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silence
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2023-03-15
Kit Heintzman Oral History, 2023/03/15
Kit Heintzman is a recovering academic currently residing in Lenapehoking, who was trained in the medical humanities with a special interest in queer theory, animals, and the history of nationalism. Kit has developed a singular collection of oral histories of the pandemic for A Journal of the Plague Year, collected from a range of individuals with widely diverse experiences. That collection addresses significant silences surrounding the pandemic broadly and within JOTPY more narrowly. In this item Kit is interviewed by Angelica and Erin, both with Arizona State University, about Kits collection process. -
2020-05-01
The Hustle and Bustle That Went Naught
This story is nothing that many of you may not be familiar with, notably of those in metropolitan-like areas. Plus, I can not say that this story is anything deeply descriptive and the likes thereof, but it certainly had an impact on someone like me (along with others) that live in a city, notably if you are especially in or around New York City, the city that never sleeps. What brings me back to this? Well, not exactly the link that I provided that actually shows (at the time of course) a live-time recording of midtown Manhattan and its eerie sound, which is paradoxically a "sound" of a hovering-like quiescent stillness of keen silence (but a silent ambiance that was somewhat peculiarly enchanting) . Or rather, as the title alludes to, a sound that was "naught". At the time, it became so normal if you will (especially around 40 days since the lockdown went into effect), that it became a coincidentia oppositorum of sorts. One might ask, where is such a "unity of opposites" in effect whereby this was simply a "change" in the dynamics of your "said" environment? To start, the Newark (NJ) area is nothing BUT a concoction of familiar and somewhat pleasing noise as I sit in my half-airconditioned room, from the constant sound of public transportation busses passing by and their intrinsic slight familiar screeching stop, the talk of those a few floors down walking the streets, the constant sound(s) of cars flowing by, the sound of the famous pathway train into NYC in the faint distance (though it stops at Jersey City first), those at the corners (as inappropriate as it may sound) calling out that they got "x, y, and z" near Broad and Market Street, so forth and so on, to "almost" nothing! It was like something straight out of the novel Brave New World and other such pally stories of the sort. To me and many others around our surrounding areas, this was a moment in history that stood out, one that I can not recall in similarity since Tuesday, September 11th. 2001. Because the unity of these non-coherent opposites is in the simple fact that the innate aspect of a pandemic lockdown of a such magnitude as we had is quite obviously "silence" if you will, which is the opposite of what is immersed in a city of almost 300,000 (and that is of course not including the amount of citizens in neighboring metro-areas both east, north, and south of my location), nevertheless, they formed one coherent form of a dialectical force. Because it soon became a "norm" and it happened at quite an expedient rate in the larger scheme of things. Nothing was more "quiet" and "surreal" then the tragic events of 9/11, as it did not take some time for a similar situation to occur, as the event was so dynamic that everything I am speaking of happened at once, but and more importantly, day by day the city quickly gained back its ingrained normative environment. But the reason I arbitrarily picked the date of 5/1/2020, rather then use the date of the article, is because it was in early May where this began to slowly engulf me and took me back to one quite sunny day around noon (maybe a tad later), where all of this, "all of this" being that of what I speak of, struck me finally as something transformative (but far less than cathartic to say the least). I hope you enjoyed my little tidbit of what kind of impact COVID had on me (be it a self-like precept, photograph, video, etc...), particular using my experience in a sensory course of description. Sure, there was obviously other aspects that came into play with COVID-19 that eventually impacted us, but most of them were later on as the days moved by, while rather this experience was the first and the one that will stick with me anytime I think back to the pandemic. And the beauty of it, or rather lack thereof, all happened while simply sitting near my bed (hence against the window) while putting on my prosthetic legs. Cheers to you all! -
2020-03
Bells Continued to Ring
When the pandemic began, I was finishing up my last few months of student teaching. My mornings included talking to students about their day and weekend plans they had; however, once the pandemic started that changed drastically. The students were gone and the silence began. Highschools are customarily, a loud and busy environment; yet, overnight the students were gone and there was nothing at school but silence. The halls were empty, my classroom was empty, the whole school was empty apart from a small group of staff. For the rest of the year, I would go to school and sit in my classroom alone in almost complete silence. No face to face interaction with students or even other staff. As a teacher, this was taxing on my mental health. From one day to the next my entire occupation had been flipped upside down. I never saw my students again. I still wonder what became of them. The one thing that sticks in my mind from that period is the sound of dismissal bells at school. For some reason the bells continued to ring even though there were no students. Everyday when that first hour bell would ring I would remember that no students were coming. This was a reminder everyday that the world had changed. I recorded the sound of dismissal bells at my highschool. Two years after the pandemic started, this sound still reminds me of teaching during the pandemic. -
2020-03-19
Silent Hospital – Giving Birth in Quarantine
The Covid-19 quarantine started on March 16th, 2020. I gave birth to my daughter four days later. Thankfully my labor was very quick and there were no complications. By 8:44 a.m. on the 19th, my daughter was in my arms. After the commotion of the nurses and doctors coming to check on my daughter and myself, there was just silence. Newborns, as a quickly discovered, slept a lot. There were long stretches of silence for the two days we were in the hospital. I would look at my husband and say, “It is eerily quiet in here.” I was only one of three mothers giving birth in my area of the hospital, there were no visitors, and we were told to stay in our rooms unless we absolutely needed to walk around. My husband would order food and have to wait at the front of the hospital for them to drop it off. Every time he left and came back, he talked about how he had barely seen anyone, and that it was completely silent in the hospital. When it was time for us to finally leave, walking out of the hospital was also silent. There were no phones ringing, no nurse pagers, no talking between nurses, nothing. The only sounds were my flip flops squeaking off of the floors. When we finally made it outside, the birds were chirping and I remembering thinking, ‘thank goodness for some background noise!’ -
2020-12-08
Teaching Middle and High School Virtually in the Pandemic
I taught both middle and high school during the pandemic, which required virtual learning. I lived with a roommate and both of us couldn’t teach at the same time in the same room, so I taught exclusively from the floor of my walk-in closet. I sat on the floor of that 5’x3’ closet every work day for 9 months. The carpet was scratchy and my legs would often fall asleep from sitting in one place too long. I often woke up just before class started at 7:30AM and was groggy. Many of us ate breakfast during first period. The thing that bothered me most however was the silence. The only sound of class was me, talking. My lecture, my out loud readings for accommodated students, and my replies to students typing in the chat were the only things I heard for 5-6 hours of the day. There were none of the usually noises I associate with my job: idle chatter from every corner of the room, tapping of pencils, the pencil sharpener, a student blowing their nose, clicking of pens, hoody zippers, crinkling paper, students moving around in their chairs, chip bags opening, metal water bottles falling on the floor and a student yelling “foul” afterwards, occasional shouting, crying, and groaning. Students very rarely, if ever, turned on their cameras or mics to talk to me. I surely was isolated more than the average remote worker; yes, I talked all day, but it felt like it was talking to no one. I don’t have much tangible evidence to show from the pandemic. Frankly, I didn’t do anything noteworthy of documenting. The three pictures attached are from the beginning of the pandemic, around December 2020. Google Meets hadn’t quite caught up to some of their pitfalls technologically and teachers had to “kick out” each student manually, and when 7-10 of your students are AWOL, it can get tedious. I started to make up dumb games and sing songs to entertain myself, please enjoy my new line to the Oompa Loompa song. You can see that all the students are just icons—no faces, no voices. For reference, I have attached two videos of the end of the school year from before the pandemic. You can hear how loud the classroom is with all the students talking to each other, or playing games and dancing to music. After seeing these small clips, you can understand just how soul-destroying it was to teach to a bunch of digital circles who made no noise. -
2020-04-01
Worst April Fool’s Day
My employer ended every person's contract in a zoom call, somewhere around 100 of us. We were all students. The ending of our contracts meant we all lost our housing since we worked for a university (this was before I was attending ASU). We were given until Sunday to have all of our belongings moved out and our keys returned, or we could pay the multiple thousands of dollars that on-campus housing would cost. Hardly any of us could afford that, some of my friends suddenly had to grapple with the idea that they would be in debt, broke, or homeless in a matter of four days. I was one of the lucky ones as I had a place to go. 1 sleepless night. 4 days. 4 trips back and forth. 11 ½ hours driving in silence. $20 spent on one final dinner with my friends and coworkers. $25 spent on moving supplies. $52 spent on gas. 506 miles. 11 ½ hours driving in silence. I drove in silence, I couldn’t handle trying to listen to anything. I couldn’t allow myself to hear a sad song and get caught up in it, or worse hear something happy and get upset that I wasn’t feeling that way. The sound of my tires on the poorly maintained interstate for what felt like truly endless hours is something I will never forget and is something that will never leave me. Rattling over pot holes, turn signals, avoiding other drivers, sitting in traffic, the sound of my new tires being worn in very quickly. This story is not unique. Countless people lost their jobs, lost their homes, lost their livelihoods during the initial shutdown. I was simply one of so many, but I was privileged enough to have a place to land. The sound of driving, the action of having to move, and the feeling of sadness, frustration, or loss due to a sudden change in life is something that I think is relatable for a lot of people during the pandemic. Audio description: Recording of the sound of my car taking the last exit off the highway into my town -
2020-03-19
Pandemic Smells and Silence
When the pandemic became widespread enough for schools to start shutting down, it seems that’s when life really changed. I remember - it was March 2020 - and my school district had just gone on spring break. It was still uncertain whether teachers and students would be returning to their classroom after break’s end. We were asked to come into our classrooms to gather any teaching supplies we might be able to use to teach virtually in the event that we would be told to remain at home. When I arrived at school, it was so quiet. There were a few cars parked in the parking lot, but no people to be seen. The usual student chatter, catching fragments of conversation as they walked by, the bustle of cars parking was gone. As I entered my building, a wave of chemically cleaned and sanitized air blasted my nostrils. The smells of bleach and whatever other industrial cleaners schools use wafted through the halls. They had recently been cleaned - I had never seen them so pristine. A few custodian cleaning carts were scattered nearby, but still no one to be seen. Every footfall seemed louder against the backdrop of silence. The deserted hallway and the chemical smell assaulting my olfactory system had turned my second home into something sterile and unwelcoming. Entering my classroom, I noticed it, too, had been sanitized with heavy chemicals and a jug of hand sanitizer had unceremoniously been plopped on my desk. I surveyed my classroom, nostrils burning from the bleach again, grabbed what I needed and went home. It would be the last time I would see my classroom for a long time. The memory of that shining, white hallway and the burning air of “purification” has stayed with me. -
2020-03-15
Sounds of Silience
My story is about the absence of sound during the pandemic. -
2020-03-16
From Unheard of to Unheard
This excerpt outlines how the start of the pandemic affected the noise level of an undergraduate college campus. -
2021-07-02T12:30:00
The Life of a University Campus During the Pandemic
How quiet can a campus of normally 21,000 students get? I will let you in, you can hear a pin drop. When the pandemic began, the school shut down the school Union. On top of that, I was placed on furlough from my job from March until August last year because my job is located in that Union! When I was able to come back to campus, masks and hand sanitizer were required (still are) and the other thing that was noticed was...the silence. Normally, the Union has about 1,000-2,000 students and staff in it at a time, but due to the pandemic, it was completely dead inside. Not only that, the hours that we were open cut in half until some of our workers were let go based on the amount of time that they had spent in their position. In the midst of the pandemic, it would become extremely eerie because there would be times we would not see a single customer for over an hour when normally, it would be steady (and during peak hours extremely busy). Due to the pandemic, our manager left the business and that left me and another co-worker (now the manager) in charge of a store that normally has 8 eight employees. Normally during this time of year, even though it is summer, the Union is completely full due to Freshman Orientation, camps, and campus tours. Currently, as my photo suggests, the Union is a ghost yard....there are no students during the lunch hours, no restaurants open other than the convenience store, and no staff walking around. Ever since last March, this is not only how the Union has been, but also the campus itself. I chose to take a picture of the Student Union Courtyard because this is normally where events are held during open hours in the Union. This is not to show that there are no individuals in the building, what I specifically want to bring attention to is because of no people in the building, it is completely silent 95% of the time. In addition, this is where the Freshman Orientation stations would be where they go to get information about classes and other events on campus. It is very weird to have no one in the building when two years ago they had roughly 2,000 people in the building during the lunch hour period when I worked for Follett's convenience store. It would be extremely loud, at all times and the shifts would go by quickly. Now...there is nothing but silence about 95% of the time on a public campus of 21,000 students! -
2020-09-30
The Sounds of What is Lost
This story speaks to the ever-changing sounds of the pandemic. Sensory history allows us to engage with the past in ways the invite the senses of the past back into the story. As my partner and I were navigating all the trials and tribulations conjured into existence by the events of the past year and a half, we noticed how silent our home full of sadness and confusion had been. Gone were the overhead aerial shows, the chatty neighbors, the rattling railway tracks... Now there was nothing. Our sense of sound changed dramatically and began to represent how fractured our connection to the world was. We had to be plugged in to tune each other out. We had to stare at a screen to see a familiar face. While most things felt, looked, and smelled different, there was nothing that sounded the same. -
2021-04-25
Julia Jensen Portfolio
Going into this internship, I really didn’t know what to expect. Throughout undergrad, I worked full time jobs and did not have the time to take on any internships or research positions, so this was my first experience with it. I also was studying anthropology and was uncertain what path I wanted to take, making it hard to find internships that felt applicable to my future. Once I decided to study history with a goal of pursuing a public history career, this internship seemed like an incredible opportunity to learn more about the field and get a feel for what a possible future career could be. Thanks to the Public History Methodology course taught by Dr. Mark Tebeau, I did have a decent amount of knowledge of what public history consisted of, which made it clearer to me what I wanted to pursue and gave me an understanding on which I could build throughout this internship. Working with JOTPY provided hands-on experience in which I could apply this knowledge and learn the applicable skills necessary to practice public history. These skills included managing metadata, conducting and transcribing oral histories, marketing new collections, prioritizing the safety and privacy of contributors, learning to work with a team remotely, and acknowledging and confronting the silences present in the archive. As I continue to volunteer with JOTPY past the end of my internship, I hope to strengthen these skills, growing more comfortable with curating so that I may carry that with me once I move on from this archive. Given that this was my first experience like this, much of the work I did was initially out of my comfort zone. The scope of this archive was a bit intimidating, and I did not initially understand how important and impactful JOTPY is and will continue to be, even past the pandemic. As the weeks went on, I grew more comfortable curating, as well as interacting with the team over Slack and Zoom, which I hadn’t utilized very much before this internship. I was also unfamiliar with marketing something like a collection, so having the opportunity to do so pushed me past my comfort zone and taught me how to better write for a public audience in a way that is both succinct and engaging. I learned that I really enjoy this type of work, particularly when it came to creating a collection, as it gave me the opportunity to address a silence and advocate for an underappreciated group of people while pulling from personal experience and situations that I have observed. My goal in life is to help people, and this was a great opportunity to help in a more subtle, behind-the-scenes sort of way. Since I had already hoped to pursue a career in the field of public history, specifically working with museums, this internship did not necessarily change my approach; however, it did strengthen my desire to work in this field, and taught me the necessary skills to feel confident that this is the right path for me. -
2020-06-01
High School Students Reflect on JOTPY Archive
In May 2020, my high school students reflected on the JOTPY archive, noting the submissions that most resonated with them and the least. Some also addressed what they saw as silences in the archive. I put their responses in a document for myself to help guide me as I helped build the JOTPY teaching site. However, a year after beginning to work on the project, I find their responses very insightful, particularly their recognition that the racial prejudice facing the Black and AAPI communities needs to be better highlighted. -
2021-02-02
Silences in Archives, Some Hopeful Musings
Gaps seem to be just about the only commonality among all public, digital, and academic history projects. One project simply cannot look at everything, nor should it. But this does not mean that each of these gaps should be considered silences. Silences in the archives are more specific. And they are typically the result of silences in the historical archives, left by those collecting the material or creating the documents. Silences can also appear naturally, for example, those who are either unaware of the Journal of the Plague Year, do not have the technical knowledge or infrastructure to access to it, are unaware that they are encouraged to participate, or who do not believe that the COVID19 pandemic is "real." In the present, they represent people who cannot or will not enter their stories into the archives. When large numbers of people in those groups do not contribute, that creates silences for the historians and humanists who will use the archive in the future to attempt to make arguments about 2020, and seemingly, 2021. The archive structure does not exclude these voices by design, but the tangible and intangible realities of the world that it is born into and built in does. And they are hard to account for, even in the most thoughtfully constructed projects and archives. Attempting to correct these silences by making entries on behalf of those perceived as "the silenced" does not always close the gap and sometimes actually silences them in favor of another's narrative. One exception might be that a tech-novice writes a story on paper, and a family member posts a photo of the paper with a verbatim transcription to the archive, listing the original author as its creator. Or assists with an audio recording as a piece of oral history and shares it. But to write stories about another, as another, seems disingenuous to the spirit of the project. Hopefully, if in 50 years the JOTPY is still a two-way street where material can be discovered as well as entered, historians, genealogists, and other humanists will scan, add, and upload the digital and analog records and accounts they find in their work, so that in 100 years historians have fewer silences to contend with. This future, of course, is reliant on sustainability, usually grounded in funding for digital projects and reliant on humanists interested in running it. Many digital public history projects are defunct online due to lack of sustainability and compatibility, and those recorded voices become lost, silencing and re-silencing them over again. -
2021-01-28
Silences
I’d like to talk about potential “silences” in the Journal of the Plague Year. Although the journal is shaping up to be a fantastic archive that future historians will surely make use of, it is not a perfect representation of life during the pandemic. In my view, the journal has certain assumptions built into it that tend to produce certain silences. The journal likely encourages contributions that show change rather than continuity. We tend to focus on what is different -- online school, perhaps not participating in large gatherings during the holidays, etc. -- rather than what is basically the same, and there is a lot about our pandemic world that is strikingly similar to the pre-pandemic world. For example, capitalism, and consumer capitalism in particular, has largely continued in its pre-pandemic mode with a few minor tweaks (masks, for example). Stores like Target, Wal-Mart, and Costco have not only been open but have been open for indoor shopping throughout the entire pandemic. Also, people have a tendency to believe that they are spending more time at home and online. While this may be true for some, the fact is that American life had been trending this way for a long time, with more and more people spending more time isolated at home and engaging in less face-to-face social interactions, being less involved in community groups and associations, etc. Lastly, in order to make a contribution to the journal, one needs to have access to the internet; of course, there is a percentage of the American public that lacks internet access and likely an even larger percentage of people worldwide that lack access to the internet. -
2021-01-28
Invisible Enemy
Living during the time of a pandemic has inevitably changed my own surroundings, but what I find most striking is the fact that many of these changes are almost invisible to me, considering I stay home as much as possible. Sure, I hear the fire engines and ambulances working around the clock every day, their sirens blaring, but since I am inside, I never see them. Even more concerning is the fact that people in my area have almost certainly been infected, but again, I have never seen any. Similarly, chances are if you have not caught COVID yet, all the knowledge you have about how to combat it does not com from ones own personal experience, but from instruction from a third party. As a result, I feel like I both have some sort of an idea of whats going on around me and how to deal with it, and also no idea. For me the silence that I hear is just as alarming, if not more so, than the sound of an ambulance tearing down the street. -
2021-01-14
The Silencing of Industry
The sensory experience that overwhelmed me the most as the United States, and the world, came to an abrupt halt when it was realized that we were in a pandemic virus outbreak was an aural experience—it was the overwhelming silence that came with the world stopping. I live in a heavy industrial town on the Pacific coast Of Washington. While I live about fifty miles from the cities and one hundred miles from Seattle the economy of this area is based around heavy industry and there is constant noise that comes with this. There is a port a mile from my house that is said to be the busiest deep-water port on the northwest coast. At this port soybeans, wheat, oil and lumber are shipped out and German cars built in Mexico are brought in, among other commodities. In my neighborhood there are four train tracks. The closest one is about five hundred feet from my house, the next three are another three hundred feet further. Those train tracks bring goods into the port like soybeans and wheat from the farm fields west of the Cascade mountains and fuel and oil for the ships and for the operations at the port. The train tracks also ship out the cars that come in from Mexico to car dealerships throughout the Northwest. Across from the four train tracks there are lumber mills. The lumber mills load up chip trucks (trucks that carry sawdust from the sawmills to paper mills) and the chip trucks roll in and out of town on a constant basis. The log trucks also roll through town on a constant basis and the log truck drivers as well as chip truck drivers live in the area and park their trucks at their houses. All of this leads to a very noisy area for such a small population. This has never bothered me as the only thing that I really miss about living in cities is the noise. This is the reason why the first thing I noticed as the Covid-19 shut down occurred was how much silence there was. No longer were there log trucks and chip trucks rolling through town. No longer was the rumbling and squelch of the train heard in the early morning and the late afternoon throughout the town. No longer were the airhorns and warning sirens heard from the port. It was just pure silence. -
2020
Places of Silence
Places of Silence Artists’ Statement The cataclysmic situation caused by the Covid-19 has created a new reality for people. Society faces disastrous effects of unprecedent pandemic: losses of the human lives, loneliness, luck of personal interaction, anxiety, feeling hopeless. Visiting our favorite places, we were struck by the scarce silence of the streets, abandoned buildings, gardens. We saw the familiar places from entirely different perspective - they were silent. Spacious grounds, the ocean coast, paths in the sand were without the usual addition - a man. Our ongoing project “Places of Silence” reflects our personal experience in this new reality. Another aspect of the project is depicting the sublime beauty of landscapes surrounding us. We feel that looking at nature brings a balance and hope, as well as leads to the self-reflection, understanding oneself, and one's responsibility to other people. The project consists of ten large scale mixed media paintings on canvases and more then eighty works on paper. We have chosen paper as the integral material for the series. The origin of paper is directly related to nature. Its texture and brittleness reflect the amazing vitality and fragility of the nature. We applied black acrylic paint on the traditional oriental rice paper creating the palette of different hues and then attached small pieces of paper to the canvas the same way as if we would be using paint. Dense layers, lumps of liquid mass soaked in water, monochrome colors, an endless gradation from black to white allow us to create rich Earth like surface for our landscape works. -
2020-12-08
Final Paper for H396
For the past five months, I have interned with A Journal of the Plague Year to help curate submissions from the year 2020. I have learned a lot about the collecting process and am excited to have been a part of such a great project! -
2020-03-13
Lackluster ambience
I have been a fan of professional wrestling for years. It is a bit like watching a soap opera with elite athletes doing the occasional insane acrobatic stunt. While it may not technically be a sport, it can be very entertaining. Part of that entertainment is a raucous crowd cheering for their favorite wrestler or booing the antagonist. It is also when someone pulls off an Olympic level move and the crowd explodes. Now, there is no crowd. Due to COVID-19 the wrestlers no longer play to a live audience. To bring back some of the ambience missing from their absence, WWE (and some other forms of live entertainment) have instituted workarounds like digital fans on screens and fake crowd noise. Before that though, there was nothing. Just a complete absence of fans. Their silence was deafening and the events awkward. This is a recording of one such event, Smackdown, March 13, 2020. Two wrestlers, a referee, and three announcers all performing a play to no audience. There is a marked difference. WWE announcers are known for being loquacious, but in this their banter has an almost desperate edge to cover up the missing element of the fans. And not just the announcers. The referee and the wrestlers seem to be talking both more and louder. Even with all that there is still a very noticeable missing element of ambience. It is interesting to me how much they have to try to cover up the sound of silence. -
2020-03-16
Silence at School, March 2020
This is a true anecdote about my experience as teacher during the pandemic, and the sensory experience by which I recall these events. I am a teacher at a middle school in Winston-Salem, North Carolina. In winter of 2019, I was aware of the coronavirus, which was something my students often joked about. For instance, if a child was out sick one day, the students would say the he or she had coronavirus, and everyone would laugh about it. It was funny to them at this time, because the virus was something that was mostly contained to places outside of the United States, and everyone thought it was preposterous that there was so much speculation about it on the news. My students engaged in speculation as well, and many of them concluded that it was actually a big cover-up for a zombie plague, and they would try to determine if I or their peers were also zombies in disguise. I recall hearing them laugh about it in the class, and I especially recall the return of one of our students to class after she had been out from the flu. I remember them asking her if she was a zombie, or if she had eaten bats before she got sick (remember, these are middle-school kids). Winter passed pretty much as usual, and cases began to occur in the US early in 2020. It was still seen as no big deal, generally. In March, we started to hear news stories about the virus in Winston-Salem. Some people claimed to know people who knew people who were related to someone with the disease in Greensboro. More and more cases began to appear, but it still seemed like something distant to us. Gradually, the sickness moved from Greensboro to Winston-Salem. I caught a cold in March, and by the end of the day on a Wednesday, I was feeling pretty bad. I told my many bosses that I would be out of work on Thursday, and on Thursday evening, I called out again. The first day that I was out sick, the school district had decided to close down the schools until further notice, starting the next day. I never got the chance to tell my kids goodbye, which was very painful, as we were all close and we had such a good experience in my class. Today, in October of 2020, I still haven’t seen any of them, as my school district is currently closed for in-person school. I wish very badly that I had the opportunity to say goodbye to them. Those are the events as they occurred chronologically. I will now recall the sounds that constitute my memory of the time. To begin with, my school is loud—our students are beyond unruly. I can recall the sounds of the end of a regular school day: raucous laughter, shouting, cursing, threats, insults, loud rap music, and the sound of me flipping the switch to cut off the overhead lights as we prepared to exit the classroom and make our way to the school buses. Then comes the sound of the announcements overhead, which no one can hear over the students, then the prolonged loud and dull tone of the "bell" which signals the beginning of the stampede to the buses. A chorus of shouts raises immediately—a proclamation of victory and freedom. It is exuberant. What follows is hundreds of footsteps on linoleum tiles, backpacks shuffling as kids adjust them on their backs, more yelling, screaming, and swearing, the sounds of an occasional "runner," who knocks the other students down to get to the buses, a teacher shrilly, piercingly yelling at him to go back and "try again", and reminding him that "you will not go up these stairs unless you can walk up them!," a muttered "f---you, b----," from a male voice that is just about to begin deepening as he turns around to try again, and so on until we get to the buses, load those kids up, and ship them out. Going to my car every day after work is over, my ears ring as I sit in the silence of my car with the doors shut before starting the engine and making my way home. I often sit for just a minute or two and enjoy the silence before departing, but the ringing in my ears gets uncomfortably loud, and I finally turn the car on and leave. When I go back to school on the Monday following my sick leave, the difference is remarkable. The school district has instructed us to come in safely, get whatever we need from our classroom that we require to work at home, and leave as soon as possible. Teachers are strictly instructed to only walk directly to and from their classrooms to their vehicles, not to visit with their friends, etc. Everyone is in their classroom, working quietly. The only sounds I hear as I walk down the halls to my room are the hum of overhead fluorescent lighting and my heels striking the linoleum tiles, echoing off the walls and rows of lockers. I hear my key turn in the lock of my classroom door, the flick of the switch to on, more humming fluorescent lights. Shuffling papers and sliding metal desk drawers and file cabinets come next. With a handful of papers in my arms (I travel light), I cut off the lights—the humming stops—and my heels strike the linoleum tiles until I open the exit door, walk across the parking lot, and leave. This time, the silence of my car is nothing extraordinary. Gone are the shouts, the yelled jokes, the subsequent laughter, the retaliatory swearing. Also gone are the kids coming up to me to just say "hey," do one of the complex handshake rituals we have worked out, and to ask me if they can have a dollar for a cookie in the cafeteria, which is a request that I have obliged so often that I will count it as a charitable donation on this year's tax return. On that last day in the school building, there was no sound of a kid coming up to me to tell me how well he did in last night's basketball game, and how poorly his best friend did by comparison, or a girl walking up to tell me that an unpopular teacher has once again worn ugly clothes to work, and that her shoes don't match either—middle school students pay a lot of attention to these things. Put simply, those are all happy sounds. They are the sounds of kids doing what kids do in 2020, saying the things that they say, and teachers managing the best they can. The sound of kids coming up to me to talk are the sounds of acceptance—acceptance of a teacher into their lives, who is usually the categorical enemy of the student. I'm glad to be an exception. These are the pre-Covid sounds. What follows conveys emptiness. The sound of echoing footsteps rebounding from the walls demonstrates how vacant the hallways are. The fact that I can hear the overhead lights hum is amazing in its novelty. The chatter of students is all gone, the desks, empty. For a teacher who loves his students, the sounds that follow the March arrival of the pandemic are the sounds of loneliness. -
2020-10-15
Surviving the Apocalypse
I live in nice town in the Eastbay about twenty miles from San Francisco. Its population is around 70,000 and its downtown is home to dozens of restaurants and high-end retail stores. On the afternoon of March 16th of this year Governor Gavin Newsom ordered all non-essential businesses shutdown and locked down. The next morning I took a walk downtown only to find that the normally busy streets were deserted. It felt like I was one of the last people on earth. The normal sounds were all but gone and it sort of felt like an episode from the Walking Dead. For the next couple weeks and eventually months I walked downtown every day and sat on a bench reading a book. The business that I used to work at was deemed non-essential, so I was initially furloughed. Over time people gradually began venturing out and some of the familiar sounds returned such as people talking and the noise of traffic. Two months into the pandemic almost all of the businesses in my town were still closed. On my daily walk one afternoon I noticed something odd. As I looked up from my book, I noticed a large convoy made up of dozens of vehicles racing into the retail shopping district. Once there the drivers parked their cars and people began pouring out. Within a few minutes there were a couple hundred people breaking into and looting the closed retail stores. The towns relatively small police force was caught by surprise and within a half an hour almost every high-end retail store in town was cleaned out. There was no protest involved it was simply a coordinated raid. The next day on my walk downtown I noticed that every business in town had been boarded up and all the people were gone again. A little later in the pandemic the California wildfires began. I continued my walks with the constant smell of smoke in the air. On many days the sun was completely blocked out by smoke. The massive fires created a weird atmospheric condition. The smoke hovered at about 5,000-10,000 feet and it was as dark as night on some days but there was relatively little smoke at ground level. Now about seven months after the lockdowns began things are returning to normal and I still walk downtown every day. -
2020-07-18
A Trip to a Silent Hospital
On July 18th 2020 in the late afternoon, I started experiencing some concerning not Covid-related symptoms and I made the decision to go to the Emergency Room. I’ve had chronic health issues all my life, so this wasn’t an unfamiliar experience. However, I’d been isolating since March and I was terrified of having to potentially go into a situation that was unknown in the middle of the pandemic. The things I remember most about the visit are how utterly desolate the places in the hospital felt, and how silent it was. I’m used to packed waiting rooms and constant noise. This visit was very different. After a brief screening in a large, mostly empty lobby with large barriers and protective measures in place, they assessed that I was not a potential COVID patient and sent me to a waiting room that I was alone in for most of my visit. There was no real chatter, mostly just silence, broken by the TV. The silence continued even back into the ER, where it seemed that the staff was spread thin. The most notable sounds were occasional low conversations and the sounds of medical equipment being moved around and the beeps and pulses. Even when evaluating me, while warm, the conversations sounded more terse and to the point. Everything moved more quickly. In some ways, it felt like being in an abandoned building. Everything was dark, silent, and empty in the areas where I was. -
2020-03-19T09:06-05:00
When the Airport Becomes a Library
In the middle of March in 2020, flight prices dropped dramatically. I took advantage out of this circumstance by purchasing a $75 non-stop round trip ticket on United from Phoenix to Chicago. My flight to Chicago on Monday, March 16 was somewhat full, and O'Hare Airport in Chicago was less crowded than usual. However, the Coronavirus situation quickly worsened each day. I returned to the airport on Thursday, March 19 for a 10:00 AM flight to go back to Phoenix. O'hare, normally packed with people during this aviation morning rush hour, was almost like a ghost town. It had only taken a couple of days to make the big drop in passanger traffic. It was earily quiet. The colorful walkway to the satellite concourse in Terminal 1 had just a few people, making it quite easy to hear Gershwin's "Rhapsody in Blue." When I got to the satellite concourse, it felt like a library. You could walk on the concourse with barely anyone around surrounded by little to no noise. It was if you owned the place. I went to Starbucks, a favorite among travelers in the morning, where there was no line. The workers enjoyed conversating among themselves. Walking past each of the gates, I could hear near silence as most were empty or near empty, with very few gate agents working in the terminal. As someone who had taken flights out of this airport since I was little, this felt very bizzare. I knew this was historic and I took a couple of photographs along the way. One of the things I've realized about the history of the pandemic, and major historical events in general, is that it isn't necessarily about what's added, but what is removed. The sensory details do not necessarily involve jolts to your senses, but perhaps the opposite. Like Lower Manhatten after the collapse of the World Trade Center, sometimes what you may sense during major historical events is near silence. No one on my flight that day needed to point out the sheer gravity of the situation; the silence spoke a thousand words. -
2020-04
The Silence of Moab
Moab Utah is a lively tourist town normally filled with visitors from around the world. However, the COVID-19 pandemic has made it a ghost town. -
2020-10-05
Why Prisoners Aren’t Reporting Feeling Sick
Prisons and jails were not planned or constructed with thoughts of weathering a pandemic, not was the system of incarceration. For these reasons, and our cultures current view of incarcerated people as less than human, many are suffering in silence. This article explains why incarcerated people are choosing not to tell anyone if they experience symptoms that might be from COVID-19. -
2020-03-17
The Big Flee
Early in the morning on March 17, my roommates and I fled San Francisco. It felt extremely weird leaving my life behind, but we would return to normal soon (or so I thought). As we piled our belongings into the back of a friend's car I looked around to see nobody. Not even an early morning jogger or any sign of life for that matter. In the airport we got through security in five minutes and saw around two others our whole time there. It was as if time had stood still in the city. At the time I was extremely scared, as what evils could cause a city-wide shutdown? How dangerous was CO-19 if all colleges had moved to online learning and forced every student out of the dorms? Little was known about the effects of CO-19 in March, and as I write this on August 23, 2020 more is yet to be discovered before we can safely reopen as a country. I chose to include this photo with my story as it was taken on March 16, 2020, the night before San Francisco's mandatory shutdown. It was eerie how silent the once bustling streets of downtown were. I had never witnessed something like this in my life. -
2020-05-22
Can You Gather With God Over Zoom?
This article describes how several Quaker meetings (including the one my family attends), which involve mostly silent, communal contemplation, have altered their practices for social distancing. -
2020-06-02
#BlackOutTuesday on The Daily Smile
I've been listening to a lot of podcasts, so much so that I've ventured beyond my normal genres and entered into new ones. Podcasts help me pass the time, and provide a mental escape from a daily routine that has become so monotonous. Given COVID-19, one recent podcast I subscribed to is the Daily Smile hosted by Nikki Boyer. Today, there was no episode. Instead, Nikki explained that owing to the recent police murder of George Floyd and the protests across the U.S., there would be no new content. The Daily Smile, and its company Wondery refrained from uploading any new content today. -
2020-05-13
The Sounds of a Health Pandemic
Music Professor examines the media's use of sound and music to portray the health pandemic -
05/01/2020
A Deserted High School
Parking stalls sit empty on a school day as the threat of COVID-19's rapid spread silences what would have been a busy time of year, not only for Maize High School, but for all secondary schools across the country. -
2020-04-24
#26: Silenced
The title of this image specifically refers to the mask-ridden culture we are currently liviing in to contain the virus. It also refers to the 'silencing' of one's human/personal interactions, one's voice; one's community. In this isolation, the individual's pain and suffering become evident - not just for live's lost, people sickened, but loss of the 'normal'. www.niloumakes.com @niloumooch -
2020-04-18
Trouble
The silence of the streets is only broken by the scream of the lightening these days