It was 2003 in Beijing, and I thought I lived in an apartment complex full of wild stoners. Who knew that burning vinegar smelled so much like weed?
I was studying Chinese and teaching history at a program at Peking University. It was my second year in Beijing and 2003 was my first spring. Then SARS hit.
The Internet was dial-up, TV was basic, and my primary sources of local news were the teachers in my program and the gossip of the aunties who hung around the courtyard of the apartment complex. It may have already been March when we heard rumors about a new virus that was going around. People were a little vague on the details, and I remember very little – if anything – in the local Beijing papers or TV news.
The teachers did their best to reassure the foreign staff and students in our program. They suggested we take our cue from local Beijingers who were still contentedly going about their daily business without seeming to worry too much about plagues and pestilence. One of my teachers, more candid than the others in matters of politics, told me straight up: “Beijingers are a tough lot. Hard to fool. The old folks have seen occupation, revolution, the Great Leap, the Cultural Revolution, and Deng Xiaoping turning their society upside down. If they’re not freaking out, you’ll be fine.”
His words helped, but the news from abroad was worrying. While the Internet was hilariously slow in 2003, it was (compared to today) mostly uncensored. I listened to NPR, read the New York Times, checked in with the media in Hong Kong. Throughout March and early April, there was steady – and rising – concern as cases of a new disease, soon to be known as Sudden Acute Respiratory Distress Syndrome (SARS), began appearing around the world. SARS would eventually kill 800 people in 17 countries over the course of the outbreak.
[caption id="attachment_40802" align="aligncenter" width="413"] 2003
Be fond of health, fight against "SARS" - believe in science, depend on science, SARS can be guarded against and cured
Publisher: Chaoyang District People's Government, Beijing
Source: chineseposters.net[/caption]
By April, some of the other student programs in Beijing began sending their students home. But the aunties in my complex courtyard remained calm. It wasn’t until later in April that all hell broke loose. I turned on the TV to learn the mayor of Beijing, Meng Xuenong, and the PRC health minister had both been sacked. Then state media released “revised” infection figures. Previously, we were told there were only a few dozen cases in Beijing. The new estimates increased that number by ten-fold, and few people believed the new numbers told the entire story.
I went outside and looked for the comforting steadfastness of the neighborhood aunties, but they were busy raiding the local Ito Yokado supermarket and pulling supplies off the shelves like Satan had just announced last call at the Judgement Day Bar & Grill. I called the teacher in my program who had encouraged me with stories of stoic and sober-minded Beijingers and described the scene. “Is it okay if I freak out now?”
After that, things were different. The streets were empty. Most shops closed. A few restaurants and bars stayed open but the city felt deserted. The courtyard at the apartment complex became quiet. The complex aunties believed vinegar could stop the virus, and they would burn jars of the stuff in the stairwells of our building. It turns out burning vinegar smells, to me anyway, a lot like bad weed.
Once I figured it was safe enough, I started wandering around what felt like a deserted city. Many of the parks stayed open, but there weren’t any tourists. Spring 2003 was when I figured out how to use the “Echo Wall” at the Temple of Heaven. (FYI: It actually can carry your voice around the wall when there aren’t a few hundred tourists screaming into the bricks at the same time.)
By May, the worst of the outbreak was over and the summer of 2003 brought a new normal to the city. Folks who had been scared off of public transportation began buying cars. The next few years marked the beginning of Beijing gridlock. Similar concerns about eating and drinking inside with fellow patrons resulted in a surge of outdoor seating. Cloned clumps of cafes and bars colonized the once quiet shores of Houhai. Business owners built terraces and make-shift patio areas. Restaurant seating poured onto sidewalks. The city – before our most recent "beautification" campaign at least – had never been short of al fresco dining options, but now it seemed nobody wanted ever to sit inside again.
[caption id="attachment_40803" align="aligncenter" width="411"] Be fond of health, fight against "SARS" - hold on ... to the last victory!
Publisher: Chaoyang District People's Government, Beijing
Source: chineseposters.net[/caption]
I’ve been thinking about those days of 2003 while sitting in self-imposed quarantine here in Beijing 2020. Things are different now in China, of course. The city is more prosperous. Online commerce and delivery make things easier for the quarantined even as they expose delivery drivers to even higher risks than they usually face in their jobs. The government's ability to track and restrict people's movements have only increased.
I also think about what hasn’t changed. SARS became a problem when officials were more worried about social stability and their reputations than public health. Meng Xuenong’s replacement as mayor in 2003 was none other than 2020 CCP consigliere Wang Qishan. I remember watching Wang’s first press conference on TV in which he gave relatively straight answers to some tough questions. It made me hopeful that the Chinese government might learn something from the mismanagement of the SARS outbreak.
Nope. Not really.
The death of Li Wenliang was tragic and his treatment by the authorities deplorable. Dr. Li’s sacrifice recalls the death of another brave doctor, Carlo Urbani who died after being infected while treating SARS patients in 2003. It was Dr. Urbani who first identified SARS as a new virus in a patient at his clinic in Hanoi and warned the World Health Organization. In 2003, the WHO listened to Dr. Urbani. In 2020, Chinese authorities sent police to harass, bully, and silence Dr. Li.
The doctors, nurses, and first responders in Wuhan and around China deserve all of our respect, admiration, and gratitude. The efforts to mobilize resources to build hospitals and to put measures in place to slow the spread of the outbreak are also to be commended. But every hot take crediting the Chinese government with their response in February needs to lead with the same government knowing about the virus as early as December. Heroic actions were required once the outbreak became an epidemic because of a political decision to not act sooner.
That was the lesson that should have been learned from SARS. Not “how to manage public opinion” or “control rumors” or “how to deflect blame to foreign forces" best, but rather putting politics and GDP targets aside when frontline doctors and researchers try to warn about a new virus they've discovered. Instead, a lack of transparency and a lack of political courage on the part of local and national leaders created a global health crisis.
That's what happened in 2003. It happened again this year. Hopefully, this time the lesson will be learned.