In Hong Kong, SARS fears infect hearts and minds

HONG KONG — Tainted buildings are now basically abandoned. Taxi drivers refuse to pick up people who call from certain neighborhoods. Cough in public, and people glare suspiciously, then dash away to get as far from you as possible.

And, as a confusing, terrifying virus runs amok, killing a one-day record of nine people here on Tuesday, residents' suspicions of how it is spread range from cockroaches to sewage to sex to the old man sitting peacefully on a park bench blowing his nose.

In what was not too long ago one of Asia's most proud and prosperous cities, the social and psychological costs of the outbreak of severe acute respiratory syndrome, or SARS, are incalculable — and likely will endure. A touchy-feely culture is now a culture of face masks and oddly cheerful public service announcements urging against any physical contact. (Related item: Spotlight on quarantined apartment complex eases.)

"This was a place where we would all eat off each others' plates and not even consider whether or not our chopsticks had germs on them," says Yvonne Cheung, 30, a secretary for a computer company. "Now I'm not even sure I want to use the chopsticks provided in restaurants."

Scientists have yet to determine exactly what causes SARS. The prime suspect is a new strain of coronavirus, but whether other microbes also play a role is not clear. SARS is thought to spread primarily through face-to-face contact, though it may linger on surfaces, such as doorknobs, and may even travel through air.

There is no known treatment for SARS, which has struck people of all ages and has killed about 4% of those infected.

Hong Kong is under siege. Each day brings government announcements of more deaths and an average of 40 new infections. Ordinary life is on hold, with people staying home as much as possible, children out of school for weeks now and even some Catholic churches refusing to give communion. An advice columnist in the South China Morning Post told a worried mother not to attend the ballet with her children, "to be on the safe side."

"This is a very depressive, confusing, unsafe environment," says sociologist Cecilia Chan, director of the Center on Behavioral Health at the University of Hong Kong. "Most people are still in a state of panic and anxiety. Suddenly, there's a feeling that everybody is a carrier. This is an alienating disease. It pushes people apart."

Chan, co-founder of a campaign called "We Are With You" that aims to calm the jitters through educational campaigns, also is launching a survey today that will examine the psychological effects of the epidemic. But it's already clear that tensions are so overwhelming that an April Fool's hoax on the Internet claiming Hong Kong's borders might be sealed sparked panicked efforts to leave and a mass run on shops for food and supplies, Chan says.

Most noticeable, aside from the desolate public spaces in this usually bustling city of 6 million, is the suspicion of one another represented by the face masks.

"People aren't wearing masks to keep their own germs to themselves," says Klaudia Kong, 28, a clerk at an electronics store who refuses to wear one. "They're wearing them because they don't trust anybody else."

Meanwhile, a sense of embarrassment and shame also is rattling many, accelerating a perceived slide in worldwide esteem that began with the loss of autonomy represented by the 1997 reunification with mainland China. The sense that Hong Kong's "moment" has passed and that other Asian cities, Shanghai chief among them, are on the rise is evident to many expatriate Americans here.

"This is a great, cosmopolitan, very Western city, with beautiful skyscrapers and, until SARS, a vibrant nightlife. But it's not the most enviable place in the region anymore, and the people here know it," says Daniel Koop, a buyer with a California-based import-export company who has lived here since 1998. "You wonder how much more these people can take."