[News] Arundhati Roy: ‘The pandemic is a portal’

[Anti-Imperialist News]

<https://www.propublica.org/article/early-data-shows-african-americans-have-contracted-and-died-of-coronavirus-at-an-alarming-rate>

https://www.ft.com/content/10d8f5e8-74eb-11ea-95fe-fcd274e920ca?fbclid=IwAR3t7g_dl10j7XzYs--XDxDF4s3tJj7kigxhYNdeSM6tPhQhvWCouzDjE2c

*Arundhati Roy: ‘The pandemic is a portal’*

Arundhati Roy – April 3, 2020


Who can use the term “gone viral” now without shuddering a little? Who can
look at anything any more — a door handle, a cardboard carton, a bag of
vegetables — without imagining it swarming with those unseeable, undead,
unliving blobs dotted with suction pads waiting to fasten themselves on to
our lungs?

Who can think of kissing a stranger, jumping on to a bus or sending their
child to school without feeling real fear? Who can think of ordinary
pleasure and not assess its risk? Who among us is not a quack
epidemiologist, virologist, statistician and prophet? Which scientist or
doctor is not secretly praying for a miracle? Which priest is not —
secretly, at least — submitting to science?

And even while the virus proliferates, who could not be thrilled by the
swell of birdsong in cities, peacocks dancing at traffic crossings and the
silence in the skies?

The number of cases worldwide this week crept over a million
<https://www.ft.com/content/a5847177-f993-3c8e-af60-747e6109cb7d>. More
than 50,000 people have died already. Projections suggest that number will
swell to hundreds of thousands, perhaps more. The virus has moved freely
along the pathways of trade and international capital, and the terrible
illness it has brought in its wake has locked humans down in their
countries, their cities and their homes.

But unlike the flow of capital, this virus seeks proliferation, not profit,
and has, therefore, inadvertently, to some extent, reversed the direction
of the flow. It has mocked immigration controls, biometrics, digital
surveillance and every other kind of data analytics, and struck hardest —
thus far — in the richest, most powerful nations of the world, bringing the
engine of capitalism to a juddering halt. Temporarily perhaps, but at least
long enough for us to examine its parts, make an assessment and decide
whether we want to help fix it, or look for a better engine.

The mandarins who are managing this pandemic are fond of speaking of war.
They don’t even use war as a metaphor, they use it literally. But if it
really were a war, then who would be better prepared than the US? If it
were not masks and gloves that its frontline soldiers needed, but guns,
smart bombs, bunker busters, submarines, fighter jets and nuclear bombs,
would there be a shortage?

Night after night, from halfway across the world, some of us watch the New
York governor
<https://www.ft.com/content/5e7223e2-6d25-11ea-89df-41bea055720b>’s press
briefings with a fascination that is hard to explain. We follow the
statistics, and hear the stories of overwhelmed hospitals in the US, of
underpaid, overworked nurses having to make masks out of garbage bin liners
and old raincoats, risking everything to bring succour to the sick. About
states being forced to bid against each other for ventilators, about
doctors’ dilemmas over which patient should get one and which left to die.
And we think to ourselves, “My God! This is *America*!”
*The tragedy is immediate, real, epic* and unfolding before our eyes. But
it isn’t new. It is the wreckage of a train that has been careening down
the track for years. Who doesn’t remember the videos of “patient dumping” —
sick people, still in their hospital gowns, butt naked, being
surreptitiously dumped on street corners? Hospital doors have too often
been closed to the less fortunate citizens of the US. It hasn’t mattered
how sick they’ve been, or how much they’ve suffered.

At least not until now — because now, in the era of the virus, a poor
person’s sickness can affect a wealthy society’s health. And yet, even now,
Bernie Sanders, the senator who has relentlessly campaigned for healthcare
for all, is considered an outlier in his bid for the White House, even by
his own party.

The tragedy is the wreckage of a train that has been careening down the
track for years

And what of my country, my poor-rich country, India, suspended somewhere
between feudalism and religious fundamentalism, caste and capitalism, ruled
by far-right Hindu nationalists?

In December, while China was fighting the outbreak of the virus in Wuhan,
the government of India was dealing with a mass uprising by hundreds of
thousands of its citizens protesting against the brazenly discriminatory
anti-Muslim citizenship law
<https://www.ft.com/content/2040a576-3cec-11ea-b232-000f4477fbca> it had
just passed in parliament.

The first case of Covid-19 was reported in India on January 30, only days
after the honourable chief guest of our Republic Day Parade, Amazon
forest-eater and Covid-denier Jair Bolsonaro
<https://www.ft.com/content/36020f3c-cf50-427b-a83a-bda122bec593>, had left
Delhi. But there was too much to do in February for the virus to be
accommodated in the ruling party’s timetable. There was the official visit
of President Donald Trump scheduled for the last week of the month. He had
been lured by the promise of an audience of 1m people in a sports stadium
in the state of Gujarat. All that took money, and a great deal of time.

Then there were the Delhi Assembly elections that the Bharatiya Janata
Party was slated to lose unless it upped its game, which it did, unleashing
a vicious, no-holds-barred Hindu nationalist campaign, replete with threats
of physical violence
<https://www.ft.com/content/a864a060-57e5-11ea-a528-dd0f971febbc> and the
shooting of “traitors”.

It lost anyway. So then there was punishment to be meted out to Delhi’s
Muslims, who were blamed for the humiliation. Armed mobs of Hindu
vigilantes, backed by the police, attacked Muslims in the working-class
neighbourhoods of north-east Delhi. Houses, shops, mosques and schools were
burnt. Muslims who had been expecting the attack fought back. More than 50
people, Muslims and some Hindus, were killed.

Thousands moved into refugee camps in local graveyards. Mutilated bodies
were still being pulled out of the network of filthy, stinking drains when
government officials had their first meeting about Covid-19 and most
Indians first began to hear about the existence of something called hand
sanitiser.

March was busy too. The first two weeks were devoted to toppling the
Congress government in the central Indian state of Madhya Pradesh and
installing a BJP government in its place. On March 11 the World Health
Organization declared that Covid-19 was a pandemic. Two days later, on
March 13, the health ministry said that corona “is not a health emergency”.

Finally, on March 19, the Indian prime minister addressed the nation. He
hadn’t done much homework. He borrowed the playbook from France and Italy.
He told us of the need for “social distancing” (easy to understand for a
society so steeped in the practice of caste) and called for a day of
“people’s curfew” on March 22. He said nothing about what his government
was going to do in the crisis, but he asked people to come out on their
balconies, and ring bells and bang their pots and pans to salute health
workers.

He didn’t mention that, until that very moment, India had been exporting
protective gear and respiratory equipment, instead of keeping it for Indian
health workers and hospitals.

Not surprisingly, Narendra Modi’s request was met with great enthusiasm.
There were pot-banging marches, community dances and processions. Not much
social distancing. In the days that followed, men jumped into barrels of
sacred cow dung, and BJP supporters threw cow-urine drinking parties. Not
to be outdone, many Muslim organisations declared that the Almighty was the
answer to the virus and called for the faithful to gather in mosques in
numbers.

*On March 24, at 8pm,* Modi appeared on TV again to announce that, from
midnight onwards, all of India would be under lockdown
<https://www.ft.com/content/41f92956-6c2e-11ea-89df-41bea055720b>. Markets
would be closed. All transport, public as well as private, would be
disallowed.

He said he was taking this decision not just as a prime minister, but as
our family elder. Who else can decide, without consulting the state
governments that would have to deal with the fallout of this decision, that
a nation of 1.38bn people should be locked down with zero preparation and
with four hours’ notice? His methods definitely give the impression that
India’s prime minister thinks of citizens as a hostile force that needs to
be ambushed, taken by surprise, but never trusted.

Locked down we were. Many health professionals and epidemiologists have
applauded this move. Perhaps they are right in theory. But surely none of
them can support the calamitous lack of planning or preparedness that
turned the world’s biggest, most punitive lockdown into the exact opposite
of what it was meant to achieve.

The man who loves spectacles created the mother of all spectacles.

As an appalled world watched, India revealed herself in all her shame — her
brutal, structural, social and economic inequality, her callous
indifference to suffering.

The lockdown worked like a chemical experiment that suddenly illuminated
hidden things. As shops, restaurants, factories and the construction
industry shut down, as the wealthy and the middle classes enclosed
themselves in gated colonies, our towns and megacities began to extrude
their working-class citizens — their migrant workers — like so much
unwanted accrual.

Many driven out by their employers and landlords, millions of impoverished,
hungry, thirsty people, young and old, men, women, children, sick people,
blind people, disabled people, with nowhere else to go, with no public
transport in sight, began a long march home
<https://www.ft.com/content/31f42743-e211-48f9-af4a-66f67a7f7a04> to their
villages. They walked for days, towards Badaun, Agra, Azamgarh, Aligarh,
Lucknow, Gorakhpur — hundreds of kilometres away. Some died on the way.

Our towns and megacities began to extrude their working-class citizens like
so much unwanted accrual

They knew they were going home potentially to slow starvation. Perhaps they
even knew they could be carrying the virus with them, and would infect
their families, their parents and grandparents back home, but they
desperately needed a shred of familiarity, shelter and dignity, as well as
food, if not love.

As they walked, some were beaten brutally and humiliated by the police, who
were charged with strictly enforcing the curfew. Young men were made to
crouch and frog jump down the highway. Outside the town of Bareilly, one
group was herded together and hosed down with chemical spray.

A few days later, worried that the fleeing population
<https://www.ft.com/content/069d818c-6df9-11ea-89df-41bea055720b> would
spread the virus to villages, the government sealed state borders even for
walkers. People who had been walking for days were stopped and forced to
return to camps in the cities they had just been forced to leave.

Among older people it evoked memories of the population transfer of 1947,
when India was divided and Pakistan was born. Except that this current
exodus was driven by class divisions, not religion. Even still, these were
not India’s poorest people. These were people who had (at least until now)
work in the city and homes to return to. The jobless, the homeless and the
despairing remained where they were, in the cities as well as the
countryside, where deep distress was growing long before this tragedy
occurred. All through these horrible days, the home affairs minister Amit
Shah remained absent from public view.

When the walking began in Delhi, I used a press pass from a magazine I
frequently write for to drive to Ghazipur, on the border between Delhi and
Uttar Pradesh.

The scene was biblical. Or perhaps not. The Bible could not have known
numbers such as these. The lockdown to enforce physical distancing had
resulted in the opposite — physical compression on an unthinkable scale.
This is true even within India’s towns and cities. The main roads might be
empty, but the poor are sealed into cramped quarters in slums and shanties.

Every one of the walking people I spoke to was worried about the virus. But
it was less real, less present in their lives than looming unemployment,
starvation and the violence of the police. Of all the people I spoke to
that day, including a group of Muslim tailors who had only weeks ago
survived the anti-Muslim attacks, one man’s words especially troubled me.
He was a carpenter called Ramjeet, who planned to walk all the way to
Gorakhpur near the Nepal border.

“Maybe when Modiji decided to do this, nobody told him about us. Maybe he
doesn’t know about us”, he said.

“Us” means approximately 460m people.

*State governments in India *(as in the US) have showed more heart and
understanding in the crisis. Trade unions, private citizens and other
collectives are distributing food and emergency rations. The central
government has been slow to respond to their desperate appeals for funds.
It turns out that the prime minister’s National Relief Fund has no ready
cash available. Instead, money from well-wishers is pouring into the
somewhat mysterious new PM-CARES fund. Pre-packaged meals with Modi’s face
on them have begun to appear.

In addition to this, the prime minister has shared his yoga nidra videos,
in which a morphed, animated Modi with a dream body demonstrates yoga
asanas to help people deal with the stress of self-isolation.

The narcissism is deeply troubling. Perhaps one of the asanas could be a
request-asana in which Modi requests the French prime minister to allow us
to renege on the very troublesome Rafale fighter jet deal and use that
€7.8bn for desperately needed emergency measures to support a few million
hungry people. Surely the French will understand.

As the lockdown enters its second week, supply chains have broken
<https://www.ft.com/content/1d77d839-5dab-408f-b2e4-3506d257771b>,
medicines and essential supplies are running low. Thousands of truck
drivers are still marooned on the highways, with little food and water.
Standing crops, ready to be harvested, are slowly rotting.

The economic crisis is here. The political crisis is ongoing. The
mainstream media has incorporated the Covid story into its 24/7 toxic
anti-Muslim campaign. An organisation called the Tablighi Jamaat, which
held a meeting in Delhi before the lockdown was announced, has turned out
to be a “super spreader”. That is being used to stigmatise and demonise
Muslims. The overall tone suggests that Muslims invented the virus and have
deliberately spread it as a form of jihad.

The Covid crisis is still to come. Or not. We don’t know. If and when it
does, we can be sure it will be dealt with, with all the prevailing
prejudices of religion, caste and class completely in place.

Today (April 2) in India, there are almost 2,000 confirmed cases and 58
deaths. These are surely unreliable numbers, based on woefully few tests.
Expert opinion varies wildly. Some predict millions of cases. Others think
the toll will be far less. We may never know the real contours of the
crisis, even when it hits us. All we know is that the run on hospitals has
not yet begun.

India’s public hospitals and clinics — which are unable to cope with the
almost 1m children who die of diarrhoea, malnutrition and other health
issues every year, with the hundreds of thousands of tuberculosis patients
(a quarter of the world’s cases), with a vast anaemic and malnourished
population vulnerable to any number of minor illnesses that prove fatal for
them — will not be able to cope with a crisis that is like what Europe and
the US are dealing with now.

All healthcare is more or less on hold as hospitals have been turned over
to the service of the virus. The trauma centre of the legendary All India
Institute of Medical Sciences in Delhi is closed, the hundreds of cancer
patients known as cancer refugees who live on the roads outside that huge
hospital driven away like cattle.

People will fall sick and die at home. We may never know their stories.
They may not even become statistics. We can only hope that the studies that
say the virus likes cold weather are correct (though other researchers have
cast doubt on this). Never have a people longed so irrationally and so much
for a burning, punishing Indian summer.

What is this thing that has happened to us? It’s a virus, yes. In and of
itself it holds no moral brief. But it is definitely more than a virus.
Some believe it’s God’s way of bringing us to our senses. Others that it’s
a Chinese conspiracy to take over the world.

Whatever it is, coronavirus has made the mighty kneel and brought the world
to a halt like nothing else could. Our minds are still racing back and
forth, longing for a return to “normality”, trying to stitch our future to
our past and refusing to acknowledge the rupture. But the rupture exists.
And in the midst of this terrible despair, it offers us a chance to rethink
the doomsday machine we have built for ourselves. Nothing could be worse
than a return to normality.

Historically, pandemics have forced humans to break with the past and
imagine their world anew. This one is no different. It is a portal, a
gateway between one world and the next.

We can choose to walk through it, dragging the carcasses of our prejudice
and hatred, our avarice, our data banks and dead ideas, our dead rivers and
smoky skies behind us. Or we can walk through lightly, with little luggage,
ready to imagine another world. And ready to fight for it.

*Arundhati Roy
<https://www.ft.com/content/04d1cf6a-da13-11e7-a039-c64b1c09b482>’s latest
novel is ‘The Ministry of Utmost Happiness’ *

*Copyright © Arundhati Roy 2020*

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