Once upon a time a writer wrote a novel. A group of religious managers did not like it. They wished the writer got killed in revenge. A group of political managers hid the writer and saved his life. The writer had to sit tight in a small village. He did not like his loss of freedom. But he lived to tell this story and to write some more down. Nevertheless he also complained about the loss of freedom and limited chances to pursue happiness. Was nothing sacred?
Once upon a time a virus started haunting human settlements. Nobody liked it. Everybody was locked down and in. Everybody had to sit tight and avoid breathing the air together with everybody else. Kisses and hugs were limited, airplanes downed, hotels, schools, Starbucks and swiming pools closed, Olympic Games cancelled. Nobody knew for how long. Was nothing sacred?
In spite of the lockdown, essential employees – nurses, doctors, firefighters, garbage collectors, couriers, police- and postmen and women – were allowed to move around. Illegal farm laborers in California started driving around in cars with “we are essential” written on them. German government started sending airplanes to Romania to get temps for harvesting asparagus. Are migrant workers becoming a little more sacred than before the virus?
Haarlem, May 1st, 2020