Atomic Bombs, Refugees, and the Coronavirus

The coronavirus has infected the bodies of over a quarter of a million people, but it has infected the minds of so many more, including my own. For the last few weeks, covid-19 has dominated my thoughts and my actions. At first, I'd check social media to see what funny coronavirus and TP memes were being posted. Then, I'd browse news sites to see the latest in how this pandemic is changing the world. But now, as the novelty of this novel virus has started to wear off, my curiosity has been transformed into concern ... then worry ... then fear. There are so many unanswered questions—so much instability and unpredictability.

With that at the forefront of my mind, two things have brought me hope and direction in the last few days.

The first is a quote from C.S. Lewis about the atomic bomb. The full quote can be found in this article, but here's the most relevant part, with "atomic bomb" replaced by "the coronavirus":

The first action to be taken is to pull ourselves together. If we are all going to be destroyed by [the coronavirus], let that [virus] when it comes find us doing sensible and human things—praying, working, teaching, reading, listening to music, bathing the children, playing tennis, chatting to our friends over a game of darts—not huddled together like frightened sheep and thinking about [the coronavirus]. They may break our bodies (a microbe can do that) but they need not dominate our minds.

I know that it's good to be informed about the coronavirus. But "being informed" doesn't mean thinking about it (and its economic impacts) all day long, opening Facebook a hundred times a day, and reading news articles every spare moment. I want to fill my life back up with "sensible and human things," like spending quality time with my family, enjoying nature and hobbies, learning, teaching, serving, and loving.

The second thought I had is from a book I'm reading right now, The Ungrateful Refugee by Dina Nayeri. I in no way seek to trivialize the hardships of refugees by comparing my struggles to theirs, but at the same time, I've found hope from their examples.

As I've read the plights of these asylum-seekers, the idea of "limbo" has caught my attention because that's exactly what so many of us are feeling right now—in a state of limbo. The dictionary describes it perfectly as "an uncertain period of awaiting a decision or resolution; an intermediate state or condition." Here's what the author of The Ungrateful Refugee had to say about this:

People think of the refugee camp as a purgatory, a liminal space without shape or color. And it is that. But we kept our instinct for joy. We made friends and we studied and made a community, as we had every day in Iran. Journalists and aid workers who visit camps often comment on this aspect of the psyche—how can these people carry on with their gossip and petty dramas and daily pleasures? How can they endure the limbo?

Much later in life, years after finding a new home in the United States, the author visited a refugee camp in Greece. In this camp, where there was "nothing to see but dogs and children and naked gloom" outside, she was surprised upon entering the house of a family who has truly made the place their home:

Above the midnight blue laminate of the kitchenette hangs a yellow floral curtain, calling out the yellow of the turmeric in a jar. ... The dishes are washed. It seems heroic to me, every scavenged and scrubbed item, the toil to keep her family’s dignity in this wasteland. What stores of willpower it takes for this couple to commit to making these rooms a home. The very air in a camp is heavy, making you listless, pushing you into your bed. Their refusal to sit and wait is a daily resistance, a gift to their daughters. These childhood days at LM will not be marred by poverty and anticipation for them. LM Village will be just another chapter of their lives. They might have their next birthday here. They might learn to read here.

I have no idea how long we're all going to be in this limbo. But I think we'll all get through this better if we "refuse to sit and wait" for this to be over. In other words, let's make the most of this time that we have, living in the present instead of fretting over the future. Like refugees, we can hold on to the hope that one day, our lives will reclaim a sense of normalcy. And when that day comes, I don't want to look back at the time I spent in limbo and regret the way that I spent it.