People and the plague

Most often, when people hear the word “plague,” the first thing that comes to mind is the Bubonic Plague, or the Black Death, as it was referred to by the locals. In the fourteenth century, this disease ravaged Europe, killing around 24 MILLION people. One-third of the population.

It was a scary, sinister, and smelly time to be alive. Regular people had little to no protection from contamination, but despite the danger, they still had to work to provide for their families. Plague brought with it horrible disfigurement, pain, and humiliation. The decaying bodies of the dead perfumed the city streets.

And yet, despite the horror, most of us modern people find it strikingly difficult to whip up any sense of empathy for or connection to the everyday humans that were affected by the Black Death. We think of them collectively as a group of brown-clad peasants, walking along muddy streets saying “yes, milord” and calling their enemies “saucy curs.” Rarely do we imagine that these earthy people had any sort of personalities. All they could spare time to think about was work, or death, or ways to avoid getting put in the stocks. On the weekends, for fun, they would report their potion-brewing neighbors to the town witch-hunter.

These people didn’t fall in love, or hug their children, or even smile. And they definitely didn’t crack jokes. How could they, when the internet didn’t even exist yet?

But that’s where we’re totally wrong. Seven hundred years of separation has caused us to forget this one vital truth about people: they’re people. No matter where we picture them.

Granted, jokes in the medieval times were more likely to revolve around figs than around John Cena, but still. It happened. In fact, comedy was one of the main accessible means that people had to cope with plague and other medieval-themed difficulties. With all the plays and even nursery rhymes written about the plague–and death in general–during this time period, it’s no wonder the British are still known for their dark and morbid sense of humor (Shaun of the Dead, anyone?).

And people today still find the Black Death incurably funny. We use it as fodder for sketches and exposition for medieval rom-coms. I mean, just try to say the word “bubo” while keeping a straight face and you’ll understand.

I’ve seen–and made–more plague jokes than normal in recent months, and it’s no surprise. Coronavirus has infected all of us with a need to lighten the mood.

This isn’t meant to sound insensitive–believe me, I know it’s scary, and people have died, which is never something to laugh about, and no one is sure where this thing will go next. I’m just trying to give us all a little perspective.

We’re still people, aren’t we? Regardless of how this new disease affects us, it can’t take our humanity.

Perhaps hundreds of years from now, future humans will see us as gray-hoodied nobodies, obsessed with coffee and unable to stop arguing about things that don’t matter.

But someone who’s looking will be able to see, and they’ll say “hey, these people may be uncivilized, but look at these old documents I found on this recovered hard drive. Coronavirus–isn’t that the plague we learned about in history class last Tuesday?” And they’ll click through the memes and share a laugh with us–and probably a grimace–from hundreds of years away, and for that moment, we’ll be real to them.

The human race has made it through millennia of wars, widespread panics, and fashion don’ts to make it here today. And you know what? I truly believe that everything will be okay.

So cry if you need to. Use your time in quarantine to finally beat Super Mario Bros, or eat a bunch of homemade cookies. Pray. Tell your parents you love them. Don’t be afraid to make jokes.

And don’t forget to be human.