Post-coronavirus, where from here?
By Kim Khiat Tye
28 April 2020
Coronavirus reportedly blasted off from a particular wet market in Wuhan, China, wreaking havoc and wrecking economies and lives the world over. Post-coronavirus, the global economic and social landscape will take some recognising much like what a tsunami has wrought in its wake. On a micro-level, wet markets as institutions in their own right in many Asian countries and elsewhere have suffered huge collateral damage. Will the ominous cloud overhanging them ever lift? Or does the pandemic presage the demise of these now-maligned institutions? Do we need to lose sleep over their future?
Just recently, it was reported that wet markets forced to close in Wuhan following the coronavirus outbreak have re-opened, but not the Huanan Seafood Wholesale market which was said to be the epicentre for the virus. Still, news of Wuhan’s wet markets re-opening has sparked outright condemnation from world leaders even though China has banned wildlife trade and the consumption of such meats in the wake of the pandemic. Australia’s Prime Minister described the World Health Organisation’s endorsement of their reopening as “unfathomable,” adding that, “we also need to fully understand and protect against the global health threat posed by places like wet markets.” Minister for Health Greg Hunt labelled wet markets “dangerous vectors.” And now Australian is urging G20 countries to investigate wet markets. What, then, is the fate of wet markets in the days ahead?
Not helping the reputation of wet markets since late January has been the constant showing on prime time television of the very same grisly footage of caged animals – bats, pangolins, snakes – as well as mangy-looking domestic animals awaiting their unceremonious fate on the chopping block in that rogue Wuhan market. Further churning the stomach is the lurid display of all manner of wild meats and body parts. As if this is not sufficiently revolting, additional footage was spliced in of a market food seller in Sulawesi, Indonesia, frying bat meat with gusto in a sizzling wok, and ghoulish-looking roasted monkeys hanging from hooks in an Africa market complete the sickening picture. Indeed, the image imprinted on viewers’ mind is that wet markets are all of the same ilk no matter where they are located. Are they?
As the drum beat to rein in wet markets, particularly those that deal in wildlife, grows incessantly louder, there is an urgent need to restore some perspective to the debate. Otherwise, wet markets in general are equated with danger, diseases and doom regardless of where they are and what they sell. Increasingly, politicians and the media are now talking of “wildlife wet markets.” By conflating ‘wildlife’ with ‘wet markets’ the unfortunate impression created is that wet markets and wild life go hand in hand. Granted that the Wuhan rogue market is a wildlife wet market per se, there is no denying that legions of others in and outside China are kosher – they are simply engaged in very normal activities.
‘Wet’ has become an undeserved pejorative for these markets in the charged atmosphere following the COVID19 outbreak. Their wet floors stemmed from the fact that ice was used to keep food fresh in the absence of refrigeration in the early years, and the difficulty today of retro-fitting refrigeration equipment in these old structures. Melting ice and water frequently sprayed liberally over vegetables and fish to keep them fresh translate into wet floors even today. Moreover, some of these markets are also exposed to the elements as vendors in the beginning congregated haphazardly, but over the years such hubs grew by accretion without the concomitant improvements to keep out the weather.
Without doubt, wet markets have evolved to become as much a part of the socio-economic fabric of Asia as ubiquitous motorcycles and street vendors are emblematic of the rhythm of life in these countries. As such, they cannot be wished away overnight with a magic wand until such time when they become out of sync with the zeitgeist. If anything, over the years wet markets have become institutions underpinned by a dynamic of interconnectedness and a web of relationships that are sometimes not apparent to the casual observer. In short, a microcosm of the community.
Wuhan and the province of Hubei alone probably boast thousands of wet markets. Together with those in the rest of China, Indonesia, Cambodia, Burma, Laos, Vietnam, Malaysia, Philippines, the Indian sub-continent, and Africa, the tally is mind-boggling. Some may even have a stall or two dealing in wildlife meat. Like motorcycles and street vendors, wet markets are merely an index of a country’s stage of development. When they have finally transitioned to First World status, wet markets would surely become a distant memory as seen in Japan, South Korea and Singapore today where supermarkets proliferate and have supplanted them. Already, supermarkets are beginning to make their mark in China and Indonesia in smart shopping complexes.
For now, wet markets serve as a nexus of commerce as well as a social hub where people of all walks of life mingle freely. Informality is the key. Dress code is usually cast aside. Turning up in pyjamas raises no eyebrows. The vendors know their customers by name and vice versa. Customers also patronise preferred vendors for different produce and goods for reasons of price, quality, trust, familiarity, and freshness. Locals also get to meet their neighbours and friends for a tete-a-tete. Amid the cacophony of vendors barking their wares, the incessant chatter and haggling, the tactile scrutiny of the produce, the tantalising wafts from food cooking, wet markets are inimitably compelling places to visit. A total sensory experience, indeed.
Without fail, the mere mention of wet markets evokes nostalgia in me. Don’t get me wrong: I am no apologist for wet markets. And the wildlife trade is anathema to me. Why the nostalgia then? Well, I grew up with them. And they grew on me in my formative years. The one in my village in Singapore was my stamping ground. On weekends, come hell or high water, father, older brother and I would be there to soak up the atmosphere as well as attend to the business of putting food on the table.
First stop: the food section for breakfast which could be a bowl of hot bean curd or some local savouries, sometimes cooked before our eyes. Then it was off to the greens section: here there were no holds barred. Vegies were turned over leaf by leaf and scrutinised. If the price was not right, haggling would kick in until one party blinked. Sometimes father, in a tactical move, would simply walk away feigning disappointment only to have the vendor shouting after him, “Alright, alright, you can have it.” Sometimes trying another stall would yield a better deal in terms of price and quality. After all, the vegies were grown by the vendors themselves, and they could decide the terms of trade. To people like my father who had to watch his pennies, the choices offered by wet markets helped them to eke out another day.
In the fishmongers’ section, we had the licence to turn fish gills inside out to check for freshness. Buying a chook? Choose one from the many in a large bamboo basket, and after its life was snuffed out, it would be de-feathered and dressed in no time. In the meat section, father would studiously avoid a particular butcher who sought out only sick pigs for slaughter but not everybody knew about it. One hoary butcher was his favourite. He did not mind father buying just a sliver of pork. Even before he could decide what to buy, the butcher never failed to reach for his pack of 555 brand cigarettes (from Britain) to proffer him a stick, and to light it for him. Goodwill was the soft currency in wet markets. Wildlife? Only once did I sight a scrawny monitor lizard for sale, but besides its tail being tugged by the curious, there were no takers. All told, it is the palpable connectedness and charm that define wet markets yesterday and today in sharp contrast to the lonely and detached feeling of shopping in pervasive silence at clinical supermarkets.
Entertainment, too, was also part of the wet market experience for me and my brother. Should the distinctive music from a snake charmer’s punyi waft across from the periphery of the market, we were guaranteed of some mesmerizing moments. To promote his snake oil (fake antidote), the snake charmer had to duel with the cobra only to get deliberately bitten in a flash. Then, out came his snake oil to magically counter the venom. At other times, clashing cymbals held promise of an impressive kung-fu display all in the name of demonstrating the potency of the vendor’s herbal potions. All told, the village wet market brightened our lives considerably and illuminated our otherwise drab world without radio or television. How could we not love wet markets? My hunch is that our affinity with wet markets is not unique, but replicated today millions of times over in many Third World countries.
In the wake of COVID19, the overwhelming image of wet markets as unsanitary and a breeding ground for diseases to the exclusion of their virtues is unfortunate and undeserved. This over-reaction may have to be tempered. With their deep social and cultural roots, no international fiat will kill off such establishments in quick time. Only generational change, a changed rhythm of life, progress, and better education would ring the death knell for this institution. But considering the poor living standards and endemic poverty prevailing in many Third World countries, these markets are not about to fade away anytime soon.
The West may be impatient to rid the world of wet markets, but they have to do more to help themselves. Emasculating the World Health Organisation in any way will be counter-productive. US president Donald Trump’s impetuous decision to freeze its funding of WHO and, possibly permanently, is tantamount to his cutting off his nose to spite his face. Supra-national agencies must continue to enjoy unstinting support to alleviate Third World problems. Without economic growth, continued foreign aid, improved hygiene standards, and education, the longevity of wet markets will surely be prolonged. And the ever-looming threat of pandemics will continue to bedevil humanity.
Is this what the West really wants?