These days the news is almost entirely pandemic-centred, unsurprisingly. Case in point . About the only other completely unrelated topic of conversation that comes to mind is Tiger King. Probably sorely needed escapism, but it takes THAT much crazy to shift focus from the, y’know, regular crazy.
Remember a month or two ago, when the novel coronavirus was starting to get noticed more, but the whole world hadn’t been cancelled yet and we were still doing wild and wacky things like going out for coffee? Ancient history, right? Here and there I would see scanned newspaper clippings posted about the 1918 “Spanish” flu pandemic.
(Spain wasn’t likely the source country, but that moniker stuck largely because of wartime censorship – a story for another time.)
Newspapers in 1918 did publish photos to enhance pandemic stories, but they tended to be a bit more staged and sterile than some of what you might see published now. A broader and deeper story can be gleaned from official archives like these, but documents can lack the immediacy and dramatic impact of audio or video.
Telephones existed in 1918, but weren’t widely present in homes, especially in rural areas, and we were a lot less urbanized then. The telegraph was still a major source of communication (and pandemic archives contain plenty of telegrams).
Audio recording was established by 1918, but it wasn’t a world in which we could casually and easily record anything and everything. If people fought over toilet paper then, or held isolation “bear hunts” with teddies in windows, we don’t really have a record of it.
It all got me thinking about how we’re recording this pandemic. What stories will we leave for future generations? How will we remember it compared to the information we save? What lessons will we impart to the future compared to what lessons we think we’re imparting?
A lot of us have never lived through anything like this. Yes, there have absolutely been major upheavals in the world over the past century. But most of the global population was born after the Second World War, and since then Canadians have largely been spared a front-row seat when the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse ride.
I know people who’ve gotten into genealogy, and who knew which great-great uncle died at Ypres, but who had no idea before digging into dusty records that they had ancestors who died in the 1918 pandemic.
What was the family’s world like before, during, and after their loss(es)? What was it like with the First World War still going on AND the pandemic happening? What was it like to have a loved one survive several years of warfare on a scale no one had ever seen before, and then die from a virus?
Oh, hey, did I mention there was also a pandemic of encephalitis lethargica going on then, too?
What was the psychological toll of a disease that, unlike most others, killed so many young, healthy people, and so quickly (like within hours in a lot of cases)?
How do you handle so many bodies when public health can’t just arrange to drive up refrigerated tractor-trailers for storage at short notice?
How do you maintain sanitization and social distancing before car culture, when people got around on trains and trolleys and such? At least global disease spread was slower since there wasn’t a commercial aviation industry yet. Port cities, however, were hit hard.
How is society changed long-term by a disease that, adjusted to today’s population, would infect almost two billion people before running its course?
What was quarantine and social distancing like when families were larger (and few people lived alone), homes smaller, and there was no online grocery ordering or Zoom video chat?
Black-and-white photos of stern-faced healthcare workers posed in ranks and public health posters don’t tell us those things.
In 2020, however, we have myriad public and personal sources of information about this pandemic. Websites, videos, social postings, photos, blogs, podcasts, this column. Right now it’s a tsunami of information, of varying levels of accuracy, entertainment and usefulness.
All of it tells some version or portion or a story, and many people have to turn off the information fire hose at intervals to protect mental health and anxiety levels. (How do we communicate THAT to our descendants?)
But in 100 years, how much of this content will still exist? How accessible will it be? Digitizing a physical medium is easy enough, if often time-consuming.
But what were the common data formats 10, 20, or 50 years ago? Can you still access a Zip disk? A floppy? How many blogs, podcasts or photo albums can you think of that have been discontinued or just abandoned?
In more than one place I’ve seen the recommendation to write it down. Like, actually write. Of course, there are novelty journals like these for that purpose. Presumably decades hence some lucky amateur genealogist will stumble across them in musty-smelling boxes in great-aunt so-and-so’s attic.
As interesting and useful as records like this blog are, what are the odds that Squarespace will still be a going concern in 2120? Are we likely to actually make prints of photos we take on our phones of empty streets or denuded grocery store aisles?
Over the last few weeks, in my day job, I’ve seen distinct patterns in corona/COVID-related domain name registrations. Similar patterns and themes happen any time there are major world events, so it’s always interesting to track.
Earlier in March the registrations were more general and news or health-based. Then they shifted to be more action-oriented – solving problems, helping others, sharing information.
Most recently they’ve shifted again, to be more social and proactive. Some are hinting toward the future after the worst of this is over. It’s a fascinating way to be able to take the pulse of people all over the world.
But the odds of any of these domain names and connected hosting being renewed in a year? Really low. (Ideally because we don’t need them anymore…)
Which means that content will likely end up even more ephemeral than that old fitness blog you started, or the Instagram account you set up when you got a kitten. Because it won’t just be abandoned, it’ll go offline and vanish into the ether.
If Horseman Pestilence saddles up in 2120, who knows what people then will be able to learn about the 2020 pandemic? The world a century in the future is likely to be at least as different from today as it was a century ago. Perhaps our stories will be novel and interesting but not terribly relevant.
Pretty sure people will still need to know how to properly wash their hands, though.
M-Theory is an opinion column by Melanie Baker. Opinions expressed are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of Communitech. Melle can be reached on Twitter @melle or by email at me@melle.ca.
