Moving From Canada to Tennessee During COVID-19
The pandemic ushered me into a season of change that was unexpected. I have been a graduate student working on my Ph.D. for the last five years as an international student in Canada. 2020 was meant to be my final year when I would see myself achieve a career goal of becoming a “doctor.” However, months into the pandemic, I found myself needing more financial security and emotional support than being a doctoral student would (and could) allow. So, in November, I packed up my belongings and moved back to my hometown for a job in higher-ed that would allow me to make a livable wage and live in a less expensive area.
The Journey:
What I am about to say is a little bit of a ramble of my thoughts on moving from Toronto, Canada, and driving across several state lines to settle in Tennessee. It was a demanding journey both emotionally and mentally, but it provided a lot of time to think about the situation of the pandemic in the States, which I was about to encounter for the first time (since I had not dared to cross the border since March). As I drove my little Honda Civic over the border in Niagra, New York (to get one last view of the Falls of course) the entire once-bustling streets of tourists were a ghost town. I did not see one pedestrian nor a single car as I passed through the scenic route and over the bridge to the United States. I was the only one in line at the border (which was a first) and as I crossed over from Canada to the US, I was truly alone as I ventured into my home country with fervent caution towards any stop I may need to take for the next twelve to fourteen hours.
My drive through western New York was thought-provoking, as I noticed the changes that had occurred due to the pandemic —the most notable being the large highway signs. Ever since I was a child every road trip has been accompanied by the glowing bulbs of highway signs hung over the interstate or in the middle of medians that read “Buckle Up,” or more in more recent years “Don’t Text and Drive.” For this particular trip, these signs had a different message: “Wear a Mask.”
First, I want to say that I found the general effort of reminding people of the seriousness of a pandemic by using the highway signs creative. Why not repurpose the signs for our current safety needs? However, this change got me thinking: Are masks the new seatbelts? Can a comparison even be made?
I did a deep dive after I went through a drive-thru at a Wendy’s. After many a Google-search (really putting my Ph.D. skills to use…) I found that both masks and seatbelts are both a simple and inexpensive solution to a very deadly problem. However, both tools were received by the public as a matter of opinion and preference.
Seatbelts were present in cars long before it was mandated to wear them in several states, though they did cost extra when buying a car from several dealers. In the 1950s and ’60s, many lawmakers sought to combat the rising death tolls from car accidents by introducing bills and laws to enforce seatbelts for safety; however, for the next fifteen years, they would be met with a public of discontent that argued for freedom and emphasized the general discomfort from seatbelts. Some even argued that the chaos and dangers of a body being thrown from a wreck were less than being stuck inside the confines of a vehicle during a collision.
While the origin stories and general public reception of seatbelts and masks may be similar, I realize that my initial question of “Are masks the new seatbelt?” is a dangerous one. I truly don’t think we have enough time for a similar acceptance curve. And the logic behind the safety of the seatbelt is limited to one person — mask-wearing affects the safety of an entire population.
The Arrival:
I knew my move from Canada to Tennessee would initially be difficult. The pandemic, for the most part, was treated with a lot of caution in the downtown area of Toronto where I lived. Everywhere I went, (on days that I did go out) had mask mandates. Even though the city faced issues with people obeying safety standards, I felt an enormous amount of safety with the general ethos of seriousness that was given to the pandemic by the public. I knew that it would be different in Tennessee, which already had rising numbers prior to Thanksgiving. I had heard from family and friends that masks were demonized and things that I had said good-bye to in March (like indoor dining) were thriving in the midst of hospitalizations of COVID cases that were going up day by day. As I made my way through Kentucky and down into the valley of Tennessee, I did witness a stark difference in those wearing masks at food centers and gas stations. To be honest, every mile I went felt less safe. Perhaps it was because I was getting farther and farther away from my previous home in Canada… but I know that my discomfort was truly caused by the visual lack of care and caution displayed by those around me.
Now, cases have surged in Tennessee. The post-Thanksgiving numbers have been devastating, and hospitals are at near capacity. My current county of residence has been flagged as one of the largest growing numbers of Covid cases per capita in the United States and nurses and hospital staff begged people to change their habits and holiday plans. In contrast, Toronto went back into lockdown on December 26th. The way Ontario handled the pandemic has certainly not been perfect, but the lockdowns and the amount of visual support for mask-wearing and sanitizing was a cushion of hope in humanity that I did not know would cause so much discomfort when it was gone.
Tennessee’s current situation would not be solved with highway signs, and they surely are not being solved by the lack of mandates by the Governor of Tennessee, Bill Lee. As a Vanderbilt professor put it, “It's clear the house is on fire and we're still lighting matches.” So how do we put the fire out? As with most advice, we write letters; we call our representatives; we stay at home when possible. Perhaps the vaccine will help in due time, but until then, Tennessee is metaphorically burning.
