Category Archives: Uncategorized

Has it been two weeks already? I’m not sure. Time is passing much differently. It’s raining today, which is something of a comfort because it feels better to stay in. The governor announced a shelter-in-place order starting this morning. Or was it the mayor? In any case, we’re now legally compelled to do what we were basically already doing: living at home, going out sporadically for essentials and to get fresh air.

Everything is canceled, but so many things are phone calls now. Last week we did a birthday call for Shelly. She turned 33. Had a bunch of friends call in. Group hangouts online are funny, particularly with groups who don’t all know each other.

People shared memories of Shelly and then we sang happy birthday, which didn’t work given the lags in the signal. I read somewhere that if you mute everyone and then do a conference call you can sing together. Sent that to a musician friend who said it doesn’t work.

Shelly’s doing well. The infection doesn’t impact pregnancy or pregnant people in any alarming way, other than that her immune system is a little more compromised. And she has a tendency to get pneumonia and bad respiratory infections. So we’re playing it carefully.

I’ve imagined the situation where Shelly goes into labor, needs an epidural or a C section, but there aren’t enough beds at the hospital and we get delayed, or there’s a problem with the birth and Shelly’s health. I try to tell myself that won’t happen.

At house meeting we discussed adding disinfecting surfaces to our daily and weekly chores. I have to disinfect the knobs and handles in the mudroom and powder room.

Shelly and I painted the accent wall in the living room blue. She’d been wanting to do it for awhile.

I talked with old friends from Occupy who are in Connecticut and Serbia. I talked with friends from Ecuador who are in Florida, California, and Quito. All on zoom.

I went to an online happy hour hosted by some Green New Deal organizers. Nearly 60 people called in to it, and over time more and more people chimed in. But mostly we listened to a few scholars and organizers shoot the shit. I had a shot of whiskey while I listened.

I went to a candidate fundraiser on zoom. Not as many people attended, and in asking for donations a number of friends said they’re saving money, have had pay cuts, or are donating to mutual aid efforts. Understandable. I attended a seminar on reproductive work with Selma James and others (listened to that call while I was walking Sappho around the neighborhood).

Today I’m talking with a student on the phone, to my department on a conference call, and then hosting socialist trivia night on a call. We have birth education courses online through zoom on Wednesday. I’ve been thinking of setting up a hangout for our friends where we watch something together and comment on it.

The grocery stores are full, by all accounts. The restaurants are closed. Stores are closed. It’s eery and the novelty has worn off. The death rates and infection rates increase everywhere. Our friend’s mom has covid. A friend’s father has it. My friend in Serbia probably has it.

If I jog in the morning, write about the markets, walk Sappho and listen to a comedy podcast, and I get to things on my to-do list at my computer while listening to rain sounds, I can get work done. Still writing my tenure file. Tried working through an online course module about how to teach online (for a certificate I was doing before) but the online course software is very glitchy from overuse.

I’ve found that some days I get depressed, others I feel better. Napping is important. I generally feel better at night. The daytime feels wrong somehow.

We keep joking about what day it is, or what month it is. “What is Thursday, anyway?” we chuckle. I still felt like it was the weekend this last Saturday and Sunday, which made me feel worse, since the weekend doesn’t make as much sense anymore as a concept.

Some friends are saying they’re on 70% pay. They’re part-time now.

When I was jogging I went past a woman on 49th street. When I passed her she said “hey, six feet man!” She was making sure I stayed far enough away to adhere to social distancing rules.

I wear the same pair of jeans every day. They’re my comfortable, around-the-house jeans. Just can’t bring myself to wear stiff or uncomfortable pants when I’m at home this much.

We walked Sappho one Friday evening and we saw so many people we knew. It took two hours to drop something off at Kate and Corey’s because we saw so many friends and acquaintances.

One of Shelly’s former students talked about how he followed the Bernie campaign through the midwest and New England, but hasn’t worked since the campaign stopped doing in-person organizing.

We saw Sam on the phone on her porch. She came out to say hi. Her housemates came out to say hi. Then two friends walked by and we stood in a big circle, talking. Two of their neighbors passed through, an older couple. Sam asked them how they were doing. The man said, “you know, just not trying to get sick and die. Old people on the block. Hope we make it through.” He was smiling.

I had to write my father an email explaining why it’s not a good idea to go to work. He’s said that he’ll stay home for now.

They say this could go on for eight weeks. Three months. A year and a half. No one knows. There are so many government leaders. They all say different things at different times. At least they’re taking it seriously. Will we be like Italy? South Korea? China?

My friends with kids are homeschooling now. We hear our neighbor’s daughter through the wall. Elon live-texts watching the original Aladdin movie with his two kids. I hit the “haha” button in iMessage.

I was ratcheting up the ‘choosing a school’ project, but then coronavirus hit. A flu-like disease in the same family as SARS emerged in a wet market in Wuhan, China and spread throughout that region. There aren’t vaccines or treatments for it.

China shut down Wuhan’s province, Hubei. But the disease called COVID-19 spread quickly. It’s a worldwide pandemic now. Things are shutting down.

For posterity’s sake I want to describe everyday life now to remember what it was like for us when our social structure met it’s match.

It was spring break last week when I got the email: West Chester University moved all its classes online. Students were told to not come back, to move out of their dorms, to stay home. I’d be teaching my classes online.

My workplace shutting down made feel disturbed. Shelly developed a cough, even more unnerving. She’s fine, but still.

*

As the week progressed a birthday party we were planning for her was approaching on Friday, March 13th. We agonized over whether to have it. Close friends of ours are also pregnant.

We ultimately decided to keep the party. We wouldn’t let the panic get us. But then restaurants, libraries, whole sports leagues started closing. We heard about flattening the curve. Social distancing. The healthcare system’s capacity.

I sent out an email saying “we’re still on!” No one responded to the group, but texts started coming in. People were nervous. They were going to stay home. About an hour before the part was set to start–and after I’d gone food shopping and was about to cook–we cancelled. We felt ‘better’.

*

I’d heard from friends that the grocery stories were getting freaky. People lining up. Shelves getting empty. A friend at Trader Joe’s reported on Thursday March 12 that they’d sold $261,000 by the end of day. The previous record for a Thursday was $160,000.

I went to an Arabic supermarket, first because we were making mediterranean food, but second because I wanted to see if it was the same there. It was fine. A few more people than usual, but nothing out of the ordinary. The clerk at the front was laughing with women buying meat for the week.

The line at our local food coop was long, many of the chips were gone (and the bananas looked scarce), but it wasn’t too bad. Our housemates go shopping and don’t report not finding what they need.

On Sunday I opened the fridge and saw an uncharacteristic jar of apple sauce. I said something about it. Kevin was eating lunch in the kitchen and said “I guess I did a bit of panic shopping. I just saw it and bought it. But I never buy apple sauce.”

I admit, when I see the shelf that has our bread and grains getting more empty I get worried. When I cooked house lunch on Friday March 13 I wondered whether I should save a block of tofu, cook two blocks rather than three. I only cooked two and saved the other, just in case.

*

Social distancing means staying at home. When I got the news campus shut down, I knew I’d be hanging around the house rather than going out. I thought of a passage from Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse Five. There’s a British officer in a German prison camp. He insists on shaving every morning, doing exercises, and dressing well. He says it’s imperative to keep up the routines or descend into squalor.

So I make some routines. I’m generally in a better mood when I jog in the morning, so I jog. I shower after I jog. I wash my hair. I make a smoothie of banana, frozen fruit, oats, peanut butter, and water. Then I work on the computer for a few hours. I edit my students’ dissertations (they’re getting ready to defend in a couple weeks–the defenses will be done online now). I’m writing my tenure application. When I finish drafting that, I’ll edit my book on Althusser and education.

But I also binge on the news. Specifically, my anxiety about the pandemic has translated into a fixation on finance capital: stock markets, interest rates, the Federal Reserve, bond markets. I refresh MarketWatch compulsively, watching the numbers go down and up (mostly down). If Occupy Wall Street taught me anything, it was to pay attention to these things, have a theory about what’s happening, and plan interventions accordingly. I read business news to figure out what’s happening and then write short Facebook posts about it.

I only write on Facebook in a crisis. The last time I did it this regularly was when Trump got elected.

But my addiction to news is more extensive. I check several platforms. I check Slack for new thoughts and links by people I organize with I’m in three slack channels: one for Philly DSA, Build DSA, and the Bernie Sanders campaign channel. I check Twitter for takes, articles, updates. (I’ve mostly cultivated a style on twitter for education policy, law, and socialism. It’s been harder to get my head in that game given the crisis.) I check Naked Capitalism for morning links and the 2pm roundup. I watch Democracy Now. I watch Rising. I check Google News. I check Drudge Report. When the markets close in the US I check Reuters international business news to see about foreign trading. I do this as I’m working, as I’m eating, in the evening, when I wake up.

But after I work on the computer for 4-5 hours I make myself stand up and work on a project around the house. This helps me get out of the anxiety of the pandemic. On Saturday March 14, I installed a lattice on the base of the front porch. I cut the lattice to size using a jigsaw, screwed planks into the brick base-columns under our porch, secured the lattice to them, and put a frame on the top, painting it white. On Sunday March 15, I repaired and readied a tiled sign that says our house number and then hung it up. I fixed some broken pieces of the sign, cut excess wood off the edges, painted the remaining edges red, then put a screw into the brick above our mailbox and hung the sign. I have a list of other projects: clean up the backyard, fix the first floor bathroom faucet, sand and paint a wall in the living room, paint spots in our bedroom, tidy up the basement.

After a project, it’s usually time for a snack or dinner. Cooking and cleaning is more vivid as a ritual.

During all this Shelly is writing, grading, reading, or napping. She’s late in the third trimester, which means discomfort. I see what she needs. I bring her seltzer or rub her hands or back or just keep her company. I try to make sure I’m in a good enough mood to make her chuckle, distract her from the discomfort of the whole situation. We’re a good team. I love her, she loves me. She says she’s glad we’re together during all this.

*

We’re lucky.

Luckily our house is wonderful. It’s an 1890 victorian with three floors, a porch and a small backyard. We’ve got an affordable mortgage on it. We have old furniture from grandparents, paintings done by family members, ourselves, friends, or that we’ve acquired. We’ve got houseplants near all the big windows. The windows let in a lot of light.  There’s old wood. We’ve got a dining room table (another hand me down) and multiple dining room chairs we’ve refurbished. Our housemates are lovely. Our dog Sappho is a calm, funny, absurd companion. Our cat Tibien is also serene, silky, but skittish friend.

Luckily we’re employed. Luckily we have healthcare. Luckily we’re not in huge amounts of debt. Luckily our family and friends are pretty healthy. Luckily none or few of us have been incarcerated, subject to the courts, police, immigration officials. Luckily we face little discrimination. Luckily we have savings and parents with savings. Luckily we have relationships with those parents. Luckily they never assaulted us or abused us. Luckily we have a car we own outright. Luckily there’s a heater and air conditioning in the house. Luckily we can get these things fixed if they break. Luckily we’re not dying deaths of despair, we’re not addicted to anything that’ll destroy us quickly. Luckily we go to therapists. Luckily we hear the birds chirp and the breeze glides over us and it feels nice.

*

Speaking of which: the weather, oddly, has been beautiful. Yesterday as I was working on the porch, the sun was radiant and warm. The air was cool though, like early spring. Sparrows, squirrels, crows. Our tree is budding its red buds and the breeze loosens them so they fall onto the sidewalk below.

And almost half the neighbors on our block were out, enjoying the weather. One neighbor read in a hammock. Another sat playing cards with their young daughter. Another hacked away at a stump in his backyard. Yet another cleaned up the brush overgrown on the public space near our semi cul-de-sac.

The rhythm of everyone together on the block felt like another epoch. I kept thinking it felt very 19th century: life around the house, less rush to accommodate the division of labor in firms or workplaces. Everyone was dealing with the pandemic nervousness, though: my neighbor’s daughter’s school is closed. We’re working from home. The pandemic is there in the sunlight.

When friends come to visit we shake our elbows at one another like little chicken wings, rather than hug or high five. We sit six feet apart. The beginning of conversations goes to the pandemic: What’ve you seen? What’ve you read? Isn’t this weird? It’s crazy, right? How long do you think it’ll be? Our government’s response is terrible, did you see what Trump said?

If we’re in a good enough mood the conversation can move to other topics, but I’ve found it hard to get past the nervous feeling in my stomach. I’ve never seen the social structure shut down like this.

It’s funny: I’m a marxist that thinks a lot about what social structure is and how it maintains its continuity over time. Studying education is about reproduction of the structure. The topic sounds weird and odd to most people in regular life. But what I’m seeing now is a social structure unable to maintain its continuity. The pandemic shuts things down. #CancelEverything. I keep thinking about it in terms of the base-superstructure model. The state’s repressive and ideological forces reconfigure. Some of them stop (mass culture) and others intensify (state surveillance). The dominant mode of production takes center stage for once, rather than staying under the radar: Will the grocery stores keep up inventory? Who’s making what? How will we pay for things? Can people get what they need? What’s up with the stock market?

Never felt contingency like this before.

A great education reporter Avi Wolfman-Arent published a piece on research about “Friends of” groups in Philadelphia. The study uses “shadow state” theory to put these groups in context. (I started a little twitter convo with one of the sources.)

The groups are a feature of unequal school funding and the increase of white/wealthy parents into previously poorer districts with nonwhite racial demographics. The whole article is interesting, but I found this map really important:

Here are changes in household income by catchment. Obviously the areas with big changes have “Friends of” groups, which are wealthier and whiter. I want to see the actual map to zoom in, but I’m pretty sure Kingsessing is a little white area in the southwestern most corner of the bolded West block. That means there was a decline in income in the area, but just south of Cedar Park, which has had an increase. (I started a little twitter convo with one of the sources.)

The article also made me think: should Comegys have a “Friends of” group? Or should Philadelphia try to pool independently raised funds like Portland does? Is that a possible organizing demand? These are very different organizing project. They probably both need to happen. Perhaps a “Friends of” group in Comegys could agitate for pooled resources, while also calling for regional tax swaps policy. It could be an interesting platform from which to advocate for that legislation.

The second interesting article is from early last year. Apparently a philosophy professor at Penn has a program at Comegys for students and teacher. This is a positive piece of news about Comegys, but it’s also interesting for me personally. Just yesterday I was describing this project to two old friends, one of whom organized philosophy for children circles in favelas in Brazil. He suggested doing a program like that at the school– and here’s someone already doing it! I also organized similar programs in DC when I was an undergraduate philosophy student. Things come full circle.

I’d like to get in touch with the professor and talk to her about the program, possibly get involved, but also propose a parents-oriented philosophy program as well. This could be another way to start organizing a Friends of group, or what Freire used to call culture circles.