A new martyr puts a face on China’s deepening coronavirus crisis
The New York Times :
More than 700 people have died. Tens of thousands are infected. Millions are living under lockdown, and the government has sought to silence complaints.
But what provoked an online revolt in China on Friday, the fiercest assault on the censors in almost a decade, began with the death of one man: the doctor who tried to warn others about the coronavirus. The deluge of mourning and anger at the death of the doctor, Li Wenliang – from the same virus he was reprimanded for mentioning – at times overwhelmed China’s sophisticated censorship and propaganda systems. Many on social media called the doctor a martyr and a hero, and government officials, celebrities and business leaders risked rebuke by the Communist Party to join ordinary citizens in expressing frustration and grief. “Li Wenliang’s death has become an emotional flash point,” said Wang Yu, a Wuhan man in his 20s, showing the torrent of comments on his phone about Li in his social media feeds. “He’s a tragic figure in this epidemic, and his death has taken this tragedy to a new extreme,” Wang said. Then he hesitated and took back his words. “I worry that his death won’t be the extreme of this tragedy.” The doctor’s death posed a new test for China’s leader, Xi Jinping, who was already facing deep political problems – over a newly signed trade deal
with Washington, Taiwan’s recent election and Hong Kong’s protest movement – before the virus spilled out of Wuhan. In recent weeks, Xi’s talks with foreign leaders have shifted to a defense of China’s response to the epidemic, which has sickened more than 34,000 people and brought the country to a near standstill. Now, the government is also caught in a tug of war over Li’s legacy that could challenge Xi’s powerful censorship apparatus. When Li, 34, warned of the virus in an online chat room more than five weeks ago, police made him an example of what befalls those who do not comply with official demands for secrecy. He was summoned by authorities and forced to sign a statement denouncing his warning as an unfounded and illegal rumor. After his death Friday, many Chinese said he was a haunting reminder of the early steps taken to cover up the outbreak. Stuck inside by widespread lockdowns, many people are glued to the internet, with abundant time to dwell on the doctor’s death. Chinese social media, often fractious and fickle, was as unanimous as it has ever been in its grief for Li, with eulogies flowing from all corners of the country. For a few hours, a trending hashtag called for freedom of speech. Unable to fully expunge the discussions, Beijing has turned to state media to transform Li into a loyal soldier aligned with the government’s cause. The tussle over the doctor’s memory and the political implications are reminiscent of what happened after the SARS outbreak, some said in posts that were quickly deleted. Jiang Yanyong, the retired military doctor who first called attention to widespread undercounting of SARS cases, has been erased from the official record of that time. By contrast, Zhong Nanshan, the doctor who first identified SARS, has been lionized as a faithful servant. When Beijing needed someone to publicly deliver bad news about the coronavirus, it turned to Zhong. Li’s death also showed how online anger can occasionally slosh over the tall censorship walls built to stifle it. China’s censors have not been this overwhelmed since 2011, when anger and embarrassment over a high-speed rail accident in Wenzhou became impossible to scrub. The Wenzhou crash helped spur new policies to more tightly police the internet. While many of the lives lost in the coronavirus outbreak have been obscured by the numbers, Li’s death has provided a face and story for the victims of the epidemic and the medical workers struggling to contain it.
More than 700 people have died. Tens of thousands are infected. Millions are living under lockdown, and the government has sought to silence complaints.
But what provoked an online revolt in China on Friday, the fiercest assault on the censors in almost a decade, began with the death of one man: the doctor who tried to warn others about the coronavirus. The deluge of mourning and anger at the death of the doctor, Li Wenliang – from the same virus he was reprimanded for mentioning – at times overwhelmed China’s sophisticated censorship and propaganda systems. Many on social media called the doctor a martyr and a hero, and government officials, celebrities and business leaders risked rebuke by the Communist Party to join ordinary citizens in expressing frustration and grief. “Li Wenliang’s death has become an emotional flash point,” said Wang Yu, a Wuhan man in his 20s, showing the torrent of comments on his phone about Li in his social media feeds. “He’s a tragic figure in this epidemic, and his death has taken this tragedy to a new extreme,” Wang said. Then he hesitated and took back his words. “I worry that his death won’t be the extreme of this tragedy.” The doctor’s death posed a new test for China’s leader, Xi Jinping, who was already facing deep political problems – over a newly signed trade deal
with Washington, Taiwan’s recent election and Hong Kong’s protest movement – before the virus spilled out of Wuhan. In recent weeks, Xi’s talks with foreign leaders have shifted to a defense of China’s response to the epidemic, which has sickened more than 34,000 people and brought the country to a near standstill. Now, the government is also caught in a tug of war over Li’s legacy that could challenge Xi’s powerful censorship apparatus. When Li, 34, warned of the virus in an online chat room more than five weeks ago, police made him an example of what befalls those who do not comply with official demands for secrecy. He was summoned by authorities and forced to sign a statement denouncing his warning as an unfounded and illegal rumor. After his death Friday, many Chinese said he was a haunting reminder of the early steps taken to cover up the outbreak. Stuck inside by widespread lockdowns, many people are glued to the internet, with abundant time to dwell on the doctor’s death. Chinese social media, often fractious and fickle, was as unanimous as it has ever been in its grief for Li, with eulogies flowing from all corners of the country. For a few hours, a trending hashtag called for freedom of speech. Unable to fully expunge the discussions, Beijing has turned to state media to transform Li into a loyal soldier aligned with the government’s cause. The tussle over the doctor’s memory and the political implications are reminiscent of what happened after the SARS outbreak, some said in posts that were quickly deleted. Jiang Yanyong, the retired military doctor who first called attention to widespread undercounting of SARS cases, has been erased from the official record of that time. By contrast, Zhong Nanshan, the doctor who first identified SARS, has been lionized as a faithful servant. When Beijing needed someone to publicly deliver bad news about the coronavirus, it turned to Zhong. Li’s death also showed how online anger can occasionally slosh over the tall censorship walls built to stifle it. China’s censors have not been this overwhelmed since 2011, when anger and embarrassment over a high-speed rail accident in Wenzhou became impossible to scrub. The Wenzhou crash helped spur new policies to more tightly police the internet. While many of the lives lost in the coronavirus outbreak have been obscured by the numbers, Li’s death has provided a face and story for the victims of the epidemic and the medical workers struggling to contain it.
