LOCKDOWN JOURNAL: COVID-19.47 (Silvia Liebig)
I've blocked it out for a long time. A colleague from the information team tells me that the Chinese snack bar at the station is as empty as a house. "Why?"* I say.
Then comes the lockdown. And suddenly everything goes quiet.
Never have the streets in our neighbourhood been so empty, the rows of shops in the city centre closed, the malls deserted. No crowds in front of the electronic glass door waiting impatiently to be opened.
Was the sky ever so blue over my Ruhr Valley? Sun. It is warm. But there is no clatter of dishes from the balconies, no humming of people's voices in the cafés. The roaring of the airplane engines is also missing. The honking and screeching, the pattering and stomping, the too loud music of the neighbour, the annoying sound of the leaf blower.
Squirrels, rabbits, magpies and tits populate the parks and cemeteries.
Crow patrols are forming into street gangs, robbing wastebaskets. Families walk through the forest with their children. They build wigwams from branches and twigs. Looking at plants and trying to find names for them. In front of strangers they flock together. Every other person becomes a potential danger. A handwritten sign says, "Please remove the dams when you return home with your children." On another "go back where you belong".
Thoughtful people are reported in the media everywhere.
Did too many of us suddenly wish that the „higher, faster, further“ shall end? That the carousel would stop moving. The hamster wheel. And finally peace is in the box. Time to take a breath. And to think about what is good and what is not and how we could go on.
Some are proud of their wise foresight and their stocks. Some have hoarded toilet paper, spaghetti and „Melissengeist“ at just the right moment. Now the shelves are empty and when new supplies arrive the quantities per buyer are rationed. Others find themselves clever because they can now sell their goods for much more money. The demand determines the supply. Some are on short-time work. Others are afraid that everything will go down the drain.
Colleagues tell me on the phone how much they enjoy the peace and quiet that the pressure has finally eased.
In Italy, 1000 people die in one day. The hospital staff has to decide who can be treated and who cannot. The television shows pictures of convoys of trucks with which the dead are brought to the crematorium.
In the supermarkets the shopping trolleys will be disinfected. Without a Mouth-Nose-Protection-Mask you are not allowed to enter. On the floor in front of the checkout, black yellow striped tape is stuck at a distance of 1.50 meters each. Photos of OP-teams holding notes in the camera go viral: "We stay here for you. Please stay home for us." There's talk of "social distancing". In her television address, the Chancellor asks for solidarity and says thanks for the discipline with which the measures are observed. And for the understanding. There can be no relaxation yet.
In the thirteenth calendar week 15 Russian military jets land in Rome. On board: experts, disinfectants and respirators. "From Russia with love".
The allotment garden facilities are well-kept like rarely. Raised beds are built everywhere. The dog-sitter's job is becoming increasingly popular. Instead of empty snack boxes there are now used breathing masks on the street. Cultural life is taking place digitally. For the climate or other things are demonstrated online. Pollutant emissions in cities are decreasing.
I long for a beer with my colleagues. For light-hearted touching. I crave laughter that would fling out the dripping rain.
When I go to the supermarket, I reach for the products without thinking much. I'm glad when I'm out again. At home I notice that something is missing or that I have bought too expensive or wrong products.
In England, a prime minister is talking about herd immunity. A president in the United States speculates about injecting disinfectant against the virus and then presents it as a joke. In Berlin, police officers are spat on and coughed on. My father-in-law's retirement home remains closed for visitors. There is a public discourse about the "lost generation". "The crisis changes our children." There are calls for opening daycare centers and schools. "I don't know anyone in my circle of acquaintances who has Corona." Says a woman at a demonstration, with minimum distance to the microphone. Videos of empty emergency rooms in hospitals are circulating on the Internet.
"Home office was nice at first, but now I miss the exchange with colleagues" Manno43 says in a blog. Everyone needs server capacity.
I communicate via video conference at various meetings. One participant forgets to switch off her microphone and we all hear her telling her partner: "I can't take it anymore."
On Monday the museum in Dortmund reopened again. The city park. The DIY‘s. Retail up to 800 square meters of sales area. The restaurants. Distance and hygiene rules are strictly controlled. Cinemas. The theatre in Bochum.
Slowly everything should become "normal" again. Despite the virus. Just another "normal". Everyone should reposition himself. Everything is newly mixed.
At least for a little while.
Deserted (Translation from German)
Silvia Liebig | June 2020
Silvia Liebig is an artist based in Dortmund, Germany. In late 2019 she took part in Artist House 45 in Beeston South Leeds; a project run by East Street Arts
WEBSITE: kalikiri.de