CORONICLES: How Italy went from solidarity to silence in a month of lockdown
After months of despair, Italy perhaps is edging closer to the contagion peak.
Friday, February 21, 2020. It's almost the end of fashion week in Milan. The usual crowd of editors, directors, celebs, socialites and influencers from all over the world are slowly walking into the Emporio Armani show venue, all perfectly dressed, with the right icon bag, the right icon shoes and the usual fashion attitude, a glamorous, a rather abstract way of life where nothing counts but clothes and beauty. Rows around me are quickly getting filled. I am, of course, in the Italian sector where all the major fashion magazines and newspapers are.
The atmosphere seems the usual one, but not quite. Just on the other side of the huge theatre, where Giorgio Armani always sets his shows, some rows are almost empty — it's the Chinese buyers and editors section, who couldn't come due to international restrictions caused by the coronavirus, which is blowing up in Wuhan and the Hubei region. A colleague from Vanity Fair checks the news on his smartphone, as we all do while waiting for the beginning of the show, and almost jumps on his chair.
Out of the blue, 10 Italians were found infected in Codogno, a small city of 15,000 souls lost in the foggy, rich Pianura Padana, about 60 km from Milan. A subtle thread of worry runs through the chairs where we all sit, but fashion doesn't wait. Lights down, the show must go on. By the end of the runway, we get hit by another news — after Emporio, Armani will not show his main collection, scheduled for the next Monday, to preserve his guests' health. Right, now something must be very wrong. And it's here, in Italy, 40 minutes away from the centre of Milan.
On Sunday, just two days after the first news, at the Dolce & Gabbana show, the atmosphere has changed. Glossy people are still gathering for the event, but that subtle thread of worry has become a thick rope. I enter into the Cinema Metropol, where Dolce & Gabbana are usually presenting their collections, covering nose and mouth with my cashmere shawl, and I am not the only one. As I scan the inside of the place from my seat, I notice lots of empty spaces.
Meanwhile, I hand up discreetly an N-95 face mask to my director and another one to the fashion editor-in-chief. I have a sixth sense, or maybe aerials well oriented. On December 13, 2019, for no particular reason (at that time, nobody was talking about coronavirus anywhere, although the news was already circulating), I bought on 70 face masks on Amazon — 50 of the surgical kind in an uncommon light yellow shade (my superficial fashion eye is always there), and 20 of the N-95 type with filter, which I choose to buy in a peremptory black. Later, I distribute masks to other people, my daughter's nanny, the housekeeper, some friends, more colleagues, and I realise that, what was considered a bizarre idea (buying face masks on Amazon) a few days ago, it has now become an unexpected treasure, more than that Gucci logo bag, that Prada headband, those woven leather sandals by Bottega Veneta which I badly wanted to buy for the spring season. And which I will not.
The nightmare slowly begins: in the next days, while still working in the Milanese headquarters of Elle Italy and Hearst, my American publishing house, the news is trickling in bit by bit. On February 22, infected people rise to 59, and two elderly people die. I have always felt tenderness and affection for the elderly, I would want to hold them all but quickly found out that this virus has no pity nor compassion. Instead, it's like an invisible, merciless, coward medieval monster who spreads its wings and takes their life away (and not only), no matter what.
On February 24, the Italian government declared “red zone” Codogno and a few other places in that same area. People were forced to a strict quarantine for 14 days, couldn’t work, couldn’t walk in the streets, couldn’t meet at the local bar for the usual after-work aperitivo, couldn’t leave their houses. Every church, shop, museum, public and private office was shut.
In Milan, things were as usual, but something starts to feel wrong; we get trained very quickly on how to do 'smart working' and begin to test the new status quo from our homes. On March 7, Nicola Zingaretti, secretary of Partito Democratico, the Italian left-wing party, and president of Regione Lazio, tests positive for coronavirus. Days before, he was talking about not dramatising the situation, about the need to keep on with the usual everyday life. He took a plane from Rome and came to Milan, where he joined a noisy night out with friends. Even Giuseppe Sala, mayor of Milan, demanded the same positive approach and promoted a new hashtag, #MilanoNeverStops on his social pages, which insists on avoiding a slowdown of the financial, moral capital of Italy, the epicentre of a region that is one of the richest in the whole of Europe.
The Milanese, notorious workaholics, are possibly relieved by all this rippling optimism, but it doesn't last. On March 9, Prime Minister Giuseppe Conte declares Milan and Lombardy under lockdown, followed by the whole country: no more aperitivo, pizza, cinema, or gym. Only supermarkets are open, and long queues of people — all at a distance of at least one meter from each other are impatiently waiting to get in and raid as much food, detergents, disinfectants as possible. Face masks, latex gloves and hand sanitisers are the new hype; whoever owns them is very lucky, because by this point, they are sold out in many pharmacies and the status was likely to stay.
From now on, it's a war bulletin: On March 12, infected people all over Italy are already nearly 13,000, with more than a thousand dead, and on March 17, the numbers had risen to 26,000 infected and 2,500 dead. The numbers only continued to escalate from then on. On March 19, the tally was at 33,000 people infected and 3,500 dead.
At first, Italians reacted with lots of resilience and strength and exorcised fear by gathering in their balconies for impromptu shows, singing and dancing — close but far away from each other. Then discouragement set in, flash mobs were over, and there is now silence everywhere, interrupted only by sirens of ambulances. I myself am in despair watching the line of military trucks at night, carrying away too many coffins from Bergamo, 20 minutes away from Milan, which is now the worst-case scenario.
What is this thing? How did we come up to this point? Are we — the humans — the cause of it? Is everything linked with environmental abuse, overpopulation and pollution? Is nature trying to discard humans, as the well-known Indian philosopher Preethaji tells in a short video shared millions of times by Italians on WhatsApp? These and other questions often fragment my sleep at night and are the focus of many TV programmes. I am now in a city under lockdown from almost a month, my ‘smart working’ is doing fine so far, my daughter's homework after the shutdown of schools and universities is also doing fine.
Away from home, things are shocking: I watch the news and feel spaced out. Billions of people around the globe are under lockdown, familiar places where I have been to dozens of times like New York, London, my beloved India (so dear to me to the point that my daughter's second name is Chandra) look far by millions of light-years.
My aim is now to preserve life, to be shut between these few walls, and to nullify social interactions. Sometimes I visit my collection of bags, shoes and various pieces of clothing downstairs, my eyes contemplate everything but there is no excitement: I used to enjoy shopping way too much, I used to clap my hands happily while watching a good fashion show, I used to be mesmerised observing a painting by Raffaello, Michelangelo or Leonardo da Vinci. I used to indulge in beauty, like most Italians. Now I realise nothing will be the same again, and my life is my only priority.
As I write, numbers are spiralling out of control: 1,01,000 infected in Italy and more than 10,000 dead, nearly 95,000 infected in Spain, 61,000 in Germany, 1,64,000 in the USA, and counting.
Italy has been blessed with tangible signs of solidarity; many top brands like Gucci, Ferrari, Dolce & Gabbana, Versace, Fendi, Prada, Bulgari, Benetton have either donated lots of money or reconverted their business into production of face masks and overalls for hospitals. China, Russia, USA, Cuba, Albania, Polonia sent medical equipment and doctors to help, especially to Lombardy.
There is some hope in the air: in the last week, the total number of people who tested positive for coronavirus has consistently decreased, and Italy will possibly reach the contagion peak soon, making it the second country after China to do so. Meanwhile, all I can do is give the most obvious (but it could never be more true) advice, or hashtag, if you prefer: please, #StayHome.