Around the world, businesses have been shuttering their doors, one school after another has evacuated their campus, and nations worth of citizens have been hunkering down in self-isolation. There is no denying it: COVID-19 has flipped our lives upside down. Hashtags like #FlattenTheCurve and #StayHomeSaveLives proliferate in attempts to surpass the speed at which the coronavirus festers, while people try to find a middle ground between staying safe from the pandemic and keeping the world functioning normally. Even here at Ampheros, there has been a significant surge in articles about COVID-19.
The effects of quarantine on education have been particularly significant. In most parts of the world, school has moved online or stopped entirely. A Brazilian student I’ve been tutoring recently missed a few classes due to an order for citizens to move to a different city temporarily. “It’s going to be a 15-hour drive,” he explained. “There’s also a one-hour change in the time zone.” Meanwhile, a friend in Japan recently complained to me that she wasn’t sure if she’d even get to meet her best friend again. “The government lock-down will only last until May for now,” she said. “But it will be reviewed on a monthly basis and could go on for as long as six.”
Here in Taiwan, however, school days go on as they would normally.
“Normally”
Here, regulations regarding COVID-19 and school closures mostly focus on minimizing the spread of virus if it breaks out. School goes on normally until a student or teacher tests positive for the virus. Should that happen, the class with the infected individual goes into two weeks of quarantine. Two positive cases within the same school, and the school shuts down. If over a third of schools within a district are locked down, every school in the district closes their gates.
Surprisingly, so far, only one school has shut down.
That’s not to say we don’t feel the virus looming over us. On the metro, face masks are mandatory. Passengers without a face mask are refused entry, and those who attempt to barge in anyway are fined a whopping 15 thousand New Taiwan dollars, or roughly 500 USD. I myself have been guilty of forgetting about this regulation. An attendant swiftly intercepted me, and I could feel all eyes on me as I awkwardly fished through my pockets for my mask.
Schools around the country have started testing ways to move lessons online, in case classes are indeed stopped. Furthermore, regulations regarding in-person interviews and examinations for domestic university applications have been updated, reflecting nationwide efforts to halt the virus. National Taiwan Normal University has suspended in-person evaluations altogether, opting instead to rely on GSAT scores and CVs applicants were asked to submit.
Most interestingly, the Taipei City government has declared that graduation trips, field trips, and—wait for it—swimming classes are to be put on hold until May 4th at the very least.
Things aren’t ideal, but ultimately, it’s a small price to pay for victory against the coronavirus pandemic.
The School Day
The following descriptions are mostly based off my experiences at Taipei Municipal Chenggong High School, but most, if not all, schools in Taiwan are taking roughly the same precautions.
Right beyond the gates is a checkpoint. Every morning, a queue of uniformed students flood the sidewalk just beyond the gates as all entering personnel are halted for a temperature check. A fever of over 37.5 degrees Celsius means a ticket home, and potentially a one-way trip to quarantine.
There are thorough precautions against the virus throughout the school campus. Assemblies have all but ceased. Teachers and administration constantly remind students to maintain a safe distance of 1.5 meters whenever possible, and maintain clear ventilation when it’s not—for example, while in class. Seats in conferences are arranged according to”plum blossom seating,” a crisscross pattern which ensures there’s always one empty seat between any two participants. Buckets of bleach are distributed to classes for routine disinfection, with rags soaked in them and every visible surface wiped down.
Throughout the rest of the day, medical masks are almost as much a staple of the school dress code as our uniforms. Students sneak them off their faces, just as they smuggle their own casual t-shirts onto campus under jackets, but the majority keep a mask on. I’ve noticed that even those who don’t will reach for their mask, whether subconsciously or knowingly, every time a reminder comes over the loudspeaker.
Evidently, there are plenty of safeguards in place. But a team is only as strong as its weakest member; in the line of defense against COVID-19, the cooperation of students is every bit as critical as our methods of protection and prevention.
At the End of the Day
As students, we cooperate, because we covet a “normal” senior year.
We cooperate, because we’re afraid. At the end of the day, no matter how much bravado we students put on, the dread of the pandemic is palpable. We spend late nights wondering what will happen to our graduation, to the remaining months we have with our friends. Jokes about infection are passed around in hushed tones, but behind every nervous laugh, there’s a very real fear that the next day, one of our classmates, our friends, or even ourselves could be locked in a room with hazmat suit-bearing specialists.
Despite all this, we trudge on. We do our part. We look at the news and celebrate every day with zero new confirmed cases of infection here in Taiwan, and we knock on wood hoping we can keep the streak going.
Because behind the fright, behind the anxiety, behind the pessimism, there is hope. There is hope that someday soon, the terror of COVID-19 will come to an end.