It was around this time last year that Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome (SARS) thrust itself onto the global consciousness. The killer, flu-like disease, which emerged in the Chinese province of Guangdong in November 2002, was by March of last year spreading rapidly across East Asia. The epidemic eventually killed thousands across the Pacific Rim and hurt the global economy as trade and travel were disrupted.
However by June of last year SARS was gone, vanishing into thin air. This led to speculation that SARS was a seasonal disease which would return with a vengeance this autumn. Thankfully, in spite of a few outbreaks in China, this fear has not been realised. It may well be that the elaborate quarantine precautions put in place after last year’s epidemic have done the trick.
At the time of the initial outbreak I was working as an English teacher in Taiwan. As the epidemic reached its climax, Taiwan became the eye of the storm. Initially though, Taiwan seemed to have been spared. As the disease took hold in Hong Kong in February the prevailing attitude in Taiwan was one of glorious isolation. The public and government alike seemed confident that Taiwan’s island status would insulate it from the havoc on the mainland. As long as the temperatures of travellers arriving on the island were checked then, theoretically, there shouldn’t be a problem. SARS may have been a killer disease but it couldn’t swim the Taiwan Strait.
This bubble of smugness was burst in early March when the first confirmed SARS cases were discovered in Taiwan. Obviously someone at one of the air or sea ports had “dropped the ball” in a rather costly manner. In the space of a fortnight Taiwan went from being SARS free to being the main “growth area” for the disease.
This change in fortunes was indicated by the rapid spread of SARS masks in Taipei. These cheap surgical masks were good for three days maximum. The ever entrepreneurial Taiwanese were meeting the insatiable demand, selling these garments in shops, in restaurants, on street corners. The green and grey masks, in packs of five, were the workhorses of the epidemic. Taiwan is a very style conscious society however so this uniformity of appearance just wouldn’t do. By the second week of the outbreak masks appeared with logos and designs. Hello Kitty was a particular favourite. I marked St. Patrick’s Day with a shamrock mask. The high-end masks actually looked like they might provide some protection beyond the psychological.
Wearing these masks all day was far from comfortable. Communication became even more difficult than usual. After eating, your mask would quickly become enveloped with the odour of whatever you’d just consumed. Onions were off the menu for a while. It was a relief to get home, rip off the stifling mask and take in a few deep gulps of Taipei’s pungent air.
Because of this, I avoided wearing the masks whenever possible. At first this was quite easy as wearing masks was still voluntary. In the first week of the outbreak I noted about 20% of travellers on Taipei’s underground system were wearing the masks. The following week it was 80%. The sensible majority of non-maskers had swiftly become the reckless minority. In another week the masks became compulsory on the underground.
And of course it wasn’t just the underground. Shops, schools, restaurants, public buildings, all enforced the wearing of the masks. Putting on your SARS mask became part of the ritual of going outside, like putting on your shoes. When entering virtually any building, your temperature was taken to check that you were under 38 C.
It was a strange time. Many people withdrew from public space, only venturing out when absolutely essential. Taipei, one of the world’s most crowded cities, suddenly became a rather pleasant place to go for a stroll on a Saturday afternoon. For the first time in a year, I could actually hear myself think. “You shouldn’t have eaten that garlic” tended to be what I was thinking.
Of course it wasn’t all good news. The sight of everyone wearing SARS masks made it look like some great natural disaster had just occurred. It made me think of the gas masks worn during the Second World War. It was as if the entire society was gripped by fear and paranoia. Buses which usually fizzed with rapid-fire conversations were quiet except for a few muffled words.
By the third week there was no end in sight. Dozens were dead and hundreds infected. Entire city blocks and hospitals were quarantined after outbreaks. Each day brought bad news of further outbreaks and further restrictions. Then, from my selfish point of view, the worst happened. Masks were made compulsory in all schools. Great. You try checking pronunciation when all your students are wearing masks. That’s not to say of course that the kids actually wanted to wear their masks. No, they wanted to spin them around their heads or hit their friend with them or pretend to eat them. Anything but actually wear them.
Worse was to come as the epidemic dragged on into a fourth week. Parents started to withdraw their kids from class such was their fear of infection. In Taiwan if you don’t work, you don’t eat. Each cancelled class meant less money at the end of the month. Of course I was upset to be losing money but I could understand that, when it comes to your kids’ health, why take the risk?
For a week or so the future of the hundreds of English cram schools in Taipei hung in the balance. It was clear that, from an economic standpoint, schools would very soon become unviable. An ignominious return to the West was on the cards.
Then very quickly the infection rate fell away. Now instead of bad news, the papers brought good news each day, fewer infections, fewer deaths, fewer restrictions on everyday life, a return to normality. SARS was already old news elsewhere in Asia. Taiwan, having been last to get started, was also last to finish.
Considering the massive disruption, SARS was a surprisingly tame disease. Its kill rate was only 6%, much lower if the sufferer happeend to be young and healthy. The vast majority infected with SARS made a full recovery. The best way of limiting the spread was to isolate the infected and to monitor the temperature of the healthy. The masks were so cheap that they were next to useless.
When the outbreak ended the Taiwanese media was full of self-congratulatory rhetoric. Taiwan had pulled together, they said, in a great patriotic effort to stop SARS. Every citizen had played their part in the common struggle. But had we really?
It wasn’t SARS which damaged the economy after all, it was fear of SARS. Continuing to work, study, shop and travel as normal; that would’ve been a better response.