“All of my joints are in excruciating pain, as if I’ve been beaten.” This is not an account from a “re-education” camp in China’s Xinjiang region — it is how a person who contracted chikungunya fever in Guangdong Province’s Foshan described the illness.
Yes, it was mosquitoes that did the beating, but facilitated by the state.
Chikungunya fever, an acute infectious disease transmitted to humans by bites from infected mosquitoes — typically the yellow fever (Aedes aegypti) or the Asian tiger (Aedes albopictus) mosquito — is spreading across southern China, with more than 8,000 reported cases since the middle of June.
Authorities said that there had been “no severe cases” and “no deaths,” yet local health departments have released health advisories warning the public about the long-term symptoms post-infection. There is no specific antiviral treatment, the pain is great and, in some cases, might last as long as 18 months.
Eighteen months — or three sessions of the Chinese National People’s Congress, or one leadership cycle.
In responding to the duration of disabilities people faced post-infection, China did not provide medical assistance or utilize public health insurance programs. Instead, it initiated a one-week mosquito eradication campaign and held a grid management meeting.
The Chinese Communist Party’s (CCP) epidemic governance has always been paradoxical — a mix of abstract determination and concrete incapacity. Its slogans are as immovable as mountains, while its actions are as fragile as grass. Ever since the COVID-19 pandemic, every outbreak has led to a more intricate control system, yet no fundamental reform has been made to improve primary healthcare or the overall care system. When a virus comes knocking, disinfection squads are the first to be dispatched — rather than calling for more primary care providers and community health support.
This mode of governance is akin to an allergic reaction — the moment the word “epidemic” is heard, there is a reflexive revisiting of the “zero COVID-19”-era toolbox. When an epidemic is framed as a biological enemy, the only difference between mosquitoes and members of the public is their size. Both become targets for eradication.
However, chikungunya is more than a matter of public health — it is an issue surrounding the governance of chronic pain. A nation that is unable to address chronic pain is equally incapable of handling aging, disabilities, post-disaster recovery, psychological trauma and long-term health deterioration. The lasting effects of chikungunya infection are a magnifying glass exposing a blind spot in the CCP’s governance — if the infection does not kill, it was not severe, and if a person is still able to walk, the pain is not a problem.
The CCP regime does not lack money, nor does it lack institutions — what it lacks is a landscape that centers around people. The government excels at holding meetings, making decisions and issuing orders, but it has never truly heard the pain and suffering of ordinary people. Such pain cannot be recorded with statistics or big data because it is unquantifiable — so it cannot be turned into a political achievement.
Post-infection health advisories are used as a shield — a document to stave off legal liability. The CCP regime understands better than anyone else the political nature of language — once you have been informed, liability is waived. Once you are aware of the risks, the blame shifts onto you. Getting bitten by a mosquito is an environmental issue, while a high fever is a viral issue. Eighteen months of excruciating pain? That is an issue of your own physical condition.
Meanwhile, the government remains a spotless bystander.
However, behind China’s chikungunya outbreak lies deeper administrative failures in climate change, the imbalance of local governance and vector control policy.
The CCP’s epidemic governance has repeatedly exposed the regime’s disregard for people’s bodies. It excels at managing large groups rather than understanding the individual. It is skilled at tracking cases, but entirely uninterested in providing care. It is adept at disinfection, but refuses to listen. Pain, as it turns out, is deeply political — especially when a regime has never once felt empathy for the pain of its citizens.
Liu Che-ting is a writer.
Translated by Kyra Gustavsen
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