ANNUS HORRIBILIS
What was Year 2020, culturally? It was TikTok and jigsaw puzzles, Dylan and #BLM, and an emptiness where Chicago’s arts should have been
Well, that sucked.
Wish therewere a more pleasantway — some lyrical, euphemistic turn of phrase— to conclude 2020, this calamitous sea-change of a finale to the second season of the 21st century. But who has the energy? Plus, as you read this, it’s early December. Despite a nascent slant or two of sunlight to slice through the darkness, we understand 2020 could always get worse: A extraterrestrial armada has not yet landed inGrant Park, amajor asteroid strike still looks remote, martial lawhas not been declared, radioactive dinosaur attacks remain improbable, Bob Dylan continues to record, Cocoa Krispies are still a thing, electricityworks and the civil war many feared failed to materialize.
Actual sober Americans did end the yearwondering openly if a sittingUnited States presidentwas planning a coup to stay in power— which is a very badway to conclude a very bad year— but despite the online meme, 2020was probably not the worst year ever. Itwasn’t nearly as bad as 1347 (Black Death), or even 1918 (Spanish Flu). It alsowasn’t 1919 (race riots, isolationism, labor unrest) or 1807 (peak ofU.S. slave trade), 536 (volcanoes, starvation) or 1314 (cannibalism).
In fact, try this: Think of all the great new stuff you experienced in 2020. Go ahead.
While you do that, I’ll be readingmy phone and cursing Donald Trump. Then I’ll be listening to FleetwoodMac again. Next, instead of takingmy daughter to a playdate— are the playgrounds still closed, I’m too exhausted to Google— we’ll be quarantined, streaming the inexplicably popular 1993 comedy “Hocus Pocus.” After that, once everyone is asleep, I’ll retire to the car for a couple of hours, where I will sit bundled up in the darkness, demoralized by our crumbling
democracy, and listen to old episodes of “American Top 40” with Casey Kasem, streamingweekly on satellite radio.
When I think back on 2020, a couple of images stick: Walking through downtown Chicago, at the typical height of the morning rush, and not seeing a soul, the sky sour, smoky and bright, like in a zombie movie. Then rounding a corner, where, its wings unfurled across the sidewalk, sprawled a large dead owl— an omen of such unspecified caution I think of it now as a personal 2020 mascot.
But great new stuff from2020? Sorry, Iwas hoping you could tell me. I couldn’t tell you. Not entirely. Iwas busy this year. Iwas busy beingworried. Iwas not focused. Maybe itwas good that large chunks of the culture seemed to hit pause in 2020? Whocould focus? Never mind being socially distanced and unable to gather in large groups. Never mind how oftenwewere reminded that culture requires community. Wewere distracted. The yearwas not good for artists, performers, entertainers or those who made a livelihood through adjacent professions, such as technicians or caterers. Politics alone drained our energy and capacity to see clearly. Reflection— the fuel that powers new art, and breeds patrons— became a luxury.
Itwas a year without an arts.
But not a year without a culture. You might argue that the year itselfwas the culture. UnlikeDisney+, Lollapalooza or tourists onNavy Pier, you could not simply steer around it this time. The new culturewas face masks, aswell as the refusal fromlarge sections of the country towear facemasks. Itwas protesters yelling “Black lives matter,” aswell as the counter-protestors who shouted back “All lives matter” (even as they refused towear masks, suggesting quite the opposite). It was the forced buoyancy of a Zoom meeting, and the flat expression of a virtual education. Itwas the plywood nailed across downtown businesses, and the street marches against police violence. It was the daily pandemic briefings on TV, and the traffic held up by Dodge Rams flying “TRUMP2020” flags like roadshow pirates. Itwas the livestream concerts performed through smiles of awkwardness. Itwas the palpable distrust between everyday citizens. Itwas that overtaxed 2020 phrase, these unprecedented times. It was in the sentiment passed between neighbors and family members, that the nation felt like itwas unspooling; which was a sentiment that resonated in the titles alone of a handful of new records, movies and books—“TheUnraveling,” “TheUndoing,” “AmericanUtopia,” “A Very Stable Genius.”
That’s whatwe gained. Whatwe lost will fill books for decades. We lost more than 250,000 American lives. We lost deathbed goodbyes. Employment. Thanksgiving. Graduations. Weddings. Street fairs. Music festivals. Live theater and, for many, movie houses. The Air andWater Show, the Taste of Chicago, the Bud Billiken Parade. Professional sports returned, but with a huge asterisk, playing before no one at all.