Until 2022, Shanghai was called “the enchanted city.” It was a land of Gucci bags and French wine and weekend jogs along the Bund. It was a land of restless nights spent in the company of eclectic strangers. It was a land of coffee and convenience, of cloud-kissing skylines and flash-delivery bubble tea. There is an old cliché that the Shanghainese are an especially proud bunch, but it’s easy to see why: in a country with a xenophobic past and a revanchist nationalism, the cosmopolitan pleasures of the city bordered on the magical.
It was this pride that broke the magic spell. In March, when the Omicron variant penetrated China’s iron walls, other cities such as Shenzhen and Changchun locked down under a policy known as “dynamic zero-Covid,” which seeks to snuff out all virus transmissions. When cases began to rise in Shanghai, however, officials hesitated, believing China’s main financial hub too vital for a wholesale closure. They chose a retail approach, shuttering neighborhoods one by one as cases emerged. But by the end of March, it was clear the improvised plan had failed. As cases spilled into neighboring provinces, Beijing authorities took matters into their own hands. They ousted Shanghai’s more outspoken officials the way nature sent Icarus—wax-winged and recalcitrant—tumbling back to earth.
Twenty-five million residents—over twice the population of Greece—have paid the price ever since. For nearly two months, the city has been a ghost town. Shop front doors are bolted shut, and windows are strewn with black tarp. Sidewalks are hemmed by white tape, and neighborhood doors are patrolled by security guards. For an older generation who had witnessed the excesses of the Cultural Revolution, this was all too familiar. Food had to be rationed. Door-knocks became the stuff of nightmares. The Red Guards had returned—this time adorning white.