4/6
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| Nurses at Harlem Hospital |
On the way to Harlem Hospital for the nurse’s action. En route, I’d now say masks are about 3 out of 4. I exit the subway at 135th an Lenox. A circle of 30 or so masked nurses are assembling outside the emergency ward entrance. On the sidewalk, the chalked names of medical workers who have died. Their signs calling for “Patients before profits” and “PPE everyday.” And one bold enough to say, “Capitalism: do not resuscitate.”
There is a full phalanx of news media there, keeping social distance of course. I see one woman being interviewed. Her mask somewhat obscures her face, but when I hear her Spanish, I know it's my friend Tracy, now Tre.
Our friendship goes back to the days when she was organizing kitchen workers at Saigon Grill and the Sweatshop Free Upper Westside Campaign. Created a coalition of Chinese and Latino and West African workers. She was an organizer for the National Movement Against Sweatshops. I saw them every day, began talking with them. And thanks to my son Micah, joined them. Along with my Lutheran pastor colleague Heidi, were harassed by attorneys working for Dominos Pizza. (No justice, no pizza…) I remember my steamfitter union and Occupier friend Teddy joining in the protests. (Miss him still, may he r.i.p. ) Tracy left NMASS. Became a barista for awhile. Her immigrant family had high expectations for every child. Organizing was not on the list, She eventually went to nursing school. And became a nurse and activist for healthcare workers. And now a mother. Called out of leave by the crisis and into action by the inaction of leadership. As I listen to the speakers, their demands are simple. Adequate personal protective equipment. Every day. Paid sick leave. No retribution. Nothing has exposed the barrenness of our national healthcare non-system like this virus crisis. When she finishes her interview, she walks over to me, in my outlaw bandana. “Bob. It’s you! I knew you by your eyes!” And her eyes crinkle into a smile. And mine smile back. She extends her elbow. And I smile again. As she turns to go, I raise my right fist. Solidarity, I say. She made my day.
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| word |
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| the necrology of health care workers |
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| Tre (Tracy) Kwan |
As I leave, the chants echo in my ear…PPE, every day, PPE, every day…
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| a good deal.... |
I take the long walk back home through Harlem.
****
I talk with one of our Presbyterian Health Education and Welfare Association colleagues in upstate New York. She has been a leader of the Domestic Violence network. Full-time pastor and chaplain at a facility. She’s concerned with the spiritual and emotional health not only of the patients, but also the staff. In the middle of our conversation, she’s called away to a code blue. When she comes back, a baby has died. She’s got special concern for the housekeeping workers who have to clean out the rooms. Their lives are on the line. And she talks about one of the hidden tragedies of the crisis, domestic violence. People, mainly women, trapped in isolation and tense circumstances with violent abusers. Home is not safe for victims….
****
My friend Steve does an afternoon benefit concert for frontline workers, sponsored by Rudy’s, the bar we hang out and play at in Lake Worth, Florida. Home of the annual Rudystock and a wonderful collection of musical (and other) characters all hosted and cared for by Mary.
****
The West Park Bible Study picks up the issue of a triumphant entry in coronavirusworld. We start by acknowledging that Jesus’ “triumphant entry” was performance art, or as Latin American revolutionaries call it, propaganda of the deed, the act itself defines its meaning. There is this weird bit of riding on two animals, probably from misreading Zechariah 9:9. And at the outset, evidence of a covert, underground organization of Jesus with secret passwords and signs, Marsha, ,as always, looking for the so what, the what exactly is it that we are supposed to do. Jesus is sending a message to his people. The people in the street want a takeover. A replacement.With themselves in charge. Like gays or women who are ready to leave the struggle once they’ve got a seat at the table instead of turning the table over completely. We talk of individual salvation as opposed to collective responsibility and community. And our new awareness of our mortality. And how Jesus’ true victory was embracing the cross, thus defeating the power of death to manipulate and demean. Power of death, broken once and for all.
This is the entry of Jesus into our coronaworld, the week we are supposed to reach the apex. Let it be. Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord…
****
As the study breaks up, Russ, Marsha and I stick around. For one drink. Our virtual visit to St.James Gate. Slainte.
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