SARS: Fear and Boredom in Beijing

No more need to mention numbers or criticize the government. The media have been here, the international community have done that, and everyone else has read all about it. SARS is a global epidemic, because people worldwide fear it. By its very nature, a virus spreads like a rumor, indistinct, ever-mutating, and ultra-microscopic. Meanwhile, who knows what's really going on epicentral Beijing? Just as the truth is in the details, the clues are in the anecdotes.

Still, that I know of, nobody I know knows anybody who knows anybody personally who has contracted the virus - however, the following are direct acquaintances (or acquaintances of acquaintances of) mine:

A professor, returning from Hong Kong to his temporary home at Qinghua University in Beijing, narrowly escapes a minimum two-week quarantine 'for observation' inside his own living quarters by jumping on the next flight back to Hong Kong that same night;

A few employees are laid-off at a private advertising agency, and the remaining staff is ordered to take a two-week holiday, while advantage is taken of the drop in business to disinfect the entire office;

A foreign expert provokes a sudden panic at the entrance of the Beijing Youth Daily office when his measured temperature rises alarmingly over the 38-degree limit, but he is finally spared immediate seizure and quarantine after explaining that he had cycled rather speedily to work;

A resident of Tongzhou district cancels our appointment after a tenant in her building was diagnosed with SARS, leading to the entire tenement being sealed off, while food is delivered to her apartment daily;

Another Beijing resident and I, on a weekend expedition to the Great Wall at Simatai, just barely make it past the sign that says 'Welcome to Pinggu County' when a policeman at checkpoint orders us to turn around and go home - Don't come out to play - and all along the road back into the city we see signs blocking entry to smaller villages;

And then there is the hyperchondriac, suddenly acutely short of breath one evening after walking home and preparing herself psychologically to call the English-language hotline to turn herself in as she imagines in horror probing medical examinations and extended quarantine - but fortunately, she phones a friend first, who promptly comes over and convinces her otherwise with an unreserved kiss.

Paranoia rather than panic describes the situation here. In the capital of the world's largest communist country, Fear is used as an instrument of control. People wear face masks (of all shapes, sizes and efficiency - cartoon character and designer masks are all the rage) in the street, quarantine themselves at home, stock up on instant food, take their temperatures daily, and must pass body heat sensors before entering office buildings or boarding airplanes. Students and migrant workers are discouraged from returning home, although there are no more classes and no more work in the big city, they are told to Just stay put, avoid mass movements of people, Don't bring the virus home with you.

Meanwhile shops, entertainment venues and many restaurants have closed, services have been interrupted, events have been cancelled, and with reduced business, limited outings, and not much left to do in the urban village, Beijing has turned into an eerie ghost town, where most people have left recently more from boredom than panic.

Other resident Beijingers, including a large number of expatriates such as myself, continue to work at home (minus the office job), to see close friends, to go out to eat in restaurants, to walk or cycle through streets and alleys (breathing the polluted air directly through our noses), and to appreciate an occasional stroll off the beaten path. Yet others continue to spit on the pavement and/or linger outdoors in their pajamas, as a matter of observation. Ignorance, imprudence or apathy?

 

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