作者：李世默　　

【本文英文原文5月14日發(fā)表于美國《外交政策》網(wǎng)站，作者授權(quán)觀察者網(wǎng)發(fā)布中文版】

　　如今的上海，人們的工作和生活正逐步恢復(fù)正常。餐廳和酒吧已經(jīng)恢復(fù)營業(yè)，我和我的同事們也回到了公司辦公。唯一和以往不同的是，我們走進公共場所都需要測量體溫。

疫情平復(fù)后，上海的活力正在逐漸恢復(fù)。圖片來源：視覺中國

　　我投資了哈啰單車（中國最大的共享單車公司），在他們的業(yè)務(wù)數(shù)據(jù)中了解到，單車使用量已經(jīng)恢復(fù)到了疫情之前的七成。在中國各地，疫情的陰霾正在逐漸消散。而就在一個多月前，全國民眾還生活在疫情永不消散的噩夢中。疫情就此結(jié)束，是此時每一個中國人最強烈的愿望。

　　在這個重要轉(zhuǎn)折時刻，我想分享一下我所感受到的，關(guān)于中國政府與社會的五點體會。

　　中國人民信賴他們的政治制度

　　全球最大的獨立公關(guān)公司愛德曼（Edelman）發(fā)布的《全球信任度調(diào)查報告》指出，中國民眾對政府的信任指數(shù)高達(dá)82，在所有被調(diào)查的國家中位居榜首。而根據(jù)皮尤（Pew）研究中心的調(diào)查，超過80%的中國人對國家的前進方向表示滿意。

　　然而，無論在國際主流媒體還是日常討論中，卻鮮有人提及這些事實。為什么會這樣呢？我認(rèn)為是由于西方人對中國現(xiàn)實情況的理解一直受到自由主義敘事的左右，這一敘事將中國描述為“威權(quán)主義政黨國家”，在本質(zhì)上不可能贏得公眾真正的信任。人們在先入為主的心態(tài)左右下，完全不關(guān)注各種民調(diào)數(shù)據(jù)所顯示的結(jié)果：中國人民信賴他們的政治制度。

　　對于關(guān)注中國的人們來說，文化與制度差異客觀存在，缺乏超越意識形態(tài)的對比環(huán)境也造成了一定程度上的誤解。

　　然而現(xiàn)在，在大自然力量的磅礴沖擊之下，人們終于有機會一窺真相。

　　1月23日，中國政府決定對武漢實施“封城”，這一措施隨后擴展到整個湖北省，覆蓋人口達(dá)5600萬，是人類歷史上最大規(guī)模的檢疫隔離行動。兩天后，除西藏以外的所有省級行政區(qū)都啟動了重大突發(fā)公共衛(wèi)生事件一級響應(yīng)，超過7.6億城市居民被要求居家隔離，非必要情況外不得外出，在公共場合必須佩戴口罩。大部分村莊也被封閉起來。當(dāng)時全國報告的感染病例共571例，死亡17例——以現(xiàn)在的眼光看，那時感染和死亡人數(shù)還處于相當(dāng)?shù)偷乃健?/span>

除夕夜，武漢市漢秀劇場外墻打出“武漢加油”字樣（圖自：新華社）

　　這些防疫措施的力度和廣度驚動了舉國上下。在2000萬人口的上海，往常車水馬龍的街道一夜之間變得空空蕩蕩，行人與汽車都不見了蹤影。起初我認(rèn)為這種局面只會持續(xù)一兩周，然而時間一天天過去，防疫措施卻沒有松動的跡象。人們繼續(xù)呆在家里，街上仍然空空蕩蕩。

　　數(shù)億人及時響應(yīng)，自覺地全面貫徹政府的防疫措施，這是人類歷史上的第一次，我個人也始料不及。來過中國的人都會發(fā)現(xiàn)，在街頭執(zhí)法的中國警察沒有配槍，處理非惡性違法行為時很少采取強制暴力措施。因此中國人往往“不拘小節(jié)”，甚至?xí)橐粡埥煌P單和警察爭論不休，這在一些其他國家是不敢想象的情景。然而正是在這樣的社會背景下，此次疫情期間，人們面對持續(xù)如此之久的大規(guī)模封城和隔離措施，能做到貫徹始終，除了高度信任政府的忠告并自覺服從指揮，沒有其他理由可以解釋。

　　當(dāng)然這也是出于自我保護，畢竟沒人愿意得病。但如果我們拿其他國家來對比，會發(fā)現(xiàn)有些地方，大批年輕人在疫情初期公然違抗政府禁令和警告，聚集在海灘和夜店；還有一些地方，甚至至今仍要出動警察來采取強制措施。顯然，光靠人的自利性是遠(yuǎn)遠(yuǎn)不夠的，只有人民高度信任他們的政府提供保障的能力和專業(yè)性，才能達(dá)到這種服從程度。

　　在與民眾的溝通上，政府也不遺余力，每天都會通過各大媒體公布官方疫情數(shù)據(jù)，這包括全國數(shù)據(jù)和各省市數(shù)據(jù)。每時每刻，電視上都會有專家詳細(xì)介紹病毒的特性，以及國家不斷調(diào)整的應(yīng)對措施。每一份報紙都在宣傳保持社交距離的重要性。也就是說，民眾對國家的信任建立在信息暢通的基礎(chǔ)上，而不是盲目服從。

　　中國的民間社會生機勃勃

　　如果2月初的時候你宅在家忙于刷社交媒體，很可能得出與事實截然相反的結(jié)論。中國社會正在經(jīng)歷“文革”以來最大的創(chuàng)傷，公眾的憤怒情緒高漲。人們看到，當(dāng)年“非典”爆發(fā)后所建立的疫情信息通報制度在這次新冠疫情初期近乎失效，很多人因此推測是地方官員向上級“報喜不報憂”，以至于延誤了最佳防治時機，認(rèn)為這暴露了中國政治體制的問題。這種強烈情緒在武漢醫(yī)生李文亮被病毒奪去生命之后到達(dá)了沸點。這名曾于去年12月在工作伙伴的微信群中對冠狀病毒發(fā)出危險預(yù)警的醫(yī)生，在被當(dāng)?shù)鼐臁坝?xùn)誡”后，在工作中因不幸感染新冠病毒而殉職。如果這是你看到的全部情況，那就很可能得出結(jié)論，認(rèn)為中國遭遇了“切爾諾貝利時刻”甚至即將迎來它的“阿拉伯之春”（有些人確實已經(jīng)提出了這樣的說法）。然而，在事實面前，這些假設(shè)被證明是建立在不完整信息基礎(chǔ)上做出的誤判。

　　當(dāng)中央政府為這場人類歷史上規(guī)模最大的抗疫行動發(fā)起總動員時，全國民眾的力量凝聚到了一起。50萬名志愿者奔赴湖北抗疫前線，冒著健康和生命危險開展醫(yī)護、檢疫和后勤工作。全國有200多萬名公民注冊并擔(dān)任志愿者。他們鼓舞人心的故事和影像在社交媒體上不斷刷屏。盡管許多咖啡館和餐廳的生意蒙受了慘重?fù)p失，卻仍然向志愿者提供免費食品和飲料。一張武漢社區(qū)工作人員的照片在網(wǎng)絡(luò)上廣為流傳，他從頭到腳掛滿了幾十個藥包，要派送到各家各戶。全國幾乎所有居民小區(qū)都設(shè)置了24小時無休的檢查崗，由志愿者和保安負(fù)責(zé)控制人員出入并測量體溫。許多社區(qū)還組織志愿者登門看望老年人等薄弱人群，為他們解決生活問題。想象一下，在這個14億人的國家里，每條街道、每個社區(qū)、每個村莊都在同時上演同樣的一幕！

下沉到社區(qū)的武漢市園林局職工楊麗青在調(diào)試播放防疫事項的喇叭（圖自：新華社）

　　正是由于政府與民間力量相互信任、合力抗疫，并及時采取大量細(xì)致有效的措施，糾正了疫情爆發(fā)最初的混亂，確保能觸達(dá)到每一個需要幫助的人，才讓人民迅速恢復(fù)了信心。

　　與此同時，政府和各社會機構(gòu)在互聯(lián)網(wǎng)上發(fā)布了大量信息，通報疫情和冠狀病毒的特性。公眾大規(guī)模地通過社交媒體參與討論，促進了信息的傳播?，F(xiàn)在，西方頂尖專家和權(quán)威人士在CNN、BBC等國際電視節(jié)目里談?wù)摬《驹谟脖砻嫔匣蛞詺馊苣z形式存活時間等各類防疫問題，但早在2月，這些就已是億萬中國網(wǎng)民的熱搜話題。

　　政府自上而下地呼吁以“人民戰(zhàn)爭”戰(zhàn)勝流行病。在民眾的響應(yīng)下，中國的確打了一場自下而上的人民戰(zhàn)爭。過去，我或多或少地默認(rèn)了許多政治思想家的一個普遍假設(shè)，即中國民間社會力量薄弱，因為在所謂的“威權(quán)主義政黨國家”無法蓬勃發(fā)展。但現(xiàn)在我終于認(rèn)識到，這一假設(shè)建立在自由主義對民間社會的定義基礎(chǔ)上，將民間社會與國家割裂看待甚至放在對立面上。然而，如果我們按照民間社會的古典概念，即亞里士多德定義的“政治共同體”（κοινων?απολιτικ?）來看待疫情期間的中國民間社會，它并不具有與國家割裂的必然特征，全民參與抗疫所取得的成效表明，中國的民間社會充滿活力。

　　在中國，市場之上有國家

　　在中國乃至許多國家，市場與國家的關(guān)系是一個讓人爭論不休的話題，似乎必須在“國進民退”和“國退民進”之間做出非此即彼的選擇。如果非要這樣考慮問題，那么可以說在此次疫情當(dāng)中，國家大獲全勝。除了最頑固的新自由主義者以外，每個人都清楚地認(rèn)識到，中國在強化市場角色的同時維持和擴充了國家能力，才免于遭受難以想象的災(zāi)難，否則數(shù)十萬乃至數(shù)百萬條生命可能就此消逝。

　　1月下旬防疫戰(zhàn)爭剛剛打響之際，國家便迅速地行動了起來，中央政府協(xié)調(diào)全國醫(yī)療資源快速向湖北集中。截至2月15日，包含2.5萬余名醫(yī)務(wù)人員的217支醫(yī)療隊，先后從全國各地奔赴湖北，帶去了最好的設(shè)備和物資。在中央政府的協(xié)調(diào)下，近2萬臺呼吸機被運往湖北，使得疫情中心總體上沒有出現(xiàn)呼吸機短缺的情況。

　　武漢在十天之內(nèi)建成了擁有1000張病床的方艙醫(yī)院。緊接著，湖北省各地修建了16所方艙醫(yī)院，病床數(shù)量達(dá)1萬3000張。這些都是借用會議中心等現(xiàn)有建筑搭建的臨時醫(yī)院，用于輕癥患者的隔離收治。大型國企中石化是工業(yè)口罩的上游原材料生產(chǎn)商，公司花了35天時間重新設(shè)計和調(diào)整生產(chǎn)線，擴大醫(yī)用口罩產(chǎn)能。汽車制造商也改造裝配線用于大批量生產(chǎn)口罩和其他醫(yī)療用品?？谡值娜债a(chǎn)量從1月份的2000萬增加到2月下旬的1.16億。

　　這些事都是誰做的呢？從全國各地派往湖北的醫(yī)護人員大多是國有醫(yī)院的公職人員，醫(yī)院建筑商和大部分口罩的生產(chǎn)商都是國有企業(yè)。

1月30日，火神山醫(yī)院建設(shè)工地（圖自：新華社）

　　對于中國這樣的大國而言，整個行動的協(xié)調(diào)程度好得令人難以置信。每周甚至每天，中央政府都從北京向各省發(fā)布新的措施。各省政府接到指令后，有一定的調(diào)整余地使其適應(yīng)當(dāng)?shù)厍闆r。然后，各省也以同樣的方式對所屬市縣各級政府下達(dá)指令。反過來，自下而上的渠道也保持暢通。地方政府將調(diào)查結(jié)果和建議呈遞給北京。例如，建造方艙醫(yī)院的想法是一個專家團隊提出的，他們在實地研究武漢情況后發(fā)現(xiàn)，大型醫(yī)院無法解決大量輕癥患者交叉?zhèn)魅镜膯栴}。他們把研究結(jié)果和修建方艙醫(yī)院的提案送到北京，24小時內(nèi)便得到了批示并開始落實。

　　國家還迅速采取行動減輕危機對經(jīng)濟的沖擊，例如向企業(yè)提供直接補貼，特別是幫助中小企業(yè)不要解雇職工，而是繼續(xù)發(fā)放最低工資并繳納醫(yī)保。在各地政府倡導(dǎo)下，國有企業(yè)物業(yè)紛紛減免了承租商鋪、廠房、寫字樓的租金。

　　黨旗高高飄揚

　　在這場危機中，三個過去相對默默無聞的人脫穎而出、譽滿全國。在疫情初期發(fā)出警告的李文亮醫(yī)生，他最終在工作崗位上不幸染病去世。國家公共衛(wèi)生權(quán)威鐘南山醫(yī)生，他與美國的安東尼?福奇醫(yī)生類似，是抗疫戰(zhàn)斗的領(lǐng)軍人物。上海醫(yī)療救治專家組組長、華山醫(yī)院的張文宏醫(yī)生。盡管他們來自不同的背景、地區(qū)，甚至不是同一代人，但卻有兩個共同點。首先，他們都是醫(yī)生。第二，他們都是中國共產(chǎn)黨員。

　　在這場病毒造成的苦難當(dāng)中，中國共產(chǎn)黨始終是戰(zhàn)斗在抗疫最前線的核心力量。張文宏醫(yī)生所在的醫(yī)院距離我家只有兩條街。他的一段講話被人拍下來傳到網(wǎng)上，獲得了巨大關(guān)注。在視頻中，他講到了上海醫(yī)療救治組的組織工作時洪亮有力地說道：“讓黨員先上，沒有討價還價的余地！”

　　疫情期間，中國互聯(lián)網(wǎng)上每天都流傳著這樣的影像：一批批黨員志愿者奔赴武漢之前，面對黨旗宣誓用自己的生命保護他人的生命。在抗疫前線殉職的496名醫(yī)護人員、公職人員和志愿者當(dāng)中，有328名是黨員。黨旗高高飄揚，這是用生命換來的輝煌。

　　中國沒有“壞皇帝”

　　多年前，美國政治學(xué)家弗朗西斯?福山發(fā)明了一個術(shù)語，叫做“壞皇帝問題”。這個詞是為了從理論上闡述，在他定義的威權(quán)政治體制里，盡管可能出現(xiàn)好的統(tǒng)治者，但卻沒有辦法防止壞的統(tǒng)治者獲得權(quán)力并破壞國家。而西方一直視中國為威權(quán)政治體制，也因此習(xí)慣性地將中國領(lǐng)導(dǎo)人看作皇帝。此文不是辯論該理論是對是錯的場合，但是有一件事在我心目中已經(jīng)無可置疑：中國不是威權(quán)政治體制，也沒有皇帝，只有需要為這個國家的前途擔(dān)負(fù)責(zé)任的決策者。

　　1月28日，習(xí)近平會見了世界衛(wèi)生組織總干事譚德塞，并借這個機會告訴全體國民，抗擊疫情的行動由他直接負(fù)責(zé)。在那個時候，中國民眾幾乎前所未有地覺得未來如此黯淡，充滿不確定性，作為領(lǐng)袖所必須承擔(dān)的巨大風(fēng)險與壓力是顯而易見的。然而，機會主義和臨陣退縮從來不符合這位領(lǐng)袖人物的稟性。武漢乃至湖北大規(guī)模封城的決定會造成巨大而難以預(yù)測的后果，而這個決定想必只有他一個人能定奪，所有后果也只有他一個人來承擔(dān)?，F(xiàn)在看來，這個決定拯救了整個國家。他主持了多次中央政治局會議，在會上發(fā)布政策指令并公諸于眾；他戴著口罩出現(xiàn)在電視上，還面向17萬名一線政府官員和志愿者召開電視電話會議。這些做法過去是沒有先例的。他在全中國民眾面前親自領(lǐng)導(dǎo)了這場“人民戰(zhàn)爭”。

　　新中國的任何一代領(lǐng)導(dǎo)人，都會受到很多的質(zhì)疑和詆毀，有些來自國內(nèi)，但更多來自國外，習(xí)近平也不例外。毫無疑問，在日趨復(fù)雜的國際環(huán)境里，這些攻擊不會消停。一些西方媒體和政府指責(zé)他領(lǐng)導(dǎo)下的中國政府壓制媒體和政治異見，以及對新疆的穆斯林實施有爭議的政策。一些國內(nèi)的反對者則對中央政府最近的一系列集權(quán)舉措表示不滿。然而在我相識的人中，無論是商界人士、政治評論員，甚至是那些很尖銳的反對者，都對他在這次幾十年不遇的重大危機中所展現(xiàn)出的領(lǐng)導(dǎo)力表示認(rèn)可。我相信，在這場疫情過后，他在中國普通民眾中的威望將會達(dá)到新高。

　　習(xí)近平的領(lǐng)導(dǎo)提高了政府整體在民眾當(dāng)中的信譽度。顯然，地方政府在疫情早期階段犯下了錯誤，導(dǎo)致響應(yīng)行動有所延遲。當(dāng)時，社會上許多人感到憤怒，特別是在得知發(fā)出預(yù)警的人被禁言之后，怨氣更加強烈。但要知道，中國當(dāng)時對新冠病毒知之甚少，一時間措手不及很正?！，F(xiàn)在，中國民眾駭然發(fā)現(xiàn)即使數(shù)月來14億中國人連續(xù)不斷地“吹哨”——甚至可以說是“拉響警報”——大聲疾呼世界警惕新冠肺炎的危險性，可許多國家政府治理體系仍然在疫情面前接近崩潰，才開始認(rèn)真思考應(yīng)對疫情的決策復(fù)雜性。

　　中國在此重要關(guān)頭，有習(xí)近平這樣的領(lǐng)袖可謂國之幸事。我借此機會吐槽一下福山教授的理論，回他一句：中國只有偉大的決策者，沒有“壞皇帝”！

　　對我個人而言，就像世界上很多人一樣，新冠病毒疫情無疑是我人生中迄今為止經(jīng)歷的最大變局。作為一名商人和政治學(xué)學(xué)生，疫情當(dāng)然對我的生活造成了非同小可的影響；但對我最大的沖擊莫過于一個當(dāng)父親的情感。我的子女就讀于上海的公立學(xué)校。1月27日，上海宣布推遲原定于2月的春季開學(xué)日期。孩子們自然興高采烈。但他們的欣喜并沒有持續(xù)太久。大約兩周后，上海市教育局下令學(xué)校復(fù)課，僅比原計劃晚了十多天，只不過改用網(wǎng)絡(luò)方式教學(xué)。他們在極短的時間內(nèi)完成了全部課程的改造使之與網(wǎng)絡(luò)學(xué)習(xí)模式相適應(yīng)。

　　從那一天起，網(wǎng)課每天上午8點開課，下午4點下課。語文、數(shù)學(xué)、物理、英語，各種課程有條不紊地進行，除了被搬上電腦屏幕，和平日沒有區(qū)別。每天晚上孩子們交作業(yè)，把練習(xí)簿拍了照上傳至網(wǎng)課系統(tǒng)。第二天早上，老師把批閱之后的作業(yè)發(fā)下來，要求學(xué)生訂正錯誤。孩子待在家里挺好的，只不過就是工作量太大，我們這些當(dāng)父母的被搞得焦頭爛額。

　　3月19日早上，按照過去兩個月來養(yǎng)成的習(xí)慣，我一醒來就拿手機查看前一天的疫情數(shù)據(jù)。我看到：全國確診病例：80,928，死亡病例：3,245，新增本土確診病例：0！

　　我沖下樓去給孩子們通報好消息。當(dāng)我走進餐廳，也就是他們的臨時教室時，屋里忽然響起了國歌的前奏，我看到孩子們身穿全套校服肅立在電腦屏幕前，正在每天的升旗儀式中行注目禮。

　　我戛然止步，愴然涕下……

　?。ㄗ髡呤跈?quán)觀察者網(wǎng)發(fā)表中文版，英文版首發(fā)于《外交政策》網(wǎng)站，翻頁閱讀）

　　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.