Thierry Crouzet

Automatic translation from French

I suddenly felt disgust for the coronavirus. Everything that is said about the pandemic gives me a sheaf, and I don't want to stick my fingers deep in my throat. I no longer want to be one of those who foresee that the world will be the same, or worse, or different, or even better, one of those who profit from it to lead their political struggles, one of those who fall on the government or who come to his rescue.

I reached the overdose, including a media overdose. Because since the beginning of January, I have spent my life with my nose in the news, with all that they have of depressing and anxiety-provoking, not that it is the fault of the journalists, but rather of ourselves, always quick to rush to the darkest facts.

Now even the confinement notebooks don't matter to me. The voices of anonymous, artists, intellectuals are alike, all united in a swampy norm in which I have drowned and which I am trying to tear myself away to escape the brain death that constitutes rehashing.

I set Flipboard, my news aggregator, to receive everything on the hashtag #coronavirus. The more the days passed, the more I deleted sources, such a site cooked for confined, such another spoke of sex for confined or the life of unhappy stars during confinement. In the end, I only had the scientific sources that I usually read. The circle was closed, the coronavirus had become a subject like any other, confinement a non-experience.

Nothing remains of me except a feeling of frustration. Frustration first of all against the police state, the stupid state, the centralized state, the state that denies us. It’s an old feeling in me that containment has only awakened me, making me resume a combat outfit that I thought was definitely put away after vain and tiring struggles.

I admit that I felt forces reborn in me and out of me, but too disordered for them to be durable, that they create a carrying movement which would have a chance to have an impact. The urgency is not yet great enough, the concepts are too intellectual, the wishes divergent. There is an undeniable breeding ground for something else but still fruitless, or perhaps by nature buried in the field of utopia. I will therefore learn to live with my frustration again, continuing to rant internally against the majority fixists who want nothing to change and the no less dangerous followers of the collapse who derive personal benefit from the underlying fears, in the same way as the media, using the same audience-generating mechanisms.

Did I experience anything else during confinement? Physical pain for sure. Because I suffered before from a mild capsulitis and which for lack of physiotherapy sessions became severe without that I could be relieved by an infiltration of hydrocortisone under arthroscanner because the medical imaging centers around my house were closed for the kind of sores that make you feel like you are being stabbed in the shoulder and having fun turning the blade.

System failure! Taste of collapse? Not even, because if I were a minister, a top sportsman or a capitalist, I would have received my corticosteroid injection and life would have gone on as before. With confinement, I felt in my place, neither too high in this society, nor too low, and moreover rather upwards than downwards, given my living environment.

Finally, I lived above all with frustration at feeling my freedoms constrained, the frustration of having to stay at home for the wrong reasons, as if at home in France you always had to suffer to solve problems, as if all progress could only be to do that in the name of a sacrifice, however small it may be.

This frustration seems ridiculous, but it impacted my mom harder. At 81, confinement made him curl up on himself. She kept saying "What's the use of living like this?" " She lost weight, did not dress on certain days, did not even go out to her garden. We confined ourselves to avoid a massacre among our elders, but we were not even asked their opinion. My mom would have been against it, and many others with her. Surviving is not enough to live. I ended up advising my mom to go out, brave the coronavirus, and she got back on her feet.

I draw only one lesson from this misadventure of confinement: individual freedoms can only flourish at the expense of the freedoms of legal entities (churches, states, companies, etc.). Individual freedom must remain our objective, any restriction of individual freedoms is counterproductive. Before any decision, one should ask oneself whether or not it increases individual freedoms. If not, we should look for another solution.

We have crossed the crisis by reversing as we have reversed against terrorism and that we may do so in the face of climate change. I bitterly realized that the camp of free men and women was in the minority, and even besieged by the right-minded, the lesson-givers, the perverts, the paralyzed of certainties.

We want to be free to have the right to make mistakes, to correct ourselves, to try something else. We want to be free because we don't have a solution and we have to look for it. We want to be free because it’s our way of feeling alive. Free to think, free to move, free to love us.

The confinement has touched on the essential, on my philosophical base. Is this feeling shared? I don't know, I doubt it when I see the queues at the McDonald doors when they reopen or the supermarkets recruit new customers by promising them medical masks. Because these reactions, and especially those which they generate, do not lead me to believe that freedom came out of the crisis winning, contrary to our habits, which seem to want to recover lost time as quickly as possible, to regain the course that they have temporarily left, which would seem to demonstrate that for the most part our life satisfies us and that dreaming of changing a few details is not even a prospect.

I have as always only the choice, as long as it is possible, to lead my life as I want, to try to live it so that it is as beautiful as possible, with the frustration of knowing that it would be even more beautiful if more of us had the same hope.

I aspire to be in a world without a prophet, a world freed from their pride, a world where we remain curious because we never understand anything, because yesterday's solutions are not valid for today, a uncertain world, a hesitant world, a world made for adventure and not for habit.