For much of the past few weeks, I’ve been asked to comment on what we have learned as we mark the pandemic’s one-year anniversary from the perspective of an epidemiologist.
But I’ve yet to be asked to comment on what I, personally, have learned.
When I contemplated that question, I’m deeply, deeply saddened that collectively, we have learned new terms like epidemiology, rate of transmission, and case-fatality rate; but we haven’t come to terms with the fact that we are a country built on systemic and racial inequality for the benefit of some at the expense — which, right now, even means the lives — of others.
Growing up as a child in a mixed-ethnicity family, I was fortunate enough to have parents who were able to buy a home, help me get a good education and send me to college, unlike so many members of my extended family. My parents set me on a path where I was able to go on to graduate school and earn two additional degrees, and eventually a job as a professor where I get to set my teaching schedule and, now, teach remotely. All I did to “deserve” this was be born to people who, through a combination of support from their families and hard work, were able to help me and support me as I worked to earn my degrees, including a doctorate in epidemiology.
These are privileges to which large sections of our population simply do not have access.
Communities of color have been ravaged by the pandemic, in large part due to the fact they work in industries that have been deemed “essential.” They are the people who work in agriculture to produce, process, and package our food. They work in transportation to deliver that food to our stores and restaurants. They work in those same stores and restaurants to put the food on shelves, prepare it, and, in many cases, deliver it to our door.
These individuals, who have not stopped working at all this past year, didn’t have the privilege of taking a mental health break during the day to go for a walk. And, they don’t have the privilege of spending their days on a computer, with multiple tabs open, desperately trying to get a vaccine appointment — one that will likely be scheduled for a time when they have to be at work. They also may lack the easy modes of transportation to get to megasites.
The pandemic is simply shining a light on things we have chosen not to see.
Generations of parents are dying. The traumatic impact the pandemic will have on communities — particularly communities of color, who have suffered through inequities in the past but who cannot survive our blatant disregard for their humanity — cannot yet be measured.
Children will grow up without fathers and mothers. Family economies, already on the brink, will be broken beyond repair. And then, from our comfortable homes, we’ll debate how this is their fault, how this is the result of their poor decisions, and how $15 an hour is too much for a minimum wage because we might have to pay a little more for the comforts we take for granted.
Over the past year, I’ve spent most of my time reading the latest research and trying my best to translate this information, as best as I can, to my friends, family, students and the media to help everyone navigate their way as safely as possible through this pandemic.
But as I sit here on the one-year anniversary of its dawning — and after it has taken the lives of more than 2.6 million people globally and more than 500,000 in America — I am reminded of the messages that have not gotten through.
We are not disconnected individuals surviving in a vacuum. We are connected. We are at our best when we work as a community, not at the expense of others.
We have learned so much this past year. But, unfortunately, on this front, we still have a long, long way to go.
Stephanie Silvera is a professor of public health at Montclair State University.
Stephanie Silvera Special to the USA TODAY Network
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