What strikes me most is the speed with which daily life has turned topsy turvy. Only two weeks ago, journalism students I teach at the Beijing Broadcasting Institute scoffed when I raised concerns over SARS. ‘‘Exaggerations by the Western media,’’ one said dismissively. Urging me to inductive conclusions, another said, ‘‘Look around you. Where is the problem?’’ This was, of course, before the Chinese authorities’ much awaited and belated admission that a cover-up had in fact been underway; that figures of those infected by SARS were 20 fold and more than what was previously declared. Within the space of a few days, Beijing is another city. The traffic clogged roads and busy streets have fallen silent. Stretches of the city resemble a surreal hospital with manic surgeons on the loose, as the few brave — or foolish — enough to be still venturing out to markets; taking the tube and riding the bus, eye each other suspiciously from behind their face masks. ‘‘I wasn’t scared a few days ago. But now the moment you leave the house everyone looks so scary in their masks, like terrorists,’’ said Cuan Xinri, a second year undergraduate. Some see humour in the situation. ‘‘I sometimes feel like laughing. Everyone looks so funny with masks on,’’ giggled Hu Jiabei, an executive with an advertising company. But a minute later her smile died as she reflected, ‘‘But we must be careful. Anyone could have this disease. Anyone could infect you. You just don’t know and suspect everybody.’’ Last week, a taxi driver refused me passage because I remained unmasked while another lectured me on my recklessness because I asked to be taken to an open air market. Of course the face mask business, if none other, has plenty to be happy about. Masks are already becoming fashion statements and there is a definite mask hierarchy developing, with the ‘‘bhala uski mask meri mask se safed kaise?’’ mentality setting in. And this being China, the global capital of designer rip-offs, fake burberry face-masks are fast dotting the landscape! Public institutions and businesses have been visibly effected by the atmosphere of suspicion and anxiety. Kindergartens and primary schools have been closed down, restaurants are shutting their doors, offices are making contingency arrangements for employees to work from home, hospitals and several other buildings have been quarantined. Everywhere rumours swish and swoop like malign giant birds, instilling fear by the beating of their wings. A particularly disturbing one is that martial law will be declared and all trains will be cancelled, highways blocked. The government has denied this but the majority of my students say they don’t know who to believe anymore. There does appear to be somewhat of a socio-economic divide reflected in responses to the situation. Most taxi drivers I have asked appear to think it’s all much ado about nothing. Chen Jinhua, the lady who cleans my apartment, was dismissive. ‘‘It’s all rumours. There is no problem. In any case, I am well and healthy so have nothing to worry about.’’ It’s more the mobile phone owning, e-mail accessing demographic who are constantly exposed to circulating rumours that appear to channel, spread and react to them the most. Jian Yi, an English teacher at the Beijing Broadcasting Institute, explained: ‘‘The rumours amongst the students are mostly being spread through e-mail and SMS. Everyday I get at least a dozen text messages, saying thousands of people have died and universities have been quarantined.’’ Although universities habe not officially been closed, panicky students are rushing back to their hometowns on the orders of even more panicky parents, in contravention of the ‘‘official’’ rules. This is interesting in itself, indicative that the changes in Chinese society over the last decade have been more than merely economic. Mindsets are changing. Students and families are willing to defy authority and ‘‘rules’’ if they perceive the individual threat to themselves to be greater than any ‘‘punishment’’ resulting from breaking the rules. Students inform me that this would never have happened even five years ago, when they did as they were told. Once ‘‘forbidden,’’ they ‘‘obeyed’’. Today the ‘‘authorities’’ are left struggling in their attempts to impose ‘‘obedience’’ from above. The students still remaining at universities are not doing so out of respect for the rules, but fear that travel might be even more dangerous. ‘‘It’s too awful. I feel unsafe in my dormitory, I feel unsafe going to class. I would like to go home, but my parents think it’s even more dangerous taking the train or plane, so I am stuck here,’’ complained Ma Jiang, a second year undergraduate international journalism major. In what has been a very paternalistic society, the ‘‘children’’ are feeling let down. Their government lied to them. There is anger, shock, resentment and fear. ‘‘I am so upset. I can’t believe they (the government) lied to us. To be honest, I still don’t trust the official figures. I believe there are many many more cases of SARS than are being reported officially,’’ Yu Yang an intern with the Associated Press, told me. So students rush home, foreigners pack their bags, supermarkets empty out and normality seems to have gone away for a long walk. ‘‘It’s horrible. It’s horrible. It’s horrible,’’ Grace Yuan, a student mumbled over and over again when I asked her to express how she felt about the atmosphere on campus. Why has the situation met with such panic and over-reaction? After all, 1000-odd cases of a disease with only a 5 per cent fatality rate, in a city of 14 million, is not a very weighty number. Statistically the chances of dying from several other more common diseases or even of getting run over by a car remain higher. In previous discussions related to the media with my students, they have often expressed the view that freedom of the press, would not be suited to a country like China because Chinese are ‘‘volatile’’ and likely to over react if faced with bad news. In other words, to get depressed and unproductive, unless fed a continuous diet of happy, morale boosters in the guise of news. At that time I felt frustrated by this seemingly naive ‘‘defence’’ of censorship. Now, some of their arguments have ostensibly been borne out. While I do not agree that there is anything intrinsic to the Chinese national character that makes them more volatile than others, I do believe that the paternalism inherent in Chinese political structures has created a society where people have become used to being treated like children by the government and media. This does make it difficult for people to cope with ugly facts. The media here have for long been cheerleaders for the ‘‘progress’’, ‘‘modernisation’’ and achievements of the Chinese economy. The front pages of the leading papers are full of self-congratulatory toasts to the sagacity of the Chinese government and the spirit of the ‘‘Chinese people.’’ Bad news has no room as a norm. Faced suddenly, with admissions of cover-ups and a serious epidemic of an un-understood disease, panic is but the natural reaction for a people rarely exposed to much beyond self-satisfaction and ‘‘happily ever after’’ endings. SARS cannot provide a fairy tale finish. It is going to be a grim and depressing fight. I am waiting to see how my fellow Beijingers respond to this fight once the ‘‘newness’’ of the disease loses its shine. Eventually I suspect, we will have to accept it as one of the several risks we face in everyday life. The really interesting issue will be to see if this episode has any lasting effects on the Chinese government and media’s attitudes to crises in the future. (The author is a journalism lecturer in with the Beijing Broadcasting Institute)
