The long limp out of lockdown
Jess Cordingly Lankelly Chase
It’s October. It’s cold. It’s dark. It won’t stop raining. Half of Britain is back in lockdown. The other half are waiting to go back in. It’s a difficult time to dream of a better future.
The hangover from the emergency
When COVID-19 and the ensuing lockdown hit, the whole team at Lankelly Chase were in awe of how our partners in Oxford sprang into action. Oxford Together, a community aid response powered by volunteers and enabled by Oxford Hub, Oxford City Council and local aid groups, was in place even before the lockdowns began. Suddenly, as official services faltered, the community teams across Oxford fired up, working so hard to ensure no one was left alone, unwell or unsafe as we all retreated into our homes. The change in structures and processes that this emergency response caused was incredible. One partner told me he saw a six-year change plan across Oxford unfolding in 6 days. We saw in front of us that a different way of being and therefore a different future was possible, and this was inspiring, even if it was horrendous circumstances that caused it.
In the months since the momentum hasn’t let up. The team from Arts at the Old Fire Station realised that, as well as being part of Oxford Together, one of their duties as a community arts centre is to record and share the experiences of Oxford’s people. They ran a storytelling project, listening to the stories of the volunteers, supporters and those who had received help through lockdown. Themes came out of these stories that moved us all. There were beautiful tales of how the relational approach embedded in this crisis response led to new relationships forming, transforming people’s lives. We heard how it was the seemingly small things that mattered the most — someone bringing over lettuce for a neighbour’s pet tortoise and responding to the thing that mattered most to that person at that moment. A small act that meant everything. What has hit me most hearing these stories is how many times people reference the systems behaviours. Oxford Together embodied these and so amid the chaos, they created a system that worked for people and helped them to live well. The different future we have all been dreaming of was happening.
But after all this energy, all this fight for connection, for community and justice, it feels like we have collectively hit a wall. Rigid and impersonal systems of thought and process that were suspended have crept back in. Spaces for creativity feel like they are closing. We’re dreading the isolation that is hovering over us again as a full lockdown threatens. And we all feel just absolute exhaustion. The nervous energy of an emergency response is long gone. We sprinted through the spring and summer, only to find out that we are running a marathon and we have the hardest parts to go. It feels like some kind of hangover, except I know it won’t be gone tomorrow.
How do we create space to dream?
As this malaise creeps over me, I’m asking how do we keep dreaming and stepping into what is possible? I’m desperate to keep finding opportunities and ways forward, but I can’t see the way to do this now. So maybe I need to just say, we can’t. We can’t dream right now. I can’t dream right now. The enormity of what we are all facing — the loss, the fear, the frustration, the uncertainty — is all hitting us. This pandemic isn’t about to end, and the early bright responses were fleeting, not permanent.
But what we can do as we pause is be together. A core group of us in Oxford have recently started a Theory U course. We originally decided to do this as a way to start to “prototype” more ideas for work in Oxford. But already, I am finding that this isn’t my driving motivation anymore. The course is giving us some structured time just to be together. We are talking about where we each are, and working through some of the fear, loss, frustration we all face. My motivation now is to learn: to learn more about my colleagues, to learn about their experiences and their hopes and dreams, to learn about myself and my place in all this mess. And as I learn, and as I give myself space truly to grieve “normal” life, I can start to feel just the faintest flicker of optimism coming back.
I don’t know when we’re going to be able to dream again in Oxford. But when we do, I know those dreams will be fuller and bolder than they could ever have been because of this time we are spending now, being together and learning.
