An Associated Press article recently reported “waves of orange, glowing lava and ash blast(s)” at Mauna Loa, Hawaii, and officials warned potentially dangerous volcanic eruptions for the 200,000 residents nearby. Thanks to the modern warning and preparedness system, no injury resulted from the volcano. Over 2,000 years ago, in Pompeii, Italy, however, they were not so fortunate.
In August 79 AD, on the southern part of the Italian peninsular in the Roman Empire, a massive volcanic eruption entombed the nearby city of Pompeii. Spewing superheated lava, the eruption killed close to 10,000 of the city’s residents who had no chance of escaping from the explosion. Buried and forgotten for centuries, the city was “rediscovered” in 1748 by souvenir seekers, to eventually become a thriving tourist sight. When my wife and I visited Pompeii some years ago, the scene was eerie. We could see what life in that busy and prosperous Roman city had been like: Today, the ancient site stays in permanently suspended display as a frozen moment of history: Romans indulging in their lives of luxury and pleasure, and slaves enduring their lot in life. The unearthed relics are pristinely preserved by the best preservative of all history, the volcanic ashes. We spent a night in Pompeii, rather deeply haunted and disturbed by what we saw of the well-served Romans in their last living moments of opulence and debauchery.
Then, in March 2020 AD, an eruption froze America, this time not by a volcanic explosion but by an invisible killer, named COVID-19, which stopped America dead in its tracks, just as abruptly as the volcanic eruption that had stopped Pompeii 2,000 years ago. All its seemingly unending hustle and bustle, the famed dynamics of a hyperactive nation, completely came to a halt. Like the magical remote control that can stop the world dead in its motions, the coronavirus stopped America, suspending it into a time-and-space vacuum. Just like the Pompeii we saw, America froze as we had just returned home after a 25-year stay overseas working at U.S. military bases.
In a fascinating accident of nature, a whole nation hung in suspense, virtually all things and all motions freezing at the moment for all to see undisturbed. Our daily trips to the Y stopped; our groceries had to be delivered from the co-op; highway traffic trickled to a hushed halt; malls closed; neighbors avoided each other. Just like Pompeii, everything had stopped in America. It was like being transported to the Roman city under the silence of ashes, except our American Pompeii was, as they say, in real time. Suddenly strange and alien stillness engulfed America; and all the noise had died down. How many times in history, could a just-retired sociologist—namely, me– afford such a chance to study a society that stopped everything for him to observe, analyze and describe for what it truly is? I was not sure how long this suspended state would last. Soon, its social dynamics would be awakened from its shock and stupor, its economic machine would come back to life, and its awesome cultural juggernaut would refocus its energy and elan. But for now, in March 2020, America lay frozen and dormant, just like Pompeii in its deathly slumber, so that we could study it undisturbed.
It was almost as if the Grim Reaper had closed the very heartbeat of life in America. In this graveyard, silent and motionless, many Americans now felt they had been condemned and entombed. From their living burial, they were trying to peek out toward the end of the darkness, to escape from this forced hibernation, to live again, to return to laughter and fun, as soon as possible. Every minute in this coronavirus era was to be recalled in dread and befuddlement.
What if, as a metaphor if nothing else, we in the U.S., met our end suddenly like those in Pompeii? Frozen moments of history, such as in Pompeii, in the Roman Empire, or a pre-historic man found preserved in ice, make themselves available for a historical, scientific recollection of lives at the time of their demise.
What would they find in America?
Indeed, what would the future historians, scientists and anthropologists — much wiser from history and evolution — find in the preserved remains of a culture? Would they find another Pompeii of opulence and debauchery or a young nation of hard work and virtues? What would be the story that we would be telling our posterity about our present workplaces, homes, classrooms, corporate corridors, the White House War Room and Pentagon strategy sessions, politicians’ chambers, or the hearts and minds of ordinary citizens in their daily routines? Would they compare us with Athens of glorious civilization? Or, with the Roman Circus of unspeakable waste, injustice and stupidity? Would they find much happiness, trust and love in our hearts and peace and harmony in our society, circa 2020? Indeed, what would the future visitors make of our never-ending amusement calendars, year-long commercial feasts and make-believe festivities? On my part, I kept a journal on America’s society, life and politics while the whole nation stood still, allowing me the precious time and place to carry out my social autopsy of this great new Pompeii.
Thomas Merton, the saintly Trappist monk, used to remind us that we are born only to prepare for our death. If life were a mere prelude to the inevitable, or especially sudden, death, wouldn’t that teach us to live our fragile lives more wisely and happily with one another while there is still time?
Jon Huer, columnist and retired professor who lives in Greenfield. Contact jonhuer@hotmail.com for a free digital copy of his Corona Journal.