The Masks Are (Finally) Coming Off

D avid Leonhardt writes the Morning newsletter for the New York Times. He used to host a Times podcast, The Argument, and listening to him there I decided he was the most useful person in journalism, because he is a perfect avatar of our leadership class.

I found listening to him think out loud utterly maddening in a way that listening to out-and-out left-wingers wasn’t. He’s soft-spoken. He’s practical. He’s liberal, but not a leftist. Fundamentally, he believes in markets and our Constitution, and his belief is reassured by how often these things work against Republicans. He thinks the media has a bias against Democrats, holding them to higher standards than Republicans. Sometimes leftist positions make him really uncomfortable, but if going against them in any sustained way would make him look like a conservative, well he just sort of . . . doesn’t, because he doesn’t think of himself as one of those gross people. He’s sane and, if you hadn’t noticed, he’s going places.

“What would David Leonhardt say and do in public?” is now my barometer for how American institutions are likely to think and act. So when Leonhardt came out and said this week that maybe we can stop wearing masks outdoors, it seemed like evidence that our institutions might be beginning to talk about the science and confront the superstition that the most cautious, risk-averse approach is the one that aligns with the science.

Astute readers (and David Leonhardt) have known that outdoor transmission of the coronavirus was rare, and that outdoor spaces were thus pretty safe, since last May. But it wasn’t safe to say so too loudly, because that meant giving aid and comfort to crazies such as Ron DeSantis and those disgusting Florida beachgoers. Eventually, the winter surge turned outdoor mask-wearing into the norm in urban centers, and the evidence was ignored altogether. Now, finally, a year late, it’s becoming safe to point out that wearing masks outside may not be justified by the science.

Maybe in another year, we’ll be ready to admit many other things that are obvious but impolite to say: Masking children in school, especially after teachers have been offered the vaccine, is medically unnecessary and socially harmful; erring on the side of caution where COVID is concerned has caused people to abandon the elderly into loneliness and led to a giant spike in early deaths; and so on and so forth.

As for masks, it’s funny just to take an inventory of how we use them now in the deep-blue suburbs where I live. We pull up into the church parking lot, and I pull out a cloth mask with dinosaurs on it from my pocket. My sons love dinos, and we might have purchased this one with them in mind, but the mask is for me; they don’t wear masks at church, though my daughter sometimes will ask for one. So I slip mine on. We enter the vestibule and there are the poster-boards from the diocese of Bridgeport, offering us outdated guidelines on disinfecting surfaces to prevent the spread of COVID. Half the pews are roped off to maintain social distancing. On one of the columns in the nave, there is a sign: “Please Do Not Sing/ No Cantes Por Favor.” Wearing a mask makes it much more difficult to quietly “shush” my toddlers in the pew.

I wear masks in the grocery store and every other business that requires it. Masks were originally recommended for use in spaces where social distancing is impossible, but many stores in New York now require them for entry and still encourage social distancing (although it is true that people are much less punctilious about keeping six feet apart than they were a year ago).

On most mornings, I drop my son off at his preschool. I drive and park the car, unmasked. I get out of the car, put on my mask, and then bring my son from the car to the direct entrance to his classroom. He gets his temperature taken at the door and I say, “No, again” as my answer to all seven health-screening questions the teacher asks me. She is vaccinated and wearing a mask. I am in a mask and I’m standing outdoors, as I sign and initial my health testimony. I pull down my mask to give my son a peck on the cheek and wish him a good day. Then it comes back over my face. The door closes behind me, and I take off my mask and put it back in my pocket. Though I normally would have put it back on, just to avoid offending them or getting yelled at, lately I have resolved to live in hope instead.

This is Westchester County, N.Y. Everyone here seems to have a lawn sign testifying to the fact that they aren’t gross, and they “believe in science.” They’re sane and, I’ve noticed, they’re going places. The next time one of them yells at me about my masklessness, I’ll tell them to read David Leonhardt’s newsletter on the subject.

Then I’ll get back to dreaming of Florida.