I’m Trying To Aid Coronavirus Relief, But No One Is Responding
Several years ago my sister and I were walking the streets of Manhattan on a Friday evening in the early summer. Taxis swarmed each block with horns and screeching brake pads. Like a choreographed dance, a cycle of opening and closing doors produced and received fashionably clad men and women. During those moments, a running joke was born. We surmised that if I were a taxi driver on a busy night in the city, I would somehow struggle to find riders. The hypothetical narrative ended with me driving block-by-block beeping at pedestrians even though none of them were seeking a lift. Until recently we still laughed at that joke.
By my account the third week of March was the point of no return in the United States. When schools postponed classes, sports leagues suspended seasons, and people were told to stay home, even the most ardent lovers of normalcy could no longer deny the magnitude of COVID-19. Untold quantities of misinformation circulated. I received essay-length text messages with instructions to sip water every 15 minutes. In case the virus was present on the lips, the water would wash it into the stomach where it would perish in the digestive tract. Another friend forwarded a voice message from a woman who identified herself as a friend of a hospital worker in the Caribbean. She read aloud a memo supposedly based on insights gathered from dozens of autopsies conducted on Coronavirus victims in China.
“The virus sticks to hair and clothes.”
“Take a shower immediately after returning home from outside.”
“Drink hot fluids to reduce the risk of mucus blocking airways to the lungs.”
Panic.
Recognizing a need for reliable information I placed calls and sent emails to several professors and doctors of infectious disease in the area. I wanted to film interviews with them, ask basic questions, and provide people with insights from experts.
Four weeks have passed and none of them have responded.
By the fourth week of March, the US was entrenched in a multi-front war against a shortage of personal protective equipment for medical workers. A news broadcast highlighted a gentleman in Texas who recruited a team of unskilled neighbors and converted his garage into a makeshift mask factory. By the time news crews arrived, the team had already produced and shipped hundreds of hospital-ready masks.
Later that day I received a mass text message from our town mayor. All municipal buildings would be closed indefinitely. She included in the message her email address. Inspired by the mask-making episode, I sent her an email introducing myself: a young and healthy person ready to provide a range of services to town citizens. I suggested that she connect me with the director of the Senior Citizen Program or that she provide me with names and numbers of needy seniors in town. I could deliver groceries or drop off medical prescriptions.
The mayor responded with an outcry of gratitude and cc’d the town’s Senior Center Director who called me the following day. In a 30 second conversation, the director told me that the seniors in the program were taken care of and that she’d keep my number on file just in case anything came up. The tone of the conversation felt as though I were being let down easy the day after a job interview.
“Aren’t we in a crisis?” I thought to myself. Even in this small town there must be people with increased risk of contracting the virus. How are they going to get food and medicine?
Later that morning I heard a press conference with governor Andrew Cuomo. He was calling on the federal government to assist in acquiring 30,000 ventilators for the state of New York. He also requested that medical workers from other states travel to New York in preparation for an untold number of hospitalizations in the coming days and weeks.
A friend who operates a medical clinic in Texas called me. Several nurses at his clinic were prepared to fly to New York. He wanted to know if I could help him arrange the logistics.
I called the governor’s office in Albany. The person who answered the phone referred me to the .gov website where I filled out a survey. I called four hospitals in New York. Each voice on the other end told me they were not the person who could arrange such plans. My calls were transferred. I left voice messages. Two weeks have passed and none of the messages have been returned. I contacted a friend whose wife is a nurse in New York, but his phone calls to hospitals had also died on contact.
A few days later I pulled out an old school tactic and opened a phone book. I figured that if I dialed enough numbers in the area, I would eventually connect with someone in need of food or medicine. I dialed 12 phone numbers. 11 of them produced the automated message “The number you have dialed is not in service.” The other one led to an unending ring.
I closed the phone book, put on a jacket, and headed out into the neighborhood to knock on doors. One woman took my phone number and said she would let me know if she needed anything. The rest politely thanked me for the offer.
Yesterday morning I read an article in an independent New Haven newspaper which touted two community organizers who had set up “grassroots ‘mutual aid’ funds with the goal of providing everything from grocery runs to educational support to direct cash assistance for vulnerable New Haveners during the Covid-19 pandemic.”
I visited their website, filled out their survey, and sent them an email:
Hi. I’m young and healthy. I live 10 miles outside the city, and I have access to a vehicle.
I’m able to provide grocery runs, donate food, provide basic tech support, assist with moving/transporting items.
Please tell me what you need.
@kylekesses
