Yesterday afternoon's virtual staff meeting on zoom, at which we were tasked to declare our plans for Fall semester, was a dash of cold water and a wake-up call.
I'd assumed most of us were anticipating a guarded return to campus and the physical classroom, at least a partial return. But with social distancing restrictions in place, coupled with the perennial challenge of finding enough classrooms, and in light of a looming threat that COVID could suddenly roar back and target our demographic (the aging class of Boomer academics). it is now clear that the logistical challenge of placing most of us back "on ground" is prohibitive.
With just one exception, my colleagues yesterday all opted for "remote" when given a choice of preference for Fall. (There had been a second exception, until she reflected further on the unpleasantness of trying to lecture through a mask. Or shield. Or space helmet.)
Disappointing. But now we’re all “woke” to the bad dream that won’t end anytime soon. The fact that other bad dreams have distracted and lulled some of us — well, me — into supposing that the worst viral disruptions of routine were behind us is immaterial.
But I’m the other remaining stubborn exception, holding out and intending to do Environmental Ethics in an actual physical environment come August. Of course a lot can happen in two months, don’t we know! So we’ll see.
Meanwhile the greater question for us all has to do with the physical space of our streets, and with the social environment in which — virus or not — too many of our fellow travelers remain threatened less by any invisible microscopic threat than by malevolent macroscopic peers, specifically those charged to protect and to serve.
The most arresting thing a colleague said in the meeting yesterday was that he considered his odds of surviving the academic year no better than 50-50, mostly “because I like to go to protests.” He exaggerates. I hope.
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