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Luisa L'Audace: The risk group never had vacation, not from isolation, not from protective measures.
Not from the fear of death.
Photo: Luisa L'Audace
Probably very few of us still know today when we first found out about the existence of the corona virus.
At least I don't know.
It was only when the so-called risk group was suddenly mentioned that I pricked up my ears.
And when I realized that I belonged to exactly that one, I finally stumbled unchecked into a reality that from now on I had to inevitably find myself in order to protect my life.
During the first shutdown, I spent whole days spellbound in front of the television and, like many, let myself be showered with reports on current incidences and measures in a continuous loop.
But in addition to the general overwhelm and bewilderment, I developed additional anger and despair every time only seniors were described as "vulnerable" and "worthy of protection".
While the fact that young disabled and chronically ill people are also at risk has mostly gone unmentioned.
As a disabled woman, it was nothing fundamentally new for me to be massively restricted in my participation and to spend a lot of time at home.
So the loss of the few activities I was able to partake in before the pandemic hurt all the more.
I hardly saw any friends, didn't see the inside of a supermarket for over a year, stayed at home with my husband while my relatives celebrated their birthdays, Easter and Christmas.
And finally had to go through a major operation alone because the hospital was banned from visiting.
Suddenly what never worked before is possible
What was even more painful?
To observe how much media attention non-disabled people received for their dissatisfaction with the temporary restrictions on freedom and how much understanding they showed each other.
Restrictions on freedom that many disabled people experience throughout their lives - even without a pandemic.
But while we inclusion activists have been talking to walls for years, the moment it affected able-bodied people, solutions were worked out immediately.
For example, suddenly all sorts of events were taking place via video call, so we could attend from the comfort of our own homes.
Disabled people have been demanding this for years and have only been told that it cannot be implemented.
For me, a person who cannot even freely choose their doctor's office due to a lack of accessibility, let alone enter most of the restaurants, bars or other public buildings, the complaints of able-bodied people about the temporary restrictions felt like a blow in the pit of the stomach.
So it worked, just not for us.
No vacation from the fear of death
I further restricted myself, did not see my closest relatives for more than a year and otherwise only met with a friend who also belongs to the risk group.
Even in the summers, when some seemed to have forgotten the virus again, we simply couldn't afford to relax.
On the contrary: if they took a step forward and took more liberties, we took two steps back.
While they went on vacation, the risk group never had a vacation.
No vacation from isolation.
No vacation from safeguards.
No vacation from the fear of death.
When the corona vaccination was approved, it was a ray of hope, but it quickly faded again - it seemed so unattainable to me.
Because while most older people have long since had their first injection, many disabled and chronically ill young people are still waiting for permission to be vaccinated.
I simply did not find myself in the prioritization groups published by the government - like many other young risk patients.
And so we watched as more and more people who do not belong to the risk group received a vaccination offer while we continued to wait and the politicians were already patting each other on the back: The vulnerable groups are now protected.
How could they let us down like this?
So we called each other.
From the health department to the Corona hotline to the Federal Office of Public Health and back.
Nobody knew more.
Nobody felt responsible.
for months.
"But already pre-existing"
When more and more people finally died of Covid-19 in Germany, it was almost considered good manners to end the reporting by saying that the deceased "already had previous illnesses and/or were old".
In this way, people who do not belong to the risk group could distinguish themselves and feel a false sense of security.
It also implies that it is more bearable that these people died: »After all, they were old, sick and/or disabled.« With such statements we give the impression that not every human life is equally valuable.
If I now - like many other members of the risk group - try to draw attention to our situation on Instagram, it still happens to this day that I receive hate messages and comments in which my community and I are wished for death.
However, this is also something that I, as a disabled activist, have not only experienced since the pandemic.
The pandemic has finally made at least some people aware of how unequally marginalized groups are still treated in »oh so progressive« Germany.
However, even before Corona, we lived in an ableistic system.
"Ableism" is the structural discrimination of disabled and chronically ill people.
The basic idea of this system is that the value of a person always depends on their performance.
Certain abilities are considered essential, and a person who does not have them or only partially has them is considered “incomplete” and “inferior”.
However, ableism is based not only on the assessment of actual abilities and achievements, but also on narratives and stigmata.
During the pandemic, for example, there was the suggestion of deliberate »infestation«.
And the way the measures are currently looking, it almost seems as if some politicians have long been secretly convinced of this idea.
However, in percentage terms, a large number of disabled and pre-ill people would die as a result of an epidemic.
This inevitably makes me think of the so-called right of the fittest in social Darwinism.
A theory that was also strongly represented at the time of National Socialism.
Structural discrimination increases in crises
However, the pandemic is only revealing small parts of a vast system in which we have all grown up and with the rules of which we have all been socialized.
Sexism, racism, classism: Similar to other isms, ableism is difficult to recognize and name.
Anyone who deals extensively with ableism understands that it is no coincidence that the young risk group in particular receives hardly any attention from politicians.
And while we initially spoke of an "accident" or "forgetting" of our reality of life and our perspective, today we can no longer do this with the best will in the world.
A few days ago, our Health Minister Karl Lauterbach was able to announce that isolation in the event of an infection is voluntary.
A moment when the entire risk group was probably finally struggling with bewilderment.
And even if he has since withdrawn this idea, he has nonetheless expressed it publicly.
A statement saying that we will no longer be considered.
A statement that cannot be undone.
Structural discrimination increases in crises.
In some cases, at least partially, it becomes more visible and tangible.
That's not to say she wasn't menacing or less present before, though.
The pandemic has already caused mass deaths of disabled and chronically ill people worldwide.
It must not be the case that members of marginalized groups always find themselves in mortal danger or even have to die before the majority society recognizes their structural discrimination.
Ableism is real, and ableism kills.
Even before the pandemic, but especially during it.