Snakes and Ladders

When my editor suggested a few days ago that for my next column I write some impressions of how we are getting through the coronavirus in France, I hesitated. First, because describing my own adventures, at a time when the whole world is going through similar experiences, often in much harder, more dramatic and more dangerous circumstances, seemed too arrogant. We read a lot about the difficult conditions health workers face in some parts of the world, especially in Italy, and rightly so. Besides them, these days every shop assistant, every postal worker, police officer, refuse collector, driver, every employee in a care home—all those who allow most of us to shut ourselves in our homes in relative comfort and wait for this nightmare to end—has more material for a column than I do.

The second reason for hesitating to write about the coronavirus is that, unlike many I read on social networks, I don’t consider myself an expert in epidemiology. So don’t expect graphs or forecasts of any kind from me. What is more, last weekend I decided to take a break from constantly following the situation around the world. After two days off the networks, I found that the effects of my absence on the development of the epidemic worldwide were barely noticeable, while for my mental well-being they were very beneficial. I recommend the experience to many who haven’t been able to peel their fingers off Twitter for weeks.

The last reason was simply that, like many others, I realized very quickly that working and schooling from home are no holiday. Tasks that in normal circumstances we would do quickly and without much difficulty take much more time and effort. There simply isn’t time or energy left for extracurricular activities such as writing columns for Večer. But I am stubborn by nature. In the three years since I was invited to write for Večer, I have not missed a single deadline. There is no way I will make an exception for the first time because of one nasty virus.

According to the latest figures, France is the European country with the fourth-highest number of cases, after Italy, Spain and Germany. It has far more deaths than its eastern neighbor. I live in the Grand Est region, which, because of one of the early clusters in the city of Mulhouse, some 120 kilometers south of Strasbourg, is one of the hardest hit in the country. Patients from hospitals in Strasbourg and elsewhere in Alsace are being transported by train and military aircraft to other, so far less affected parts of France, and also to hospitals in neighboring Germany. Such selfless gestures of solidarity between countries and people will never be forgotten, nor, unfortunately, will the all too frequent cases of selfishness, intolerance and nationalism around the world, which in the fight against a global threat are not only immeasurably stupid but also ineffective and dangerous.

Strict restrictions on movement were introduced in France just under two weeks ago, after crowded parks on a sunny Sunday showed that one could not rely solely on people’s reason, responsibility and solidarity. Much has changed since then. This was helped by the soaring number of cases in the country and elsewhere in the world, and also by the fact that no one may go out without a written certificate stating they are going to work, to buy essentials or to the doctor. One hour of exercise is also allowed, no more than one kilometer from home. Those more at home in mathematics than I am quickly worked out that this allows them to run a 3.14-kilometer circuit. The certificate is, as the French say, “sur l’honneur,” on one’s honor. The form is available on the Interior Ministry’s website; you print it, fill it in and sign it yourself, or, if you don’t have a printer, like me, you simply copy it out on a piece of paper. The fine for walking around without a certificate is 200 euros. Honor or no honor, by last Thursday 3.7 million checks had been carried out and 235,000 fines issued. For repeat offenders, the penalty can quickly rise to 3,750 euros and six months in prison. Today, on those rare occasions when I do leave home, the picture is therefore quite different. There are relatively few people on the streets, and in front of shops and pharmacies, as in Slovenia and elsewhere in the world, people wait calmly at the prescribed distance. Although we are in a region whose case numbers are approaching Italian levels, there is no excessive tension or panic among people. But they are, of course, worried. And beneath a thin facade of apparent “normality” lies the horrifying reality of nearby hospitals. The harrowing stories of Italian doctors forced by circumstances to triage who gets a chance to survive and who dies are already built into the system here. Only those under 80 go on ventilators. In Mulhouse, the line between hope of survival and probable death is five years lower still. Patients from care homes are in principle not admitted to hospital. Those who die there are not counted in the official statistics. If this continues, Alsace will be left without grandparents. What I write is not a moral judgment, at least not of the doctors, whom the lack of equipment puts in an impossible position, but merely a statement of, and lament for, a horrifying helplessness and a civilizational defeat.

Just as I am writing, I learn that British Prime Minister Boris Johnson has also tested positive for Covid-19. The fact that there are more and more famous faces among the sick, from Prince Charles to Tom Hanks, has led some to claim that the virus is a social leveler, threatening everyone regardless of wealth, social status, skin color and so on. Yes, of course, just like rain and cold. In winter, Tom Hanks feels the cold just like the homeless. The truth is exactly the opposite. Covid-19 discriminates and deepens social and other differences. First in access to health care; here the United States above all is a time bomb that will stop ticking any moment now. Not to mention poorer countries in less developed parts of the world, where health infrastructure barely exists. The coronavirus discriminates between young and old. Intergenerational relations have been through a series of tests recently, from local ones such as Brexit to global ones such as climate change, over which many young people accuse older people of leaving them in the lurch. With the coronavirus, the reproaches could be similar, only in the opposite direction. There are also differences in the effects of the measures to contain the crisis, which do not affect everyone equally. In the first days in France, even homeless people were fined for unauthorized movement in public spaces. After a storm of reactions this stopped, but I doubt that everyone has been provided with suitable shelter. At the Council of Europe, we are preparing a series of recommendations on the effects of isolation on some of the most vulnerable groups: women who are victims of domestic violence, and children. Very exposed are people, especially older people, who live alone, and those with other illnesses who no longer have access to treatment. Care homes, not only in France, are becoming tragic epicenters of the epidemic. The Council of Europe’s Commissioner for Human Rights and its Committee for the Prevention of Torture have issued warnings and guidance on the treatment of refugees and prisoners. A second social tsunami threatens when countries begin to face the economic and financial consequences of the epidemic. According to many economists, this will be even deeper than the one of 2009. The only hope is that we have learned something from the last crisis, and above all from the mistakes we made in handling it. If we haven’t, not even a vaccine will help us survive as a civilized, humane and free society.

When our family has finished all the work and school tasks, we try to spend as much time together as possible and as little as possible in front of screens. The biggest hit of recent days is an old Indian board game with dice, drawn by hand, in which ladders help you take a shortcut on your way to the finish, but if you land on a snake, you slide back down the board. We play for hours on end, and it occurred to me how the game is a metaphor for the times we are living through. Often, just when you start to hope that things are beginning to turn for the better, you land on a nasty python and slide back into despair. On the other hand, at the moments when things are at their worst, you may unexpectedly land on a ladder that carries you forward towards victory. From my own experience I can say that it sometimes takes an annoyingly long time, but in the end it does come to an end. Someone wins, others lose. I hope that, at least as far as the latter is concerned, things will be different after the coronavirus.