A sign leading into the COVID-19 vaccination site at the Keene State College athletic facility. Vaccine Sign
A sign leading into the COVID-19 vaccination site at the Keene State College athletic facility. Vaccine Sign

During the worst of the pandemic when I thought I would have time on my hands, I placed Charles Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities on my list of classics to revisit. I haven’t gotten to it yet, but the opening passage has haunted me for many, many years.

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity , it was the season of light, it was the season of darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair.”

Perhaps, even if I don’t get around to re-reading it, I should write my own version. I think I would entitle my story “A Tale of Two Nations,” and I would brazenly plagiarize Dickens for that memorable first paragraph.

My two nations actually share borders with each other. To date there is no plausible way of building a wall between them. That’s good, because they are comprised of the same fifty states, the same resources, the same infrastructure, the same history and even the same citizens. The two nations are U.S.

Yes, human beings are messy, and there’s plenty of blame to go around, but how on earth did we get to the point where we can’t even agree on facts, much less live up to our name of the United States of America? How did we get to the point where, not only do we not talk to each other, we seem to be headed in totally opposite directions? States are pitted against states, regions are pitted against regions. The haves against the have-nots, the powerful against the powerless.

Examples abound. For me, our divided response to the pandemic leaps to mind. Perhaps as in the adage, “When you’re a carpenter, everything is a nail,” I have a cognitive bias toward this pandemic lens, but it’s been an instructive one. In my view, we are so close to turning a corner that we can taste it, yet our two nations are building walls and are practically at war with each other, preventing this from happening.

On the one hand, we have the nation that has done what its citizens can do to prevent the spread of the virus, listening to the public health experts, staying socially distant, showing respect for others by wearing masks and lining up for these remarkable vaccines our scientists have developed as soon as they have been available to them. If they have had concerns about the safety or efficacy of the vaccines they have turned to reliable sources to help them in their decision.

Then there is the other nation. They have suspended their own judgment, put their trust in politicians and masters of disinformation from an alternate universe and they can’t seem to believe the facts playing out right in front of their own eyes. They are principled in their skepticism and staunch in their refusals to listen to the clear scientific evidence presented by people who know something about it. And while they view themselves as virtuous, they demonstrate little concern for protecting the rights of all of us to remain healthy. The virus is doing what viruses do, and becoming more contagious all the time.

The polarization of these two nations has left those among us with genuine obstacles to vaccine access, like distance, lack of transportation, inadequate outreach or immobility due to medical issues, exposed and vulnerable. None of this will be helped by a wall or a war. What will happen if we succumb to foolishness over wisdom, or incredulity over belief? We will simply prolong the winter of despair, when the spring of hope is out there.

(Millie LaFontaine lives in Concord.)