Over
at Slate, Vanessa Chang writes of “The Post-Pandemic Style,” reflecting
on how previous outbreaks have shifted ideas of architecture and public space. “Just
as those scourges scarred and then reshaped cities, so will ours.” She writes:
The flu pandemic killed
tens of millions from 1918–20. Six cholera pandemics in the 19th century alone
laid waste to hundreds of thousands of lives. Between 1810 and 1815, aggravated
by overcrowding and filthy living conditions, tuberculosis was the cause of
more than 25 percent of deaths in New York City. Robert Koch’s discovery of the
contagious tubercle bacillus in 1882 gave rise to the sanatorium movement in
Europe and the United States. Designed to house, treat, and isolate patients,
these institutions emphasized strict hygiene and ample exposure to sunlight and
air. Before the development of medications for tuberculosis, its treatment was
environmental. These clinical environments inspired the new modern architecture.
As the Swiss architect Le Corbusier declared, “A house is only habitable when
it is full of light and air.”
How
will this pandemic shift how we design to move through the world? Already, lines
of intervalled-tape at check-outs and bank machines, with plastic coverings
protecting cashiers and bank tellers. Vast improvements in air quality have been
reported on for weeks, such as The Guardian reported on April 11, with
reports “by Hannah Ellis-Petersen in Delhi, Rebecca Ratcliffe in Bangkok, Sam
Cowie in São Paulo, Joe Parkin Daniels in Bogotá and Lily Kuo in Beijing.” Photographs
highlighting the differences between now and even six months ago are startling,
turning a rust-coloured air a bright blue. For example:
In Delhi, air quality
index (AQI) levels are usually a severe 200 on a good day (anything above 25 is
deemed unsafe by World Health Organization). During peak pollution periods last
year they soared well into a life-threatening 900 and sometimes off the
measurable scale. But as Delhi’s 11m registered cars were taken off the roads
and factories and construction were ground to a halt, AQI levels have regularly
fallen below 20. The skies are suddenly a rare, piercing blue. Even the birdsong
seems louder.
Once
the world begins to re-open, how will these shifts continue to present
themselves? How many might remain?
I
spend a good part of my morning composing letters. Every time I write a letter now,
I am conscious of the trope of letters home from front-line American Civil War
soldiers, all of which seem to begin with “Dearest Martha” (Civil War wives, as
we all know, were all named Martha). Were there really such letters composed by
Civil War-era soldiers? I’ve a half-brother in Florida who finds it baffling I can
barely do anything more than use my phone for basic texting, prompting me to seek
out parchment paper and a quill so that I might compose him one of these
eighteenth-century missives in the appropriate style. Dearest brother, I
write, I am far from home and wishing you the best of health.
In
an April 17 article in The Tyee, Andrew MacLeod writes:
“It’s really important to
recognize we are not at the end of our beginning yet,” Dr. Bonnie Henry, B.C.
provincial health officer, said Wednesday.
What
does that even mean? Japan apparently braces itself for a Covid-19 second wave.
Ebb and flow, akin to a river, running across the whole surface of the planet. Repeatedly,
articles and tweets and emails are pointing out how this crisis highlights what
should be the focal points of our attentions: climate change, and economic
disparities. There are increasing articles on just how much a guaranteed annual
income will reduce poverty and actually stimulate economic activity, the
opposite of what those who are against the idea seem to be arguing. But what
are these arguments?
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