Monday, June 29, 2020
Poker and the Psychology of Uncertainty
"You are going to be a gambler?”
That’s my grandmother Baba Anya speaking. My last living grandparent. I’ve come to Boston for a family visit, nearly bouncing with excitement at my new project, and she is not impressed. To call her lukewarm would be the understatement of the hour. She has a way of setting her jaw that makes it jut out like it’s about to slice through stone. The chiseled expression of a conquering hero atop a pedestaled horse. A conquering hero—or an angry general. I can feel the full brunt of grandmotherly disappointment gather on my shoulders. She has almost (though not quite) come to forgive me for not wanting kids after over a decade of my persistent explanations, but this—this is a new low. If you think you know the kind of disappointment a five-foot-some-odd 92-year-old is capable of, think again. She was a Soviet-era schoolteacher. She’s had more practice than an army drill sergeant.
She shakes her head.
“Masha,” she says—my Russian nickname. “Masha.” The word is laden with so much sadness, so much regret for the life I’m about to throw away. In a single word, she has managed to convey that I’m on the brink of ruin, about to make a decision so momentously bad that it is beyond comprehension. A Harvard education and this, this, is what I’m choosing to do?
“Masha,” she repeats. “You are going to be a gambler?”
My grandmother’s reaction may be extreme—nothing is quite as personal as your grandchildren heading out to ruin on your watch; you have to throw your body in the breach—but it is far from atypical. In the coming months, I’ll be accused of being responsible for a society-wide “sin slide” for advocating for poker as a teaching tool. I’ll be called a moral degenerate by strangers. A group of highly intelligent people at a retreat will tell me playing poker is all well and good, but how do I feel about encouraging people—children even!—to lie?
The world of poker is laden with misconceptions. And first among them is the very one I’m seeing from a stricken Baba Anya: equating poker with gambling. To my mind, the journey was well motivated: Of course people would understand that poker was an important way to learn about decisionmaking. I mean, think of John von Neumann! One of the great polymaths of the 20th century, father of the computer, one of the inventors of the hydrogen bomb, the creator of game theory. And a poker player! Not just a poker player, but someone for whom poker inspired brilliant insights into human decisionmaking, someone who considered it the ultimate game for approximating the strategic challenges of life. Let’s get to the tables! But looking at Baba Anya, I realize that the battle for support—and the justification for poker as not just a learning tool, but as one of the best tools there is for making decisions that have nothing to do with the game itself—is going to take a bit more fighting. I’m going to be explaining this over and over, so I may as well get it right.
Poker, to the untrained eye, is easy. Just like everyone who meets me seems to have “a book in them,” which they’ll write just as soon as they get a chance, so everyone who meets my coach, Erik Seidel—one of the most legendary poker players in the world—thinks they are just a hop away from becoming a poker pro or, at the very least, a badass poker bro. Most of us underestimate the skill involved. It just seems so simple: get good cards and rake in the dough. Or bluff everyone blind and rake in the dough once more. Either way, you’re raking it in.
And poker does have an element of chance, to be sure—but what doesn’t? Are poker professionals “gamblers” any more than the man signing away his life on a professional football contract, who may or may not be injured the next week, or find himself summarily dropped from the team in a year because he failed to live up to his promise? We judge the poker player for gambling; we respect the stockbroker for doing the same thing with far less information. In some ways, poker players gamble less than most. After all, even if they lose an arm, they can still play.
But the misperception is ingrained in the popular mind for one simple reason. Unlike, say, Go or chess, poker involves betting. And betting involves money. And as soon as that enters the picture, you might as well be playing craps or baccarat—games that truly are gambling. And so I tell my grandmother the words that I’ve come to repeat so often they are like my own private mantra: In poker, you can win with the worst hand and you can lose with the best hand. In every other game in a casino—and in games of perfect information like chess and Go—you simply must have the best of it to win. No other way is possible. And that, in a nutshell, is why poker is a skilled endeavor rather than a gambling one.
Imagine two players at a table. The cards are dealt. Each player must look at her cards and decide whether or not the cards on their own are good enough to bet. If she wishes to play, she must at minimum “call” the big blind—that is, place as much into the pot as the highest bet that already exists. She may also choose to fold (throw out her cards and sit this hand out) or raise (bet more than the big blind). But who knows what factors she’s using to make her decision? Maybe she has a premium hand. Maybe she has a mediocre hand but thinks she can outplay her opponent and so chooses to engage anyway. Maybe she has observed that the other player views her as conservative because she doesn’t play many hands, and she’s taking advantage of that image by opening up with worse cards than normal. Or maybe she’s just bored out of her mind. Her reasoning, like her cards, is known only to her.
The other player observes the action and reacts accordingly: If she bets big, she may have a great hand—or be bluffing with a bad one. If she simply calls, is it because her hand is mediocre or because she’s a generally passive player or because she wants to do what’s known as “slow playing”—masking an excellent hand by playing it in a restrained fashion, as Johnny Chan did in that 1988 World Series Of Poker matchup with Erik Seidel? Each decision throws off signals, and the good player must learn to read them. It’s a constant back-and-forth interpretive dance: How do I react to you? How do you react to me? More often than not, it’s not the best hand that wins. It’s the best player. This nuance, this back-and-forth, this is why von Neumann saw the answer to military strategy in the cards. Not because everyone is a gambler, but because to be a winning player, you have to have superior skill, in a very human sense.
Indeed, when the economist Ingo Fiedler analyzed hundreds of thousands of hands played on several online poker sites over a six-month period, he found that the actual best hand won, on average, only 12 percent of the time, and less than a third of hands went to showdown (meaning that players were skillful enough to persuade others to let go of their cards prior to the end of the hand). In mid-stakes games, with blinds of 1/ 2 and 5/10—that is, where the blind bets two players are forced to pay each round to start the action are $1 and $2, or $5 and $10, respectively—there were some players who were consistent winners, and as stakes went to nosebleed, 50/100 and up, the variability in skill went down significantly. That is, the higher the amount of money for which people played, the greater their actual skill edge. When Chicago economists Steven Levitt and Thomas Miles looked at live play and compared the ROI, or return on investment, for two groups of players at the 2010 WSOP, they found that recreational players lost, on average, over 15 percent of their buy-ins (roughly $400), while professionals won over 30 percent (roughly $1,200). They write, “The observed differences in ROIs are highly statistically significant and far larger in magnitude than those observed in financial markets where fees charged by the money managers viewed as being most talented can run as high as 3 percent of assets under management and 30 percent of annual returns.” Success in poker, in other words, implies far more skill than does success in that far more respectable profession, investing.
That’s my grandmother Baba Anya speaking. My last living grandparent. I’ve come to Boston for a family visit, nearly bouncing with excitement at my new project, and she is not impressed. To call her lukewarm would be the understatement of the hour. She has a way of setting her jaw that makes it jut out like it’s about to slice through stone. The chiseled expression of a conquering hero atop a pedestaled horse. A conquering hero—or an angry general. I can feel the full brunt of grandmotherly disappointment gather on my shoulders. She has almost (though not quite) come to forgive me for not wanting kids after over a decade of my persistent explanations, but this—this is a new low. If you think you know the kind of disappointment a five-foot-some-odd 92-year-old is capable of, think again. She was a Soviet-era schoolteacher. She’s had more practice than an army drill sergeant.
She shakes her head.
“Masha,” she says—my Russian nickname. “Masha.” The word is laden with so much sadness, so much regret for the life I’m about to throw away. In a single word, she has managed to convey that I’m on the brink of ruin, about to make a decision so momentously bad that it is beyond comprehension. A Harvard education and this, this, is what I’m choosing to do?“Masha,” she repeats. “You are going to be a gambler?”
My grandmother’s reaction may be extreme—nothing is quite as personal as your grandchildren heading out to ruin on your watch; you have to throw your body in the breach—but it is far from atypical. In the coming months, I’ll be accused of being responsible for a society-wide “sin slide” for advocating for poker as a teaching tool. I’ll be called a moral degenerate by strangers. A group of highly intelligent people at a retreat will tell me playing poker is all well and good, but how do I feel about encouraging people—children even!—to lie?
The world of poker is laden with misconceptions. And first among them is the very one I’m seeing from a stricken Baba Anya: equating poker with gambling. To my mind, the journey was well motivated: Of course people would understand that poker was an important way to learn about decisionmaking. I mean, think of John von Neumann! One of the great polymaths of the 20th century, father of the computer, one of the inventors of the hydrogen bomb, the creator of game theory. And a poker player! Not just a poker player, but someone for whom poker inspired brilliant insights into human decisionmaking, someone who considered it the ultimate game for approximating the strategic challenges of life. Let’s get to the tables! But looking at Baba Anya, I realize that the battle for support—and the justification for poker as not just a learning tool, but as one of the best tools there is for making decisions that have nothing to do with the game itself—is going to take a bit more fighting. I’m going to be explaining this over and over, so I may as well get it right.
Poker, to the untrained eye, is easy. Just like everyone who meets me seems to have “a book in them,” which they’ll write just as soon as they get a chance, so everyone who meets my coach, Erik Seidel—one of the most legendary poker players in the world—thinks they are just a hop away from becoming a poker pro or, at the very least, a badass poker bro. Most of us underestimate the skill involved. It just seems so simple: get good cards and rake in the dough. Or bluff everyone blind and rake in the dough once more. Either way, you’re raking it in.
And poker does have an element of chance, to be sure—but what doesn’t? Are poker professionals “gamblers” any more than the man signing away his life on a professional football contract, who may or may not be injured the next week, or find himself summarily dropped from the team in a year because he failed to live up to his promise? We judge the poker player for gambling; we respect the stockbroker for doing the same thing with far less information. In some ways, poker players gamble less than most. After all, even if they lose an arm, they can still play.
But the misperception is ingrained in the popular mind for one simple reason. Unlike, say, Go or chess, poker involves betting. And betting involves money. And as soon as that enters the picture, you might as well be playing craps or baccarat—games that truly are gambling. And so I tell my grandmother the words that I’ve come to repeat so often they are like my own private mantra: In poker, you can win with the worst hand and you can lose with the best hand. In every other game in a casino—and in games of perfect information like chess and Go—you simply must have the best of it to win. No other way is possible. And that, in a nutshell, is why poker is a skilled endeavor rather than a gambling one.
Imagine two players at a table. The cards are dealt. Each player must look at her cards and decide whether or not the cards on their own are good enough to bet. If she wishes to play, she must at minimum “call” the big blind—that is, place as much into the pot as the highest bet that already exists. She may also choose to fold (throw out her cards and sit this hand out) or raise (bet more than the big blind). But who knows what factors she’s using to make her decision? Maybe she has a premium hand. Maybe she has a mediocre hand but thinks she can outplay her opponent and so chooses to engage anyway. Maybe she has observed that the other player views her as conservative because she doesn’t play many hands, and she’s taking advantage of that image by opening up with worse cards than normal. Or maybe she’s just bored out of her mind. Her reasoning, like her cards, is known only to her.
The other player observes the action and reacts accordingly: If she bets big, she may have a great hand—or be bluffing with a bad one. If she simply calls, is it because her hand is mediocre or because she’s a generally passive player or because she wants to do what’s known as “slow playing”—masking an excellent hand by playing it in a restrained fashion, as Johnny Chan did in that 1988 World Series Of Poker matchup with Erik Seidel? Each decision throws off signals, and the good player must learn to read them. It’s a constant back-and-forth interpretive dance: How do I react to you? How do you react to me? More often than not, it’s not the best hand that wins. It’s the best player. This nuance, this back-and-forth, this is why von Neumann saw the answer to military strategy in the cards. Not because everyone is a gambler, but because to be a winning player, you have to have superior skill, in a very human sense.
Indeed, when the economist Ingo Fiedler analyzed hundreds of thousands of hands played on several online poker sites over a six-month period, he found that the actual best hand won, on average, only 12 percent of the time, and less than a third of hands went to showdown (meaning that players were skillful enough to persuade others to let go of their cards prior to the end of the hand). In mid-stakes games, with blinds of 1/ 2 and 5/10—that is, where the blind bets two players are forced to pay each round to start the action are $1 and $2, or $5 and $10, respectively—there were some players who were consistent winners, and as stakes went to nosebleed, 50/100 and up, the variability in skill went down significantly. That is, the higher the amount of money for which people played, the greater their actual skill edge. When Chicago economists Steven Levitt and Thomas Miles looked at live play and compared the ROI, or return on investment, for two groups of players at the 2010 WSOP, they found that recreational players lost, on average, over 15 percent of their buy-ins (roughly $400), while professionals won over 30 percent (roughly $1,200). They write, “The observed differences in ROIs are highly statistically significant and far larger in magnitude than those observed in financial markets where fees charged by the money managers viewed as being most talented can run as high as 3 percent of assets under management and 30 percent of annual returns.” Success in poker, in other words, implies far more skill than does success in that far more respectable profession, investing.
Sunday, June 28, 2020
Why is the New York Times Threatening to Reveal Blogger Scott Alexander’s True Identity?
The old adage about online anonymity goes: “On the internet no one knows if you’re a dog.” It hasn’t stood the test of time, not least because it has proved possible, and often easy, to work out not just the species, but the full identity of someone who tries to hide online.
That is what has happened to “Scott Alexander” the author of the much-loved blog Slate Star Codex, which became a nexus for the rationalist community and others who seek to apply reason to debates about situations, ideas and moral quandaries.
Scott Alexander are the real first and middle names of the author, a psychiatrist based in California, who had kept his full identity secret. However, as he revealed in a post this week, a New York Times tech reporter decided to write about his blog and the community around it, and intended to publish Scott Alexander’s full name. In response, Alexander decided to close down Slate Star Codex, claiming that revealing his identity would undermine his ability to treat his patients, and expose him to death threats, something he said he had already received in small numbers.
The response on Twitter, where many of the blog’s readers often dwell, has been one of outrage. Luminaries such as Steven Pinker described it as a “tragedy on the blogosphere”. Others such as software inventor and investor Paul Graham talked of cancelling their NYT subscriptions. The title’s “threat” has been widely described as “doxxing”, a term more commonly used for posting online the personal details of an individual behind a social media account than publishing someone’s name in a newspaper story.
The NYT has so far been tight-lipped on the matter, saying only in a statement that: “We do not comment on what we may or may not publish in the future. But when we report on newsworthy or influential figures, our goal is always to give readers all the accurate and relevant information we can.”
By most industry standards, the NYT’s rules on the use of anonymous sources are pretty stringent, especially after they were tightened in 2016. The essence is that anonymous sourcing should be used as “a last resort, for situations in which The Times could not otherwise publish information it considers newsworthy and reliable”. The tightening involved a signoff process from senior editors dependent on how important the anonymous sourcing was to the story, in response to complaints that such sources were being used too frequently. Alexander says the reporter told him it was policy to name those involved in a story, and others contacted by the reporter have said that he told them his editor wouldn’t publish the story without the blogger’s true identity.
That policy on anonymity is in many ways a good one. Anonymous sourcing is overused, often protecting paid spokespeople who want to spin without repercussions, or those who want to make allegations without having to substantiate them. Yet those rules are primarily aimed at anonymous people commenting on stories about something other than themselves, not the central subject of a story.
At first glance the most obvious parallel in the UK is with NightJack, the Orwell Prize-winning anonymous police blogger who was exposed by the Times in 2009. The blog was, as lawyer David Allen Green described it for the New Statesman in 2012 an “unflinchingly personal account of front-line police work”.
But there are key differences. Alexander isn’t a whistleblower revealing important information about his profession. The writing he produces could be done without the job (psychiatrist) he is concerned about undermining (a profession that frowns upon its practitioners revealing much about their work, anonymous or not).
It subsequently transpired that the Times had discovered NightJack’s identity via some rudimentary hacking. There is no suggestion that the NYT has committed any crime in discovering Alexander’s real name, and indeed Alexander has admitted that it isn’t hard to identify him. It took me about 30 minutes, and for many it won’t take more than five.
It’s also worth pointing out that Slate Star Codex is not uncontroversial. Its fans describe it as a place for people to disagree with each other reasonably, a space to think about and discuss big topics. But reason can lead down some dark rabbit holes, and prioritising it over pretty much everything else inevitably means that some of what is published offends various communities. That is even more so in the case of those commenting on the site’s posts.
But none of the above means the NYT has any imperative to reveal Alexander’s identity. So why would it?
That is what has happened to “Scott Alexander” the author of the much-loved blog Slate Star Codex, which became a nexus for the rationalist community and others who seek to apply reason to debates about situations, ideas and moral quandaries.
Scott Alexander are the real first and middle names of the author, a psychiatrist based in California, who had kept his full identity secret. However, as he revealed in a post this week, a New York Times tech reporter decided to write about his blog and the community around it, and intended to publish Scott Alexander’s full name. In response, Alexander decided to close down Slate Star Codex, claiming that revealing his identity would undermine his ability to treat his patients, and expose him to death threats, something he said he had already received in small numbers.
The response on Twitter, where many of the blog’s readers often dwell, has been one of outrage. Luminaries such as Steven Pinker described it as a “tragedy on the blogosphere”. Others such as software inventor and investor Paul Graham talked of cancelling their NYT subscriptions. The title’s “threat” has been widely described as “doxxing”, a term more commonly used for posting online the personal details of an individual behind a social media account than publishing someone’s name in a newspaper story.The NYT has so far been tight-lipped on the matter, saying only in a statement that: “We do not comment on what we may or may not publish in the future. But when we report on newsworthy or influential figures, our goal is always to give readers all the accurate and relevant information we can.”
By most industry standards, the NYT’s rules on the use of anonymous sources are pretty stringent, especially after they were tightened in 2016. The essence is that anonymous sourcing should be used as “a last resort, for situations in which The Times could not otherwise publish information it considers newsworthy and reliable”. The tightening involved a signoff process from senior editors dependent on how important the anonymous sourcing was to the story, in response to complaints that such sources were being used too frequently. Alexander says the reporter told him it was policy to name those involved in a story, and others contacted by the reporter have said that he told them his editor wouldn’t publish the story without the blogger’s true identity.
That policy on anonymity is in many ways a good one. Anonymous sourcing is overused, often protecting paid spokespeople who want to spin without repercussions, or those who want to make allegations without having to substantiate them. Yet those rules are primarily aimed at anonymous people commenting on stories about something other than themselves, not the central subject of a story.
At first glance the most obvious parallel in the UK is with NightJack, the Orwell Prize-winning anonymous police blogger who was exposed by the Times in 2009. The blog was, as lawyer David Allen Green described it for the New Statesman in 2012 an “unflinchingly personal account of front-line police work”.
But there are key differences. Alexander isn’t a whistleblower revealing important information about his profession. The writing he produces could be done without the job (psychiatrist) he is concerned about undermining (a profession that frowns upon its practitioners revealing much about their work, anonymous or not).
It subsequently transpired that the Times had discovered NightJack’s identity via some rudimentary hacking. There is no suggestion that the NYT has committed any crime in discovering Alexander’s real name, and indeed Alexander has admitted that it isn’t hard to identify him. It took me about 30 minutes, and for many it won’t take more than five.
It’s also worth pointing out that Slate Star Codex is not uncontroversial. Its fans describe it as a place for people to disagree with each other reasonably, a space to think about and discuss big topics. But reason can lead down some dark rabbit holes, and prioritising it over pretty much everything else inevitably means that some of what is published offends various communities. That is even more so in the case of those commenting on the site’s posts.
But none of the above means the NYT has any imperative to reveal Alexander’s identity. So why would it?
by Jasper Jackson, New Statesman | Read more:
Image: Ramin Talaie/Getty Images
[ed. The site is indeed down, and that's a terrible shame. Most people would probably think wtf... who cares? But. Just plug Slate Star Codex into the search function on this blog to see how many informative and interesting subjects Scott has covered over the years. He's one of the most interesting writers on the internet today (and it's not even his day job!). I've been following SSC for years - it's one of the few sites I visit nearly every day - and this makes no obvious sense.]
'We Could Be Feeling This for the Next Decade’: Virus Hits College Towns
The community around the University of California, Davis, used to have a population of 70,000 and a thriving economy. Rentals were tight. Downtown was jammed. Hotels were booked months in advance for commencement. Students swarmed to the town’s bar crawl, sampling the trio of signature cocktails known on campus as “the Davis Trinity.”
Then came the coronavirus. When the campus closed in March, an estimated 20,000 students and faculty left town.
With them went about a third of the demand for goods and services, from books to bikes to brunches. City officials are expecting most of that demand to stay gone even as the economy reopens.
Fall classes will be mostly remote, the university announced last week, with “reduced density” in dorms. Davis’s incoming vice mayor, Lucas Frerichs, said the city was anticipating “a huge impact” with a majority of the university’s 39,000-plus students still dispersed in September.
For “townies,” rules require congregation to remain limited, too, as confirmed coronavirus cases continue to climb in California. One of the Davis Trinity bars has closed, with no plan to reopen. On a recent Sunday, downtown was filled with “takeout only” signs and half-empty, far-flung cafe tables. Outside the closed theater, a lone busker stood on a corner playing “Swan Lake” on a violin to virtually no one.
Efforts to stem the pandemic have squeezed local economies across the nation, but the threat is starting to look existential in college towns.
Reliant on institutions that once seemed impervious to recession, “town and gown” communities that have evolved around rural campuses — Cornell, Amherst College, Penn State — are confronting not only Covid-19 but also major losses in population, revenue and jobs.
Where business as usual has been tried, punishment has followed: This week, Iowa health authorities reported case spikes among young adults in its two largest college towns, Ames and Iowa City, after the governor allowed bars to reopen. And on campuses across the country, attempts to bring back football teams for preseason practice have resulted in outbreaks.
More than 130 coronavirus cases have been linked to athletic departments at 28 Division 1 universities. At Clemson, at least 23 football players and two coaches have been infected. At Arkansas State University, seven athletes across three teams tested positive. And at the University of Houston, the athletic department stopped off-season workouts after an outbreak was discovered.
Sports are not the only source of outbreaks in college towns. Mississippi officials tied several cases to fraternity rush parties that apparently flouted social distancing rules. In Baton Rouge, La., at least 100 cases were linked to bars in the Tigerland nightlife district near Louisiana State’s campus. And in Manhattan, Kan., home to Kansas State, officials said Wednesday that there had been two recent outbreaks: one on the football team, and another in the Aggieville entertainment district just off campus.
For the cities involved, the prognosis is also daunting. In most college towns, university students, faculty and staff are a primary market. Local economies depend on their numbers and dollars, from sales taxes to football weekends to federal funds determined by the U.S. census.
by Shawn Hubler, NY Times | Read more:
Image: Tommy Ly
[ed. It's possible smaller State universities might survive by retaining more in-state students simply because they're closer to home, and a financial bargain compared to so-called elite (and expensive) big colleges: See: Why Some State Universities Are Seeing An Influx (NY Times).
Then came the coronavirus. When the campus closed in March, an estimated 20,000 students and faculty left town.
With them went about a third of the demand for goods and services, from books to bikes to brunches. City officials are expecting most of that demand to stay gone even as the economy reopens.
Fall classes will be mostly remote, the university announced last week, with “reduced density” in dorms. Davis’s incoming vice mayor, Lucas Frerichs, said the city was anticipating “a huge impact” with a majority of the university’s 39,000-plus students still dispersed in September.For “townies,” rules require congregation to remain limited, too, as confirmed coronavirus cases continue to climb in California. One of the Davis Trinity bars has closed, with no plan to reopen. On a recent Sunday, downtown was filled with “takeout only” signs and half-empty, far-flung cafe tables. Outside the closed theater, a lone busker stood on a corner playing “Swan Lake” on a violin to virtually no one.
Efforts to stem the pandemic have squeezed local economies across the nation, but the threat is starting to look existential in college towns.
Reliant on institutions that once seemed impervious to recession, “town and gown” communities that have evolved around rural campuses — Cornell, Amherst College, Penn State — are confronting not only Covid-19 but also major losses in population, revenue and jobs.
Where business as usual has been tried, punishment has followed: This week, Iowa health authorities reported case spikes among young adults in its two largest college towns, Ames and Iowa City, after the governor allowed bars to reopen. And on campuses across the country, attempts to bring back football teams for preseason practice have resulted in outbreaks.
More than 130 coronavirus cases have been linked to athletic departments at 28 Division 1 universities. At Clemson, at least 23 football players and two coaches have been infected. At Arkansas State University, seven athletes across three teams tested positive. And at the University of Houston, the athletic department stopped off-season workouts after an outbreak was discovered.
Sports are not the only source of outbreaks in college towns. Mississippi officials tied several cases to fraternity rush parties that apparently flouted social distancing rules. In Baton Rouge, La., at least 100 cases were linked to bars in the Tigerland nightlife district near Louisiana State’s campus. And in Manhattan, Kan., home to Kansas State, officials said Wednesday that there had been two recent outbreaks: one on the football team, and another in the Aggieville entertainment district just off campus.
For the cities involved, the prognosis is also daunting. In most college towns, university students, faculty and staff are a primary market. Local economies depend on their numbers and dollars, from sales taxes to football weekends to federal funds determined by the U.S. census.
by Shawn Hubler, NY Times | Read more:
Image: Tommy Ly
[ed. It's possible smaller State universities might survive by retaining more in-state students simply because they're closer to home, and a financial bargain compared to so-called elite (and expensive) big colleges: See: Why Some State Universities Are Seeing An Influx (NY Times).
Saturday, June 27, 2020
The Decline of the American World
“He hated America very deeply,” John le Carré wrote of his fictional Soviet mole, Bill Haydon, in Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy. Haydon had just been unmasked as a double agent at the heart of Britain’s secret service, one whose treachery was motivated by animus, not so much to England but to America. “It’s an aesthetic judgment as much as anything,” Haydon explained, before hastily adding: “Partly a moral one, of course.”
I thought of this as I watched the scenes of protest and violence over the killing of George Floyd spread across the United States and then here in Europe and beyond. The whole thing looked so ugly at first—so full of hate, and violence, and raw, undiluted prejudice against the protesters. The beauty of America seemed to have gone, the optimism and charm and easy informality that entrances so many of us from abroad.
At one level, the ugliness of the moment seems a trite observation to make. And yet it gets to the core of the complicated relationship the rest of the world has with America. In Tinker Tailor, Haydon at first attempts to justify his betrayal with a long political apologia, but, in the end, as he and le Carré’s hero, the master spy George Smiley, both know, the politics are just the shell. The real motivation lies underneath: the aesthetic, the instinct. Haydon—upper class, educated, cultured, European—just could not stand the sight of America. For Haydon and many others like him in the real world, this visceral loathing proved so great that it blinded them to the horrors of the Soviet Union, ones that went far beyond the aesthetic.
Le Carré’s reflection on the motivations of anti-Americanism—bound up, as they are, with his own ambivalent feelings about the United States—are as relevant today as they were in 1974, when the novel was first published. Where there was then Richard Nixon, there is now Donald Trump, a caricature of what the Haydons of this world already despise: brash, grasping, rich, and in charge. In the president and first lady, the burning cities and race divides, the police brutality and poverty, an image of America is beamed out, confirming the prejudices that much of the world already have—while also serving as a useful device to obscure its own injustices, hypocrisies, racism, and ugliness.
It is hard to escape the feeling that this is a uniquely humiliating moment for America. As citizens of the world the United States created, we are accustomed to listening to those who loathe America, admire America, and fear America (sometimes all at the same time). But feeling pity for America? That one is new, even if the schadenfreude is painfully myopic. If it’s the aesthetic that matters, the U.S. today simply doesn’t look like the country that the rest of us should aspire to, envy, or replicate.
Even in previous moments of American vulnerability, Washington reigned supreme. Whatever moral or strategic challenge it faced, there was a sense that its political vibrancy matched its economic and military might, that its system and democratic culture were so deeply rooted that it could always regenerate itself. It was as if the very idea of America mattered, an engine driving it on whatever other glitches existed under the hood. Now, something appears to be changing. America seems mired, its very ability to rebound in question. A new power has emerged on the world stage to challenge American supremacy—China—with a weapon the Soviet Union never possessed: mutually assured economic destruction.
China, unlike the Soviet Union, is able to offer a measure of wealth, vibrancy, and technological advancement—albeit not yet to the same level as the United States—while protected by a silk curtain of Western cultural and linguistic incomprehension. In contrast, if America were a family, it would be the Kardashian clan, living its life in the open glare of a gawping, global public—its comings and goings, flaws and contradictions, there for all to see. Today, from the outside, it looks as if this strange, dysfunctional, but highly successful upstart of a family were suffering a sort of full-scale breakdown; what made that family great is apparently no longer enough to prevent its decline.
The U.S.—uniquely among nations—must suffer the agony of this existential struggle in the company of the rest of us. America’s drama quickly becomes our drama. Driving to meet a friend here in London as the protests first erupted in the States, I passed a teenager in a basketball jersey with jordan 23 emblazoned on the back; I noticed it because my wife and I had been watching The Last Dance on Netflix, a documentary about an American sports team, on an American streaming platform. The friend told me he’d spotted graffiti on his way over: i can’t breathe. In the weeks since, protesters have marched in London, Berlin, Paris, Auckland, and elsewhere in support of Black Lives Matter, reflecting the extraordinary cultural hold the United States continues to have over the rest of the Western world. (...)
To understand how this moment in U.S. history is being seen in the rest of the world, I spoke to more than a dozen senior diplomats, government officials, politicians, and academics from five major European countries, including advisers to two of its most powerful leaders, as well as to the former British Prime Minister Tony Blair. From these conversations, most of which took place on the condition of anonymity to speak freely, a picture emerged in which America’s closest allies are looking on with a kind of stunned incomprehension, unsure of what will happen, what it means, and what they should do, largely bound together with angst and a shared sense, as one influential adviser told me, that America and the West are approaching something of a fin de siècle. “The moment is pregnant,” this adviser said. “We just don’t know what with.” (...)
Those that I spoke to divided their concerns, implicitly or explicitly, into those caused by Trump and those exacerbated by him—between the specific problems of his presidency that, in their view, can be rectified, and those that are structural and much more difficult to solve. Almost everyone I spoke to agreed that the Trump presidency has been a watershed not just for the U.S. but for the world itself: It is something that cannot be undone. Words once said cannot be unsaid; images that are seen are unable to be unseen.
The immediate concern for many of those I interviewed was the apparent hollowing out of American capacity. Lawrence Freedman, a professor of war studies at King’s College London, told me the institutions of American power themselves have been “battered.” The health system is struggling, the municipalities are financially broke, and, beyond the police and the military, little attention is being paid to the health of the state itself. Worst of all, he said, “they don’t know how to fix it.”
by Tom McTague, The Atlantic | Read more:
Image: The Atlantic
I thought of this as I watched the scenes of protest and violence over the killing of George Floyd spread across the United States and then here in Europe and beyond. The whole thing looked so ugly at first—so full of hate, and violence, and raw, undiluted prejudice against the protesters. The beauty of America seemed to have gone, the optimism and charm and easy informality that entrances so many of us from abroad.
At one level, the ugliness of the moment seems a trite observation to make. And yet it gets to the core of the complicated relationship the rest of the world has with America. In Tinker Tailor, Haydon at first attempts to justify his betrayal with a long political apologia, but, in the end, as he and le Carré’s hero, the master spy George Smiley, both know, the politics are just the shell. The real motivation lies underneath: the aesthetic, the instinct. Haydon—upper class, educated, cultured, European—just could not stand the sight of America. For Haydon and many others like him in the real world, this visceral loathing proved so great that it blinded them to the horrors of the Soviet Union, ones that went far beyond the aesthetic.
Le Carré’s reflection on the motivations of anti-Americanism—bound up, as they are, with his own ambivalent feelings about the United States—are as relevant today as they were in 1974, when the novel was first published. Where there was then Richard Nixon, there is now Donald Trump, a caricature of what the Haydons of this world already despise: brash, grasping, rich, and in charge. In the president and first lady, the burning cities and race divides, the police brutality and poverty, an image of America is beamed out, confirming the prejudices that much of the world already have—while also serving as a useful device to obscure its own injustices, hypocrisies, racism, and ugliness.It is hard to escape the feeling that this is a uniquely humiliating moment for America. As citizens of the world the United States created, we are accustomed to listening to those who loathe America, admire America, and fear America (sometimes all at the same time). But feeling pity for America? That one is new, even if the schadenfreude is painfully myopic. If it’s the aesthetic that matters, the U.S. today simply doesn’t look like the country that the rest of us should aspire to, envy, or replicate.
Even in previous moments of American vulnerability, Washington reigned supreme. Whatever moral or strategic challenge it faced, there was a sense that its political vibrancy matched its economic and military might, that its system and democratic culture were so deeply rooted that it could always regenerate itself. It was as if the very idea of America mattered, an engine driving it on whatever other glitches existed under the hood. Now, something appears to be changing. America seems mired, its very ability to rebound in question. A new power has emerged on the world stage to challenge American supremacy—China—with a weapon the Soviet Union never possessed: mutually assured economic destruction.
China, unlike the Soviet Union, is able to offer a measure of wealth, vibrancy, and technological advancement—albeit not yet to the same level as the United States—while protected by a silk curtain of Western cultural and linguistic incomprehension. In contrast, if America were a family, it would be the Kardashian clan, living its life in the open glare of a gawping, global public—its comings and goings, flaws and contradictions, there for all to see. Today, from the outside, it looks as if this strange, dysfunctional, but highly successful upstart of a family were suffering a sort of full-scale breakdown; what made that family great is apparently no longer enough to prevent its decline.
The U.S.—uniquely among nations—must suffer the agony of this existential struggle in the company of the rest of us. America’s drama quickly becomes our drama. Driving to meet a friend here in London as the protests first erupted in the States, I passed a teenager in a basketball jersey with jordan 23 emblazoned on the back; I noticed it because my wife and I had been watching The Last Dance on Netflix, a documentary about an American sports team, on an American streaming platform. The friend told me he’d spotted graffiti on his way over: i can’t breathe. In the weeks since, protesters have marched in London, Berlin, Paris, Auckland, and elsewhere in support of Black Lives Matter, reflecting the extraordinary cultural hold the United States continues to have over the rest of the Western world. (...)
To understand how this moment in U.S. history is being seen in the rest of the world, I spoke to more than a dozen senior diplomats, government officials, politicians, and academics from five major European countries, including advisers to two of its most powerful leaders, as well as to the former British Prime Minister Tony Blair. From these conversations, most of which took place on the condition of anonymity to speak freely, a picture emerged in which America’s closest allies are looking on with a kind of stunned incomprehension, unsure of what will happen, what it means, and what they should do, largely bound together with angst and a shared sense, as one influential adviser told me, that America and the West are approaching something of a fin de siècle. “The moment is pregnant,” this adviser said. “We just don’t know what with.” (...)
Those that I spoke to divided their concerns, implicitly or explicitly, into those caused by Trump and those exacerbated by him—between the specific problems of his presidency that, in their view, can be rectified, and those that are structural and much more difficult to solve. Almost everyone I spoke to agreed that the Trump presidency has been a watershed not just for the U.S. but for the world itself: It is something that cannot be undone. Words once said cannot be unsaid; images that are seen are unable to be unseen.
The immediate concern for many of those I interviewed was the apparent hollowing out of American capacity. Lawrence Freedman, a professor of war studies at King’s College London, told me the institutions of American power themselves have been “battered.” The health system is struggling, the municipalities are financially broke, and, beyond the police and the military, little attention is being paid to the health of the state itself. Worst of all, he said, “they don’t know how to fix it.”
by Tom McTague, The Atlantic | Read more:
Image: The Atlantic
Vitamin D Might Help Prevent COVID-19 Infections
Abstract
COVID-19, the disease caused by SARS-CoV-2 (1), was declared a pandemic by the World Health Organization (WHO) in March 2020 (2). While awaiting a vaccine, several antivirals are being used to manage the disease with limited success (3, 4). To expand this arsenal, we screened 4 compound libraries: a United States Food and Drug Administration (FDA) approved drug library, an angiotensin converting enzyme-2 (ACE2) targeted compound library, a flavonoid compound library as well as a natural product library. Of the 121 compounds identified with activity against SARS-CoV-2, 7 were shortlisted for validation. We show for the first time that the active form of Vitamin D, calcitriol, exhibits significant potent activity against SARS-CoV-2. This finding paves the way for consideration of host-directed therapies for ring prophylaxis of contacts of SARS-CoV-2 patients.
by Chee Keng Mok, Yan Ling Ng, Bintou Ahmadou Ahidjo, Regina Ching Hua Lee, Marcus Wing Choy Loe, Jing Liu, Kai Sen Tan, Parveen Kaur, Wee Joo Chng, John Eu-Li Wong, De Yun Wang, Erwei Hao, Xiaotao Hou, Yong Wah Tan, Tze Minn Mak, Cui Lin, Raymond Lin, Paul Tambyah, JiaGang Deng, Justin Jang Hann Chu | bioRxiv | Read more:
COVID-19, the disease caused by SARS-CoV-2 (1), was declared a pandemic by the World Health Organization (WHO) in March 2020 (2). While awaiting a vaccine, several antivirals are being used to manage the disease with limited success (3, 4). To expand this arsenal, we screened 4 compound libraries: a United States Food and Drug Administration (FDA) approved drug library, an angiotensin converting enzyme-2 (ACE2) targeted compound library, a flavonoid compound library as well as a natural product library. Of the 121 compounds identified with activity against SARS-CoV-2, 7 were shortlisted for validation. We show for the first time that the active form of Vitamin D, calcitriol, exhibits significant potent activity against SARS-CoV-2. This finding paves the way for consideration of host-directed therapies for ring prophylaxis of contacts of SARS-CoV-2 patients.
by Chee Keng Mok, Yan Ling Ng, Bintou Ahmadou Ahidjo, Regina Ching Hua Lee, Marcus Wing Choy Loe, Jing Liu, Kai Sen Tan, Parveen Kaur, Wee Joo Chng, John Eu-Li Wong, De Yun Wang, Erwei Hao, Xiaotao Hou, Yong Wah Tan, Tze Minn Mak, Cui Lin, Raymond Lin, Paul Tambyah, JiaGang Deng, Justin Jang Hann Chu | bioRxiv | Read more:
[ed. Calcitrol (Vitamin D). Can't hurt I guess (pre-print, not peer reviewed). Here's the full text.]
Thursday, June 25, 2020
The American Nursing Home Is a Design Failure
With luck, either you will grow old or you already have. That is my ambition and probably yours, and yet with each year we succeed in surviving, we all face a crescendo of mockery, disdain, and neglect. Ageism is the most paradoxical form of bigotry. Rather than expressing contempt for others, it lashes out at our own futures. It expresses itself in innumerable ways — in the eagerness to sacrifice the elderly on the altar of the economy, in the willingness to keep them confined while everyone else emerges from their shells, and, in a popular culture that sees old age (when it sees it at all) as a purgatory of bingo nights. Stephen Colbert turned the notion of a 75-year-old antifa into a comic riff on geriatric terrorists, replete with images of octogenarians innocently locomoting with walkers, stair lifts, and golf carts.
In Sweden, elderly COVID patients were denied hospitalization, and in some cases palliative care edged over into “active euthanasia,” which seems barely distinguishable from execution. The Wall Street Journal quotes a nurse, Latifa Löfvenberg: “People suffocated, it was horrible to watch. One patient asked me what I was giving him when I gave him the morphine injection, and I lied to him. Many died before their time. It was very, very difficult.”
In this country, we have erected a vast apparatus of last-stop living arrangements that, during the pandemic, have proven remarkably successful at killing the very people they were supposed to care for. The disease that has roared through nursing homes is forcing us to look hard at a system we use to store large populations and recognize that, like prisons and segregated schools, it brings us shame.
The job of housing the old sits at the juncture of social services, the medical establishment, the welfare system, and the real-estate business. Those industries have come together to spawn another, geared mostly to affluent planners-ahead. With enough money and foresight, you can outfit your homes for your changing needs, hire staff, or perhaps sell some property to pay for a move into a deluxe assisted-living facility, a cross between a condo and a hotel with room-service doctors. “I don’t think the industry has pushed itself to advocate for the highly frail or the people needing higher levels of care and support,” USC architecture professor Victor Regnier told an interviewer in 2018. “Many providers are happy to settle for mildly impaired individuals that can afford their services.” In other words, if you’re an sick, old person who’s not too old, not too sick, and not too poor, you’re golden. For everyone else, there are nursing homes.
The nursing-home system is an obsolete mess that emerged out of a bureaucratic misconception. In 1946, Congress passed the Hill-Burton Act, which paid to modernize hospitals that agreed to provide free or low-cost care. In 1954, the law was expanded to cover nursing homes, which consolidated the medicalization of senior care. Federal money summoned a wave of new nursing homes, which were built like hospitals, regulated by public-health authorities, and designed to deliver medical care with maximal efficiency and minimal cost. They reflect, reinforce, and perhaps resulted in, a society that pathologizes old age.
The government sees its mission as preventing the worst outcomes: controlling waste, preventing elder abuse, and minimizing unnecessary death. Traditional nursing homes, with their medical stations and long corridors, are designed for a constantly changing staff to circulate among residents who, ideally, remain inert, confined to beds that take up most of their assigned square footage. As in hospitals, two people share a room and a mini-bathroom with a toilet and a sink. Social life, dining, activities, and exercise are mostly regimented and take place in common areas, where dozens, even hundreds, of residents can get together and swap deadly germs. The whole apparatus is ideally suited to propagating infectious disease. David Grabowski, a professor of health-care policy at Harvard Medical School, and a team of researchers analyzed the spread of COVID-19 in nursing homes, and concluded that it didn’t matter whether they were well or shoddily managed, or if the population was rich or poor; if the virus was circulating outside the doors, staff almost invariably brought it inside. This wasn’t a bad-apples problem; it was systemic dysfunction.
Even when there is no pandemic to worry about, most of these places have pared existence for the long-lived back to its grim essentials. These are places nobody would choose to die. More important, they are places nobody would choose to live. “People ask me, ‘After COVID, is anyone going to want to go into a nursing home ever again?’ The answer is: Nobody ever wanted to go to one,” Grabowski says. And yet 1.6 million people do, mostly because they have no other choice. “If we’d seen a different way, maybe we’d have a different attitude about them,” Grabowski adds.
The fact that we haven’t represents a colossal failure of imagination — worse, it’s the triumph of indifference. “We baby boomers thought we would die without ever getting old,” says David Reingold, the CEO of Riverspring Health, which runs the Hebrew Home in Riverdale. “We upended every other system — suburbia, education, child-rearing, college campuses — but not long-term care. Now the pandemic is forcing us to take care of the design and delivery of long-term care just as the baby boomers are about to overwhelm the system.”
Most of us fantasize about aging in place: dying in the homes we have lived in for decades, with the occasional assist from friends, family, and good-hearted neighbors. The problem is not just that home care can be viciously expensive, or that stairs, bathtubs, and stoves pose new dangers as their owners age. It’s also that, in most places, living alone is deadly. When a longtime suburbanite loses the ability to drive, a car-dependent neighborhood can turn into a verdant prison, stranding the elderly indoors without access to public transit, shops, or even sidewalks. “Social isolation kills people,” Reingold says. “It’s the equivalent of smoking two packs a day. A colleague said something profound: ‘A lot of people are going to die of COVID who never got the coronavirus.’ ”
In Sweden, elderly COVID patients were denied hospitalization, and in some cases palliative care edged over into “active euthanasia,” which seems barely distinguishable from execution. The Wall Street Journal quotes a nurse, Latifa Löfvenberg: “People suffocated, it was horrible to watch. One patient asked me what I was giving him when I gave him the morphine injection, and I lied to him. Many died before their time. It was very, very difficult.”
In this country, we have erected a vast apparatus of last-stop living arrangements that, during the pandemic, have proven remarkably successful at killing the very people they were supposed to care for. The disease that has roared through nursing homes is forcing us to look hard at a system we use to store large populations and recognize that, like prisons and segregated schools, it brings us shame.The job of housing the old sits at the juncture of social services, the medical establishment, the welfare system, and the real-estate business. Those industries have come together to spawn another, geared mostly to affluent planners-ahead. With enough money and foresight, you can outfit your homes for your changing needs, hire staff, or perhaps sell some property to pay for a move into a deluxe assisted-living facility, a cross between a condo and a hotel with room-service doctors. “I don’t think the industry has pushed itself to advocate for the highly frail or the people needing higher levels of care and support,” USC architecture professor Victor Regnier told an interviewer in 2018. “Many providers are happy to settle for mildly impaired individuals that can afford their services.” In other words, if you’re an sick, old person who’s not too old, not too sick, and not too poor, you’re golden. For everyone else, there are nursing homes.
The nursing-home system is an obsolete mess that emerged out of a bureaucratic misconception. In 1946, Congress passed the Hill-Burton Act, which paid to modernize hospitals that agreed to provide free or low-cost care. In 1954, the law was expanded to cover nursing homes, which consolidated the medicalization of senior care. Federal money summoned a wave of new nursing homes, which were built like hospitals, regulated by public-health authorities, and designed to deliver medical care with maximal efficiency and minimal cost. They reflect, reinforce, and perhaps resulted in, a society that pathologizes old age.
The government sees its mission as preventing the worst outcomes: controlling waste, preventing elder abuse, and minimizing unnecessary death. Traditional nursing homes, with their medical stations and long corridors, are designed for a constantly changing staff to circulate among residents who, ideally, remain inert, confined to beds that take up most of their assigned square footage. As in hospitals, two people share a room and a mini-bathroom with a toilet and a sink. Social life, dining, activities, and exercise are mostly regimented and take place in common areas, where dozens, even hundreds, of residents can get together and swap deadly germs. The whole apparatus is ideally suited to propagating infectious disease. David Grabowski, a professor of health-care policy at Harvard Medical School, and a team of researchers analyzed the spread of COVID-19 in nursing homes, and concluded that it didn’t matter whether they were well or shoddily managed, or if the population was rich or poor; if the virus was circulating outside the doors, staff almost invariably brought it inside. This wasn’t a bad-apples problem; it was systemic dysfunction.
Even when there is no pandemic to worry about, most of these places have pared existence for the long-lived back to its grim essentials. These are places nobody would choose to die. More important, they are places nobody would choose to live. “People ask me, ‘After COVID, is anyone going to want to go into a nursing home ever again?’ The answer is: Nobody ever wanted to go to one,” Grabowski says. And yet 1.6 million people do, mostly because they have no other choice. “If we’d seen a different way, maybe we’d have a different attitude about them,” Grabowski adds.
The fact that we haven’t represents a colossal failure of imagination — worse, it’s the triumph of indifference. “We baby boomers thought we would die without ever getting old,” says David Reingold, the CEO of Riverspring Health, which runs the Hebrew Home in Riverdale. “We upended every other system — suburbia, education, child-rearing, college campuses — but not long-term care. Now the pandemic is forcing us to take care of the design and delivery of long-term care just as the baby boomers are about to overwhelm the system.”
Most of us fantasize about aging in place: dying in the homes we have lived in for decades, with the occasional assist from friends, family, and good-hearted neighbors. The problem is not just that home care can be viciously expensive, or that stairs, bathtubs, and stoves pose new dangers as their owners age. It’s also that, in most places, living alone is deadly. When a longtime suburbanite loses the ability to drive, a car-dependent neighborhood can turn into a verdant prison, stranding the elderly indoors without access to public transit, shops, or even sidewalks. “Social isolation kills people,” Reingold says. “It’s the equivalent of smoking two packs a day. A colleague said something profound: ‘A lot of people are going to die of COVID who never got the coronavirus.’ ”
by Justin Davidson, Intelligencer | Read more:
Image: C.F. Møller
Wednesday, June 24, 2020
Why Reopening Isn't Enough To Save The Economy
Brooklyn Heights sits across the East River from Lower Manhattan. It's filled with multimillion-dollar brownstones and — usually — Range Rovers, Teslas and BMWs. These days it's easy to find parking. The brownstones are mostly dark at night. The place is a ghost town. And the neighborhood's sushi restaurants, Pilates studios, bistros and wine bars are either closed or mostly empty. It's a microcosm for what has been the driver of the pandemic recession: Rich people have stopped going out, destroying millions of jobs.
That's one of the key insights of a blockbuster study that was dropped late last week by a gang of economists led by Harvard University's Raj Chetty. If you don't know who Chetty is, he's sort of like the Michael Jordan of policy wonks. He's a star economist. He and his colleagues assemble and crunch massive data sets and deliver insights that regularly shift core economic debates about inequality and opportunity. This new study focuses on the economic impact of COVID-19 and the government response. To us nerds, this is like Game 7 of the NBA Finals, and Chetty just swooped in at a crucial moment to drop some threes.
On the day the study came out, Chetty participated in a Zoom webinar sponsored by Princeton University's Bendheim Center for Finance. Dressed in a white-collared shirt with bookshelves as his background, Chetty took us all through the study. The data? Good lord. They've assembled several gigantic new data sets from private companies, including credit and debit card processors and national payroll companies. The data are all freely available online, updated in real time and presented in an easily digestible form. Chetty and his team have crunched it all to give some precise insights about consumer spending, jobs and the geographic impact of the crisis. The study represents an advance for economics as a science, and it has got some bombshells.
First up, consumer spending. Typically, Chetty said, recessions are driven by a drop in spending on durable goods, like refrigerators, automobiles and computers. This recession is different. It's driven primarily by a decline in spending at restaurants, hotels, bars and other service establishments that require in-person contact. We kinda already knew that. But what the team's data show is that this decline in spending is mostly in rich ZIP codes, whose businesses saw a 70% drop-off in their revenue. That compares with a 30% drop in revenue for businesses in poorer ZIP codes.
Second, jobs. This 70% fall in revenue at businesses in rich ZIP codes led those businesses to lay off nearly 70% of their employees. These employees are mostly low-wage workers. Businesses in poorer ZIP codes laid off about 30% of their employees. The bottom line, Chetty said in his presentation, is that "reductions in spending by the rich have led to loss in jobs mostly for low-income individuals working in affluent areas."
Third, the government rescue effort. They find it has mostly failed. The $500 billion Paycheck Protection Program, which has given forgivable loans to businesses with fewer than 500 employees, doesn't appear to have done much to save jobs. When the researchers compare the employment trends of businesses with fewer than 500 employees with those with more, the smaller businesses eligible for PPP don't see a relative boost after the program went into effect. It looks like the program didn't do its job of saving jobs. Meanwhile, the stimulus checks, while increasing spending, did not have much stimulative effect because the spending mostly flowed to big companies like Amazon and Walmart. The money didn't flow to the rich ZIP code, in-person service businesses most affected by the downturn. Overall, the federal rescue package, they find, has failed to rescue the businesses and jobs getting hammered most by the pandemic.
Finally, there are state-permitted reopenings: They don't seem to boost the economy either. Chetty and his team compare, for example, Minnesota and Wisconsin. Minnesota allowed reopening weeks before Wisconsin, but if you look at spending patterns in both states, Minnesota did not see any boost compared with Wisconsin after it reopened. "The fundamental reason that people seem to be spending less is not because of state-imposed restrictions," Chetty said. "It's because high-income folks are able to work remotely, are choosing to self-isolate and are being cautious given health concerns. And unless you fundamentally address that concern, I think there's limited capacity to restart the economy."
As long as rich people are scared of the virus, they won't go out and spend money, and workers in the service sector will continue to suffer. Low-income workers — especially those whose jobs focused on providing services in rich urban areas — are in for a period of turbulence. Many of these workers are getting a lifeline in the form of unemployment insurance, but some of these benefits will expire soon if the federal government doesn't act.
[ed. See also: COVID-19: This is when life will return to normal, according to the experts (World Economic Forum).]
That's one of the key insights of a blockbuster study that was dropped late last week by a gang of economists led by Harvard University's Raj Chetty. If you don't know who Chetty is, he's sort of like the Michael Jordan of policy wonks. He's a star economist. He and his colleagues assemble and crunch massive data sets and deliver insights that regularly shift core economic debates about inequality and opportunity. This new study focuses on the economic impact of COVID-19 and the government response. To us nerds, this is like Game 7 of the NBA Finals, and Chetty just swooped in at a crucial moment to drop some threes.
On the day the study came out, Chetty participated in a Zoom webinar sponsored by Princeton University's Bendheim Center for Finance. Dressed in a white-collared shirt with bookshelves as his background, Chetty took us all through the study. The data? Good lord. They've assembled several gigantic new data sets from private companies, including credit and debit card processors and national payroll companies. The data are all freely available online, updated in real time and presented in an easily digestible form. Chetty and his team have crunched it all to give some precise insights about consumer spending, jobs and the geographic impact of the crisis. The study represents an advance for economics as a science, and it has got some bombshells.First up, consumer spending. Typically, Chetty said, recessions are driven by a drop in spending on durable goods, like refrigerators, automobiles and computers. This recession is different. It's driven primarily by a decline in spending at restaurants, hotels, bars and other service establishments that require in-person contact. We kinda already knew that. But what the team's data show is that this decline in spending is mostly in rich ZIP codes, whose businesses saw a 70% drop-off in their revenue. That compares with a 30% drop in revenue for businesses in poorer ZIP codes.
Second, jobs. This 70% fall in revenue at businesses in rich ZIP codes led those businesses to lay off nearly 70% of their employees. These employees are mostly low-wage workers. Businesses in poorer ZIP codes laid off about 30% of their employees. The bottom line, Chetty said in his presentation, is that "reductions in spending by the rich have led to loss in jobs mostly for low-income individuals working in affluent areas."
Third, the government rescue effort. They find it has mostly failed. The $500 billion Paycheck Protection Program, which has given forgivable loans to businesses with fewer than 500 employees, doesn't appear to have done much to save jobs. When the researchers compare the employment trends of businesses with fewer than 500 employees with those with more, the smaller businesses eligible for PPP don't see a relative boost after the program went into effect. It looks like the program didn't do its job of saving jobs. Meanwhile, the stimulus checks, while increasing spending, did not have much stimulative effect because the spending mostly flowed to big companies like Amazon and Walmart. The money didn't flow to the rich ZIP code, in-person service businesses most affected by the downturn. Overall, the federal rescue package, they find, has failed to rescue the businesses and jobs getting hammered most by the pandemic.
Finally, there are state-permitted reopenings: They don't seem to boost the economy either. Chetty and his team compare, for example, Minnesota and Wisconsin. Minnesota allowed reopening weeks before Wisconsin, but if you look at spending patterns in both states, Minnesota did not see any boost compared with Wisconsin after it reopened. "The fundamental reason that people seem to be spending less is not because of state-imposed restrictions," Chetty said. "It's because high-income folks are able to work remotely, are choosing to self-isolate and are being cautious given health concerns. And unless you fundamentally address that concern, I think there's limited capacity to restart the economy."
As long as rich people are scared of the virus, they won't go out and spend money, and workers in the service sector will continue to suffer. Low-income workers — especially those whose jobs focused on providing services in rich urban areas — are in for a period of turbulence. Many of these workers are getting a lifeline in the form of unemployment insurance, but some of these benefits will expire soon if the federal government doesn't act.
by Greg Rosalsky, NPR | Read more:
Image: Geoff Caddick/AFP via Getty Images[ed. See also: COVID-19: This is when life will return to normal, according to the experts (World Economic Forum).]
Segway Will Stop Making Its Iconic Self-Balancing Scooter
It’s the end of an unusual era in transportation. Fast Company has learned that the Segway brand will stop producing the Segway PT (Personal Transporter) at its Bedford, New Hampshire plant, where most production has taken place, on July 15th. The move will result in 25 people being laid off, and reflects the long-term struggles of a product that was supposed to revolutionize transportation, but never really took off.
Inventor Dean Kamen launched the Segway PT in December 2001 with promises that it would revolutionize city transport — the self-balancing two-wheeler was supposed to cover the middle ground between walking and driving in a way that bikes couldn’t. However, it never sold in huge numbers, managing just 140,000 units in nearly 20 years. It ultimately found the most use among security teams (immortalized by Paul Blart: Mall Cop) and tourists. Kamen sold the company in 2009, and Chinese mobility firm Ninebot acquired it in 2015.
Company executives were quick to acknowledge that the basic concept had its issues. VP Tony Ho told FC that the classic Segway design was still seen as “very novel” and required a learning curve (as this writer can attest) that kick scooters and other forms of transportation never really did. And as Segway president Judie Cai added, the PT’s design may have been too durable for its own good. Its highly redundant nature may have been great for reliability and safety, but it also meant that a customer might not have to replace their transporter for decades.
Inventor Dean Kamen launched the Segway PT in December 2001 with promises that it would revolutionize city transport — the self-balancing two-wheeler was supposed to cover the middle ground between walking and driving in a way that bikes couldn’t. However, it never sold in huge numbers, managing just 140,000 units in nearly 20 years. It ultimately found the most use among security teams (immortalized by Paul Blart: Mall Cop) and tourists. Kamen sold the company in 2009, and Chinese mobility firm Ninebot acquired it in 2015.Company executives were quick to acknowledge that the basic concept had its issues. VP Tony Ho told FC that the classic Segway design was still seen as “very novel” and required a learning curve (as this writer can attest) that kick scooters and other forms of transportation never really did. And as Segway president Judie Cai added, the PT’s design may have been too durable for its own good. Its highly redundant nature may have been great for reliability and safety, but it also meant that a customer might not have to replace their transporter for decades.
by Jon Fingas, Endgadget | Read more:
Image: Robert Alexander/Getty Images
Anyone Can Play Guitar
[ed. One of my new favorite guitar instructors - Adrian Woodward. Nice dry sense of humor and solid lesson technique. I'm working on this one right now. Here's his website: Anyone Can Play Guitar.]
Tuesday, June 23, 2020
The Double Pandemic Of Social Isolation And COVID-19: Cross-Sector Policy Must Address Both
The struggle to balance literal survival with all the things that make surviving worthwhile has never been so clear, with the COVID-19 pandemic forcing many to sacrifice social connections – and therefore quality of life – for life itself. And yet, as I wrote in a recent Health Affairs policy brief, Social Isolation and Health (released June 22, 2020), being socially connected in meaningful ways is actually key to human health and survival.
The COVID-19 pandemic and the need to slow the virus’ spread have highlighted the pervasiveness of social contact within, and social relevance of, nearly every sector of our lives, including employment, education, entertainment, travel, transportation, and recreation. The pandemic has also highlighted the underlying weaknesses of our current social “support systems” for older adults, students, families, workers, and at-risk populations. As such, COVID-19 has underscored the necessity of strengthening local and federal systems to rebuild and sustain the social and emotional needs of the population – a task that will be critical to the nation’s public health recovery from the pandemic.
In this post, I explain why concerns about social isolation are heightened during the pandemic; discuss why policy responses must consider the impact of reduced or changed social connection across all sectors; highlight possible unintended consequences of improved digital connection; and, emphasize the importance of prioritizing social needs in recovery efforts.
Population-Wide Social Isolation Due To COVID-19
While social isolation and loneliness were prevalent in the population prior to COVID-19, efforts to reduce the virus’ spread via stay-at-home orders, quarantine, and social distancing recommendations have exacerbated an already serious problem. With the exception of “essential workers,” the pandemic has meant limiting physical proximity to those with whom one lives. For the 28 percent of Americans who live alone, this has meant little to no human contact for months. Regardless of living situation, interactions with anyone outside the home have been severely limited for everyone. Preliminary surveys suggest that within the first month of COVID-19, loneliness increased by 20 to 30 percent, and emotional distress tripled. While several surveys are still ongoing to capture the full extent of the problem, current evidence suggests the pre-existing public health crisis of social isolation and loneliness may be far more widespread than previously estimated. (...)
Social Contact Is A Key Component Of Every Sector
The pandemic has shown the world how fundamental social contact is in our lives, as almost every aspect of life has changed to create social distance. These social distancing efforts have led to remote working; remote or online education; cancellation of sporting, entertainment, and professional events; and, closures of museums, parks, churches and much more. Going forward, we are likely to see sustained changes to the way we live, work, and play, and even in the way we age. In fact, we have already seen calls for permanent changes in social norms, policies and physical environments– all of which are social determinants of health. The Centers for Disease Control define the social determinants of health as “the conditions in which people are born, grow, live, work and age, as well as the complex, interrelated social structures and economic systems that shape these conditions.” The substantial changes in our social behavior as a result of this pandemic are clearly far-reaching, but we do not yet know what lingering longer-term public health effects the pandemic may foreshadow. If the prevalence rates of social isolation and loneliness remain elevated or increase, such changes are likely to lead to a greater public health burden in the longer term. (...)
The COVID-19 pandemic and the need to slow the virus’ spread have highlighted the pervasiveness of social contact within, and social relevance of, nearly every sector of our lives, including employment, education, entertainment, travel, transportation, and recreation. The pandemic has also highlighted the underlying weaknesses of our current social “support systems” for older adults, students, families, workers, and at-risk populations. As such, COVID-19 has underscored the necessity of strengthening local and federal systems to rebuild and sustain the social and emotional needs of the population – a task that will be critical to the nation’s public health recovery from the pandemic.In this post, I explain why concerns about social isolation are heightened during the pandemic; discuss why policy responses must consider the impact of reduced or changed social connection across all sectors; highlight possible unintended consequences of improved digital connection; and, emphasize the importance of prioritizing social needs in recovery efforts.
Population-Wide Social Isolation Due To COVID-19
While social isolation and loneliness were prevalent in the population prior to COVID-19, efforts to reduce the virus’ spread via stay-at-home orders, quarantine, and social distancing recommendations have exacerbated an already serious problem. With the exception of “essential workers,” the pandemic has meant limiting physical proximity to those with whom one lives. For the 28 percent of Americans who live alone, this has meant little to no human contact for months. Regardless of living situation, interactions with anyone outside the home have been severely limited for everyone. Preliminary surveys suggest that within the first month of COVID-19, loneliness increased by 20 to 30 percent, and emotional distress tripled. While several surveys are still ongoing to capture the full extent of the problem, current evidence suggests the pre-existing public health crisis of social isolation and loneliness may be far more widespread than previously estimated. (...)
Social Isolation Carries Long-Term And Immediate Risks To Survival
With a highly infectious and deadly novel virus, why should we care about social isolation and loneliness? As described in my brief, robust evidence links social isolation to increased risk of death from all causes and increased morbidity across a variety of physical health outcomes. These well-established risks are a result of chronic effects over time. Thus, understandably, restrictions associated with the immediate risks of the coronavirus were prioritized for public health. Nonetheless social isolation and loneliness do have immediate effects that are health-relevant that should not be ignored.
The increase in distress due to social distancing that many Americans are experiencing is a normal response. Given that humans are a social species, this is our biology signaling a need to reconnect socially, just like hunger signals us to eat, and thirst signals us to drink water. Proximity to others, particularly trusted others, signals safety. When we lack proximity to trusted others our brain and body may respond with a state of heightened alert. This can result in increases in blood pressure, stress hormones, and inflammatory responses—which if experienced on an ongoing basis can put us at increased risk for a variety of chronic illnesses. Among those with pre-existing health conditions, these changes in physiology could potentially exacerbate the condition, precipitate the onset of an acute event, or hasten disease progression.
Immediate effects of social isolation related to the pandemic have already been observed, with surges in mental health concerns, substance abuse, and domestic violence. Early observation suggests problematic health behaviors, including substance use, poorer sleep, and emotional or overeating, may increase. Further, more than two million Americans purchased guns during the month of March (the second highest monthly total in the decades since such records have been kept), raising concerns for increased risk for suicide. Both short-term and long-term public health concerns will emerge if steps are not taken to mitigate these effects.
With a highly infectious and deadly novel virus, why should we care about social isolation and loneliness? As described in my brief, robust evidence links social isolation to increased risk of death from all causes and increased morbidity across a variety of physical health outcomes. These well-established risks are a result of chronic effects over time. Thus, understandably, restrictions associated with the immediate risks of the coronavirus were prioritized for public health. Nonetheless social isolation and loneliness do have immediate effects that are health-relevant that should not be ignored.
The increase in distress due to social distancing that many Americans are experiencing is a normal response. Given that humans are a social species, this is our biology signaling a need to reconnect socially, just like hunger signals us to eat, and thirst signals us to drink water. Proximity to others, particularly trusted others, signals safety. When we lack proximity to trusted others our brain and body may respond with a state of heightened alert. This can result in increases in blood pressure, stress hormones, and inflammatory responses—which if experienced on an ongoing basis can put us at increased risk for a variety of chronic illnesses. Among those with pre-existing health conditions, these changes in physiology could potentially exacerbate the condition, precipitate the onset of an acute event, or hasten disease progression.
Immediate effects of social isolation related to the pandemic have already been observed, with surges in mental health concerns, substance abuse, and domestic violence. Early observation suggests problematic health behaviors, including substance use, poorer sleep, and emotional or overeating, may increase. Further, more than two million Americans purchased guns during the month of March (the second highest monthly total in the decades since such records have been kept), raising concerns for increased risk for suicide. Both short-term and long-term public health concerns will emerge if steps are not taken to mitigate these effects.
Social Contact Is A Key Component Of Every Sector
The pandemic has shown the world how fundamental social contact is in our lives, as almost every aspect of life has changed to create social distance. These social distancing efforts have led to remote working; remote or online education; cancellation of sporting, entertainment, and professional events; and, closures of museums, parks, churches and much more. Going forward, we are likely to see sustained changes to the way we live, work, and play, and even in the way we age. In fact, we have already seen calls for permanent changes in social norms, policies and physical environments– all of which are social determinants of health. The Centers for Disease Control define the social determinants of health as “the conditions in which people are born, grow, live, work and age, as well as the complex, interrelated social structures and economic systems that shape these conditions.” The substantial changes in our social behavior as a result of this pandemic are clearly far-reaching, but we do not yet know what lingering longer-term public health effects the pandemic may foreshadow. If the prevalence rates of social isolation and loneliness remain elevated or increase, such changes are likely to lead to a greater public health burden in the longer term. (...)
Addressing The Digital And Social Divides
Maintaining connections to others outside the home during the quarantine has increased our reliance upon phones and digital technologies. Of course, reliance on technology was rapidly increasing prior to the pandemic, but with increasing demand for telehealth, telework, and online education, issues of connectivity and the digital divide have been catapulted to the forefront of many policy discussions. Access to the internet is more crucial than ever, but we must pause to ask the bigger question: what is the full scope of consequences that may result from scaling digital capabilities and solutions?
While digital tools have clear benefits, including the capability to provide access to information and resources and bridge distances, there are potential tradeoffs. It is unclear to what extent digital tools approximate the human experience of in-person contact, or whether our biological needs for human connection can be satisfied through such tools. There is some evidence of a “loneliness paradox” wherein tech and social media that should make us more socially connected actually increase loneliness. In addition, the pandemic has highlighted limitations of video conferencing tools that go beyond Zoom Fatigue. For example, anyone who has attended a virtual funeral or wedding, or even just a virtual happy hour, realizes that it may be better than nothing but feels drastically inadequate. According to one survey, these virtual social gatherings failed to reduce loneliness among 48 percent, and actually increased loneliness among 10 percent of respondents. Permanent scaling of digital solutions may create a different kind of digital divide, such that human contact becomes a luxury exacerbating economic disparities. (...)
Maintaining connections to others outside the home during the quarantine has increased our reliance upon phones and digital technologies. Of course, reliance on technology was rapidly increasing prior to the pandemic, but with increasing demand for telehealth, telework, and online education, issues of connectivity and the digital divide have been catapulted to the forefront of many policy discussions. Access to the internet is more crucial than ever, but we must pause to ask the bigger question: what is the full scope of consequences that may result from scaling digital capabilities and solutions?
While digital tools have clear benefits, including the capability to provide access to information and resources and bridge distances, there are potential tradeoffs. It is unclear to what extent digital tools approximate the human experience of in-person contact, or whether our biological needs for human connection can be satisfied through such tools. There is some evidence of a “loneliness paradox” wherein tech and social media that should make us more socially connected actually increase loneliness. In addition, the pandemic has highlighted limitations of video conferencing tools that go beyond Zoom Fatigue. For example, anyone who has attended a virtual funeral or wedding, or even just a virtual happy hour, realizes that it may be better than nothing but feels drastically inadequate. According to one survey, these virtual social gatherings failed to reduce loneliness among 48 percent, and actually increased loneliness among 10 percent of respondents. Permanent scaling of digital solutions may create a different kind of digital divide, such that human contact becomes a luxury exacerbating economic disparities. (...)
Social Needs Must Be Prioritized In Pandemic And Recovery Policy
Concerns about the secondary ramifications of the pandemic have focused nearly exclusively on a global economic recession. There should be similar concerns of a social recession. Similar to an economic recession that can have lasting effects even after the economy begins to grow, the social restrictions put in place during the pandemic may have profound long-term consequences, even after restrictions are lifted.
by Julianne Holt-Lunstad, Health Affairs | Read more:
Image: uncredited
[ed. See also: the following post.]
Concerns about the secondary ramifications of the pandemic have focused nearly exclusively on a global economic recession. There should be similar concerns of a social recession. Similar to an economic recession that can have lasting effects even after the economy begins to grow, the social restrictions put in place during the pandemic may have profound long-term consequences, even after restrictions are lifted.
by Julianne Holt-Lunstad, Health Affairs | Read more:
Image: uncredited
[ed. See also: the following post.]
In The Shadows: The Hidden Deaths Of The COVID Pandemic
Sara Wittner had seemingly gotten her life back under control. After a December relapse in her battle with drug addiction, the 32-year-old completed a 30-day detox program and started taking a monthly injection to block her cravings for opioids. She was engaged to be married, working for a local health association and counseling others about drug addiction.
Then the COVID-19 pandemic hit.
The virus knocked down all the supports she had carefully built around her: no more in-person Narcotics Anonymous meetings, no talks over coffee with a trusted friend or her addiction recovery sponsor. As the virus stressed hospitals and clinics, her appointment to get the next monthly shot of medication was moved back from 30 days to 45 days.
As best her family could reconstruct from the messages on her phone, Wittner started using again on April 12, Easter Sunday, more than a week after her originally scheduled appointment, when she should have gotten her next injection. She couldn’t stave off the cravings any longer as she waited for her appointment that coming Friday. She used again that Tuesday and Wednesday.
“We kind of know her thought process was that ‘I can make it. I’ll go get my shot tomorrow,’” said her father, Leon Wittner. “‘I’ve just got to get through this one more day and then I’ll be OK.’”
But on Thursday morning, the day before her appointment, her sister Grace Sekera found her curled up in bed at her parents’ home in this Denver suburb, blood pooling on the right side of her body, foam on her lips, still clutching a syringe. Her father suspects she died of a fentanyl overdose.
However, he said, what really killed her was the coronavirus.
“Anybody that is struggling with a substance abuse disorder, anybody that has an alcohol issue and anybody with mental health issues, all of a sudden, whatever safety nets they had for the most part are gone,” he said. “And those are people that are living right on the edge of that razor.”
Sara Wittner’s death is just one example of how complicated it is to track the full impact of the coronavirus pandemic — and even what should be counted. Some people who get COVID-19 die of COVID-19. Some people who have COVID die of something else. And then there are people who die because of disruptions created by the pandemic.
While public health officials are trying to gather data on how many people test positive for the coronavirus and how many people die from the infection, the pandemic has left an untold number dying in the shadows, not directly because of the virus but still because of it. They are unaccounted for in the official tally, which, as of June 21, has topped 119,000 in the U.S.
But the lack of immediate clarity on the numbers of people actually dying from COVID-19 has some onlookers, ranging from conspiracy theorists on Twitter all the way to President Donald Trump, claiming the tallies are exaggerated — even before they include deaths like Wittner’s. That has undermined confidence in the accuracy of the death toll and made it harder for public health officials to implement infection prevention measures.
Yet experts are certain that a lack of widespread testing, variations in how the cause of death is recorded, and the economic and social disruption the virus has caused are hiding the full extent of its death toll.
by Markian Hawryluk, KVH | Read more:
Image: Leon Wittner
Then the COVID-19 pandemic hit.
The virus knocked down all the supports she had carefully built around her: no more in-person Narcotics Anonymous meetings, no talks over coffee with a trusted friend or her addiction recovery sponsor. As the virus stressed hospitals and clinics, her appointment to get the next monthly shot of medication was moved back from 30 days to 45 days.
As best her family could reconstruct from the messages on her phone, Wittner started using again on April 12, Easter Sunday, more than a week after her originally scheduled appointment, when she should have gotten her next injection. She couldn’t stave off the cravings any longer as she waited for her appointment that coming Friday. She used again that Tuesday and Wednesday.
“We kind of know her thought process was that ‘I can make it. I’ll go get my shot tomorrow,’” said her father, Leon Wittner. “‘I’ve just got to get through this one more day and then I’ll be OK.’”But on Thursday morning, the day before her appointment, her sister Grace Sekera found her curled up in bed at her parents’ home in this Denver suburb, blood pooling on the right side of her body, foam on her lips, still clutching a syringe. Her father suspects she died of a fentanyl overdose.
However, he said, what really killed her was the coronavirus.
“Anybody that is struggling with a substance abuse disorder, anybody that has an alcohol issue and anybody with mental health issues, all of a sudden, whatever safety nets they had for the most part are gone,” he said. “And those are people that are living right on the edge of that razor.”
Sara Wittner’s death is just one example of how complicated it is to track the full impact of the coronavirus pandemic — and even what should be counted. Some people who get COVID-19 die of COVID-19. Some people who have COVID die of something else. And then there are people who die because of disruptions created by the pandemic.
While public health officials are trying to gather data on how many people test positive for the coronavirus and how many people die from the infection, the pandemic has left an untold number dying in the shadows, not directly because of the virus but still because of it. They are unaccounted for in the official tally, which, as of June 21, has topped 119,000 in the U.S.
But the lack of immediate clarity on the numbers of people actually dying from COVID-19 has some onlookers, ranging from conspiracy theorists on Twitter all the way to President Donald Trump, claiming the tallies are exaggerated — even before they include deaths like Wittner’s. That has undermined confidence in the accuracy of the death toll and made it harder for public health officials to implement infection prevention measures.
Yet experts are certain that a lack of widespread testing, variations in how the cause of death is recorded, and the economic and social disruption the virus has caused are hiding the full extent of its death toll.
by Markian Hawryluk, KVH | Read more:
Image: Leon Wittner
[ed. Do we even have a health care system now (that isn't focused primarily on the virus)? See the comments section here (Naked Captalism).]
Monday, June 22, 2020
The End of Tourism?
Of all the calamities that befell tourists as the coronavirus took hold, those involving cruise ships stood apart. Contagion at sea inspired a special horror, as pleasure palaces turned into prison hulks, and rumours of infection on board spread between fetid cabins via WhatsApp. Trapped in close proximity to their fellow passengers, holidaymakers experienced the distress of being both victims and agents of infection, as a succession of ports refused them entry.
When it began, the deadly situation at sea was seen as a freakish outgrowth of what many still thought of as a Chinese problem. The first ship to suffer a major outbreak was the Diamond Princess. By mid-February, 355 cases had been confirmed aboard, and the ship was held being in quarantine in the port of Yokohama. At the time, the ship accounted for more than half of reported cases outside China. Fourteen passengers on the Diamond Princess would die of the virus.
The nightmare at sea has not concluded. Even after passengers from more than 30 afflicted cruise ships were allowed to disembark, and flooded into hospitals, quarantine hotels or on to charter flights home, an estimated 100,000 crew and staff remained trapped at sea, some in quarantine, others blocked from disembarking until their employers could make onward travel arrangements. This second drama led to a mass hunger strike – by 15 Romanian crew in limbo off the coast of Florida – and a police intervention to quell disturbances on a ship quarantined in the German port of Cuxhaven. As recently as 1 June, crew and staff aboard 20-odd cruise ships marooned in Manila Bay were reportedly clamouring to be allowed ashore.
Cruises have become a symbol of the ravages that coronavirus has inflicted on tourism. A sector that until January was worth $150bn, by its own estimate, is shedding jobs, issuing debt and discounting furiously simply to survive. But even before the current crisis hit, cruising had become symptomatic of the damage that tourism wreaks on the world.
Tourism is an unusual industry in that the assets it monetises – a view, a reef, a cathedral – do not belong to it. The world’s dominant cruise companies – Carnival, Royal Caribbean and Norwegian – pay little towards the upkeep of the public goods they live off. By incorporating themselves in overseas tax havens with benign environmental and labour laws – respectively Panama, Liberia and Bermuda – cruising’s big three, which account for three-quarters of the industry, get to enjoy low taxes and avoid much irksome regulation, while polluting the air and sea, eroding coastlines and pouring tens of millions of people into picturesque ports of call that often cannot cope with them.
What goes for cruises goes for most of the travel industry. For decades, a small number of environmentally minded reformists in the sector have tried to develop sustainable tourism that creates enduring employment while minimising the damage it does. But most hotel groups, tour operators and national tourism authorities – whatever their stated commitment to sustainable tourism – continue to prioritise the economies of scale that inevitably lead to more tourists paying less money and heaping more pressure on those same assets. Before the pandemic, industry experts were forecasting that international arrivals would rise by between 3% and 4% in 2020. Chinese travellers, the largest and fastest-growing cohort in world tourism, were expected to make 160m trips abroad, a 27% increase on the 2015 figure.
The virus has given us a picture, at once frightening and beautiful, of a world without tourism. We see now what happens to our public goods when tourists aren’t clustering to exploit them. Shorelines enjoy a respite from the erosion caused by cruise ships the size of canyons. Walkers stuck at home cannot litter mountainsides. Intricate culinary cultures are no longer menaced by triangles of defrosted pizza. It is hard to imagine a better illustration of tourism’s effects than our current holiday away from it.
Coronavirus has also revealed the danger of overreliance on tourism, demonstrating in brutal fashion what happens when the industry supporting an entire community, at the expense of any other more sustainable activity, collapses. On 7 May, the UN World Tourism Organisation estimated that earnings from international tourism might be down 80% this year against last year’s figure of $1.7tn, and that 120m jobs could be lost. Since tourism relies on the same human mobility that spreads disease, and will be subject to the most stringent and lasting restrictions, it is likely to suffer more than almost any other economic activity.
by Christopher de Bellaigue, The Guardian | Read more:
Image: Venice, 2019. Miguel Medina/AFP/Getty
When it began, the deadly situation at sea was seen as a freakish outgrowth of what many still thought of as a Chinese problem. The first ship to suffer a major outbreak was the Diamond Princess. By mid-February, 355 cases had been confirmed aboard, and the ship was held being in quarantine in the port of Yokohama. At the time, the ship accounted for more than half of reported cases outside China. Fourteen passengers on the Diamond Princess would die of the virus.
The nightmare at sea has not concluded. Even after passengers from more than 30 afflicted cruise ships were allowed to disembark, and flooded into hospitals, quarantine hotels or on to charter flights home, an estimated 100,000 crew and staff remained trapped at sea, some in quarantine, others blocked from disembarking until their employers could make onward travel arrangements. This second drama led to a mass hunger strike – by 15 Romanian crew in limbo off the coast of Florida – and a police intervention to quell disturbances on a ship quarantined in the German port of Cuxhaven. As recently as 1 June, crew and staff aboard 20-odd cruise ships marooned in Manila Bay were reportedly clamouring to be allowed ashore.Cruises have become a symbol of the ravages that coronavirus has inflicted on tourism. A sector that until January was worth $150bn, by its own estimate, is shedding jobs, issuing debt and discounting furiously simply to survive. But even before the current crisis hit, cruising had become symptomatic of the damage that tourism wreaks on the world.
Tourism is an unusual industry in that the assets it monetises – a view, a reef, a cathedral – do not belong to it. The world’s dominant cruise companies – Carnival, Royal Caribbean and Norwegian – pay little towards the upkeep of the public goods they live off. By incorporating themselves in overseas tax havens with benign environmental and labour laws – respectively Panama, Liberia and Bermuda – cruising’s big three, which account for three-quarters of the industry, get to enjoy low taxes and avoid much irksome regulation, while polluting the air and sea, eroding coastlines and pouring tens of millions of people into picturesque ports of call that often cannot cope with them.
What goes for cruises goes for most of the travel industry. For decades, a small number of environmentally minded reformists in the sector have tried to develop sustainable tourism that creates enduring employment while minimising the damage it does. But most hotel groups, tour operators and national tourism authorities – whatever their stated commitment to sustainable tourism – continue to prioritise the economies of scale that inevitably lead to more tourists paying less money and heaping more pressure on those same assets. Before the pandemic, industry experts were forecasting that international arrivals would rise by between 3% and 4% in 2020. Chinese travellers, the largest and fastest-growing cohort in world tourism, were expected to make 160m trips abroad, a 27% increase on the 2015 figure.
The virus has given us a picture, at once frightening and beautiful, of a world without tourism. We see now what happens to our public goods when tourists aren’t clustering to exploit them. Shorelines enjoy a respite from the erosion caused by cruise ships the size of canyons. Walkers stuck at home cannot litter mountainsides. Intricate culinary cultures are no longer menaced by triangles of defrosted pizza. It is hard to imagine a better illustration of tourism’s effects than our current holiday away from it.
Coronavirus has also revealed the danger of overreliance on tourism, demonstrating in brutal fashion what happens when the industry supporting an entire community, at the expense of any other more sustainable activity, collapses. On 7 May, the UN World Tourism Organisation estimated that earnings from international tourism might be down 80% this year against last year’s figure of $1.7tn, and that 120m jobs could be lost. Since tourism relies on the same human mobility that spreads disease, and will be subject to the most stringent and lasting restrictions, it is likely to suffer more than almost any other economic activity.
by Christopher de Bellaigue, The Guardian | Read more:
Image: Venice, 2019. Miguel Medina/AFP/Getty
Saturday, June 20, 2020
Revenge of the Suburbs
U.S. cities have been growing at their edges for a century and a half. Country living of the Windy Corner sort evolved into the “streetcar suburbs” of the early 20th century, offering a comfortable life just a carriage ride from town. After World War II, mass-developed subdivisions followed, compelled by a housing crisis and emboldened by racist government-housing subsidies, white flight, and the sheer size of the North American continent. Like pornography, you know a suburb when you see it: large expanses of low-slung buildings, where residences are separated from commerce, where industry is mostly absent, where family life thrives inside detached homes that stipple meandering streets flanked by lawns and dotted with mailboxes. More than half of Americans, 175 million of us, live in communities like these now, most for the same reasons as our forebears.
Or we live in a slightly more urban version of them, because now, everywhere is the suburbs. Eighty-four percent of Americans live in cities, but most of them don’t live in the dense, modernist urban spaces that the name conjures—places like New York or Hong Kong. Instead, they occupy the greater metropolitan areas of Houston or Atlanta or Denver, which extend far beyond the city limits. All told, roughly three-quarters of the population live in single-family homes, a reminder that even the urban cores of big American cities, such as Dallas or Phoenix, wear the trappings of suburbia.
For decades, urbanists have sought to end America’s long marriage to sprawl. The architects Ellen Dunham-Jones and June Williamson have identified characteristics of suburban form worthy of retrofitting, including the dominance of low-density buildings, an emphasis on private spaces instead of public ones, the reliance on single-use rather than mixed-use zoning, an almost complete dependence on the automobile, and dead-end roads that make street networks less useful.
But after the anxious spring of 2020, these defects seem like new luxuries. There was always comfort to be found in a big house on a plot of land that’s your own. The relief is even more soothing with a pandemic bearing down on you. And as the novel coronavirus graduates from acute terror to long-term malaise, urbanites are trapped in small apartments with little or no outdoor space, reliant on mass transit that now seems less like a public service and more like a rolling petri dish. Meanwhile, suburbanites have protected their families amid the solace of sprawling homes on large, private plots, separated from the neighbors, and reachable only by the safety of private cars. Sheltered from the virus in their many bedrooms, they sleep soundly, dreaming the American dream with new confidence.
Or we live in a slightly more urban version of them, because now, everywhere is the suburbs. Eighty-four percent of Americans live in cities, but most of them don’t live in the dense, modernist urban spaces that the name conjures—places like New York or Hong Kong. Instead, they occupy the greater metropolitan areas of Houston or Atlanta or Denver, which extend far beyond the city limits. All told, roughly three-quarters of the population live in single-family homes, a reminder that even the urban cores of big American cities, such as Dallas or Phoenix, wear the trappings of suburbia.For decades, urbanists have sought to end America’s long marriage to sprawl. The architects Ellen Dunham-Jones and June Williamson have identified characteristics of suburban form worthy of retrofitting, including the dominance of low-density buildings, an emphasis on private spaces instead of public ones, the reliance on single-use rather than mixed-use zoning, an almost complete dependence on the automobile, and dead-end roads that make street networks less useful.
But after the anxious spring of 2020, these defects seem like new luxuries. There was always comfort to be found in a big house on a plot of land that’s your own. The relief is even more soothing with a pandemic bearing down on you. And as the novel coronavirus graduates from acute terror to long-term malaise, urbanites are trapped in small apartments with little or no outdoor space, reliant on mass transit that now seems less like a public service and more like a rolling petri dish. Meanwhile, suburbanites have protected their families amid the solace of sprawling homes on large, private plots, separated from the neighbors, and reachable only by the safety of private cars. Sheltered from the virus in their many bedrooms, they sleep soundly, dreaming the American dream with new confidence.
by Ian Bogost, The Atlantic | Read more:
Image: Celina Pereira
Rick Astley
[ed. Yes, THAT Rick Astley (Never Gonna Give You Up). Pretty good cover. See also: this interview with Dave Grohl about Rick's accidental guest appearance with Foo Fighters in London, 2017.]
Watney's Covid Case Raises Questions About PGA Tour's Pandemic Policy
Hours before the PGA Tour deemed coronavirus a sufficient threat to shunt its season into cold storage for three months, the front of the Sawgrass clubhouse provided a typical picture of serenity – until the arrival of Dustin Johnson. En route to the locker room, without so much as raising an eyelid, the former world No 1 spat directly into decorative hedging between myself, a player manager of my acquaintance and the footpath. As we shook heads, Johnson continued on his merry way.
Until Friday, Johnson’s disgusting propensity to yack all over courses – including greens – in the middle of a pandemic was arguably the biggest negative associated with the PGA Tour’s resumption.
Certain other matters did not look very smart – players and caddies fist bumping at the end of rounds, say – but the sense that could golf lead the United States into a Covid-free place was allowed to rise. News of Nick Watney’s positive test at the RBC Heritage in South Carolina stopped the happy clappers in their tracks. It’s real world stuff now.
That someone involved in the PGA Tour’s resumption would test positive for coronavirus was perhaps, on the law of averages alone, inevitable. It took until day two of tournament two.
“By the end of the year, there’s going to be 200,000 deaths in the US alone from Covid-19,’ said Rory McIlroy. “To think that on the PGA Tour, none of us were going to get it … I don’t think anyone thought that. I think the consensus was someone is going to get it at some point.”
McIlroy’s analysis is fair. It is a harsh reality that while Watney and his family face an anxious spell, focus elsewhere shifts towards the Tour’s response. Before it does, though, we are entitled to raise questions about events around the 39-year-old’s positive test.
To be fair to the PGA Tour, it switched approach from one where a positive Covid-19 test result would not be disclosed due to medical confidentiality restrictions. However, a bulletin confirming Watney’s status was soon cause for intrigue. “On Friday, prior to arriving at the tournament, he indicated he had symptoms consistent with the illness and after consulting with a physician, was administered a test and found to be positive,” said the Tour.
On completion of his second round, McIlroy said he was talking to Watney on the putting green before play. Watney felt suitably bad about the situation to send a message to the world No 1 after the bad news was confirmed. Brooks Koepka revealed he was “right next to” Watney “in the parking lot”. So, having indicated symptoms – the reddest of flags – not only did Watney see fit to travel to the tournament site but nobody in officialdom directed him against such a move. It is an astounding chain of events.
Equally baffling was the approach taken towards Luke List and Vaughn Taylor, Watney’s playing partners for the opening rounds. After starting out on day two seemingly none the wiser about Watney’s withdrawal, they were informed after nine holes of the true picture. “Heart started racing, got a little nervous,” said Taylor. No wonder. What purpose this mid-round intervention was supposed to serve is anyone’s guess.
Generally, competitors have lauded the Tour’s approach. Ian Poulter branded it exemplary. Jordan Spieth, though, unwittingly pointed towards one of many underlying problems. “South Carolina’s open,” said Spieth. “If you go anywhere to a restaurant, there’s a lot of people there right now. So I guess that’s probably best case is that he got it on his own outside.”
If the PGA Tour were operating a bubble in the truest sense, Watney would not be allowed anywhere near a public restaurant. If the PGA Tour were operating a bubble in the truest sense, on-site media wouldn’t be left to find their own hotels. And if the PGA Tour were operating a bubble in the truest sense, accommodation options for players and caddies wouldn’t only be “strongly recommended” as per paperwork issued last month.
Until Friday, Johnson’s disgusting propensity to yack all over courses – including greens – in the middle of a pandemic was arguably the biggest negative associated with the PGA Tour’s resumption.
Certain other matters did not look very smart – players and caddies fist bumping at the end of rounds, say – but the sense that could golf lead the United States into a Covid-free place was allowed to rise. News of Nick Watney’s positive test at the RBC Heritage in South Carolina stopped the happy clappers in their tracks. It’s real world stuff now.That someone involved in the PGA Tour’s resumption would test positive for coronavirus was perhaps, on the law of averages alone, inevitable. It took until day two of tournament two.
“By the end of the year, there’s going to be 200,000 deaths in the US alone from Covid-19,’ said Rory McIlroy. “To think that on the PGA Tour, none of us were going to get it … I don’t think anyone thought that. I think the consensus was someone is going to get it at some point.”
McIlroy’s analysis is fair. It is a harsh reality that while Watney and his family face an anxious spell, focus elsewhere shifts towards the Tour’s response. Before it does, though, we are entitled to raise questions about events around the 39-year-old’s positive test.
To be fair to the PGA Tour, it switched approach from one where a positive Covid-19 test result would not be disclosed due to medical confidentiality restrictions. However, a bulletin confirming Watney’s status was soon cause for intrigue. “On Friday, prior to arriving at the tournament, he indicated he had symptoms consistent with the illness and after consulting with a physician, was administered a test and found to be positive,” said the Tour.
On completion of his second round, McIlroy said he was talking to Watney on the putting green before play. Watney felt suitably bad about the situation to send a message to the world No 1 after the bad news was confirmed. Brooks Koepka revealed he was “right next to” Watney “in the parking lot”. So, having indicated symptoms – the reddest of flags – not only did Watney see fit to travel to the tournament site but nobody in officialdom directed him against such a move. It is an astounding chain of events.
Equally baffling was the approach taken towards Luke List and Vaughn Taylor, Watney’s playing partners for the opening rounds. After starting out on day two seemingly none the wiser about Watney’s withdrawal, they were informed after nine holes of the true picture. “Heart started racing, got a little nervous,” said Taylor. No wonder. What purpose this mid-round intervention was supposed to serve is anyone’s guess.
Generally, competitors have lauded the Tour’s approach. Ian Poulter branded it exemplary. Jordan Spieth, though, unwittingly pointed towards one of many underlying problems. “South Carolina’s open,” said Spieth. “If you go anywhere to a restaurant, there’s a lot of people there right now. So I guess that’s probably best case is that he got it on his own outside.”
If the PGA Tour were operating a bubble in the truest sense, Watney would not be allowed anywhere near a public restaurant. If the PGA Tour were operating a bubble in the truest sense, on-site media wouldn’t be left to find their own hotels. And if the PGA Tour were operating a bubble in the truest sense, accommodation options for players and caddies wouldn’t only be “strongly recommended” as per paperwork issued last month.
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