We did not lose our electricity in the storm that just swept the East Coast. Here, at the northern edge of Winston-Salem, four inches of snow fell, followed by two inches of freezing rain, resulting in five inches of solid ice. For some reason, the ice did not stick to the power lines, so we were lucky. Many people were not as fortunate.
Whenever the power goes out, a day of reckoning stares us in the face. In my childhood, power outages brought undeniable problems: no lights, no way to run appliances, and, for those with electric furnaces, no heat. Fortunately, we had a gas furnace, so the biggest distress in my childhood home involved my parents’ inability to make coffee.
Now, of course, power outages devastate the flow of life, inextricably tied as it is to computers and the internet. The terrifying big picture (planes, trains, traffic control, shipping, medical equipment, banking, commercial endeavors, our military) looms beyond the scope of this essay and beyond my mind’s ability to comprehend.
But the small picture can be disturbing too: the patterns by which many of us work are dislodged when we cannot “power-up.” At first, true, it’s lovely: one can snuggle in a fluffy blanket, drink in the beauteous snow, sip something warm out of a thermos smartly prepared in advance, and sigh. While not quite a visit to Tolstoy’s retreat Yasnaya Polyana, there is a sense of connection to a world far more welcoming of contemplation.
But we live online now. Yes, we have hard-copy versions of our publications here at Professor Carol and intend to keep it that way. But the depth of outreach that we, like many of our colleagues, have attained by expanding virtually around the world cannot be overstated.
It’s not uncommon in a webinar to welcome participants representing the four corners of the globe: some are rousing little ones to greet the morning, others are tucking kids into bed, and some have set alarms to join us in the middle of the night, drawing our admiration. What could be more wonderful? But as we all know, every bit of this activity depends on electricity: even with back-up chargers and a power generator, one at some point has to plug in, not to mention the internet has to function.
How ever, then, did we proceed before this life of high-tech? The answer is, business and institutions proceeded very well, thank you. Perhaps, by today’s standards, activities were more limited, but were they really limited . . . or just less immediate and less ambitious?
A few days ago, I found a file stuffed with remnants of the machinations necessary to set up a portion of an International Ethnomusicological Conference at Columbia University. At that time in 1983, I lived in West Germany. Phone calls, especially abroad, were prohibitively expensive. Virtually everything for preparing this conference, therefore, was conducted through letters to the scholars whom I invited and to the facilitators at Columbia. I was inviting speakers and panelists from different countries, including the Soviet Union, Europe, and the US. While a telex or two might have been sent in the final days, everything otherwise was arranged by post.
How did all of it come out so smoothly, I ask myself? How did I get out the invitations, the paperwork for visas as needed, all of the reservations and confirmations, not to mention assembling abstracts for the program? Did all of this really happen through paper put into envelopes?
Yes it did, but here is the trick. One had to be organized, know what was needed in advance, make a plan, and stick to it. Electricity determined nothing as long as one had a pen or manual typewriter, stamps, paper, and envelopes.
Was it easier? Too much time has passed for me to make comparisons, but it all seemed rather normal, if a bit daring since I was approaching scholarly heavyweights while still in the process of completing my Ph.D. The main question is: was it better? Probably an excess of nostalgia causes me to say this, but it might have been.
Meanwhile, if you really want to let your mind run free, imagine our forefathers setting up the panoply of logistical, legal, and social events surrounding an event like the Peace Conference at Yalta, or the Congress of Vienna that ended the Napoleonic Wars! Seriously: how did Charlemagne ever manage to organize an entire empire? Okay, I know, he had runners on horseback. But still.
We need to stay in awe of what technology can do for us, while remembering how fragile it is. I love being able to draw so close to you, to share words and thoughts, and be invited into your homes and classrooms to explore our mutual love for music, art, history, and culture. Beyond that, I cherish seeing photos and videos of long-ago students off and running in their careers, whether it be managing a home studio or making a debut at The Met (you go, John Holiday!). How fulfilling it is, too, to gaze at pictures of former students and the children of friends, beaming as they hold newborns in their arms. Technology has brought so many magical, marvelous, sources of gladness and inspiration.
But when we cannot plug in, it all goes away with a whoosh. And we’re left with ourselves, our pens and typewriters, the flame of a fire, and the essential aid we render one another to power our lives. And for most of human history, that has been enough.
