救猫人和反家暴:武汉封城回忆中的暖心故事_OK阅读网
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救猫人和反家暴:武汉封城回忆中的暖心故事
A Flying Elephant, a Teacher’s Hugs: 12 Tales of Pandemic Resilience

来源:纽约时报    2020-12-30 10:23



        As much as the pandemic has been a story of devastation and loss, it has also been one of resilience — of individual people, families and entire communities not only surviving a deadly threat but seeing in the moment a chance to serve others. Some even dare remind us that joy is still a possibility. We asked our correspondents around the world to share stories they have run across this year that speak to the strength of the human spirit, and to the way that disruption can bring out the best in us.
        He has fostered more than 100 stray cats . . .
        . . . over 14 years in his home in Wuhan, China. But never has Shuai Lihua’s love for the creatures been put to the test as it was earlier this year, when the pandemic broke out in his hometown.
        On Jan. 23, Mr. Shuai, 43, watched with alarm as a flood of messages poured into his phone from panicked cat owners.
        Earlier that day, the Chinese government had locked down Wuhan, where the pandemic began, in a desperate push to stop the spread of the virus. Millions of residents who had left for what they thought would be a short trip suddenly found themselves stranded outside the city. Many had left only a week’s worth of food and water for their cats at home.
        Please, they begged, could he help?
        It was the height of the epidemic in Wuhan, when very little was known about a virus that would later go on to infect tens of millions around the world. The normally bustling metropolis had suddenly gone quiet. Most of the city’s residents had barricaded themselves inside their homes out of fear.
        But Mr. Shuai, who goes by the nickname Lao Mao or “Old Cat,” did not hesitate.
        “I just knew that I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I didn’t do anything,” he recalled. “It’s not every day that loving cats becomes a life-or-death matter.”
        Almost every day for nearly three months, Mr. Shuai crisscrossed the city from morning to night.
        He wore a protective suit, goggles and a mask, and carried bags of cat food and a list of addresses. When there were no spare keys or digital locks, Mr. Shuai had no choice but to get creative and, well, catlike, climb over walls, scale fire escapes, shimmy up rusty pipes and crawl through windows.
        Over 10 weeks, he and other volunteers made around 2,000 house calls to feed and care for hundreds of cats — and one rabbit. In April, when the lockdown was lifted, many of the cat owners came by the animal shelter where Mr. Shuai works to drop off small gifts and say thank you.
        “It was worth it, not just for the cats, but also so that the owners could have some peace of mind,” Mr. Shuai said. “Looking back at that time now, it all just feels like a dream.”— Amy Qin
        She moved to Wuhan shortly before lockdown . . .
        . . . and the loneliness and confusion of the long months that followed at times felt overwhelming.
        In late January, not long after Guo Jing, a 29-year-old social worker and feminist activist, moved there from the southern city of Guangzhou, the Chinese government sealed off Wuhan as a stunned world looked on from afar.
        Thousands were dying. Ms. Guo felt alone, scared and powerless, scrubbing her hands 20 to 30 times a day and video chatting friends in faraway cities for company.
        Then, in late February, Ms. Guo began seeing news reports about a spike in domestic violence under lockdown. A friend said she had heard what sounded like abuse in a neighbor’s apartment. Unsure what to do, the friend wrote a letter describing resources against domestic violence and slipped it under the neighbor’s door.
        That gave Ms. Guo an idea.
        With friends, she wrote and posted to social media a letter drawing attention to widespread domestic violence in China. And she offered suggestions on how to intervene.
        She named her fledgling campaign “little vaccines against domestic violence,” and urged others to share the letter and themselves become buffers against abuse.
        Within hours, thousands of people visited the page where she had posted the letter. The hashtag “little vaccines against domestic violence” has been viewed more than 800,000 times on Weibo, a Chinese platform similar to Twitter.
        People across China began sharing photos of themselves pasting the letter in elevator banks, on bulletin boards or in any other public areas that they could still visit.
        The outpouring was particularly remarkable, Ms. Guo said, because of the suspicion with which the Chinese government views any forms of activism, including feminism.
        “Many people were nervous not only because of the pandemic,” Ms. Guo said, “but also because we’re not accustomed to using our own public spaces.”
        Wuhan is no longer locked down, but Ms. Guo is still reflecting on that period. A friend is working on a documentary about the pandemic, and Ms. Guo and other friends have interviewed low-income workers and others hit hard by its economic fallout.
        “It’s very hard for individuals to fundamentally change some problems,” she said. “So the key question is, what can I do under these circumstances?” — Vivian Wang
        
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