📝 End of 2022 marks time for China to end its ‘zero-Covid’ roller coaster

South China Morning Post

Protesters hold up blank papers and chant slogans as they march in protest against strict anti-virus measures in Beijing on November 27. Photo: AP

The past year saw wild swings in China’s experience with Covid-19, with periods of strict lockdown interspersed with stretches of relative normality

After public anger boiled over and the government suddenly changed course, though, it’s high time to draw this traumatic period to a close

By Shen Yang

“You’re going back to Europe?” “Are you insane? You’ll catch Covid there!” “Stay in China, seriously, it’s safer here!”

As soon as my relatives and friends heard of my trip, they all reacted as if I was about to jump into a boiling pot of viruses. On the contrary, after a month without masks or tests, I’m still safe and sound while the same people who warned me all ended up with Covid-19, no one spared.

As I follow the latest outbreak, my mind goes back to two months of lockdown in Shanghai, an insane roller-coaster of events and emotions that I hope to never ride again. It all started during a warm spring when cherry blossoms were at their best in our compound.

Xian was under lockdown and we received dramatic news every day. Netizens pointed fingers at the Xian government, turning everything into memes. We all believed this could never happen to Shanghai. So when the local government announced on March 28 a lockdown for just five days, we naively believed them.

As someone who spends most of her time reading and writing in the studio, I initially thought even a longer lockdown wasn’t a big deal. I soon learned there was a huge difference between not wanting to go out and not being allowed to go out. After a month of blindly following orders, testing negative repeatedly and refraining even from going downstairs for a walk, I took part in acts of civil disobedience.

I started by refusing to go downstairs for Covid tests, then sneaked out of the building at 6am to take a walk and steal the cherries from our compound. I made jam, which I then offered to neighbours I secretly invited for lunch, blatantly ignoring contact-avoidance rules.

At the end of the month, I even booked a health check so I could get a permission slip to exit the compound. Roads were full of fallen leaves, cordoned-off areas and closed shops. The “Voice of April” shocked me, but the silence of Shanghai saddened me.

In May, in an attempt to ease people’s frustration, families received a pass allowing one person to get out for two hours per day. This concession seemed straight out of a prison. I had to escape. I had never been so eager to flee from the city I used to love so much.

When Shanghai allowed people to leave, I immediately got the green light to drive back to my hometown in Jining, Shandong province. Even though I had an eight-hour drive, seven days of quarantine in a fangcang – or makeshift hospital – and another seven days of observation in a hotel, I couldn’t wait to be there. This time, I knew that after 14 days I would be free.

I went back to Shanghai at the end of June. Lockdown was finally over and life was back to normal, but with a twist. Covid testing booths had appeared all around the city and everyone was required to do tests every 72 hours. A few peaceful months later, my ride on the Covid roller-coaster took another surprise turn.

On September 2, I travelled to Guiyang, Guizhou province. During the taxi ride to the hotel, I couldn’t help but notice the empty streets. The driver told me the city might be locked down the next day as new cases emerged. “Nonsense! It’s just a few cases,” I said.

The next morning, improvised Covid testing tents popped up, people queued for hours with no attendants around, and many residential compounds got cordoned off. I immediately headed to the nearest city with zero cases. As soon as my train left Guiyang, the city was locked down. Thankfully, I left just in time.

Once I returned to Shanghai, shopping centres, restaurants and cafes were full of people, as if Covid never existed. Just when I thought things were getting better, news came out that my hometown Jining was locked down. Soon Zhengzhou, Urumqi, Lanzhou, Lhasa, Hohhot and once again Xian all got locked down.

Fast forward to November 26. After three years of mass testing, intermittent lockdowns, travel restrictions and absurd incidents like the tragedy in Urumqi, outrage exploded, leading to a wave of protestsacross the country.

Then, on December 7, China suddenly cancelled the “zero-Covid” policy. No more Covid tests, masks or lockdowns. Many people I know in China caught Covid, and as of the time I’m writing this article, millions of people are reportedly contracting the virus every day.

“Everyone caught Covid, you guys escaped at the right time!” “Stay there you lucky girl, don’t come back for now!”

Within a month, all my relatives and friends changed their attitude towards my decision to leave China. I joked with them that once I return to China, quarantine will not be aimed to protect them from me but protect me from them. Then on December 26, the National Health Commission announced that China will cancel centralised quarantine for international arrivals starting January 8, 2023.

“Aunt Yangyang! Let’s play the Covid test game.” Words can’t describe how heartbroken I felt when my four-year-old niece pretended to do a throat swab right before my departure.

I hope that in the eyes of all children in China, this whole mess was just a game instead of a trauma. With the approaching of Lunar New Year, it’s time to say “game over” to the “zero-Covid” policy.