The Fruits of Apathy

Those who’ve seen footage of the recent anti-war protests in Russia may have spotted a few appalling characteristics in the (absence of) crowds. Firstly, there seems to be an enormous gap between the expected revolt and the actual deeds in the streets of Moscow and other cities. Based on the seriousness of the situation, one would expect insurgency all over Russia, citizens setting fire to the streets and tearing down government buildings.

Because for many, the risk of being jailed during a riot may even be more alluring than the prospect of being sent to the front-lines and serve as cannon fodder. Yet, surprisingly, the majority silently consents. Apart from some courageous gatherings and multiple arrests, nothing significant happened. Nothing, at least, that would seriously concern the regime.

Secondly, during this modest uprising, one might also have noticed the difference with other, more successful protests elsewhere: the overall lack of unity. As one protester after another is arrested or beaten up, most bystanders stay uninvolved, film the uproar or simply back down, although outnumbering the police by far.

This tells me that the underlying causes may be more severe than one would suspect on the surface. It’s the sheer inability to unite. And that might be the result of a dangerous form of social disintegration; years of disentanglement of inter systemic human bonds, cold estrangement from fellow citizens. More bluntly: the entire social system that is supposed to unite people, is rotten to the core. Human connections, vaporized by apathy and indifference, mistrust, confusion and denial. And this is not limited to Russia.

Civic Duty

The role of citizens in a well-functioning society lies in concrete actions otherwise known as civic duty. These can begin by gentle gestures: listening to each other, retaining dialogue and maintain the irregular flared up discussion, but also to rebel when needed. According to Marcus Aurelius’ meditations, civic duty belongs to the palette of natural, social behavior, guided by reason. It requires social responsibility from all citizens in all layers of a society.

Essential is that all society’s strata connect in public spaces and exchange perspectives on a regular basis to form lasting ties. Commonly shared values need to string citizens together and make them resilient against impulses of violence. This mechanism will prevent a society from overshooting into dangerous absolutes and will encourage consensus instead of fragmentation. All inhabitants of a state, in this case, are the watchdogs and guardians of their own inclination to irrationality. It will ideally do justice to the complexity of a nation-state. Suchlike societies will reflect, not deflect.

But today, one can observe certain eroding tendencies that undermine the realization and containment of social nations. Apathetic and indifferent citizens begin abandoning their position as key critical elements of a healthy society. Extreme examples of this phenomenon can be seen in Russia, where the negligence of civic duty has indirectly culminated into strict totalitarianism, thousands of deaths in a senseless war, not even to speak of internal repression and state terror.

Not coincidentally, many thinkers have mentioned indifference and apathy as the biggest threats to democracy. Conversely, they’re the closest companions of every autocrat. Taking current Russia as an example, we see that years of oppression have robbed the citizens from their public voices. Civic unions have evaporated, were annihilated or went underground, isolating every individual or family on exile. As distant islands, they’re unable to form any noteworthy counterweight against a government that’s rapidly running towards self-destruction.

The two terms can be supplemented with distrust and denial. When society is stricken by these two factors, it may furthermore enlarge the chance of individuals leaving their post as active actors in a democracy. Those affected by this feeling may seek refuge in conspiracy theories and end up denying all about which there is wide consensus, such as ethical standards. Doing so, they place themselves outside of the democratic game, for they lost confidence in its functioning. Paradoxically, this group often claims to be the most critical. In reality, they merely contribute to the deconstruction of the system they are trying to save. They become islands.

The threat of disintegration of social structures is not limited to Russia. Dotted all over Europe, citizens begin acting like separate atoms, moving independently from another, downright denying their interdependence. Estrangement from human proximity speeds up the decay of democracy, which on its turn is interconnected with loneliness, despair, war and eventually, destruction.

On the branches of separation, the fruits of apathy are ripening.

© Stefan Hoekstra/The Social Writer, 2022. Unauthorized use/and or duplication of this material without express and written permission from the site’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full name and clear credit is given to Stefan Hoekstra and The Social Writer with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Photo credit: Pawel Janiak.

Corona Diary #8

The waterbed-effect, Written on 21-12-2020

Lately I’ve been searching for a comfortable bed that would suit my new apartment. It wasn’t easy. There’s a vast multitude of beds and mattresses, ranging from simple wooden frames to fairy tale princess beds that would only fit if you’d own a castle. During the hunt for a bed, I began to notice the absence of something reasonably common in my childhood, and considered an item of sheer luxury: the waterbed.

This wobbly bag filled with water promised its customers the most comfortable and healthy night’s rest one could imagine. Being a kid, its curious workings had always intrigued me. In shops, I would jump onto it, observing the flow of water shifting towards the other side, from where an imaginary person would be launched into the sky; the water needs to go somewhere.

Why am I talking about waterbeds? Well, a high speed train of thought made me connect it to the current management of the corona crisis, somehow. A second lockdown has been implemented for a week now. It’s more rigorous than the previous one in April, which still allowed some sort of human gatherings.

Now, all public places have shut down for five weeks, except life supply shops. The maximum group size is two people. Christmas is cancelled, new year’s eve paralyzed. Yet, as research (my empiric personal observation) shows, the second lockdown doesn’t generate the effect as did the first one, despite being the strictest lockdown since the crisis began. There’s no spine chilling silence that dominates the streets, like in April. People go out and about.

Undoubtedly, many of us are complacent and follow the rules obediently. But the willingness has notably decreased with this second lockdown. Like the distribution of water in a bag, people seem to disperse wherever the government puts the pressure. The water doesn’t disappear, it relocates elsewhere. After the closure of nearly everything, the remaining leisure is illegal partying, coffee for takeaway or obsessive grocery shopping. And that’s how people omit the rules and concentrate elsewhere.

Spending money, shopping and eating out are the collective coping techniques of our capitalist society. They have become the means by which our stressed mind relieves its pressure; that’s the circle of our economy. Still, politicians were staggered, even outraged that a record-breaking amount of people ignored the rules for a bargain hunt on Black Friday, or about crowds attending the IKEA for obsolete items and swedish meatballs. The water needs to go somewhere.

But what if the pressure gets too big and the water cannot go anywhere? As a kid, I often wondered what it might look like when the waterbed would rip apart because of excessive weight. I imagined how it would explode. It was a most harrowing idea, knowing that you’ll wake up in the middle of the night, drifting in your bedroom surrounded by floating IKEA miscellaneous.

Warned by such ominous depictions, my choice fell upon a pocket foam mattress. And I would recommend Dutch policy-makers to change to a more resilient foam mattress too, instead of relying on a market based, consumer oriented waterbed. It’ll enhance their good night’s rest!

Photo credit: Ameen Fahmy

© Stefan Hoekstra/The Social Writer, 2020. Unauthorized use/and or duplication of this material without express and written permission from the site’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full name and clear credit is given to Stefan Hoekstra and The Social Writer with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Fluid Society Note: The Dutch Housing War

Preface

Since corona and the liquidity of modern life are so intertwined, I found it necessary to start this separate diary which focuses more on the poignant effects of the current society, in which we often feel estranged from the objects and subjects that surround us. An inconceivable society wherein nothing seems to be constant and stable.

It tries to capture an individual view on the instability and uncertainty the technocratic neoliberalist profit tenet has led us to be, after the disintegration of metaphysics and religion, about a hundred years ago. Nietzsche -if I may paraphrase- remarked that the disentanglement of religion and metaphysical philosophy would be highly inadvisable. So where do we stand right now?

Today’s housing situation in the Netherlands might reveal to what extent stability is a plain imaginative delusion, and to what extent do we really need a physical home. Perhaps, using my individual psychological experience proves to demonstrate this phenomenon most precisely. This series of notes called ‘Fluid Society Notes’ will cover such contemporary challenges from an individual perspective.

The Crumbs of Accomodation

The Dutch housing war, as I would like to call it, has intensified once more. Currently we’re fighting for a space to live in Utrecht, which lies even closer to the housing frontline. Groningen could already be marked as one of the worst places for housing in the world, but Utrecht really steals the show.

As we scavenge through the leftover crumbs of Dutch accommodation, we witness the most mutilated, ugly and abhorrent dog shelters one could possibly imagine (and beyond), rented out for downright outrageous sums. We’ve seen apartments which were actually basements without daylight, located literally underneath more costly ones; daylight has become a privilege. Only oxygen is still for free.

In Groningen we begin to witness the destruction the devastating housing war is causing. In its outermost outskirts, many former family houses -initially built for those with a meagre income- have been divided into student houses. Meanwhile, many families in poverty are waiting perpetually for a reasonably priced home. It’s likely to be a result of social housing being sold on the relentless investor market.

WI-FI Capsules

These odd, charmless student homes can easily be detected, for their only purpose is to serve as WIFI capsules. During corona times, all classes are held online. If Maslow would have lived nowadays, he might’ve placed WiFi at the bottom of his pyramid. Before all else.

But inasmuch as the WiFi in those places may be fast, it certainly doesn’t cheer up the street’s ambiance, nor does it anyhow add a sense of youthfulness to the hood. Rather a worrisome sense of apprehension for the incoming generation, who, by the way, barely show themselves. Their black curtains are closed all day and their premises look unmaintained.

There is vermin all around and rusty (swap) bikes lay stacked onto each other. Food is ordered online so there is no need for these timid creatures to venture outside and risk encountering real human beings.

Conclusion; very unexpectedly, it turns out that corona, universities and the Dutch housing market are cooperating to fully realize E.M Forster’s dystopian world in his story The Machine Stops, where people live underground, surrounded by everything they could desire, except reality.

Header image: Margot Polinder

Sunday/Zondag

Scroll down for the version in Dutch.

A night in front of the television, a weekday off, or perhaps a well deserved weekend at the beach or in the woods. Nothing on your mind, a moment for yourself. These might be the most characteristic remarks of the moment. And they’re worrying too, for they denude a logic wherein moments of rest are unnecessarily confused with laziness, hence a feeling of guilt. In this contrast, Sundays are a very welcome exception.

Popular subtexts, alongside vacation pictures on social media intended to pun colleagues at office, often imply that a moment of rest needs to be deserved in some way. Only after an undefined period of consecutive labour, a week of rest is seen as ‘well-deserved’. According to this logic, it’s a misconception that those, who are temporarily or permanently outside the labour market would be reluctant towards work, or perceive their situation as ‘easy’. Nonetheless, also their hard working counterparts, fortunate enough to enjoy a successful career, wouldn’t be able to escape it. Also they experience a likewise state of restlessness, just like a truant who cannot gratify his obtained freedom in a worriless way.

To focus a little closer on the described phenomenon, imagine yourself the main character in the following story.

It’s an ordinary wednesday morning, somewhere in february. Outside, it is chilly and unpleasant. Fierce rain is battering the windows relentlessly. The sun won’t show itself today, that much is certain. Around six o’clock in the morning, most citizens are starting to pave their way to their job places. From students to construction workers, they all share a collective goal; being on time. Rush hour, generally between eight and nine, makes account for the climax of this hasty scene.

Even with windows firmly closed, the awakening of society is well hearable. A continuous background noise, coming from heavy traffic on a nearby motorway completes the abundance of sounds. Some people take the public transport. Other, less fortunate souls are hurrying by car, only to subsequently merge into a sluggish traffic jam. Children biking to school have to endure a harsh headwind while cycling for thirty minutes. Experience teaches that the same wind turns one-hundred-and-eighty degrees, just to make the ride homewards similarly unpleasant.

It’s little before ten o’clock in the morning, the crowded bustling in the streets had somewhat lessened, after which calmness is slowly returning. Intersections are accessible once again, and the traffic jams are gently dissolving. The frequency of bus services is temporarily bisected. For about eight hours, the streets are subject to relative tranquility, until all the turmoil will commence anew in the evening. This time, all sharing the collective goal to be home on time, while food deliveries are roaming the streets.

But you didn’t notice anything of all this hassle. All this time, you were tucked away in a warm bed. Only now, you’re stumbling towards the kitchen to silence the unbearable hunger which is tormenting you. Without a clear reason, you return to bed a few times. A little surly, you’re mumbling sleepily something which sounds like ‘’what are they all doing that for..’’

Normally speaking, today’s agenda would be filled with appointments and meetings, but now there are no such obligations. While you just started brushing your teeth around noon, corporations around the corner already made deals worth millions. Elsewhere in the city, numerous students have had their first lectures. You’re well-aware of that. And despite their misery around daybreak, they’re at least exculpated from agonizing feelings of guilt. Indeed, it is not fair that others sacrifice their morning to keep economy running. The reasoning goes that another employee needs to work twice as hard, just to make up for your absence today.

Holding a cup of tea in your hand, you plunge into a comfortable chair next to the window, with a view over the adjoining street. Loud street workers are reminders that the working day is in full progress. The poor souls that are your colleagues weren’t refrained from the relentless downpours this morning, and are now drying up during a spine chilling meeting about the marketing strategies for the coming months. In spite of being exempted from all this dread, there are nonetheless mixed feelings. In an attempt to escape them, it is wishful to undertake something productive. Anything.

The apartment had been thoroughly cleaned just days beforehand. Only yesterday, it was vacuumed. But even so, it doesn’t retain you from doing another round around the living room, for unused time seems to be lost time. The lazy moment in front of the window didn’t last long. Merely seconds later, you open the laptop, to catch up on some overdue work. By doing this, the pressing feeling of uselessness is upheaved. Yet, another rare and valuable moment of peace had dissolved into oblivion.

How often do you hear people say; ‘now I should really start doing something’. What’s the origin of this pushy remark? The feeling of guilt is one of the thriving forces, fundamental to the success of a capitalistic economy. This unpleasant feeling exists when potentially productive time stays unused. And it can be diminished directly when something is being undertaken, preferably in return for salary or another form of payment. Economically seen, this is a tremendously effective mean. A tortuous feeling of discomfort and dissonance can occur to you on moments which are experienced as inefficient. Activities not seen as productive, add up to this feeling of guilt towards the hard working society. Presumptively, all the others are, as said earlier, working hard to keep economy going.

Classical sociologist Max Weber finds an explanation in calvinism. This is a variant of protestantism, which is based upon obtaining grace and with this, release from guilt. Working hard is a virtue, and will eventually lead to redemption. Accordingly, you will be granted permission to enter heaven. In other words; as long as you work hard enough, it might enable you to transcend the inevitability of death. In part, it possibly explains why northern economies are amongst the stronger ones globally. But unfortunately enough, it is responsible for an equal or exceeding amount of depressions and sorrows, related to this self inflicted kind of work pressure.

Also, not everything can be ascribed to receiving a high salary, because ironically, salary has a lower priority than cancelling out the aforementioned feeling of guilt. Most people work much more than is required for basic human needs. The old antecedent of guiltiness – christianity- appeared to be an utmost important mean to sustaining economy, despite having forgotten of its other advantages such as calmness and peace of mind. And that has severe consequences; burn-outs have been topping the charts of prominent psychological issues.

There are only a few moments during the week, on which it is nowadays allowed to enjoy free time, liberated from the feeling of guiltiness. And that’s also thanks to our religious past: Sunday.

Sunday. This is a day unlike the others. The heavy background noise of traffic in the distance has diminished. Streets are somewhat accessible, and shortly deprived of any noisy street workers. The absence of sound is noticeable everywhere. Just for a brief moment, it appears that economy took some space to breathe. But in contemporary times, the short break is unfortunately only serving the purpose of regaining strength for another week of competitiveness.

Quite saddening, the break doesn’t serve the genuine gratification of calmness that it deserves, but is merely a recharging moment in disguise, just to be even more competitive afterwards. And to a worrying extent, the soothingness of Sunday is under siege, as the desire for limitless shopping is increasing. After a brief moment of calmness, large grocery stores start opening their gates, to unleash masses of needy consumers who were already impatiently waiting. Frequently throughout the day, big, noisy lorries unload their content to keep the customers fulfilled. The necessary distinction between Sunday and ordinary days is fading slowly. To still find solace on a Sunday afternoon, a getaway to the forest or countryside might be more alluring.

But moments of genuine rest and reflection which might occur on a calm Sunday are becoming ever more scarce. Henceforth, some are ultimately sentenced to lay down work because of a work related depression as a consequence of our 24/7 economy, still fuelled by feelings of guilt.

Sociologist Hartmut Rosa explains that acceleration of social processes are responsible for a growing desire to slow down. This is one of the unintended consequences of our endless endeavour toward efficiency and therewith lowering the expenses. People have more time saving technologies than ever before, yet ironically there has never been as little time available, as now. The expansive possibilities to communicate carry with them that labour isn’t limited to merely office hours. Contact between supervisor and employee reach out far into private life. The bounds, keeping apart private life and work, are subject to an increasing vagueness. An innocent message about a prospective meeting or some overdue work is easily sent, and can ostensibly do not much harm.

For most people, monday morning may be the week’s least favourite moment, exactly because just twelve hours earlier, everything was so different. Monday is perhaps comparable to this one colleague who, during the break, cannot wait to start working again. Sunday might be more similar to this one psychologist who emphasises for you to really slow down now.

This essay was initially written in Dutch, in September 2018. That original article is placed underneath. It has been translated by myself into English in November 2019.

***

Zondag

Een avondje voor de televisie of een doordeweekse snipperdag, of wellicht een welverdiend weekend aan het strand of in de bossen. Even helemaal niks, een moment voor jezelf. Het zijn misschien wel de meest kenmerkende uitspraken van dit moment. En zorgelijk zijn ze ook in bepaalde zin, want ze leggen een logica bloot die essentiële rustmomenten onnodig verwart met luiheid. Zondagen vormen een verademende uitzondering.

Populaire bijschriften wanneer vakantiefoto’s door middel van sociale media worden gedeeld of naar collega’s worden verstuurd, impliceren meestal dat een rustmoment verdiend moet worden. Pas na een ongedefinieerde periode van aaneengesloten werken, is een weekje vakantie ‘welverdiend’. Volgens die logica is het een misvatting dat degenen die tijdelijk of permanent buiten de arbeidsmarkt vallen, onwelwillend tegenover werk zouden staan of hun situatie als gemakkelijk beschouwen. Niettemin zal ook het overgrote deel van de samenleving, de fortuinlijken met een succesvolle carrière, er niet aan ontkomen. Zij ervaren net zo goed de rusteloze gemoedstoestand, zoals een spijbelaar die niet zorgeloos kan genieten van de verkregen vrije tijd.

Het is een doorsnee woensdagochtend, ergens in februari. Buiten is het guur en onaangenaam. IJzig koude regen slaat genadeloos tegen de ramen. De zon zal zich niet laten zien vandaag, zoveel is duidelijk. Rond zes uur in de ochtend beginnen de eerste mensen zich een weg te banen door het vreselijke weer, op weg naar verschillende werkplekken. Van studenten tot bouwvakkers tot ambtenaren, allen hebben ze hetzelfde doel; op tijd zijn. Het spitsuur, meestal tussen acht en negen, vormt het hoogtepunt van dit haastige tafereel.

Zelfs met gesloten ramen is het goed hoorbaar dat de samenleving ontwaakt. Een constant achtergrondgeluid van vrachtverkeer op de omringende snelwegen vult het geheel aan. Sommigen nemen het openbaar vervoer, en minder fortuinlijke zielen haasten zich met de auto om vervolgens deel uit te maken van een schoorvoetende file. Schoolkinderen fietsen een half uur lang met tegenwind naar school. De ervaring leert dat de wind daarna honderdtachtig graden draait, klaar om de terugrit eveneens onaangenaam te maken.

Tegen tien uur in de ochtend is het gedruis en gedrang in de straten wat verminderd en keert de kalmte zachtjes terug. De kruispunten zijn weer enigszins toegankelijk en de ontstane verkeersopstoppingen lossen zich langzaam op. De interval op het schema van stadsbussen en tramlijnen halveert. Ongeveer acht uur lang zal er relatieve rust heersen, totdat alle commotie rond vijf uur opnieuw begint. Ditmaal met het collectieve doel om op tijd thuis te zijn, met de uitzondering dat dan ook haastige (soms opdringerige) bezorgdiensten deel uit maken van de krioelende massa op straat.

Maar van dat alles kreeg jij weinig mee. Je lag al die tijd in een warm bed, en strompelt nu al gapend richting de keuken om de inmiddels ondraaglijke honger te stillen. Zonder goede reden keer je daarna nog enkele keren terug naar bed. Ietwat humeurig mompel je half slaperig iets wat klinkt als; ”waar doen ze dat allemaal toch voor..”

De agenda staat normaal gesproken vol met werkafspraken en vergaderingen, maar dit is een vrije dag. Vandaag hoeft er niks. Terwijl je rond twaalf uur in de middag net de tanden poetst, zijn er in kantoorgebouwen om de hoek al miljoenendeals gesloten, is elders in de stad een nieuwe snelweg voltooid en hebben studenten hun eerste colleges gehad. Daarvan ben je je goed bewust. Maar ondanks de file ellende bij dageraad, zijn zij in ieder geval allemaal vrijgepleit van schuldgevoel. Na een periode van aaneengesloten werken, zou deze vrije dag welverdiend moeten zijn. Maar geleidelijk aan bekruipt je toch een onprettig gevoel. Eigenlijk is het niet eerlijk dat anderen hun ochtend hebben opgeofferd om de economie welvarend te houden. Iemand anders moet nu twee keer zo hard werken om jouw afwezigheid recht te trekken, is de redenering.

Met een kop thee neem je plaats in een luie stoel, met uitzicht over de aangrenzende straat. Luidruchtige straatwerkers herinneren je eraan dat de werkdag nog in volle gang is. Je arme collega’s zijn niet gespaard gebleven door de hevige regenbuien van vanochtend en zitten nu op te drogen in een saaie vergadering over de marketingstrategie voor de komende maanden. Ondanks dat jou dit bespaard blijft, en je zelfs nog een treiterend bericht naar hen stuurt, is er sprake van gemengde gevoelens. Om hieraan te ontkomen, is het wenselijk iets productiefs te ondernemen. De woning is kortgeleden nog grondig schoongemaakt en gisteravond is er nog gestofzuigd. Toch weerhoudt je dit niet van een extra ronde met de stofzuiger, want onbenutte tijd is verloren tijd. Het kalme moment heeft uiteindelijk niet lang geduurd. Slechts enkele momenten later wordt de laptop geopend, om wat achterstallig werk te voltooien. Het prangende gevoel van nutteloosheid is hiermee tijdelijk opgeheven. Niettemin is er wederom een belangrijk rustmoment verloren gegaan.

Hoe vaak hoor je mensen wel niet zeggen; ‘nu moet ik toch echt wat gaan doen’. Maar waar komt deze opdringerige gedachte vandaan? Schuldgevoel is een van de drijvende krachten achter de kapitalistische samenleving. Dit nare gevoel ontstaat wanneer potentieel productieve tijd onbenut blijft. En het kan direct opgeheven worden zodra iets ondernomen wordt, bij voorkeur tegen betaling of salaris. Dit is economisch gezien een doeltreffend mechanisme. Een onbehaaglijk gevoel van dissonantie kan zich manifesteren op momenten die als inefficiënt worden ervaren. Activiteiten die als onproductief worden gezien dragen bij aan dit vervelende gevoel van schuld tegenover de hardwerkende maatschappij. Alle anderen offeren immers hun vrije tijd op om de economie draaiende te houden.

De klassieke socioloog Max Weber legt de oorzaak ervan grotendeels bij een economische implementatie van het calvinisme. Een religieuze stroming die grotendeels gebaseerd is op het verkrijgen van vergiffenis en daarmee op het gevoel van schuld. Als je maar hard genoeg werkt word je door God vergeven, en op die manier verkrijg je toegang tot de hemel. Met andere woorden: het zorgt ervoor dat je de onvermijdelijkheid van de dood misschien beter kunt verdragen als je maar hard genoeg werkt. Dat verklaart wellicht waarom noordelijke landen een overwegend en relatief sterkere economie hebben. Maar onfortuinlijk genoeg een evenredig of overstijgend aantal depressies en klachten gerelateerd aan deze zelf opgelegde werkdruk.

Ironisch genoeg heeft salaris in deze zin een lagere prioriteit dan het opheffen van dit schuldgevoel. Velen werken immers (veel) meer dan nodig is voor een aangename levensstandaard en de menselijke basisbehoeften. De oude drijfveer van schuldgevoel, het christendom, blijkt een uiterst doeltreffend middel voor de Nederlandse economie, ondanks dat we haar andere belangrijke voordelen zoals kalmte en structuur zijn vergeten. En dat heeft gevolgen.

Er zijn maar een paar momenten in de week waarop het tegenwoordig mogelijk is om in harmonie met je gevoelens te genieten van vrije tijd. En ook die hebben we te danken aan ons religieuze verleden. Zondag. Dit is geen vrije dag zoals alle andere. De achtergrondruis van vrachtverkeer is sterk afgenomen. Straten zijn voor korte tijd verlost van rumoerige constructiewerkers (met uitzondering van sommige fanatieke doe-het-zelvers, die het de perfecte dag vinden voor het uitproberen van nieuw oorverdovend gereedschap.)

Kalmte dient zich nu aan in de vorm van stilte, die overal merkbaar is. Het constante gebrul van de snelweg is absent en de straten zijn enigszins begaanbaar. De afwezigheid van geluid is overal hoorbaar. Voor even lijkt het alsof de doorrazende economie een broodnodige adempauze heeft ingelast. Maar de korte onderbreking dient helaas vooral om zich weer op te laden voor een nieuwe week competitie van concurrerende economieën, en jammerlijk genoeg in mindere mate om oprecht de waarde van kalmte te ervaren. Het is geen feitelijke verlangzaming, maar een verhulde adempauze die dient om daarna nóg productiever te worden. Sommigen worden door hieruit voortkomende tekenen van depressie veroordeeld tot het neerleggen van werk, zoals bij een burn-out.

Volgens socioloog Hartmut Rosa zorgt de acceleratie van maatschappelijke processen voor een toenemend verlangen naar perioden van verlangzaming. Dit is een van de onbedoelde gevolgen van het eindeloze streven naar efficiëntie en daarmee kostenbesparing. De mens heeft meer tijdbesparende technologieën dan ooit tevoren, toch werd er nooit zoveel tijdgebrek ervaren als nu. De vele mogelijkheden tot communicatie brengen met zich mee dat de arbeidsethos zich niet meer beperkt tot kantoortijden. Contactmomenten tussen leidinggevende en werknemer reiken tot diep in het privéleven. De vervaging van de grens tussen privé en werk is al enige tijd onderweg. Een onschuldig berichtje over een vergadering of achterstallig werk is immers snel en makkelijk, en kan (ogenschijnlijk) weinig kwaad.

Maandagochtend is voor velen het minst favoriete moment van de week, juist omdat het slechts een etmaal terug allemaal zo anders was. Maandag heeft de ondankbare taak om de economische pauze tot een abrupt einde te brengen. Wellicht is Maandag vergelijkbaar met die ene over-enthousiaste collega die tijdens de lunchpauze het werk niet snel genoeg weer op kan pakken. Zondag toont wellicht meer gelijkenis met die ene psycholoog die nog eens extra benadrukt dat je het toch echt wat rustiger aan moet gaan doen.

© Stefan Hoekstra/The Social Writer, 2019. Unauthorized use/and or duplication of this material without express and written permission from the site’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full name and clear credit is given to Stefan Hoekstra and The Social Writer with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.