Super-spreads exist, but do super-spreaders?

What does the term ‘super-spreader’ mean? According to an article in the MIT Tech Review on June 15, “The word is a generic term for an unusually contagious individual who’s been infected with disease. In the context of the coronavirus, scientists haven’t narrowed down how many infections someone needs to cause to qualify as a superspreader, but generally speaking it far exceeds the two to three individuals researchers initially estimated the average infected patient could infect.”

The label of ‘super-spreader’ seems to foist the responsibility of not infecting others on an individual, whereas a ‘super-spreader’ can arise only by dint of an individual and her environment together. Consider the recent example of two hair-stylists in Springfield, Missouri, who both had COVID-19 (but didn’t know it) even as they attended to 139 clients over more than a week. Later, researchers found that none of the 139 had contracted COVID-19 because they all wore masks, washed hands, etc.

Hair-styling is obviously a high-contact profession but just this fact doesn’t suffice to render a hair-stylist a ‘super-spreader’. In this happy-making example, the two hair-stylists didn’t become super-spreaders because a) they maintained personal hygiene and wore masks, and b) so did the people in their immediate environment.

While I couldn’t find a fixed definition of the term ‘super-spreader’ on the WHO website, a quick search revealed a description from 2003, when the SARS epidemic was underway. Here, the organisation acknowledges that ‘super-spreading’ in itself is “not a recognised medical condition” (although the definition may have been updated since, but I doubt it), and that it arises as a result of safety protocols breaking down.

“… [in] the early days of the outbreak …, when SARS was just becoming known as a severe new disease, many patients were thought to be suffering from atypical pneumonia having another cause, and were therefore not treated as cases requiring special precautions of isolation and infection control. As a result, stringent infection control measures were not in place. In the absence of protective measures, many health care workers, relatives, and hospital visitors were exposed to the SARS virus and subsequently developed SARS. Since infection control measures have been put in place, the number of new cases of SARS arising from a single SARS source case has been significantly reduced. When investigating current chains of continuing transmission, it is important to look for points in the history of case detection and patient management when procedures for infection control may have broken down.”

This view reaffirms the importance of addressing ‘super-spreads’ not as a consequence of individual action or offence but as the product of a set of circumstances that facilitate the rapid transmission of an infectious disease.

In another example, on July 21, the Indian Express reported that the city of Ahmedabad had tested 17,000 ‘super-spreaders’, of which 122 tested positive. The article was also headlined ‘Phase 2 of surveillance: 122 super-spreaders test positive in Ahmedabad’.

According to the article’s author, those tested included “staff of hair cutting-salons as well as vendors of vegetables, fruits, grocery, milk and medicines”. The people employed in all these professions in India are typically middle-class (economically) at best, and as such enjoy far fewer social, educational and healthcare protections than the economic upper class, and live in markedly more crowded areas with uneven access to transportation and clean water.

Given these hard-to-escape circumstances, identifying the people who were tested as ‘super-spreaders’ seems not only unjust but also an attempt by the press in this case as well as city officials to force them to take responsibility for their city’s epidemic status and preparedness – which is just ridiculous because it criminalises their profession (assuming, reasonably I’d think, that wilfully endangering the health of others around you during a pandemic is a crime).

The Indian Express also reported that the city was testing people and then issuing them health cards – which presumably note that the card-holder has been tested together with the test result. Although I’m inclined to believe the wrong use of the term ‘super-spreader’ here originated not with the newspaper reporter but with the city administration, it’s also frustratingly ridiculous that the people were designated ‘super-spreaders’ at the time of testing, before the results were known – i.e. super-spreader until proven innocent? Or is this a case of officials and journalists unknowingly using two non-interchangeable terms interchangeably?

Or did this dangerous mix-up arise because most places and governments in India don’t have reason to believe ‘high-contact’ is different from ‘super-spreader’?

But be personal and interpersonal hygiene as they may, officials’ use of one term instead of the other also allows them to continue to believe there needn’t or shouldn’t be a difference either. And that’s a big problem because even as the economically middle- and lower-classes may not be able to access better living conditions and amenities, thinking there’s no difference between ‘high-contact’ and ‘super-spreader’ allows those in charge to excuse themselves from their responsibilities to effect that difference.

The life and death of ‘Chemical Nova’

You know how people pretend to win an Oscar or a Nobel Prize, right? Many years ago, I used to pretend to be the author of a fictitious but, blissfully unmindful of its fictitiousness, award-winning series of articles entitled Chemical Nova. In this series, I would pretend that each article discussed a particular point of intersection between science and culture.

The earliest idea I had along these lines concerned soap. I would daydream about how I was celebrated for kickstarting a social movement that prized access to soap and ability to wash one’s hands under running water, and with this simple activity beat back the strange practice among many of refusing to wash one’s toilet oneself, instead delegating the apparently execrable task to a housemaid.

The fantastic value of Chemical Nova should be obvious: it represented, at least to me, the triumph of logic and reasoning above class-commitments and superstition. The fantasy took shape out of my longstanding ambition to beat down a stubborn Creature, for many years shapeless, that often caused a good review, essay or news report to inspire only cynicism, derision and eventually dismissal on the part of many readers. It was quickly apparent that the Creature couldn’t be subdued with deductive reasoning alone, but for which one had to take recourse through politics and individual aspirations as well, no matter how disconnected from the pretentious ‘quest for truth’ these matters were.

Chemical Nova dissipated for a few years as I set about becoming a professional journalist – until I had occasion to remember it after Narendra Modi’s election as prime minister in 2014. And quickly enough, it seemed laughable to me that I had assumed upper-caste people wouldn’t know how soap worked, or at least of its cleansing properties. An upper-caste individual invested in the continuation of manual scavenging would simply feel less guilty with a bar of soap placed in his dirty bathroom: for scavengers to wash their hands and not be at risk of contracting any diseases.

The belief that ‘the job is theirs to perform’ could then persist unfettered, rooted as it was in some sort of imagined befoulment of the soul – something one couldn’t cleanse, out of reach of every chemical reagent, or even affect in any way except through a lifetime of suffering.

It was a disappointing thought, but in my mind, there was still some hope for Chemical Nova. Its path was no longer straightforward at all insofar as it had to first make the case that the mind, the body and the community are all that matter, that that’s how one’s soul really takes shape, but its message – “ultimately, wash your hands” – still was an easy one to get across. I was tempted and I continued to wait.

However, earlier today, the Creature bared itself fully, exposing not itself as much as the futility of ideas like Chemical Nova. An advertisement appeared in a newspaper displaying a pair of hands kneading some dough, with the following caption: “Are you allowing your maid to knead atta dough by hand? Her hands may be infected.” The asset encouraged readers of the newspaper to buy Kent’s “atta maker & bread maker” instead, accompanied by a photograph of Hema Malini smiling in approval.

Malini has been the brand ambassador for Kent since 2007 and the incumbent Lok Sabha MP from Mathura since 2014. I’m not sure of the extent to which she knew of the advertisement’s contents before her face (and her daughter’s) appeared on it. Her affiliation since 2004 with the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP), known for its favouritism towards upper-caste Hindus (to put it mildly), doesn’t inspire confidence but at the same time, it’s quite possible that Malini’s contract with Kent allows the company to include her face in promotional materials for a predefined set of products without requiring prior approval in each instance.

But even if Malini had never been associated with the product or the brand, Chemical Nova would have taken a hit because I had never imagined that the Creature could one day be everywhere at once. The chairman of Kent has since apologised for the advertisement, calling it “unintentional” and “wrongly communicated”. But it seems to me that Kent and the ad agency it hired continue to err because they don’t see the real problem: that they wrote those words down and didn’t immediately cringe, that those words were okayed by many pairs of eyes before they were printed.

The triumph of reason and the immutability of chemical reagents are pointless. The normalisation of exclusion, of creating an ‘other’ who embodies everything the in-group finds undesirable, is not new – but it has for the most part been driven by a top-down impulse that often originates in the offices of Narendra Modi, Amit Shah or some senior BJP minister, and often to distract from some governmental failure. But in the coronavirus pandemic, the act of ‘othering’ seems to have reached community transmission just as fast as the virus may have, finding widespread expression without any ostensible prompt.

And while Kent has been caught out evidently because it was the ‘loudest’, I wonder how many others don’t immediately see that what they are writing, saying, hearing or reading is wrong, and let it pass. As Arundhati Roy wrote earlier this week, the attainment of ‘touchlessness’ seems to be the new normal: in the form of a social condition in which physical distance becomes an excuse to revive and re-normalise untouchabilities that have become taboo – in much the same way soap became subsumed by the enterprise it should have toppled.

Examples already abound, with ministers and corporate uncles alike touting the prescient wisdom of our Hindu ancestors to greet others with a namaste instead of shaking hands; to maintain aachaaram, a collection of gendered practices many of which require the (Brahmin) practitioner to cleanse themselves of ‘spiritual dirt’ through habits and rituals easily incorporated into daily life; and now, to use machines that promise to render, in Roy’s words, “the very bodies of one class … as a biohazard to another”.

It started with a bang, but Chemical Nova slips quietly into the drain, and out of sight, for it is no match for its foe – the Creature called wilful ignorance.

Featured image: A snapshot of William Blake’s ‘The Great Red Dragon and the Woman Clothed with the Sun’, c. 1805-1810.