Impromptus today has the usual variety, with the first several items having to do with the coronavirus and new ways of living. You may remember a song lyric: “We’ll find a new way of living.”
Let me paste the first item here, and then relate a quick story:
We are all staying in now, in this time of “self-isolation.” But that’s not true, is it? Not all of us are staying in. There are medical workers, grocery clerks, policemen — many others. Bless all those who don’t have the luxury of staying in. Who are “out there,” keeping the world afloat, so to speak.
That is a trite statement, maybe, but this is possibly a time for such statements.
Last night, as I was writing my column, I heard huge cheers out my window. This was at 7 o’clock. I live in New York City. The cheers went on and on — for about eight minutes, I would guess.
I had heard nothing like it since Election Night 2012. (That was a bitter one for me.) And before that, since Election Night 2008. (Ditto.) On those nights, there was horn-honking, mixed in with the cheers. Last night, I heard no honking. I don’t think there were many cars on the streets.
Googling around, I learned that people are doing this, every night at 7. It is a way to express appreciation to all those who are “out there,” as I put it: medical workers, grocery-store clerks, all of them. One article said, “Go to your window, crack it open, take a huge breath of that fresh unpolluted air, and let rip a grateful holler and a resounding round of applause for them all.”
It was very moving, let me tell you.
In February, I had a long conversation with Enrique Krauze, the Mexican historian, and wrote it up in two parts. Here is a portion of Part II:
Toward the end of our morning together, Krauze and I talk about Mexican movies, and, in particular, the much-honored 2018 film Roma. (The title refers, not to the capital of Italy, but to a neighborhood here in Mexico City.) The film is, in part, about women abandoned by their men. This is a common theme in Mexico, says Krauze — and not just in the movies but in life. Yet women persevere, he says, trying to make a life for themselves and, especially, their children. He is deeply impressed by what they do.
I say, “There’s a lot of quiet, everyday heroism, isn’t there? Pardon the cliché.” Krauze then rebukes me, memorably. “Are you afraid of clichés, Jay? You shouldn’t be. And I will not be afraid of clichés.” Then, with emotion, he tells me about some of the people he has encountered in Mexico, in his years of traveling the country: ordinary people, poor people, trying to keep their dignity, and often succeeding.
Yes, quiet, everyday heroism, all around.