When I lived in Miami, each year we would get a hurricane or at least part of one. As everyone knows, hurricanes are tropical cyclones that can cause great damage. However in the 1950s and 1960s (when the world was still cool about global warming), hurricanes did not cause significant loss of human life, at least not in south Florida. President Eisenhower was thus never obliged to fly to Miami and lob soft paper towels at us.
The few deaths that occurred were usually the thrill seekers who thought that being outside during a hurricane would be exciting. However, hurricanes are only exciting for flat encephalograms that organize drunken hurricane parties and for equally brainless surfers seeking the perfect wave. As a small child, I innocently enjoyed hurricanes because there was no school. In addition, my brother, sister and I played hide-and-seek with flashlights, and ate all the ice cream in the freezer before it melted.
In 1950, the Weather Bureau began naming hurricanes. Initially, they gave them female names because women were supposedly unpredictable. In 1979, however, the Weather Bureau discovered that men could also be unpredictable, and began to name hurricanes accordingly. Whenever a male or female hurricane appears on the horizon, Miami residents generally prepare for it with the rehearsed precision of a school fire drill. Among other things, they board up windows, stock up on flashlights and candles, and buy food for three or four days (though I do not remember my parents ever stocking up on toilet paper).
In my childhood, the most interesting part of a hurricane was the eye. Suddenly the wind would stop blowing; everything would become eerily calm; there would be no wind at all; and the sun might even come out for a short period of time. The eye of a hurricane varies in size, and lasts two hours on average. If one’s house is on higher ground and there has been no significant flooding, it is even possible to take the dog for a walk. After that, the second half of the storm arrives, usually with even stronger winds.
Everyone is now aware that the eye of a hurricane does not mean that the storm has ended. Instead, it is the prelude to an even more violent sequel. However, in the “great Miami hurricane” of 1926, this was not general knowledge. When the eye arrived, many people mistakenly thought that the storm had ended and went out on the causeway to take a look at the damage wreaked by the storm. When the second half of this extremely violent hurricane hit, they were caught unawares and over three hundred people died.
In times of coronavirus, we are currently experiencing a lull in the storm, similar to the eye of a hurricane. Things seem to be going slightly better, the curve is gradually flattening, and everyone believes that the storm is almost over. Many people are impatient for restrictions to be lifted and for the economy to return to normal. They want to plan their vacation and go to the beach even if they have to be separated by glass partitions. They want to go out on the causeway and have a ‘walkabout’.
The government is also feverishly making plans to foment economic recovery. They talk about a possible return to school to take voluntary classes in July, and the date when the soccer league will be able to continue even without spectators. To listen to the media here, one would think that a coronavirus-free world was just around the corner, and that now is the time to uncork various bottles of champagne. One would think that the storm has ended.
Last night when I spoke to my son, I asked him what he thought about all of this, and if the situation was really improving. He told me that at his hospital in Madrid, intensive care was still full. However, there were fewer hospitalizations and more patients had been released. There were also more doctors in intensive care because those who had fallen ill from coronavirus (because of the lack of protection) had now returned. But, oddly enough, no one was celebrating, and he told me why.
On Monday, the Spanish government, in its infinite wisdom, allowed a significant number of people to return to work. This decision reactivated public transportation and opened many work places. According to this new decree, industries and small companies are responsible for guaranteeing a safe work environment for their workers. Employees should also be provided with masks and hand-sanitizer at the very least. The workspace should have been previously disinfected and organized so as to facilitate social distancing. Since this decision was made on Good Friday, there was only Easter weekend to put everything in place.
Even with the best of intentions, this was impossible, and so it never happened. Lack of time for this gargantuan task was aggravated by the fact that the necessary objects are still in extremely short supply. An added consideration is the fact that the Spanish government has repeatedly failed Logistics 101.
Furthermore, lifting even this one restriction has meant that possible contexts of infection have multiplied by at least 1000. People who become infected at their workplace will return home and unknowingly infect their families. It would be difficult for this not to happen.
As a result, great importance is now being placed on cleaning and disinfecting the home. We are supposed to clean all surfaces (including doorknobs) with bleach solutions, leave our shoes at the doorway, and take off our clothes in the hall and put them in a plastic bag. Families do what they can. However, no one enters their apartment, and immediately puts their sweater in a plastic bag and then washes it in 60ºC water. Not even Fernando Simon (Spanish version of Dr. Fauci) does this because he appears on television everyday wearing the same sweater. Depending on the material of the sweater, this is a good way to end up without any clothing.
Furthermore, there are now more people to control and more places to inspect. This means that the police force have more work than ever. They are the designated controllers, but now they are so busy handing out disposable masks (which are only good for four hours) in subway stations that they have little time for inspections.
Unfortunately, for measures to be taken seriously in this country, the population must be closely monitored by the police, who fine those who infringe regulations. There is an individualistic sector of the population in Spain, who believes that rules only apply to others, but not to them. They think that they are divinely protected, perhaps because they carry the four-leaf clover of Mexican President López Obrador.
For this reason, my son and his colleagues at the hospital expect an upsurge of infections within the next few weeks. If this does not happen, they will be pleasantly surprised. I also believe this will occur, though if my gloomy predictions are not fulfilled, I will be the first to rejoice.
The members of my grocery line social club are also persuaded that the storm is over and that the rainbow is about to appear from behind the clouds. In the apartment across the hall, my unevolved neighbor (whom I refer to as Neanderthal Man) is also dusting off his running shoes so that he can go for five-kilometer treks as he used to do in the pre-coronavirus days. Everyone wants to go out on the causeway to have a look around and survey the damage. That is what happened in the “Great Miami Hurricane” of 1926, and look how things turned out.
