Spacious Solidarity Blog: Day 10

Out the back window at dusk

Last night I dreamt of an old friend I used to hang out with back in my early 20’s in San Francisco. We spent every weekend kicking it, with no particular plan. We used to wander the city smoking weed, getting drunk, and tagging up public bathrooms. We’d spend hours playing pool at the local lesbian bar and host spontaneous BBQs in her backyard.

Sometimes we’d take my old, beat up, soft-top Volkswagen Cabriolet to the beach for picnics and campfires.

We also had deep philosophical conversations about life, argued a lot, and documented everything with my dad’s old Cannon point and shoot. Real film that I had to wait to get developed.

In the dream we’re smoking pot together and getting really high. Its sunny and warm and I’m young again and the world is my oyster. Those were the days of our lives.

I think of the young people over the past weekend congregating in the park. I have to admit to myself that in my early 20’s I would have ignored coronavirus too. I would not have heeded the government’s advice. I would not have given up my youth for the greater good.

I remember a story my Dad used to tell us about his early 20’s, studying as a medical student in Chile while the country was transitioning to socialism. It was 1971 and president Allende had just won the election in a narrow three-way vote. Everyone had had such high hopes. But at some point, something went terribly wrong and there had been a breakdown in the supply chain.

He’d go to the grocery store and there’d be no food on the shelves.

He’d tell us this story as a cautionary tale. That you don’t know how bad it can get, until it does.

Later, when I’d been to university and studied Marx, I’d argue with him about the benefits of socialism over capitalism. Then he’d pull out the old “no food of the shelves” story. He’d tell me I couldn’t argue with him because I hadn’t been there. I hadn’t had a first-hand experience of it.

“No food on the shelves” has always sat in the back of my mind as the universal symbol for how bad it can get.

Remembering the contention of those family arguments now, I become deeply aware of the complexity of the issues and how hard it would have been for him to make sense of what was happening at the time.

We now know the US had been involved in undermining Allende since before the election. That afterwards they and other world powers did everything they could to impede his success. That, to the Chilean middle-class, the optics meant most people blamed the new government for things getting bad.

Only one thing is clear: humans are complex and difficult to organise.

For breakfast I eat a banana with manjar (a Chilean delicacy made from boiling condensed milk until it carmalises). It’s really good on fruit. And in porridge.

When we were kids our mom used to make the traditional 1,000 layer cake with it. To make the cake, you literally layer thin sheets of filo dough with manjar in between until you’ve got a cake that’s about four inches high. It’s basically a way of eating manjar with a fork, very civilised.

My sister gave me a can for Christmas and I’ve almost finished it. I’ve been mostly eating spoonfuls straight from the can.

I text my sister to let her know I’m almost out. She texts back the “recipe” which turns out is a perfect activity for someone self-isolating. All you need is a can of condensed milk, a pot of boiling water and loads of time.

Cover the can with about 2 inches of water and keep the water at a gentle boil

Turn the can ever 1/2 hour to keep the cooking uniform

You will need to keep adding water as it boils off

Usually done in about 3 hours

I add condensed milk to the steadily growing shopping list. There are still no delivery slots so we’ll be going out for food one day soon.

Later I’m on the phone with a friend and she reminds me I’m a stranger in a strange land.

I’m lamenting to her that my computer keeps wanting to fix words in American English to make them British (favorite vs. favourite), and Facebook keeps wanting to fix words in British English to make them American and the whole thing is driving me crazy because I’m a perfectionist and I can’t stand the idea of people thinking I’ve spelled something wrong but I can’t avoid it because I have readers in both countries.

I either need to decide which language I’m going to write in or find a way of accepting the situation for what it is. No, I decide I’m going to use whichever version of the word I like. My version of playing it by ear.

We talk about how I often get things wrong with the British. I’ve had to apologise for my insensitivity countless times. I’m a bold, brash American but what the British don’t understand is that to other Americans I’m just me.

I realize as an immigrant raised by immigrants I will never land anywhere. Instead I am a citizen of the world.

Later I’m talking to a friend in Vancouver. Also an immigrant. She’s talking about how she’s been reframing “lockdown”, which is a prison term for when inmates can’t leave their cells at all, 24/7, not even for fresh air.

No one’s in a lockdown because of coronavirus. We’re at home, in our luxury prison cells.   

She tells me she’s gotten sick of hearing all the conspiracy theories so decided to come up with her own. The most unbelievable one. That Extinction Rebellion’s behind the coronavirus. They’ve successfully ended air travel, exposed the dangers of habitat encroachment, and drawn back the curtain on our fragile political, economic, health, and social care systems.

Out for a walk I have to fight the temptation to go to the shop. I admit to my partner that we don’t need anything, it would just feel good to buy something, anything. At the corner we decidedly turn towards home.

A few friends have been sharing their growing discomfort at the privileges they enjoy. Having a safe home, food in the fridge, a garden, people looking out for them.

One of them tells me she finds the blue skies confusing. She wants to enjoy them, but how can she let herself when so many people are suffering? I tell her it’s her job now to enjoy them. Enjoy everything deserving of enjoyment.

I say anything that puts us in touch with our privilege is welcome. What a perfect opportunity to examine our lives, really take in our blessings and then resolve to make the best use of them, for the benefit of others.

Over dinner we watch Boris the Clown. They’ve cleaned up his optics now so that the podium reads – Stay home. Protect the NHS. Save lives. I catch him comparing the situation in the UK to “other European countries”.

I have to laugh at that.

Even Boris can’t do a Brexit re-frame on this one. We’re all in this together.