Can we make masking sound fun?
We need a case for collective action rooted in pleasure and joy
Over the last couple of days, I listened to a massive podcast episode from Death Panel called “How Liberals Killed Masking.” For all intents and purposes, I am as devout a member of the choir as this particular group of leftist public health officials could hope to preach to. I mean, if anyone is going to appreciate a phrase like “extractive abandonment under neoliberal health capitalism,” it’s me. And yet, in between my vigorous nods of agreement, I also felt moments of exasperation. Because over the course of the very detailed two-hour-plus analysis of how mainstream Democrats and liberal media colluded to bring an end to masking as a widescale public health measure, I felt something desperately missing: joy.
I can hear the hosts scoffing. Surviving a pandemic amidst cruel indifference to mass death and debilitation isn’t exactly a sunny or fun experience. And I get that. The hosts’ outrage is 100% understandable. The scorn they heap on CDC officials and pundits who have consistently downplayed the threat of COVID and the value of mitigation efforts is valid. And listening to their thorough critique of the effort to kill masking over the last two years felt validating in many ways.
I empathize with all of the emotions I heard coming up in this podcast. Fear that the pandemic is being worsened because of a callous commitment to capitalism over human life. Anger that people in power are choosing not to implement life-saving strategies. Disgust for people who are using their platforms to denigrate and humiliate critics of these policies. But then what?
Fear, anger, and shame have their uses. Fear lets us know when we feel unsafe. Anger signals a boundary has been crossed. Shame can tell us we are out of alignment with our values. But I believe the ultimate goal of the hosts of Death Panel and others who agree with them is to save lives by shifting policy. On this front, I think fear, anger, and especially shame may be limited tools.
I imagine this sounds like the civility-over-all logic we hear too often. But I’m not talking about protesting outside Supreme Court justices’ homes. Fear, anger, and shame can be powerful when directed strategically at people in power. But when trying to make a case for change to our neighbors - whether we’re talking about masking, affordable housing, or abolition - they often cause people to tune out.
I’m not really sure what a joy-centered argument for a just approach to the pandemic (and public health in general) would sound like. But I know we need one. Because the competing narrative is simple and breezy. Return to your life. Hug your grandparents. Hang out with your friends. Send your kids off to school. The power of this narrative is reinforced by the fact that many of those most at-risk of death by COVID are treated as disposable and/or invisible by policymakers and media. Incarcerated people, elderly people, disabled people, BIPOC people, and people in rural communities.
Caring for others can be a compelling story. But it’s still not quite enough. I hate this cynical view of human nature, but it feels true in the United States that people need concrete and selfish reasons to adopt a new behavior. And those reasons have to be more than, “You’re a bad, selfish person if you don’t wear a mask on the train.”
Personally, I am just beginning to emerge from a years-long cocoon of shame. I felt like because my Whiteness and maleness and class privilege led me to say things or ignore things that caused harm, I myself was a problem. I felt that because I benefit from systemic oppression and I’m unable to extricate myself from those systems, I was as guilty of harm as those systems. I don’t feel that way anymore (at least, I try not to).
I try to remember that I cannot dismantle these systems alone. And while my individual choices matter, I cannot place the burden of undoing large-scale harms like gentrification, mass incarceration, and sexism on every one of my actions. But offering people like me a chance to understand the problems of the world without feeling responsible for carrying their weight of them is only part of the problem.
The question for me is how do we make collective action feel as exciting and appealing as selfish action?
I’m honestly not sure. But I think the answer lies somewhere in the ideas of adrienne marie brown’s Pleasure Activism and Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha’s writings on care work and disability justice. As I understand these writers, there are a few principles that can help us take pleasure in masking (and various other collective efforts):
The more of us there are working together, the lighter the work. In other words, if all (or at least most) of us were masking, it wouldn’t feel like a burden or a sacrifice. It would just be a thing we did (that had the wonderful bonus of protecting each other).
Caring for others does not need to be “work.” Think about when someone you care about has had a long day. Doesn’t it feel good to be able to help them vent and cheer them up? When a loved one is sick, doesn’t it feel nice to make them soup (or order it for them online)? Don’t you enjoy giving a foot rub or a back rub to a partner who really needs it? Care can be pleasurable.
When we create communities and systems of care, reciprocity is built in. All those people you enjoy caring for? They can care for you too! Doesn’t that feel good?
When we show up for each other, we also make it more possible for everyone to show up. Our current system is shutting so many people out of public life. We are missing out on their presence. It’s so much more fun to be able to hang out with all kinds of people!
We can infuse humor in all of this. When we’re making demands for change or just practicing care strategies ourselves, we can crack jokes and sing songs and dance and live fully.
Experiencing collective efforts as pleasurable makes them sustainable.
I’m not sure if these ideas combine to create the kind of narrative we need to compete with the allure of “Back to normal.” But we need a story that does. Anger, fear, and shame have their place. But too often, they push people away, make them feel ashamed for doing so, and then they tune out. When we offer people a story about collective action that centers joy, we make them excited to join in. And if we’re going to engage in collective action that’s pleasurable, we need everyone we can get.
Other Recent Writing
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Other Recommendations for Reading/Watching/Listening
There is No Dignity in This Kind of America by Jamelle Bouie, New York Times