The last few weeks have been incredibly difficult for Italy: the country has got the largest number of Coronavirus cases (over 23,000 at the time of writing this post, with Lombardy being the worst hit region) outside of China, the epicentre of the outbreak.
The Italian government called for an emergency in Lombardy at the end of February that quickly spread to the rest of the country at the beginning of March and turned into a general lockdown last week. At first these decisions were deemed draconian, but, as the hospitals were pushed on the brink of collapse as they had to deal with too many emergencies, Italians realised this was the only viable option. As the virus spread, other European countries - France, Spain, Germany, Portugal and Czech Republic - followed Italy's example and went into lockdown.
In a terrible moment not just for Italy, but for the entire world (Coronavirus is a pandemic), I was surprised to read the comments of celebrity TV doctor (is it possible to call him so?) Christian Jessen who stated last Friday that Italians were using the virus as an excuse for a "long siesta" (he acknowledged his comments were "a little bit racist"). At the time of writing this post, the death toll in Italy has reached 2,158, so rather than being just surprised I'm simply appalled and enraged. I do think indeed that, in times like this, we should be united and support each other. So I'm posting here my response to Mr Jessen, hoping Italians - and in particular all the doctors and nurses who are currently exhausted in hospitals and fighting for all of us - will get an apology.
Dear Mr Jessen
I'm writing you from Pescara, a seaside resort on the Adriatic Sea, in Italy. But I'm not typing this from a beach. I'm writing this from a building located near the local hospital. There is an eerie silence outside, punctuated by a dog barking in the distance and broken by ominous ambulance sirens. As I write, I can hear a car with a recorded message, reminding citizens not to go out. A toddler on the third floor suddenly starts crying; his mother shushes him. Silence returns.
I know you're surprised. You're thinking that, since I'm Italian and I'm in Italy, I should be enjoying a terrific siesta right now, or maybe I should be suspended in a quiet and placid limbo-like dimension in a statis pod, sleeping away the current pandemic.
Instead, I'm wide awake and I feel compelled to answer your comments about Italians using the lockdown period caused by the COVID-19 outbreak as an excuse for a "long siesta".
Being vain, you probably pronounced such comments to make sure you could get 15 minutes of the proverbial Warholian fame. But I found them rather distasteful, especially in a moment in which we should all be united and support each other in the fight against Coronavirus.
I can assure you that, when the virus first spread in Lombardy, Italians didn't start planning to collectively call in sick and then stay home to binge watch on their favourite series (a practice that is instead rather common in the UK; sorry if my comment here is "a little bit racist").
People were busy working, they were planning social gatherings, exhibitions, weddings, maybe a family reunion for Easter; students crowded schools and universities. Then it just happened. Somebody tested positive in the North, schools, public places and offices started closing down in Lombardy and Veneto. The North became a red zone. And then there was a domino effect: the whole country became a red zone. Last week the government opted for a massive lockdown.
The Coronavirus outbreak has brought an unprecedent situation upon the entire country. But I can assure you, nobody is having a siesta. We are not having a blast. It feels indeed like a war.
But you know what?
I have a surprise for you. There are still people working out there.
First of all, there are all the indefatigable doctors and nurses who are in the frontlines. They are risking their lives to take care of the most serious cases in hospitals or are reassuring people who have tested positive, but are not in serious conditions and are being sent back home in quarantine. Their shifts are long and relentless; they are tired, they haven't had the time to eat or sleep properly for days. Their lives have become complicated, they have to deal with the usual emergencies and with Coronavirus as well. Fifty doctors in Bergamo (in Bergamo only, so I'm not mentioning other cities) got infected; three of them died.
Then there are other people working.
Staff in chemist shops; people working in the police forces and emergency response agencies; the civil protection personnel. Post offices and banks are also open, like some factories (producing food, car parts or textiles, but I'm mentioning only a few ones here).
And there are people in supermarkets making sure shelves are constantly restocked, couriers delivering packages, young people working for food delivery services.
Then we have a secret. Something truly shocking.
Many of us are actually working from home. It is called smart working, telecommuting or remote working. Quite often it means you end up working longer hours than people who actually go to an office from 9.00am to 5.00pm because you tend to fill every minute of your day with work. Till you ache all over your body, your eyes are tired from staring at a computer screen and you want to cry (I know this very well as I work remotely). Smart working may be a surprise for people who aren't smart like you (sorry, I may sound "a little bit racist" here).
As the schools are closed, the houses of some of us have turned into offices and schools, with grown-ups working and sharing their computers and Internet connections with their kids who are following classes online arranged by teachers who are volunteering to do such classes for free (technically, they wouldn't have to offer this service as it is not contemplated by their contracts).
There are also families working from home at the moment with children with disabilities or with an elderly person who needs assistance and who can't rely on the assistance or on the carers they usually get in normal times.
As we are in a lockdown, we have started losing the perception of time. Time has dilated, but we are fighting back.
Dancers from Milan's La Scala are training in their flats, sometimes using a doorknob for their à la barre exercises; musicians and singers go out on their balconies, open a window and entertain an audience thirsty for human interaction.
Fashionistas with limited financial resources, but unlimited imagination have resorted to posting ironical pictures of themselves on social media, in which they model rather unusual "outfits of the day", examples of domestic Haute Couture such as a handmade dressing gown rediscovered in their mothers or grandmothers' trousseaus, possibly accessorized with a hoover, while they dream about Villanelle's pyjamas (we have an hashtag for these posts - #giralastaiacasamoda - a pun on the popular '80s game "Fashion Wheel" and the Italian government's appeal to "stay at home"). Irony helps, you know?
Then there are also parents drawing rainbows with their children, accompanying them with the words / hashtags #AndràTuttoBene or #TuttoAndràBene (Everything Will Go Well), a current mantra to put anxiety at bay and reassure children (and grown-ups alike) in bizarre times in which hugging is forbidden.
So, yes, you may not know this, but we are actually still alive and working, thinking, creating, dreaming, loving. Above all, we are reacting and fighting. We are also protecting you, your country and other European countries from the current outbreak in Italy.
As I write this there are people in the intensive care unit of the local hospital struggling for their lives. The situation here is not that critical as it is in Cremona, but we haven't got any more beds in the intensive care unit and doctors are getting worried.
My thoughts are with them, they are all in my heart.
There's something else in my heart: a lot of pity and contempt for you. I'm sorry Boris (maybe advised by that dumb yet evil weirdo who mysteriously passes for a genius and who goes under the name of Dominic Cummings) is spreading disinformation and talking like Lord Farquaad in Shrek (Quote: "Some of you may die, but that is a sacrifice I am willing to make" - it was actually my 15-year-old nephew who pointed this out to me, so I can't take the merit for this wonderful comparison), but Coronavirus is a pandemic and it is not a simple flu or a cold.
The Italian Prime Minister Giuseppe Conte has surprised many of us: he decided to stand up, react and opt for drastic measures. He also appeared live on social media and on TV, giving us bad news, but also showing a reassuring attitude. Andrà tutto bene.
We do hope so, for Italy, Europe, and for the rest of the world. We send you all hugs, and we wish you may not have to deal with Coronavirus deaths, quarantine, loneliness, depression, anxiety or fear of losing your job. We hope you don't have to deal with unruly and bored kids, that you don't have to find strategies to remove a rebellious and lonely teenager from the screen of a bloody smartphone (the current companion of many young Italians in absence of real human interaction), and that you don't have to constantly reassure worried elderly people or deal with bereavement when you can't even have a funeral and decently say goodbye to a dear one because you may inadvertently spread the virus.
But there is something you can do immediately. I want an apology. No, not for me. You see, if you had offended me personally, if you had called me names, I wouldn't have reacted. I'm not even writing you as a proud Italian, as I don't believe in vapid nationalisms. But you must apologise to all those doctors and nurses who, as I'm writing this, are in the frontline in Italian hospitals working to save lives - your horrible and racist comments deeply offended them.
You will excuse me if I go back to my routine now. I have to check my emails, finish my work, check upon my family, go on a supermarket round that implies standing for 30-40 minutes in an ordered queue in silence and at least at 1 metre from another fellow human being, reassure friends abroad I'm fine and suggest them to take care of themselves.
I wish you good luck not from my stasis pod, but from my desk, at home, as I wait for your apology. Please remember that a good health is a great blessing, the greatest and most precious gift of all. In Italy we know this very well; we do hope in the UK you realise this and take immediate action.
Kind regards,
Anna Battista
PS You will forgive me for not using the title "Dr" in front of your name, but I don't think you're worthy of it.
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