Not quite ready to embrace Phase 2

(May 28, 2020)

I WISH I could share the enthusiasm of those who are now happily booking haircuts, eating in restaurants and making plans to visit with friends and families.

My hair has not been this long since I was a teenager, it would be nice to share that home-cooking load with a chef, and I miss being able to sit around and just visit with people.

But I can’t. A Facebook meme shared last week sticks in my head: “Relaxing restrictions doesn’t mean the pandemic is over. It means there is now room for you in the ICU.”

Ouch. And then that famous tagline from Jaws 2 (1978) surfaces in my memory: “Just when you thought it was safe to go back in the water.”

OK, maybe I am over-thinking all of this. So I asked myself the blunt question, which no one has really asked our public health officials — the question for which Premier Brian Pallister needs a good answer before opening the doors to Phase 2 on June 1:

“What has changed from March 28 to May 28?”

Remember March? The frantic closing of everything, the suspending of in-class education as the educational system was shut down in a few days and students (and teachers) dispatched to their homes? Those restaurants I like simply closed, along with the churches, the hair salons — everything except liquor and cannabis stores, the new essential services to pacify the population as we watched jobs and entire industries shutter, perhaps for good? When professional sports just stopped? When tourism was reduced to “How quickly can I get home?”

We were told there were good reasons to do these things, to shelter in place, to avoid contact with anyone we didn’t live with, and as we watched the body count rise elsewhere in the world, it wasn’t hard to be convinced it was a good idea, whatever else happened.

Sixty days later, is it really safe to go back in the water? By fluke of geography and timing, Manitoba dodged the initial wave — the advantage of having a later (and thus cancelled) spring break, and not being a tourist destination in February for anyone sane enough to travel.

There will be a second wave, we are told — and if other pandemic patterns hold, it will be worse than the first, especially if it is later in the fall, when flu season starts.

What has changed? We still have no vaccine (if there is going to be one, it could be a year away from mass distribution). We have learned how best to treat people in intensive care, to improve their chance of survival. We might have enough PPE now for those in front-line roles … but it will be harder to identify who is front-line as society opens up again. The extra ventilators are on order, and the new Canadian design might help improve their delivery.

Yes, we know more about the virus, and have a better idea of who is at increased risk. We know more about how it spreads, and that, while it is highly contagious, it is less contagious than it could be. We know people who contract the virus can die, but fewer will die than with other, more deadly, pandemic diseases.

We also know most people who contract the virus will recover, though there are troubling questions about serious long-term health damage.

What we still don’t know, however, is how many asymptomatic people are carriers. We don’t know what makes some people — of any age — more susceptible to getting the virus, or why some people get very sick, very quickly, and others shrug it off in a couple of days, like a cold or the flu. We don’t know if it will mutate, again, and what those potential mutations could mean.

We know people should wear masks, to reduce the likelihood of spreading the virus. We know social distancing and not spending a long time in a poorly ventilated space with others reduces risk, too. We have always known the importance of washing our hands — and now are actually doing it, for a change.

But is it safe to go back in the water? Are we making that decision for good public-health reasons, or only because of economics? Or just because we are going stir-crazy?

What is clear is that leaving our bubble — for any reason — involves a risk we have never considered before, especially if you have health conditions, or are older.

I don’t know if I would recover in a couple of days, or if I would be fighting for my life in ICU within a week. Or when I spread it to my family, what would happen to them.

So, I really don’t think much has changed since March.

Please tell me I’m wrong — my barber wants to hear that, too.

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COVID-19 response will cement Pallister’s legacy

(April 8, 2020)

As the water levels rise again this spring, Winnipeggers are less anxious than others who live along riverbanks. Sheltered behind the recently expanded floodway, we have safely managed several “floods of the century” since the city was swamped in 1950.

Duff Roblin did not regard that 1950 flood as an isolated event, something unlikely to reoccur in his time as premier. Instead, he took the lesson of that flood to heart, and did something generations of Manitobans since have appreciated. It is his legacy.

“Duff’s Ditch” was an object of derision at the time, however. He paid a political price for digging it. His government put principle ahead of politics, doing what was right instead of what kept people happy.

Premier Brian Pallister has watched Manitoba deal with a flood of another kind, as the COVID-19 pandemic spreads. Mostly because of our geography, we are behind the lethal numbers seen elsewhere. Outside of the Festival du Voyageur, Manitoba in February is simply not a travel destination for tourists who have a choice.

In this brief breath before the first big wave of the pandemic hits here, there are already some lessons to be learned. We will be watching to see what kind of leadership Premier Pallister and his Progressive Conservative government provide, and whether he personally has the wisdom in crisis that a good leader must demonstrate to keep the confidence of the people.

Right now, I have some serious doubts, but in the hopes that first impressions are misleading, and that, in a crisis, good advice from all sides is needed and heeded, I offer the following:

1. This is not “the Pandemic of the Century.” It is the pandemic of 2019-21. There will be more pandemics, and likely subsequent waves of COVID-19. We need to plan ahead to minimize the impact of future pandemics on health care, communities, education and the economy.

2. Local communities and neighbourhoods matter. Resources geared to strengthening them are essential. Budgets should not be trimmed at the expense of libraries, recreation centres, pools and other local community infrastructure. In a pandemic, we need neighbours.

3. Basic essential services must be supported in local communities, not centralized elsewhere under the guise of “efficiency.” This would include basic medical, dental, prescription drugs and food services. There should be no “food deserts” or any other kind of local hole in essential services.

4. Reducing dependence on essential supplies from elsewhere is critical. Borders can be closed, and will be. What happens to local communities if the trucks and trains stop? We need to develop and support all stages of food production in Manitoba, for example, from farm to plate.

5. Education systems need a plan, with resources and supplies, for moving back and forth between in-class and distance delivery. This requires both the right technology, so no Manitoban child is left behind because they can’t afford the equipment, and the right pedagogy. The answer to every distance education question is not Zoom.

6. High-speed internet everywhere in the province is essential. The technology is available to do this. Even communities right around Winnipeg have poor service — or none at all. To allow for education and work to be done at home, everyone needs the same level of access, not just those in prime locations or who have the money to pay.

7. Guaranteed basic income is necessary, with housing to suit that budget. Raise the floor, and there will be less need for social services and emergency supports, less child poverty, and less dependence on the charity of others that can disappear when times get tough.

8. We must identify core medical supplies in the event of a mass event such as COVID-19 and stockpile enough for six months. Identify local suppliers or industries than can be quickly retooled to provide additional supplies.

9. Encourage essential services to abandon “just in time” delivery practices and return to maintaining local inventory of crucial items — for those times when the trucks will be forced to stop.

10. Electrify the province. We could be virtually self-sustaining in terms of electricity for vehicles and heating, but instead we rely on energy from away that also generates greenhouse gas emissions and fuels global warming. We already make electric buses for people elsewhere!

Resilience and sustainability depend upon us living close to home. This is not only true in pandemics, but also — and especially — in a world facing climate crisis. The problems will grow, not go away.

Mr. Pallister, I met your mother once. I’m sure she would have told you to put on a necktie, sit up straight at those briefings, fix your hair and take charge. Rely on the wisdom around you, from wherever, and make a practical, sustainable plan for Manitoba’s future.

“Pallister’s Plan” — in Manitoba’s 150th year, that would be a legacy to remember.

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Now more than ever, hope matters

Misspelling the Maasai word for “hope” — osiligi — in a Kenyan primary school (2014)

(March 28, 2020)

ACTIVISTS have always said that we need to find another way to do things. Another way to live together — to live with the Earth, instead of against it.

For too long, the response, from too many people, has been, “No. There isn’t another way.” Or, “I don’t want to look for one.” Or, “We did it once and it didn’t work – we tried.”

Through COVID-19, Mother Nature is delivering a blunt message: “Think again. Try harder.”

We need to listen, but that means major cultural change, for communities everywhere. People think such change is difficult, but culture changes all the time.

Since the Second World War, for example, western industrial consumer culture and its ideals of material prosperity have gone global. But so has the damage to the biosphere caused by the tools, systems and attitudes of that culture. So have the social costs, reflected not in global prosperity but in income inequality, made worse by people losing their homes and livelihoods in rural areas and crowding into unplanned cities.

However much the economic indicators have continually crowed about higher gross domestic product, the happiness/well-being indicators have continued to drop. The gross national happiness index, promoted by such countries as Bhutan, was certainly mocked at Wall Street parties. Can you even count happiness?

Happiness might be hard to measure, but unhappiness is literally embodied. Too many of us are malnourished or overweight (or both), inactive and unfit, afflicted with problems that a healthy body should manage. Unhealthy and unhappy seem to go together.

And now, here we are. Anyone who doubts that we are all in this together, inextricably linked to everyone and everything on Earth, just has to watch the graphs of COVID-19 cases, and the global economic dominoes that continue to fall as a result.

Scientists, activists and fiction writers have been predicting a global pandemic for decades. Their audiences have ignored them, sold their books at garage sales, or left theatres thankful that the heroes saved the day, once again, before the popcorn ran out.

As we watch people adjust to whatever this “new normal” means — and it will likely be months before anything even remotely resembling the “old normal” returns — there are some truths already emerging about what matters most:

Neighbours matter. Other people need our help, just as we will certainly need theirs.

There are no strangers anymore — just people we haven’t yet met. If you feel alone, don’t just sit there — reach out.

Relationships matter. Whether the people are near or far, close companions or people (even family) we have hardly talked to in years, those relationships are how we stay grounded, reassured, comforted, encouraged and motivated to get through whatever today brings.

Community matters. No one is in this crisis alone — how we all behave, together, affects how we will survive it, together. Competition in these circumstances is pointless — co-operation makes the group stronger.

Sharing matters. If we each contribute what we can to the well-being of the community, those relationships are strengthened, for whatever comes our way.

Generosity matters. It takes many forms, and so do the gifts we can give. The gift of time, of care, can be as simple as a phone call, or the offer to pick up food or medicine for the most vulnerable. If you still have a job or an income, think of those neighbours who currently do not.

It’s too glib to say religion matters, because in a time of crisis, when the artillery shells fall, there are no atheists in a foxhole. But this situation makes us think about our life priorities, what we are doing with our time and our abilities, what we mean to the people around us and about what we can do for others. Religious or spiritual beliefs can help us to reflect on those things.

Technology matters — as long as we remember technology is in our heads, not just our hands. We can do things differently, so think hard about how to change our culture so what matters most to us is supported by our technology, not undermined by it. We are all powerful, capable people, and there is always another way if we try harder.

Finally, hope matters. With enthusiasm, I once misspelled the Maasai word for “hope” on an ancient blackboard, with a stub of chalk, in a ramshackle school in rural Kenya.

“Osiligi” was everywhere in conversation and on signs. At a deeper level, it means more than just “hope.” It is the faith that what is done right aligns with how the universe is meant to unfold, for a continual blessing from generation to generation, as part of the rhythm of life.

Amid such abject poverty, I learned a valuable life lesson from them.

Their courageous response to the challenges they faced every day was: “Osiligi.”

May it also be ours.

Peter Denton is an activist, author and sustainability consultant based in rural Manitoba. His seventh book, Imagine a Joyful Economy (a collaboration with Gus Speth), was just published by Wood Lake Books.