It would be dumb to pretend that 2020 has been in any way easy. For anyone. It would be incredibly short-sighted of me to even claim that my status as a UK Expat living in the Netherlands has added a whole new dimension of stress to proceedings. Especially given that I actually spent the majority of the first lockdown back in the UK, sheltering with our families until things became a little bit more stable; for those 3 months there was very little “Expat” about me. However, given that now all signs now seem to point to a second wave – if not a second lockdown – I have been trying to come to grips with the Dutch approach to Covid-19 and lockdown. Seeing as the first time I didn’t really need to worry about it (I just browsed social media with mild jealousy at my friends still meeting up whilst in the UK we were seeing death tolls in the 1000s every day), I am only now beginning to notice some of the fundamental differences in how my two countries are dealing with this thing. With the UK earnest as ever and eager to show it has learned from past mistakes, the Dutch approach is altogether more hands off, emphasising that it is down to the individual (and not the government) to decide where the boundaries lie.
As an Expat facing up to Covid-19, I constantly have two sides in my mind. I spend my days consuming two different news feeds. I talk with two different groups of people, each horrified by the approach of the other – the Dutch feel the UK is clueless, overbearing and overreacting, whilst the UK just cannot understand the seeming inaction and complete lack of alarm within the Dutch. It’s exhausting, to be honest, because the very nature of news media means that it focuses on the bad, on the potential drawbacks of the chosen approach so by the end of a long day of reading these minute-by-minute updates, I can’t help but feel we’re all inevitably doomed. It’s also pretty uncomfortable, especially when you’re within a society whose approach you disagree with. More than once I have been discussing this with a friend (what did we used to talk about before all this?) and they’ve stopped me mid-sentence, looked me straight in the eye and said, “but you’re not actually worried, are you?”. There is a prevailing sense in the Netherlands that the idea of majorly curtailing personal freedoms for the good of the whole is borderline laughable, especially right now when the ICU numbers remain relatively low. On the other hand, I turn to the BBC newsfeed and it’s all glum-looking scientists telling me we have another 6 months at least of this, and it’s only going to get worse from here on out, and thousands will die if we don’t change our behaviours this very minute (or indeed, maybe it’s already too late). I don’t know who or even what to believe any more.
It’s pretty isolating. I can’t claim any shared experience with my family and friends in the UK or really commiserate with what they’re going through (and vice versa), and indeed whenever I share my evening or weekend plans with them – all totally within the rules – I’m met with shock and surprise that I would be so seemingly reckless at a time like this. At the same time whenever I try to express my feelings to people here I am more often than not met with derision for buying into the scaremongering of the media. It’s like I can’t do right for doing wrong by somebody’s books, which is a bit strange as I think I’m actually quite moderate about my approach (will go out for dinner, will try to keep my distance). Unfortunately there is no guidebook on how we should be handling a situation like this and everyone is within their rights to react differently (from straight-up ignoring the issue at hand to all-consuming panic), but it’s this precise feeling of being pulled between two cultures, two approaches, two governments that’s got me whirring right now. It’s not a new feeling (as an Expat it’s part of the deal), but when the stakes are literally life or death it’s can be disconcerting to say the least.
Of course this could very much be a case of the grass is greener. During the first lockdown period I was admittedly envious seeing my contemporaries out and about and living relatively normal lives. Sure, bars, gyms and restaurants were all shut and everyone was working from home, but here in Amsterdam people were still meeting in parks, sipping takeaway coffees and travelling cross-country to switch bubbles. I was so jealous, stuck in the UK with only an hour max outside a day (and only for exercise or buying necessities), and no prospect of being able to see my family even if they were only 5 minutes down the road. Now I’m set for a lockdown in the Netherlands, however, it is suddenly the freedom that I once craved that worries me; instead I find myself wishing we could be given a set of rules to follow, clear and to-the-letter. I want the government to take us by the scruff of our neck and force into new modes of operation that’ll keep our loved ones safe and the economy afloat. Maybe I need to switch that thinking, start appreciating the liberties I have here in NL to pretty much do whatever I want, whenever I want, with whomever I want. It’s just odd when everyone back home is banned from socialising outside of their own households, and my update of the day is “I went for pizza and drinks with everyone I know! Mask, what’s a mask? Here, look at our group selfie!” – even though both countries are seeing more worrying trends than ever.
It’s an interesting one, that’s for sure. I don’t mean to call out any country on their approach to this – they know their numbers and the simulations better than I ever could, and each country needs its own measures – but it is interesting how prevalent these differences are, even between neighboring countries at similar stages of the curve. All I can do is exert control on my own sphere, follow the regulations and do whatever I feel comfortable doing; be that fall more in line with the Dutch approach, or the British. Or somewhere in between. Or even somewhere else entirely. I just need to keep my eyes on my own lane, as that’s all I can do right now.
Pig Socks. 