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*Exclusions apply.SHANGHAI — They
speak to him like they know
him, calling him brother, un-
cle, doctor, hero, comrade,
martyr, friend.
“Doctor Li, I had a dream
that I saw my grandfather
just now,” one person writes
on Dr. Li Wenliang’s Weibo
wall at 3:35 a.m. “It was like
when I was little, coming
home from school to find
him in the farm, offering me
pocket money. ... If you meet
my grandfather over there,
please tell him: I miss him.”
Almost two months have
passed since the death of the
whistleblower doctor who
was punished by police for
sending warning messages
in a chat group about the
new coronavirus. Yet the
comment section of his final
blog post — one sentence on
Feb. 1 announcing he’d
tested positive — lives on.
It’s become a communal
diary, a virtual wailing wall,
one corner of the censored
Chinese internet where hun-
dreds of thousands of visi-
tors meet each day from
their different worlds of
isolation.
At 2:43 a.m., a medical
worker writes: “I’m back
from Hubei ... tomorrow I’ll
be out of quarantine, and the
city hospital is having a wel-
come ceremony. But I feel no
joy at all.”
At 3:33 a.m., another
commenter writes: “Dr. Li,
don’t you know, the pres-
sures of life are so heavy. I’m
feeling like I can’t breathe.”
As day breaks, thou-
sands of commenters wish
the deceased doctor “good
morning,” telling him about
the rain, the snow, the sun
and the wind in Kunming, in
Wuxi, in Changsha, and
share pictures of white and
pink blossoms opening
against an azure sky.
It’s Qingming, the annual
season when soft rain draws
fresh life out of the earth,
and Chinese families honor
their ancestors. The official
holiday falls on Saturday
this year: Tomb-Sweeping
Festival, a day for the dead
that also celebrates life as
generations gather at the
graves of those they’ve
loved.
This year, in the time of a
deadly virus that sprung
from this land and spread to
the world, Saturday has
been declared a national day
of mourning. Flags will fly at
half-staff across the country,
public recreational activities
will be closed, and at 10 a.m.,
three minutes of silent
mourning will take place for
those who have died of
COVID-19 or died fighting
the disease, while air raid
sirens and car, train and ship
horns will sound.
On Thursday, Li Wen-
liang and 13 other front-line
workers who died in the fight
against COVID-19 in Hubei
province were declared offi-
cial martyrs. The distinction
for Li was a bit of revisionism
by a government whose local
authorities had repri-
manded him for what they
claimed was spreading ru-
mors about the dangers of
the virus.
“‘Martyr’ is the highest ti-
tle of honor the party and
state give to those who he-
roically give their lives for
the nation, the society, and
the people,” said a CCTV
broadcaster on the state-
run nightly news.
The deceased heroes had
fought “under the strong
leadership of the Central
Party Committee with Com-
rade Xi Jinping at its core,”
she said. Some of the visitors
to Li’s Weibo site said they
wept when they heard his
name on TV, moved that he
was recognized as a hero and
hopeful that this meant his
family — he is survived by his
parents and a wife who was
pregnant with a second
child when he died — will be
well taken care of.
Others scoffed. “What
martyr, what half-flag, whatsilent mourning, what pub-
lic memorial? If there isn’t
reflection and change,
everything is just a show,”
one user wrote on April 3.
One week before Qing-
ming, rain fell upon silent
rows of gray tombstones at a
cemetery on the outskirts of
Shanghai. Chinese charac-
ters were carved into them:
“Nostalgia,” “Remem-
brance” and “Mother’s love,
deep as an ocean.”
A dozen police in uni-
forms and yellow vests
guarded the cemetery en-
trance, blocking anyone
without a reservation from
entering.
“It’s a special time. Epi-
demic,” one said, waving a
taxi passenger away.
While China’s COVID-
outbreak has come largely
under control, with few
cases of local transmission
and many provinces trying
to get back to work, author-
ities warned weeks in ad-vance that Qingming
gatherings could spur a sec-
ond wave of infections.
Cemeteries have been or-
dered to restrict access
nationwide, many of them
shutting down altogether or
requiring online reserva-
tions for limited groups only.
City authorities have in-
stead pushed “cloud tomb
sweeping,” asking families to
watch online videos of the
graveyards and post virtual
messages while staying so-
cially distanced at home.
Some made early tomb-
sweeping visits anyway. On
Sunday, a family of six broth-
ers and sisters, their spouses
and children in tow, gath-
ered at the Shanghai ceme-
tery to honor their mother,
who died Jan. 27, the third
day of Chinese New Year.
Her name was etched on the
tombstone, next to their fa-
ther’s.
They lighted incense
sticks and laid out offeringsof flowers, fruit and qing-
tuan, a green glutinous rice
ball traditionally eaten dur-
ing Qingming. Then they
built a fire in a large bin, and
began burning their moth-
er’s clothes.
“This is an ancient Chi-
nese tradition, a way of offer-
ing,” said Dou, the oldest of
the siblings, who asked not
to use his full name for pri-
vacy. He pulled his fedora
down and blue surgical
mask up, blinking back
smoke from the fire.
This year, the family
gathering was smaller. Ev-
eryone had been at home for
most of the last 10 weeks,
watching and waiting as the
virus consumed Wuhan,
shut down China, then
ripped into the rest of the
world. Of course Qingming
felt different, Dou said.
“How does it feel this
year? It’s the same nation-
wide,” he said. “The people
are in silence.”
He knelt before his moth-
er’s grave and kowtow-ed,
pressing his forehead
toward the earth.
In Wuhan, where China’s
coronavirus outbreak be-
gan, all cemeteries are
closed. Local crematoriums
began to distribute the
ashes of the dead last week.
Thousands of urns were dis-
tributed to family members
who stood in line for hours,
spaced apart even as they
waited to take their loved
ones home.
Chinese government fig-
ures report that 2,563 people
have died of COVID-19 in
Wuhan, but many doubt
that number because it ex-
cludes many people who
died untested and uncount-
ed early in the outbreak,
when hospitals were over-
flowing and testing capacity
far below what was needed.
More than a million peo-
ple have now been infected
worldwide, and about 59,
have died.Li’s wall sometimes reads
like a tribute to the triviali-
ties of everyday life, those
moments taken for granted
before the coronavirus. “To-
day I ate pork and leek
dumplings. They were deli-
cious,” one user wrote. Pic-
tures of fried chicken, Li’s fa-
vorite food, abound.
Other posts speak the
questions some may strug-
gle to speak out loud.
“Dr. Li, after death, do
you get a god’s perspective
to see everything? Do you
know what I’m thinking?”
wrote a commenter on
March 28. “Or is death like a
candle going out? All that’s
left is the memories of those
who are still living?”
Many ask Li to greet
those they have lost.
“Dr. Li, can you see my
grandma there? I feel like
I’m forgetting her face,”
wrote another user on
March 28.
Still others track how life
goes on: a woman breaks up
with the boyfriend she’d
once planned to marry, and
suddenly misses her par-
ents. A salesperson rejoices
to fill the first order she’s had
in months. A high schooler
promises Dr. Li he’s going to
study medicine one day. A
man returns to Hubei.
On Friday, one person
tells Li it’s getting warm in
Shanghai. Delivery people
are entering apartment
complexes now, and things
seem to be getting back to
normal.
Then he quotes from a re-
cent speech by Chinese nov-
elist Yan Lianke: “If we can’t
be whistleblowers like Li
Wenliang, then let us be the
people who hear the whistle.
If we can’t speak loudly, let
us be whisperers. If we can-
not whisper, let us be silent
people who have memories.”
“Let us be the people with
graves in our hearts,” he
quotes, and promises Dr. Li
to remember.China honors its dead, and a new martyr
AMEMORIALin Wuhan honors Li Wenliang, whom authorities reprimanded for raising concerns about the virus. He died in February.Anadolu AgencyDr. Li Wenliang, who
died of coronavirus
after warning of its
danger, becomes a
focal point of grief.
By Alice Su
ALONE WOMANin Beijing crosses an empty shopping area in February. Sat-
urday has been declared a national day of mourning for victims of the coronavirus.Kevin FrayerGetty ImagesTHE WORLD