu. It’s been hard for her to understand why she can’t see any of her friends at nursery school or go to swim class or the playground.

“Daddy, go playground?”

“No, baby, people are sick so we’re not going to the playground.”

Furrowed brow: “Playground sick, Daddy?”

Oldest Son created a backyard obstacle course to entertain World’s Greatest Granddaughter, which actually did a pretty good job of wearing them both out. Thank God we have a decent size back gaden.

And so, we try to hunker down and wait. Spouse is working full time from home—fortunately, we have a dedicated home office thanks to my own 18 years of telecommuting. Oldest Son continues to work on what freelance projects he can for as long as he can. Youngest Son gamely tries to complete his semester at college, using group chats and Facetime to connect with friends. And I write, read through my (fast dwindling) supply of library books, and try not to panic whenever one of us coughs. With all the extra walks going on, only the dog is happy.

Three weeks ago, a family member laughed at me when I admitted I was starting to quietly stock up on essentials (like soap, pasta, and canned goods). Two weeks ago, many people I know were still dismissing the headlines (“It’s no worse than the ‘flu and we’ve all had that”).

Four days ago, Youngest Son’s university announced that students who go home for spring break, which starts tomorrow (March 14), should plan to stay there for a couple of weeks, while the administration figured out the best way to proceed. This is a 250+ year-old elite institution full of Very Smart People—so this email was a clear heads’ up that the proverbial was about to hit the fan. I found myself wondering how long it would be before the rest of the semester was cancelled outright; I figured maybe a couple of weeks? A handful of other (private) universities made similar announcements.

At my Writer’s Group meeting three days ago, Covid-19 was pretty much all we talked about (when not writing). Should we be worried? What do the different experts say? What is social distancing? Does anyone believe the advice coming out of DC? (Surprise: no one did.)

Then two days ago, Youngest Son’s university amended its plans: all students must vacate the campus by end-of-day on March 19, with all classes to be conducted online through the end of the semester in May. The only students who can stay on campus are those who need to finish senior thesis work; those who would have serious problems with housing, finances, or visa issues if they left; those from places with limited internet access; and international students who shouldn’t return to level 2/3 countries like Iran or Italy.

And yesterday afternoon, the Governor of Pennsylvania announced closures of businesses in Montgomery County starting today and lasting for two weeks. Why? Because most of the so-far-diagnosed cases in the state have been in Montgomery County. Guess where we live. All schools, daycare, adult daycare centers, gyms, etc., must close. Grocery stores, gas (petrol) stations, and doctor’s offices and pharmacies have to remain open; everyone else should close.

Driving home from an appointment about two hours after the news broke, I decided to be extra-prudent and top up the car with gas. Turns out many others had the same idea—4:30 in the afternoon on a regular weekday and there were actually lines of cars waiting to use the pumps at the local station. Oldest Son stopped off at a grocery store to pick up supplies for his partner and daughter and reported nary a box of pasta nor bottle of hand sanitizer to be found. An aunt who lives nearby (but not in the county) said her local Target store was so busy it was “like Christmas eve.”

By 7:00pm my email was full of notifications from local businesses that they would be closed for the next two weeks: the dance studio (so, no watching three-year-old granddaughter having fun on Saturday morning, sad face); the movie theatre (ugh); the local ice cream place, Sweetly Scooped (oh no!); the nearby Willow Grove Mall (ouch, that’s gonna hurt); the library—wait what? The library? But I only have two books on hand!

Montgomery County, or Montco as we call it, is immediately north-west of the city of Philadelphia. It’s the third-most populous county in the state, with a population of 828,000, and covers 487 square miles. There is farmland and open countryside in the far northern parts of the county, but the central and southern areas (where we live) are densely populated suburban neighborhoods. The county was created in 1784 (yes, I looked it up), which makes it one of the older counties in the USA. There are a slew of colleges and universities in Montco; a couple of really big hospitals; 22 distinct school districts; a handful of big business parks; and the massive King of Prussia Mall, the second largest in the USA. That’s a lot of stuff to close for two weeks.

Two weeks of shut-down doesn’t seem all that bad—until you start to think about the ripple effects. Many of Montco’s residents work in the city of Philadelphia. No school/daycare = a lot of people can’t work, even if their place of business stays open. Service economy workers, freelancers, small business owners: two weeks can be a big hit to their earnings. How do you pay the bills if you have no income for two weeks? What if the shutdown lasts longer and spreads to other areas (I wouldn’t be surprised)? A couple of new restaurants just opened in our town—will they make it through the month without any patrons in these first few weeks?

I was at the local supermarket just two days ago and it seemed to be business as usual—no empty shelves, no more shoppers than usual at mid-day on a Wednesday. A neighbor just posted this picture of the same store this morning on social media, showing stripped-bare shelves. Someone else mentioned going to the Super Giant yesterday afternoon (a couple of miles from us, open 24 hours), and finding a jam-packed parking lot and two-hour waits to check out (she left). Someone else said the store had had to lock the doors near the alcohol section last night because people were stealing the booze.

Meanwhile, the testing debacle continues. Everyone knows there must be way more cases “out there” that we don’t know about because the tests are just not available. US-based social media are full of stories of people, including doctors and nurses, who are symptomatic but cannot be tested because they “don’t meet the criteria” (e.g., haven’t recently been in a Level Three country or had a close family member with a positive diagnosis), or the wait list is just too long. Oldest Son has a close friend in Florida who has had a severe cough for days and is still waiting to be tested. In contrast, South Korea has apparently devised drive-through testing stations—which sounds tailor-made for a country like the USA, if only we had the leadership to make it happen.

www.flattenthecurve.com

This website has the best summary I’ve seen so far of why this pandemic is particularly problematic for America—no universal healthcare; lots of people who can’t afford to seek medical treatment; not nearly enough hospital beds available—along with sage advice on what we should be doing.

I’m actually relieved that the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania has taken action here in Montco—I’ve read enough about flattening the infection rate curve and social distancing to understand how necessary it is. And I’d like to think that we’ll be OK, that people will rally round and look after each other and calm down once they realize they don’t need 27,000 rolls of toilet paper.

But then I think: Americans are singularly un-prepared for the kind of long-haul restrictions on their daily activities that we are now facing. What happens if Amazon stops delivering, the Starbucks drive-through is closed, and there’s no-one to staff the local pharmacy because they’re all home caring for their kids or, worse, their sick relatives?

Because the reality is, that while state-level authorities can take action, they are hampered in their response effectiveness by the crippling lack of leadership—including funding and coordination of resources—at the federal level. Even the right-wing media are starting to realize this, with critical articles starting to pop up; if Fox News turns on Trump, it really will feel like the end times.

So, tomorrow I drive over to New Jersey to pick up Youngest Son and bring him home for the duration. This afternoon I’ll make one last trip to the library to stock up on books. And maybe I’ll refresh my bread-making techniques; it’s been 30+ years but I’m assuming it’ll come back to me—wait, did I pick up yeast last week?