Linnetontheleaf

I reached a milestone yesterday — the last wires were finally removed from my mouth, 19 weeks after they were installed at the end of January. After he clipped the wires immobilizing my jaw in mid-March, the surgeon left the so-called ‘ivy loops’ in place, in case the fracture didn’t heal and needed to be re-wired. Then came the pandemic and the wholesale closure of all such practices (for anything except extreme emergencies), and it was another three months before they office re-opened and the loops could be removed.

Of course, I’d grown pretty accustomed to them by then, but they were always uncomfortable and obtrusive: it wasn’t possible to eat without being aware of them, and brushing teeth was a lot harder. So needless to say, I’m greatly relieved to be rid of them!

In a thoughtful though weird gesture, the surgeon offered to provide sedation for the procedure at no extra charge. ‘You’ve been through enough,’ he said, acknowledging my long wait for the wires to be removed. Apparently this is not a gentle, delicate process! Even sedated, 10 novocain shots are necessary, I suppose because the sedation is pretty light so they need local anesthetic too, to keep from awakening you. Indeed, my whole jaw is tender today from what must have been a rather aggressive procedure. But I was lucky enough to snooze through it in peace and comfort! Now I must get several broken teeth fixed, once my usual dentist re-opens for business; then I can truly put my accident behind me.

If 2020 had included only my fractured jaw, I’d probably still remember this year forever. But my traumatic personal event was soon utterly eclipsed — first by the pandemic and months of lockdown, and then by the social unrest following the police killing of George Floyd. 2020 has been a tumultuous, eventful, exhausting year for everyone. May none of us ever need to endure its like again.

Not that my psychological landscape matters in the least, but I feel better since I last wrote, because the tone of this outcry now seems different from others I’ve lived through. After many flirtations with social/racial change efforts which inevitably fizzle out, maybe we are all (especially us allies) finally irrevocably committed to the difficult, sacrificial path necessary to effect meaningful change. I’m reminded of the long-term, dedicated Occupy Wall Street and 2011 Madrid Indignados movements, but believe today’s warriors possess the mobilizing skills and vision to make dreams reality. I also see much deeper commitment from us allies. I pray so, and I am ready to follow and to work. How can I help? I’ll vote, of course. I can also march, address envelopes, make calls, donate and fund-raise. I’ll also be glad to renounce my advantaged tax exemptions and entitlements to channel my dollars to initiatives I actually support (rather than the military-industrial complex). All of this will be my PRIVILEGE.

When I left the office for the last time on March 13, we envisioned being home for two weeks. Ha! How quickly everything changed, at least for those of us in the densely populated, heavily Covid-impacted northeast. And now, just as it seemed the virus was declining from its peak, we confront something equally distressing — serious social unrest after the police killing of George Floyd in Minneapolis (and countless prior acts of lethal brutality). I was heartened by the cooperative, community-spirited response we saw in the early days of the pandemic, but now our society seems to be unraveling.

It is almost shamefully privileged to sit here with my beloved family in a comfortable suburban home, insulated from the strife on our urban streets. And it is from a position of privilege, too, that I apologetically observe how protesting isn’t safe just now, with the public, police and possible outside agitators confronting one another, everybody with passions flaring, and a potentially deadly virus lurking about. It is also from a position of privilege that I can sit back and philosophically wonder how it advances the cause for me to join the protests to be gassed, injured or catch coronavirus. It wasn’t safe for Martin Luther King either, but he kept marching.

Few possess such courage, and I am not among those better angels. But I need to stop doing nothing. So I’ll salve my conscience with donations to social justice organizations, and by speaking out against intolerance and abuse of power, here and everywhere. It is too little, but if we all do it, we can remake the world.