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• 1 2020-03-26T14:40:24+00:00 Henry Hicks 11 plain 2020-05-02T04:35:07+00:00 May 1, 2020:

  As I drove through my neighborhood today on the way to collect groceries at my local Publix, I passed by a park, filled to the brim with young people and families. They collided against each other as they tossed the frisbee, peeked over each other’s shoulders while waiting in line at a parked food truck, cruised past each other on their way to their cars in the parking lot. I saw very few masks. 
  
  Once I arrived at the store, I did my best to abide by the stickers on the floor, directing traffic to ensure proper social distancing and observed the markings suggesting six-feet distances while waiting in line. I arrived at the deli counter to collect sandwiches for my family, and though we could not see each other’s full faces, covered mostly by our masks, we maintained eye contact as a group of six or seven people around my age, none with any form of PPE, huddled behind me a little too close for comfort to look at the deli offerings, eventually trodding away to another aisle. Once they left, and as the woman working behind the counter handed me the sandwiches—both of our hands covered by gloves—she mumbled to me, “God, I hate seeing that. They don’t care about anyone other than themselves.”
  
  I’ve found that as my home state of Tennessee continues in the process of opening prematurely, I’m becoming more and more complicit in the surveillance of those around me. When leaving the house, I’m more watchful of those I may encounter. I’m silently monitoring how often family members leave the house. When checking social media, I’m not looking for the same things as usual, but now am keenly aware of who is social distancing and who has given it up. Initially, my thought is that this is a bad thing—but I’m reminded of the question we’ve been asking ourselves this entire semester: is surveillance inherently a negative thing? 
  
  While I’m certainly grappling with that question, I have to assume that perhaps it isn’t. The worker at Publix speaking on those coming into the store without masks and gloves, might be immunocompromised but reliant on the paycheck that they get from Publix. I’m finding that my larger concern when I’m out, isn’t myself getting sick, but rather the protection of those living with me. However, I remember the video that I wrote my blog post on a few weeks ago of how this surveillance has led to escalated policing. This is a question that I don’t have answers to currently, and perhaps as we continue on in the inevitably complicated months ahead of us, my thoughts will be clearer. As for now, when the woman stated her concern with those passing by us in the store, I couldn’t help but agree.
  
  
  April 24, 2020: 

  
  

  With my home state of Tennessee set to reopen on Monday, Governor Bill Lee putting forth a pledge for restaurants and retail shops to take, demonstrating a commitment to operating at 50% capacity, I’ve spent a lot of time discussing with friends and family what our expectations will be for the next few weeks. Soon, the stores will fill up--and hospitals will likely follow.
  
  Governor Lee’s announcement did not come as a surprise to many of us living within the state. He waited to declare a safer-at-home order until well after the majority of states in the US had done so. His announcement arrived prefaced by national headlines regarding protests across the country for governors to restart the economy, regardless of the impact such a decision might have on public health. Brian Kemp, Governor of Georgia, announced his plan to reopen the state today, Friday, April 24th. However, since these announcements came, I’ve seen not only condemnation from those who will be directly affected by these reopenings, but ridicule from those living elsewhere. 
  
  The past few days, my social media feeds have been filled with memes: videos of singers going “so long, farewell, to you my friends,” cartoon images depicting a second-wave of COVID-19 affecting Southern states, and a number of tweets blaming Georgians for this situation--claiming that this poor leadership is a result of political irresponsibility. This is not the first moment of crisis in which the South has been written off as being “irredeemable.”  
  
  This routine blaming of Southerners for the inept leadership we have in our Governors’ mansions, that hold Senate seats, and more, ignores the systems of voter suppression that are active in preventing Southerners from having a direct voice on Election Day. The posts going, “y’all should have voted for Stacey Abrams,” blames Georgians for Abrams’s loss and ignores the context for her defeat. Putting the blame wholly on Tennesseeans for Brian Kemp’s election, neglects the incredible systems of felony disenfranchisement within the state. After an attempt to register record-numbers of Black voters in Tennessee in 2018, the state legislature attempted to criminalize voter registration drives with fines and jail time. For those residing in other states looking in, it may be easy to write off the South as deserving what comes to us. However, for those of us living here, we know that we deserve better--and we know that we’re capable of it. 
  
  The American South is one of the most racially diverse areas of the country. Considering the disparate infection rates of COVID-19 in Black populations across the country, these Southern states reopening will no doubt lead to a spike in infections and deaths, presumably more so within communities of color than in white populations. The act of writing off the South and blaming us for our own condition, is not just an ill-informed act, but a dangerous one as well.

  
  
  April 18, 2020: 
  
  As we trudge into another month of self-distancing, many of us holed up in our own homes, the overarching feeling of boredom creeps up on us even further. Many of us are still struggling to adapt to online classes or remote work, feeling overwhelmed by what is expected of us, while also struggling to make sense of the empty space in our schedules. Some have turned to taking up exercise or baking, while others have resigned to another episode on Netflix. However, as we continue on in quarantine, this feeling of boredom and this need to adapt, has potentially made us much more complicit in our own relationship to surveillance. 

  
  
  In case the embedded video does not work, copy this link and paste it into a new tab: https://vm.tiktok.com/WpTtXx/
  
  Much could be said about the numerous privacy concerns with Zoom--both regarding the technology itself, and about the very literal window into our peers homes through its use--but the thing that has shocked me the most, was a TikTok I saw last night. In it, the user explains that there’s a website you can visit: “prnt.sc” followed by a forward slash, any two letters, and any four numbers. The website then pulls up a screenshot from any random person’s phone, correlated to the search inputted. The comments section is filled with people listing out two letter, four number codes under which you can find more entertaining screenshots. Some comments urge users who stumble upon credit card information, to not use them. Sure enough, I tested it out to check the validity of the claim; and even surer, the website worked. This serious invasion of privacy, pitched as a way to counter boredom, is an example of surveillance that we’ve embraced during this time. One comment goes: “we’ve reached a new level of boredom.”
  
  Even further, it’s important to recognize that the concept of boredom during this time, is an incredibly privileged thing to feel. Many low-wage workers, deemed “essential,” are still sent out to work every day, interacting with numerous people. Those whose lives have been upended by either themselves, family, or friends contracting COVID-19, have much more pressing concerns. Considering the disproportionate infection rates of COVID-19 impacting Black communities, and as mentioned before, the strain of essential work falling upon lower-wage workers, this acceptance of surveillance as a result of boredom, might apply more to more privileged classes. Websites such as the one demonstrated in the TikTok, allow for those left more privileged during this pandemic, to pass the time by conducting potentially dangerous surveillance of others. 

  
  April 10, 2020: 
  
  

  
  Last week, I wrote about the characterization of COVID-19 as being “the enemy”--and about the ways in which this characterization allows for the escalation of militarization and the limiting of citizenship. This is something that I continued to think on this week, though it wasn’t until this morning that I saw the video displayed above. In the video, several Philadelphia police officers are filmed removing a Black man from a city bus because he wasn’t wearing a face mask over his mouth and nose. This physical removal demonstrates the ways in which mass surveillance and the policing that often comes with it, are emboldened by the narrative of COVID-19 as being an enemy of the state. 
  
  The video caused me to ponder the evolution from the virus itself being the threat, to certain people being villainized as a result. Asian-Americans are seeing a surge in discriminatory practices against them, as attempts to paint the community as being broad carriers for COVID-19 increase--even despite the recent report that New York’s coronavirus outbreak can likely be traced back to Europe. However, the video out of Philadelphia shows just how broad this personification of the enemy can go, and demonstrates the way that other historically surveilled groups are likely to be caught in the net. 
  
  As the militaristic pursuit of “the enemy,” progresses, instances such as this in which Black people are made victim to biased policing and violent brutality, are likely to continue. When the way we rhetorically characterize the virus facing us today suggests a physical, militaristic response to meet it, those who will be targeted will be Asian and Black populations. The notion that COVID-19 infects indiscriminately was disproved this week, with health reports showing higher infection rates within Black communities as a result of conditions caused by environmental and systematic racism. Our response to the fear that COVID-19 has instilled in all of us, has not and will not be indiscriminate either. 

  
  April 3, 2020: 
  
  As I sit at home, spending endless hours going between scrolling on Twitter, watching videos on TikTok, and doing necessary work on my remote classes during this quarantine, it’s become impossible not to notice the news. The incessant droning of Chris Cuomo’s voice coming from the living room, the persistent CNN alerts popping up on my phone, and the constant flow of articles from friends landing in my inbox have all become standard and desensitizing, in a way. However, the other night, I saw a video that has stuck with me over the past few days:
  
  
  
  The Empire State Building lit up red and white like a siren, alerting to the city that there’s an ongoing emergency. The spectacle operates as a visual manifestation of what would usually be an auditory alert, and reflects the continuing rhetoric, characterizing COVID-19 as a physical enemy. Underneath the video posted to Twitter, are users expressing the fear they expressed in the city, looking out their window to see the draconian image. Especially within a city like New York, particularly familiar with threats within an urban setting. One Twitter user commented, “the 9/11 PTSD has got to be kicking in.”
  
  The evolution of our response, and the ways that we reinforce the idea of coronavirus as being a terror threat, is something that has seamlessly become the norm. Moving past anecdotes of police militarization, familiar images promoting patriotism, or even the ongoing conversations regarding the constitution of citizenship, this shift is something that’s become internalized.
  
  I went for a walk yesterday afternoon, and as I continued past my neighbors out on their daily run, strolling as they walked their dog, or playing catch with family in their yards, I began to notice the way I monitored my distance from others. The sight of another person walking along the sidewalk was unsettling, and I noticed that I began to look upon my neighbors with suspicion—as if they may be a threat themselves, unbeknownst to me. This hyper-vigilance of the “unseen enemy,” begins with rhetoric on the news, is reinforced by images like that of the Empire State Building, and soon does become embedded in us, I'm finding as this public health crisis continues.