When my 73-year-old father raised concerns about the dwindling food supply late last week, the catastrophe brought on by the Covid lockdown across the city of Shanghai suddenly hit home.
“It will sell out in a few days if there is no handout from the government soon,” he texted me on Thursday.
Then, as if anticipating my inevitable worry, he added, “Still eat rice and crackers—and plenty of coffee.”
It was a startling revelation about the grim reality in China’s biggest city and financial center — from a member of the generation that lived through the Great Famine and the tumultuous Cultural Revolution that killed millions during the early decades of the People’s Republic, founded in 1949 by communist revolutionary Mao. Zedong.
Even during the darkest days in Mao’s China, my parents—born and raised in Shanghai—used to remind me that, unlike many in the countryside, they were lucky enough not to fear the prospect of famine.
Now, with lockdown measures becoming increasingly protective, a once-almost unthinkable topic has hit residents of the city and beyond, more than anything else: people starving in Shanghai in 2022.
By the authorities’ own acknowledgment, the food shortage was largely a man-made disaster due to a lack of planning and coordination.
Despite official promises, government donations are unreliable in many parts of the city, including my father’s apartment complex in northeast Shanghai filled with retirees like him.
The elderly crowd was unable to secure supplies through mass online shopping, pretty much the only way to buy anything in Shanghai at the moment, due to relatively small demand and a lack of tech savvy.
I set out to help, but I never thought that shopping online would be an emotional roller coaster.
Armed with a membership to a retail warehouse club — presumably allowing me to face less stiff competition than those who use a general online grocery store — I quickly realized that it was impossible to grab one of the coveted delivery times, which are assigned at 9pm daily, even with food still available on virtual shelves.
The retailer’s app simply crashed every night — and didn’t come back online until a few hours later with a screaming “no more delivery times for the day” message.
As frustration and anxiety mounted, my hope waned along with my father’s supply. On the second day of my futile attempts, a friend warned me about an online “boutique” retailer that still offered a shopping package with next-day delivery times. Glad to find out she was right, I immediately asked my dad.
When I broke the good news in the online family group chat, however, aunts and uncles — all facing their own food shortages to varying degrees — jumped in to express their shock that I had paid 398 Yuan. ) for five kilos of vegetables and 60 eggs.
“Robbery on the highway!” shouted an uncle, while an aunt emphasized that the price was more than four times what she would normally pay for the same amount of food at the market.
“But these are boutique eggs,” my dad joked.
I was relieved that my dad’s fridge was replenished in time, but listening to the comments from relatives, I felt a sense of “survivor’s guilt”: What about the countless residents who can’t afford exorbitantly priced groceries?
an indefinite lock
Literal survival was not a concern for most of Shanghai’s 25 million people before April.
Over the past two years, the city has reinforced its status as the most important international gateway to China – both for people and for goods. He prided himself on his more targeted and lenient approach to Covid containment, despite Beijing’s strict zero Covid policy.
With Shanghai avoiding mass testing across the city and adopting less restrictive quarantine rules, it already looked like a potential role model for the entire country as the rest of the world had chosen to live with Covid with an emphasis on vaccination.
Then came Omicron, with the highly contagious variant of Covid sweeping the city and infecting more than 390,000 residents since March, according to government statistics.
After repeatedly denying that the city would be shut down — with police even announcing an investigation into alleged online rumors — Shanghai authorities abruptly changed course in late March and cordoned off the entire metropolis in early April.
The government initially billed it as a four-day “temporary break” — claiming it would promptly test the entire population, isolate positive cases and then reopen the city. As a result, many residents never bothered to stock up.
Despite the widespread panic buying before the lockdown, my father was among the unflappable. A retired electrical engineer who enjoys travel, photography and coffee, he had recently strained his back muscles – and he wasn’t going anywhere.
Still, his home confinement turned out to be much longer – and more precarious – than he ever imagined.
With tens of thousands of new infections reported daily, the government continued to extend the lockdown – ordering any residential community with a single new positive case to be sealed off for another 14 days.
My father’s apartment complex is currently scheduled to close until May 2nd. But even that date remains uncertain as authorities continue to test residents, meaning the lockdown clock could be reset at any time.
For the first time, millions of people in Shanghai — young and old, rich and poor, liberal and conservative — seem united by their growing anger.
Despite the censors’ fierce effort to erase all traces of bad news, social media users continue to recount and repost heartbreaking stories, increasingly disgusted by highly choreographed state media images showing an orderly and effective lockdown.
Among my friends and family, almost everyone has a personal story to share about the chaos and misery of confinement: from fleeing into the darkness to exchange food with a neighbor, to learning harrowing experiences of a friend thrown into an isolation ward built at rushes with leaking roofs and overflowing toilets, and hearing the wails of an old neighbor whose children couldn’t see their recently deceased father one last time.
Propaganda adds insult to injury
People are also seeing Chinese propaganda czars double down, painting Omicron as a potentially lethal threat, emphasizing that only Covid zero can save China from the deaths and ravages of the virus in the West.
Officials have made it clear that the policy has the personal seal of approval of the country’s leader, Xi Jinping, who has yet to visit Shanghai – a city he has led – amid the deepening crisis.
Xi is expected to take on an almost unprecedented third term later this year, paving the way for him to rule for life.
Outside Shanghai, that message still seems to resonate with many, although debates have begun to emerge and intensify. Within the eerily tranquil metropolis, the lockdown and its resulting calamity has become a defining moment for locals and expats alike.
With state media headlines screaming “not the flu!” Against government statistics that show only about two dozen severe cases among those infected in Shanghai so far, almost everyone seems to agree with the seeming absurdity of “the solution being worse than the problem” — particularly when stories surface on social media. on deaths related to those unable to receive medical care from causes other than Covid due to restrictions.
Some residents questioned online why officials seem more willing to lash out at Covid-zero critics than convince residents over 60 in the rapidly aging city — the most vulnerable group with a disappointing 62% vaccination rate — to get vaccinated.
Others reflect on the current tragedy and contemplate their next steps.
“How did Shanghai fall like this?” It’s been the line I’ve been hearing most often lately. It’s mostly a rhetorical question — the real question seems to be “Should I stay or should I go?”
For expatriates (who live abroad), many have voted with their feet – without fear of the bureaucratic and logistical obstacles they must go through to leave their homes.
For locals, it involves more self-analysis, but, echoing the sentiment online, a growing number of Shanghainese — native or adopted — tell me they’ve decided to put their foot down to emigrate.
Businessmen and bankers say the brutal lockdown has demonstrated that money means nothing in a world where anyone can instantly become collateral damage to plans instigated by distant and irresponsible leadership.
For most people in Shanghai, especially older generations like my father, they will always call the city home. They remain focused on surviving the ongoing nightmare, trying their luck with online bulk purchases.
My dad said that someone in his community recently started an attempt to collectively buy coffee – but it quickly failed due to a lack of interest.
“No one seems to be in the mood for coffee right now,” he said.
Source: CNN Brasil
