My girlfriend’s Bolivian ID number ends in the digits that will let her leave her mother’s La Paz apartment on Wednesdays, only. Everyone got a number and with it a weekday. No weekend excursions, no closing the bars. She learned of the broadened movement restrictions tonight via newscast and texted me three frowny faces. “I wanna go out,” she wrote. “I wanna see my friends. … I hate this virus.”

She had come late to the horror. She’s a backpacker and had been hopping Colombia beaches, in a scant patchwork of wifi, when the pandemic became real for most of the world. When the state started…