1 10 12 https://ricovidarchive.org/files/original/d084801fc00ec96c01a917a51a3c6dad.jpg 3ec8984211821bc9a1eaf6b663e90125 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title What would you title this item? Lfj Gill: A Long Day’s Journal Description What is it all about? Navigating a double pandemic in a divided world. Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Text Write a memory, journal entry, essay, list, poem, or story below. You can attach a file below if you'd prefer. COVID-19 JOURNAL #1 CORONA FLOODLIGHT For there is nothing hidden that will not be disclosed, and nothing concealed that will not be made known and brought to light. -Luke 8:17 BSB Such as?  —What has always been the case but never shouted from the rooftops until impossible to ignore: Those among us who do the most labor-intensive work, perform the most essential services, and serve others most dependably are compensated the least of those among us at the other end of the spectrum who serve themselves first, who utilize (exploit) others to uphold their own interests, and who seek every means they can find to accrue more wealth to themselves while giving the least possible back to those who provide them with their wealth. Is anybody today still blind to what is happening to nursing-home caregivers, grocery store clerks, delivery people, trash collectors, postal workers, bus drivers, police, home-care workers, home health aids—all those who must get close to others in their work, who must put themselves in harm’s way to do their jobs, who minister to the sick and dying without sufficient medical means to protect themselves or their patients? This is, of course, not a new phenomenon, nor is the recognition thereof new: “The rich get richer while the poor get poorer.” However, the inequity (read: injustice) has perhaps never in history nor on such a broad scale been so undeniably obvious to everyone everywhere at once, as our nurses and caregivers, childcare providers, food servers, truck drivers, trash collectors, and the rest of the unsung, keep giving what they have to give for the benefit of the rest of us—many, if not most, while struggling to put food on their family’s table or pay their rent. The things often hidden, ignored, or taken for granted are now being illuminated like a night game at Fenway Park when the switches are thrown—in the floodlights of this equal-opportunity invader called Covid-19—the global enemy from which no one and nothing is safe. The pandemic has thrown into stark relief those who are most at risk and least able to protect themselves for lack of economic and social support. The other side of the coin is the great potential for rectifying this human tragedy by changing the world for the better. But will we? For that matter, is there any "we"? Will this common enemy unite us in the interest of the good of all human beings, the worth of every human life, and the need to honor all persons and care for the welfare of all persons everywhere—young, old, black, brown, yellow, red, white? To care for the earth itself and all the resources and life- forms on it—rather than just for our immediate and narrow needs and wants? We will see. Location Where was this item created? Hopkinton, RI Language What language is it in? English Description What is it about? The social inequities brought to light by the pandemic Date When was this created? 2020-05-11 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title What would you title this item? COVID-19 JOURNAL #1 CORONA FLOODLIGHT Creator Who created this item? Lfj Gill Diaries Economics Equality Essential workers Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title What would you title this item? Lfj Gill: A Long Day’s Journal Description What is it all about? Navigating a double pandemic in a divided world. Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Text Write a memory, journal entry, essay, list, poem, or story below. You can attach a file below if you'd prefer. “The Church has left the Building” It is one of the blessings of this enforced hiatus from the external world that we get to realize more vitally how we are together in spirit. It's beautiful to have a physical church in which to come together to worship. After all, Christ taught and worshiped in the temple and in synagogues. But he also taught and worshiped in corn fields and olive groves, on dusty roads and on mountains… The Spirit of God is not limited by our time, space and physical edifices. Nor by our ideas and rituals. In the Spirit, we are together—wherever we may be physically. Our Vicar counseled us early in the pandemic to “take this time to grow deeper in your faith.” Having to stay home for weeks, divested of the noise and frenzy of the world, has given us an opportunity for solitude, silent communion and quiet prayer—an opportunity to deepen our individual relationship with God. We will be all the richer for this experience when we come back together in person in our places of worship. _____________ Corona Virus Journal for RI Historical Society Covid-19 Archives Journal #2 “The Church has left the Building” —Lfj Gill Location Where was this item created? Hopkinton, RI Language What language is it in? English Description What is it about? Virtual Faith Community Date When was this created? 2002-05-12 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title What would you title this item? COVID-19 JOURNAL #2 "THE CHURCH HAS LEFT THE BUILDING" Creator Who created this item? Lfj Gill Churches Faith Hopkinton Spirituality https://ricovidarchive.org/files/original/5f9c21bc32f8162f58294c8ba4686298.jpg dabe9376d51ca772590fe3fbd08fbb22 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title What would you title this item? Lfj Gill: A Long Day’s Journal Description What is it all about? Navigating a double pandemic in a divided world. Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Text Write a memory, journal entry, essay, list, poem, or story below. You can attach a file below if you'd prefer. From an email to a friend today: May 13, 2020 Yep, things have certainly changed. As an introvert, I have greatly (almost guiltily) enjoyed the quiet, the staying in and having everybody else staying in, too—the corridors empty, no chatter, no ambush when going down the hall to get the mail or empty the trash—hardly any traffic on the roads the few times I went out to pick up my groceries... I am sure it is harder on extroverts, though maybe some have taken this chance to discover they have an inner life, full of potential riches, the din of the world having been silenced for a while. As you say, strange times indeed. Terribly tragic times for so many. Listening to the various governors' news briefs now is like listening to the evening news during Viet Nam—so many infected today, so many in the ICU, so many deaths. Already far more than we lost in Viet Nam—and yet—maybe because I don't look for it—I don't hear much of a hue and cry—not enough for the situation at least. Eighty-five thousand Americans DEAD—and that’s only so far! I vividly recall we would sit in front of the TV every evening, cringing in horrified anticipation, watching the news report of the day’s body count. It was our friends, brothers and sweethearts being sent to the slaughter at that time. I can still feel the pain in the heart, watching the images of body bags and hearing the soul-wrenching numbers. And that was a situation both created by and stoppable by human beings. Yet the slaughter went on and on, insanely, unforgivably. Now in this Covid situation we get data. Every day in the governors’ news briefs, “Today’s numbers are: 650 new positive cases, 400 hospitalized, 100 in the ICU, 75 on ventilators, 85 new deaths…” Numbers, with no human faces. Bodies, not souls. Why don’t they include a look at some of those people trying to breathe in the ICU? There are videos popping up on Youtube made by patients with their phones, gasping out their stories and warning people to “take this thing seriously”—and some are quite young. Maybe the people who don’t deign to protect the rest of us by wearing face coverings would wake up if they saw the human beings behind the numbers on their screens. _____________ Corona Virus Journal for RI Historical Society Covid-19 Archives Journal #3 The Human Beings Behind the Numbers —Lfj Gill Location Where was this item created? Hopkinton, RI Language What language is it in? English Description What is it about? Data vs real live human beings Date When was this created? 2020-05-13 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title What would you title this item? COVID-19 JOURNAL #3 HUMAN FACES BEHIND THE NUMBERS Creator Who created this item? Lfj Gill Communication COVID-19 (Disease) Death Friendship Governors Hopkinton Journalism https://ricovidarchive.org/files/original/4583bc0828b476cb1550d700cba451c6.mov b481de7bdb7c7f03432ba0526848be1b Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title What would you title this item? Lfj Gill: A Long Day’s Journal Description What is it all about? Navigating a double pandemic in a divided world. Moving Image A series of visual representations imparting an impression of motion when shown in succession. Examples include animations, movies, television programs, videos, zoetropes, or visual output from a simulation. Location Where was this item created? At home in Hopkinton RI Language What language is it in? English Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title What would you title this item? COVID-19 JOURNAL #4 WORLD AT MY WINDOW Creator Who created this item? Lfj Gill Date When was this item created? 2020-05-14 Description What is it all about? COVID-19 JOURNAL #4 WORLD AT MY WINDOW Life in abundance comes to my window every day. I am not alone. "Beauty before me; with it I wander” (from a Navajo poem.) I look up from my desk and it can be a bluebird, an Oriole, a Grosbeak, an indigo bunting, goldfinches, catbirds, downies--I've seen 22 different species at the feeders this year--and that's only when I happened to be looking. Not only do they bring life and beauty, they bring immense relief from listening to the sad, frustrating, and infuriating news bombarding us every day, all day. Not that one has to listen to it, but it is hard to avoid it altogether. Thank God for the hopeful, the compassionate, the inspiring counterbalances coming from those among us who actually care about and honor human life. Meanwhile, these lovely creatures carry on according to their design and nature, with never a protest, no politics involved. Corona Virus Journal for RI Historical Society Covid-19 Archives Journal #4 World at my Window —Lfj Gill Birds Faith Hope Hopkinton Journalism Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title What would you title this item? Lfj Gill: A Long Day’s Journal Description What is it all about? Navigating a double pandemic in a divided world. Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Text Write a memory, journal entry, essay, list, poem, or story below. You can attach a file below if you'd prefer. COVID-19 JOURNAL #5 NOT POLITICAL “We’re trying to give you the very best advice we can, and it is going to be changing goal posts…. I don’t set the goal posts. The virus sets the goal posts. As we see things change, our guidance is going to change.” —Governor Raimondo (News brief 5/15/2020) Covid-19 is not political. Not even bi-partisan. It is a mindless, soulless, non-human pathogen transmitted from human to human by breath (talk, sneeze, cough, laugh)—whether or not the infected person has symptoms—and which to date has sickened 1.4 million Americans and sent 86,000 through horrible suffering to death. As state and federal governments attempt to mitigate its effects and prevent further disaster, the limitations of their (or anyone’s) control are increasingly obvious, and the political maneuverings of some in government increasingly horrifying. I, for one, am deeply grateful for a governor, health department, and congressional delegation who do their utmost to utilize the best advice of epidemiologists and infectious disease experts as they work to protect and serve us, the people in Rhode Island. Some informative notes on viruses I found today while attempting to learn more about what we are dealing with: “A virus is a microscopic organism that can replicate only inside the cells of a host organism…. Viruses infect all types of organisms, including animals and plants, as well as bacteria and archaea. “Viruses are microscopic parasites responsible for a host of familiar – and often fatal – diseases, including the flu, Ebola, measles and HIV. They are made up of DNA or RNA encapsulated in a protein shell and can only survive and replicate inside a living host, which could be any organism on earth. This means no life form is safe from infection by a virus. “Ultimately, science may never agree on whether viruses are alive or not. E. Rybicki described them as being “at the edge of life” – for now, this may be the closest we will get to an answer.” ________________ 1 CDC https://www.cdc.gov/coronavirus/2019-ncov/cases-updates/cases-in-us.html 2 Encyclopedia of Life —www.eol.org Nb: Scientists still argue whether to call a virus an “organism”, since that term implies life. See final note. 3 https://www.newscientist.com/question/are-viruses-alive Location Where was this item created? Hopkinton, RI Language What language is it in? English Description What is it about? Covid-19 is not political, nor partisan. Date When was this created? 2020-05-15 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title What would you title this item? COVID-19 JOURNAL #5 NOT POLITICAL Creator Who created this item? Lfj Gill COVID-19 (Disease) Death Diaries Government Governors Politics & government https://ricovidarchive.org/files/original/07004b3ce8966f0b536c995813af2298.jpg 6568d0b59b2648a6593c931016d5864b Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title What would you title this item? Lfj Gill: A Long Day’s Journal Description What is it all about? Navigating a double pandemic in a divided world. Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Text Write a memory, journal entry, essay, list, poem, or story below. You can attach a file below if you'd prefer. COVID-19 JOURNAL #6  “LOOK FOR THE HELPERS” In his May 4th talk in the series “Habits of Grace,” Bishop Michael Curry cited a story Mr. Rogers once told about his mother*:       When he was a little boy, he asked her about scary things in the news—about difficult and painful things in the news—and his mother gave him some simple advice of how to handle that. She said to him, “Always look for the Helpers.”       I have a sneaking suspicion that signs of God’s continued watchful care, signs of hope, are in the helpers.      This past April 27th was the 100th birthday of one of those helpers. Captain Tom More**, retired Royal Air Force, celebrated his 100th birthday. But even of more significance than that, earlier in April Captain More, who had just had hip surgery—he was 99 at the time—began trying to raise money for the health system in Britain. And he hoped to raise about 1,000 pounds, by walking and asking people to give on a web site.      Well, he raised more than 1,000 pounds… Between the beginning of April and his birthday on April 27th he raised more than 40 million dollars! People from all over the world gave money to support and help the National Health System during this crisis. People from all over the world…      Mr. Roger’s mother was right. If you want to see the hand of God even in the midst of the most difficult times, look for the helpers. I thought about the helpers I know, and know of: A friend who works at Walmart—there every day, mask and all (once they got masks)—a place whose doors I have not darkened since February, and don’t plan to; the postal deliverers who come every day into this building of 50 apartments; the Amazon, Fedex, and UPS drivers who come right to my apartment door with my orders; the postal clerk behind the counter (of necessity not 3 feet from the customer); the homemakers and home health aides who come faithfully into the apartments of the elderly here; the building manager who comes in and often goes door to door with notices; the nursing home caregivers who cannot avoid physical contact with their patients; the grocery store staff stationed at the counters (not 3 feet from the customer); the pharmacists and assistants; the truck drivers moving food, oil, gasoline, etc. over the land to keep us all supplied; those answering phones at 2-1-1 and other hotlines; the state governors and health departments; nurses, doctors, and hospital staff; custodians and maintenance workers… In a word, those who have not been able to stay safely at home as I have, or who have chosen not to, in order to serve others—shopping for them, running errands, caring for their health, etc. It struck me that these people, regardless of what their personal belief systems may be, are doing in actuality what others may only give lip-service to. In one of his letters, John says, “Whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in them.”***  What is serving others before self, if not love? At the end of his talk, Bishop Curry read this prayer for Helpers: Compassionate God, support and strengthen all those who reach out in love, concern, and prayer for the sick and the distressed. In their acts of compassion, may they know that they are your instruments. In their concerns and fears, may they know your peace. In their prayer, may they know your steadfast love. May they not grow weary or fainthearted, for your mercy’s sake.  Amen.                                                                                                                          —Lfj Gill ______________   *    “Habits of Grace,” May 4, 2020, Bishop Michael Curry. https://episcopalchurch.org/posts/publicaffairs/habits-grace-may-4-2020-invitation- you-presiding-bishop-curry **  <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2020/05/15/world/europe/captain-tom-moore.html">https://www.nytimes.com/2020/05/15/world/europe/captain-tom-moore.html</a> ***  1 John 4:16 Location Where was this item created? At home in Hopkinton, RI Language What language is it in? English Description What is it about? The front-line helpers, caregivers, clerks, deliverers, truck drivers, nurses, doctors, home health aides, store clerks, postal workers, custodians, maintenance workers, volunteers; selfless giving. Date When was this created? 2020-05-16 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title What would you title this item? COVID-19 JOURNAL #6 “LOOK FOR THE HELPERS” Creator Who created this item? Lfj Gill Diaries Essential workers Faith Front line workers Healthcare workers Religious services Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title What would you title this item? Lfj Gill: A Long Day’s Journal Description What is it all about? Navigating a double pandemic in a divided world. Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Date When was this created? June 3, 2020 Location Where was this item created? Hopkinton, RI Text Write a memory, journal entry, essay, list, poem, or story below. You can attach a file below if you'd prefer. COVID-19 JOURNAL #7 TWO PANDEMICS—“I CAN’T BREATHE” This morning I opened my eyes from sleep, and before even rising from the pillow I asked the air: Is this the day when I wake up and hear someone telling the truth? Is this the day they decide to stop protecting their hides, stand up and speak the truth? “Truth to power,” I’ve heard. “Speak truth to power.” Some think doing so is to speak it by destruction: “You have hurt us; I will hurt you, indiscriminately, whoever you are. I’ll hurt *somebody*. I have a right. I am angry. Injustice has been done to me. Let me do it right back. Anyone will do.” How about speaking Truth to the *Lie*? The best ones doing this lately have been the late-night comedians. They’re not afraid. But how about the ones IN what we take to be power— in what everyone takes to be power, even though in reality, it’s not true Power? And yet it is power: power to allow human beings to suffer and die—stand by and do nothing but tell lies to protect one’s hide—and protect the hide in power, in the power of the Lie, supported by those afraid not to support him any longer, even though the Lie is so apparent—more and more apparent every day, to all the world. Why does no one stand up? “Too late now, for if we step forth and say, ‘Oh, wait, oops, sorry, that’s a lie he just told, a desecration he just committed, an appeal to racism he just implanted, an incitement to violence he just uttered, an autocratic power grab he just implemented, an abject lack of leadership in protecting the nation’s people he has displayed’—we’ll be seen as fools for having put his powerful hide in the seat of what we think is power—and is power—power by inaction—power to allow others—thousands—tens of thousands—one-hundred-thousand-plus human beings and counting—to die—to allow 100,000 people to DIE, when an unknown number of those deaths might have been prevented by effective, informed, timely federal leadership. We dare not speak up now!” Well, I got up and launched into the day—the hundredth or so of solitude in my apartment, keeping company and contact with the world only virtually, via electronics, in between the mundane chores of keeping body and soul together. Then came the voices. As is usually the case, a look at my email leads by links to related information on other websites, which leads to research into still other related learning, readings, and watchings. Lo and behold, somebody was standing up! Somebody was speaking truth to power—loud and clear! The more I looked, the more somebodies I found doing so. Better yet—FINALLY—someone was speaking Truth to Lie. The context: We now have two pandemics raging in the USA—the Corona Virus pandemic and the pandemic of racism. If anyone reads this some months or years hence, be aware that this is not only the fifth month of the ongoing sickness and death toll of the Covid-19 pandemic—still cutting short the life-breath of Americans by the hundreds every single day1—but is also the week of the murder of African-American George Floyd by police on May 25th, when a Euro-American [aka “white”] cop knelt on George’s neck for eight minutes while George, already handcuffed and prone on the ground, kept pleading “I can’t breathe,” until he was dead—video-taped and circulated on the Internet for all the world to see—so we now have the added situation of thousands of nation-wide protests—even world-wide—at least half of whose participants are cheek-by-jowl and not bothering to wear masks, even as the virus continues spreading globally; protests, some peaceful, some accompanied by violence and looting, in the face of which on June 1st we’ve just had the spectacle of the President of the United States sending out armed police to rush into a crowd of peaceful protesters with tear gas (or some chemical-gas that does the same thing, as the WH has denied it was tear gas but says it was something else, ever-equivocating…) and riot shields so that he could walk to the Episcopal Church (which he doesn’t attend) across from the White House and have his picture taken holding up a Bible in front of it. The length of the previous sentence reflects the current context of tangled turmoil in this nation right now, throwing all the more into relief the clear voices that next rang through my day today, excerpted below… “At the heart of that western freedom and democracy is the belief that the individual man, the child of God, is the touchstone of value, and all society, all groups, and states, exist for that person's benefit. Therefore the enlargement of liberty for individual human beings must be the supreme goal and the abiding practice of any western society…” —Robert F. Kennedy June 6, 1966 2 ________________ “This evening, the President of the United States stood in front of St. John’s Episcopal Church, lifted up a bible, and had pictures of himself taken. In so doing, he used a church building and the Holy Bible for partisan political purposes. This was done in a time of deep hurt and pain in our country, and his action did nothing to help us or to heal us. “The bible teaches us that ‘God is love. Jesus of Nazareth taught, ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ The prophet Micah taught that the Lord requires us to ‘do justice, love mercy and walk humbly with our God.’ “The bible the President held up and the church that he stood in front of represent the values of love, of justice, of compassion, and of a way to heal our hurts. “We need our President, and all who hold office, to be moral leaders who help us to be a people and nation living these values. For the sake of George Floyd, for all who have wrongly suffered, and for the sake of us all, we need leaders to help us to be ‘one nation, under God, with liberty and justice for all.’ 3 — Michael B. Curry, Presiding Bishop of the Episcopal Church, June 1, 2020 _______________ And the following day came a crystal-clear set of voices, public leaders standing right up straight speaking Truth to Lie in his very face—the first uncompromising statement of truth I have seen to date since this man (who did not win the popular election) was deposited on what he seems to consider his throne, his power being “total” as he put it,4 in the White [very] House. Every Episcopal Bishop in every diocese of every New England state signed a joint statement they issued to protest “the President's ‘cynical’ photo op” in no uncertain terms: “What President Trump did in front of St. John’s Episcopal Church, Lafayette Square on the evening of June 1st, was disgraceful and morally repugnant. Displaying a Bible from which he did not quote, using as a mere backdrop an Episcopal church where he did not pray, and—more callously—ordering law enforcement to clear, with force and tear gas, a path through demonstrators who had gathered in peace, President Trump distorted for his own purposes the cherished symbols of our faith to condone and stoke yet more violence. His tactic was obvious. Simply by holding aloft an unopened Bible he presumed to claim Christian endorsement and imply that of The Episcopal Church. Far more disturbingly, he seemed to be affecting the authority of the God and Savior we worship and serve, in order to support his own authority and to wield enhanced use of military force in a perverted attempt to restore peace to our nation. His actions did nothing to mend the torn social fabric of our nation. Instead, they were a blatant attempt to drive a wedge between the people of this nation, and even between people of faith. No matter where we may stand on the partisan spectrum, we, as Christian leaders called to proclaim a God of love, find his actions repugnant. Jesus taught us to love our enemies, to seek healing over division, and make peace in the midst of violence . . . .”5 _______________ As if these clarion voices were not enough, there then came a heart-felt and courageous letter in my email, speaking truth to both power and the lie: “When peaceful protestors are dispersed by the order of the president from the doorstep of the people’s house, the White House—using tear gas and flash grenade—in order to stage a photo op at a noble church, we can be forgiven for believing that the president is more interested in power than in principle. More interested in serving the passions of his base than the needs of the people in his care. For that’s what the presidency is: a duty of care—to all of us, not just our voters, not just our donors, but all of us. The president held up a bible at St. John’s church yesterday. If he opened it instead of brandishing it, he could have learned something: That we are all called to love one another as we love ourselves. That’s hard work. But it’s the work of America. Donald Trump isn’t interested in doing that work. Instead, he’s preening and sweeping away all the guardrails that have long protected our democracy. Guardrails that have helped make possible this nation’s path to a more perfect union. A union that constantly requires reform and rededication—and yes, the protests from voices of those mistreated, ignored, left out, and left behind. . . . In addition to the Bible, he might also want to open the U.S. Constitution. If he did, he’d find the First Amendment. It protects “the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the government for a redress of grievances.” . . . Amid violence and fear, Dr. King persevered. He was driven by his dream of a nation where “justice runs down like water and righteousness like a mighty stream.” Then, in 1968, hate would cut him down in Memphis. A few days before Dr. King was murdered, he gave a final Sunday sermon in Washington. He told us that though the arc of a moral universe is long, it bends toward justice. And we know we can bend it—because we have. We have to believe that still. That is our purpose. It’s been our purpose from the beginning. To become the nation where all men and women are not only created equal—but treated equally. To become the nation defined—in Dr. King’s words—not only by the absence of tension, but by the presence of justice. Today in America it’s hard to keep faith that justice is at hand. I know that. You know that. The pain is raw. The pain is real. A president of the United States must be part of the solution, not the problem. But our president today is part of the problem. When he tweeted the words “When the looting starts, the shooting starts”— those weren’t the words of a president. They were the words of a racist Miami police chief from the 1960s. When he tweeted that protesters “would have been greeted with the most vicious dogs … that’s when people would have been really badly hurt.” Those weren’t the words of a president—those were the kind of words a Bull Connor would have used unleashing his dogs. . . . I wish I could say this hate began with Donald Trump and will end with him. It didn’t and it won’t. American history isn’t a fairytale with a guaranteed happy ending. The battle for the soul of this nation has been a constant push-and-pull for more than 240 years. A tug of war between the American ideal that we are all created equal and the harsh reality that racism has long torn us apart. The honest truth is both elements are part of the American character. . . .” —Joe Biden _______________ Though the excerpt is long, his email message was even longer—but it felt to me less like a political speech than a sincere expression of his deeply held convictions. Of course words are only as good as the actions backing them up, yet to be seen, but his incisive words were balm to hear today. I close out my day with a grateful sense of hope, and faith in the integrity of those who are ardently pursuing “the arc of a moral universe” to the best of their lights. God bless America. —Lfj Gill June 3, 2020 ______________ 1 https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2020/us/coronavirus-us-cases.html 2 https://www.jfklibrary.org/learn/about-jfk/the-kennedy-family/robert-f-kennedy/robert-f-kennedy-speeches/day-of-affirmation-address-university-of-capetown-capetown-south-africa-june-6-1966 3 https://episcopalchurch.org/posts/publicaffairs/statement-presiding-bishop-michael-b-curry-president-donald-trumps-use-church 4 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dhni0fYpnXI 5 http://www.episcopalri.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/06/NEBishopsResponsePDF.pdf Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title What would you title this item? COVID-19 JOURNAL #7 TWO PANDEMICS—I CAN’T BREATHE Creator Who created this item? Lfj Gill Language A language of the resource English Description What is it all about? Living in Two Pandemics--one of the body, one of the soul--Covid-19 and Racism--"I can't breathe." Demonstrations George Floyd (1973-2020) Government Politics & government Presidents Racism Social distancing Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title What would you title this item? Lfj Gill: A Long Day’s Journal Description What is it all about? Navigating a double pandemic in a divided world. Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Text Write a memory, journal entry, essay, list, poem, or story below. You can attach a file below if you'd prefer. COVID-19 JOURNAL #8 PANDEMIC OF THE SPIRIT The one thing that will make the change … There is only one thing that will bring about the change for which protestors around the world are calling. All the shouting, chanting, blocking traffic, lying on the ground, fighting, arguments on this side and that, even emerging agreements and amicable accords between opposing parties—and even the institution of new social-economic provisions for equal treatment—will not bring about the ultimate change for which we are crying. Unless, that is, unless and until, we are hooked up with the source of the kind of justice we want—just, caring, honest, compassionate, respectful and democratic treatment by and for every human being, everywhere. The shorthand name for that source is Love. Unconditional, irreversible, unchanging and implicit love, in and for every human person. Another shorthand name for that source is God. God is love. And the reason for being hooked up to this source is that we are not. Not God. Not Love. Not unconditional. Not unchanging—clearly. We have had shouting and chanting, looting and non-violent protesting, and great leaders pleading the cause of justice with compassion and integrity before. I was there. I was listening. I heard it with my own ears, huddling around a small TV with a black family in their living room on the 10th floor in “the projects” in New York City’s Lower East Side, August 28, 1963, watching Martin Luther King, Jr. speaking live from the March on Washington: “One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still languished in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land. And so we've come here today to dramatize a shameful condition. . . . “There are those who are asking the devotees of civil rights, "When will you be satisfied?" We can never be satisfied as long as the Negro is the victim of the unspeakable horrors of police brutality. . . . “I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: ‘We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal.’. . . I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice. I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character. . . . “And when this happens, and when we allow freedom [to] ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual: ‘Free at last! Free at last! Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!’ ” * Electrifying truth. Broadcast loud and clear on the National Mall over a crowd of 250,000 people. Now, almost 60 years later, has King’s dream come true? Why not? One reason and one reason only. It is not complicated, though we might like it to be. In spite of decades of endless talk and accusation and guilt and argument and outrage and protest, and the eloquence of many distinguished leaders—where’s the dream? What’s missing? What’s missing is everyone. Every single person on the planet coming from one core reality. Until this takes place, there is, and will always be, division. A rift. Me vs you. And with that division comes all the ills among human beings all across the world, without exception. We can, and perhaps should, celebrate our differences—differences in our individual personalities, gifts, ways, humor, service, ideas, creativity, etc., and in our cultures, insofar as those cultures are built upon that core reality (none at the moment are.) But unless those differences rest on the deeper core commitment within each individual soul, the peace, justice, equality and unity we want cannot, by definition, obtain. By definition because universal peace and justice require unity of purpose and action, based on universal recognition of our “created” human equality. And that we do not have. The slogan “We’re all in this together,” inspired by the global Corona pandemic, acknowledges our unity in the face of a common enemy. We are united in opposition to a deadly, insidiously contagious virus that has already sickened more than seven million people and killed more than 400,000 people on the planet—and continues to ravage the human community. But the slogan is equally apt for the newly risen global uprising in the wake of the murder of George Floyd—an involuntary sacrificial lamb bringing to the world’s attention the reality of man’s inhumanity to man—in the present case, highlighting the long-standing inhumanity perpetrated upon human beings with skins of any other color but white. The fact that we are all in this state of inequity together means, with obvious logic, that we are all involved in the need to change it. How? What is the one thing? What is the “core reality?” Not complicated. But perhaps difficult, maybe even excruciating for many, because of the deep internal change required to effect it. In a recent response to the “pandemic of the human spirit,” as he rightly called it, Bishop Michael Curry said the following: “But there's another pandemic, not of the viral kind, but of the spiritual kind. … It is a pandemic of the human spirit, when our lives are focused on ourselves, when the self becomes the center of the world and of the universe. It is a pandemic of self-centeredness. … “And that pandemic is the root cause of every humanly created evil that has ever been made. Every war that has ever been fought, every bigotry, every injustice, every wrong that has ever been wrought. Anytime a human being has hurt another human child of God directly or indirectly, explicitly or implicitly, at the root cause is me being the center of the world and you on the periphery. . . . Love is the antidote to that. Love is the cure for that. Love is what can help us remove that way of living and establish a way of life where we find life for us all. “This past week, we have not only had to endure a pandemic occasioned by a virus, a viral pandemic, but we've had to endure and face a spiritual pandemic. The roots of self-centeredness where one person can look upon another person and despise and reject them, and not even behold them as a fellow child of God. . . .” The bishop spoke about the killing of George Floyd as “a violation of basic human decency and dignity,” citing the names of eight other victims of police brutality. “This is a painful path that we have been on for a long time,” he added, observing that despite advances in racial relationships, “this seems not to have changed at all.” He spoke at length about the difficulties inherent in our longstanding system of inequity, but encouraged all to seek to realize what Christ taught. “And this Jesus taught us that love will make a way out of no way.” “If I make room for you, and you make room for me, and if we will work together to create a society where there is room for all of God's children, where every human being, every one of us is treated as a child of God, created in the image and likeness of God, where everybody is loved, everybody is honored, everybody is respected, everybody is created as a child of God. If we work together to build that kind of society and don't give up, then love can save us all.”** While there is an almost endless number of issues that must be addressed and rectified world-wide in the coming months (and years), until and unless this necessary condition is met, the rest will never be untangled and set right. And this condition is a joy—such a joy to experience. The most beautiful moment I have witnessed in these past few weeks of turmoil—a brief but brilliant glimpse I caught on the news—was a scene showing the police in all their blue regalia and the protesters in their jeans and bandanas, everybody masked, dancing together—in perfect unity, fun, freedom, and joy. It happened somewhere in Nebraska. And it was so obvious, just dancing the Cupid Shuffle (aptly enough)—even if only for that moment—everybody was as one. No concepts needed. No cumbersome belief systems in play, no political machinations going on—just human beings, fully alive, dancing together. That was a moment of exactly what I am talking about. The one thing. The core reality. The moment everybody in the human community around the globe is in that core reality is the moment when all these issues will be no more. They’ll evaporate just like smoke. Housing will be cleaned up. There will be no more exploitation. No more oppression. Rather than competition there will be cooperation. Rather than destruction there will be creativity and construction. Rather than suspicion and fear and guilt, there will be ease and love and respect. And joy!*** Picture it. Can’t hurt. Might help. * Martin Luther King, Jr., March on Washington “I Have a Dream” speech, August 28, 1963 https://www.americanrhetoric.com/speeches/mlkihaveadream.htm ** Michael J. Curry, Presiding Bishop of the Episcopal Church https://episcopalchurch.org/posts/publicaffairs/presiding-bishop-michael-currys-pentecost-sermon-live-streamed-service *** https://people.com/crime/nebraska-cops-do-the-cupid-shuffle-with-citizens-in-the-wake-or-protests-about-george-floyd/ Date When was this created? 2020-06-10 Location Where was this item created? Hopkinton, RI Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title What would you title this item? COVID-19 JOURNAL #8 PANDEMIC OF THE SPIRIT Creator Who created this item? Lfj Gill Language A language of the resource English Demonstrations Faith George Floyd (1973-2020) Love Martin Luther King Jr. Protest movements Racism Spirituality https://ricovidarchive.org/files/original/4d041e1c5cfb6b9e7da94c33fc91fc45.jpg 439f1241e63c9f7797cc5ad5708e102d Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title What would you title this item? Lfj Gill: A Long Day’s Journal Description What is it all about? Navigating a double pandemic in a divided world. Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Text Write a memory, journal entry, essay, list, poem, or story below. You can attach a file below if you'd prefer. COVID-19 PANDEMIC JOURNAL #9 OPEN LETTER TO THE GOVERNOR AND THE RHODE ISLAND HEALTH DEPT I would appreciate receiving specific answers to the following concerns, as I have both written and called about the issue of senior housing and health care workers coming into the buildings and the apartments. Thus far, although I continue to listen to the governor and the doctor at every briefing, I have heard no mention about this specific concern. I am a senior with underlying medical conditions. I am increasingly concerned, as everyone in this apartment complex is over 60, most in their 70s and 80s, many with underlying conditions. I do appreciate the intensely committed efforts of the governor and her team, and of Dr. Alexander-Scott and the Health Department’s team, in dealing with this deadly virus and with the public. They have been patient, informative, honest, and thoroughly professional in addressing the people of RI, while doing all they can to serve all sectors of the population—kids and school, nursing homes and assisted living, employers, employees, etc. However, not to voice my concerns at this point would be negligent on my part, even though I would rather simply be doing my own work. In addition to my above concern re senior housing, I have another critical concern: the increasing noncompliance of others which is literally threatening my life—along with the lives of many, many others. Per your recent briefing, Governor, your “anger” is not going to deter the types of people who don’t give a damn. Neither is mine. The only thing that reaches these selfish types is enforcement, unfortunately. They are also not the type to be sitting here listening to you saying, “follow the rules,” or saying anything else, frankly. They are listening only to themselves. Unfortunately also, I fully realize you have had to work in the context of Trump’s shameful lack of leadership and reckless approach to the pandemic, which continues even as the cases and deaths are now surging. I, too, am angry, furious—increasingly so, on the few occasions I venture out for food and supplies.When I can, I use pick-up services, but can’t always. Every time I go into a retail store, I run into the few I-could-care-less people waltzing into the store with no mask on or in hand, stores with clear signs saying masks must be worn. And then there are the much more numerous instances of people with face coverings leaving their noses uncovered, some even half off their mouths—a Job Lot employee told me recently he sees “about twenty a day” of these nose-exposed types. PLEASE hammer home the right way to wear a mask and the reason for doing it. In a local Stop and Shop last week I spoke to the day manager about a young woman with her young son who were tooling around the store with no mask on either of them—not only potentially exposing others but also teaching her boy the kind of disrespect she herself was displaying. The manager said that her “understanding from the governor” is that she can “suggest, but not withhold services” to anyone for not wearing a mask. WHAT?!? No business would dream of allowing shirtless or shoeless customers into their stores—and being without a shirt or shoes does not pose a deadly threat. But to ask noncompliant people to leave the store in the face of a deadly pandemic is, what—not politically correct? I saw the recent photo of at least nine police officers congregating closely together at the Columbus statue site, laughing and smiling, not one with a face covering. Wow. If even the police are going to practice (and model) noncompliance—who will we get to do any enforcement, when and if you put some teeth into the “mandates” or “rules”? Whether people bother to understand what this virus is and how it sickens and kills or not, they will readily understand a FINE for exposing others to their “droplets” by entering into stores and facilities without proper protection for everyone there. At age 74, with an underlying condition, I stay at home in my apartment as much as possible, but I do not feel safe even here in my home. Here, there are several residents who do not wear face coverings, who regularly sit quite close to one another in the common areas (e.g., the smoking area outside, the lobby-and-mail-box area, and the corridors everyone must use to get to the mail, the trash chute, and the laundry rooms) such that others who have to get to these common areas must pass right in front of them. Management knows this, and has supplied masks to everyone, but “has no jurisdiction” over the noncompliant. Moreover, there are workers who come in and out of the building, including close-contact home health aides and homemakers, many of whom service several different such housing complexes every week. They assist individual elders in their apartments with showers, dressing, making meals, cleaning, etc. They might serve as many as five different elderly, frail persons in five different senior housing complexes per week. As well, people routinely go to the hospital from here and return, providing yet another possible means of carrying the virus into the building. In turn, the workers themselves are at risk. What am I asking for? Law and enforcement. This is a deadly virus, not a political football. Change the discourse. Less talk about “the rules”—which only pits the obdurate against you—“Who is she to tell me what to do?”—more talk about the realities of the sickness and deaths in isolation, and that the only thing that works is to prevent the virus getting from one person to another. Face coverings, distancing and avoiding crowds has been shown beyond doubt to effectively stop the spread, as you have been saying. Now this point needs to be driven home, both in the discourse and in accompanying law (not “encouragement,” not “suggestions”), and fortified with enforcement and stiff fine. We are dealing with life and death, not some social-political issue! Ask the noncompliant—“Are you going to wait until your mother or father dies in front of you (at a distance, when you cannot hold their hand or say goodbye)? Or until you yourself go through the illness, before you take it seriously?” Many will decide, “YES, I am going to wait, and in the process endanger everyone else,” and are already clearly doing so. Therefore, to not have a law in place to protect the rest of us is irresponsible on the part of our government—not just the governor but the State Government as a whole (given that there is no hope of the Federal government doing what it should be doing)—especially at this point, when the WHO, CDC, and the rest of the health experts are shouting that the virus is surging—not “fading” but surging!— around the world. What in God’s name does it take? As a citizen, whose life is very definitely threatened by this pandemic—along with thousands of other elders—I hold my government accountable for failing to protect me and my neighbors with all the resources at their command. I can’t help but wonder why the case figure for my rural town has remained the same for many weeks now—whether that is because insufficient testing has been/is being done here—in this and other rural areas as well—or whether it is a true picture and we are just sitting ducks here waiting for the virus to make its way to the countryside. Thank you for your consideration in these concerns. And thank you for your continuing hard work in a most inhospitable situation. Sincerely, etc. Date When was this created? June 25, 2020 Location Where was this item created? RI Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title What would you title this item? COVID-19 PANDEMIC JOURNAL #9 OPEN LETTER TO THE GOVERNOR AND THE RHODE ISLAND HEALTH DEPT Creator Who created this item? Lfj Gill Language A language of the resource English Description What is it all about? This letter to the RI Governor and the RI Health Dept., while quite personal, reflects many of the current realities and concerns related to the Corona pandemic, primarily the situation for seniors. Of the 900 Corona deaths in Rhode Island to date, nearly 850 of them were seniors over the age of 60. That's ninety-three percent of the deaths from Covid-19! Anger Diaries Essential workers Government shutdowns Governors Masks Older people https://ricovidarchive.org/files/original/f0e3cec5d2ea5e3b37a82d9d0d17d805.jpg abf7d4eee84fba903dd2cf4e0d20176e Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title What would you title this item? Lfj Gill: A Long Day’s Journal Description What is it all about? Navigating a double pandemic in a divided world. Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Text Write a memory, journal entry, essay, list, poem, or story below. You can attach a file below if you'd prefer. COVID-19 JOURNAL #10 THE FOURTH OF JULY, 2020 Unraveling the American Tapestry [Preface: The woman in the following narrative is fiction. Her situation and thoughts are not.] I am in this bed. I have a tube shoved down my throat into my trachea, attached to a machine forcing my body to do what I cannot make it do—pull air into my lungs. I am in pain. I am sick to my soul. There is no one here but me. Every once in a long while, someone gowned and masked appears beside the bed to check my body and the machines, a few with warmly concerned, compassionate eyes; and this is the only evidence of human concern that comes to me in the endless hours of pain and solitude. I am lonely beyond words. I know that I will die with this tube in my chest, with no family, no loved ones, no friends near me to hold my hand or speak to me as I gasp for my last breaths. And I know there are many out there who do not care, like the middle-aged woman cashiering at the hardware store the week before I was stricken—blatantly, defiantly mask-less, breathing and talking two feet from the customers trying to get out of the store. And like the many others I’ve seen displaying the arrogant disregard being modeled by the sociopath in the Whitehouse—too good to protect others by wearing face coverings or keeping a safe distance. I know, too, the attitude many harbor—“It’s only the oldies getting killed off—time for them to go anyway and stop burdening the system.” I actually heard someone say the pandemic is “just culling the herd.” Apparently these people plan on never aging themselves, so are quite happy to see “them” clearing off the planet—at least until “them” is a favorite aunt or grandparent dying in solitary confinement, like me. The day I cannot wrench another breath into my burning lungs, I will become just one in the data pile, the daily death toll pre-softened to near inaudibility by the opening remarks: “Good news today, we are doing well. Our Rhode Island numbers continue to decline, even as much of the rest of the country’s Corona cases are escalating. We now have only ninety-one people in the hospital; sixteen of these people are in the ICU; and fifteen of the ICU patients are on ventilators. [—Now for me and the recent cadavers in the refrigerator trucks—] And, sadly, we have seven more corona-related fatalities to report today,”—followed by hearts and prayers going out to their families. This last, the death datum, makes hardly a blip in anyone’s radar, except for the families who knew and loved them. Us. What have they given me today? Something new. I’m receding from my body, floating somewhere apart from it, even though I can still perceive the pain in my lungs and hear my endless attempts to cough and to breathe. From a distance, I hear my old body trying now to scream, so afraid—of what? something—trying to tell the plastic-covered nurse—“Somebody trying to kill me, why am I in this jail, why are they torturing me?”—must be hallucinating—but I am not now in that part of my mind—I am floating somewhere apart, where the body I know as mine is not attached to “me.” What did they give me? Is this morphine? I don’t mind the pain any more—it never leaves, but now it’s far away. Where am I being taken? I am still receding… I hear voices. Indistinct. I am being moved toward—what? Something . . . a building—big. Going through an archway . . . into a hall, I think . . .yes, a ballroom-size hall. There’s a picture taking shape—a large tableau of some sort, it appears. The voices are coming from there. It is growing ever larger as some invisible conveyer moves me closer, and now I see it is a huge tapestry being woven on a gigantic loom stretched along the far wall. It seems to be unfinished, yet already a great many scenes have been depicted, in rich, vibrant colors—scenes somehow familiar as I focus in on them one by one. Yes, this is familiar—they are all familiar—I know this picture. I am propelled into it, in among the threads of yarn, into the woven scenes all around me and stretching back through time. I am amazed at the colors, fascinated with the intricacies in the weaving. “Recognize where you are?” asks a voice, clear now, though unfamiliar. “See the little dairy farms and white-steepled churches? The fields and trees and stone walls? See the little white girl floating down among the elms . . .” Yes, I know these houses, these fields, these country lanes and stone walls. Suddenly I am in my old New England village; I see my childhood home where, like the child in Fern Hill, “I was young and easy under the apple boughs, about the lilting house and happy as the grass was green”—Wait a minute, what did that voice say? “Little white girl,” it says again, “with all your Caucasian European-American neighbors . . .” I feel a long-standing irritation arise—ever since I first heard those ignorant terms. “First of all,” I say to the disembodied voice, “my skin is not ‘white.’ It’s more like a pale salmon. At least it was, till I got sick. Now it’s almost blue. (No oxygen.) And second of all, my forebears originated nowhere near the Caucasus.” But I soon tire of the attempt to educate. What does it matter anyway? I am being lifted upward now. Another voice is speaking. It seems to be accompanying me aloft, where we hover over the great tapestry. “Now you can see the entire work, can you not?” she asks. I say “she” for the voice now sounds female to me. “Yes, I think so,” I say. The loom and the tableau are so huge I am not sure if I am seeing all the way to the far end, which seems somewhat shrouded in mist. My unseen companion blows a breath over the tapestry and it all comes clear, far and wide.“We are going to traverse the length and breadth of this great work,” says the voice, “all the way back to the very first stitch. But first look down and behold the grand design. Do you know what you are seeing?” My eyes seem to be going in and out of focus, or else the brilliant jewel colors below are themselves going in and out of focus, now looking like shapes I recognize, now shifting and changing to other forms that feel familiar yet defy my intellect. I can’t think of anything to say. “I understand,” she says, though I have said nothing. “You cannot see everything because what you are looking at is not finished. Even as you gaze back down along the length of the design, there is shifting and changing, uneasiness and conflict, layered realities, each in its own realm. But now look with my eyes and see all that was, and is, and is coming to be.” Strains of music now rise from the tapestry, and with it the vision embodied in the words I am hearing as if for the first time: “Oh, beautiful for spacious skies, for amber waves of grain, for purple mountain majesties above the fruited plain—America! America! God shed his grace on thee. And crown thy good with brotherhood from sea to shining sea.” I see the purple mountains, the amber waves of grain, the orchards and gardens, and the shining seas below, all woven in living colors, now plain to see. “Yes,” she says, “that was and is the land you have lived in, though you are now leaving it. You will not see the day when this song displaces the bombs bursting in air and becomes the national anthem. The nation is not yet ready. But you can also hear what will be, the time that is coming, in the words of the song. It begins with a prayer: “God mend thine ev’ry flaw, confirm thy soul in self-control, thy liberty in law. . . May God thy gold refine, till all success be nobleness, and ev’ry gain divine.” “You see,” she says, “the reality is, as yet, real only in vision, in the ideal. But it is there in the weaving—one of the layers yet to come forth. God has already shed his grace on this nation. But much of it is still locked up within ideals, the very ideals expressed in the founding papers, but the nation is not yet equal to the gift. “Nonetheless, you can pray, and you can work, and you can forgive, and you can rebuild, until the ideal releases its soul into the living reality, when you actually do crown America’s good with brotherhood from sea to shining sea. “The ‘patriot dream that sees beyond the years’ truly does see the time to come, when this nation’s cities will be ‘undimmed by human tears.’ But that time is not now. This nation has work to do—every soul in it. And you have work to do before you leave.” I am wondering what work I can do from a deathbed, but she goes right on. “I will carry you along and guide you. All you need do is watch and listen, and do as I ask.” I am trying not to think the thought I’m thinking, for it’s obvious she can read my thoughts: Who is this? And why me? What possible difference to the world can a shriveled, dying old woman make now? “A great difference, if you will allow. All human movement toward truth begins in the spirit. And that is where you are now. You will not be there to see the changes coming into the world, but you will play a part in them nonetheless in this vision.” “This is a vision?” I say. “What if this is just the drugs causing hallucinations?” “Foolish! Do you really want to waste the time you have left? Hallucinations are what your body and physical mind are going through right now down in that bed, as you well know. They are the effects of a deadly virus and pain medications. I have carried you away from all of that into this clear light. Do not look back or back you will go!” I feel how this is so. The moment I had succumbed to that doubt, I’d felt a terrific pull back toward the bed where my body lay in agony. But her sharp retort countered the pull, like a hand yanking a drowning man from the water. I won’t go there again. “Are you ready to begin?” she asks. “Yes,” I say. I notice we are slowly descending again toward the tapestry. “We will be touching down at points along the weaving,” she says, “going back more than four hundred years along the timeline to the beginnings of this nation. You will be seeing scenes and hearing voices along the way. Some you will recognize from your own experience and your education; some you will not. If you listen, watch, and learn, you will have no need of questions. Simply do as I ask as you go, and all will be well. I will be with you.” I don’t say anything out loud, for there is no need. She can hear my unspoken assent. We touch down at the point in the picture where I departed a week ago, when I left my comfortable home for a death bed. I recognize the first scene with no trouble. A man on the ground—another man kneeling on his neck—eight long minutes passing while the pinned man pleads for breath until he dies—right there in front of the whole world. One man wrapped in brown skin, the other wrapped in “white” skin. “I can’t breathe!” echoes around the globe. Conflagrations erupt—shouts, masses gathering around the world, hatred and accusations hurled back and forth, sorrow and grief, questions, lies and truths, tears and embraces. “Look closely at the weaving,” says my companion. “What do you see?” “There is a rift,” I say. “A rip in the fabric. A long tear separating the threads—it looks like it goes back before this place.” I see rifts continuing farther back down the weaving, as far as I can make out—maybe all the way to the beginning. “These gaps and rifts will need to be repaired,” I say, “won’t they? Need to be sewn back together?” “No,” she says. “Not this time. There will be no more patching or mending. The tapestry will have to be unwoven, completely unwoven, all the way back to the very first wrong stitch. You will be tracing that rift back.” Instantly I am transported back to my first vantage point, where the other voice had described the “little white girl descending among the elms.” I am home. I am a little child. I know no rifts. “Happy as the day is long. . .” There was only one black family in my town, though they would not have liked being called “black” in those days. Anyway, they were brown, not black. They had one girl, my age. Everybody else in the whole town was “white.” So I went through school with one brown classmate in a sea of white, the children of Finnish, British, Irish, and French immigrants—along with one or two German and Jewish families . . . One brown-skinned girl whose ancestors were brought here to be exploited in their brown and black skins. In my little town, being the daughter of white upper-middle-class parents, I grew up with a sense of continuity and security, trusting the stage on which I found myself—and had no thought for many years that it was not sustainable, could not hold—even though little threads of lie were all around me, and soon wove themselves across the warp threads of my mind—little weft threads I could not place neatly in the picture, even as a child. I later wrote about them—painful weft threads piercing the heart. “Now we are going to travel much faster,” my companion said—back through seminal points along the timeline. Keep an eye on the rift in the fabric as we go. We will touch down where certain voices rise up from the design; you will recognize what they are. They must be heard. No need to comment—they will speak for themselves. Let’s go.” _______________ 1963 “I have a dream! I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice. I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.” 1 I see beautiful weft threads meshing at this point in the weaving. Yet nearby the rift gapes open, a dark slash in the fabric: 1968 “At 6:05 p.m. on Thursday, 4 April 1968, Martin Luther King was shot dead while standing on a balcony outside his second-floor room at the Lorraine Motel in Memphis, Tennessee. News of King’s assassination prompted major outbreaks of racial violence, resulting in more than 40 deaths nationwide and extensive property damage in over 100 American cities. James Earl Ray, a 40-year-old escaped fugitive, later confessed to the crime and was sentenced to a 99-year prison term. During King’s funeral a tape recording was played in which King spoke of how he wanted to be remembered after his death: “I’d like somebody to mention that day that Martin Luther King, Jr., tried to give his life serving others.” 2 1955 “When, on December 1, 1955, Rosa Parks refused to obey an order to give up her seat on a Montgomery bus to a white person, an action that led to a boycott of the Montgomery bus system, she had in mind a murder trial that happened two months earlier in Sumner, Mississippi. A fourteen-year-old boy, Emmett Till, had been brutally murdered and his body thrown in the Tallahatchie River, but despite clear evidence that two white men committed the crime, an all-white jury returned a "Not Guilty" verdict after just an hour of deliberation. Parks wrote, "the news of Emmett's death caused me...to participate in the cry for justice and equal rights." The trial of Roy Bryant and J. W. Milam for the murder of Till shook the conscience of a nation and helped spark the movement for civil rights for black Americans.” 3 1946 “Between the end of Reconstruction and the years following World War II, thousands of black veterans were accosted, assaulted, and attacked, and many were lynched. Black veterans died at the hands of mobs and persons acting under the color of official authority; many survived near-lynchings; and countless others suffered severe assaults and social humiliation. Documenting these atrocities is vital to understanding the incongruity of our country’s professed ideals of freedom and democracy while tolerating ongoing violence against people of color within our own borders. As veteran and later civil rights leader Hosea Williams said, ‘I had fought in World War II, and I once was captured by the German army, and I want to tell you the Germans never were as inhumane as the state troopers of Alabama.’” 4 1917 On August 16, 1917, Senator James K. Vardaman of Mississippi spoke of his fear of black veterans returning to the South, as he viewed that it would "inevitably lead to disaster.” To the American South, the use of black soldiers in the military was a threat, not a virtue. "Impress the negro with the fact that he is defending the flag, inflate his untutored soul with military airs, teach him that it is his duty to keep the emblem of the Nation flying triumphantly in the air," and, the senator cautioned, "it is but a short step to the conclusion that his political rights must be respected."5 1863 November 19th The speaker describes “a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal,” urging his listeners to “resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain—that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom…” Behind him I see a huge expanse of green, beautifully woven, but even as I am looking it begins to turn a deep purple-brown color. We are sweeping over a field littered with the bodies of brothers who have slaughtered one another, the field soaked with their blood. “Come,” she says, and I am carried on along the fault line in the tapestry as another voice rises from the rift. “We will pause here a while,” she says. “He has much to say. You have much to hear.” 1500s - 1859 “At last everything was ready, and the traffic in human flesh began. I will attempt to give as accurate an account of the language and ceremony of a slave auction as I possibly can: ‘Gentlemen, here is a likely boy; how much? He is sold for no fault; the owner wants money. His age is forty. Three hundred dollars is all that I am offered for him. Please to examine him; he is warranted sound. Boy, pull off your shirt ⎯ roll up your pants ⎯ for we want to see if you have been whipped.’ If they discover any scars they will not buy, saying that the nigger is a bad one. The auctioneer seeing this, cries, ‘Three hundred dollars, gentlemen, three hundred dollars. Shall I sell him for three hundred dollars? I have just been informed by his master that he is an honest boy and belongs to the same church that he does.’ This turns the tide frequently, and the bids go up fast; and he is knocked off for a good sum. After the men and women are sold, the children are put on the stand. I was the first put up. On my appearance, several voices cried, ‘How old is that little nigger?’ On hearing this expression, I again burst into tears and wept so that I have no distinct recollection of his answer. I was at length knocked down to a man whose name was Denton, a slave trader, then purchasing slaves for the Southern market …. Each one of the traders has private jails, which are for the purpose of keeping slaves in . . . Denton had one of these jails . . . and on entering I found a great many slaves there, waiting to be sent off as soon as their numbers increased. These jails are enclosed by a wall about 16 feet high, and the yard-room is for the slaves to exercise in and consists of but one room, in which all sexes and ages are huddled together in a mass. I stayed in this jail but two days when the number was completed, and we were called out to form a line. Horses and wagons were in readiness to carry our provisions and tents so that we might camp out at night. Before we had proceeded far, Mr. Denton gave orders for us to stop for the purpose of handcuffing some of the men, which, he said in a loud voice, “had the devil in them.” The men belonging to this drove were all married men, and all leaving their wives and children behind; he, judging from their tears that they were unwilling to go, had them made secure. . . . I will not weary my readers with the particulars of our march to Tennessee, where we stopped several days for the purpose of arranging our clothes. While stopping, the men were hired out to pick cotton. While in Tennessee we lost four of our number who died from exposure on the road. [I]n about four weeks arrived in Natchez, Miss., and went to our pen, which Mr. Denton had previously hired for us, and had our irons taken off and our clothes changed; for Mr. Denton was expecting visitors to examine the flock, as he would sometimes term us. There was a sign-board in front of the house, which informed traders that he had on hand blacksmiths, carpenters, field-hands; also several sickly ones, whom he would sell very cheap. In a short time purchasers became plenty, and our number diminished. I was not sold for several weeks, though I wished to be the first, not wishing to witness his cruelty to his slaves any longer; for if they displeased him in the least, he would order them to be stripped and tied hand and foot together. He would then have his paddle brought, which was a board about two feet in length and one inch in thickness, having fourteen holes bored through it, about an inch in circumference. This instrument of torture he would apply until the slave was exhausted, on parts which the purchaser would not be likely to examine. This mode of punishment is considered one of the most cruel ever invented, as the flesh protrudes through these holes at every blow, and forms bunches and blisters the size of each hole, causing much lameness and soreness to the person receiving them. This punishment is generally inflicted in the morning, before visitors come to examine the slaves. Just before the doors are opened, it is usual for the keeper to grease the mouths of the slaves so as to make it appear that they are well and hearty, and have just done eating fat meat; though they seldom, if ever, while in the custody of the keeper, taste a morsel of meat of any kind. . . .” 6 1493 “The European trade in American Indians was initiated by Columbus in 1493. Needing money to pay for his New World expeditions, he shipped Indians to Spain, where there already existed slave markets dealing in the buying and selling of Africans. . . Colonists participated in Indian slave trading to obtain capital. It was as if capital could be created out of thin air: one merely had to capture an Indian or find an Indian to capture another. In South Carolina, and to a lesser extent in North Carolina, Virginia, and Louisiana, Indian slavery was a central means by which early colonists funded economic expansion. . . . Without slavery, slave trading, and other forms of unfree labor, European colonization would have remained extremely limited in the New World.” 7 _______________ “Surely this is where the rift begins,” I say. “This is the cause of the damage, isn't it? Can we not stop here? I am tired, even here with you, I am tired to death. Let me go back now and be done with it.” “Do you know what it means to grow in the spirit?” asks my companion. “Spiritual growth, you mean?” I say without thinking. “Yes,” she says, “of course.” “Frankly, I can’t take any more,” I say. “No wonder they’ve tried to mend this tapestry with patches and desperate stitchings all these years. To unweave all this right down to the warp—the guilt alone would be unbearable.” “Spiritual growth,” she says, ignoring my comments, “consists in stages of awakening. It is the process of waking up. Yes, you can stop here if that is your wish. You may return to your suffering body. But do you understand that spirit does not die?” “What does that have to do with it?” I ask. “You may go back into hiding, but you will not be relieved by the death of your body, any more than the nation will be relieved of its guilt by stitching patches over the ever-widening rift in this tapestry.” I know she is speaking the truth. “Lead on, then,” I say. She adds, “You are right in thinking we are touching the cause of the rift. Just a step or two more, just back a little, and we are done. It is just here:” 1776 July 4th “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.…” “You are well aware,” she continues, “that the very man who wrote those words kept human beings as property. As did others among the founders of this nation.” “Yes,” I say. “I know. So is this the real beginning of the fault line?” “The hypocrisy is, yes. The lie dividing the ideal from the lived reality was woven right into the first stitch of weft over warp in the tapestry of America.” “The native people called it out, though, didn't they?” I say. “They saw the ‘forked tongue’ from the beginning, and been dealing with it ever since.” “Yes, that is also true,” she says. “But there is something more. It goes much farther back than this tapestry, which, after all, is only that of one nation among many. It goes back into the deepest recesses of the human soul. It is responsible for every form of use and abuse of one human being by another. It is the cause of the first false stitch woven into this tapestry from the very beginning of the weaving. And it is the reason the entire tapestry must be unwoven, until there is nothing left but the truth within the ideals, and the choice every human being must make. Then the real work of rebuilding can begin. And the real nation can begin.” I am silent now. What is it I am feeling? Depression? Elation? Grief? Hope? Something has taken place in all this, I know, unleashing this swelling tide of feeling. But what have I done? I haven’t done anything. “Not true,” says my companion. “You have taken the necessary step. You are awake.” “But I’m about to die, how does this help anyone else?” “It wouldn’t help anyone else,” she says, “if human beings were not of one essence. But they are— and are beginning to awaken to this reality. Human being, human spirit, is one. For one of you to take this step is to open the door for others.” And now I feel myself slowly descending, wafting back in the direction of my body. I am exquisitely tired, yet somehow full of life. I see my body is sleeping, at last. “Are you still here?” I ask. “Yes,” she says. “I am always here.” —Lfj Gill _______________ 1 https://www.americanrhetoric.com/speeches/mlkihaveadream.htm 2 https://kinginstitute.stanford.edu/encyclopedia/assassination-martin-luther-king-jr 3 http://law2.umkc.edu/faculty/projects/ftrials/till/tillaccount.html 4 https://eji.org/wp-content/uploads/2019/10/lynching-in-america-targeting-black-veterans-web.pdf 5 Equal Justice Initiative 2019, quoted in Wikipedia article “African-American veterans lynched after World War I” 6 http://nationalhumanitiescenter.org/pds/maai/enslavement/text2/ 7 http://ap.gilderlehrman.org/essay/indian-slavery-americas Photographer: Gilberto Mello, on Pixabay.com (https://pixabay.com/users/gmello-5539530/) Corona Virus Journal for RI Historical Society Covid-19 Archives Journal #10 The 4th of July, 2020 Date When was this created? July 4, 2020 Location Where was this item created? At home in Hopkinton, RI Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title What would you title this item? COVID-19 JOURNAL #10 THE FOURTH OF JULY, 2020 Creator Who created this item? Lfj Gill Language A language of the resource English Description What is it all about? An old woman dying of Covid-19 on a ventilator has a vision about America. Creative writing Death Fourth of July celebrations George Floyd (1973-2020) Hospitals Martin Luther King Jr. Older people Racism Slavery Ventilators