Experiencing trauma as a collective changes society in a way that cannot be easily quantified. From wars to public health crises, traumatic events shape and alter the very fabric of the societies in which we exist in. These changes may be loud, like the implementation of wide spread public policy, or they may be more nuanced, like how the modes by which a person interacts with the world shift.

The COVID-19 pandemic is a trauma that’s changing us every day. The trauma of an invisible disease is forcing us to adjust, adapt, and respond. It’s undeniable that this pandemic will have a lasting impression on so many of us. Yet, the degree to which the pandemic affects us varies depending on our direct relation to the virus. Am I a frontline healthcare provider? Am I participating in mutual aid efforts to help my elderly neighbors? Did I lose someone dear to me to the virus?

New York City has emerged as a global epicenter of the coronavirus. The city’s shuttered storefronts and near empty subway trains reflect the heavy weight of COVID-19’s impact. Even with all of the struggles they face, New Yorkers persevere. My living in this city for seven years has affirmed the widespread belief that New Yorkers, and in extension New York City, are incredibly strong.

The city’s many monuments document its residents’ resiliency. The 9/11 memorial in downtown Manhattan is one such example. It’s a solemn reminder of what the city lived through, the lives lost, and the survivors. As someone living in New York, I think of how busy the memorial was before the pandemic. It was at times overwhelming to see the plaza filled with tourists. However in retrospect, I realize that the large number of visitors signifies the importance of these events. The more that people visit the memorial, the more likely that the memory of the victims, their families, and first responders can live into the future.

Now, I can only imagine the empty plaza of the 9/11 memorial during this time of social distancing. If no one is visiting to remember because of a pandemic or any other crisis, then what does a memorial become? It can’t mean that it loses its significance because people don’t visit. The tragic events of 9/11 still haunt us. Such questions reveal how difficult it is to understand how monuments exist in our world. The fluid nature of monuments, in this case memorials, reminds us of their importance, not only as a way to remember, but also as a way to study and reflect on the goings-on of a particular society.

While the 9/11 plaza will one day reopen to visitors who will pay their respects, I reflect on Hart Island, another New York City site of remembrance with a long, haunting background that will not have the same fate. 

Hart Island is located off the northeastern side of the Bronx. It’s approximately a mile long in length and a third of a mile in width covering over 100 acres of land. Over the years, the island’s duties have changed. It has served as a prison camp, psychiatric institution, drug rehabilitation center, and more. It’s also a potter’s field for mass burials and home to over a million unclaimed bodies. During the AIDS epidemic in the 1980s, the island became a resting place for those who lost their lives and did not have loved ones to claim them. Now, those who lose their lives to the COVID-19 pandemic and are not claimed by loved ones will join them on the island.

It’s easy to understand that the island is a place where people will be buried and somewhere we can remember them. Yet, what happens if no one has the opportunity to visit the burial site to mourn those who passed? Without a direct link to society through visitors, the significance of the island as a memorial site becomes uncertain.

One possible solution is that the island’s significance is ever-changing to reflect the histories of an evolving society. When the city needed somewhere to bury those who lost their lives to the AIDS epidemic, Hart Island became more than just a burial site. It also became a place where we thought about the impact of the AIDS epidemic, especially bringing to mind those who were at the forefront of fighting it. 

This distant island, removed from the busy downtown streets, has transformed into a place for us to contemplate deep societal inequities. I reflect on how those who are unclaimed are buried on the island. These bodies will likely belong to those who come from the most marginalized points of our society. While death is equitable in that everyone will face it one day, the situations around how death meets each person is different, and depends greatly on status and privilege.

Burial is not the only part of death driven by inequity. Mourning is as well. Historically, the incarcerated have often been forced to bury bodies on Hart Island. What does it mean to have the most vulnerable populations working to say farewell to those who may be just as marginalized? By expanding what Hart Island signifies from a burial site to a place of remembrance, we can honor the souls and understand the society that these bodies lived through. This shift pushes us to think deeper about the societal constructs that surround these memorial sites.

At every step of the pandemic, we’ve had to learn to adjust our ideas of health, sickness, death, and mourning. I worry about the implications of not being able to mourn those who have passed. Mourning, especially as a community, gives us space to reflect on the greatness of a person who passes on and for the living to be reminded of their humanity and love. It’s a time to process in order to lead the way to healing. In a new world where traditional modes of gathering in public space to mourn are restricted, how can we shift our ways of remembering?

In order to overcome the fact that we can’t go to funerals, many turn to the virtual world. The Internet has become a place of solace. From virtual gatherings on Zoom to social media posts celebrating lives lost due to the virus, the Internet may serve as the final frontier of memorials.

In a way, the Internet has been democratizing the process of mourning. While acknowledging that Internet access is still a privilege in its own right, it has also allowed for increased participation. We are shaping the Internet for collective mourning and healing as if we are building our own memorial. A social media post about the passing of someone serves as a virtual tombstone that we can gather around since we cannot in “real life.” While this sounds like a potential solution, I can’t help but ask how this will impact us as a society.

The uncertainties that we face every day due to the pandemic cannot be simply measured. We can’t touch and feel the changes that we’re going through as a society as we can a solid monument made of bronze and stone. In this way, we cannot measure the fluidity in which the memorials exist. Perhaps the best way forward is to embrace the uncertainty in the challenges that we face as a society. Coming to terms with the flexible nature of monuments may allow us to use them as tools to address the needs of our current society and push us towards a more just, equitable future.