What is going on with the world?

On Saturday morning, I stood in line for the testing street in Hilversum. I had a runny nose, which happens sometimes. Even in times of corona. I looked at the traffic controller who had drawn a smile on his yellow face mask with a marker. Then at the moon men and moon women in the testing street itself who processed car by car. Glasses on, a face mask, another plastic screen, a protective coat on, and new gloves for each customer. I was experiencing the swab that would tickle my brain for the first time, so I had sticky hands and shifted a bit back and forth in my chair. But the woman who helped me was calm and kind. When it was over, I told her how much admiration I had for them. She smiled and said she did it with love. In the evening, young people in Urk set a testing street on fire.

As a little girl, I occasionally went to Urk, through my father, who often had to be there for work. In my memory, it was always fun there. It could be that this was because we always went to eat unlimited sole at a little restaurant. And I really like sole. My father would take the fish off the bones for me and shout for a refill at the last one in the pan. I was also always very impressed by the large gold earring in the ear of some men. Only later did I hear that this is to pay for a funeral if a fisherman drowns and is found. But this weekend, someone sprayed a biting substance in the face of a cameraman from the NOS.

Meanwhile, 1500 people were drinking coffee at the Museumplein in Amsterdam, as they called it. It seems that Dave Roelvink was also there, with the right papers. I can't and don't want to have an opinion on this. In Eindhoven, people looted stores. In the Schilderswijk in The Hague, a motorcycle officer fled because he/she was trapped by a crowd. In Tilburg, a store burned down, you know, one that had to close anyway due to the measures. But Enschede topped it all. It started with heavy fireworks, which reminded me of the time of Mayor Mans and the disaster. And it ended with throwing things at a hospital?

Who are you? What do you do in daily life? Who are your fathers? Your mothers? Your brothers and sisters? Did you have to address older people with ‘you’? Is it so unbearable to stay inside three weeks after nine o'clock in the evening? And especially: how did you wake up this morning? I just can't believe this was calm. Or satisfying. That you feel like you've really achieved something by throwing stones (!) at doctors and nurses there in Twente. Those who, as Rutte says, have been ’working their butts off‘ for months to keep people alive and get them better. Those who do that for us.

I feel vicarious shame for you. Just like a lot of people, I know for sure, so you don't have to do that anymore. But I mainly hope that you woke up this morning with that beginning unbearable feeling of guilt in your gut. Or am I hoping for too much?