The Art of the Essay
Collage Essay: Coronavirus Chronicles
The following is a collage of excerpts of personal and reported essays chronicling the impact of the global pandemic on our personal, academic, and professional lives. All excerpts were written by students in The Art of the Essay during the spring of 2020, and all illustrations are by Emma Reid ’20.
Self
Self-Isolation and Forced Surplus
When Swiss psychiatrist Carl Jung coined the concepts of “introversion” and “extroversion,” emphasis was placed on the respective means of “recharge” for either group. Extroverts recharge by socializing, while introverts recharge by being alone. This implies that there is a stress-like response that individuals experience when they partake in actions that contradict their preferred means of recharge. Each time I excused myself from the four lacrosse jocks I lived with to “take a nap” I felt refreshed because I was balancing their mostly unrelatable conversations about alcohol and sports (that weren’t basketball) with a break to catch up on Mad Men or some anime I’d been putting off for far too long. Recharge. However: How long does recharge remain recharge before it becomes overcharge?
By the second week of quarantine, I struggled to find the same enthusiasm while playing my favorite game, The Witcher 3, that I had while playing Smash Ultimate tournaments with my roommates after a long day. None of us were experts at the game, however we shared a sense of joy in finding something fun to pass the time on the slightly bizarre and undeniably remote campus that is SUNY Purchase. I now find myself neglecting to watch the (admittedly) intriguing reality show Love Is Blind that my roommates and I decided to begin watching ironically, just a week before we were required to move out. Without four other people to laugh with, the flaws in the show grew more inexcusable. It would seem that I’ve reached “overcharge.”
Self-quarantine still feels like a vacation. That is, if the plane that was scheduled to bring me back home suddenly got delayed, forcing me to stay at the same hotel for the next month. Initially I basked in the freedom that came with returning home, like showering without the need to wear flip-flops, and not having to place toilet paper on the toilet seats before I sat on them. Now, the “bad food” and the rare annoying classmate that tries too hard to get noticed have become the break that I long for. I look forward to the day when I will once again dump a closet-worth of clothes and bedding into my suitcase like I am prepping for a vacation. And a vacation it will be.
—Zionel Okoronkwo ’23
*
I feel trapped within myself.
—Nicholas Madio ’21
*
Stay at Home Sobriety
“We’ll be fixin’ to start in a few.”
Signing on to that first Zoom AA meeting was one of the most surreal moments in my sober history. Each panel had a face I had seen every day in person for the past four years—people I had told my whole life story to, and who had told me theirs in return. My computer screen was full of people that would drop everything to help me and other alcoholics. This included the elderly group of nuns that I greet twice weekly with a smile and nod, who have barely touched a smart phone in their lives, let alone had a Zoom account, before three weeks ago.
“We’re going to have a regular Big Book meeting tonight. If you want to share just raise your hand on screen and we’ll do our best to get to you.”
For many recovering alcoholics, AA meetings are a daily occurrence which is absolutely critical to getting sober. As any AA member knows, Alcoholics Anonymous was founded in 1935 by Bill W. and Dr. Bob, a twelve-step program centered around alcoholics treating other alcoholics. Since then, alcoholics around the world have relied on these daily hour-long meetings to survive another day sober—you can ask anyone in AA what their meeting schedule is like, and I can guarantee they have exact times and locations that they go to every week.
*
I sat, impatient and book in hand, waiting for the much older and less technologically savvy members to figure out how to unmute themselves and get their cameras to work.
“Can you see me? I can see me. Oh Beverly! I can see Beverly too!” Christine, a woman in her mid-seventies chimed from my computer speakers. Only her eyes were showing on camera; she thought she had to speak into her microphone like she would from a traditional phone call. I remained silent and searched for serenity, something my sponsor would have been ecstatic about. Suddenly, a wave of people began to reassure Christine that yes, we did indeed see her and no, she doesn’t have to put her mouth next to the microphone.
By 7:45, fifteen minutes after the meeting was scheduled to start, we began with the usual format. The Zoom count was 39 people by the time we were underway. There were multiple hiccups, but the meeting continued and ended on time. Everyone was in good spirits, but part of me could tell that the main consensus was that it was just not the same.
One of the only other people in my home group that is around my age is Matt. “It’s just not the same, “ he observed. “You know that I recently hit 90 days and I feel so anxious, man. In those 90 days I had gone to around 120 meetings, so I was hitting one every day, sometimes two a day. Now I don’t get to see my sponsor, we can’t meet up for coffee and do step work together. The best I can do is just call him every day, and yeah, that’s great and all but I miss the energy that meetings just seem to have.”
I know that most people won’t understand what the big deal is.
When I first went into the rooms, those church basements and auditoriums became a sanctuary for me. In my real life, I was constantly stressed, depressed, and anxious. Everything that surrounded me reminded me of drinking and using drugs. I couldn’t even drive down certain streets because they reminded me of a time I was drunk, or it was a place I went to buy substances.
AA has many slogans. and one of the most cherished ones is “People, places, and things.” When you first get sober, one thing they urge you to do right away is to stay away from individuals and locations that remind you of drinking or using. For many, this includes their own homes and families. Instead, you force yourself to go to as many AA meetings as possible until these people, places, and things don’t bother you anymore.
To many alcoholics and drug addicts, this time period can be the difference between life and death. Although we can do nothing but wait it out like everyone else in the world right now, there are alcoholics worldwide that are anxiously waiting to step back into those overheated church basements, sip cheap coffee, and talk to another alcoholic face-to-face.
—Kristin Stella ’20
Flashback
Around the eight or ninth day, I found myself feeling particularly down. I missed my friends, I missed my school, I missed my dorm. It felt as if a chunk of my life, of all of our lives, was stolen, ripped out from under us like a rug, and replaced with a casual paranoia over our heads, like a low ceiling. So, to escape these thoughts of universal suffering and self-pity, I decided to pull my car out of my driveway and shoot some baskets, something I haven’t done since I was a kid. A much younger kid. After a while, my dad came outside and started shooting with me. This brought back a surge of memories I didn’t even know that I still had. I found myself feeling sentimental. Like I was a little kid again. Reminiscing about my childhood memories while the world is on fire.
—Jay Jenkins ’23
Breaking/News
Veronica Green is a seventy-eight year old retired nurse, who happened to give birth to my father.
“Outside is what keeps me young,” I recall her saying back in December, when she wasn’t scared of me to the point where a conversation between us was impossible. Having grown up in Jamaica and moved to America during the height of segregation, she’s no stranger to hardships and trying times. But even she isn’t prepared for the chaos. Her eyes study the news like she’s being tested on it.
“The likelihood of getting the virus is dependent on age, and older people are at higher risk,” the anchorman on CNN news informs.
My almost eighty-year-old grandmother shifts in her seat. She rushes to the kitchen to retrieve a mixture of raw garlic, white rum, and warm apple cider vinegar she labels “the virus killer,” and puts a spoonful in her mouth. I cringe with every bite as I imagine the taste. Her desperation becomes more clear to me, as she’s places the faith she’s lost in the government into her home remedies.
“People with pre-existing illnesses are also at higher risk,” continues the anchorman.
My grandmother’s sheer white shirt reveals a six-inch incision in her abdomen where doctors removed cancer. If that’s not a preexisting condition, I don’t know what is. She changes the channel, hopeful that Wendy Williams’ commentary can overshadow the scary words from the news, and ease her anxieties—only to discover that due to the coronavirus, taping of the Wendy Williams show has been postponed. She coughs into her sleeve.
“You wash your hands?” my grandmother asks me, for the fifth time.
I fear that stress is giving her early dementia. I understand being cautious, but it’s sort of like the news is brainwashing Veronica. The news suggests she consume hot liquid, now Veronica starts every day downing boiled water. The news claims the virus lasts longer on glass surfaces, Veronica starts washing the cups we drink from with bleach. The news implies going outside is dangerous, Veronica stops opening the window, at all. I wonder if the news is aware of how my grandma is cooped up and panicking? This has got to be just as dangerous for her as the virus. Veronica’s cough becomes more noticeable.
—Witney Bonner Green ’23
Depession Creeps In
I’d been looking forward to April since September. My older sister, Ellie, was studying abroad in Nice, France, and my parents and I planned to visit her during our collective spring break. As I write this, on April 9th, I was supposed to be taking a catamaran ride on the Cote D’Azur to St. Tropez with my family. It still stings that all of that was thrown away in a split second.
Some may read this as obliviousness to the real tragedies, but that is not the case. My cousin had to cancel her May wedding. My grandmother needs to receive chemotherapy for leukemia, which she now cannot—I can’t see my grandmother at all during this time because she has emphysema, diabetes, and leukemia; she’s as high risk as one could be. My friend Jordyn was supposed to attend her prom and high school graduation. None of those significant moments will happen, and this time, there is no silver lining. I am grateful my family and I are healthy and safe. But, like the rest of the world, I am grieving what the coronavirus has taken from me.
My family had never taken a vacation before that wasn’t a road trip to a state or a local beach. While I’m thankful for those, this would have been the first to take us out of the country for the first time, ever, to see a new culture, a new perspective, and to celebrate in true French fashion. That time would’ve meant more to us than it may have for other families who travel together regularly, or who have been to foreign cities or even to sunny California. For my family, it would be the very first time experiencing such a magical, historical, beautiful part of the world.
Loneliness, collective loss, fear, paranoia—it swarms around us incessantly. Depression and anxiety, whether from being forced to quarantine in an unhealthy environment, feeling the dread of the mounting death toll, or simply worrying about the mass devastation we have seen and are yet to see, are newly prevalent. Anna North of Vox writes that people are cut off from “friends, family, therapists, and others who could ordinarily support them through difficult times.”
Depression has crept up on all of my loved ones, myself included. We are all dealing with hardships of some sort. It is important to recognize that, and to express our vulnerability freely. Ellie observes, “There is hurt and pain on a tremendous scale, but I don’t think that acknowledging that and grieving your own experience are mutually exclusive.”
—Natalie Hooker ’23
Love
Unexpected Domestic Bliss
Before the coronavirus sent us all home, Bruce was the perfect date. Dinner in the city followed by drinks at a jazz club, and kisses goodnight on the corner of Fifth Avenue and 38th Street before I ran for the train to Rye. Weekends with Bruce, a recent widower, were a dream come true. We had a lot in common and his apartment in Union Square made him all the more seductive.
On the evening of Friday, March 13th, it all got serious. I jumped on the M7 bus wearing a mask and gloves, and headed to the apartment. He was supposed to visit his grandkids in Brooklyn, and I was going to the Bowery for a cocktail party to celebrate my daughter’s engagement. All canceled. Bruce and I walked along the East River hand in hand, trying to stay six feet apart from everyone else, marveling at this new reality. On Sunday morning, Bruce dropped me off in Rye and drove to his home in Croton, alone. I settled in with my cat Gary and my book. But it wasn’t long before we decided to team up for the long haul.
The pandemic poses a different set of challenges in this early stage of our relationship. Our premature state of domesticity has me searching his kitchen for shredded coconut and a rack to cool my macarons on. In my house Bruce is adjusting to Gary, who has decided to sleep on top of him. After years of living alone, I’m letting him know first when I think I’ll take a bath and do some Pilates and then work on my writing. We Zoom with family members and they wonder a bit about that other person in our frame. Luckily for us, it’s all like one big long date and we haven’t gotten sick or had to deal with any real difficulties. It’s like Bruce says, “We’re either all in or all out,” and for now, I’m all in.
—Gail Topol, Senior Auditor
New Horizons
The sound of raindrops on the window fades in, seemingly from nowhere. I feel cold all of a sudden, my hands hurt, numbed. The reality of my situation sets in. Now, I’m in my house, my living room to be exact, playing Animal Crossing on my Nintendo Switch. The escape it provides is therapeutic, to put it lightly. I have to put the controller down to get work done for school. It’s just that school isn’t enough to distract me. I shouldn’t even be home right now. I should be at school, with my friends, going to class, not on a computer, but in person. However, most importantly I should be with her. It’s been a month since we’ve seen each other, but it feels like years. My girlfriend lives only 15 minutes away from me by car, but it feels like she’s light years away on a far-off planet, and I don’t have enough rocket fuel to get to her.
—Damon Chatas ’23
Justice
Exposing Inequity
A color-coded map of New York City in Time magazine shows which communities, by zip code, have the highest rate of COVID-19 cases. The dark purple represents the >335-1124 range, while a lighter lilac represents the 6-133 range. Upon a glance, you see the stark concentration of dark purple zip codes spanning the Queens neighborhoods of Corona, Jackson Heights, Astoria Heights, and East Elmhurst, all neighborhoods composed primarily of people of color. In Brooklyn, the concentration is centered around Mapleton, Bensonhurst, and Borough Park. The lighter lilac runs through Manhattan, showing that, in comparison, its residents are relatively unaffected.
The coronavirus is revealing what has always been a problem; homelessness, medical care, food insecurity, issues of economic justice, and more, disproportionately affect people of color.
I share two sociology classes with Sadia at Purchase College. A few days after our very first conversation, New York began to go into lockdown. Two weeks later, still adjusting to our new reality of online classes, our professor did his weekly check-up to see how we have been coping during the pandemic: a classmate grumbled about a missed concert; one told us how they can’t find flour in any supermarket; another mentioned a 5 x 5 clear plastic divider their manager placed at every register at their job. While the virus has been distant for most, Sadia’s aunt and sister-in-law had passed away from complications caused by the coronavirus. A second aunt remains in intensive care after testing positive for COVID-19. Sadia’s family, exhausted and confused by how this virus has changed their lives forever, live in one of highly impacted Queens neighborhoods.
Findings across the country echo the disproportionality: 72% of known coronavirus-related deaths in the city of Chicago are African Americans, while they make up only 32% of the population; in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, African-Americans are 28% of the population and 73% of coronavirus deaths, according to Business Insider. And, people of color are also on the frontlines. More than seventy percent of New York’s essential workers are African American or Latino, according to The Guardian— nurses, van drivers, sanitation workers, grocery cashiers, subway staff, and more.
The Center for American Progress indicates that African American and Latino families are more economically insecure than white families because they have a fraction of the wealth white families do. Black and Latino families have less opportunity for economic mobility, and higher rates of chronic health conditions because of the institutionalized system of inequality in the United States. Heidi Shierholz, senior economist and director of policy at the Economic Policy Institute in Washington notes that “occupational segregation by race and ethnicity,” is prevalent in the U.S.. Due to such systemic inequality, white people are further removed from the danger of contagion, while people of color are putting their lives on the line, quite literally—and that is the nature of inequity.
—Moza Asad ’22
Unsafe Safe Haven
Those who live in abusive environments were there long before the pandemic. They found refuge in the outside world; work, school, afterschool activities and social gatherings were temporary escapes. Since governor Andrew M. Cuomo ordered the lockdown, those things have been discontinued—this means that victims of domestic violence no longer have their means of escape.
*
Michelle is a junior in high school, with an internship at Google and a dream to become a cardiologist. While her future shows promise for success and happiness, her current situation is anything but.
Michelle lives with her biological mother and two other sisters. At first glance, they seem like a happy, healthy family. It is only behind closed doors that the truth presents itself. Michelle’s mother demands perfection from her daughters. They must act, think and look a certain way. A parent should want their kids to be the best version of themselves that they can be, but this isn’t the case with Michelle’s mom. Michelle was close to becoming anorexic from the strict diet her mother put her on. Then, there are the times Michelle is slapped because she brings home an A- instead of an A+. Or the time when Michelle’s mom allowed a man to beat her, because she stood up for herself when he stole from her. Her mother claimed that Michelle embarrassed her and so she had to be punished, only minutes after telling her to never let anyone disrespect her.
At a young age Michelle adapted to her environment by doing what she needed to do to survive. Her internship, extracurricular activities and small rendezvous’ with friends were the places where she found peace and comfort. During the pandemic, she says, “The abuse has calmed down because she’s worried about other things like work and paying bills. But now it comes in waves and they are ten times worse.”
The National Domestic Violence Hotline gets an average of 1,800 to 2,000 calls per day. Since the quarantine began, 1,765 hotline callers and counting have reported that lockdown has made things worse. Victims of domestic violence are encouraged to seek help and shelter. However, many shelters are now closed. If the number of Covid-19 related deaths increases, the number of open shelters will drastically decrease. Domestic violence was a serious issue way before the lockdown, but now, it has taken victim’s coping methods, as well as their option to escape.
—Jennifer Luna ’22
Social (Media) Scene
TikTok-Con, 2020
It gets unbearably cold in my room when you leave the window open for too long. However, there is no choice but to leave the window open for this long when you are making a plethora of cosplay TikToks at all hours of the day. So now, I sleep under two comforters, and throw a trenchcoat I also use for cosplay on top.
This is a new circumstance for me, but I am not alone. TikTok has seen an incredible spike in users and downloads since the coronavirus has taken the world by storm, with two million app downloads between March 16 and 22, a 27% increase. The cosplay community’s use of TikTok is booming for reasons other than sheer boredom—the next 27 scheduled anime conventions have been either postponed or canceled.
For cosplayers, anime conventions are an escape. There is something about the copy-paste pattern of the carpeting you find in any convention center, something about being overwhelmed by an untraceable melodica tune of your favorite anime theme song without knowing where it came from, something about the signs taped up restricting people from breaking Ramune bottles (and the glass shards on the floor around them) to attest to the idea that nobody is listening. This hobby has definitely brought me to some of my best friends, and as the many, many cosplayers shoving one another aside for a spot against the cherry blossom railing at Katsucon might insinuate, everything is more fun in groups.
TikTok is just one of the ways cosplayers are retaining social interaction. Cosplayers are doing more makeup tests and “closet cosplays,” with some conventions like Awesomecon and AnimeNYC even hosting closest cosplay competitions to keep people’s creative juices flowing. Some cosplayers are putting their costuming skills to good use, and donating their masks. Almost every cosplayer I interviewed expressed that the most vital thing cosplayers can do to support each other and the community is to stay home; “The longer we stay inside, the earlier conventions will open back up.”
“Like many cataclysmic events, we can learn to never take any opportunity for granted. Each convention or hangout with other cosplay friends is a memory to be properly cherished,” reflects Kirry-cola. Her bright smile and goofy, improvised songs always light up a convention center, or better yet, the corner table of a Nandos Peri-Peri chicken. She and I and four other friends meet three times a year and cram into one restaurant booth, while searching for the worst fan-fiction we can possibly find.
The future is certainly uncertain, but as TikTok’s numbers keep rising and the temperature in my room gets colder and colder, we as a community can continue meaningful content creation within the safety of our own homes.
—Mack Gomes ’23
Paradigm Shift
When Purchase College mandated all classes be shifted online for a “trial” week, my roommate and I scoffed. At that point, COVID-19 was still such a recent thing in the U.S. that the public didn’t take it very seriously. However, by the following week most every student on campus had evacuated. The social interaction integral to an on-campus experience was cut short. I wouldn’t be seeing my friends in class, in my clubs, and no more shooting pool and arcade games at The Stood.
A campus once full of life was deserted within a day. I woke up one morning and everyone was gone. Living without roommates on one hand was nice, because of the lack of annoyances. The shower, bathroom and extra storage space were all mine, as well as foodstuffs and miscellaneous supplies my roommates couldn’t bring with home. On the other hand, the school was a ghost town. With classes being held online, I only ever ventured outside for food, the rest of the day was spent in solitude. One night I opened the door of my room just to stand there. Sticking my head out of the door, looking left and right, everything looked the same, but it didn’t feel it. The drone of the ventilation system was the only disturbance in the otherwise still air. A space once filled with music and the chatter of friends rang with silence. I retreated back to my darkened room and lifted the blinds to view the other dormitories. Nearly every room on every floor of every hall was dark. Everything was at a standstill.
Youtube and Twitch, a live streaming platform where people can broadcast anything from reading a book to just-chatting, kept me sane and occupied. I watched a streamer called Nickmercs on Twitch every day from about 2:00 p.m. to 1:00 a.m. the week after everyone departed—it was like hanging out with him and the thousands of other people watching as well. The good part about streaming is that it’s not really beholden to anyone other than the streamer; many Twitch streamers work from home and dictate their own hours. The fact that one’s favorite streamers wouldn’t have their content affected by the quarantine sort of made up for the lack of interaction I was experiencing during that time. It was nice to virtually hang out with people who were going through the same things as I was, both for fun and ultimately, as a distraction. Watching Nickmercs stream, made me feel in these uncertain times that I wasn’t alone, and everything was going to be all right.
—Jelan Winston ’22
Salvaging the Social
For the first time in her four years attending Purchase College, Taylor Wood could finally celebrate her birthday with friends, physically, on the day itself. Born April 2, 1998, Wood’s birthday always fell during Spring Recess. But for her senior year, the most socially invaluable year of her life thus far, her 22nd birthday wouldn’t be spent home in upstate New York.
*
In a modestly sized room, in a modestly sized ranch house, in a modestly sized Connecticut suburbia, an extra-long twin bed sits just below two windows overlooking a modestly sized driveway. The bed is dressed in a black comforter designed with rainbow polka dots, purchased for me by my mom around seventh grade.
Through my freshly uncovered laptop webcam, that bed is captured to my left. For as long as I have attended college, the camera had been taped over with a sticker of a kitty. All that remains of it now is its torn upper half—the top of a kitten’s head, the word “PURRFECT!,” in white text, just barely visible. On the wall behind me, above the head of the bed, LED strip lights sanctioned by Purchase College Health and Safety guidelines are strung where they have never before been. On the night of April 2nd, 2020, the lights alternate in a smooth rainbow gradient, and my close-knit group of friends holds a surprise birthday party over the Zoom video conferencing platform.
Using Zoom’s “greenscreen” feature for replacing one’s background with an image, the five of us set our backdrop to the funniest “Happy Birthday, Taylor” picture we can find on Google. The gathering is unconventional, but it works. Then again, this is our new reality, so it has to work.
*
The COVID-19 pandemic has abruptly placed us into a liminal social state. Discouraged by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention from engaging with one another closer than six feet, and with “non-essential” businesses in New York closed to the public, Americans are forced to reframe their schema of what it is to exist in a society. Digital technology attempts to circumvent this dilemma. Through remote communication—call and text, social networking and streaming platforms, massively-multiplayer online games and group chats—we plunge ourselves into the future so we may still exist with others in the present.
Wood writes, “…IT WAS FUN :D i was vewy surprised and excited and i felt luved.”
There were less hugs and less drugs than a physical party may have entailed, but the evening was nonetheless cherished and enjoyed.
Wood’s birthday is just one example; to socialize now near necessitates using the internet, and this has been reflected in the recent performance and quality of mobile and broadband internet. Fastly.com investigated internet metrics and found an approximate 45% increase in internet traffic volume around New York and New Jersey (a region impacted significantly by COVID-19) over the course of March. For the first time, the internet is becoming non-auxiliary—it has become how we engage with others at all.
In the 1970s, the rapidly accelerated rate of social and technological change in America led to a general perception of displacement and disillusionment. Futurist Alvin Toffler dubbed this cultural disorientation “future shock.” Media theorist and author Douglas Rushkoff extends this concept in his 2013 book Present Shock: When Everything Happens Now. Rushkoff claims that, in the 21st century, we have reached a state of “present shock,” a disorientation resulting from the struggle to align multiple identities, one physical and one digital. “Our digital selves exist in a time unhinged from that of our bodies. Eventually the two realities conflict, leading to present shock” (88). But what happens when the physical-digital binary consolidates itself, when the timeless space of the digital realm becomes our primary social world, when the physical social world becomes the alternative?
With the stakes so high, we have very little choice but to stay home and watch the world at a distance, to celebrate birthdays and play games from hundreds of miles apart, to unravel and unlearn the expectations of social convention. But an abundance of choice can become overwhelming, cultivating indecision and loneliness: American psychologist Barry Schwartz refers to this as the “paradox of choice.” And in our state of pandemic – regardless of how short-lived or otherwise it may be, our options are not particularly flexible. To function, we have to transcend this unique, unprecedented state of present shock: we need to adapt and to embrace this new, cyborgic reality we are faced with. Perhaps we have little choice in the matter, but there is freedom in that.
—Dana Kirk ’20
Social Media, Salvation or Downfall?
Paranoia, fear, anger. Donald Trump stirs the fire by tweeting things like “LIBERATE VIRGINIA, and save your great 2nd Amendment. It is under siege!”
The replies to his tweets represent a swarm of angry supporters, and angry people who oppose him. As of March, 55% of U.S. adults were getting their information about the coronavirus from social media. Covid-19 has created a situation where the screens in our lives have become more essential than before.
I’ve had a 55% increase in screen time since mid-March, according to my iPhone settings. A friend’s screen time report shows a 45% increase since quarantine began. In a recent Twitter poll, 28% of respondents indicate a 50-100% increase in screen time on a daily basis. Facebook owned WhatsApp has seen a 40% increase in usage by 18 to 34 year olds during the initial phase of quarantine (likely because WhatsApp makes it possible to text while using different operating systems). In a survey conducted last March, 43% of respondents said that if they were to be quarantined, they would use platforms like Instagram, YouTube, and Facebook more often.
Coronavirus swept the world off its feet, and has made the main source of contact for people and the ones they love possible only through a screen. This pandemic is training us rely on our screens more than ever before. Social media has thus become both a blessing and a curse in these trying times—it is connecting us to the ones we love, and it is also being used to divide us.
—Tushar Seetaram ’23
Work
COVID-19 and the Justice System
Laura Stefanik leans over her emerald colored kitchen counter at 5:25 a.m., scuffling through what looks like hundreds of papers and files, while also trying to balance a phone between her ear and shoulder. She sports mismatched pajamas, her golden blonde hair is wild and standing tall. She shushes the barking, hungry puppy at her feet, while also trying to find a phone number that one of her boss’s needs. This has been her new normal since the recent COVID-19 outbreak.
Stefanik is a secretary for The Legal Aid Society in White Plains, New York. She and her coworkers took their work home once their office building closed. On a regular day in the office, she would answer calls from jails and precincts, build files, and fill out tons of paperwork. The secretaries in the office are the only connection that incarcerated inmates have to their attorneys, so their jobs are critical for those who have been arrested, or are already in prison.
With new social distancing rules, it is impossible for the courts to operate as they normally would. Nationwide, courthouses have very limited availability to accept filings, which is basically submitting documentation to the clerk for the court’s consideration. In New York, Governor Andrew Cuomo suspended all statutes of limitations and filing deadlines until April 19, 2020. As of the start of April, most of New York City’s courts remained open. Judges and staff have been deemed essential, so these proceedings cannot be postponed. However, certain charges require the inmates to remain incarcerated until their trial, which lengthens their time in prison.
At home, Stefanik answers 50 to 300 calls a day, trying to connect people with their lawyers and provide information to panicking inmates concerned about their court dates, and who just want to know what’s going on. She sits at the kitchen counter among tons of open files and notepapers with names, numbers, and addresses that she must manually search for. “The worst calls are from the people whose release hearings are supposed to be soon,” Stefanik said. “Having to tell them everything is a bit backed up, it’s just never something someone inside would want to hear.”
—Cassidy Montes ’21
Small Business Survival
On March 20th the Governor Andrew Cuomo asked all non-essential businesses to close their doors for an unspecified amount of time due to the outbreak of COVID-19. Small business owners are now eligible to apply for an Economic Injury Disaster Loan for up to $10,000, to help with challenges from the pandemic of the virus.
Karen Moriarty is a majority owner of a small corporation with three sporting goods store locations. Karen, after closing her stores, has been cooped up in the house most of the day wearing her pajamas. She paces, trying to keep busy. Closing the locations has taken a toll on her. She is trying to cope with the uncertainty, and how she can pay the bills, as well as her employees. One of the worst parts is the uncertainty and helplessness business owners feel not knowing when or if they can open their doors again.
Moriarty says, “I feel an intense pressure to make good decisions, ensuring that we will have what customers need when we return to our new normal.”
Karen has been making deliveries to customer’s homes, and doing web seminars on how to use social media effectively. She is learning new strategies to try to keep in touch with customers.
After filing hours’ worth of paperwork, Moriarty and her partners received notification that they are not eligible for the first round of loans, and will have to apply again. Mel Siegel, one of Moriarty’s partners, had this to say: “It was a frustrating and time-consuming experience. I am disappointed that I must do it all again and they never gave us any reason why we did not make it through the first cut, which is even worse. Not receiving the loan makes it difficult on us to try to make payroll for the next couple of weeks.”
Approximately 7.5 million small businesses may be at risk of closing permanently over the coming five months, and 3.5 million are at risk of closure in the next two months.
“You already feel like you are alone in this process,” Moriarty remarks. “So it does not help that relief that was promised seems so difficult to access.”
—James Moriarty ’21
Grounded
“I think the industry is doing the best job they can helping us through a time like this,” says Howard Hollander.
Howard has been a pilot for almost twenty years, flying both domestic and international routes. Now, he spends most of his time doing chores around the house, and finding things to do to avoid becoming unglued. His son Andrew has returned home from college, and his daughter Caitlyn, now in high school, is home as well.
People have obviously stopped traveling due to social distancing, and many pilots have had to take leaves of absence. Some airlines are still flying domestically, with passengers on these flights being in the single digits.
Fortunately for pilots out of work, American Airlines and the pilot’s union recently reached an agreement that protects benefits, with pilots receiving pay protection for those who take a voluntary leave of absence. This has already benefited many pilots who were initially concerned about these very logistics.
“It’s actually been awhile since we’ve all been home together this much. If there’s one bright spot in this whole situation, it’s probably the fact that we can actually spend some time together, even if it’s just all of us cramped in the house,” said Hollander.
—Matt Kissell ’21
Blurred Lines
Rita recently turned 60. She’s married with two grown children, and works at a privately owned food distribution company supporting billing, delivery and receipt of payments. In the past, she has complained about her commute, but now, working at home, she reduces her commute by over three hours a day. But work dynamics have changed.
“It takes me almost twice as long to do things—but my boss expects things to get done as before. I used to work nine to five, now it’s more like eight to eight, a twelve-hour day.”
The boundary between work and home life is now porous. Many supervisors are no longer exhibiting the kind of empathy they may have for employees they see face-to face. This is borne out by noted writer and psychologist Professor Sherry Turkle, who argues in an April 2012 New York Times opinion piece that replacing face-to-face communication diminishes people’s capacity for empathy.
Employees working remotely now face emboldened supervisors who have become less responsive to employee protestations that work demands are bleeding into personal time and responsibilities. And there are a few options available to employees. “I’m lucky to be working,” Rita said.
Tension and fears do little to improve her concentration. She lives in the Midwood section of Brooklyn, which is experiencing a sharp rise in reported virus cases. Her brother-in-law, who lives in New Jersey, was recently released from the hospital with an oxygen tank.
Since 9/11, companies have initiated working from home as a strategy to reduce real estate costs and minimize work disruption. FlexJobs and Global Workplace Analytics found that in the span of one year, from 2016 to 2017, remote work grew 7.9%. Over the last five years it grew 44% and over the previous 10 years it grew 91%. As a result of the virus, the trend toward remote working will accelerate even further once things return to “normal,” as companies seek to retain profitable benefits by keeping people working from home.
—Michael Feinstein, Senior Auditor
New York State of Mind
Nothing We Can Do
My father works as a security officer at New York Presbyterian Hospital. He told me, “It all just doesn’t make sense. People are policing each other, yelling at someone the second they cough. And then there are people who are abusing this situation to try and get free rooms in the hospital. But the worst thing is the people who actually are sick. Doctors telling people they can’t see loved ones, and the harsh reality is that there’s nothing we can do for them anyway. There’s nothing we can do for the people infected but tell them how long they may have. I’ve seen freezer trucks full of bodies…Trucks. And you never really understand when people say ‘over 100 people dead’ until you see those bodies.”
I saw a range of emotions in his eyes, one being grief, another being exhaustion. He had told me before how a lot of his fellow employees were sick and had to call out of work. I asked him what he feels about all of this, and again he said, “There’s nothing we can do, except try to protect ourselves. I can’t panic. I can’t afford to panic. I need to stay calm, and be ready for whatever may happen.”
—Jeremiah Maynard ’20
Apartment Dweller
Rosalind Anderson is in her late sixties. She lives alone in her Brooklyn apartment. She’s raised two men and has three granddaughters. During quarantine, she’s been taking online shadowing boxing classes, learning how to play the piano, reading, and discarding things she doesn’t need. When I asked Anderson what defines her as a New Yorker she laughed because her husband and friends call her “Ms. Manhattan.” She said, “I’m defined by New York because I’m defined by the culture and the experience.”
As an extroverted New Yorker, she is one to be on the go, enjoying galleries, museums, and events.
“It’s a major change in my perspective, and who I am as a New Yorker. The limitations make it hard, but there’s a quote by Maya Angelou, ‘I can be changed by what happens to me, but I refuse to be reduced by it.’”
—Mia Golatt ’22