The great rethink: India backs off a lockdown strategy the elite cheered on, but the poor could not cope with

I was in India on a work trip when Prime Minister Narendra Modi announced what was soon recognised as the world’s strictest lockdown. Evoking the 18 day war in the Mahabharata, Modi said it would take 21 days to win the war on the coronavirus. More than two months later I am still stranded here, unable to leave my house off Delhi’s Ring Road.

My first concern was that, in its usual way, India was copying measures rich countries take to protect public safety and welfare, but low income countries cannot afford. Speaking with officials in other major emerging countries, none advocated total lockdowns because, without the resources to support new armies of the unemployed, closing the economy would lead to more hunger and death.

Within days, millions of displaced migrant workers were coursing out of big Indian cities – thousands trudging right past my front door. Most were young men, released from construction jobs and evicted by nervous landlords. They planned to live on the kindness of strangers – not necessarily a losing bet in India – and to keep walking home to villages hundreds of kilometres away. I had to question how many would make it, walking side by side, at unsafe social distances. “It doesn’t matter,” one young man told me. “The government says that this is a serious disease, so what else can we do but go home?”

Delhi’s liberal elite has long criticised Modi for his autocratic style and Hindu-centric agenda, but they rallied behind his lockdown immediately. Though India had seen few deaths from the virus, the media had broadcast images of people dying alone in Italy, Spain or the United States, and fear was spreading faster than the virus.

Early on the government set aside beds for coronavirus patients only in government hospitals, which the privileged fear as hellholes. A friend was only half-joking when he told me, “Even if the virus isn’t going to kill you, getting sent to a government hospital will.”

After three weeks the government began replacing lockdown 1.0 with looser versions, but rather than relax many upper class Indians were learning to love life under lockdown. They posted odes to recipe sharing, Netflix, Zoom cocktail parties, the clear view of the sky and moon as the smog lifted over an idle nation. They gasped over images of leopards venturing into shuttered cities like Chandigarh, 250 kilometres from Delhi. Ah, nature!

When I looked out of my living room window, I saw dorms for the community staff, and had to wonder how sublime this life could be for them. Does social distancing have any meaning for labourers packed six to a 200 sq ft room? Does a lockdown make any sense in such crowded living conditions?

Meanwhile the crisis was liberating for Indian bureaucrats and the police, self-important in normal times, “essential” during this crisis. Videos posted on WhatsApp showed police beating people caught on the streets without a satisfactory excuse, or forcing them to perform squats while holding their ears – a punishment common in government schools. The commentary was often less horrified than humorous, including one mash-up that went viral with cricket style play-by-play.

By mid-April many rich countries had started to debate reopening their economies. Protests were breaking out against lockdowns in the United States. In India, there was little public debate, much less protest. The hardest hit, the poor and unemployed, seem to accept their misery as fate, likely unaware of evidence that the most stringent lockdowns are generating the most severe economic damage.

While the pandemic quickly became the leading cause of deaths in many countries, in India many more still die each week, mostly in rural areas, from diseases like tuberculosis or diarrhea. Still, the urban elite has the political influence and most continued to support a tough lockdown. “If the government lifts restrictions millions of illiterate Indians will pour into the streets and super-spread the disease,” says a friend.

Of estimates showing that each week the lockdown is pushing tens of millions of Indians below the poverty line, the elite’s standard answer is “The government should take care of them, just look how much the United States is spending on displaced workers.” Never mind that India has one-twentieth the average income of the United States, or that no bureaucracy, including those of much wealthier nations, is equipped to handle a sudden exodus of tens of millions of workers.

The irony now is that with India headed for what could be its worst post-Independence recession, economic pressure is forcing a retreat to lockdown lite, even as the virus case count surges.

Lockdown fatigue has set in. Confronted on the street by a police patrol after Delhi’s 7pm curfew last week, a friend pleaded that it was insufferable to go out earlier, with daytime temperatures around 45 degrees. “It is my job to make these announcements,” said the weary officer. “You can keep walking.”

The plight of the migrants, with many returning home and testing positive, is also too hard now for even the patriotic media to ignore. It was past midnight as I sat down to write. Outside, a sudden ruckus, angry shouting. It was the migrants, moving in small groups, one fending off an attack by thieves from the nearby slums. I hope they make it home safe, but loving life under lockdown? That kind of love is too expensive for them.