The unique nature about the influenza virus is its great

Margaret Chan, with the voice of one who has stood at the gates of pestilence, declared: “The unique nature about the influenza virus is its great potential for changes, for mutation.” In this truth lies both the terror and the mystery of life itself. For influenza, though a simple fragment of matter, carries within it a power that humbles empires and tests the endurance of humanity—the power of change. Where other forces are steady, this one is fluid; where others can be charted, this one is elusive. It is the eternal reminder that in the smallest of things lies the might to shake the great.

The origin of this saying comes from Chan’s leadership as Director-General of the World Health Organization, where she witnessed firsthand the devastation of outbreaks and the ceaseless battle of science against disease. She understood that influenza is unlike many other illnesses—it does not remain still, but shifts, adapts, and mutates, often faster than medicine can contain it. This is its unique nature: that humanity cannot grow complacent, for the very moment victory seems near, the enemy reshapes itself and rises anew.

History testifies to this truth with grim clarity. The Spanish Flu of 1918 swept across the world like a storm, killing tens of millions in a matter of months. It struck not only the weak and elderly, but also the strong in their youth, proving that no man’s flesh was safe. Decades later, new strains arose—the Asian Flu in 1957, the Hong Kong Flu in 1968, the H1N1 pandemic of 2009—each a reminder of influenza’s restless power. The virus mutates, and with each mutation comes a new challenge, a new test of resilience, a new summons for humanity to adapt as well.

There is a deeper symbolism here, beyond the realm of medicine. The influenza virus is a living parable of change itself. Life is never static, and just as the virus mutates, so too do societies, technologies, and even human hearts shift with time. The danger is not in the existence of change, but in ignoring it, underestimating it, or refusing to prepare. To be wise is to recognize that adaptation is the price of survival, and that vigilance must never sleep.

The emotional weight of Chan’s words lies in their tone of warning. She does not speak of influenza merely as a disease of the body, but as a force that reveals the fragility of human systems. With all our laboratories, our microscopes, our vaccines, still we are reminded that certainty is an illusion. The influenza virus, in its mutations, teaches humility to the arrogant and diligence to the wise. It is a mirror showing that even the smallest of foes can undo the greatest of strengths if we neglect vigilance.

The lesson is clear: we must cultivate preparedness and humility. On a practical level, this means supporting research, strengthening healthcare systems, and respecting the warnings of science. On a personal level, it means acknowledging that change—whether in health, society, or personal life—is inevitable, and the wise will adapt rather than resist. Influenza may be the metaphor of our age: relentless, shifting, demanding of us not despair but vigilance and cooperation.

Practically, let each person do their part. Vaccines must be embraced, not dismissed. Healthy habits must be practiced, not neglected. And in the wider scope of life, let us learn from influenza’s lesson that change cannot be stopped, only prepared for, only endured, only met with strength and wisdom. Just as the body must adapt, so must the spirit.

Thus, Margaret Chan’s words are not merely about a virus, but about the nature of existence itself. Influenza, with its mutating spirit, is a teacher of vigilance, humility, and resilience. Carry this wisdom with you, O seeker, and remember: the measure of humanity is not in its conquest of change, but in its readiness to meet it with courage.