We are at the end of the beginning. ‘If you feel you have coronavirus…’ I tune out emotionally and daydream as the public service announcement plays over and over in empty trams and trains, and in deserted shopping centres. Likewise, the regularly updated posters, once read and puzzled out, are quickly part of the scenic wallpaper.
In Australia, where despite our blunders and our worst and best efforts we have had a limited amount of fatalities, we seem to be in our Drôle de guerre or our ‘phoney war’ (that’s what historians dubbed the period from September 1939 to April 1940 during WWII for the relative lack of action).
The initial panic purchasing has settled down (the belligerent racism has unfortunately not gone away). The soothsayers, mythmakers, truthshakers and doomsayers have had their hits, their headlines, fatality rates, sources of indignation and horrified delight.
Across Oz, we have settled into a scared, resigned half-life. Those of us in essential services get up, travel into emptied workplaces and travel home to repeat the same the next day.
An estimated million Australians rendered unemployed through dire need to contain the spread of COVID-19 have become acquainted with the pain of a frayed safety net and are exploring the federal government’s stimulus packages with bosses or former bosses.
Our nation’s senior citizens are mothballed. Those of us with elderly parents and grandparents are hoping we will see them again on the other side of the viral tide. Children, teenagers and the twenty-somethings, post-bushfires, are online or binge watching what they can.
'Chalk drawings of birds, rainbows, butterflies, flowers emerge on footpaths, and teddy bears poke their hirsute snouts against windows to amuse young kids and their weary parents and carers as they perambulate the same blocks, getting the same raised eyes, smiles and nods.'
Shopping for the bare necessities, eschewing physical contact, isolating ourselves to protect the vulnerable. The holding pattern is holding; at least for now.
And what is the price of this half-life we are living?
Family violence stats seem to be spiking in some states, especially New South Wales. Amanda Gearing wrote that there ‘is no longitudinal research on what happens when families are required by government regulation to stay at home for six months, because it has not happened in living memory. Victims and their children who live with the perpetrator will be at constant risk.'
Australia’s mental health is also being impacted by the uncertainties and isolation. The Australian Government has funded a COVID-19 National Health Plan and Beyond Blue has great resources for us to share.
Spiritually? I think we are seeing some signs of resilience in people’s homes, streets and lanes.
The signs of joy — if muted — can be traced. A neighbour down the road invites us to join the valiant handful of suburbanites standing at our fences and sing. Don’t worry, be happy. Always look on the bright side of life. You get the idea.
Chalk drawings of birds, rainbows, butterflies, flowers emerge on footpaths, and teddy bears poke their hirsute snouts against windows to amuse young kids and their weary parents and carers as they perambulate the same blocks, getting the same raised eyes, smiles and nods.
My house of musos is planning to play some hymns in our front yard on Anzac Day. The young bloke has been polishing the 'Last Post' and 'Reveille' on his cornet.
The missus is driving an hour up country to pick up her elderly Mum’s car and take it to be serviced. Entreaties of love and concern will be murmured towards the screen doors with the obligatory physical distance maintained.
These past months have changed me. After decades in media and communications roles, I have started a new gig as a marketplace coordinator for the Salvos at ‘614’, at 69 Bourke Street in the heart of Melbourne. That means I give hungry people food.
Part of my role is coordinating a team of volunteers. One person has come in so far to help out for a day; the rest are understandably and rightly protecting themselves, their dependents and loved ones.
One day I estimate I pack and tote around 70 odd food parcels. Pasta, long-life milk, cereal, tins of tuna, beans. Chocolate and lollies and toothpaste. I am learning from the people I work with, and the people I serve. They are inordinately patient and kind and wise.
We’re seeing generosity and inclusion on the part of companies and groups. Hotels and motels are opening rooms to get people safely off the streets. The Parliament of Victoria is storing and cooking food for us to feed people.
These are signs of promise, not despair.
As for the punters, some of them are depressed, some are dismissive, and others are oblivious. One bloke tells me not to worry about the ‘bloody Canola Virus’.
I don’t know what the middle will hold for us, or how far away the end of the pandemic will be. But the beginning has taken the scales off our eyes. We are seeing who we really are as a people.
Barry Gittins is a Melbourne writer.
Main image: Empty train Melbourne (Getty images/Rodger Shagam)