来自美国的“逆行者” An American Back to China at the Height of COVID-19
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An American Who Came Back to China at the Height of Its COVID-19 Epidemic
Many foreigners working in China refused to come back after the Chinese New Year holiday due to the outbreak of COVID-19 in China. When the U.S. government upgraded the travel alert to China to Level 4 and all US airlines cancelled the direct flights to China, our foreign principal Christopher Moses, rerouted via Japan and flew back to China to prepare for our school's online courses. At present, our online courses have been successfully carried out for three weeks. Just like him, all other foreign teachers of our school (except one who will return soon due to some personal situation) have returned to Shanghai.
Several days ago, Principal Chris wrote an article on his American blog about his experience and thoughts during this epidemic, which we would like to share with you here. After reading his article, you will marvel at his love for China, his wisdom, his broad mind and his concern for the fate of mankind. If you can read the original article in English, you will marvel at his writing skills. The article is a piece of excellent English reading material!
Contagion and Containment
by Christopher Moses
Four weeks ago I landed in Shanghai, where I’ve lived and worked for nearly seven years. While abroad for the Chinese New Year holiday, I watched with alarm the developments in Wuhan, and then Hubei, and then again more broadly across the mainland.
I had known of the newly presenting virus since early January, and had followed the story closely. As the leader of a school nearing the end of the term, already amidst cold and flu season, we had expanded all the more our cleaning of desks, door handles, dormitories, and the like. I knew we were preparing for something different, even if I didn’t know what it was.
What I hadn’t prepared for, though, was the astounding bias—and often outright prejudice and bigotry—that would be directed toward China, toward my friends and colleagues, toward the people and place that had become my home. Whether lurid tales of eating bats, blog posts about feces-strewn streets, conspiratorial claims about government labs—the yellow peril and “sick man of Asia” had wrought not empathy and compassion, but discrimination and disdain. Tearful posts about koalas suffering from Australian bushfires still resonated in my mind, and now I knew to be cute and cuddly had more value than at least a seventh of the world’s population.
They’ve been covering things up. The government can’t be trusted. State media controls everything. Numbers are meaningless. They haven’t done enough; the reaction is too extreme. What aren’t they telling us?
I am no apologist for China; in all things I am a pragmatist. Every country I know has its strengths and weaknesses. But even the most prudent critiques of a profoundly different culture and political system had become a well-spring of thinly veiled condemnations, of western fantasies about governmental fracture and democratic transformation. No one wanted to be left unprepared in their celebrations of communist collapse, as they had been with the USSR in 1988. The economy has ground to a halt! The end is near!
So when I boarded my flight in Tokyo, a tiny part of me did wonder—what am I doing? There was no question I would return to my cats, to my job, and to my life. I had been in constant contact with folks around China and had a clear understanding of the limitations on travel, the closure of many restaurants and stores. Yet the US had raised its travel alert to Level 4: the State Department advised me I would face risks akin to deplaning in Mogadishu or Aleppo.
The day before, when I arrived at Haneda—I had rerouted myself due to the cancellation of all direct flights by US carriers—things seemed mostly normal. Masks covered nearly all faces, and those from China were directed to a separate queue, yet thousands of people made their ways through the terminal. I approached the immigration officer with the confidence of a person who had been for nearly three weeks in supposedly contagion-free countries. He glanced through my passport and noticing my residence permit and innumerable China stamps asked, “have you been to Hubei?”
I answered no and was on my jetlagged way to a few hours of rest.
After enjoying the compact efficiency of a Tokyo hotel, showered and refreshed and glad for the amazing middle-of-the-night options that spring forth from Japanese vending machines, I boarded my short connection to Hongqiao. The Boeing 777 aircraft would normally be packed with business travelers and returning holiday-makers, yet the forward cabin had at most eight people. Still I settled in, enjoyed my lunch, and watched one last movie.
When we landed, quarantine officials boarded the flight and reviewed everyone’s health declarations. Through announcements in Chinese, given in that officious tone of government authority unmistakable at any level of linguistic comprehension, all I knew was that we would be waiting. The ever-professional JAL purser came to me with her stoic smile and did her best to explain that I should remain in my seat, and that I would need to have my temperature taken.
Yet twenty minutes later, I had passed through the greatest moment of uncertainty I would face, and I was in a taxi headed home. The lack of traffic left me with an uncanny feeling, while at the same time I joked with a friend on WeChat that at least the toll holiday had been extended, and I would save forty kuai—about US$5.50—on my ride.
In the four weeks since, I have helped lead an entire school online. The technology has been the simplest part. My greater worries have been faculty morale and the mental health of our students as they’ve endured many weeks of isolation.
Fortunately, everyone in our community is physically healthy—and the reintroduction of routines, the solidarity that comes even from Zoom meetings, and the ability to joke and reflect and communicate has been profoundly centering. Simply the extension of ands, of planning and meetings and the chance to catch up on laundry, has afforded the best possible relief from anxiety.
All the more so, I have felt a sense of pride—what I realize is an unusual sentiment in my normal emotional repertoire. I have been incredibly proud of teachers’ innovative spirit, and of students’ dedication, even while some of them remain scattered around China. I have been proud of peoples’ kindness, of the delivery guys, of the grocery store workers, of the people eager to donate resources and to contribute to relief efforts in Wuhan—of a universal sentiment that we are fine, that current sacrifice will allow for a greater, future good.
Now the tables have turned. While my favorite restaurants have reopened, while my coffee pods now again arrive only hours after ordering them, while friends have begun transitioning back to their offices, I watch other countries grapple with contagion and the struggles of containment. There have been more deaths in the Seattle area, albeit amongst a vulnerable population, than those three that occurred in Shanghai—with six times the population—in the past six weeks.
I worry far more for the United States than I ever have about China in the past month.
While hundreds of thousands have been tested here, and tens of thousands in Korea, from recent reports, the total number conducted in the US is somewhere around five hundred—despite clear evidence of robust community transmission. Mishaps with tests sent by the CDC, the at best uneven messaging coming from the White House, and an already fractured political and cultural landscape do not inspire much confidence.
I unhappily smirk with irony, of all the doomsday vitriol directed towards Chinese corruption and incompetence. I dislike joking that no one has mocked Italians or the French or even the Japanese and Koreans for wearing masks. I wish I didn’t feel vindicated by the travel restrictions proliferating for other nations, even in spite of their general ineffectiveness.
Yet far more than the very real risk of the disease spreading in the US, I worry about the social and economic well-being of that one quarter or more of the population who live week-to-week, and who have little or no access to affordable healthcare. Those who depend on income from Uber, on Air B&B rentals, on tips from jobs in the food and beverage sector or reliable hours in retail—they will be the hardest hit as already massive reductions in corporate travel begin to trickle down through the economy.
The absence of basic social safety nets will be devastating.
Attention paid to stock market fluctuations is like marveling at the satellite renderings of reduced atmospheric pollution in China that have been making the rounds on social media: such high-level imagery misses the potentially catastrophic impact to individual lives.
In no other even moderately developed country in the world do such a large percentage of people live on a knife’s edge of basic well-being.
Still, I am not one to panic, and I would urge my American friends to prepare thoughtfully for potential disruptions to their normal routines. I hope that greater and more sensible efforts will be taken to prevent transmission; this too shall pass, and ideally everyone will rally together to support those with the greatest needs.
Yet for the US and the world, I wish that even the slightest fraction of the concern directed toward COVID-19 can be repurposed toward our greatest contemporary crisis—the climate emergency in which we will continue to live far beyond the passing of this epidemic. The growing disruptions in our warming world will not be containable through self-isolation, or wiped away with hand sanitizer. The worst of this virus can’t even come close in terms of risk to long-term human well-being.
If the prejudice and nationalism witnessed in response to COVID-19 predict what will occur with greater crises, I am all the more pessimistic than usual. In the present we count cases and reckon with death tolls, yet I’m far more worried about the longer-term calculus of planetary health absent drastic and immediate action. Otherwise today’s math will have little meaning. Our days are already numbered.
Translated by Jerry Pu
Proofread by Irene Ma
来自美国的“逆行者”
由于中国爆发新冠疫情,春节假期结束后,许多在中国工作的外国人都选择不再返回中国。
当美国政府宣布将前往中国的旅行警告提升为第四级,当美国航空公司取消直飞中国的航班,我们的外方校长Christopher Moses“逆行”经日本转机回到中国,筹备学校的线上课程。目前我们的线上课程已经顺利开展三周,和他一样,我们学校的其他外教(除一位有特殊情况稍后会返回外)均已回到上海。
Chris校长前两天在他的美国博客网站上写了一篇关于疫情经历和思考的文章,我们也在这里分享给大家。读完他的文章,你会感叹于他对中国的爱,感叹于他的智慧,感叹于他的广阔胸怀和对人类命运的关切。如果你可以读英文原文,更会感叹于他的语言表达能力,是很好的英文阅读素材哦!
传染与控制
作者:克里斯·摩西
四周前,我回到了上海,这个我生活和工作了近七年的城市。春节假期在国外度假的我时刻关注着武汉, 湖北, 以及之后整个中国大陆的疫情发展状况。
今年一月初,了解到一些关于这个新病毒的消息后,我就一直密切关注着这个事件。时值学期末,又是感冒和流感高发的季节,作为学校负责人,我们已经增强了对书桌,门把手,宿舍等的清洁。我知道我们在为一些非同寻常的事情做准备,尽管当时我并不清楚具体是什么事情。
不过,我没有准备好的是看到那么多令人震惊的针对中国的偏见,而且常常是彻底的歧视和偏执。我早已将自己在上海生活的地方视为家,这里有我的朋友和同事,看到针对他们的偏见我深受触动。不管是“中国人吃蝙蝠”这样骇人听闻的故事,声称“中国街道到处是粪便”的博客文章,还是“中国政府实验室阴谋论”,这种“黄种人威胁论”和“东亚病夫论”,都没有在人们心中激起共情和怜悯,反倒造成了歧视和鄙夷。不久前,许多人还在社交媒体上为澳洲遭受森林大火的考拉流泪感叹,让人记忆犹新。不过我现在才知道,它们的可爱比世界上超过七分之一的人口加起来还要有价值。
他们一直在掩盖事实!中国政府不可信!中国的官方媒体操控着一切!跳动的疫情数字没有任何意义!他们做得还不够!他们的反应太极端了!他们掩瞒了什么?
我不是在为中国辩护;在所有事情上我都是一个实用主义者。我所了解的每个国家都有自己的优势和劣势。但是,即使是对一个非常不同的文化和政治制度的最审慎的批评,也已成为激发刻薄谴责的源泉,成为刺激西方关于它国政府分裂和民主转型幻想的源泉。没有人想像1988年苏联解体时那样,在庆祝共产主义垮台时毫无准备。经济停滞了!要结束了!
所以当我登上飞往东京的航班时,我脑海里也确实闪过一丢丢迟疑—我这是在做什么?但是,毫无疑问,我肯定会回到我的猫的身边,回到我在上海的工作和生活中来。我一直与中国各地的朋友保持着联系,也清楚当时的旅行限制,知道许多餐馆和商店都关门儿了。不过,美国已经将前往中国的旅行警告提高到了第4级:美国国务院警告,此时我飞往中国将面临的风险无异于在索马里首都摩加迪休或叙利亚阿勒颇的机场降落。
在我出发返回中国前,由于美国航空公司取消了所有的直飞航班,我改航了。在到达东京羽田机场时,一切看起来都还算正常。大多数人都戴着口罩,来自中国的旅客被安排单独列队,不过数千人都顺利地通关了。在日本入境前,我在没有疫情感染的国家待了近三周,因此信心十足地来到入境检察官那里。他查看了我的护照,注意到我的中国居留证和无数中国出入境印章,问到:“你去过湖北吗?”
我回答“没有”,就顺利通关了;由于时差关系,我非常困倦,决定找个地方休息几个小时。
在东京一家非常高效的酒店入住之后,我洗了澡,休息了一下,并为日本自动售货机在深夜能够提供的丰富食品感到高兴,然后我就登上了去上海虹桥机场的短途航班。通常这趟波音777飞机会挤满商务旅客和回国的度假者,但当时前面的客舱最多只有8人。不过,我还是安坐下来,享受了午餐,看了最后一部电影。
着陆后,检疫官登上了飞机,查看了每个人的健康声明。然后,以任何中文理解水平的人都能感受地到的官方权威语调发布了通知,我知道我们要在飞机上等待一会儿了。一直都非常专业的日航乘务长带着职业微笑走到我旁边,努力用英语向我解释说我需要继续待在座位上,并接受体温检测。
不过,二十分钟后,我顺利入境了,度过了返回中国需要面对的最不确定的时刻。坐在回家的出租车上,空旷的街道确实让我有些担忧,不过,我当时也在微信上和朋友开玩笑说至少高速免费的时间延长了,帮我省了40块车费(约合5.5美元)。
此后的四周里,我协助领导了学校在线课程的开展。线上课程的技术平台选择和使用是最简单的部分。我最担心的是教师的士气和学生的心理状态,因为他们已经经历了数周的居家隔离。
幸运的是,我们学校里的每位成员都身体健康,加上我们教师培训和线上课程的确定和开展,Zoom在线会议时展现的团结,大家会在一起开玩笑,反思和交流,这种正常的工作和学习节奏再次成为我们生活的中心。还有很多简单的常规事物,如做计划,开会,甚至是安排洗衣服都可以很好地缓解焦虑。
我甚至体验到了一种骄傲的感觉—这是我通常不太会有的感受。我为我们的老师展现出的创新精神和同学们的专注和投入感到无比骄傲,其实他们中还有一些人未返回上海,还分散在中国各地。我为人们的善良感到骄傲,为那些坚守在岗位上的快递小哥,小商店里的工作人员,以及渴望捐赠物资支援武汉的人们感到骄傲。这种在中国普遍存在的“我们一切都好,暂时的牺牲是为了更美好的将来”的精神气儿,也让我感到非常骄傲。
现在疫情的发展出现了反转。当我在上海最喜欢的餐馆又开始营业,当我在网上定的咖啡包也会在几小时内就送达,当我的中国朋友们开始陆续回到办公室,我看到其它国家开始在挣扎着与这次病毒疫情搏斗。现在西雅图地区的死亡人数(虽然主要发生在易患病人群中)已经超过上海。上海一共有3例死亡病例,但是它的人口数量是西雅图地区的六倍。
我对美国的担忧远超过过去一个月对中国的担忧。
在中国已有数十万人进行过新冠病毒检测,根据最近的报道,在韩国也有数万人进行过检测。尽管有明确的证据表明这种病毒的社区传播势头强劲,但在美国进行过病毒检测的人数仅为500人左右。美国疾病控制中心发出的测试结果中出现的错误,白宫发出的不一致的消息,以及美国已经破裂的政治和文化格局,都无法激发人们对于美国应对这场危机的信心。
我苦涩地笑了,带着对那些刻薄地批判中国腐败无能的“中国末日论调”的嘲讽。我不喜欢开玩笑说没有人去嘲笑意大利人,法国人,甚至日本人和韩国人戴口罩。我也不希望看到美国对其它国家实施旅行限制,证明它在这件事情上没有对哪个国家有偏颇,尽管我认为这样的限制基本没有什么效果。
不过,我最担心的并不是疫情在美国扩散带来的生理健康危害,而是美国超过四分之一靠周薪过活且没有良好医疗保障的人口的社会和经济状况。他们有的靠开Uber出租车为生,靠在Air B&B上出租自家房间为生,靠在餐饮业打工的小费为生,或者是靠在零售店里打工的小时数为生。当疫情导致企业出行大量减少,并开始渗透到整个经济体系中,这部分人群将会遭受到最大的打击。
缺乏基本的社会安全网将会带来毁灭性的结果。
对股市波动的关注就像是惊讶于社交媒体上常转的呈现中国大气污染减少的卫星图:如此高度的图像忽视了对个人生活的潜在灾难性影响。
世界上没有哪个中等发达国家有如此旁大比例的人口还生活在基本生活保障的边缘。
虽说如此,我并不是一个容易恐慌的人。我督促我美国的朋友们为可能到来的扰乱做好准备。我希望美国会有更好更明智的措施来防止病毒传播;这次危机也终将会过去,我希望在危机中每个人都能团结起来,为最需要帮助的人提供支持。
不过,我希望美国和整个世界可以将我们对新冠疫情的关注,哪怕是很小的一部分,用于关心我们当代最大的危机—气候危机。这场病毒疫情结束之后我们也将持续生活在气候危机中。随着地球不断变暖而引发的各种灾难是没有办法通过自我隔离来遏制,或者是通过消毒洗手液来去除的。哪怕是这场病毒所带来的最严重的后果,也根本无法与气候危机对人类命运的威胁相比。
如果我们在应对更大的危机时还是像在应对新冠疫情时一样充斥着偏见和民族主义,那么我将比平时更加悲观。当前,我们计算着病毒确诊病例人数和死亡人数,但我更加担心的是我们赖以生存的地球的健康状况。我们需要采取及时的,有力度的行动来保护她。否则,我们今天的任何计算都将毫无意义,因为我们所剩的时日已经不多了。
翻译:普周琦
校对:麻志琴
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声明: 本文内容为国际教育号作者发布,不代表国际教育网的观点和立场,本平台仅提供信息存储服务。
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