#amurrca

One is from almost a year ago, when the true horrors of the virus began to wreak havoc on the US. The front page of the New York Times: a truck being filled up with body bags in a Brooklyn neighborhood. I nearly collapsed on the spot. I thought, The cart has an engine now, but they’re going down the streets calling out for the dead.

The second is much more recent, from this year. The lead image of an article talking about how the city of Los Angeles is temporarily lifting cremation restrictions because the bodies are still piling up too quickly. They are now allowed too burn so many in a day it’s affecting city air quality. Naturally the photo is of the dark smoke billowing up from a crematorium.

Why these images? Why these, when so many horrors have been brought to light from China to Italy, Brazil and beyond? Possibly because it’s my home country. Possibly because I have loved ones who live in both those places. Possibly because what’s happened on one coast is now highlighted by its logical result on the other.

And then I think about the ignorant-ass people who walk into my workplace and don’t want to wear masks. “Masks are required while you’re in the building,” I tell them cheerfully, like this isn’t life or death. Some glare and grudgingly comply; others challenge the request. “We have free disposable masks right here if you don’t have one of your own,” I insist, ever so helpfully.

When the stubborn few push further what I want to say is, “The death toll in this country is almost a quarter of the global death toll.” I want to say, “Before you ask” --because they love to ask-- “yes, all of us who work here either know someone who has contracted covid or have in fact contracted it ourselves. Most of us know someone who’s died.” What I want so very deeply to say is, “Just put it the fuck on, you fucking asshole.”

Truly, though, I don’t want to say much at all. I want to print out each of these images. Big. High quality. Every detail vivid as can be. Preserved and propped up in severe frames that draw no attention away from the pictures. I will pick them up one at a time from under the counter and place them on display so that this person must be forced to confront them, and not me.

I’ll gesture at the first one and say, “Look at the bodies that built up in Brooklyn.”

Then I’ll gesture to the second and say, “Look at the ashes over Los Angeles.”

Because if these images provoke no compassion, no feeling for one’s fellow man, what hope that person? What hope we?

Of course, what I actually do is take a moment to breathe, and then remind them firmly that there is a mask mandate. Because these adults still have an elementary understanding of morality and accept no reason for doing something they don’t wish to do without threat of punishment, like a child who loathes to be sent to bed early. Because wearing a mask for ten minutes is more heinous to their sensibility than the deaths of their neighbors.

Going toe to toe with such people is so lonely and frustrating and fucking sad. [Cloth masks are good at soaking up silent tears and erasing them like they never were.] We’re coming up on a lot of one-year covid anniversaries across this country and I know it’s hard, and that these fuckwads make it so much harder. But we’ve got to do our best to survive because surviving is what humans do best. So if you ever need a reminder of why the guidelines matter, if you ever need an extra push to firm your resolve, I humbly offer this:

Remember the bodies that built up in Brooklyn.

Are y’all enjoying this wonderful Fourth of July weekend? If you need to cool it down from the partying for a little bit, how about taking in some movies that will make you, as Lee Greenwood says, Proud To Be An American. Movies That Make Me Love America You know what I’m really into right now? America. We’re heading into one of our absolute favorite holidays – the 4th of July – and still riding…