(upbeat accordion music) - Now, since the pandemic, my coffee shop's been closed and for the last 10 years it was my second home.

It was my office, I'd meet neighbors, we'd gossip.

Oh yeah, and sometimes have coffee.

As a matter of habit I still take the six block walk, and on the way, I pass several little free libraries.

These things are great.

You can take out a book and read it or when you're done, put one back in.

I mean, these things are really nice.

Oh, I started to notice that one of the neighbors down the block, politically leans a bit to the left.

And then further on down, there's another neighbor that leans hard to the right.

As a matter of civic duty, on the way to the coffee shop, I'll take a book out of one of the libraries and bring it down to the other.

And then on the way home, I'll bring a book back.

That was until I discovered I was taking the same book on Richard Nixon back and forth.

Now, you can learn a lot about your neighbors from their libraries.

This one neighbor down the street, I learned about his healthcare, child-rearing, home improvements.

In fact, when the guy pulled up in front of his house one time, I yelled out, "Hey man, don't worry!"

"You two can work through it!"

Or another time I blurted, "Try a little vinegar on a Q-tip."

Not long after that, that family moved away but the library's still there so I'm learning a whole new family.

But then the pandemic hit and now, instead of books, a lotta times they put food in the libraries.

That's okay.

It's just a different way of learning a family.

So I still walk to the coffee shop and as part of my civic duty, now I'll take some brown rice down to one library and on the way home I'll bring back a couple of cans of SPAM.

(upbeat accordion music) - [Announcer] "Hippocrates Cafe: Reflections on the Pandemic" is a TPT Partnerships co-production with the Center for the Art of Medicine at the University of Minnesota Medical School.

(gentle guitar music) - Hello and welcome to "Hippocrates Cafe" where we place healthcare in context through story and song.

I'm Dr. Jon Hallberg.

- And I'm Dr. Renée Crichlow.

This program, "Reflections on the Pandemic," explores this unprecedented time of COVID-19, social upheaval, and unpredictable change through artistic works.

- The arts have a unique way of providing connection when we feel disconnected, providing healing for the soul and solace for the heart.

- In Wuhan, China, December 2019, Dr. Li Wenliang tried to warn others about the alarming number of pneumonia cases he was seeing.

He was worried they were caused by a SARS-like virus.

He was correct.

After being detained for speaking out, tragically, he died three months later.

- We honor the legacy of Dr. Wenliang and the many lives lost in the first epicenter of the pandemic with a piece by Gao Hong, playing the traditional Chinese instrument, the pipa.

And then Sun Yung Shin will read her poem, "In the Cut: Being Asian American During this Pandemic.

A Word Find Puzzle."

(somber string music) (lively string music) (slow string music) (fast string music) (mournful string music) (slow somber string music) (lively string music) (gentle music) - Afraid, aid, alien, anxiety, Asia, assault.

Assistance, attack, body, bystander, care, colonial, community, containment, country, deforestation, depression.

Dirty, disability, diseased, elders, exclusion, filthy, foreign, habitat, harass, hate crimes, heal, hold, home.

Immigrant, immunosuppressed, imperialism, infected, influx, internment, invader, isolation, jobs, justice, kill, love, masks, mutual, nationalism, nativism, occupy, outside, patriotism, protect, protection, PTSD, quarantine, racism, radical, refugee, sacrifice, scapegoat, segregation, settler, silence, slur, solidarity, spiritual, stabbing, support, surge, sweet, tender, threats, trauma, ugly, vaccine, vigilance, wars.

White supremacy, whole, work, xenophobia, yellow peril.

- As the virus spread globally, social distancing and quarantine became the new reality, along with isolation and loneliness.

- One of the most powerful songs ever written about loneliness, was composed by John Prine, who died on April 7th, at age 73, from COVID infection.

- [Dr. Crichlow] In tribute to his loss, we offer "Hello in There".

- [Dr. Hallberg] Followed by three additional pieces that explore loneliness during this time.

(upbeat folk music) ♪ We got an apartment in the city ♪ ♪ Me and Loretta like living there ♪ ♪ It's been years since the kids are grown ♪ ♪ A life of their own ♪ ♪ Left us alone ♪ ♪ John and Linda live in Omaha ♪ ♪ And Joe is somewhere on the road ♪ ♪ We lost Davy in the Korean War ♪ ♪ I still don't know what for ♪ ♪ Don't matter anymore ♪ ♪ You know that old trees just grow stronger ♪ ♪ And old rivers grow wilder every day ♪ ♪ And old people just grow lonesome ♪ ♪ Waiting for someone to say ♪ ♪ Hello in there, hello ♪ ♪ Me and Loretta, we don't talk much more ♪ ♪ She sits and stares through the back door screen ♪ ♪ And all the news just repeats itself ♪ ♪ Like some forgotten dream ♪ ♪ That we've both seen ♪ ♪ Someday I'll go and call up Rudy ♪ ♪ We worked together at the factory ♪ ♪ But what do I say ♪ ♪ When he asks what's new ♪ ♪ Nothing, what's with you ♪ ♪ Nothing much to do ♪ ♪ You know that old trees just grow stronger ♪ ♪ And old rivers grow wilder every day ♪ ♪ And old people just grow lonesome ♪ ♪ Waiting for someone to say ♪ ♪ Hello in there, hello ♪ ♪ So if you're walking down the street sometime ♪ ♪ And spot some hollow ancient eyes ♪ ♪ Please don't just pass 'em by and stare ♪ ♪ As if you didn't care ♪ ♪ But say hello in there, hello ♪ (somber music) - "Our Lives in the Time of the Coronavirus" Kao Kalia Yang.

(birds chirping) Every night I cuddle with my children before my husband puts them to bed.

I have three: Shengyeng, Thayeng, and Yuepheng.

Shengyeng is six, a little girl with bangs across her brows, eyes the color of sea grass in turbulent water.

Thayeng and Yuepheng are identical twin boys who are four.

They are little alike to the people who know them best though both have smiles that show their white teeth, spaces in between, eyes crinkling at the corners, hair cut short.

When the light has left the sky and they're bathed and brushed, we gather in my bed.

There's one in either arm and another on top of me.

The weight of who they are push into my limbs and my chest and I'm anchored in a way that is impossible through the day.

Every night they ask me for a story.

They like the stories from my past, when I was their age, a little girl in the refugee camps of Thailand.

A little girl who needed to pee and poop in the night, but was afraid of the dark and the glowing eyes of the hungry dogs that lurked beneath the patios of the sleeping quarters.

Or the medium-sized girl on her way to America, who had seen a dead body and fallen in front of it, who could no longer sleep in the dark for fear that the dead woman would come and take her into worlds beyond the one she knew best.

So each night, she'd cry until her father took her outside, gather her into the crook his arm, and allow her to sleep beneath the lights of the shining stars.

Or the large-sized girl in America who used to trap birds with her big sister beneath the top grill of a charcoal cooker and then cook them up in soups with lemongrass and Thai chilis.

The children try to resolve my fears for me, they try to settle me into rest, they ponder the taste of the common swallows in spicy, scented broth.

Lately though, they have been distracted during our evening cuddles, full of energy they haven't quite released during the day even though we make sure to dress them up warmly and open the door for them to play in our backyard with the sticks that have been unearthed by the warming weather, the bits of green grass in between the yellow, the heads of the strawberry plants peeking through the dry leaves of the fall.

The new schedule and confines of our lives have them kicking at each other and me.

They toss their hands like ghosts in the mix of the sheet and the blanket.

To gather them around, to garner their attention, my stories have to be theirs.

In a green house of big windows on the edge of a city called St. Paul, not far from a beautiful park with a big, haunted lake, there lived a sister, her two brothers, and their parents.

The kids' names were Shengyeng, Thayeng, and Yuepheng.

They were your average kids.

Shengyeng liked BTS, the Korean boy band, with RM as their lead.

Thayeng liked dough, playing with it, cooking it, turning it into things edible and not.

Yuepheng was an artist.

He drew and drew and made books with incredible titles like "It was a Sad Day" and "Facts About Sharks".

One bright day, after the excitement of the new year, before springtime could visit the sister and brothers, they learned about the Coronavirus, a sickness that was spreading from one human animal to the other.

In the green house, the mom and dad were often worried, talking about numbers, looking at phones, and holding, holding themselves, each other, and their babies close.

The mom and dad had forgotten how to have fun.

Oh, this was the worst thing that could happen in the green house.

When the mom and dad forgot to have fun, it fell upon the children to make fun.

They made fun with experiments.

They filled spice bottles up with water and sprinkled it on bread, cookies, and crackers like sauces.

They scrunched papers all around the living areas to see if they could swim in them.

They found tape and taped things together that often didn't belong together, (gentle music) like a box of Kleenex and a spatula.

They taped themselves together, at first giggling and then crying when they couldn't free themselves.

Each time the cries, or the giggles, grew too loud, the mom and dad would suddenly put down their phones and look around them as if they were waking up for the first time.

The children became the alarm clocks for fun in the house.

My stories make my children happy.

They smile and laugh.

They can't quite believe how three children with their names could be such fun things as alarm clocks.

They beep, they siren, they cough.

They do all of this in the name of awakening fun.

When their father comes for them, they tell him, "Momma told us a story about us, our lives in the time of the Coronavirus!"

And I'm happy.

(slow emotional music) ♪ Sun streaming in and I'm feeling fine ♪ ♪ At the same time I feel like cryin' ♪ ♪ It's not like I'm lonely ♪ ♪ I don't mind the quiet ♪ ♪ I'm not nearly sick or dyin' ♪ ♪ I'm just holding ♪ ♪ A slowly ♪ ♪ exploding bomb ♪ ♪ It's gonna get bad ♪ ♪ Before it gets worse ♪ ♪ This is the way of all flesh ♪ ♪ It's not like it's a secret ♪ ♪ It's just we've been busy ♪ ♪ And now we've been forced to rest ♪ ♪ With this old ♪ ♪ And slowly exploding bomb ♪ ♪ Mm mm mm mm ♪ ♪ Ah ah ah ah ♪ ♪ Mm mm mm mm mm mm ♪ ♪ Sun going down so beautiful ♪ ♪ Why do we fear the end ♪ ♪ There's nothing I want ♪ ♪ More than to be ♪ ♪ Right here right now amen ♪ ♪ Beneath this golden ♪ ♪ Slowly exploding bomb ♪ ♪ Tomorrow I'll rise just like today ♪ ♪ And everything will have changed ♪ ♪ But I won't notice ♪ ♪ If I don't care ♪ ♪ And if I don't care I'm just chained ♪ ♪ To this cold ♪ ♪ And slowly exploding bomb ♪ ♪ Mm mm mm ♪ ♪ Ah ah ah ah ♪ ♪ Mm mm mm mm mm mm ♪ ♪ So take heart my dear ones ♪ ♪ Take courage my loves ♪ ♪ It's hard and it hurts and it's real ♪ ♪ But everything matters and everything breathes ♪ ♪ And we're not as alone as we feel ♪ ♪ We're all folded ♪ ♪ Into this moment together ♪ ♪ And this bomb is a seed ♪ ♪ Waiting for the right weather ♪ ♪ To break open with life ♪ ♪ Like we haven't known yet ♪ ♪ Oh the height and the depth ♪ ♪ Of love ♪ ♪ Mm mm mm ♪ ♪ Ah ah ah ah ♪ ♪ Mm mm mm mm mm mm ♪ (birds cawing) - On lockdown, (eerie music) a week was a month and a month was cosmic.

(drop thudding) We aged like dogs age, (static crackling) I hoped.

Exponentially wiser.

I missed the neons.

But George Floyd's 846 stoked something older on an order more systemic that broke the fever of the pandemic and brought to light a darker and lonelier disease.

(door clacking) (ethereal music) We are more vulnerable by far than is realized by even our least sung (eerie whirring music) furthest flung and most compromised.

Every second now is eons.

- As the pandemic took hold in places like Italy and New York City, we started seeing images of people trying to break the tedium of quarantine by singing and playing music from their balconies, windows, and fire escapes.

(viola tuning) They also used music to honor frontline healthcare workers.

- Soon, that kind of music-making was everywhere.

(violin tuning) In Minnesota, musicians started doing concerts and performances from their driveways, balconies, lobbies, and living rooms.

(emotional classical string music) (birds chirping) (audience applauding) (gentle guitar music) (dress ornaments clattering) - For Ojibwe people, spiritual power moves through air and sounds hold great significance.

In Central Minnesota, in the Mille Lacs community, they tell a story about a little girl who was very ill. And the father had a dream or a vision and in this vision, he learned of a new dress with jingles attached to it and also some new dance steps associated with it.

Fortunately, there was a ceremonial dance taking place that weekend and he brought the dress and he took his girl, but she could only lie by the side because she was sick.

Over the course of the evening, she heard and saw women dancing in this new dress, these new steps, the jingles attached, and she began to feel better.

By the end of the evening, she was dancing too.

My grandmother was a jingle dress dancer so I always knew about it growing up.

And now my daughter is a jingle dress dancer.

My first instinct as a scholar was to go out and look at photograph collections.

And I found that I couldn't find a single photograph of a jingle dress or anyone wearing one before circa 1920 in United States or Canada.

So after that, I think I had a kind of epiphany.

I was sitting at home at the pow wow and, as often happens, someone was relating the story of the jingle dress.

Something about that story reminded me of how people feel when they have a very terrible case of influenza.

You feel like I'm gonna die, what's gonna happen to me?

And then you kinda turn a corner and you start to feel better.

And it just sort of struck me that this new tradition of healing probably emerged out of the influenza pandemic of 1918-19.

Which I knew from other research I had done was really devastating in Native communities of the Great Lakes.

It had a very terrible impact on Indian children at Indian boarding schools and there were lots of sickness and death associated with it.

(gentle music) While recently women have incorporated it into protest movements, it has always been a radical tradition because it came out of not just the influenza pandemic but this moment when Native people were not supposed to be Indians anymore.

We weren't supposed to be dancing or singing or practicing these traditions.

So during this pandemic, it's been very interesting to see how Native people have responded.

We are not having pow wows this summer and so the virtual pow wow has sprung up where people are filming themselves in full regalia, but dancing alone in their driveways and by the lake and in the woods.

And I think (dresses clattering) jingle dress dancers, in particular, feel that they have a special role in this pandemic.

And they want to dance for healing.

American Indians are very attentive to our traditions of song and dance.

But we do those things because we believe in the healing power of music and dance.

And it's always been that way.

(faint chanting) (dresses jingling) - Even with a topic as serious and scary as COVID infection, there is a place for humor because we all know how healing a good laugh can be.

With that in mind, we offer the following short film, made by the father-daughter team of Mark and Tess Nelson, based on a piece that was published in "The New Yorker" magazine.

(lighthearted classical music) (paper thudding) (inkwell tapping) (birds chirping) - Quills lined up.

Nibs sharp.

Parchment ready.

No death knells yet this morning.

You are going to write "King Lear"!

(groans) (bell dings) (sighs) No problem.

Fine to spend the first day brainstorming.

No such thing as a bad idea.

Nibs still sharp.

You can do this!

(bell dings) You know what was a great play?

"Julius Caesar."

Re-reading it.

"How many ages hence shall this our lofty scene be acted over in states unborn and accents yet unknown!"

Damn.

(bell dings) First draft doesn't have to be perfect.

The scribe will always go over it later.

Shoot for a sloppy copy.

(bell dings) Actus Primus, Scena Prima.

Or is it Actus Primus, Scenus Primus?

(bell dings) (head thudding) (sighs) Ben Jonson must have written, like, six plays by now.

(bell dings) No competition.

You do you.

Who wrote "Titus Andronicus," (bell dings)?

(bell dings) Are those plague sores?

They're kind of reddish.

(bell dings) They're definitely plague sores.

(bell dings) Does rubbing your body with a chicken actually work?

(bell dings) They're not plague sores.

Hoo!

Back to the old quill and parchment.

(bell dings) Gotta sharpen my nibs.

(bell dings) (sniffs) Uh, you been wearing the same doublet and hose for two weeks.

(bell dings) The muse strikes!

If Cordelia and the Fool never appear in the same scene, that new apprentice can play both of them.

Saving one actor's wages, times six performances, optimistic, but why not, for a total of 30 pence.

(birds chirping) Can you say new doublet and hose?

(bell dings) New approach.

Fasting between meals.

Clears the mind.

(bell dings) Feeling a bit peckish.

(bell dings) (bell tolling) Oh, impossible to focus with all the death knells tolling.

(bell dings) Trying to work in some witches.

King James likes witches.

Need new nibs.

(bell dings) (bell tolling) Stop the infernal tolling!

We get it already!

(bell dings) "As flies to wanton boys are we to the gods.

They kill us for their sport."

Damn.

(bell dings) Definitely too dark.

Keep it light.

Nobody wants to see a tragedy after a plague.

(bell dings) Jonson's probably writing a comedy.

(bell dings) So what if you didn't go to university?

(bell dings) You're the King's Men!

Say it, King's Men!

King's Men rule!

(bell dings) King James is gonna serve your head on a platter if you don't write this godforsaken play today.

(bell dings) You could have been an apothecary and actually helped people.

(bell dings) You are a worthless piece of plague-infested excrement.

(bell dings) You know what makes you even more worthless?

Having the resources to spend your day writing a play while other people are dying and then not writing it!

(bell dings) Just take it (birds chirping) one day at a time.

(breathes deeply) (bell dings) You know who has it easy?

Anne and Susanna, back in Stratford.

They don't have to write anything.

(bell dings) Quarantine is almost over.

(speaking in Italian) 40, (speaking in Italian) 30, (speaking in Italian) 20.

This would be a great time to learn Italian.

(bell dings) (bell tolling) "The weight of this sad time we must obey.

Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say.

The oldest hath borne most.

We that are young shall never see so much, nor live so long."

(bell dings) Damn.

(bell dings) (bell dings) - COVID infects indiscriminately.

However, we also know that due to pervasive, structural racism and systemic inequalities, this infection has a deadlier impact on communities and people of color.

These consequences represent challenges with no easy answers.

Equity and representation of the people of color in medical fields (gentle violin music) is one place that may help.

- "What's up, man.

How you been?"

He puts his fist out in our traditional greeting as he picks up his phone.

I return the gesture and pick up my phone.

Thick glass separates our knuckles.

The wardrobe of obligation is mostly scripted pleasantries.

Can't complain.

You?

I respond.

"All right You know, still awhile before I'm out, but I'm making it.

How's the wife and fam?"

They're good.

My Uncle is dead.

My mom is devastated.

Not just at the loss of a brother, but at the fact that he feared going to the doctor so much he didn't even try.

It's the first time I've ever seen what untreated HIV can do.

Sis is pregnant again, I tell him.

My wife is sick and has been on home oxygen for the last four months.

I cry most nights for no reason.

I can't imagine bringing a kid into this.

Life feels like a ruck march through Hell, but only the gentrified parts.

It could be worse.

I have no right to complain.

A rare smile split the hard lines of his face.

"Oh, man.

That's awesome!"

In the third grade he and his brother lived with my family for a month.

My sister's kindness was something he never forgot.

After they moved out, he paid us back in the only way he knew how by buying us protection in the neighborhood with bloody knuckles and missing teeth.

"Boy or girl?"

he asks.

I shrug.

She doesn't know yet.

"Well, tell her I said congratulations."

I will.

"So, how's that sweet doctor life treatin' you?"

I smile and hope it looks genuine.

He doesn't watch medical shows so there are no pre-existing concepts to leverage.

I could explain the difference between residency and being a real doctor but we only have 20 minutes.

I never thought impostor syndrome would be the punchline to my life.

What do you get when you mix responsibility, discipline, and an unhealthy amount of anger with respectability politics?

A black doctor, apparently.

I hedge on the answer.

It's pretty good.

A lotta work.

He looks contemplative and unconsciously thumbs the set tattoos scribbled across the back of his hand.

"I can't imagine."

I don't know if he senses my discomfort or is reacting to his own, but he changes the subject.

"That book you sent me was awesome!

You got any others?"

It was the most violent book I've ever read, but it wasn't the killing that made me think of him.

It was how little control the anti-hero had over his own arc.

I'm glad you liked it, I tell him.

There are a few others I can send you.

"Cool!

You gonna see anyone else while you're in town?"

He'd gotten better at feigning nonchalance.

The knowledge that his own mother no longer speaks to him hangs between us.

Your mom, of course.

I'll make sure she's all right.

I dread the visit.

She'll tell me at least 10 times how proud of me she is.

It is never said, but I know she compares her sons to me and finds them wanting.

I wish I could tell her that I don't view their lives as wasted.

I view mine as an accidental coincidence.

I had two parents and a stable home.

And still, I would be dead or in prison if not for her sons and a good deal of luck.

Any idea when you'll be out?

I ask him.

He talks for awhile but never really answers the question.

We talk about old times.

About watching movies and playing Ninja Turtles in the backyard.

We stay away from dead friends.

(somber music) When our time is up, we end with promises of staying in touch that neither one of us will keep.

I watch the complex emotions play out in subtle twitches across his face.

In this place, the relationship between vulnerability and life expectancy is inverse, so he keeps his tone gruff.

"I really appreciate you comin' by."

I nod with appropriate manliness even as my heart twists.

He doesn't know why I still come.

His unspoken confusion is a testament to how well this country mind those on the margins.

This side of the glass is only for those who chase the horizon and earn their privilege.

He doesn't know that the horizon is constructed from the sacrifices of the valueless, and never will.

I don't feel pride in my accomplishments.

I feel crushed by the obligation to never forget.

(gentle guitar music) ♪ I'm just a poor ♪ ♪ Wayfaring stranger ♪ ♪ Traveling through ♪ ♪ This world of woe ♪ ♪ There is no sickness ♪ ♪ No toil, nor danger ♪ ♪ In that fair land ♪ ♪ To which I go ♪ ♪ I'm going there ♪ ♪ To meet my father ♪ ♪ I'm going there ♪ ♪ No more to roam ♪ ♪ I'm just a-going ♪ ♪ Over Jordan ♪ ♪ I'm just a-going ♪ ♪ Over home ♪ ♪ I know dark clouds ♪ ♪ Will gather 'round me ♪ ♪ I know my way ♪ ♪ Is rough and steep ♪ ♪ But golden fields ♪ ♪ Bow before me ♪ ♪ And weary eyes ♪ ♪ No more shall weep ♪ ♪ I'm going there ♪ ♪ To meet my mother ♪ ♪ She said she'll meet me ♪ ♪ Meet me when ♪ ♪ I come ♪ ♪ I'm just a-going ♪ ♪ Over Jordan ♪ ♪ I'm just a-going ♪ ♪ Over ♪ ♪ Home ♪ - With COVID infection, and other serious illnesses and conditions, there often comes a time when there's nothing more healthcare providers can do for a patient, despite our best intentions and advanced technology, but to be present, to bear witness, to share the pain and suffering and loss with our patients and their families.

We offer the following poem and music as a tribute to all the healthcare providers who have done just that.

(ventilator hissing and pumping) (gentle music) - "Bouquet" by Dr. John Patrick Murray.

- Late at night - as the ventilator alarms shriek - like birds of prey - and the heart tracings wink - with delirious luminescence, - I crush a bouquet of chrysanthemums, - asters, - blue bells, - morning glories - through your IV - and whisper - come back to me - come back to me - come back to me.

(respirator pumping) (gentle melodic guitar music) - Despite all the sadness and fear this virus has brought us, there's also been great moments of hope and joy.

One of those great moments was the amazing recovery from COVID by Nachito Herrera.

He composed a song, "Esperanza" after spending over 14 days in the ICU.

"Esperanza" means hope.

(piano scale music) (gentle piano music) - The story behind this song I'm kinda like a survivor of the COVID-19.

I was basically like 14 days in coma.

There was a team of about 17 doctors and nurses working on bring me back to life.

After 14 days, a miracle start to happen.

I wake up, I open my eyes.

(dramatic piano music) I was asking for a piano.

My wife and my daughter, they contact the Dakota Jazz Club which brought me that keyboard to the room.

(gentle melodic music) A week before I get to the hospital, I was just playing Rachmaninoff's "2nd Piano Concerto" but I couldn't do what I used to do.

Is when this, let's say, these angels are coming to you and they said, "You just need to be patient."

(emotional piano music) And is when that melody came to my head.

You can't imagine how much I enjoying to play it every single day I was there after I wake up because was practically the only thing I was capable.

Just why that melody, "Esperanza", which is what is called in Spanish, means a lot to me.

It is a big hope.

(dramatic emotional piano music) (gentle piano music) So it is simple melody.

It is nothing complicated in there but all I am trying to express is like eventually this is gonna get done.

This virus.

It would not stay with us forever.

And it is something like saying like never give up.

(somber piano music) - This pandemic will not be over soon.

The necessary next normal is beginning.

New, unexpected challenges are ahead.

So much is beyond our control yet there are things we can control, ways we can show how we care about and want to protect our communities and families.

We can social distance, we can wash our hands, and we can wear masks while we're in public spaces.

This pandemic and systemic upheaval have revealed deep cracks in our social structures and the deep wounds and the pain that have been exposed can only be healed if they are seen.

When we choose acts of kindness, caring, compassion, and courage, those awaken the hope and the love we will need to make it through together.

(gentle string music) - [Jon] There are times, like now, when the arts may be the most helpful way to make sense of what we are experiencing.

In that sense, the arts really are a form of medicine.

- We leave you with the sound that survivors of COVID often hear as they are discharged from the hospital.

("Here Comes The Sun") - [Healthcare Worker] Congratulations.

- Thank you.

- You're checking out.

You gotta do it.

(bell ringing) - Woo!

- [Healthcare Worker] Woo hoo!

(people chattering) - [Healthcare Worker] Hey!

♪ Here comes the sun ♪ - Hey!

(staff applauding) ♪ Here comes the sun ♪ (bell dings) - Like really!

(staff cheering) But you know, like really give it, like really give it.

A bunch of times.

Go for it!

(staff applauding) ♪ Little darling ♪ There we go.

♪ It's been a long cold lonely ♪ - Good job, good job.

- You're great!

- Thanks, we love you!

- Good job!

♪ Little darling ♪ ♪ It feels like years since it's been here ♪ ♪ Here comes the sun ♪ ♪ Do do do do ♪ ♪ Here comes the sun ♪ (gentle music)