Ethic/Economic/Pandemic

Peter Consenstein, Modern Languages

The pandemic distinguished my world from that of my students so starkly, the differences becoming so vivid and apparent that my gut told me that a revolution had to be in the works. In her article “The Revolution is Under Way Already” in the April 5 edition of the Atlantic^[i], Professor Rebecca Spang of Indiana University describes what it was like to live in Paris in the months previous to the French revolution. Parisians went about their daily lives even when there were big protests, government upheaval, institutional restructuring and religious strife. The upheaval caused by the pandemic, immigration, racism, the poor response to the pandemic, our health care system at its limit, job losses and numerous high-level sackings of top government officials, made Paris of the late 18^th century and New York City during the months of March, April and May of 2020 quite similar.

My students, trying to reconnect during confinement, were stumbling. Their easy on-ramps to the Internet were often crowded with other students in their families “going to” closed schools. Their parents may have lost jobs or fell ill and consequently students had to contribute to their households. Some students simply disappeared and those who had any form of disability lost support. The landscape was stark, their voices did slowly return, but they were either hustling or hunkered down, the sounds of their kitchens were clear in the background of our “classes,” as were the voices of their siblings and parents, their music and radio stations, and I often had to mute microphones just to stay focused. Some students could only call in and often one did from a cab returning from her job at the hospital. She risked her life at work; she risked her life in the cab; she risked her life just going outside and yet she wanted to succeed in class. The general disconnect between educators and students worsened because our capacities to connect via Internet, now emblematic of different economic classes, varied. The distance between our economic classes separated us; it brought the threat of precarity, of my life goals and their academic progress, into dangerous clarity. Educators were not essential; we did not risk life and limb to deliver our lessons and even suggesting such a comparison rings of hubris, fantasy and disconnect. The question of who or what is essential is an ethical one, demanding a societal answer.

Our classrooms were in crisis. We did not share chemistry, our intellectual exchanges were severely dulled; however, a comradery, born in crisis, grew in my courses, with some students arriving early and others staying late. We asked after one another, we reflected on our situations together, we commiserated and their voices were like daggers because they were losing contact with their friends and the outside world, so their futures blurred. Tenacious, yes, but less sure and cocky, less New York City bravado. It is painful to hear young people succumb to fear and my voice cracked more than once. I too contracted Covid and missed a week of teaching because I was too weak. Through Blackboard, I sent out assignments to do and submit. They understood that I was sick and sent messages wishing me well; some prayed for me. We all knew too much about one another. But my job was to stay focused on the course syllabus, and we shared a peculiar experience of what it means to learn, one that was hued with uncertainty, illness, threat and trauma. We learned together while our city lost 800 people a day. It was obviously not too much to bear, because we all bore it (just writing these words brings back the trauma). The crisis of teaching through the pandemic brought forth an unspoken yet shared question: is it really worth it? Our teaching and learning were colored by despair, but my students fulfilled one main objective: to counter despair. Teaching and learning became a way to guarantee the future, to solidify hope and to establish a new toehold in the wall and keep climbing. Teaching and learning during the pandemic meant living for a future that was not guaranteed. We uplifted ourselves but my students’ lives were in much more danger than mine.

The risks they ran took place during a low-key revolution against economic, racial and ethnic injustices upsetting everyday life. We are in debt to the students of the City University of New York, ethically the tables have been turned; we owe students for the opportunities they provided during confinement and lockdown. They put their lives on the front lines of the pandemic and paid dearly. Cutbacks kick people when they’re down. Restructuring the police, student debt, tuition fees and textbooks prices are the least society can do for those who risked their lives for ours. Now, during the Spring 2022 semester, the majority of my courses are live in classrooms with real students but the halls of BMCC are empty. Why aren’t students returning? There is a litany of possibilities: are students rejecting society’s institutions that don’t work for them, a reality that the pandemic laid bare? Are students no longer believing that an education is a path out of precarity and into self-sustenance? Is it “real-economik,” which means a higher minimum wage and a diminished work force that allow students to earn more than before? Is it fear of infection, a lack of social ease and awkward interactions? Or the umbrella question: is it worth it? Combined, these are the economics of return, of disengagement, of fragility, of distrust and of malaise. Economy involves debts for services and an ordering of exchange, which, unless undergirded by ethics that recognize intrinsic human values and rights, will sow distrust at a moment when only trust can relieve the damage caused by greed, injustices, hostility and poor mental health. Being back in the classroom rekindles spirit and humanity and is reparative, but the real work has only just begun.

^[i] Rebecca L. Spang, “The Revolution is Underway Already” in The Atlantic, April 5, 2020 https://www.theatlantic.com/ideas/archive/2020/04/revolution-only-getting-started/609463/

More From This Issue