Friday, August 7, 2020
How the Pandemic Defeated America
How did it come to this? A virus a thousand times smaller than a dust mote has humbled and humiliated the planet’s most powerful nation. America has failed to protect its people, leaving them with illness and financial ruin. It has lost its status as a global leader. It has careened between inaction and ineptitude. The breadth and magnitude of its errors are difficult, in the moment, to truly fathom.
In the first half of 2020, SARS‑CoV‑2—the new coronavirus behind the disease COVID‑19—infected 10 million people around the world and killed about half a million. But few countries have been as severely hit as the United States, which has just 4 percent of the world’s population but a quarter of its confirmed COVID‑19 cases and deaths. These numbers are estimates. The actual toll, though undoubtedly higher, is unknown, because the richest country in the world still lacks sufficient testing to accurately count its sick citizens.
Despite ample warning, the U.S. squandered every possible opportunity to control the coronavirus. And despite its considerable advantages—immense resources, biomedical might, scientific expertise—it floundered. While countries as different as South Korea, Thailand, Iceland, Slovakia, and Australia acted decisively to bend the curve of infections downward, the U.S. achieved merely a plateau in the spring, which changed to an appalling upward slope in the summer. “The U.S. fundamentally failed in ways that were worse than I ever could have imagined,” Julia Marcus, an infectious-disease epidemiologist at Harvard Medical School, told me.
Since the pandemic began, I have spoken with more than 100 experts in a variety of fields. I’ve learned that almost everything that went wrong with America’s response to the pandemic was predictable and preventable. A sluggish response by a government denuded of expertise allowed the coronavirus to gain a foothold. Chronic underfunding of public health neutered the nation’s ability to prevent the pathogen’s spread. A bloated, inefficient health-care system left hospitals ill-prepared for the ensuing wave of sickness. Racist policies that have endured since the days of colonization and slavery left Indigenous and Black Americans especially vulnerable to COVID‑19. The decades-long process of shredding the nation’s social safety net forced millions of essential workers in low-paying jobs to risk their life for their livelihood. The same social-media platforms that sowed partisanship and misinformation during the 2014 Ebola outbreak in Africa and the 2016 U.S. election became vectors for conspiracy theories during the 2020 pandemic.
The U.S. has little excuse for its inattention. In recent decades, epidemics of SARS, MERS, Ebola, H1N1 flu, Zika, and monkeypox showed the havoc that new and reemergent pathogens could wreak. Health experts, business leaders, and even middle schoolers ran simulated exercises to game out the spread of new diseases. In 2018, I wrote an article for The Atlantic arguing that the U.S. was not ready for a pandemic, and sounded warnings about the fragility of the nation’s health-care system and the slow process of creating a vaccine. But the COVID‑19 debacle has also touched—and implicated—nearly every other facet of American society: its shortsighted leadership, its disregard for expertise, its racial inequities, its social-media culture, and its fealty to a dangerous strain of individualism.
SARS‑CoV‑2 is something of an anti-Goldilocks virus: just bad enough in every way. Its symptoms can be severe enough to kill millions but are often mild enough to allow infections to move undetected through a population. It spreads quickly enough to overload hospitals, but slowly enough that statistics don’t spike until too late. These traits made the virus harder to control, but they also softened the pandemic’s punch. SARS‑CoV‑2 is neither as lethal as some other coronaviruses, such as SARS and MERS, nor as contagious as measles. Deadlier pathogens almost certainly exist. Wild animals harbor an estimated 40,000 unknown viruses, a quarter of which could potentially jump into humans. How will the U.S. fare when “we can’t even deal with a starter pandemic?,” Zeynep Tufekci, a sociologist at the University of North Carolina and an Atlantic contributing writer, asked me.
Despite its epochal effects, COVID‑19 is merely a harbinger of worse plagues to come. The U.S. cannot prepare for these inevitable crises if it returns to normal, as many of its people ache to do. Normal led to this. Normal was a world ever more prone to a pandemic but ever less ready for one. To avert another catastrophe, the U.S. needs to grapple with all the ways normal failed us. It needs a full accounting of every recent misstep and foundational sin, every unattended weakness and unheeded warning, every festering wound and reopened scar.
A pandemic can be prevented in two ways: Stop an infection from ever arising, or stop an infection from becoming thousands more. The first way is likely impossible. There are simply too many viruses and too many animals that harbor them. Bats alone could host thousands of unknown coronaviruses; in some Chinese caves, one out of every 20 bats is infected. Many people live near these caves, shelter in them, or collect guano from them for fertilizer. Thousands of bats also fly over these people’s villages and roost in their homes, creating opportunities for the bats’ viral stowaways to spill over into human hosts. Based on antibody testing in rural parts of China, Peter Daszak of EcoHealth Alliance, a nonprofit that studies emerging diseases, estimates that such viruses infect a substantial number of people every year. “Most infected people don’t know about it, and most of the viruses aren’t transmissible,” Daszak says. But it takes just one transmissible virus to start a pandemic.
Sometime in late 2019, the wrong virus left a bat and ended up, perhaps via an intermediate host, in a human—and another, and another. Eventually it found its way to the Huanan seafood market, and jumped into dozens of new hosts in an explosive super-spreading event. The COVID‑19 pandemic had begun.
“There is no way to get spillover of everything to zero,” Colin Carlson, an ecologist at Georgetown University, told me. Many conservationists jump on epidemics as opportunities to ban the wildlife trade or the eating of “bush meat,” an exoticized term for “game,” but few diseases have emerged through either route. Carlson said the biggest factors behind spillovers are land-use change and climate change, both of which are hard to control. Our species has relentlessly expanded into previously wild spaces. Through intensive agriculture, habitat destruction, and rising temperatures, we have uprooted the planet’s animals, forcing them into new and narrower ranges that are on our own doorsteps. Humanity has squeezed the world’s wildlife in a crushing grip—and viruses have come bursting out.
In the first half of 2020, SARS‑CoV‑2—the new coronavirus behind the disease COVID‑19—infected 10 million people around the world and killed about half a million. But few countries have been as severely hit as the United States, which has just 4 percent of the world’s population but a quarter of its confirmed COVID‑19 cases and deaths. These numbers are estimates. The actual toll, though undoubtedly higher, is unknown, because the richest country in the world still lacks sufficient testing to accurately count its sick citizens.
Despite ample warning, the U.S. squandered every possible opportunity to control the coronavirus. And despite its considerable advantages—immense resources, biomedical might, scientific expertise—it floundered. While countries as different as South Korea, Thailand, Iceland, Slovakia, and Australia acted decisively to bend the curve of infections downward, the U.S. achieved merely a plateau in the spring, which changed to an appalling upward slope in the summer. “The U.S. fundamentally failed in ways that were worse than I ever could have imagined,” Julia Marcus, an infectious-disease epidemiologist at Harvard Medical School, told me.
Since the pandemic began, I have spoken with more than 100 experts in a variety of fields. I’ve learned that almost everything that went wrong with America’s response to the pandemic was predictable and preventable. A sluggish response by a government denuded of expertise allowed the coronavirus to gain a foothold. Chronic underfunding of public health neutered the nation’s ability to prevent the pathogen’s spread. A bloated, inefficient health-care system left hospitals ill-prepared for the ensuing wave of sickness. Racist policies that have endured since the days of colonization and slavery left Indigenous and Black Americans especially vulnerable to COVID‑19. The decades-long process of shredding the nation’s social safety net forced millions of essential workers in low-paying jobs to risk their life for their livelihood. The same social-media platforms that sowed partisanship and misinformation during the 2014 Ebola outbreak in Africa and the 2016 U.S. election became vectors for conspiracy theories during the 2020 pandemic.The U.S. has little excuse for its inattention. In recent decades, epidemics of SARS, MERS, Ebola, H1N1 flu, Zika, and monkeypox showed the havoc that new and reemergent pathogens could wreak. Health experts, business leaders, and even middle schoolers ran simulated exercises to game out the spread of new diseases. In 2018, I wrote an article for The Atlantic arguing that the U.S. was not ready for a pandemic, and sounded warnings about the fragility of the nation’s health-care system and the slow process of creating a vaccine. But the COVID‑19 debacle has also touched—and implicated—nearly every other facet of American society: its shortsighted leadership, its disregard for expertise, its racial inequities, its social-media culture, and its fealty to a dangerous strain of individualism.
SARS‑CoV‑2 is something of an anti-Goldilocks virus: just bad enough in every way. Its symptoms can be severe enough to kill millions but are often mild enough to allow infections to move undetected through a population. It spreads quickly enough to overload hospitals, but slowly enough that statistics don’t spike until too late. These traits made the virus harder to control, but they also softened the pandemic’s punch. SARS‑CoV‑2 is neither as lethal as some other coronaviruses, such as SARS and MERS, nor as contagious as measles. Deadlier pathogens almost certainly exist. Wild animals harbor an estimated 40,000 unknown viruses, a quarter of which could potentially jump into humans. How will the U.S. fare when “we can’t even deal with a starter pandemic?,” Zeynep Tufekci, a sociologist at the University of North Carolina and an Atlantic contributing writer, asked me.
Despite its epochal effects, COVID‑19 is merely a harbinger of worse plagues to come. The U.S. cannot prepare for these inevitable crises if it returns to normal, as many of its people ache to do. Normal led to this. Normal was a world ever more prone to a pandemic but ever less ready for one. To avert another catastrophe, the U.S. needs to grapple with all the ways normal failed us. It needs a full accounting of every recent misstep and foundational sin, every unattended weakness and unheeded warning, every festering wound and reopened scar.
A pandemic can be prevented in two ways: Stop an infection from ever arising, or stop an infection from becoming thousands more. The first way is likely impossible. There are simply too many viruses and too many animals that harbor them. Bats alone could host thousands of unknown coronaviruses; in some Chinese caves, one out of every 20 bats is infected. Many people live near these caves, shelter in them, or collect guano from them for fertilizer. Thousands of bats also fly over these people’s villages and roost in their homes, creating opportunities for the bats’ viral stowaways to spill over into human hosts. Based on antibody testing in rural parts of China, Peter Daszak of EcoHealth Alliance, a nonprofit that studies emerging diseases, estimates that such viruses infect a substantial number of people every year. “Most infected people don’t know about it, and most of the viruses aren’t transmissible,” Daszak says. But it takes just one transmissible virus to start a pandemic.
Sometime in late 2019, the wrong virus left a bat and ended up, perhaps via an intermediate host, in a human—and another, and another. Eventually it found its way to the Huanan seafood market, and jumped into dozens of new hosts in an explosive super-spreading event. The COVID‑19 pandemic had begun.
“There is no way to get spillover of everything to zero,” Colin Carlson, an ecologist at Georgetown University, told me. Many conservationists jump on epidemics as opportunities to ban the wildlife trade or the eating of “bush meat,” an exoticized term for “game,” but few diseases have emerged through either route. Carlson said the biggest factors behind spillovers are land-use change and climate change, both of which are hard to control. Our species has relentlessly expanded into previously wild spaces. Through intensive agriculture, habitat destruction, and rising temperatures, we have uprooted the planet’s animals, forcing them into new and narrower ranges that are on our own doorsteps. Humanity has squeezed the world’s wildlife in a crushing grip—and viruses have come bursting out.
by Ed Yong, The Atlantic | Read more:
Image: Dina Litovsky / Redux
Abolish the Police? CHOP Revisited
But that was not what he saw through the windows of his Seattle coffee shop. He saw encampments overtaking the sidewalks. He saw roving bands of masked protesters smashing windows and looting.
Young white men wielding guns would harangue customers as well as Mr. Khan, a gay man of Middle Eastern descent who moved here from Texas so he could more comfortably be out. To get into his coffee shop, he sometimes had to seek the permission of self-appointed armed guards to cross a border they had erected.
“They barricaded us all in here,” Mr. Khan said. “And they were sitting in lawn chairs with guns.”For 23 days in June, about six blocks in the city’s Capitol Hill neighborhood were claimed by left-wing demonstrators and declared police-free. Protesters hailed it as liberation — from police oppression, from white supremacy — and a catalyst for a national movement.
In the wake of the killing of George Floyd by the Minneapolis police, the Black Lives Matter movement is calling to defund the police, arguing that the criminal justice system is inherently racist. (...)
Now a group of local businesses owners — including a locksmith, the owner of a tattoo parlor, a mechanic, the owners of a Mexican restaurant and Mr. Khan — is suing the city. The lawsuit claims that “Seattle’s unprecedented decision to abandon and close off an entire city neighborhood, leaving it unchecked by the police, unserved by fire and emergency health services, and inaccessible to the public” resulted in enormous property damage and lost revenue.
The Seattle lawsuit — and interviews with shop owners in cities like Portland and Minneapolis — underscores a key question: Can businesses still rely on local governments, which are now rethinking the role of the police, to keep them safe? The issue is especially tense in Seattle, where the city government not only permitted the establishment of a police-free zone, but provided infrastructure like concrete barriers and portable toilets to sustain it. (...)
The impact of the occupation on Cafe Argento, Mr. Khan’s coffee shop on Capitol Hill, has been devastating. Very few people braved the barricades set up by the armed occupiers to come in for his coffee and breakfast sandwiches. Cars coming to pick up food orders would turn around. At two points, he and his workers felt scared and called 911. “They said they would not come into CHOP,” said Mr. Khan, referring to one of the names that protesters gave to the occupied Capitol Hill area. “It was lawless.” (....)
A confusing array of security teams wandered around, armed with handguns and rifles. Some wore official-looking private security uniforms. Others wore casual clothes and lanyards identifying their affiliation with Black Lives Matter. A third group wore all black with no identifying labels and declined to name their group affiliation.When a tall man in a trench coat and hiking boots walked over to question Mr. Khan, the man spread his coat open, revealing several pistols on harnesses around his chest and waist. He presented a badge on a lanyard that read “Black Lives Matter Community Patrol.”
His name is Rick Hearns and he identified himself as a longtime security guard and mover who is now a Black Lives Matter community guard, in charge of several others. Local merchants pay for his protection, he said as he handed out his business card. (Mr. Khan said he and his neighbors are now paying thousands of dollars a month for protection from Iconic Global, a Washington State-based private security contractor.)
Mr. Hearns has had bad experiences with the police in his own life. He says he wants police reform, but he was appalled by the violent tactics and rhetoric he witnessed during the occupation.
by Nellie Bowles, NY Times | Read more:
Images: Grant Hindsley for The New York Times
[ed. Paying for protection. Isn't that a Mafia thing? CHOP was just a total predictable fuck-up right from the get go, and no one can claim moral high ground now that the whole sordid mess is over. Here's a pretty good summary from the comments:
I live two blocks from the former "CHOP" zone, this is my neighborhood, I had frequent many of the businesses affected. I'm a Democrat who voted for Sawant over an Amazon backed candidate (chagrin leaves a bitter taste). What I witnessed was a total break down of civil society. It felt like the beginning of the end, my worst fears realized. No one has "won" anything. We lost a mayor, the city council, the police, our neighborhood, any sense that ANYTHING was being done, except perhaps letting the temper tantrums of petulant children play out. Except these kids didn't live here, had guns, intimidated my neighbors, and ruined property. The police pouting in their corner, grasping for power, patently ignoring legitimate calls for help. The wild west. The valuable BLM message completely hijacked by self-appointed, disaffected, white, non-residents playing "security". The ANTITHESIS of peaceful protest. An abdication of responsibility to the residents and businesses already in shock from the various crisis roiling all around. I saw no "parlay" or communication from any party. Ignorance, anger, garbage, and destruction on full display. Frustration, acrimony, lots of finger-pointing but zero attempts at any robust peacemaking. To say that I am disappointed by Seattle's response to a desperate need is an understatement. Shame on all parties! And congratulations! A valuable and cathartic opportunity completely squandered! I am actively looking for somewhere else to live.
See also: Owner of Seattle shop who called police during CHOP protests says he's being harassed online (K5).]
See also: Owner of Seattle shop who called police during CHOP protests says he's being harassed online (K5).]
Thursday, August 6, 2020
Covid-19 Relief Bill: Stalemate Over State And Local Funding
As the four lead negotiators prepare for their eighth meeting on a COVID-19 relief package Thursday afternoon, House Leader Nancy Pelosi (D-CA) and Senate Minority Leader Chuck Schumer (D-NY) are projecting confidence.
Despite the seeming impasse on a deal, the two were noticeably fired up at a Thursday morning press conference, seasoning their talking points with impassioned lectern slapping and an anecdote about the high-spirited Democratic leaders singing a song together before the press conference started.
They’ve publicly refused to budge on the biggest planks of their plan, reportedly eking out billions of dollars in concessions from the White House negotiators, Chief of Staff Mark Meadows and Treasury Secretary Steve Mnuchin. Those two are facing immense pressure from a fractured Republican caucus, some of whom are desperate to take a deal home to their constituents — and some of whom refuse to spend a dime more in federal aid.
One of the key sticking points that has emerged in negotiations is direct funding to states and municipalities.
Democrats have proposed over $1 trillion, about six times as much as was spent in the last relief package. That boodle would be split into $500 billion for states, $375 billion for municipalities and counties, $20 billion for territories and $20 billion for tribes. They’ve also sprinkled additional dollars on top for helping states to fund Medicaid, education and other priorities.
Republicans, as Politico reported Wednesday, have counter-offered $150 billion.
“I just don’t think it’s enough,” Wendy Edelberg of the Brookings Institute’s Hamilton Project said of the Republican proposal. “Even as the labor market was improving, the one sector that has repeatedly had negative employment numbers is the state and local sector.”
And that’s a problem, policy analysts told TPM — one we’ve seen before.
“One of the lessons of the Great Recession is that it affected state and local government very harshly due to property taxes, then unemployment getting very high, then income taxes falling,” said Stephanie Aaronson, director of economic studies at the Brookings Institute. “It’s part of the reason that the recovery from the Great Recession was so slow — state and local spending was a drag on overall spending for almost a decade.”
And states are in a worse place now than they were then. State budget shortfalls are on track to exceed $500 billion this year, according to the Center on Budget and Policy Priorities. Even calculating in federal aid from the COVID-19 relief packages Congress has passed, plus states dipping into their rainy-day funds, that number still hovers around $360 billion — a figure that dwarfs the $283 billion they lost after the Great Recession.
Almost all of the states have to maintain a balanced budget, largely a result of bills passed in the last 30 years. During shortfalls, that means they have to impose austerity measures like raising taxes and slashing spending. Those measures can have ripple effects — in the aftermath of the Great Recession, for example, one of the results of those strictures was sky-high tuition at state colleges, which contributed to the growing student loan debt crisis.
“A lesson of the Great Recession is even though we got a lot of great federal stimulus, it was offset by state and local austerity efforts that hurt the recovery,” Arnab Datta, senior legislative counsel at Employ America, told TPM.
To try to offset that, one of the integral differences in the aid Democrats are proposing for states this time around is that it can be used to make up for revenue shortfalls. The aid in the last package could only be put toward expenditures related to fighting the pandemic, such as the cost of providing health care.
The funding would also stop the bleeding among the public-sector jobs state and local governments maintain, stemming layoffs which would strain unemployment benefits, another tenet of the relief package. Without the aid, “states will have to start laying off workers — which they’ve been doing but not in huge numbers,” said Aaronson.
Pelosi is touting the state and local employment piece as the one of the key reasons the funds are needed.
“Health care workers, first responders, teachers, sanitation and transportation workers are employed by state and local government,” she said Thursday on CNBC. “If they don’t get the money, many of these people, millions of them, will be unemployed and go on unemployment insurance, so what money is that saving?”
The Republican proposal, which Senate Minority Leader Mitch McConnell (R-KY) seemingly lacked the support to put up for a vote, omitted any direct state and local aid. He has denounced the $1 trillion Democratic proposal as a “slush fund.”
Despite the seeming impasse on a deal, the two were noticeably fired up at a Thursday morning press conference, seasoning their talking points with impassioned lectern slapping and an anecdote about the high-spirited Democratic leaders singing a song together before the press conference started.
They’ve publicly refused to budge on the biggest planks of their plan, reportedly eking out billions of dollars in concessions from the White House negotiators, Chief of Staff Mark Meadows and Treasury Secretary Steve Mnuchin. Those two are facing immense pressure from a fractured Republican caucus, some of whom are desperate to take a deal home to their constituents — and some of whom refuse to spend a dime more in federal aid.
One of the key sticking points that has emerged in negotiations is direct funding to states and municipalities.
Democrats have proposed over $1 trillion, about six times as much as was spent in the last relief package. That boodle would be split into $500 billion for states, $375 billion for municipalities and counties, $20 billion for territories and $20 billion for tribes. They’ve also sprinkled additional dollars on top for helping states to fund Medicaid, education and other priorities.
Republicans, as Politico reported Wednesday, have counter-offered $150 billion.
“I just don’t think it’s enough,” Wendy Edelberg of the Brookings Institute’s Hamilton Project said of the Republican proposal. “Even as the labor market was improving, the one sector that has repeatedly had negative employment numbers is the state and local sector.”
And that’s a problem, policy analysts told TPM — one we’ve seen before.
“One of the lessons of the Great Recession is that it affected state and local government very harshly due to property taxes, then unemployment getting very high, then income taxes falling,” said Stephanie Aaronson, director of economic studies at the Brookings Institute. “It’s part of the reason that the recovery from the Great Recession was so slow — state and local spending was a drag on overall spending for almost a decade.”
And states are in a worse place now than they were then. State budget shortfalls are on track to exceed $500 billion this year, according to the Center on Budget and Policy Priorities. Even calculating in federal aid from the COVID-19 relief packages Congress has passed, plus states dipping into their rainy-day funds, that number still hovers around $360 billion — a figure that dwarfs the $283 billion they lost after the Great Recession.
Almost all of the states have to maintain a balanced budget, largely a result of bills passed in the last 30 years. During shortfalls, that means they have to impose austerity measures like raising taxes and slashing spending. Those measures can have ripple effects — in the aftermath of the Great Recession, for example, one of the results of those strictures was sky-high tuition at state colleges, which contributed to the growing student loan debt crisis.
“A lesson of the Great Recession is even though we got a lot of great federal stimulus, it was offset by state and local austerity efforts that hurt the recovery,” Arnab Datta, senior legislative counsel at Employ America, told TPM.
To try to offset that, one of the integral differences in the aid Democrats are proposing for states this time around is that it can be used to make up for revenue shortfalls. The aid in the last package could only be put toward expenditures related to fighting the pandemic, such as the cost of providing health care.
The funding would also stop the bleeding among the public-sector jobs state and local governments maintain, stemming layoffs which would strain unemployment benefits, another tenet of the relief package. Without the aid, “states will have to start laying off workers — which they’ve been doing but not in huge numbers,” said Aaronson.
Pelosi is touting the state and local employment piece as the one of the key reasons the funds are needed.
“Health care workers, first responders, teachers, sanitation and transportation workers are employed by state and local government,” she said Thursday on CNBC. “If they don’t get the money, many of these people, millions of them, will be unemployed and go on unemployment insurance, so what money is that saving?”
The Republican proposal, which Senate Minority Leader Mitch McConnell (R-KY) seemingly lacked the support to put up for a vote, omitted any direct state and local aid. He has denounced the $1 trillion Democratic proposal as a “slush fund.”
by Kate Riga, TPM | Read more:
Neil Young
[ed. But this one's ok.]
How Not to Lose the Lockdown Generation
Picture this: You live in rural Arkansas and tragedy strikes. A family member has fallen ill with that contagious respiratory illness that has already killed so many — but you don’t have enough space in your small home to quarantine them in a room of their own. Your relative’s case doesn’t appear to be life-threatening, but you are terrified that their persistent cough will spread the illness to more vulnerable family members. You call the local public health authority to see if there is room in local hospitals, and they explain that they are all stretched too thin with emergency cases. There are private facilities, but you can’t afford those.
Not to worry, you are told: A crew will be by shortly to set up a sturdy, well-ventilated, portable, tiny house in your yard. Once installed, your family member will be free to convalesce in comfort. You can deliver home-cooked meals to their door and communicate through open windows — and a trained nurse will be by for regular examinations. And no, there will be no charge for the house.
This is not a dispatch from some future functional United States, one with a government capable of caring for its people in the midst of spiraling economic carnage and a public health emergency. It’s a dispatch from this country’s past, a time eight decades ago when it similarly found itself in the two-fisted grip of an even deeper economic crisis (the Great Depression), and a surging contagious respiratory illness (tuberculosis).
Yet the contrast between how U.S. state and federal government met those challenges in the 1930s, and how they are failing so murderously to meet them now, could not be starker. Those tiny houses are just one example, but they are a revelatory one for the sheer number of problems those humble structures attempted to solve at once.
Known as “isolation huts,” the little clapboard houses were distributed to poor families in several states. Small enough to fit on the back of a trailer, they had just enough space for a bed, chair, dresser, and stove, and were outfitted with large screened-in windows and shutters to maximize the flow of fresh air and sunshine — considered essential for TB recovery.
As physical structures, the TB huts were an elegant answer to the public health challenges posed by crowded homes on the one hand and expensive private sanatoriums on the other. If houses were unable to accommodate safe patient quarantines, then the state, with Washington’s help, would just bring an addition to those houses for the duration of the illness.
It’s worth letting that sink in, given the learned helplessness that pervades the U.S. today. For months, the White House hasn’t been able to figure out how to roll out free Covid-19 tests at anything like the scale required, let alone contact tracing, never mind quarantine support for poor families. Yet in the 1930s, during a much more desperate economic time for the country, state and federal agencies cooperated to deliver not just free tests but free houses.
And that is only the beginning of what makes it worth dwelling on the TB huts . The cabins themselves were built by very young men in their late teens and early 20s who were out of work and had signed up for the National Youth Administration. “The State Board of Health furnishes the materials for these cottages and NYA supplies the labor,” explained Betty and Ernest Lindley, authors of a 1938 history of the program. “The total average cost of one hut is $146.28,” or about $2,700 in today’s dollars.
The TB cabins were just one of thousands upon thousands of projects taken on by the 4.5 million young people who joined the NYA: a vast program started in 1935 that paired young people in economic need, who could not find jobs in the private sector, with publicly minded work that needed doing. They gained marketable skills, while earning money that allowed many to stay, or return to, high school or college. Other NYA projects including building some of the country’s most iconic urban parks, repairing thousands of dilapidated schools and outfitting them with playgrounds; and stocking classrooms with desks, lab tables, and maps the young workers had made and painted themselves. NYA workers built huge outdoor pools and artificial lakes, trained to be teaching and nursing aides, and even built entire youth centers and small schools from scratch, often while living together in “resident centers.”
The NYA served as a kind of urban complement to FDR’s better-known youth program, the Civilian Conservation Corps, launched two years earlier. The CCC employed some 3 million young men from poor families to work in forests and farms: planting more than 2 billion trees, shoring up rivers from erosion, and building the infrastructure for hundreds of state parks. They lived together in a network of camps, sent money home to their families, and put on weight at a time when malnutrition was epidemic. Both the NYA and the CCC served a dual purpose: directly helping the young people involved, who found themselves in desperate straights, and meeting the country’s most pressing needs, whether for reforested lands or more hands in hospitals. (...)
According to a survey conducted by National Center for Health Statistics and the Census Bureau last month, 53 percent of people aged 18-29 reported symptoms of anxiety and/or depression. Fifty-three percent. That’s more than 13 percentage points higher than the rest of the population, which itself was off the charts compared with this time last year.
And that still may be a dramatic undercount. Mental Health America, part of the National Health Council, released a report in June based on surveys of nearly 5 million Americans. It found that “younger populations including teens and young adults (25<) are being hit particularly hard” by the pandemic, with 90 percent “experiencing symptoms of depression.”
Some of that suffering is finding expression in another invisible crisis of the Covid era: a dramatic increase in drug overdoses, with some parts of the country reporting increases over last year of 50 percent. It should all be a reminder that when we talk about being in the midst of a cataclysm on par with the Great Depression, it isn’t only GDP and employment rates that are depressed. Huge numbers of people are depressed as well, particularly young people.
This is, of course, a global crisis. U.N. Secretary-General António Guterres recently warned that the world faces “a generational catastrophe that could waste untold human potential, undermine decades of progress, and exacerbate entrenched inequalities.” In a video message, he said, “We are at a defining moment for the world’s children and young people. The decisions that governments and partners take now will have lasting impact on hundreds of millions of young people, and on the development prospects of countries for decades to come.”
As in the 1930s, this generation is already being referred to as a “lost generation” — but compared to the Great Depression, almost nothing is being done to find them, certainly not at the governmental level in the U.S. There are no ambitious and creative programs being designed to offer steady income beyond expanded summer job programs, and nothing designed to arm them with useful skills for the Covid and climate change era. All Washington has offered is a temporary break on student loan repayments, set to expire this fall.
Young people are discussed, of course. But it is almost exclusively to shame them for Covid partying. Or to debate (usually in their absence) the question of whether or not they will be permitted to learn in-person in classrooms, or whether they will have to stay home, glued to screens. Yet what the Depression era teaches us is that these are not the only possible futures we should be considering for people in their late teens and 20s, especially as we come to grips with the reality that Covid-19 is going to be reshaping our world for a long time to come. Young people can do more than go to school or stay home; they can also contribute enormously to the healing of their communities.
Not to worry, you are told: A crew will be by shortly to set up a sturdy, well-ventilated, portable, tiny house in your yard. Once installed, your family member will be free to convalesce in comfort. You can deliver home-cooked meals to their door and communicate through open windows — and a trained nurse will be by for regular examinations. And no, there will be no charge for the house.
This is not a dispatch from some future functional United States, one with a government capable of caring for its people in the midst of spiraling economic carnage and a public health emergency. It’s a dispatch from this country’s past, a time eight decades ago when it similarly found itself in the two-fisted grip of an even deeper economic crisis (the Great Depression), and a surging contagious respiratory illness (tuberculosis).
Yet the contrast between how U.S. state and federal government met those challenges in the 1930s, and how they are failing so murderously to meet them now, could not be starker. Those tiny houses are just one example, but they are a revelatory one for the sheer number of problems those humble structures attempted to solve at once.
Known as “isolation huts,” the little clapboard houses were distributed to poor families in several states. Small enough to fit on the back of a trailer, they had just enough space for a bed, chair, dresser, and stove, and were outfitted with large screened-in windows and shutters to maximize the flow of fresh air and sunshine — considered essential for TB recovery.As physical structures, the TB huts were an elegant answer to the public health challenges posed by crowded homes on the one hand and expensive private sanatoriums on the other. If houses were unable to accommodate safe patient quarantines, then the state, with Washington’s help, would just bring an addition to those houses for the duration of the illness.
It’s worth letting that sink in, given the learned helplessness that pervades the U.S. today. For months, the White House hasn’t been able to figure out how to roll out free Covid-19 tests at anything like the scale required, let alone contact tracing, never mind quarantine support for poor families. Yet in the 1930s, during a much more desperate economic time for the country, state and federal agencies cooperated to deliver not just free tests but free houses.
And that is only the beginning of what makes it worth dwelling on the TB huts . The cabins themselves were built by very young men in their late teens and early 20s who were out of work and had signed up for the National Youth Administration. “The State Board of Health furnishes the materials for these cottages and NYA supplies the labor,” explained Betty and Ernest Lindley, authors of a 1938 history of the program. “The total average cost of one hut is $146.28,” or about $2,700 in today’s dollars.
The TB cabins were just one of thousands upon thousands of projects taken on by the 4.5 million young people who joined the NYA: a vast program started in 1935 that paired young people in economic need, who could not find jobs in the private sector, with publicly minded work that needed doing. They gained marketable skills, while earning money that allowed many to stay, or return to, high school or college. Other NYA projects including building some of the country’s most iconic urban parks, repairing thousands of dilapidated schools and outfitting them with playgrounds; and stocking classrooms with desks, lab tables, and maps the young workers had made and painted themselves. NYA workers built huge outdoor pools and artificial lakes, trained to be teaching and nursing aides, and even built entire youth centers and small schools from scratch, often while living together in “resident centers.”
The NYA served as a kind of urban complement to FDR’s better-known youth program, the Civilian Conservation Corps, launched two years earlier. The CCC employed some 3 million young men from poor families to work in forests and farms: planting more than 2 billion trees, shoring up rivers from erosion, and building the infrastructure for hundreds of state parks. They lived together in a network of camps, sent money home to their families, and put on weight at a time when malnutrition was epidemic. Both the NYA and the CCC served a dual purpose: directly helping the young people involved, who found themselves in desperate straights, and meeting the country’s most pressing needs, whether for reforested lands or more hands in hospitals. (...)
According to a survey conducted by National Center for Health Statistics and the Census Bureau last month, 53 percent of people aged 18-29 reported symptoms of anxiety and/or depression. Fifty-three percent. That’s more than 13 percentage points higher than the rest of the population, which itself was off the charts compared with this time last year.
And that still may be a dramatic undercount. Mental Health America, part of the National Health Council, released a report in June based on surveys of nearly 5 million Americans. It found that “younger populations including teens and young adults (25<) are being hit particularly hard” by the pandemic, with 90 percent “experiencing symptoms of depression.”
Some of that suffering is finding expression in another invisible crisis of the Covid era: a dramatic increase in drug overdoses, with some parts of the country reporting increases over last year of 50 percent. It should all be a reminder that when we talk about being in the midst of a cataclysm on par with the Great Depression, it isn’t only GDP and employment rates that are depressed. Huge numbers of people are depressed as well, particularly young people.
This is, of course, a global crisis. U.N. Secretary-General António Guterres recently warned that the world faces “a generational catastrophe that could waste untold human potential, undermine decades of progress, and exacerbate entrenched inequalities.” In a video message, he said, “We are at a defining moment for the world’s children and young people. The decisions that governments and partners take now will have lasting impact on hundreds of millions of young people, and on the development prospects of countries for decades to come.”
As in the 1930s, this generation is already being referred to as a “lost generation” — but compared to the Great Depression, almost nothing is being done to find them, certainly not at the governmental level in the U.S. There are no ambitious and creative programs being designed to offer steady income beyond expanded summer job programs, and nothing designed to arm them with useful skills for the Covid and climate change era. All Washington has offered is a temporary break on student loan repayments, set to expire this fall.
Young people are discussed, of course. But it is almost exclusively to shame them for Covid partying. Or to debate (usually in their absence) the question of whether or not they will be permitted to learn in-person in classrooms, or whether they will have to stay home, glued to screens. Yet what the Depression era teaches us is that these are not the only possible futures we should be considering for people in their late teens and 20s, especially as we come to grips with the reality that Covid-19 is going to be reshaping our world for a long time to come. Young people can do more than go to school or stay home; they can also contribute enormously to the healing of their communities.
by Naomi Klein, The Intercept | Read more:
Image: Robert Nickelsberg/Getty Images
'Kitchen Sink Time': Speed Vs. Accuracy
Unfortunately, the latest data now shows that testing is falling across much of the U.S. According to Johns Hopkins University, the average number of COVID-19 tests conducted per 1,000 people declined in the past week in 30 states — more than half the country. Nationally, the average number of daily tests dropped by 8.75 percent during the same period, from 822,470 on July 29 to 750,517 on Aug. 4. (...)
The good news is that there might be a simple solution: new tests that prioritize speed over sensitivity.
Storms aside, the main reason U.S. testing is going down instead of up is because the type of testing we’re doing — PCR (polymerase chain reaction) — seems to have reached its limit. PCR tests are the gold standard for diagnosing COVID-19, and rightly so: They correctly identify more than 98 percent of positive cases.
But they’re also slow, and getting slower. As the virus spreads, more and more potentially exposed Americans are demanding tests, forcing overwhelmed U.S. labs to compete with other countries for the supplies required to process so many samples. Often, labs run out. As a result, crippling backlogs have been delaying test results for so long they’ve essentially become worthless. (...)
Americans seem to be getting the message. “Long wait times and long turnaround times means people are just giving up,” Dr. Ashish Jha, director of the Harvard Global Health Institute, tweeted Tuesday.
The collapse of U.S. testing has, in short, exposed its fatal flaw. Costly and cumbersome PCR tests are fine when an outbreak is relatively modest; in that situation, you can afford to invest in a slower, labor-intensive test that won’t miss any positive cases because you want to stop the virus from spreading before it’s too late.
But when it’s already too late — when more than 4.8 million infections have been reported and nearly 160,000 people have died — the PCR infrastructure can’t keep up.
That’s why experts such as Dr. Michael Mina, an assistant professor of epidemiology at both Harvard Medical School and the Harvard T.H. Chan School of Public Health, are suggesting we scrap it and start over.
“We need to change the whole script of what it means to test people,” Mina recently explained.
Imagine a $1, at-home, paper-based test that’s as easy to distribute and use as a pregnancy test. Imagine waking up in the morning, adding saliva or mucus to a tube of chemicals, waiting 15 minutes, dipping a paper strip in the tube and reading your results — instantly.
Now imagine every single person in America doing this every couple of days.
So-called rapid antigen tests aren’t science fiction. In fact, they already exist. Two such tests, made by BD and Quidel, have received emergency authorization from the Food and Drug Administration, though both still require instruments to run. (The governors of six states announced this week a joint bid to purchase a total of 3.5 million of these antigen tests.) Another $1 antigen test has been put to use in Senegal. And U.S. companies such as E25Bio and Sherlock Biosciences have developed at-home tests as cheap and easy as the one described above.
These are not the same thing as the antibody tests you might have heard of, which detect virus-fighting substances in the blood of people who were infected previously (and may therefore have immunity). Rapid antigen tests are meant to detect ongoing, active infections.
So why isn’t the U.S. government mass-producing antigen tests and distributing them freely to everyone? The major hurdle, so far, has been what news stories tend to describe as “accuracy.” But “sensitivity” is a better way to think about it.
Storms aside, the main reason U.S. testing is going down instead of up is because the type of testing we’re doing — PCR (polymerase chain reaction) — seems to have reached its limit. PCR tests are the gold standard for diagnosing COVID-19, and rightly so: They correctly identify more than 98 percent of positive cases.
But they’re also slow, and getting slower. As the virus spreads, more and more potentially exposed Americans are demanding tests, forcing overwhelmed U.S. labs to compete with other countries for the supplies required to process so many samples. Often, labs run out. As a result, crippling backlogs have been delaying test results for so long they’ve essentially become worthless. (...)Americans seem to be getting the message. “Long wait times and long turnaround times means people are just giving up,” Dr. Ashish Jha, director of the Harvard Global Health Institute, tweeted Tuesday.
The collapse of U.S. testing has, in short, exposed its fatal flaw. Costly and cumbersome PCR tests are fine when an outbreak is relatively modest; in that situation, you can afford to invest in a slower, labor-intensive test that won’t miss any positive cases because you want to stop the virus from spreading before it’s too late.
But when it’s already too late — when more than 4.8 million infections have been reported and nearly 160,000 people have died — the PCR infrastructure can’t keep up.
That’s why experts such as Dr. Michael Mina, an assistant professor of epidemiology at both Harvard Medical School and the Harvard T.H. Chan School of Public Health, are suggesting we scrap it and start over.
“We need to change the whole script of what it means to test people,” Mina recently explained.
Imagine a $1, at-home, paper-based test that’s as easy to distribute and use as a pregnancy test. Imagine waking up in the morning, adding saliva or mucus to a tube of chemicals, waiting 15 minutes, dipping a paper strip in the tube and reading your results — instantly.
Now imagine every single person in America doing this every couple of days.
So-called rapid antigen tests aren’t science fiction. In fact, they already exist. Two such tests, made by BD and Quidel, have received emergency authorization from the Food and Drug Administration, though both still require instruments to run. (The governors of six states announced this week a joint bid to purchase a total of 3.5 million of these antigen tests.) Another $1 antigen test has been put to use in Senegal. And U.S. companies such as E25Bio and Sherlock Biosciences have developed at-home tests as cheap and easy as the one described above.
These are not the same thing as the antibody tests you might have heard of, which detect virus-fighting substances in the blood of people who were infected previously (and may therefore have immunity). Rapid antigen tests are meant to detect ongoing, active infections.
So why isn’t the U.S. government mass-producing antigen tests and distributing them freely to everyone? The major hurdle, so far, has been what news stories tend to describe as “accuracy.” But “sensitivity” is a better way to think about it.
by Andrew Romano, Yahoo News | Read more:
Image: uncredited
[ed. See also: Fast, Less-Accurate Coronavirus Tests May Be Good Enough (NYT).]
Tuesday, August 4, 2020
Coronavirus Vaccine Will Not Change World Right Away
In the public imagination, the arrival of a coronavirus vaccine looms large: It’s the neat Hollywood ending to the grim and agonizing uncertainty of everyday life in a pandemic.
But public health experts are discussing among themselves a new worry: that hopes for a vaccine may be soaring too high. The confident depiction by politicians and companies that a vaccine is imminent and inevitable may give people unrealistic beliefs about how soon the world can return to normal and could lead to resistance to simple strategies that can tamp down transmission and save lives in the short term.
Two coronavirus vaccines entered the final stages of human testing last week, a scientific speed record that prompted top government health officials to utter words such as “historic” and “astounding.” Pharmaceutical executives predicted to Congress in July that vaccines might be available as soon as October, or before the end of the year.
As the plotline advances, so do expectations: If people can just muddle through a few more months, the vaccine will land, the pandemic will end and everyone can throw their masks away. But best-case scenarios have not materialized throughout the pandemic, and experts – who believe wholeheartedly in the power of vaccines – foresee a long path ahead.
“It seems, to me, unlikely that a vaccine is an off-switch or a reset button where we will go back to pre-pandemic times,” said Yonatan Grad, an assistant professor of infectious diseases and immunology at the Harvard University T.H. Chan School of Public Health.
Or, as Columbia University virologist Angela Rasmussen puts it, “It’s not like we’re going to land in Oz.”
The declaration that a vaccine has been shown safe and effective will be a beginning, not the end. Deploying the vaccine to people in the United States and around the world will test and strain distribution networks, the supply chain, public trust and global cooperation. It will take months or, more likely, years to reach enough people to make the world safe.
For those who do get a vaccine as soon as shots become available, protection won’t be immediate – it takes weeks for the immune system to call up full platoons of disease-fighting antibodies. And many vaccine technologies will require a second shot weeks after the first to raise immune defenses.
Immunity could be short-lived or partial, requiring repeated boosters that strain the vaccine supply or require people to keep social distancing and wearing masks even after they’ve received their shots. And if a vaccine works less well for some groups of people, if swaths of the population are reluctant to get a vaccine or if there isn’t enough to go around, some people will still get sick even after scientists declare victory on a vaccine – which could help foster a false impression that it does not work.
A proven vaccine will profoundly change the relationship the world has with the novel coronavirus and is how many experts believe the pandemic will end. In popular conception, a vaccine is regarded as a silver bullet. But the truth – especially with the earliest vaccines – probably will be far more nuanced. Public health experts fear that could lead to disappointment and erode the already delicate trust essential to making the effort to vanquish the virus succeed.
The drive to develop vaccines is frequently characterized as a race, with one country or company in the lead. The race metaphor suggests that what matters is who reaches the finish line first. But first across the line is not necessarily the best – and it almost certainly isn’t the end of the race, which could go on for years.
“The realistic scenario is probably going to be more like what we saw with HIV/AIDS,” said Michael Kinch, an expert in drug development and research at Washington University in St. Louis. “With HIV, we had a first generation of, looking back now, fairly mediocre drugs. I am afraid – and people don’t like to hear this, but I’m kind of constantly preaching it – we have to prepare ourselves for the idea we do not have a very good vaccine. My guess is the first generation of vaccines may be mediocre.” (...)
All approved vaccines must be shown to be safe and effective, but that does not mean they perform the same. The measles vaccine is one of the best – 98% effective at preventing disease. But the flu vaccine clocks in most years at 40% to 60% effective. And some vaccines work less well in groups of people – older people, for example, have less robust immune responses and need a special high-dose flu vaccine, or one with an extra ingredient called an adjuvant.
U.S. regulators will require a coronavirus vaccine to be 50% effective, and if a shot just barely clears that bar, public education will be required to help communicate how many people need to receive it to establish herd immunity – a threshold at which enough of the population is immune to stop the spread, when the virus is truly tamed.
“If you get a vaccine that just meets the guidelines, the chances are you’re not going to be able to achieve herd immunity,” said Walter Orenstein, associate director of the Emory Vaccine Center. “You tamp down transmission, substantially. It decreases your risk of getting exposed, but it doesn’t eliminate it. But a 50% effective vaccine is a lot better than 0% effective vaccine. I would take it.”
But public health experts are discussing among themselves a new worry: that hopes for a vaccine may be soaring too high. The confident depiction by politicians and companies that a vaccine is imminent and inevitable may give people unrealistic beliefs about how soon the world can return to normal and could lead to resistance to simple strategies that can tamp down transmission and save lives in the short term.
Two coronavirus vaccines entered the final stages of human testing last week, a scientific speed record that prompted top government health officials to utter words such as “historic” and “astounding.” Pharmaceutical executives predicted to Congress in July that vaccines might be available as soon as October, or before the end of the year.
As the plotline advances, so do expectations: If people can just muddle through a few more months, the vaccine will land, the pandemic will end and everyone can throw their masks away. But best-case scenarios have not materialized throughout the pandemic, and experts – who believe wholeheartedly in the power of vaccines – foresee a long path ahead.“It seems, to me, unlikely that a vaccine is an off-switch or a reset button where we will go back to pre-pandemic times,” said Yonatan Grad, an assistant professor of infectious diseases and immunology at the Harvard University T.H. Chan School of Public Health.
Or, as Columbia University virologist Angela Rasmussen puts it, “It’s not like we’re going to land in Oz.”
The declaration that a vaccine has been shown safe and effective will be a beginning, not the end. Deploying the vaccine to people in the United States and around the world will test and strain distribution networks, the supply chain, public trust and global cooperation. It will take months or, more likely, years to reach enough people to make the world safe.
For those who do get a vaccine as soon as shots become available, protection won’t be immediate – it takes weeks for the immune system to call up full platoons of disease-fighting antibodies. And many vaccine technologies will require a second shot weeks after the first to raise immune defenses.
Immunity could be short-lived or partial, requiring repeated boosters that strain the vaccine supply or require people to keep social distancing and wearing masks even after they’ve received their shots. And if a vaccine works less well for some groups of people, if swaths of the population are reluctant to get a vaccine or if there isn’t enough to go around, some people will still get sick even after scientists declare victory on a vaccine – which could help foster a false impression that it does not work.
A proven vaccine will profoundly change the relationship the world has with the novel coronavirus and is how many experts believe the pandemic will end. In popular conception, a vaccine is regarded as a silver bullet. But the truth – especially with the earliest vaccines – probably will be far more nuanced. Public health experts fear that could lead to disappointment and erode the already delicate trust essential to making the effort to vanquish the virus succeed.
The drive to develop vaccines is frequently characterized as a race, with one country or company in the lead. The race metaphor suggests that what matters is who reaches the finish line first. But first across the line is not necessarily the best – and it almost certainly isn’t the end of the race, which could go on for years.
“The realistic scenario is probably going to be more like what we saw with HIV/AIDS,” said Michael Kinch, an expert in drug development and research at Washington University in St. Louis. “With HIV, we had a first generation of, looking back now, fairly mediocre drugs. I am afraid – and people don’t like to hear this, but I’m kind of constantly preaching it – we have to prepare ourselves for the idea we do not have a very good vaccine. My guess is the first generation of vaccines may be mediocre.” (...)
All approved vaccines must be shown to be safe and effective, but that does not mean they perform the same. The measles vaccine is one of the best – 98% effective at preventing disease. But the flu vaccine clocks in most years at 40% to 60% effective. And some vaccines work less well in groups of people – older people, for example, have less robust immune responses and need a special high-dose flu vaccine, or one with an extra ingredient called an adjuvant.
U.S. regulators will require a coronavirus vaccine to be 50% effective, and if a shot just barely clears that bar, public education will be required to help communicate how many people need to receive it to establish herd immunity – a threshold at which enough of the population is immune to stop the spread, when the virus is truly tamed.
“If you get a vaccine that just meets the guidelines, the chances are you’re not going to be able to achieve herd immunity,” said Walter Orenstein, associate director of the Emory Vaccine Center. “You tamp down transmission, substantially. It decreases your risk of getting exposed, but it doesn’t eliminate it. But a 50% effective vaccine is a lot better than 0% effective vaccine. I would take it.”
by Carolyn Y. Johnson, Seattle Times (via Washington Post) | Read more:
Image: REUTERS/Dado Ruvic/Illustration
Permanent Funding for Land and Water Conservation Fund
A landmark bill committing $900 million a year for land conservation and a one-time $9.5 billion boost to help catch up over the next five years on maintenance needs at national parks was signed into law by President Donald Trump Monday.
The Great American Outdoors Act, S. 3422, will increase by two or three times the historic average amount of money spent by Congress for the Land and Water Conservation Fund. The program, used to fund acquisitions from willing sellers for federal, state and local open space and outdoor recreation, is paid for from royalties earned on oil and natural gas leases on public lands.
Washington state will receive hundreds of millions of dollars over the next decade under the program, for everything from repairs at National Parks and tribal schools to acquiring open space for outdoor recreation.
The program has deep roots in Washington: the Land and Water Conservation Fund was created by Sen. Henry M. “Scoop” Jackson, of Washington, in 1965. Sen. Maria Cantwell, D-Wash., worked with lawmakers in both chambers and both sides of the aisle to broker the combination of legislation in the works that added up to the Great American Outdoors Act.
In addition to funding about half the national park maintenance backlog, the legislation’s signal breakthrough is establishing permanent funding for the conservation fund at $900 million a year, ending chronic underfunding for the program.
by Lynda V. Mapes, Seattle Times | Read more:
Image: Bettina Hansen / The Seattle Times
The Great American Outdoors Act, S. 3422, will increase by two or three times the historic average amount of money spent by Congress for the Land and Water Conservation Fund. The program, used to fund acquisitions from willing sellers for federal, state and local open space and outdoor recreation, is paid for from royalties earned on oil and natural gas leases on public lands.
Washington state will receive hundreds of millions of dollars over the next decade under the program, for everything from repairs at National Parks and tribal schools to acquiring open space for outdoor recreation.The program has deep roots in Washington: the Land and Water Conservation Fund was created by Sen. Henry M. “Scoop” Jackson, of Washington, in 1965. Sen. Maria Cantwell, D-Wash., worked with lawmakers in both chambers and both sides of the aisle to broker the combination of legislation in the works that added up to the Great American Outdoors Act.
In addition to funding about half the national park maintenance backlog, the legislation’s signal breakthrough is establishing permanent funding for the conservation fund at $900 million a year, ending chronic underfunding for the program.
Image: Bettina Hansen / The Seattle Times
[ed. WTF? This is awesome. I'm sure Trump gives a f*ck about the LWCF, or even knows what it is. But someone (probably soon to be fired) slipped this legislation through. Or maybe it's just desperation, a last ditch effort to buy votes with sportsmen/women ahead of the election. No matter. This is great news. See also: Land and Water Conservation Fund fully funded after decades of uncertainty; and, The history of the Land and Water Conservation Fund, a critical tool supporting parks and outdoor recreation (Wilderness Society)]
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