MARCH 12, 2020 – Tuesday evening I’d composed a post for Wednesday. Entitled, “BERNIE BURNIN’,” it lampooned CNN coverage of primary results Tuesday evening. By Wednesday morning it seemed trivial, irrelevant, and not very humorous.
My daily voyage got struct by a rogue wave, within a sea-change inside a hurricane. For days I’d been on the figurative bridge of a metaphorical ship working side-by-side the rest of the crew monitoring radar, poring over charts, navigating through the storm. We were in the open sea of disruption caused by The Virus.
Our metaphorical ship towed an actual cruise ship scheduled to embark next Wednesday on a dream-filled vacation with family, friends, and best performing talent (from A Prairie Home Companion) on the placid, sunny waters of the Caribbean Sea. Prospective passengers watched a constant torrent of images, statistics, advisories, and horror stories from across the seas and closer to home. If the passengers-to-be could see gathering storm clouds on all horizons, at least our folks hadn’t yet set sail upon seas ruled by an angry Neptune.
What they couldn’t see in full focus, however, was the stress of us on the bridge of the metaphorical ship. Our vessel was already in the midst of the storm—heaving, plunging, pitching, as wind-whipped waters crashed over our bow and smashed across the windows of our wheelhouse.
So much for a happy vacation cruise. Our mission was now to survive a hurricane of nightmarish proportions.
Twenty-four hours later: we cut our tow line and watched the cruise ship founder in the waves. We on the bridge of the metaphorical ship have since been airlifted by a metaphorical Coast Guard chopper. We face a turbulent flight into the stormy night, but at least the onboard avionics are operational. We know which way lies terra firma.
But how “firma” is “terra”? The latest radio dispatch from the Coast Guard base: “Hurricane-force winds, torrential rains at landing site. Proceed with caution; over.”
How will America weather this storm? Who knows, but from the dispatches, I’m now worried that we haven’t worried enough. The Virus is not the seasonal flu (fatality rate of 3.4% vs. .1% according to W.H.O.–far, far higher among seniors). It has the potential to devastate in proportions that could eclipse the worst of other coronaviruses. The time to be battening down hatches isn’t amidst a storm’s full fury. If ever in our times—and our times include 9-11—we’ve needed a competent captain and crew, now is that time. Absent such leadership, we need all hands on deck in an end-to-end, all-out societal effort to suppress transmission. Our most valuable commodity right now is not denial, wishful thinking, toilet paper, or vitamin C. Our most precious resources are . . . TIME and PRECAUTIONS GUIDED BY EXPERTS. Buy into those, and our lives . . . and portfolios . . . will rebound.
With proper navigation, we can land intact. Compare The Virus nonchalantly to the flu and a hundred other risks, and we’ll be pitched into dark waters.
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© 2020 by Eric Nilsson
