In a development that has sent epidemiologists into a state of mild concern and tabloid editors into full-blown frothing ecstasy, Australia has confirmed its first case of H5N1 bird flu. The virus, having tired of the culinary scene in Antarctica, has now officially visited every continent, like a particularly grim globetrotter on a Gap Yah. The UK border, never one to miss a chance for performative hysteria, is on ‘high alert’, which in Border Force parlance means they will now glare at passengers from other countries with even more passive-aggressive suspicion than usual.
Let us be clear: this is not a pandemic. This is avian influenza, a virus deeply committed to birds. It is about as interested in human-to-human transmission as a polar bear is in tap dancing. But facts have never been allowed to get in the way of a good panic, and so we must brace ourselves for the usual pantomime: face masks on pigeons, social distancing for chickens, and a government press conference where a man in a suit will say ‘robust’ and ‘world-leading’ more times than a chatbot trained on Tory conference speeches.
The Australian case, according to the official readout, involves a child who returned from India and is now recovering. India, a country of 1.4 billion people and approximately seven trillion chickens, has presumably been dealing with bird flu since before the concept of ‘flu’ was invented. But because a single case has now graced the shores of Oz, we must suddenly treat every sparrow as a potential biological weapon. The RSPB has yet to comment, but I imagine they’re busy drafting a strongly worded letter about the defamation of the avian species.
Over here, the UK border is ‘on alert’. This means that anyone arriving from a country with a bird will be subjected to extra questioning, possibly including ‘Have you had any contact with a bird?’ followed by the Home Office’s favourite follow-up: ‘And can you prove that?’ It remains to be seen whether pet parakeets will now require a visa or if seagulls will be stopped at the White Cliffs of Dover and asked for their papers. The government has promised ‘enhanced surveillance’, which is code for ‘some poor civil servant in a shed watching CCTV footage of ducks.’
Meanwhile, the real story is that H5N1 has been circulating in wild birds for years. It has reached every continent because birds, unlike Boris Johnson, can actually travel without needing a private jet. The virus is a problem for poultry farms and the occasional unlucky mammal, but for the average human it is about as dangerous as a Conservative party promise. The WHO has not declared a global emergency, because there isn’t one. But try telling that to the 24-hour news cycle, which requires a pandemic of the week to keep the lights on.
So we shall have our panic. We shall watch earnest journalists stand outside hospitals talking about ‘strain’ and ‘mutation’. We shall endure public health campaigns urging us to ‘avoid touching sick birds’, as if there is a widespread demographic of people who currently make a habit of cuddling diseased pigeons. And we shall watch as the government announces a ‘new strategy’ that involves stockpiling even more things inside warehouses, just in case.
But let us not forget the real lesson here: the world is absurd, the news cycle is a hungry beast, and the H5N1 virus, in its relentless pursuit of global domination, has finally found a way to make Australia relevant again. I’m off to disinfect my allotment and have a gin. The apocalypse can wait until after the credits.