on pandemics and interdependence

I am not the first American to notice that the COVID-19 pandemic exposes a few points of tension we are aware of and accustomed to ignoring. We are the wealthiest country on earth and over half of our citizens have essentially no savings to sustain them in hard times. We have a massive economy that struggles to survive a dip in consumer spending or confidence. We all depend on the federal government, but many of us pretend like said government is either incapable of doing good, or at least not involved in our success. We actively rely on a globalized world, while demonizing the organizations that represent global partnerships. We think of ourselves as a people committed to the greater good, gladly pulling together to help our neighbors, while also maintaining our insistence on independence and absolute freedom.

Our need to make collective sacrifices, inhibiting our perception of liberty in order to protect vulnerable others, is starting to chafe. Instead of pointing fingers, I suggest we consider our relationships—past and present—with the communities around us. 

I grew up in a home where beating the odds with hard work was the norm. My parents’ life trajectories took them to unchartered territories. Fueled by huge dreams and backed by even bigger work ethics, they rose. They raised us to do the same, providing us with opportunities to belong in every room we entered, teaching us to overcome any obstacle by relying on our own purposed determination.

I am grateful for every single achievement they helped me access, and I take credit for breaking through all sorts of barriers presented to me in my 42 years of life.  This recent quarantine at first felt like another challenge I needed to overcome. So I did. We made bread and tried new recipes, we did home improvements and transplanted plants, we built raised garden beds and are growing vegetables, we are teaching our kids to create even as they bring order to chaos. We are masters of our domains, overcoming the odds.

Except for that sometimes my need to overcome makes me unbearable to live with.

Sometimes my agenda is revealed as raw selfishness.

Sometimes my kids fail to do anything I ask of them.

Sometimes my “liberty” is terribly costly for others.

Sometimes I realize my life story as a one-of-a-kind badass is a lie.

The truth is that every single thing I have ever achieved is the product of group effort. From study habits to writing skills to rhetoric to teaching, others taught me. From sticking with a life partner to raising kids to learning to care about my neighbors, I leaned on others as I learned to find my way. I haven’t even ever moved into a new house without massive help from my sisters, parents and friends. From painting to boxing to unboxing, I did nothing alone. I learned to make bread and biscuits and dumplings from mom and mom-in-law and sister. I learned to design and build with power tools from dad and brother. I learned how to be a grown up in the world because my family and community taught me.

And yet, my own life mythology mostly erases this story, replacing it with one of my own stubborn independence and will to succeed. I am responsible for all that I have and am, and therefore have earned my autonomy. I have grown into a person more comfortable giving orders than receiving them. I would rather lead than follow, and trust my own instincts more than nearly anyone else’s.

There is the rub: COVID-19 asks us to trust our leaders instead of ourselves. COVID-19 asks us to limit our independence in order to protect people we don’t know. COVID-19 asks us to belong to a community, to remember others share responsibility for us even as we bear responsibility for others. None of us is truly autonomous.

COVID-19 forces us to confront the tensions that exist between two beloved American mythologies:

We are a neighborly people willing to work together to rise.

AND

We are a country full of totally independent frontierspeople who pull up our bootstraps and beat the odds on our own.

Are we fundamentally a generous people willing to sacrifice to help others, or are we a people whose need for independence requires us to achieve our dreams alone? I believe that expanding our us, growing our capacity to know and care for a wider circle of diverse peoples, is the antidote to living isolated, competitive lives where my success demands someone’s failure. Competing claims on the essence of the American Spirit makes this difficult to do.

Our evolving response to COVID-19 suggests we are watching the pendulum swing from “We’re all in this together”, to “Quit taking away my rights!” Our reliance on binaries—in our media, political parties, religious institutions and rhetoric—suggests we must pick one or the other. We are either part of the we, willing to be mindful of the needs of others, or we are on our own, aggressively autonomous. If we want to expand our us, we have to reject such binaries, and resist the idea that these ideologies are mutually exclusive. The mythologies of America suggest we are both rugged individuals AND communally minded burden sharers.

Spend a little time with your own story, and allow it to reaffirm the beautiful truth that you are both independent and a product of the community who invested in you. Resist the urge to allow one narrative to dominate your story, and resist the urge to respond to this challenging time by elevating binaries. Each of us has a track record of being responsible for others AND of making choices alone, and each of us maintains the capacity to do so now.