I quarantined in London. My friend quarantined in Sydney. Our experiences could not have been more different

On a pleasingly sunny morning last month I arrived bleary-eyed at the airport, off the flight from Chicago and ready to begin a two-week quarantine. At much the same time an Australian friend, her husband and two small children had arrived at Sydney Airport, also facing a fortnight of quarantine. We decided to pass the long hours comparing our experiences—which could not have been more different.

The day before flying I went online and completed a passenger locator form—where would I pass my period of isolation, how could I be reached and so on. I printed a copy off so that an official could scan its QR code when I reached the airport. Some 15 minutes before we boarded, the gate attendants informed passengers of the need to complete the form, and it was apparent that many people had no idea of the requirement. And that was the only mention of it we got. Even before landing, when the announcements about immigration and customs happened, there was no further advice.

Some 17,000 kilometres away in Sydney, meanwhile, Patricia and her family were met at the airport by a nurse who took their temperatures and asked about a long list of symptoms. When none of them displayed any worrying signs of infection, they were escorted by a soldier and a police officer to a family-sized suite in a downtown hotel where they would spend the next fortnight. Patricia had registered their impending arrival some six weeks before flying while in the UK, passengers may complete their form no more than 48 hours prior to arrival. She’d jumped on it early, knowing that the New South Wales state government planned to implement a per capita charge on arrivals to help pay for the mandatory quarantine in mid-July, but that if you registered before then, you could skirt these hefty new fees.

When I landed, other than a few posted signs on the interminable walk to immigration, entry to the UK proceeded as normal. These signs warned passengers not to go any further until they had completed the form, but their reappearance at various intervals suggested that officials already knew they had lost the battle for efficient paperwork. At the e-gates I waited less than five minutes, presented my passport and was through to the baggage hall: no temperature check, no scrutiny of the form I had filled in, no sign of any health officials at all. The arrivals hall was packed as usual, with very little social distancing and at best a spotty use of masks. I was free to reach my destination by any means I wished, and the driver who awaited me was unmasked. No soldiers, no police, no escort.

Knowing that I would not be permitted to shop for food, I had arranged a grocery delivery in advance. In NSW (and other states in Australia too), quarantining returnees received three meals a day. Patricia said the standard varied and there wasn’t enough fresh fruit or kid-friendly food, but no one was going to starve. The charge, when it was implemented, covered housing and food costs, although there was no ban on having foods delivered. You paid for the food regardless of whether you wanted it or not.

I waited for the phone to ring or a text to arrive to make sure I was complying. None came, not on day one, not on day two, not on any day. The Australians underwent Covid-19 testing on day two and again on day ten. A week into our isolation Patricia asked if I’d heard from anyone in public health. No I had not. The day before we all completed quarantine, the Sydney folks were tested a third time, and for this check a doctor, a nurse, a soldier and a police officer were present. A positive result would have prolonged their confinement, while a negative result guaranteed imminent freedom. Patricia proudly sent me photos of her wrist circled with a green hospital-style band and a letter confirming the completion of quarantine and the absence of any indication of infection. What’s more, the family had been contacted daily by a health team querying them about a range of symptoms, and had they experienced illness there was 24-hour medical assistance close by. The guards assigned to ensure they stayed put, also around the clock, could summon that team at any time. Here in England, the best you could hope for was advice from NHS 111 and a long wait on hold.

When I arrived the maximum fine for flouting the law here was £1,000, though it’s since been raised to £10,000, but the Chair of Britain’s National Police Chiefs’ Council acknowledged in late September that only a percentage of travellers to the UK were being checked. While it’s virtually impossible to break the NSW quarantine, given the bevy of officials escorting, guarding and monitoring you, infringements of Covid-19 rules that do occur can result in lengthy imprisonment and heavy fines.

Those posting in Facebook groups set up by quarantined Australians complain about the cost of compliance (in New South Wales, $3,000 for the first adult, $1,000 for the second, and $500 per child), about the food, about the heavy-handed approach and especially the use of the army. Early news reports certainly indicated discontent among those forced to quarantine and it would be surprising if there were no malcontents or if the state powers got it right all the time. The stringent limits on how many can enter the country on any given day has left many Australians stranded abroad on limited means.

Yet the haphazard and chaotic approach in England—often involving no follow-up, no contact, no checking, no aid, practically no information—is an awful lot worse, and the numbers speak loudly. New cases are minimal in the Australian state while in England, the rise has been relentless in the past few weeks and the government recently acknowledged that follow-up occurs for only about a third of quarantined arrivals. I’d much rather have endured the rigours of the Sydney protocols than to have been among the neglected two-thirds here on whom no checks were ever made. I can’t stop wondering how many of my fellow quarantiners were nipping out to the pub or the supermarket, or, more alarmingly, how they fared if they were unlucky enough to develop symptoms during their isolation. The Australian system may be invasive and the heavy financial burden it now imposes is unconscionable, but the UK’s palpable neglect and recklessness exacts a far heavier human toll. What price liberty? What price health?

 

Philippa Levine is Walter Prescott Webb Chair in History and Ideas at the University of Texas at Austin, and George Eastman Visiting Professor in the Faculty of History at Balliol College, Oxford