At 2:30 pm, on Friday, January 29, 2021, I became a COVD-19 statistic.

That day, my name was entered into two databases: New York State’s and the CDC’s national registry. The CDC tracks  individuals who have received one of the 29 million doses of COVID-19 vaccine administered across the U.S. since December 14, 2020. I count myself unbelievably lucky and grateful.

First of all, let me be frank. I’m acutely aware that I’m lucky on a host of fronts. First, I live in New York State – a state that’s been at the forefront of the urgent effort to coherently respond to the chaos of the Trump administration’s botched response to this once-in-a-lifetime national emergency. True to form, on January 12, 2021, New York’s Governor Andrew Cuomo, responding almost immediately to updated directives for vaccination eligibility prescribed by President Biden’s newly organized CDC, opened up the state’s vaccination distribution to New Yorkers aged 65 and over.

Being a New Yorker is just the beginning of my luck. I also count myself lucky because, unlike the majority of Americans in my demographic group of 65 and over, I was contacted by a tech-savvy friend who offered to help my spouse and myself lock in appointments on New York State’s COVID-19 online vaccination sign-up site. That friend, motivated by a well-founded sense of urgency and a desire to help not only my spouse and myself but also our community at large, was invaluable in our securing appointments. After some false starts, when tips about potential vaccination availability at two independent pharmacies didn’t pan out, our friend’s determination and around-the-clock monitoring of the state’s website enabled us to capture two of the 250,000 doses per week that New York State currently receives as its allotment from the federal government.

Forgive me if I repeat the word lucky yet again. But there’s no other way to describe the experience of moving swiftly from non-vaccinated to vaccinated status. I was lucky, too, to be vaccinated at one of the thirteen official New York State-operated vaccination sites. The site I visited is located at SUNY Albany, just a thirty-minute drive from my home. Contrary to the myth of government ineptitude versus private-sector competence, the state-run facility was extremely well organized, efficient, and surprisingly pleasant. But beyond the obvious organizational wizardry at the site, what I found most impressive were the staff – many of whom were state employees or private citizens who had generously volunteered their time and skills to help accomplish the complex and necessary task of vaccinating as many New Yorkers as possible. They, along with the medical personnel, exuded a palpable sense of common purpose and a quiet awareness of their participation in an historic moment.

A Quick and Efficient Process

Located in the university’s parking lot, the site looked less like an emergency-response facility and more like a touring tent show for Cirque du Soleil. Unlike in other states, there were no  lines snaking around the parking lot. Upon entering the first tent, future vaccinees were greeted by uniformed members of New York’s National Guard whose job was to confirm our appointments. Our temperatures were then monitored, after which we were ushered into the first of several interconnected, heated tents. A greeter directed each of us to the first of the four stations we would be required to visit.

At the first station, we were given a medical-history questionnaire. Yet another greeter’s job was to offer assistance answering questions and walk us over to a table where we filled out the three-page document. Upon completing the document, we were accompanied to the second station where a staff member asked each of us to confirm that we had not been exposed to anyone diagnosed with Covid-19 nor had we traveled outside of New York State. Finally, we were asked to sanitize our hands before being shown into the tent where we would receive our vaccinations.

The third station was located in the vaccination tent, which contained a multitude of cubicles curtained off for privacy. Inside sat three individuals: two whose job was to review the paperwork and solicit confirmation that the information visible on a computer screen was accurate. The third staff member was a friendly, chatty nurse who was there to administer the vaccine. A second supervising nurse was on call to confirm that vaccination was appropriate in circumstances where there might be any pre-existing medical conditions. Within five minutes, my Pfizer-BioNTech Covid-19 vaccine was quickly and painlessly administered, and a follow-up appointment twenty-one days later for the second vaccine confirmed.

Before leaving the cubicle, each vaccinee was given a time slip that indicated when they might leave the facility following a thirty-minute observation period. The fourth and final station was the observation area where not more than thirty, socially distanced individuals, including myself, sat, while waiting out our time. A nurse walked back and forth down the aisles, smiling and asking each of us how we were feeling. From start to finish, the process took just forty-five minutes.

Two Days Later

As I write this, it’s two days since I received my COVID vaccination. Once again, I have to acknowledge that I’ve been extremely lucky. Unlike some individuals, I have experienced no adverse reactions beyond a tolerable soreness on my upper arm at the point of vaccination,  which, as of now, has completely subsided.

The post My COVID-19 Vaccination: How it worked in New York State appeared first on Occasional Planet.

January 20^th is just nine days from the writing of this post. That day and the inauguration of President Joe Biden and Vice-President Kamala Harris cannot come soon enough. A Democratically controlled Senate cannot come soon enough.

For now, however, take a deep breath. Try to stay calm and hope that the days between now and the inauguration won’t spew forth anything more shocking than what we’ve already experienced in the past four years. The list of shocks and insults to the American soul is long and shameful: The daily onslaught of self-serving lies that has cost America its reputation and Americans their lives and livelihoods. The lawlessness. The denials, institutional chaos, and irresponsibility in the face of a deadly pandemic. And, of course, the violent, tragically predictable result of the accumulation of all of those lies and deceptions on the never-to-be-forgotten storming on January 6 of the Capitol Building and the devastating loss of life on that day.

But the day before inauguration day, a less publicized, but equally important event, will take place. The January 19^th event is intended to begin a process to right the wrongs of the Trump administration’s depraved abdication of its solemn duty to recognize and remember those Americans who died of COVID-19 on their watch and to acknowledge the grief of their loved ones.

On January 19^th, at 5:30pm (ET), the Presidential Inaugural Committee will host a memorial for the 373,000 Americans who have lost their lives in the pandemic. In recognition of the need not just for a national memorial but also for individuals, families, and neighbors to remember together the lives lost closer to home in their own communities, the Inaugural Committee is inviting cities and towns and neighborhoods across the country to light up buildings and ring bells in “a moment of unity and remembrance.”

Here is how Presidential Inaugural Committee Communications Director Pili Tobar describes the event: “. . . in the midst of a pandemic – when so many Americans are grieving the loss of family, friends, and neighbors – it is important that we honor those who have died, reflect on what has been one of the more challenging periods in the nation’s history, and renew our commitment to coming together to end the pandemic and rebuild our nation.”

Presidential Inaugural Committee Announces Memorial and Nationwide Tribute to Remember and Honor the Lives Lost to COVID-19

01/05/2021

Today, the Presidential Inaugural Committee (PIC) announced that it will host a memorial to remember and honor the lives lost to COVID-19 in cities and towns across the country on January 19, 2021, at 5:30 p.m. ET. A Washington, D.C. ceremony will feature a lighting around the Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool. It will be the first-ever lighting around the Reflecting Pool to memorialize American lives lost.

PIC is inviting cities and towns around the country to join Washington, D.C. in illuminating buildings and ringing church bells at 5:30 p.m. ET in a national moment of unity and remembrance.

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Celebrating in these difficult times is hard. We’re still in the middle of an unprecedented pandemic. Thankfully, vaccines are being approved and the beginning of the end of the devastation of Covid may be in sight. Coincidentally, we are also just now being delivered from the most backward-leaning presidency in our history. Celebrating our emergence from a dark place is not only essential but necessary.

How do we do that? How about with a joyful hand-clapping gospel song from South Africa? As somebody on YouTube wrote, “The only good thing to remember in 2020 is this song.”

Jerusalema is a phenomenon: More than 266 million people have viewed the video. This exuberant song, sung in Zulu, is the brainchild of South African DJ and record producer Kgaogelo Moagi, better known as Master KG. The vocalist who powers the song is Nomcebo. When the song was released in late 2019, it was an immediate success in South Africa.

However, it was a video uploaded to YouTube by Fenómenos do Semba, an Angolan dance troupe, in February 2020 that gave impetus to the worldwide embrace of Jerusalema, the dance. That video pushed Jerusalema to unprecedented international success. The Angolan dance video set in motion something called the #jerusalemachallenge on YouTube, followed by the #JerusalemaDanceChallenge on TikTok. Groups of people from all over the world began to upload videos emulating the Fenómenos do Semba dance moves. This music has brought people together in celebration during a pandemic. No easy feat.

Since the beginning of the pandemic, this irrepressible track has captivated audiences all over. Jerusalema has been the number one song in Belgium, France, Spain, the Netherlands, Romania and Switzerland. Frontline workers especially seem to relate to the song’s exuberance. For many, it’s been a moment of reprieve from the virus.

The song has roots in a much older gospel hymn, “Jerusalem Ikhaya Lami (Jerusalem My Home.)” The original hymn celebrates a longing for a New Jerusalem, a hope for a better place where suffering will end. Jerusalema echoes those same desires. Here are the words and the English translation:

Of course, it’s not the words that have captivated millions around the world. (How many of us understand Zulu?) it’s the animated and infectious rhythm of Master KG’s genius and Nomcebo’s voice that make us feel that we should just get up and dance.

The post Jerusalema: Viral South African song/dance brings celebration to hard times appeared first on Occasional Planet.

I am not perfect, and I’ve never been particularly great at taking direction. As a child I always received low grades in art, of all subjects, because I couldn’t focus long enough to master technique, the way to hold a brush or how to appropriately mold, etc. During my first attempt at a driver’s license I failed because I argued with the instructor about proper reversing technique (he was right, mirrors aren’t enough you–have to look behind you). However, I’ve consistently always tried my best with the understanding that I wouldn’t always get it right, and that’s okay because almost nothing is a matter of life and death. Almost nothing.

I’ve taken the Coronavirus pandemic very seriously. Back in February, I bought dry goods and non-perishables in the event my roommates and I needed to quarantine. I stopped traveling home to St. Louis, instead spending my time in sparsely populated Northeast Missouri. I wore my mask everywhere and I maintained social distance. I even avoided gas pumps and doorknobs if there were no gloves nearby. I was meticulous, but I was not perfect.

My neighbors and I would spend time together, a beer shared here or frisbee tossed across the yard. I’d see my girlfriend, not nearly enough for either of our liking, but with some regularity, even though she is an essential worker at a local grocery chain. That saying, “Old habits die hard” rang especially true for me, as I never got the hang of the elbow bump and never stopped shaking hands. This isn’t to say I’m a Covid-19 truther; I should say I feel very far from it, but rather I happen to be an imperfect person struggling to balance my need for human connection and a real desire not to get sick.

When I was eventually exposed however, it wasn’t because of any of my previous shortcomings. A friend of a friend of my girlfriend got sick. She had been traveling to Texas and around town to bars and was seemingly unconcerned about the virus until it arrived at her doorstep. For days she didn’t know if she was sick, maybe a cold, or allergies, or hangover, or something else. However, instead of taking precautions as a preventative measure, just in case, she lived undisturbed. She went out, she invited people over. One of those people she invited over was a friend of my girlfriend, who happened to also be her roommate. The week after this contact, my girlfriend’s friend asked to share electronic cigarettes and drinks, and made home visits, and went out to bars.

She visited me about five days after her Covid-19 exposure to apologize for a rude comment that left her uninvited to my intimate birthday dinner. It was awkward, I didn’t look at her much, because I don’t like her much, I kept my distance but we shared a room, shared air, and yes shared a hug at the conclusion of her apology. She isn’t a malicious person, just raised in a part of St. Louis that never required her to face diversity or truly be accountable for her actions. She was oblivious, annoying, and prejudiced but not mean. As I walked her out of the door, I felt relieved, I’d finally gotten her to stop pestering me and I could reliably say that I wouldn’t have to think about her all summer. I was wrong.

Later that afternoon the friend of a friend revealed on snapchat “I’m COVID positive! lol get tested!” I’d later learn that the friend of a friend was very sick, pneumonia sick and not necessarily improving. My roommates and I were unconcerned because we hadn’t seen her, but then another snapchat appeared from my girlfriend’s friend/roommate with a more somber tone. “I’ve recently learned I’ve been exposed to Covid-19, if you’ve had close contact with me then you should get tested.” Neither sent this message to the individuals they had contact with, it was left public on a platform where content disappears in 24 hours. I’m still struck by how irresponsible this mode of communication was. Suppose I hadn’t been on my phone. Or suppose I had chosen not to consume the content of people I don’t really care for. I might not have ever known that I’d been exposed. It was the kind of anti-confrontational thing that generation Z is known for.

My roommates and my neighbors and my girlfriend (who usually lives at home, but visited Kirksville during her friend’s exposure) decided that the best course of action was to wait to see if my girlfriend’s friend tested positive, because if she did, then we were truly exposed; however, if she did not we were not. There is something about the anticipation of either way, whether it is good news or bad news that always has unsettled me. I acknowledge one of my faults as a human being is my need to be in control, and a deep discomfort with uncertainty. This was like something out of a nightmare, the waiting and pacing and the virtual radio silence from my girlfriend’s friend during the process. However, the results eventually came, positive. We all needed to be tested because we’d all been exposed.

One of my roommates had already been living on unemployment. Her job had refused to schedule her since March, and things were hard before the Covid-19 relief stimulus was passed (and have been hard since because it has lapsed). My other roommate has been a delivery driver for a pizza chain, but he was forcibly unemployed because of our mandated quarantine, leaving me as the primary breadwinner in the house. We felt a lot of emotions the first day, how would we afford to live and how long would we need to be inside were the first things that came to mind. What came next was panic. One of my roommates had their grandmother visit the day after our exposure, her asthmatic grandmother. Then what came was a deep awareness of our own mortality which I suppose we had not considered. The fatalities for people in our age range is not especially high, but it rises for people with pre-existing health problems and myself and another roommate lack health insurance and haven’t been to the doctor in years, so we simply didn’t know if those problems exist within us. We talked about life and death and what comes after, what happens during and what would happen if worse came to worse. We had a very frank discussion about property and next of kin and so on. Then came a realization that we had to be tested, we didn’t know for sure and so we needed to know. Here’s what that process was like.

First, I called our local urgent care. We decided, to save money, that only one of us should get tested because if one of us was positive then surely the rest of us were. I figured I could volunteer. The urgent care worker informed me that I needed a virtual consultation before I could be tested, which entailed a doctor calling me on the phone and asking me the same questions the urgent care worker asked, but the difference was I had to wait several hours for that next conversation.

Next, I called our local health department to inform them of the places that I had been, but more importantly the places that my Covid-19 positive associate had been. That conversation did not inspire confidence, as the health department told me that the businesses that had been frequented were under no obligation to inform workers nor patrons that a Covid-19 positive person was a frequent guest. This obviously begs the question: how many businesses know that they could be spreading Covid-19 but simply refuse to shut down or even inform employees to get tested? The health department also let me know I’d have to take part in a contact tracing effort should my results come back positive, which I was somewhat familiar with as I was helping my girlfriend’s Covid-19 positive friend contact trace.

The day following my virtual appointment, early in the morning I drove with my neighbors (who needed to be tested in order to return to work) to the Covid-19 testing site. We took our place in a long line of vehicles and watched as women in painter suits, with face shields, and latex gloves that extended off the elbow approached vehicles, swabbed and then returned to the building. Finally, it was our turn, and we were given paperwork informing us what to do no matter our results, and the test was administered. I wish I could say it didn’t hurt. I wish I could say it was no big deal and everyone should try it. That wasn’t true though, it hurt like hell; it burned when they twisted the apparatus and my nostril felt hollow and violated the entire day after. However once it was done it was done and we were told to expect results in no less than three days, a marvel when you think about the extended time frames for others (a friend in Indiana waited 11 days. He tested negative).

My girlfriend also had to test, and she tried to keep a happy face providing me with self-selected positive information that unfairly skewed the severity of our situation because she too has an issue with control. She lost some of her optimism during her test. She went to be tested in Palmyra near her home, and the doctor took her temperature. It was over 101°F. She called me immediately after and we figured we knew. A fever is never a good sign, and she’d been congested. If her results came back positive, then mine surely were and so were my neighbors and roommates. So, I did what anyone would do, I called my mother and then I called my boss. Both offered their own sage advice to take every day as it comes and express their distraught at my situation, but it was somewhat cold comfort.

I’ve had my experience with panic attacks, they were not just rare but exceedingly rare. Perhaps I’d only had two in my entire life up until that point. In the two days waiting for my test results, I expect that I had if not one every hour, then one every other hour. I could not eat. I became malnourished and lethargic. I could not sleep. I lay awake in bed staring into the darkness thinking of the unknown, wondering if this ache or that pain was attributable to stress or to disease. I could not focus, because every moment, however fleeting, my mind was able to escape from the constant terror that was lurking, I would suddenly race back to it and be drenched in sweat. This was no way to live, and in the unlikely event that I died, I did not want to die without dignity. So, we resolved ourselves to drink, and keep drinking because eventually we find ourselves drinking in celebration or in despair, but in the meantime we can drink for relief, so we did.

We painted, we drank, we cooked, we drank, we watched classic film, we drank, we worked together for my internship, and in the interim we drank. The drinking was an escape but not really, I still thought about the same thing. What would happen to my mother if I wasn’t there to take care of her in her old age? Will I be able to go to school if I’m Covid-19 positive, and if not, where does that leave me? Am I ever going to leave this house again? It was easily one of the most trying times of my life.

After two days of exposure, my girlfriend received her test results back. Negative, the fever was unrelated, and she would be fine. Her exposure was further removed than mine, but I was relieved to know that at least she was okay. I learned that our local testing center doesn’t give results until the end of the day, so we waited in anticipation. Most times silently sitting, staring at the floor more at a blank screen, numbed by this awful experience. We truly didn’t know what to expect, and so all we could do was wait.

Around 5:30 that evening my phone rang, it was the testing center. They asked my name, they asked for my birthday, and they told me that my results were ready. The caller paused for what seemed like an eternity, the words taking their time to leave her mouth. Until finally, “Mr. Ellis, negative.” Those words echoed in my head and I was overwhelmed with emotion, I began to cry (well more like weep) and I hung up the phone. Then the next calls for my neighbors, also negative. We had flown so close to the sun yet remained unburnt, this was cause for celebration.

We took to the highway with our windows down blasting from speakers Frank Sinatra’s “I’m gonna live until I die” and laughing for the first time in days. We drank, again, but this time it was champagne to celebrate life. Things were good, if only for a moment. My girlfriend can still not return to her home in Kirksville as of the publishing of this piece because her roommates are still Covid-19 positive. My roommates are still unemployed, bills are still due, and we still struggle to make ends meet, more so now that it’s time to buy textbooks. 150,000 people in this country, some of them people I have loved but all of them beloved to someone have still perished from this disease. Local communities are still devastated, with many business loans finding their way to cruise ships, as opposed to coffee shops.

Things are not good, I am Covid-19 negative, but things are not good. Perhaps things never truly were good, but they were different in a good way or at least I think they were. I don’t know what comes next, I am still uncomfortable with uncertainty, but now I know I can survive it, and that is good.

The post I tested negative for COVID-19: Here’s my story of exposure, anxiety and relief appeared first on Occasional Planet.

In quarantine here in Bogotá, the days flow into more days.

But sometimes the routine of sameness is broken up. At a certain moment, live amplified mariachis playing in front of my building can break into song without warning.

Mariachis, and Bogotá has many, have a long tradition here. It used to be that mariachis congregated in one area of the city, along Avenida Caracas in the 50’s blocks. Anybody celebrating an aniversary, a birthday or a surprise event could drive up and hire a group of mariachi musicians right off the street, and the mariachis would follow the hirer to his of her home where they would suddenly burst into song outside the window of the surprised. This usually happened at night to increase the surprise.

Quarantine has changed all that. Nobody is driving to Avenida Caracas to hire mariachis anymore. The business model has changed.

Now the mariachis are wandering the streets of Bogotá playing in front of random buildings, looking for customers in broad daylight, hoping aginst hope that someone will hire them and pay them for their music.

They are not alone.

Other musicians of all variety have begun doing the same. At any time of the day, there can be a sudden eruption of music on the streets outside. Today there was a very powerful drumming ensemble. I had never heard this sound nor this vibration before and was unsure at first about what was going on. My cats were equally unsure and raced to the windows. These were amplified drummers looking to impress, and they did, and again looking to drum up business, and again in need of money.

Colombia is going through one of the longest quarantines in the world. 2 other Latin American countries, Peru and Argentina, are in the same boat. In Bogotá, we started our quarantine early, mid-March, and we are still going strong. Colombia’s President Duque said this week that 57% of Colombians, out of a population of 50 million, are still living their lives in self-isolation. And our quarantine countrywide, just now, has been extended till the end of August. Occupancy in ICU’s in Bogotá is hovering at about 90%, and our peak is not expected for some more weeks.

Vehicular traffic on the street outside my building is minimal; there are at times delivery trucks, taxis and some cars. Quarantine has been a boon for food and supermarket delivery services, so there are often motorcycle deliverers, bicycle deliverers and even pedestrian deliverers coming and going. I see people walk their dogs, and some people, though not many, going out with shopping bags and coming back from the supermarket with their shopping bags full.

Sometimes our quarantine has been strict, only one person per household allowed out at a time for essentials such as groceries, banking or pharmacy purchases. And sometimes our quarantine has been more relaxed though the city still maintains a control that only allows those whose national identification number ends in an even number to go out for needed services on even dates, and those whose ID’s end in an odd number to go out on odd dates.

And in this way, we go on. Days flow into more days.

Every so often, there are desperate shouts from those in dire straits walking the streets. Help us! they cry out. We need food, we need help! Men and women are wandering the city begging for help.

But we are in the middle of a pandemic with an uncertain future. Few are in a position to offer scarce money to all of those asking for help, and to those who might come tomorrow encouraged by those who got something today.

Others come by my building, shouting Eucalipto from the street. They are selling eucaliptus leaves. Colombians have a soothing belief in the power of eucaliptus to cleanse the body. I’m all in, but I haven’t gone down to the gate of my building to buy Eucalipto leaves yet.

People have been telling me for months that I have to go out.

 You need to leave your apartment, many have said. Go and walk about your neighborhood. Feel the sun on your skin!

 My psychologist has advised the same.

 For months, I felt no pressing need to heed their advice. But I went out last week for the first time in four and a half months. I put on my N95 mask, my doorman opened the gate of my building and I was free. I walked downhill, knowing full well that I would have to retrace my steps uphill to get home. My mask felt tight on my face, and that was good. I felt protected. I walked about my Chapinero Alto neighborhood in Bogotá, feeling my breath pushing out and pulling in within my mask, not exactly comfortable but not completely unbearable either.

I found a city transformed.

Restaurants that defined the Zona G, the Gourmet dining area of the city, are now not only shuttered, but decimated, their furnishings removed, their windows displaying For Rent/ Space Available signs. The local Starbucks store and other coffee shops were open for to-go only; their indoor seating areas were blocked off for all. Some other restaurants have banners plastered across their facades large enough for passing motorists or bus passengers to see their phone numbers and their now Deliveries Only presence. It’s clear that many restaurants are gone forever. And gone with them the employment they offered to so many. Seeing this new ragged restaurant reality impacted and saddened me.

Corner grocery stores were open. These mom and pop stores have no choice. They open or they go hungry. Taxis were still parked on both sides of 65^th Street; their drivers were still congregated in front of the small storefront where they take their coffee on break. Nobody was actually drinking coffee. The drivers wore masks, but there was no social distancing; they were just chatting as close together as before. These are the same drivers who might show up if I ever requested taxi service, those professing their taxi disinfected and their willingness to serve. I am not, other than in an extreme emergency, going to be calling a cab anytime soon.

I stopped in at a vegetable store that had clear guidelines on how to self-distance and shop posted at the entrance. Many stores here are completely open to the street with neither doors nor windows during business hours, so there is ventilation. I paid for my vegetables in cash – fresh avocados for the first time in months – and put the change into a separate pocket of my jacket where is stayed isolated for many days.

In complete contrast to the United States, since March there have been no passenger flights, other than humanitarian, within or to or from Colombia. There is no intercity bus service, the most common way for Colombians to travel. In fact there is no interstate, or interdepartment as it is here, travel without special permission for extenuating circumstances. Where you happened to be toward the end of March is pretty much where you are today.

And so for the moment, the days flow into new days, one day not at all unlike the day before.

The post Bogota quarantine: Nobody is hiring mariachis anymore appeared first on Occasional Planet.

Paul Krugman recently posted a piece in the New York Times, The Deadly Delusions of Mad king Donald. It likened our current state of affairs to being trapped on the Titanic. Definitely worth a read. Krugman writes thoughtful pieces, but one of the commenters, Citizen nicely summed things up with a goody making the internet rounds in April, but still worth repeating.

The post Adventures on the Titanic appeared first on Occasional Planet.

It’s already starting to happen. The healing. The power to love one another. The excitement of a shared commitment. The sense of wholeness when we know we belong to something larger than ourselves.  It’s been a long time coming, but the blossoms are opening. No one can take this from us now.

Governor Andrew Cuomo of New York keeps telling us we are going to defeat the “beast” of this virus epidemic and come out the other end better and stronger. It’s tragic that it has taken such a scourge to wake us up to the damage we’ve done to ourselves and our planet, but better late than never.

How we got here

This is one very short version of how we got to the point of electing a con man as president:     During the Great Depression of the 1930’s, American leaders turned to the ideas of British economist John Maynard Keynes. He taught that the best way to stimulate a moribund economy was to increase government spending and lower taxes. The Roosevelt administration developed dozens and then, eventually, hundreds of different programs to help individual citizens succeed and prosper. Basic necessities were subsidized. Unions built a comfortable life for workers.  A sense of community flourished on the local level. And “Happy Days are Here Again” became the national theme song, at least for European Americans.

Post-World War II became “the American century,” partly because most of the other powerful nations had been laid low by the war. With basic necessities such as food and shelter being met for most citizens, the need for more progress became apparent, and we entered the age of Aquarius.  Giving birth is never easy, but the heroes of the civil rights, women’s rights, Native American rights struggles helped us keep our eyes on the prize of equality and opportunity for everyone.  We had time to study the environment and recognize the damage we were doing to Mother Earth.

So, what happened to Camelot?  How did we get from loving our planet and each other to a hundred thousand of us dying from an unseen virus?

In short, some very smart people wanted to become even richer than they already were and financed a plan to tap into the less humanitarian parts of our human nature. They turned to economists like Milton Friedman who preached the philosophy of limited government, personal freedom and winner takes all. Using emotionally charged issues, they cornered the market on voter turnout.

Over time, our more advanced sense of humanitarianism and cooperative behavior began to fade, and folks became downright suspicious of government and each other. We became more interested in stroking our own egos, living the good life, and filling the void in our lives with compulsive consumerism.

And while we were looking forward to weekends and partying, we didn’t notice that very few of us were accumulating a larger and larger share of the wealth we were all creating.

The rich got richer and the poor got poorer over the last few decades. No one can deny that. Automation, globalization and the dismantling of our common bonds brought us to a dark place where murder and suicide now outnumber deaths from some of the major diseases. As the virus spreads across the country, people are buying guns, and domestic violence is a major issue. In short, we are a sick society.

How we rebuild our communities

But the pandemic has also given us time to examine our lives, our culture and our future.  Despite the damage being done by a tiny virus, we’ve re-imagined a society based on cooperation, sacrifice and love. We are rewriting our common story without even being aware of it. “We are all in this together.”

We’ve seen many examples of shared community on TV:

1. An incredible outpouring of affection and support for “frontline” workers during this crisis. (Too many examples to list here.)
2. Amazing use of intellect and ingenuity by thousands of Americans:

…using 3 D printers to make face masks

…organizing virtual meetings, family gatherings, church services

…adapting to online learning, expanding broadband

…turning face mask sewing into an artistic competition

…adjusting to working from home and saving on gas

3. Innovative expressions of the need for social connectedness:

…individual singers and instrumentalists combining their talents online (How do they do that?

…New ways of celebrating traditional events such as birthdays and graduations

…Neighborhood parties with social distancing, drive in theaters for live concerts

…Eager participation in local outreach efforts such as food drives, checking on neighbors, delivering food and medicine to senior citizens

What we’ve learned and what needs fixing

The epidemic has also brought to our attention issues that have been simmering behind the scenes for a long time. The good news is that we are now more open to solving some of those problems.

Gov. Cuomo has filled the role of moral leader left vacant by the White House during this national tragedy. One issue he is addressing head on is the disproportionate effect of this virus on communities of color. Working with church leaders in the hardest hit neighborhoods, the NYC public health department has set up testing sites in those churches to track the virus. The plan is to go well beyond serving those communities during the epidemic. What they learn and accomplish can be replicated in other parts of the country.

The pandemic has brought our attention also to the appalling conditions in some Native American communities. “Navajo Nation,” in the Southwest, has one of the highest rates of disease and death caused by COVID-19. The question is:  How is it possible that people living in the richest country in the world don’t have immediate access to potable water?  The governor of Arizona is doing all she can with state resources, but the Indian Health Service (part of HHS) is AWOL.  This can and will be fixed with a Democratic president in the White House.

Pollution is bad in most of our country but much worse in cities. Now is the time to address urban health issues, especially those affecting children. We’ve known for decades about the rates of asthma in big cities and how children have to miss school on “orange alert” days. Decades ago, when we were, as a society, sincerely interested in making life better for everyone, a big campaign forced paint companies to remove lead from their products because it causes damage to children’s brains. Now imagine a campaign like that directed at fossil fuel companies and other polluters.

We see on TV the before and after photos of polluted cities. When people work from    home and don’t drive or use public transit, the air is cleaner and healthier. Now is the perfect time to revive the enthusiasm for saving the environment that began in the 1970’s.  For starters, our new president must rejoin the Paris Climate Agreement and begin repairing our relationships around the world.  Environmental groups have been stigmatized by the big polluters, but we can gradually change that with our support of those organizations. Imagine the creativity of our younger generations and how much they can accomplish in a short time.

“Going to prison shouldn’t be a death sentence.”  Sadly, it took a deadly virus to bring prison reform front and center for discussion. The prison industrial complex, aided and abetted by businesses looking for cheap labor, must be thoroughly examined. There is nothing “correctional” about a system that traps people during a pandemic.

Just as shockingly, we’ve been forced to learn about the inhumane treatment of immigrant laborers, especially in meat packing plants. This is the time for Congress to finally face the need for comprehensive immigration reform and for us to elect a president who will inspire that effort.  And, yes, it’s time to raise the minimum wage to $15 an hour.

Health care…. It’s time to detach health insurance from employment. This issue received plenty of attention during the Democratic debates, but the loss of work due to the pandemic now demonstrates why we need guaranteed medical care for everyone.

Many of us shook our heads watching tens of thousands of pounds of food being plowed under for lack of markets. Milk had to be dumped too. This was happening as people out of work were lining up at food banks. It’s time for some federal agency to work out a plan for transportation and distribution of food, not just in case of another pandemic, but also for the next wave of climate induced weather disasters.

Then and now

We need a new story to tell ourselves what we expect our “new normal” to look like. It’s pretty obvious we are never going back to the America of 2019. And that’s a good thing because we have the opportunity now to rewrite our vision of the future. What have we learned from the worst disaster to hit our country since the Great Depression?  In a way, we are seeing many of the same problems… hunger, homelessness, high unemployment, a fractured political system that plagued us back then.

As described above, we, the people, have risen to the challenge of facing this epidemic head on. When hospital workers needed us, we rushed in to help. When leadership at the national level failed us, we organized and did amazing things in our own communities. This new spirit of togetherness and service to others has rekindled the love of community that was stolen from us in recent decades.

Now we can build on those local connections/

Suggestions:

…Get to know someone new and different…. There is a wonderful example in St. Louis each Christmas Day when Jewish and Muslim neighbors work together on hundreds of local projects while giving Christians a day to celebrate their holiday. The best way to reduce our fear of others or discomfort with people we are not used to being with is to work together on some local project of mutual interest. Local elected officials can facilitate these connections.

…Promote the arts…. As President Kennedy said, “When power corrupts, poetry cleanses, for art establishes the basic human truths which must serve as the touchstones of our judgement.”   Those who want to control us work constantly to confuse us with “alternative facts,” emotional distractions and ways to tempt out that lower part of human nature. Why else would they be promoting competitive and increasingly violent forms entertainment as “sports”?  Why do they insist on cutting funding for the National Endowment for the Arts, National Public Radio and Public Television?  Why is it, when school budgets come under the knife, it’s always the arts that go first?  Think about it.  Remember the Maslow hierarchy of needs?  Once we are fed and housed, we yearn for something psychologically and spiritually satisfying.

…Offer people a chance to be part of the decision-making process locally and nationally. We need to work on expanding voter participation starting with teaching some form of civics (and not just a “course” in it) to children and teenagers. Given the natural desire to join forces to help one another shown during the pandemic, this should be an obvious next step. Maybe we can reimagine how local government works to bring more citizens into the decision-making process. How do we include non-citizens who are essential members of our community and who pay taxes?

…Finally and most importantly, we need to rewrite the story we live by. George Monbiot, writer for the London Guardian, has written about this extensively. He describes the toxic ideology of extreme competition and individualism that has come to dominate the world that must change if we are to build a healthier society. What is needed now is the same “story” people needed in past centuries after a cataclysmic disaster laid them low. Monbiot calls it the “restoration story.”  We obviously need to restore the foundation of a healthy economy that meets people’s basic needs. But, more than that, we need to listen to those better angels of our human nature Lincoln spoke about and create a new politics of belonging. The Biden campaign slogan has already been written:  We are all in this together.

The post We’re all in this together. Where we are, where we need to go. appeared first on Occasional Planet.

In the final hour of the 2020 legislative session, the Missouri Senate passed SB631, which would allow Missourians to vote absentee by mail in 2020 in the upcoming August and November elections due to the COVID-19 pandemic.

However—and this is a big one—unless you expect to be confined, ill or in a specified high-risk category for COVID-19, the absentee mail-in ballot still must be notarized. The provisions will go into effect once the bill is signed by the Governor. It will expire on December 31, 2020 so this provision will not continue beyond that date. At that point, the rules will revert to the confusing state of being that existed before SB631. So just when you’ve figured out what to do in 2020, the rules will change back again in 2021–adding a further level of consternation to a situation that could easily be remedied by simply allowing no-excuse absentee voting–as is allowed in 29 states and Washington, D.C. (in addition to Colorado, Oregon, Utah, Hawaii and Washington, where all voting is conducted by mail.)

The Missouri Voter Protection Coalition has created this chart in an effort to clarify the changes. The chart is a worthy effort to explain the overly complicated rules. No doubt, the new “system” will generate many calls to election hotlines across the state.

The post New rules for absentee voting in Missouri: More complicated than ever appeared first on Occasional Planet.

This morning’s New York Times roundup, by David Leonhart, mentioned a blog post by a Dartmouth biologist, Erin S. Bromage: The Risks – Know Them – Avoid Them.  It is an excellent explanation of the role of time, airflow, viral density in spread of disease. A little math, lots of science and some references to serious papers. It contains some very practical information: basically, avoid enclosed spaces where you might spend time with other people. Worth a read.

Here are some excerpts:

    Indoor spaces, with limited air exchange or recycled air and lots of people, are concerning from a transmission standpoint. We know that 60 people in a volleyball court-sized room (choir) results in massive infections. Same situation with the restaurant and the call center.  Social distancing guidelines don’t hold in indoor spaces where you spend a lot of time, as people on the opposite side of the room were infected.

The principle is viral exposure over an extended period of time. In all these cases, people were exposed to the virus in the air for a prolonged period (hours). Even if they were 50 feet away (choir or call center), even a low dose of the virus in the air reaching them, over a sustained period, was enough to cause infection and in some cases, death.

Social distancing rules are really to protect you with brief exposures or outdoor exposures. In these situations there is not enough time to achieve the infectious viral load when you are standing 6 feet apart or where wind and the infinite outdoor space for viral dilution reduces viral load.

… When assessing the risk of infection (via respiration) at the grocery store or mall, you need to consider the volume of the air space (very large), the number of people (restricted), how long people are spending in the store (workers – all day; customers – an hour). Taken together, for a person shopping: the low density, high air volume of the store, along with the restricted time you spend in the store, means that the opportunity to receive an infectious dose is low. But, for the store worker, the extended time they spend in the store provides a greater opportunity to receive the infectious dose and therefore the job becomes more risky.

… Basically, as the work closures are loosened, and we start to venture out more, possibly even resuming in-office activities, you need to look at your environment and make judgments. How many people are here, how much airflow is there around me, and how long will I be in this environment. If you are in an open floorplan office, you really need critically assess the risk (volume, people, and airflow). … If you are sitting in a well ventilated space, with few people, the risk is low.

…If I am outside, and I walk past someone, remember it is “dose and time” needed for infection. You would have to be in their airstream for 5+ minutes for a chance of infection.

Be careful out there.

The post A little math, a lot of science: calculating COVID-19 risks appeared first on Occasional Planet.

Many documents require a signature verification by a notary public. But if you’re social distancing, going to the bank or your lawyer’s office is not something you want to do. But there’s an app for that: It’s called remote online notarization (RON). It is not clear, yet, whether this workaround will apply to the notary requirement that some states have for voting absentee. [Missouri’s secretary of state, for example, says that remote online notarization will NOT apply to ballots.]

In response to the coronavirus emergency, numerous states have put in place emergency measures that eliminate the requirement that documents be signed in person in the presence of a notary public. The details differ from state to state, but the intent is the same: to allow people to fulfill various signature requirements without breaking the social-distancing barrier.

RON is a major departure from tradition, and some notaries and government institutions were, initially reluctant to accept it. But with the problems presented by the coronavirus pandemic, that opposition has mostly dissipated, especially now that that face-to-face contact can be satisfied online using audiovisual technology such as a webcam. The signer can be in another town, another state or even another country.

How does a remote notary confirm a signer’s identity without being able to hold and examine an ID? One of the safeguards includes asking for knowledge-based authentication—known as KBA—in which the signer must correctly answer a set of computer-generated questions related to their life, and credit and financial history. If the signer cannot successfully pass the KBA, the notary will not perform the notarization. Another, simpler method to confirm the signer’s identity is for the signer to hold their ID up to the camera, allowing the notary to check that the signer looks like the person on the ID and that other details match the information on the ID.

A recent article published by the National Notary Association (NNA) gives the details of how it’s done, state by state. Some have allowed RON for several years; others are new to the game; some are allowing RON only for a limited time period during the pandemic. A map on the NNA website indicates that almost every US state authorizes some form of remote notarization.

On a broader scale, US Senators Mark warner (D-VA) and Kevin Cramer (R-ND) recently introduced an act that would authorize remote online authorizations nationwide.

It’s just one more way that America is changing as a result of the pandemic of 2020.

The post Need a notary for your document, but quarantining? Do it online. appeared first on Occasional Planet.