A few years ago, I moved from Little Rock, Arkansas, to Westchester, New York. I quickly noticed myriads of cultural, social, and political differences between the two states. Upon traveling back to Arkansas over the summer, I assumed my friends and the local government would be enforcing CDC protocols in a way similar to those of New York. I could not have been more wrong.

While all students have been given the choice of returning to campus or remaining online, and most college-aged students are healthy, the number of cases being reported to LSU is growing rapidly, as it is at many other universities. Many students are not reporting their cases and continue to host large-scale parties.

My opinion might seem utopian. However, I continue to uphold what I learn at home every day: the value of moderation. Even if it is easier to say it than to put it into practice, I believe that is what governance should be about; moderation. In this pandemic, it was not about choosing between economy and health, much less destroying one at the expense of the other. It would have been enough to find a point of balance that could protect both.

The COVID-19 pandemic has caused tragedy, a fact that it is undeniable. Killing tens of thousands in the US alone, and leaving even more unemployed, it should be everyone’s greatest concern; however, in many states, including my own, Indiana, something darker is lying beneath the façade of protecting us from a killer: an attack on women’s rights.

In Uruguay, the pandemic was not approached through a politicized lens or imbued with a bias of any kind. The apolitical nature of the pandemic meant that there was no division within the population. Nobody doubted the presence of the virus and everybody knew the stakes, which were especially daunting considering that Uruguay has an aging population. There were no trivial protests or deniers, unlike in some other countries.  

I have already lost count of how many times my mom had mentioned Korea since the coronavirus had flooded our lives and thoughts. During dinner, my younger sister would roll her eyes, sick of this constant chatter over South Korea’s handling of the coronavirus. But, nonetheless, my mom would continue on about how still, despite this worldwide pandemic, Korea wasn’t under a lockdown, Korea wasn’t banning Chinese citizens from entering the country, Korea wasn’t under major panic. In spite of this immediate and sudden chaos, Korea was the closest to normal.

I found myself watching over the people one particular evening. From the thirty-fifth floor of a corporate housing unit, to be exact. This may seem strange considering how most people would actively run away from the city during a worldwide pandemic, but sometimes there’s more than one kind of logic. And sometimes they can each be right in their own respective ways. So how does one find themself in perhaps the most random of locations on a casual Friday night, in the throes of a global crisis? To put things simply, in the midst of quarantine, my family was losing it.

So what do teenagers around the world really think?

I voiced this question to my parents one day, and this is what has come out.

I wouldn’t call this an exposé, per se—it’s more like a friendly wake-up call to the other teenagers of the world and to the governments that we live under. All around the world, governments have responded differently to this pandemic, from the “herd immunity” of the United Kingdom to the total lockdowns in China to the relatively loose restrictions in some Scandinavian regions. We at Street View News conducted a little survey last April to see what teenagers think about how the world has dealt with COVID-19, and now we present to you the results, with perspectives from writers from all over the globe, with little bits of my voice popping in every so often to guide you along on this virtual trip around the world at a time where travel may the most dangerous thing one can do.

Without further ado, we begin, at the country where it all began.

When you open your phone and scroll through TikTok, how many jokes do you see about COVID-19? How many times have you heard your friends call our school closures “Corona break” or “Corona-cation?” How many times have you heard someone say “It’s Corona time?” How many times have you thought to yourself, “I can see my friends during our time off as long as we stay 6 feet apart.”

I was in such despair, and I kept trying to blind myself to the reality of what was really going on to prevent that fear from growing within myself. I forced myself to believe that everything was going to be back to normal in a matter of days, when deep down, I knew this was much more serious than a couple of days off of school.

I live in San Diego, California, far from the epicenter of the coronavirus, but my entire family is from―you guessed it―Wuhan. My parents taught me to always value my Chinese identity, to be proud of being Chinese, no matter what people thought.

El sistema de salud de Honduras siempre ha sido un gran problema para el pueblo y el gobierno. Honduras ha luchado contra muchos virus y enfermedades en el pasado, incluyendo el Dengue, el Zika, el H1N1, el Rotavirus y otros más que han permanecido permanentes en el país pero que han podido ser controlados. Sin embargo, nada podría haber preparado a Honduras lo suficiente para el brote del COVID-19. Nos despertamos un día y cuando todos vimos las palabras "Primer caso confirmado" una ola de silencio surgió en el país, sabíamos lo que iba a pasar.

My roommates wake me up at 3am. This in itself is not unusual. In the eight months I have lived in Vienna during my gap year , I have adapted to the irregular sleeping patterns of my 20-something flatmates. What is unexpected, when I stumble out of bed to ask what’s happening, is the reason behind the ruckus: “We’re leaving. They’re closing the border.” Four hours later, I find myself the sole inhabitant of a Viennese apartment. My ex-roommates are already somewhere over the Atlantic, having booked the first U.S.-bound flight they could find. Meanwhile, I’m pulling up youtube clips of the news briefing that spurred their panic.

In that week, changes came at a rapid pace. School was postponed: first for two weeks, then a month, and then indefinitely. All trips and activities were suspended. All of a sudden, Chinese New Year wasn’t even Chinese New Year anymore. No one was going out to eat, visiting relatives, or traveling. Each day, the first thing I did was check how many new cases had been reported. There was nothing we could do but sit in our homes and wait.

Social media is more than just filtered travel pictures and thoughts put into 280-character words. It provides Filipinos with a platform for their voice to be heard, to speak for those who cannot speak, and to rally inside their own homes. The oppressed and unprivileged are fought for, and those seated in power are now pushed to be accountable: politicians and celebrities who practice privilege and entitlement are called out, transparency of the nation’s plans and budget is demanded, and the government’s wrongdoings are questioned and corrected.