The State as a Threat

We won't let ourselves be pitted against one another — we stick together.

My sister and I have different fears in these times. She's afraid of the virus, I'm afraid of the vaccine. My sister has by now been vaccinated three times, I haven't been vaccinated at all. During the first lockdown, we both feel paralysed. I'm appalled by the severity of the measures. I think: if I were old now, what should I fear more, the virus or isolation? Both can kill. My sister is terrified of dying from the virus. She's certain she wouldn't survive an infection. She can't understand why I don't share this fear. Whenever we talk about it, I feel a distance between us. Small, but noticeable.

I start to fear for my sister

I visit my sister. We stand uncertainly in front of each other. We're both perfectly healthy. I say: “Better not to hug, right?” She thinks for a moment and then opens her arms. We hold each other tight. At one point my sister says: “Sometimes I wish the virus would finally get me. Then I wouldn't have to be afraid all the time anymore. Then there would finally be peace.” Fear is exhausting. Fear makes you tired. And I start to fear for my sister. She works at a doctor's practice in Berlin, where it's always overcrowded. No working from home possible. First a flood of people wanting to get tested. Then, on top of that, a flood of people wanting to get vaccinated.

My sister has a very strong sense of duty. Despite her fear, she keeps working. My sister says: “I wouldn't mind quarantine. I could finally get some rest.” For me, quarantine is a terrifying prospect. I don't know how I would cope psychologically with being locked up.

I read about the new vaccines. Try to get my bearings. “The vaccines are safe", says Mr Spahn. Many people tolerate it well. Then I read about a nurse who dies of cerebral venous thrombosis after being vaccinated with AstraZeneca. A psychologist is found dead by her mother. "These are very rare cases", I read. Now only older people are supposed to get that particular vaccine.

I don't know what's right for me

I hear from other people around me who don't tolerate the vaccine well. Some report chills and pounding headaches. "These are harmless side effects. They show that the body is responding well to the vaccine", I read. I read and read. And I don't know what's right for me.

My sister is now vaccinated and relieved about it. She tolerated the vaccination well. I'm very glad about that. I read in the Council of Europe's resolution. It says that no one should be put under political, social or other pressure to get vaccinated. That no one may be discriminated against for not getting vaccinated. A colleague writes to me that she's in hospital. She has bilateral facial paralysis and severe pain after the vaccination. She's unable to work for several weeks. I'm shocked.

I now know: I'm not willing to take these risks upon myself. Who can guarantee me that everything will go well? I read about intensive care beds being cut and hospitals closing. About nursing staff who have to strike between the waves with their last ounce of strength to get better working conditions. I go to the Berlin hospital movement's rally at the Rotes Rathaus. I hear passionate appeals from the people who slog away in Berlin clinics. I'm angry. I ask myself: how can all of this fit together?

My sister and I, we keep calling each other, keep meeting up. We both need that. We've been doing it that way for years. The distance between us disappears again. We talk a lot about the virus and about the measures. We still have different fears and perceptions. Sometimes we fall silent, helpless and downcast. Then we raise a glass together.

My sister is outraged that unvaccinated people are supposed to pay for the tests

My sister has never tried to talk me into getting vaccinated. She says everyone has to be allowed to decide that for themselves. She accepts my worries and doesn't play them down. I'm glad that her life has become a bit easier since her vaccination. She stands in solidarity with me. She is outraged that unvaccinated people are supposed to pay for the tests. Before the virus, my sister loved going to the cinema or to museums. She says: “I'm far too tired. I just can't manage it. And I don't feel like it any more, either.” I can understand that very well. I feel much the same.

The neuroscientist Gerald Hüther already explained this during the first lockdown: when we're deprived of something we enjoy doing, the desire for it fades away over time. This is an adaptive response of the brain to cope with the pain of a suppressed need. I don't want to believe he's right. Surely I'll always miss my favourite hobby, which I haven't been allowed to pursue for so long now.

It's not true. When I listen to myself, I now feel indifference. I say to my sister: “Let's go to the cinema anyway. I can still get in with a test for now.” We don't go to the cinema. Then 2G comes in. Then Dilek Kalayci's call to keep away from unvaccinated people. And once again I'm flooded with fear. What's next?

I stick to the rules. I test myself regularly, at the moment almost daily. I'm constantly listening to my body, searching for possible symptoms. I wash and disinfect my hands regularly. I wear a mask. I think: am I really a greater danger than the vaccinated? Who are allowed to meet packed closely together in poorly ventilated restaurants and clubs?

For the first time in my life, I feel the state I live in as a threat

I read that thrombosis or embolisms are possible. That the vaccine doesn't work as long as hoped. And I read that the viral load in vaccinated people can be just as high as in unvaccinated people. Michael Müller says people like me are selfish and indifferent. I don't understand what he means by that. I'm no longer allowed to take part in cultural life, no longer allowed to go to restaurants, no longer allowed to practise my sport. I'm serving as an enemy image. I'm now one of the bad guys. Perhaps Mr Müller thinks I enjoy this and that's why I'm selfish. For me, the world has turned upside down. I can no longer recognise any proportionality in all of this.

What I long considered impossible now seems set to become true: a general vaccination mandate. Longed for by many and loudly demanded. For the first time in my life, I feel the state I live in as a threat. But whatever happens next, my sister and I will keep meeting. We stick together. We won't let ourselves be turned against each other.