The State as a Threat

We won't be turned against each other — we stick together.

My sister and I have different fears in these times. She is afraid of the virus; I am afraid of the vaccine. My sister has now been vaccinated three times; I have not been vaccinated at all. During the first lockdown, we both feel paralysed. I am horrified by the harshness of the measures. I think: if I were old now, what would I fear more — the virus or the isolation? Both can kill. My sister is deeply afraid of dying from the virus. She is convinced she would not survive an infection. She cannot understand why I don't share that fear. When we talk about it, I feel a distance between us. Small, but perceptible.

I begin to worry about my sister

I visit my sister. We stand before each other, uncertain. We are 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. Once my sister says: “Sometimes I wish the virus would finally get me. Then I wouldn't have to be afraid all the time. Then there would finally be some peace.” Fear is exhausting. Fear makes you tired. And I begin to worry about my sister. She works at a doctor's surgery in Berlin, where it is always overcrowded. No working from home is 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 on working. My sister says: “Quarantine wouldn't bother me. I could finally get some rest.” For me, quarantine is a horrifying thought. I don't know how I would cope psychologically with being locked in.

I read about the new vaccines. I try to get my bearings. “The vaccines are safe“, sagt Herr Spahn. Viele Menschen vertragen sie gut. Dann lese ich von einer Krankenschwester, die nach der Impfung mit AstraZeneca an Hirnvenenthrombose stirbt. Eine Psychologin wird von ihrer Mutter tot aufgefunden. „Das sind sehr seltene Fälle“, lese ich. Den entsprechenden Impfstoff sollen jetzt nur noch Ältere bekommen.

Ich weiss nicht, was richtig für mich ist

Ich höre von anderen Menschen in meinem Umfeld, die die Impfung nicht gut vertragen. Manche berichten von Schüttelfrost und rasenden Kopfschmerzen. „Das sind harmlose Nebenwirkungen. Sie zeigen, dass der Körper gut auf den Impfstoff anspricht“, lese ich. Ich lese und lese. Und weiss nicht, was richtig für mich ist.

Meine Schwester ist jetzt geimpft und erleichtert darüber. Sie hat die Impfung gut vertragen. Darüber bin ich sehr froh. Ich lese in der Resolution des Europarates. Da steht, dass niemand politisch, sozial oder anderweitig unter Druck gesetzt werden soll, sich impfen zu lassen. Dass niemand diskriminiert werden darf wegen Sich-nicht-impfen-Lassen. Eine Kollegin schreibt mir, dass sie im Krankenhaus ist. Sie hat eine doppelseitige Gesichtslähmung und starke Schmerzen nach der Impfung. Sie ist mehrere Wochen arbeitsunfähig. Ich bin schockiert.

Ich weiss jetzt: Ich bin nicht bereit, diese Risiken auf mich zu nehmen. Wer kann mir garantieren, dass alles gut geht? Ich lese von abgebauten Intensivbetten und Krankenhausschliessungen. Von Pflegepersonal, das zwischen den Wellen mit letzter Kraft streiken muss, um bessere Arbeitsbedingungen zu bekommen. Ich gehe zur Kundgebung der Berliner Krankenhausbewegung am Roten Rathaus. Höre flammende Apelle der Menschen, die in Berliner Kliniken schuften. Ich bin wütend. Ich frage mich: Wie kann das alles zusammenpassen?

Meine Schwester und ich, wir telefonieren, treffen uns weiter. Das brauchen wir beide. Das machen wir seit Jahren so. Die Distanz zwischen uns verschwindet wieder. Wir sprechen viel über das Virus und über die Massnahmen. Wir haben weiterhin unterschiedliche Ängste und Wahrnehmungen. Manchmal schweigen wir ratlos und bedrückt. Dann stossen wir miteinander an.

Meine Schwester ist empört, als Ungeimpfte für die Tests zahlen sollen

My sister never tried to persuade me to get vaccinated. She says that every person must be allowed to decide that for themselves. She accepts my concerns and does not dismiss them. I am glad that after her vaccination she moves through life a little more easily. She stands in solidarity with me. She is outraged when unvaccinated people are required to pay for tests. Before the pandemic, my sister loved going to the cinema or museum. She says: “I am far too tired. I just can't manage it. I have no desire for it anymore either.” I can understand that very well. I feel much the same way.

The neuroscientist Gerald Hüther explained this during the very first lockdown: when something we enjoy is taken away from us, the need for it gradually disappears. This is an adaptive response of the brain to cope with the pain of a suppressed desire. I don't want to believe he is right. Surely I will always miss my favourite hobby, which I have not been allowed to pursue for so long now.

But it isn't true. When I look inward, I now sense 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 into effect. Then the call from Dilek Kalayci to keep away from unvaccinated people. And once again I am flooded with fear. What comes next?

I follow the rules. I test myself regularly — at the moment, almost daily. I constantly monitor 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 vaccinated people? Who are allowed to meet in crowded, poorly ventilated restaurants and clubs?

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

I read that thromboses or embolisms are possible. That the vaccine does not last 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 that people like me are selfish and indifferent. I don't understand what he means by that. I am no longer allowed to participate in cultural life, no longer allowed to go to a restaurant, no longer allowed to pursue my sport. I serve as a scapegoat. I am now one of the bad ones. Perhaps Mr. Müller thinks that I enjoy this and that is why I am selfish. For me, the world has been turned upside down. I can no longer see any proportionality in all of this.

What I long thought impossible will probably come true: a general vaccine mandate. Longed for and loudly demanded by many. For the first time in my life, I feel the state in which I live as a threat. But no matter what happens next, we will continue to meet, my sister and I. We stick together. We will not let ourselves be played off against each other.