【文/ 李世默】

如今的上海，人们的工作和生活正逐步恢复正常。餐厅和酒吧已经恢复营业，我和我的同事们也回到了公司办公。唯一和以往不同的是，我们走进公共场所都需要测量体温。

我投资了哈啰单车（中国最大的共享单车公司），在他们的业务数据中了解到，单车使用量已经恢复到了疫情之前的七成。在中国各地，疫情的阴霾正在逐渐消散。而就在一个多月前，全国民众还生活在疫情永不消散的噩梦中。疫情就此结束，是此时每一个中国人最强烈的愿望。

在这个重要转折时刻，我想分享一下我所感受到的，关于中国政府与社会的五点体会。

中国人民信赖他们的政治制度

全球最大的独立公关公司爱德曼（Edelman）发布的《全球信任度调查报告》指出，中国民众对政府的信任指数高达82，在所有被调查的国家中位居榜首。而根据皮尤（Pew）研究中心的调查，超过80%的中国人对国家的前进方向表示满意。

然而，无论在国际主流媒体还是日常讨论中，却鲜有人提及这些事实。为什么会这样呢？我认为是由于西方人对中国现实情况的理解一直受到自由主义叙事的左右，这一叙事将中国描述为“威权主义政党国家”，在本质上不可能赢得公众真正的信任。人们在先入为主的心态左右下，完全不关注各种民调数据所显示的结果：中国人民信赖他们的政治制度。

对于关注中国的人们来说，文化与制度差异客观存在，缺乏超越意识形态的对比环境也造成了一定程度上的误解。

然而现在，在大自然力量的磅礴冲击之下，人们终于有机会一窥真相。

1月23日，中国政府决定对武汉实施“封城”，这一措施随后扩展到整个湖北省，覆盖人口达5600万，是人类历史上最大规模的检疫隔离行动。两天后，除西藏以外的所有省级行政区都启动了重大突发公共卫生事件一级响应，超过7.6亿城市居民被要求居家隔离，非必要情况外不得外出，在公共场合必须佩戴口罩。大部分村庄也被封闭起来。当时全国报告的感染病例共571例，死亡17例——以现在的眼光看，那时感染和死亡人数还处于相当低的水平。

除夕夜，武汉市汉秀剧场外墙打出“武汉加油”字样（图自：新华社）

这些防疫措施的力度和广度惊动了举国上下。在2000万人口的上海，往常车水马龙的街道一夜之间变得空空荡荡，行人与汽车都不见了踪影。起初我认为这种局面只会持续一两周，然而时间一天天过去，防疫措施却没有松动的迹象。人们继续呆在家里，街上仍然空空荡荡。

数亿人及时响应，自觉地全面贯彻政府的防疫措施，这是人类历史上的第一次，我个人也始料不及。来过中国的人都会发现，在街头执法的中国警察没有配枪，处理非恶性违法行为时很少采取强制暴力措施。因此中国人往往“不拘小节”，甚至会为一张交通罚单和警察争论不休，这在一些其他国家是不敢想象的情景。然而正是在这样的社会背景下，此次疫情期间，人们面对持续如此之久的大规模封城和隔离措施，能做到贯彻始终，除了高度信任政府的忠告并自觉服从指挥，没有其他理由可以解释。

当然这也是出于自我保护，毕竟没人愿意得病。但如果我们拿其他国家来对比，会发现有些地方，大批年轻人在疫情初期公然违抗政府禁令和警告，聚集在海滩和夜店；还有一些地方，甚至至今仍要出动警察来采取强制措施。显然，光靠人的自利性是远远不够的，只有人民高度信任他们的政府提供保障的能力和专业性，才能达到这种服从程度。

在与民众的沟通上，政府也不遗余力，每天都会通过各大媒体公布官方疫情数据，这包括全国数据和各省市数据。每时每刻，电视上都会有专家详细介绍病毒的特性，以及国家不断调整的应对措施。每一份报纸都在宣传保持社交距离的重要性。也就是说，民众对国家的信任建立在信息畅通的基础上，而不是盲目服从。

中国的民间社会生机勃勃

如果2月初的时候你宅在家忙于刷社交媒体，很可能得出与事实截然相反的结论。中国社会正在经历“文革”以来最大的创伤，公众的愤怒情绪高涨。人们看到，当年“非典”爆发后所建立的疫情信息通报制度在这次新冠疫情初期近乎失效，很多人因此推测是地方官员向上级“报喜不报忧”，以至于延误了最佳防治时机，认为这暴露了中国政治体制的问题。这种强烈情绪在武汉医生李文亮被病毒夺去生命之后到达了沸点。这名曾于去年12月在工作伙伴的微信群中对冠状病毒发出危险预警的医生，在被当地警察“训诫”后，在工作中因不幸感染新冠病毒而殉职。如果这是你看到的全部情况，那就很可能得出结论，认为中国遭遇了“切尔诺贝利时刻”甚至即将迎来它的“阿拉伯之春”（有些人确实已经提出了这样的说法）。然而，在事实面前，这些假设被证明是建立在不完整信息基础上做出的误判。

当中央政府为这场人类历史上规模最大的抗疫行动发起总动员时，全国民众的力量凝聚到了一起。50万名志愿者奔赴湖北抗疫前线，冒着健康和生命危险开展医护、检疫和后勤工作。全国有200多万名公民注册并担任志愿者。他们鼓舞人心的故事和影像在社交媒体上不断刷屏。尽管许多咖啡馆和餐厅的生意蒙受了惨重损失，却仍然向志愿者提供免费食品和饮料。一张武汉社区工作人员的照片在网络上广为流传，他从头到脚挂满了几十个药包，要派送到各家各户。全国几乎所有居民小区都设置了24小时无休的检查岗，由志愿者和保安负责控制人员出入并测量体温。许多社区还组织志愿者登门看望老年人等薄弱人群，为他们解决生活问题。想象一下，在这个14亿人的国家里，每条街道、每个社区、每个村庄都在同时上演同样的一幕！

下沉到社区的武汉市园林局职工杨丽青在调试播放防疫事项的喇叭（图自：新华社）

正是由于政府与民间力量相互信任、合力抗疫，并及时采取大量细致有效的措施，纠正了疫情爆发最初的混乱，确保能触达到每一个需要帮助的人，才让人民迅速恢复了信心。

与此同时，政府和各社会机构在互联网上发布了大量信息，通报疫情和冠状病毒的特性。公众大规模地通过社交媒体参与讨论，促进了信息的传播。现在，西方顶尖专家和权威人士在CNN、BBC等国际电视节目里谈论病毒在硬表面上或以气溶胶形式存活时间等各类防疫问题，但早在2月，这些就已是亿万中国网民的热搜话题。

政府自上而下地呼吁以“人民战争”战胜流行病。在民众的响应下，中国的确打了一场自下而上的人民战争。过去，我或多或少地默认了许多政治思想家的一个普遍假设，即中国民间社会力量薄弱，因为在所谓的“威权主义政党国家”无法蓬勃发展。但现在我终于认识到，这一假设建立在自由主义对民间社会的定义基础上，将民间社会与国家割裂看待甚至放在对立面上。然而，如果我们按照民间社会的古典概念，即亚里士多德定义的“政治共同体”（κοινωνίαπολιτική）来看待疫情期间的中国民间社会，它并不具有与国家割裂的必然特征，全民参与抗疫所取得的成效表明，中国的民间社会充满活力。

在中国，市场之上有国家

在中国乃至许多国家，市场与国家的关系是一个让人争论不休的话题，似乎必须在“国进民退”和“国退民进”之间做出非此即彼的选择。如果非要这样考虑问题，那么可以说在此次疫情当中，国家大获全胜。除了最顽固的新自由主义者以外，每个人都清楚地认识到，中国在强化市场角色的同时维持和扩充了国家能力，才免于遭受难以想象的灾难，否则数十万乃至数百万条生命可能就此消逝。

1月下旬防疫战争刚刚打响之际，国家便迅速地行动了起来，中央政府协调全国医疗资源快速向湖北集中。包含2.5万余名医务人员的217支医疗队，先后从全国各地奔赴湖北，带去了最好的设备和物资。在中央政府的协调下，近2万台呼吸机被运往湖北，使得疫情中心总体上没有出现呼吸机短缺的情况。

武汉在十天之内建成了拥有1000张病床的方舱医院。紧接着，湖北省各地修建了16所方舱医院，病床数量达1万3000张。这些都是借用会议中心等现有建筑搭建的临时医院，用于轻症患者的隔离收治。大型国企中石化是工业口罩的上游原材料生产商，公司花了35天时间重新设计和调整生产线，扩大医用口罩产能。汽车制造商也改造装配线用于大批量生产口罩和其他医疗用品。口罩的日产量从1月份的2000万增加到2月下旬的1.16亿。

这些事都是谁做的呢？从全国各地派往湖北的医护人员大多是国有医院的公职人员，医院建筑商和大部分口罩的生产商都是国有企业。

1月30日，火神山医院建设工地（图自：新华社）

对于中国这样的大国而言，整个行动的协调程度好得令人难以置信。每周甚至每天，中央政府都从北京向各省发布新的措施。各省政府接到指令后，有一定的调整余地使其适应当地情况。然后，各省也以同样的方式对所属市县各级政府下达指令。反过来，自下而上的渠道也保持畅通。地方政府将调查结果和建议呈递给北京。例如，建造方舱医院的想法是一个专家团队提出的，他们在实地研究武汉情况后发现，大型医院无法解决大量轻症患者交叉传染的问题。他们把研究结果和修建方舱医院的提案送到北京，24小时内便得到了批示并开始落实。

国家还迅速采取行动减轻危机对经济的冲击，例如向企业提供直接补贴，特别是帮助中小企业不要解雇职工，而是继续发放最低工资并缴纳医保。在各地政府倡导下，国有企业物业纷纷减免了承租商铺、厂房、写字楼的租金。

党旗高高飘扬

在这场危机中，三个过去相对默默无闻的人脱颖而出、誉满全国。在疫情初期发出警告的李文亮医生，他最终在工作岗位上不幸染病去世。国家公共卫生权威钟南山医生，他与美国的安东尼•福奇医生类似，是抗疫战斗的领军人物。上海医疗救治专家组组长、华山医院的张文宏医生。尽管他们来自不同的背景、地区，甚至不是同一代人，但却有两个共同点。首先，他们都是医生。第二，他们都是中国共产党员。

在这场病毒造成的苦难当中，中国共产党始终是战斗在抗疫最前线的核心力量。张文宏医生所在的医院距离我家只有两条街。他的一段讲话被人拍下来传到网上，获得了巨大关注。在视频中，他讲到了上海医疗救治组的组织工作时洪亮有力地说道：“让党员先上，没有讨价还价的余地！”

疫情期间，中国互联网上每天都流传着这样的影像：一批批党员志愿者奔赴武汉之前，面对党旗宣誓用自己的生命保护他人的生命。在抗疫前线殉职的496名医护人员、公职人员和志愿者当中，有328名是党员。党旗高高飘扬，这是用生命换来的辉煌。

中国没有“坏皇帝”

多年前，美国政治学家弗朗西斯•福山发明了一个术语，叫做“坏皇帝问题”。这个词是为了从理论上阐述，在他定义的威权政治体制里，尽管可能出现好的统治者，但却没有办法防止坏的统治者获得权力并破坏国家。而西方一直视中国为威权政治体制，也因此习惯性地将中国领导人看作皇帝。此文不是辩论该理论是对是错的场合，但是有一件事在我心目中已经无可置疑：中国不是威权政治体制，也没有皇帝，只有需要为这个国家的前途担负责任的决策者。

1月28日，习近平会见了世界卫生组织总干事谭德塞，并借这个机会告诉全体国民，抗击疫情的行动由他直接负责。在那个时候，中国民众几乎前所未有地觉得未来如此黯淡，充满不确定性，作为领袖所必须承担的巨大风险与压力是显而易见的。然而，机会主义和临阵退缩从来不符合这位领袖人物的禀性。武汉乃至湖北大规模封城的决定会造成巨大而难以预测的后果，而这个决定想必只有他一个人能定夺，所有后果也只有他一个人来承担。现在看来，这个决定拯救了整个国家。他主持了多次中央政治局会议，在会上发布政策指令并公诸于众；他戴着口罩出现在电视上，还面向17万名一线政府官员和志愿者召开电视电话会议。这些做法过去是没有先例的。他在全中国民众面前亲自领导了这场“人民战争”。

3月10日，习近平总书记赴武汉考察疫情防控工作，在火神山医院指挥中心连线感染科病房（图自：新华社）

新中国的任何一代领导人，都会受到很多的质疑和诋毁，有些来自国内，但更多来自国外，习近平也不例外。毫无疑问，在日趋复杂的国际环境里，这些攻击不会消停。一些西方媒体和政府指责他领导下的中国政府压制媒体和政治异见，以及对新疆的穆斯林实施有争议的政策。一些国内的反对者则对中央政府最近的一系列集权举措表示不满。然而在我相识的人中，无论是商界人士、政治评论员，甚至是那些很尖锐的反对者，都对他在这次几十年不遇的重大危机中所展现出的领导力表示认可。我相信，在这场疫情过后，他在中国普通民众中的威望将会达到新高。

习近平的领导提高了政府整体在民众当中的信誉度。显然，地方政府在疫情早期阶段犯下了错误，导致响应行动有所延迟。当时，社会上许多人感到愤怒，特别是在得知发出预警的人被禁言之后，怨气更加强烈。但要知道，中国当时对新冠病毒知之甚少，一时间措手不及很正常。现在，中国民众骇然发现即使数月来14亿中国人连续不断地“吹哨”——甚至可以说是“拉响警报”——大声疾呼世界警惕新冠肺炎的危险性，可许多国家政府治理体系仍然在疫情面前接近崩溃，才开始认真思考应对疫情的决策复杂性。

中国在此重要关头，有习近平这样的领袖可谓国之幸事。我借此机会吐槽一下福山教授的理论，回他一句：中国只有伟大的决策者，没有“坏皇帝”！

对我个人而言，就像世界上很多人一样，新冠病毒疫情无疑是我人生中迄今为止经历的最大变局。作为一名商人和政治学学生，疫情当然对我的生活造成了非同小可的影响；但对我最大的冲击莫过于一个当父亲的情感。我的子女就读于上海的公立学校。1月27日，上海宣布推迟原定于2月的春季开学日期。孩子们自然兴高采烈。但他们的欣喜并没有持续太久。大约两周后，上海市教育局下令学校复课，仅比原计划晚了十多天，只不过改用网络方式教学。他们在极短的时间内完成了全部课程的改造使之与网络学习模式相适应。

从那一天起，网课每天上午8点开课，下午4点下课。语文、数学、物理、英语，各种课程有条不紊地进行，除了被搬上电脑屏幕，和平日没有区别。每天晚上孩子们交作业，把练习簿拍了照上传至网课系统。第二天早上，老师把批阅之后的作业发下来，要求学生订正错误。孩子待在家里挺好的，只不过就是工作量太大，我们这些当父母的被搞得焦头烂额。

3月19日早上，按照过去两个月来养成的习惯，我一醒来就拿手机查看前一天的疫情数据。我看到：全国确诊病例：80,928，死亡病例：3,245，新增本土确诊病例：0！

我冲下楼去给孩子们通报好消息。当我走进餐厅，也就是他们的临时教室时，屋里忽然响起了国歌的前奏，我看到孩子们身穿全套校服肃立在电脑屏幕前，正在每天的升旗仪式中行注目礼。

我戛然止步，怆然涕下……

（作者授权观察者网发表中文版，英文版首发于《外交政策》网站，翻页阅读）

Life and work are gradually returning to normal in Shanghai. My colleagues and I are back in the office. Restaurants and bars have reopened—with a temperature check at the door. Hellobike, China’s largest bike-sharing company (of which I am an investor), is reporting that ridership is back to 70 percent of the pre-pandemic level. The same is happening by varying degrees in the rest of China. The nightmare that felt as if it would last forever may be behind us—knock on wood. Let me use this teachable moment to share five things I learned about China’s society and government.

Our understanding of China has been dominated by the narrative that an authoritarian one-party state is by definition incapable of retaining genuine public trust. This narrative has overwhelmed our perceptions, but it’s time to put it aside. Now that Mother Nature has delivered something with such impact, reality can no longer be ignored.

On Jan. 23, the Chinese government ordered the lockdown of the city of Wuhan and then the entire province of Hubei, with a total population of 56 million, making it the largest quarantine in human history. Two days later, all provinces except Tibet declared the highest level of health emergency, and more than 760 million urban dwellers were confined to their homes, being allowed to go out only for essential needs with face masks mandatory in all public places. Most rural villages were also closed off. At the time, total reported infections and deaths nationwide were 571 and 17, respectively—rather low considering what transpired afterward around the world.

The entire nation was surprised by the magnitude of the measure. Overnight in Shanghai, a city of 24 million people, streets that were clogged with traffic only days before became empty of both people and automobiles. At first I thought this would last a week, maybe two. But it went on—and on. People stayed home, and streets remained empty.

This immediate and nearly total compliance by hundreds of millions of people came as a genuine surprise to me. If you have been to China, you would know how unruly people can seem. Regular Chinese police are unarmed. On the streets of Shanghai, it is not uncommon to see someone arguing, often aggressively, with police officers over a traffic ticket. There is no way to explain the complete submission to a massive lockdown like this for so long by so many other than voluntary. Yes, self-interest can explain it in part because no one wants to get sick. But if we compare this with other countries where large crowds of educated young people congregated on beaches and in clubs in open defiance of their governments’ orders and warnings (at least in the initial phase) and where harsh police enforcement is still going on, it is clear that self-interest isn’t enough as an explanation. Only a very high degree of trust by the people in their political institutions’ expertise and ability to protect them can result in such compliance.

Some may argue that such submission was due to China’s strict security apparatus. This is off the mark for two reasons. First, security forces are only effective against small groups of activists, not a vast population of hundreds of millions of people if they chose to disobey en masse. Second, throughout the epidemic, there were few reports and little evidence of mass coercive actions to enforce lockdowns.

The government also went to extraordinary lengths in its communication with the public. Every day, new data was released—by city, by province, and nationwide. Every hour, government experts were on TV talking in detail about the new coronavirus and the nation’s evolving response. Every newspaper was writing about the importance of social distancing. In other words, the trust was not blind.

If you were immersed in Chinese social media in early February, you might have drawn the opposite conclusion. Public anger was raging in the midst of the biggest national trauma since the end of the Cultural Revolution. The alert mechanism for local authorities to provide early warnings to Beijing, which the government established after the SARS epidemic 15 years ago, apparently failed in the initial stage of the coronavirus outbreak. Many speculated that the bureaucratic fear of delivering bad news up the official chain caused the delay, exposing a significant fault in China’s political system. The uproar reached a boiling point when Li Wenliang, the Wuhan doctor who first warned of the danger of the coronavirus in December and was muzzled by the local police, succumbed to the virus himself. If that’s all you saw, it might be understandable for you to see this as China’s Chernobyl moment or the beginning of a version of the Arab Spring, as some indeed claimed. But that’s not how it turned out.

When the central government acted to mobilize for the most sweeping counter-epidemic operation in human history, the country coalesced. Half a million volunteers went to the front lines in Hubei province, risking their health and lives as medics, quarantine workers, and logistics personnel. Nationwide, more than 2 million citizens have registered and served as volunteers. Social media began to be flooded with their inspiring stories and images. Cafes and restaurants were providing free food and drinks to volunteers, even though their businesses were suffering catastrophic losses. One picture that went viral showed a Wuhan community worker covered shoulder to toe with medicine packages he was carrying for home delivery. Virtually every neighborhood in the country organized 24-hour checkpoints with volunteers and security personnel controlling access and checking people’s temperatures. Many communities also organized volunteers to check on the livelihoods of vulnerable residents like the elderly. Imagine this happening with 1.4 billion people, on every street, in every neighborhood, in every village! There has been virtually no crime.

On the internet, the government and various social institutions put out an enormous volume of information about the characteristics of the coronavirus and the progress of the pandemic. There was massive public engagement on social media for the dissemination of information. Now I watch Western experts and authorities talking on CNN and BBC about such things as the length of time the virus can survive on hard surfaces or in aerosol form. But these are things tens of millions of Chinese netizens were already talking about, every day and every hour, back in February.

From the top down, the government called for a “people’s war” against the pandemic. And this is exactly what happened, from the bottom up. I had more or less bought into the common assumption among many political thinkers that civil society was weak in China because the authoritarian party-state would not allow it to flourish. But now it occurred to me that this was based on the common liberal definition of civil society as something apart from or even in opposition the state. If we look at Chinese civil society in the classical definition of the term, what Aristotle called koinonia politike—political community that is not distinct from the state—it appeared throughout this pandemic to be perhaps the most vibrant in the world.

One of the most endlessly debated topics, not just in China, is the relationship between the market and the state. Well, this time the state has won—and won big. It is abundantly clear to everyone except the most die-hard neoliberals that the preservation of state capacity (alongside the growth of the market) has saved China from an unimaginable catastrophe with potentially hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of deaths.

At the onset of the counter-epidemic operation in late January, the Chinese state swung into action. The central government coordinated national medical resources to quickly concentrate on Hubei province. In total, 217 medical teams with more than 42,000 medical personnel were dispatched to Hubei from around the country, along with equipment and supplies. The central government coordinated the shipment of around 17,000 ventilators to Hubei. The result was that the epicenter of the outbreak never experienced any major shortage of ventilators.

An enormous new hospital with 1,000 beds was built in Wuhan in 10 days. Following that, 16 additional makeshift hospitals with a total of 13,000 beds were built across the city in existing structures such as convention centers to care for mild-symptom patients in a quarantined environment. Sinopec, the state-owned energy giant that produces raw materials for industrial masks, took 35 days to redesign and repurpose its production lines to support medical mask production. Automakers also used their assembly lines to pump out masks and other medical supplies. Mask production went from 20 million per day in January to 116 million in late February.

So who did these things? The doctors and nurses who were sent to Hubei from around the country were mostly state employees working in state-operated hospitals. The companies that built the hospitals and produced most of the masks were state-owned enterprises.

The entire operation was incredibly well coordinated for such a large country. From Beijing, the central government rolled out measures in the provinces on a weekly and sometimes daily basis. The provincial governments were given orders with the leeway to adapt them to local conditions. Then the provincial governments did the same downward to cities and counties. It also worked the other way around: Local governments sent their findings and suggestions to Beijing. The makeshift hospital idea, for example, came from an academic team studying the situation in Wuhan and found that existing hospitals were not enough to deal with a large number of mild-symptom patients who posed a contagion threat. They sent the findings and proposal to Beijing, and it was approved and ordered to be implemented within 24 hours.

The state also moved quickly to soften the economic impact of the crisis. In addition to direct subsidies to companies, the government adjusted the enforcement practices of the labor law so companies could be relieved of their obligations to pay employees full salaries when there was no business. In exchange, companies were asked not to lay off employees and to keep them on the payroll with minimum wage and health benefits. Businesses were entitled to have their rents reduced or even waived if their landlords were state-owned enterprises.

Through this crisis, three individuals emerged from relative obscurity to national fame. Li, the initial whistleblower whose warnings were not heeded, died of COVID-19. Zhong Nanshan, the national public health czar for the pandemic, has been the public face of the counter-epidemic operation, similar to Anthony Fauci in the United States. Zhang Wenhong is the Huashan Hospital doctor who has been leading the counter-epidemic operation in Shanghai. They are from very different personal backgrounds and geographical regions and of different generations but share two things in common. First, they are all doctors. Second, they are all veteran members of the Chinese Communist Party (CCP).

The party has been the most conspicuous presence throughout this ordeal. Zhang works in the hospital two blocks from my house. He was recorded in a video speaking about the organization of the medical team for the defense of Shanghai. In his booming voice, he said, “Party members go first, no questions asked!” The video went viral.

Day in and day out, the Chinese internet was flooded with images of party-member volunteers swearing their oaths before the CCP flag on their way to Wuhan, pledging to place the lives of others before their own. Of the 496 health workers and volunteers who died on the front lines as of April 29, 328 were party members.

Some years ago, the American political scientist Francis Fukuyama coined the term “bad emperor problem.” It was meant to theorize that in an authoritarian political system, even if there can be good rulers, there is little to prevent a bad ruler from gaining power and ruining the country. This is not the time or the place to debate this theory. But one thing I do know now is that Xi is a “good emperor.”

On Jan. 28, Xi used a meeting with the head of the World Health Organization to tell the nation that he was directly in charge of the counter-epidemic operation. At that time, the future had never seemed bleaker and more uncertain, but opportunism and shirking responsibility are not within this leader’s character. The decision to lock down Wuhan and Hubei carried such enormous consequences that it was likely to have been his and his alone. And it turned out to be the decision that saved the nation from a devastating catastrophe. In an unprecedented practice, he chaired the Politburo Standing Committee meetings to issue policy directives and made them public. He wore a mask in his public appearances. He held a videoconference with 170,000 front-line government officials and volunteers. Indeed, the “people’s war” was led by him personally in front of the entire nation.

As a strong leader, Xi certainly has had his share of detractors, especially internationally but also domestically, and will no doubt continue to have them. Western media and governments have attacked his government for the tightening of restrictions on media and political dissent and for its controversial policies toward Muslims in Xinjiang. Some domestic opponents disagree with the recent moves to centralize political power in Beijing. But among my circle of business acquaintances and political commentators in China, even some of his harshest critics have acknowledged his stewardship during this once-in-a-generation crisis. I believe his popularity among the general public will soar after this.

Xi’s leadership has raised the public credibility of the entire government. It is clear that mistakes were made at the early stages that resulted in a delay in responding to the outbreak. And there was justified anger, especially at the apparent silencing of the whistleblower Li. But it is also true that China was caught by surprise by a virus about which little was known. Now, as Chinese watch in horror as many countries’ governments struggle to contain the pandemic even after 1.4 billion people showed the world what was coming for months on end, their own government’s initial mistakes—though worthy of examination and reflection—no longer feel so unforgivable. China is fortunate to have the right leader at the right time.

For me, as for so many around the world, COVID-19 is certainly the most extraordinary event of my lifetime. It has certainly impacted me as a businessman and a student of politics. But it had the most emotional effect on me as a parent. My children attend public schools in Shanghai. On Jan. 27, Shanghai announced the delay of the start of the spring semester that had been scheduled for February. Being kids, they celebrated. But their euphoria did not last long. About two weeks later, the Shanghai Education Bureau ordered the reopening of schools only 10 days behind the regular schedule—but online. They had adapted, in record time, the entire curriculum for online learning. The new materials were sent to us by email to be printed out. My home inkjet printer died on the second day. I bought an industrial-strength laser printer and printed more than a thousand pages of middle school textbook materials.

Every school day now starts at 8 a.m. and ends at 4 p.m. Chinese, math, physics, English—one session after another in front of the computer screen as on regular school days. Homework has to be turned in every evening by taking pictures of the workbook and uploading it onto the school system. The next morning, they are graded and corrections demanded. Having the kids at home is nice. But the workload on us parents is brutal. I have never screamed at the kids so much.

On the morning of March 19, I woke up and reached for my phone to check the coronavirus numbers from the day before, as I had every morning for almost two months. That morning, I saw a total of 80,928 confirmed cases in China and 3,245 cumulative deaths. The total number of new confirmed cases: zero!

I rushed downstairs to tell the kids the good news. As I walked into the dining room, which served as their makeshift classroom, I was stopped by the prelude to the national anthem. My children were standing before their computer screens in their full school uniforms, observing the daily flag-raising ceremony. I had not cried in a very long time.