An interesting article from the 1847 flu pandemic on the "it's just seasonal flu" attitude:
THE INFLUENZA. - It is surprising to what an extent the apprehensions of society are modified by mere accessory circumstances in the afflictions that fall upon them.—It depends upon the familiarity or the novelty, on the mild symptoms or aggravated personal suffering by which an epidemic may be characterised, whether its progress will be regarded with utter indifference, or give rise to a general panic.
The return which we published on Wednesday of last week's mortality in the metropolis is of the most alarming nature. The average number of deaths in the corresponding week of five preceding autumns was 1,046. Last week they amounted to 2,454 being an increase of near 150 per cent. beyond the calculated average, and of nearly 50 per cent above the return of the precious week, which was itself unusually high. And yet the feeling of the public might be described as rather one of general discomfort—more particularly of annoyance at the interruptions caused to business by the temporary absence of its conductors or subordinates—than of any profound solicitude as to the havoc which death is making in our population, and especially among those whose weaker sex and tender age must make their loss most bitterly felt by those whose homes they adorned, and whose dearest hopes and affections were centered in them.
Now, it is certainly much the best that there should be no panic about the spread of disease in the metropolitan districts, which having been making slow but gradual advances for more than a year, is now increasing at a rate which we take to be utterly unexampled; which at all events is quite unparalleled by anything in the experience of the present generation. Panics, whether monetary or sanitary, or of what kind soever, are detestable things, productive of no good in any way, and certain to compromise the safety and aggravate the sufferings of those whose fears have taken that sudden unreasoning form. And yet the insouciance with which this great city looks on at so unexampled a destruction of human life is worthy nothing, if it were merely a psychological phenomenon. If twenty deaths occurred daily from cholera, or five from plague, our entire population would be thrown into alarm, and most of those whose means and vocations permitted them would hasten to abandon what they would look upon as a doomed city. But an Increase of two hundred deaths per diem produced by other causes occasions no perceptible alarm.
A cold or a cough is such a harmless thing, even though it kills its thousands a week. Influenza is privileged: it may slay its myriads with impunity, and nobody will be frightened at it. Its invisible air gun makes no report; and it is by the rattle of death's artillery, and not by the force and frequency of its aim, that men are wont to estimate the dangers to which they are exposed. Cholera, on the other hand, is a comparative stranger, and we grudge him every victim he takes from us. His advent is watched from afar; and bulletins of his progress, while he is still on the eastern confines of Europe, are copied into all the newspapers, and perused with fear and trembling by all the old women in the kingdom, and by many who are neither old nor women. So great are the inconsistencies of man.
One justification, however, he has, which is, that cholera attacking a very small proportion of the population, kills more of those whom it attacks than any known disease. Influenza attacks, say 250,000 persons, and kills 10,000 of them. The city looks on with apathy. Cholera, in the one visit we have had from it, attacked about 12,000, and killed about 6,000. Men do not count their slain on the battle-field of death. Their terror is a selfish terror. It is by the pangs of individual suffering, and not by the sum total of the carnage, that they estimate the might of the slayer.