SOME THOUGHTS ON AMERICA FROM A REPATRIATED AMERICAN
[This is the second part of a guest post by Dr. Erin Rose McHugh. For the first part of the post, see here.]
I moved to Chicago because my English husband ended up being offered an opportunity with his work which involved relocating here.
At the time, I was enthusiastic about it. I’d just finished my Ph.D. in Music and felt ready for a new challenge in my career. We also knew that it was only a matter of time before we’d grow tired of feeling house-poor because of extortionate London rent. He accepted the offer and we bought two one-way tickets to Chicago in November of last year. We boarded that plane, holding hands and feeling excited about the fresh start.
It was a shock to the system, arriving in downtown Chicago in the winter. Gone were the ancient trees and birdsong we’d become accustomed to in North London. Everything was loud- literally and visually. Taxis constantly using their horns, flashing marquees above restaurants. The glass buildings were colossal and soulless. There were so many new construction projects, high-rises being built. There was clearly so much wealth all around us in the center of Chicago. However, despite the color and the constant hum of creation in the city, we only saw unhappy people. Glum faces on bodies in neutral suits walking to work. Stressed out retail workers and servers bringing back memories of my time working in a restaurant.
Once when we were walking down Michigan Avenue, I mentioned to my husband that despite being surrounded by luxury, most of the Americans we saw seemed unhappy. A passerby thought it would be appropriate retaliation to pour orange juice on my husband’s shoes. I apologized, but my husband looked puzzled: Why should I be sorry?
Deep down I understood why, but it’d be six months until he understood why this particular American took offense to my comment and why I felt embarrassed.
When our furniture arrived from the sea shipment it looked ridiculously twee in our modern American apartment. I applied for jobs, any job which would allow me to continue developing in arts administration but had radio silence. Not even a “thanks but no thanks” or an acknowledgement that I’d spent time on an application. I was invisible again.
My husband went to work each morning and I rearranged our tiny English furniture, trying to visualize ways to make it the new apartment look like our home. The jarring image of quaint, period furniture set in a steel and glass Chicago Highrise told us what we already sensed: We probably don’t belong here.
Then came the lockdown. We knew that it was inevitable early in March, when reports of overwhelmed hospitals in Spain and Italy reached the American news channels. “Close everything now”
It was flu season, and suddenly hearing a sneeze or cough sent the hairs standing up on my arms. We watched the reports on the news about this virus which spread via respiratory droplets and felt uneasy with the idea of going out on walks. There was so much we didn’t know about how it really spread from person to person - particularly when it seemed to infect everyone within a cruise ship, in an auditorium, on a plane. We covered the lower half of our faces when we went out- with each successive trip to a store we saw fewer people.
Restaurants closed to dine-in customers. When the shops on Michigan Avenue closed, it emptied.
We saw pictures of empty cleaning supply aisles in supermarkets and saw it with our own eyes when we went to our local store thinking we could collect a bottle of bleach to restore our own supply.
We learned there was really no point in leaving the apartment save once a week to buy food. Stores very quickly became depleted of other essentials because of this panic buying. I saw a last remaining bottle of milk in my local supermarket, and instinctively lunged for it, but then saw that an elderly man had just turned the corner to the milk aisle. A wave of shame rushed over me, and I asked if he needed the milk. “No… but thank you for asking. It’s not easy shopping nowadays when you move as slow as I do!”
Despite the threat of quarantine at any given moment- the few weeks of lockdown encouraged us. We live in a high rise in downtown Chicago, and it was comforting to look down on empty streets. The absence of cars or pedestrians visually represented that people were humbled by what they didn’t know. As we walked to the store and came upon another person, both parties respectfully moved to the side. We felt a sense of community in our isolation. I wondered if we perhaps had judged the city to harshly.
However as time passed, the distinct brand of consumerism disguised as patriotism which Americans are famous for was brought into full view to the rest of the world. It didn’t take long for Americans to complain about state mandated closures of restaurants, bars, shops, and other venues. Our calm soon turned to frustration, a feeling renewed by when the media bombarded us with images of protests against the lockdowns and my right-leaning relatives shared poorly produced video blogs from far-right ideologues who suggested that the virus was a hoax.
“We want haircuts”… I don’t want to live in fear… “Re-open our schools”…
Do these people think these things open independently of the souls who are servers, the baristas, the retail workers, or even teachers? What about their health? Americans were missing (probably for the first time in their lives) the pillar of their economy and culture: being able to spend money and have others wait on them.
Their protests made me remember my own time as a waitress, when I was paid $2.13 an hour for the honor of bringing people their food, unable to think straight or break out of poverty. I’ve been seeing posts from friends in the food service industry who were deemed “essential workers” during lockdown and yet they continue to endure abuse from anti-mask customers who were asked to cover their face or leave. Having one’s own flawed humanity pointed out is never easy- but it doesn’t warrant violent outbursts.
The frustration we felt only grew as the case and death numbers climbed.
Donald Trump has (characteristically) politicized mask wearing, social distancing, and the closure of businesses despite being a famous germaphobe himself. Keep America Great?
His lack of concrete leadership has meant that the US, with only 20% of the world’s population, leads the world in cases. So far today, 6.7 million people have had COVID-19 in the USA and 195,000 people have died. [JMC note: this post was written on September 19. As of yesterday, September 30, the official U.S. mortality count has risen by 11,000, to 206,000 -- with an official 7.22 million reported cases.] These numbers are staggering particularly when you consider that the US had its first case in late January.
My English husband is bewildered by the America he’s been shown so far-even though he acknowledges that COVID-19 has had fair amount to it.
I admit that I’ve been finding it difficult to be an American during these times, particularly because I lived abroad for so long. I wonder what the country- and what the rest of the world- will look like after there is a vaccine, and things return to normal. I wonder if I can ever be able to look some of my neighbors or acquaintances in the face again, knowing that they lacked the humility and self-awareness to make minor modifications to their lives for the benefit of others.
I believe we now are facing our reckoning as a country, one which was perhaps long overdue. Americans brag about being the most wealthy, successful country in the world, and within weeks our food banks were overwhelmed, major companies were on the verge of bankruptcy, and Americans are either dying or will be stuck with medical bills they cannot possibly afford to pay.
COVID-19 has given some Americans the opportunity to show their true colors. I can only hope that the rest of us do the same in November.
Erin McHugh is a musicologist and arts administration professional living in Chicago, USA. She received her PhD from the Royal College of Music in 2018, supported by a Douglas Hay Award and a Lucy Ann Jones Award. A trained opera singer herself, Erin's research interests span in the fields of gender theory, performance studies, vocal pedagogy, and aesthetics. Her doctoral thesis, "The Vocality of the Dramatic Soprano Voice in Richard Strauss’s Salome and Elektra," explores gender, philosophy, and vocal production in the early operas of Richard Strauss. You can follow her at her blog: "The Ex-Pat."
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