“We don’t call it ‘social distancing,’ because what we offer here is not only food, it’s human connection, even when we must stay physically further apart.” This statement was made by the Rev. Dr. Anna Pearson. She is the rector at the Church of the Holy Apostles, which runs New York City’s largest soup kitchen. Because of I work with my local Food Not Bombs chapter (which I have discussed previously), I read with interest the New Yorker‘s April 6 spotlight on how the kitchen, which has not missed a weekday lunch serving in thirty-eight years, was adjusting its practices during the pandemic.
“For now”
In the previous post in this series, Rita urged us to think about the logic of obedience that undergirds social distancing protocols. We may obey, and consent to, social distancing protocols for now because we need to reduce the spread of coronavirus. This temporal dimension is important, Rita argues, because compliance and consent can turn into unreflective obedience. And as Italian philosopher Sergio Benvenuto notes, we don’t know how long “for now” will endure.
Benvenuto describes his personal lack of concern about contracting COVID-19 as “civically reprehensible: were I a good citizen I should behave as if I were panic stricken.” The government’s restrictions on movement and social activity should, he argues, appeal to an individual’s sense of solidarity. These measures, even with their economic impact, are more acceptable politically that letting the virus spread without intervention. Such inaction would cause an estimated 400,000 deaths in Italy.
Ontario’s models suggest that, as of April 4, current measures prevented 220,000 cases of and 4,400 deaths from COVID-19 in the province.
Public space is “closed”
Most of Ontario has been “closed” for about a month, and I have been in isolation for most of that period since developing mild symptoms. As “for now” moves into its second month, I have been reflecting on my personal sense of loss as public spaces are not available.
The Rev. Dr. Pearson’s rejection of social distancing is not unique. Over the past few weeks, I’ve noticed a shift from “social” to “physical” distancing. Part of physical distancing is avoiding gatherings of more than 5 people. As we learn more about how the virus spreads, perhaps we need to be reminded that, at its core, our sociality is not the essential worry. It is our proximity to one another, as the virus travels “efficiently” to others on our respiratory droplets.
Have neighbours been cancelled?
In a March 17 post, Italian philosopher Giorgio Agamben declares that neighbors had been “cancelled” due to wide-spread public shut-downs. A month after Agamben published this statement, I find that it does not quite align with my experience. My neighbour and I continue our “Trekkie Tuesday” tradition from our adjacent apartments.
Indeed, I find that my social life is not suffering much. I have the privilege of a steady income, a well-stocked pantry, and reliable internet. Social gatherings—board games, book clubs, tea breaks, and happy hours—have gone virtual. The first draft of this post was written during a “Virtual Writing Cafe,” where I joined eight other members of my university community in time dedicated to writing.
In short, for now, my sense of social isolation is not overwhelming. My sense of social connection through digital technologies reminds me that Arendt, in Origins of Totalitarianism, describes isolation as a political phenomenon. The social realm—the realm of conformity, of association—can still thrive despite the loss of public space.
Has community been cancelled?
The real loss I feel during this time of physical distancing is the ability to interact with other people in public. I miss mundane encounters, but I especially miss the physical dimensions of Food Not Bombs. Pre-pandemic times, we make and serve a free community soup lunch each week using “almost bad” produce and bread donated from local grocery stores and bakeries.
The power of Food Not Bombs, to me, is about how we occupy public space. Food is not wasted, as it often is in our food system. Food is free, and for everyone (not only the “needy”). We create a space for a kind of togetherness that so much of our increasingly privatized world seems to reject. Many people come and go for a meal, but we usually have a dozen to twenty people congregating, talking, enjoying each other’s company, during our serving.
For now, Food Not Bombs volunteers distribute bags of take-away food rather than offer a community meal. The number of people who prepare the food is limited to the bare minimum, and volunteers use chalk to measure out six-foot-intervals for people picking food up.
Like the Rev. Dr. Pearson, I want to emphasize that community-building can take place during a pandemic. But is it necessarily an impoverished form of community building? In usual times, the lines between people who volunteer with Food Not Bombs and those who come to eat and enjoy food is blurry. Now, the lines seem starker. People who do not experience food insecurity stay at home. Volunteers with more privilege (e.g., can access a private vehicle and avoid public transit) are shouldering most of the work.
It seems as if the work of Food Not Bombs during the pandemic has shifted away from community-building more broadly to a more narrow mode of supporting food security. There is less emphasis on sharing space and more emphasis on meeting people’s daily needs. I watch this shift with some ambivalence. Food security is vitally important, of course, especially given the added insecurities raised by the COVID-19 pandemic. And yet, this is another example of how, as Roger Berkowitz puts it, “we are choosing life over the effort to salvage our way of life. As we should–for a time.”
Solidarity
Bioethicist and physician Nuala Kenny argues that pandemic ethics should be grounded in a public health ethics rooted in relational approach to solidarity, autonomy, and social justice. She urges our attention back to relational values as we think about difficult ethical challenges in the times of pandemic.
While I agree that for many of us, staying at home can be an expression of solidarity, my dissatisfaction with this expression reminds me of how important public space can be. Virtual spaces enable social connections with people who are already like me in many respects. What I miss is the expansiveness of public space for gathering diverse people together who might not otherwise interact.
More on public spaces
Stay with us! In the next post, Janet will share some of her reflections on the loss of public space.
Photo by Elaine Casap on Unsplash