This huge city of 25 million people is at the center of China’s efforts to eradicate the largest Covid epidemic in the country. No one is allowed to leave their homes, even to buy food, which means we rely on government or private distribution drivers who are weakening from mass demand. This puts a huge strain on the system – and for many people, restrictions are more painful than the threat of a virus. Outside my apartment, community workers in hazmat uniforms lead me and my neighbors on a socially detached procession beyond our locked front gate, the only time I am allowed to leave my apartment. But they never take us out of the gate – it is sealed with padlocks and bicycle locks for more than three weeks. As we walk to a table covered with a blue tent where the doctors are waiting to take the test, I feel a wave of emotions – relief that let me out in the fresh air and the spring sun and stress – what if I tested positive? I’m worried about being sent to the Shanghai quarantine system for days or weeks. The pictures of the facilities suggest that I could face cramped, unhealthy conditions with overflowing bins, without running water and dirty shared toilets. But I’m more worried about what might happen to the President, my rescue dog. What happens to your pet if you test positive remains a worrying gray area with no clear solution. Horror stories are circulating on the Internet about pets being left behind and one recently killed with a shovel by a man in a hazma suit.
If I am quarantined, I hope one of the local veterinarians or community groups can be allowed to care for my dog. I have prepared a small bag with the necessary things for the President who is sitting next to the door in case someone can take him in, if I am expelled. But that can be unlikely. Except for the main workers, the whole city is like me, locked and locked.

Entertainment for extra food

In late March, before the city was ordered to stay home, panicked shoppers left the grocery shelves empty. Now, despair has entered. The videos show people screaming at community officials, begging them for food, saying they are starving. Others show crowds in a quarantine food distribution area fighting over a small supply of vegetables. In my community, the government delivers food once every few days. Traditions range from a box of vegetables and eggs to a piece of pork sealed with a vacuum or some Traditional Chinese Medicine (TCM). Leaflets alone are not enough to feed an individual, let alone an entire family, for more than a day or so.
I put my food in portions and make the most of what comes in the box and whatever extra food my community can get. Lately, most of my meals have been a combination of eggs and carrots – you have to be creative. Many communities have set up group chats with their neighbors on the Chinese social media app WeChat. Occasionally there are offers for group food purchases, but the options are limited. Stores are closed, delivery guides are locked, supply chains are disrupted. One of my neighbors writes to the chat group, “What should I do if I do not have food?” The community link writes back, “There is no group market – vegetables are in short supply now.” I spend many of my lockdown days trying to place a lot of grocery orders, hoping one will arrive. Last week, I got a call shortly after midnight – one of my orders had actually arrived. I urgently tried to keep our community liaison officers to help recover it, but after a tedious job they were asleep. So I had to leave the groceries sitting in a box on the street outside the complex until 6 in the morning, hoping nothing was picked up or spoiled until I got it. Fortunately, he was still there in the morning. Some of us have resorted to creating “drop points” without contact, where we exchange food to change our diet. For example, after I got home from a Covid community test, one of my neighbors sent me a message: She had left a piece of cheese in the shady spot above her bike. When I went to the Covid test later, I took her cheese and replaced it with two oranges. She then picked the fruit when she was allowed to go out for the next Covid test. Authorities appear to be hearing the allegations. At the weekend, Shanghai Deputy Mayor Zong Ming drowned in a press conference, apologizing to city residents who did not live up to expectations. And on Monday, authorities promised to begin easing lockdowns in some areas.

Anger and uncertain future

Since Wuhan, I have covered every aspect of this epidemic in China. The early mishandling and alleged cover-up of the initial spread seemed to have been forgotten by the public as the central government pursued a policy of “zero Covid”. For two years, China has largely managed to keep the virus out, closing borders and introducing a seemingly sophisticated contact detection system that uses smartphone technology to track us and our potential exposure to the virus. Officials have perfected the mass tests with the ability to quickly process cities of populations of tens of millions. And they relied heavily on targeted, emergency lockdowns – closing a neighborhood, an office or even a mall with a confirmed case or close contact inside – trying to avoid closing cities as a whole to minimize social and economic damage. In recent months, entire cities have gone into lockdown – including Xi’an, Tianjin and Shenzhen – but nothing on the Shanghai scale, where the adrenaline and the community spirit to curb the virus have been replaced by fatigue, frustration and despair. From the confines of my 600-square-foot apartment, I wonder, is that really the case? In Shanghai, from all places?
A modern city of apartment buildings and restaurants, Shanghai once competed with cosmopolitan centers such as Paris and New York. Now millions of residents are struggling for basic necessities from the borders of their homes. This does not mean that life in Shanghai will not start again as it was, but the actions – or inaction – of recent weeks, combined with the continuing uncertainty of the last two years about the harsh constraints that could suddenly appear in Covid’s prevention name, leaves many feeling increasingly disconnected with this city and with each other. On Monday, the US State Department ordered unnecessary consular staff and their families to leave the city, citing rising Covid-19 cases and the impact of restrictions imposed on its closure. Most expatriates I know have either already left or are determined to leave. The reason? “This is not sustainable” is a common motto. Mentally. Emotionally. Physically. Is not.