COVID-19 Gives Us an Opportunity to Practice Politics of Care
By Naseem Jamnia
When Nevada Humanities reached out to ask me to be a part of the Humanities Heart to Heart initiative, I found myself at almost a loss. How can I talk about the humanities in the midst of the COVID-19 pandemic? How can I explain that while I’m inside, or covering myself outside, and hearing about the deaths sweeping the world, I am also angry—angry at how many places were reopening in the midst of rising cases; angry at the callousness and ignorance of politicians; angry at the lack of leadership within my own university community at the University of Nevada, Reno?
Then late May rolled around, and the murder of George Floyd, among dozens of other Black individuals like Ahmaud Arbery and Breonna Taylor and Tony McDade, called our communities to action to fight for Black lives.
I must disclose here that I am a non-Black person of color. My exhaustion and anger is nothing compared to what Black people in this country (and around the world!) are and have been going through. I have passing privileges that keep me safe, unlike others in my community. This is why I, along with hundreds of other people in Reno and thousands across the country, are protesting against police brutality, structural racism, and inequalities that permeate especially the deepest fabrics of our society.
Something that struck me, as my friends and I sat by the Believe statue in Downtown Reno, shivering on a surprisingly cold June day as we held up our protest signs, was that nearly everyone around me was wearing a mask. The congregation of people in the middle of the city, protesting for Black lives, was more conscious of the pandemic than the everyday people I see whenever I venture for groceries at Winco. Something else that struck me, as people took steps beyond social media to support protestors and Black-focused organizations, is the magnitude of the response we’re seeing, as though the murder of George Floyd was finally the last straw.
Strangely, I think it’s the pandemic to thank for this.
How many people would have been at work rather than protesting? How many people would have shunted their money towards mutual-aid organizations if they were spending as usual? How many people would have shrugged off yet another Black death if they weren’t at home, trying to keep busy, and therefore especially tuned into social media and the news?
A part of me believes we’re at an unprecedented time in our recent history, not because we have politicians rolling back legislation protecting marginalized folks, not because we have people marching in the streets, and not because a pandemic is (and should continue!) keeping most people at home—but, rather, because all of these are happening at once. In the same breath that the White House rolled back health care protections for trans people, the Supreme Court ruled in favor of protecting queer and trans people at work. In the same breath that Riah Milton and Rem’Mie Fells were killed, 15,000 people took to the streets of Brooklyn to march for Black trans lives.
The march for Black trans lives called back to the 1917 Silent Protest Parade, when 10,000 people joined the NAACP to march clad in all white to protest violence against Black people. Our current civil rights movement would not have been possible without historic movements before it. And all of what people are facing now is a result of hundreds of years of a colonial country built on the backs of Black and Indigenous folks. (Because let’s not erase this country’s settler colonial past and forget that Indigenous people also face a disproportionate amount of police violence.)
I would like to believe we’re in a time of change, that the pandemic made us look at our priorities and eschew the capitalist values that guide this country. That when we take to the streets in the name of Malcolm Harsch and Robert Fuller, as we remember Rayshard Brooks, Maurice Gordon, Oluwatoyin Salau, and too many others, we’re doing so because we ourselves are realizing that change means action. Change means hardship. Change means being uncomfortable.
And that change is worth fighting for.
So no, I don’t have the answers, and no, platitudes only go so far, but there is something to be said about continuing to work on ourselves as we also go out into the world to enact change there. There is something to be said about realigning our priorities into spaces of mutual care rather than press into the “pull yourself up by your bootstraps” mentality. There is something to be said about removing systems of harm and oppression and instead replacing them with growth mindsets and community-based organizations.
I implore you: Even as the state reopens, practice care for yourself and others. Balance your desire to finally leave the house with the knowledge that the prevalence and incidence of COVID-19 is continuing to rise. Understand that in order to make this country a place where everyone can thrive, we must make sacrifices—and that, yes, sacrifices are hard, but ultimately, how else can we make our homes better and safer for all?
I know not everyone cares about fighting social inequities and making systemic change. But I hope enough people do to actually act: to back up words and social media posts with money and changes in behavior, to look inside their organizations and communities and take active steps to uplifting, centering, and making those places safe for marginalized and multi-marginalized folks, particularly Black and Indigenous people, particularly Black and Indigenous queer and trans people, particularly Black and Indigenous disabled people—the list goes on. My point is, now is as good a time as any—better, even—to make our communities better and safer.
And if that means wearing a mask every time I go out, if that means sitting in the hail, if that means taking people to task—well, nothing is easy, but it’s worth it.
I hope others think so, too.
Author photo/Naseem Jamnia. Thumbnail photo/Jennie Kaplan.
Naseem Jamnia (they/them) is a Persian-Chicagoan who is currently a fiction MFA student at the University of Nevada, Reno. A former scientist and 2019 Lambda Literary fellow, Naseem is the managing editor at the independent gaming criticism website Sidequest.Zone, an assistant editor at Sword & Kettle Press, and is represented by Erica Bauman at Aevitas Creative Management.
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