Tweet
Something Good Comes From SARS
SARS Makes Beijing Combat an Old but Unsanitary Habit
By ELISABETH ROSENTHAL
EIJING, May 27 — As Mr. Liu sped along the path at Bei Hai Park here, the rumbling in his throat became louder and more intense. A restaurant cleaner, Mr. Liu had a dollop of phlegm to dispose of, and was rushing around the lake to go out the park's west gate.
"No one would dare spit in here these days — you'd get fined a lot and no one's paying wages," explained Mr. Liu, who declined to give his full name but said he had recently been laid off because SARS had decimated his restaurant's business. "In the past no one cared. You spat where you liked. But with SARS everyone's paying a lot of attention."
In its battle against severe acute respiratory syndrome, China is tackling a unique challenge. Spitting is a longstanding Chinese tradition, and spitting potentially spreads SARS.
As a result, to supplement temperature checks and hand-washing posters, the Chinese government has contributed a new weapon to the world's war against SARS: little white plastic spit bags that are handed out in parks and malls, the hardware for a wide-scale antispitting campaign.
Last week on Wanfujing, a shopping street, volunteers dressed as Lei Feng, the legendary Chinese soldier and do-gooder, pressed bags into the palms of passers-by. At the gate of Bei Hai Park last weekend, pretty girls wearing sashes promoting the 2008 Olympics staffed a table where bags were dispensed.
The bags read: "Spitting on the ground is dangerous to your health, and spit contains infectious diseases. But with one small bag in your hands, your health will always be invincible."
This week the Communist Party Central Committee's Spiritual Civilization Office gave its imprimatur to the war against spit, issuing a "Directive on Launching Activities to Transform Vile Habits."
But old habits die hard, and in China there is hardly a more ingrained habit than this one, practiced frequently by men, from lowly peasants to powerful leaders. Deng Xiaoping, the Chinese leader who ushered in the era of economic reforms, was a famous spitter, renowned for his aim.
Until recently, in fact, Chinese leaders had ceramic spittoons placed by their chairs during banquets and ceremonies to greet kings, politicians and business executives. In Chinese culture spitting was regarded as not particularly offensive — far less disgusting than nose blowing, for example.
But as China opened its doors to the outside world, its leaders quickly realized that other cultures took a less sanguine view of the arcs of phlegm that filled China's air.
Current leaders do not use spittoons, and if one tries to enter "spit" and "Deng Xiaoping" or "Jiang Zemin" into a Chinese computer search engine, the screen goes blank. Censors have apparently decided that Internet browsers should not go there.
In recent years the government has begun several campaigns to discourage the habit but until now has met with only limited success. The floors of train stations and hotel lobbies were still dotted with drying gobs, and the sidewalks were a kind of obstacle course, to be navigated with care. Along came a little coronavirus that could live in phlegm, and attitudes quickly changed. Newspapers are filled with antispitting propaganda. The little old ladies of the street committees are now busy stopping spitters in midstream instead of ferreting out neighbors belonging to the banned Falun Gong spiritual movement.
Just as New York's new restrictions on smoking have set off battles between smokers and nonsmokers, Beijing has seen a rise in nasty brawls between die-hard spitters and their foes.
Last week a young spitter threatened and cursed 83-year-old Chen Yongyun when she admonished him, The Beijing Evening News reported. Lately Ms. Chen has been roaming her neighborhood in the Hepingli district with a spray bottle of disinfectant, squirting any phlegm she finds on the ground and covering it with dirt for extra protection.
With efforts like those, the sidewalks have become safer. Ren Chonghua, a sweeper in Bei Hai Park, said: "It used to be all over, and I used to spend my entire day sweeping it up, especially around curbs and ditches. I think the situation is much improved."
But no one is suggesting that spitters give up the habit altogether, just that they avoid spitting on the ground. For most older Chinese men, phlegm is regarded as an unavoidable byproduct of heavy smoking and pollution, and it is taken for granted that it must go somewhere. The government recommends that phlegm be spit into a tissue or a spit bag and then thrown in a bin.
"'I used to spit," said Lu Xiufeng, 68, a retired machinist in Bei Hai, with a stubble of gray on his head and on his chin, "but not anymore, since we are paying a lot more attention to ordinary hygiene. You wait and then use a tissue when you have to spit."
But as he spoke, he kept clearing his throat, his face becoming uncomfortable and his voice increasingly hoarse as the minutes passed.
By ELISABETH ROSENTHAL
EIJING, May 27 — As Mr. Liu sped along the path at Bei Hai Park here, the rumbling in his throat became louder and more intense. A restaurant cleaner, Mr. Liu had a dollop of phlegm to dispose of, and was rushing around the lake to go out the park's west gate.
"No one would dare spit in here these days — you'd get fined a lot and no one's paying wages," explained Mr. Liu, who declined to give his full name but said he had recently been laid off because SARS had decimated his restaurant's business. "In the past no one cared. You spat where you liked. But with SARS everyone's paying a lot of attention."
In its battle against severe acute respiratory syndrome, China is tackling a unique challenge. Spitting is a longstanding Chinese tradition, and spitting potentially spreads SARS.
As a result, to supplement temperature checks and hand-washing posters, the Chinese government has contributed a new weapon to the world's war against SARS: little white plastic spit bags that are handed out in parks and malls, the hardware for a wide-scale antispitting campaign.
Last week on Wanfujing, a shopping street, volunteers dressed as Lei Feng, the legendary Chinese soldier and do-gooder, pressed bags into the palms of passers-by. At the gate of Bei Hai Park last weekend, pretty girls wearing sashes promoting the 2008 Olympics staffed a table where bags were dispensed.
The bags read: "Spitting on the ground is dangerous to your health, and spit contains infectious diseases. But with one small bag in your hands, your health will always be invincible."
This week the Communist Party Central Committee's Spiritual Civilization Office gave its imprimatur to the war against spit, issuing a "Directive on Launching Activities to Transform Vile Habits."
But old habits die hard, and in China there is hardly a more ingrained habit than this one, practiced frequently by men, from lowly peasants to powerful leaders. Deng Xiaoping, the Chinese leader who ushered in the era of economic reforms, was a famous spitter, renowned for his aim.
Until recently, in fact, Chinese leaders had ceramic spittoons placed by their chairs during banquets and ceremonies to greet kings, politicians and business executives. In Chinese culture spitting was regarded as not particularly offensive — far less disgusting than nose blowing, for example.
But as China opened its doors to the outside world, its leaders quickly realized that other cultures took a less sanguine view of the arcs of phlegm that filled China's air.
Current leaders do not use spittoons, and if one tries to enter "spit" and "Deng Xiaoping" or "Jiang Zemin" into a Chinese computer search engine, the screen goes blank. Censors have apparently decided that Internet browsers should not go there.
In recent years the government has begun several campaigns to discourage the habit but until now has met with only limited success. The floors of train stations and hotel lobbies were still dotted with drying gobs, and the sidewalks were a kind of obstacle course, to be navigated with care. Along came a little coronavirus that could live in phlegm, and attitudes quickly changed. Newspapers are filled with antispitting propaganda. The little old ladies of the street committees are now busy stopping spitters in midstream instead of ferreting out neighbors belonging to the banned Falun Gong spiritual movement.
Just as New York's new restrictions on smoking have set off battles between smokers and nonsmokers, Beijing has seen a rise in nasty brawls between die-hard spitters and their foes.
Last week a young spitter threatened and cursed 83-year-old Chen Yongyun when she admonished him, The Beijing Evening News reported. Lately Ms. Chen has been roaming her neighborhood in the Hepingli district with a spray bottle of disinfectant, squirting any phlegm she finds on the ground and covering it with dirt for extra protection.
With efforts like those, the sidewalks have become safer. Ren Chonghua, a sweeper in Bei Hai Park, said: "It used to be all over, and I used to spend my entire day sweeping it up, especially around curbs and ditches. I think the situation is much improved."
But no one is suggesting that spitters give up the habit altogether, just that they avoid spitting on the ground. For most older Chinese men, phlegm is regarded as an unavoidable byproduct of heavy smoking and pollution, and it is taken for granted that it must go somewhere. The government recommends that phlegm be spit into a tissue or a spit bag and then thrown in a bin.
"'I used to spit," said Lu Xiufeng, 68, a retired machinist in Bei Hai, with a stubble of gray on his head and on his chin, "but not anymore, since we are paying a lot more attention to ordinary hygiene. You wait and then use a tissue when you have to spit."
But as he spoke, he kept clearing his throat, his face becoming uncomfortable and his voice increasingly hoarse as the minutes passed.
Comment