Read: Coronavirus: photos from Wuhan under quarantine

On the one hand, the crisis over the coronavirus, which originated some 550 miles north, in the Chinese city of Wuhan, appears almost perfectly scripted to further agitate and compound the grievances, from allegations of an inept government to meddling from Beijing, that have exploded in Hong Kong over the past eight months. On the other, methods of civil disobedience have sharpened over that period and the public’s acceptance of more radical protest tactics has grown. Organized labor, digital messaging channels with tens of thousands of users, and creatively designed posters—tools and tactics honed during the prodemocracy protests—are now being repurposed to push the government toward stronger action on public health. This latest instability also looks likely to foment broader anti-mainland sentiment, which has flared at times during the prodemocracy demonstrations, and perhaps even to unite the city’s polarized camps of anti-government protesters and supporters of the police and establishment against a common enemy: Hong Kong’s leader, Carrie Lam, and her administration.

The government, whose (unsuccessful) attempts to push through a bill that would have allowed extraditions to the mainland sparked the initial unrest, is widely unpopular and the source of continued anger. Polling from the Hong Kong Public Opinion Research Institute shows that just over 63 percent of survey respondents say they distrust the government. Lam has dismal public support and few remaining political allies, with even pro-establishment figures now routinely bashing her leadership. Though only eight cases of the coronavirus have been confirmed in Hong Kong, public-health experts say that number is almost certain to rise, and there is little faith that the administration can effectively respond to the problem as it develops. Furthering the misgivings is a deep mistrust of Beijing’s handling of the outbreak. Speculation is rife over how political considerations between Lam and Beijing may have swayed Hong Kong’s response, which until recently had been limited and criticized by medical experts in the city.

The lack of trust in Beijing when it comes to honestly and transparently reporting on an internal crisis is not unfounded and is a particularly sensitive issue here. In 2003, SARS spread through Hong Kong’s densely stacked apartments and hospitals. More than 1,700 people were infected and nearly 300 died. People avoided dining out and attending group gatherings. Tourists stayed away from the city, causing an economic downturn and a spike in unemployment. The economy eventually rebounded, but the collective trauma from SARS lingers. “Every day, we saw news about how many people were infected, how many suspected cases, and how many people died. It was a very sad feeling … It was tragic,” Alex Lam Chi-yau, the head of a SARS survivors’ support group, told me. Few have forgotten, or forgiven, the initial attempts by Chinese officials to cover up the severity of the outbreak. These fears have been reinvigorated this week, following an admission by Wuhan’s mayor that he was prevented from disclosing more information about the virus by higher-ranking officials and a growing body of reporting detailing a response hampered by Chinese politics and bureaucracy.