Tim Haggerty: Prudence, not optimism, should rule back-to-school decisions

One of the advantages of being a historian is that you are never at a loss for a half-baked analogy, particularly after a couple of gin and tonics in isolation.

The historical circumstance that keeps popping into my mind these days is the beginning of World War I in June 1914: an unprecedented conflagration that decimated Europe, began dismantling the existing colonial order, and laid the groundwork for the rise of fascism, communism and the Soviet and American century.

The conflict began with the assassination of Archduke Francis Ferdinand, heir to the Austro-Hungarian crown and his morganatic consort Sophie Chotek, one of history’s unluckier women. After the Bosnian nationalist Gavrilo Princip shot and killed them in Sarajevo, Serbia and Austria-Hungary squared off, quickly dragging one ally after another into their fight. What might have been a mediocre conflict quickly became The Great War.

The point here (at long last!) is that once plans get set into motion, they become increasingly impossible to reverse. Take, for example, the manner in which universities and colleges are still planning to reopen: While some schools may have averted disaster by going to an online model, other schools are sticking to their guns and planning on having their students in residence or are developing so-called hybrid models, which may very well have the unintended consequence of extending the spread of the epidemic well into 2021.

Unfortunately, elementary and secondary schools are following suit, and we are all sliding toward an unprecedented disaster in the face of a rapidly changing disease profile.

Anyone who teaches at a college will tell you one sure, simple fact: Two or three weeks after the term begins, everyone comes down with a cold, which is simply a coronavirus in sheep’s clothing. Unfortunately, we live in a world where overly sophisticated data analysis and computer modeling seem to trump — sorry — the clear examples provided by lived experience.

If we are going to go a little deeper, college students, however carefully they are placed in residential pods by administrators or fed by robotic caterers, are going to do what undergraduates have done since 1088, whatever their worldly circumstance may be: Find a way to buy beer and pizza and exchange their underwear at the first good opportunity.

These well-intentioned plans began being formulated at the end of spring term, when the virus seemed more manageable and time-limited. But America has changed, and the pandemic is now better conceptualized as endemic, with its victims no longer clearly distinguishable by age, pre-existing conditions or outcomes. The current spikes in caseloads that have occurred after premature commercial reopening even in relatively unaffected areas are a preview of coming events as more than 20 million undergraduates prepare for class and embark upon their annual mass migration.

Even if promising treatments or effective vaccines emerge from an experimental pipeline, optimism is no substitute for prudence, given the nature of the disease and the unproven logistics of mass production and distribution. It is now time to admit our mistake, cancel class and throw ourselves against the gears that are now in play, regardless of the ensuing disorder.

A hundred years ago, an entire generation of young men and women were lost to an avoidable disaster through the intransigence of those in charge. As a college instructor, I have absolutely no desire to prepare this particular lecture.