Culture – Page 15 – Pat the Expat

Blame it on La Cuarentena

The continuing quarantine, partial as it is, is mostly about not doing things: not traveling, not getting to see family and friends, not being able to congregate in groups, not attending Mass, not having sports to watch. As I pondered the continuing effects of the coronavirus, I had to ask myself: what if anything could I say I have done that I could blame, specifically, on the quarantine? And a few things came to mind, namely:

We bought a freezer. One of those seven cubic feet, chest-style machines from Coppal, a local vendor. Now we had pondered getting one earlier, but since we eat out so frequently, and eat fresh meat and produce when we cook in, we simply didn’t see the need for a freezer. The quarantine challenged both of those givens: no restaurants, and avoiding going to the tienda every other day. We reconsidered: it’s nice to have some storage for larger portions of meat, etc. and I’ll admit having some frozen convenience foods (pizza, wings, ice cream) close at hand beats trying to go out and buy them every time a craving hits. Judy remains concerned we don’t need it; I’m up to the challenge of filling it!

My fountain came out as a planter. Or more specifically, it completed that transition. We had the option to put a fountain somewhere on our property when we were having the house built, so we put it in the middle of our interior courtyard. The idea of a fountain was superior to its incarnation. It’s an energy hog, the fountain was never loud enough to hear over other ambient sounds, and it can become a breeding ground for mosquitoes. The pump failed. It was difficult to keep clean. The quarantine left me pondering it almost daily, and something had to give. So, first I drained it and put an herb garden on top of it. Then I drilled drainage holes in the bottom, filled it with dirt, and started to add plants. The soil will always be wet during the rainy season, so I am experimenting with different plants to see what takes. First up is Alocacia.

Finally, I reviewed and updated my bug-out bag. What’s that you ask? It’s a long story, going all the way back to when we were first married and living in what was then West Germany. While the US Army there awaited a Soviet invasion that never came, our spouses and families were instructed to have a bag packed for a speedy evacuation in the event of war. Ours did, with a twist. The families were supposed to be bussed to Rhein-Main airbase and evacuated from the same hub where the rest of the US Army (from the States) was arriving. Except that was also where the Russians were going to drop chemical weapons to delay the reinforcements, and where was all the protective gear for spouses and children? So my family’s bug-out bag was designed with what they needed for a quick drive south to and across the Swiss border. Never needed it, but the concept always stuck with me.

The contents of the bug-out bag vary based on from what you’re running: a bag for the zombie apocalypse is different from one for the Red Army. When we moved to the DC area, the bag was primarily for me to grab as part of a family evacuation plan, designed to be executed from wherever one was when notified. That one was mainly in the event of some kind of weapon of mass destruction threat/event, and the ensuing mass panic. Nowadays, our bag is primarily for some kind of natural disaster and subsequent need to “live off the land.”

It’s not elaborate or expensive: some basic first aid gear, some multi-tools, fire-starter, space blankets and ponchos, a US Armed Forces Survival Manual, blades and tools, among other things. Upon review, what lacked in mine was water capacity. Face it, in any survival situation, water is the critical resource, but you can’t carry enough. So I added some large plastic water bottles and a Steri-straw, a basic filtration device which allows you to drink from most any natural source.

The idea well predates the recent “prepper” craze, although there are similarities. Bug-out bags are just a little extra preparedness; prepping is more of a lifestyle choice, in my opinion. Anyway, the long hours of quarantine proved a good opportunity to review and inspect everything, replace some items, do the basic math and add a few things. Never would have gotten around to it otherwise.

Nothing remarkable here, but a few things to note. Oh, and the title of the post? well, it’s an homage that goes all the way back to 1963! Do you remember?

Cultural Differences

I have mentioned before that one’s success at any expat life is dependent upon one’s ability to adapt to cultural differences: from whatever culture you came, to whatever culture you go. External influences (age, health, money, government policies) may play a role in how long one can be an expat, but the question of how happy one is as an expat comes down to how well one can fit in. Because the culture will be different, and the culture does not adapt to you, you adapt to it. Or be unhappy.

I covered the mañana culture in Mexico before, and it is one of the large cultural changes. Coming from TYPE A America, where everything is about efficiency, speed, and acquisition (of things), moving to a culture where things . . .

will . . .

get . . .

done . . .

eventually (mañana, not necessarily tomorrow): well that takes much getting use to.

Likewise, there is the challenge of the relationship between honesty and politesse (A word I learned from the Rolling Stones, thank-you-very-much).

“Use all your well-learned politesse, or I’ll lay your soul to waste!”

People here are extremely polite, and basically honest, but emphasize more of the former than the latter. So to avoid offending you, they’ll agree with you when they really don’t, commit to something they have no intention of ever doing, answer a question they don’t actually know the answer to, or give directions to a destination they don’t know. In Mexican culture, this is all understood, and no one would get upset about it. For expats, it’s another story.

Another cultural difference I have alluded to is what I call the “Robin Hood” culture of Mexico. There is an interplay between the concepts of fairness and legality that is just different here. Drop a wallet on the street, and some local will move heaven-and-earth to get it back to you, intact with all the bills and credit cards. Why? A dropped wallet is a misfortune that could befall anyone, and it is only right and proper to help someone who has had such bad luck. These same folk think nothing of conducting as much business as possible “off-book” avoiding charging/paying the value-added tax which funds much of the government. Why? The government is viewed with suspicion, as another entity looking out only for special interests. In a similar vein, nice houses here often have a large exterior compound wall with concertina wire, broken glass and nails, or electrified fencing. Why? If you have wealth and don’t protect it, it must mean nothing to you, so some people view it as available to others who have less (hence the prevalence of petty theft). The wall and wire are statements of both privacy and security: go find someone who doesn’t care about their stuff.

Of course, if you’ve seen the Disney movie CoCo (97% on Rotten Tomatoes!!) or witnessed Dia de Muertos in person, you are familiar with how Mexico views the family and death: you take care of your own, and death is a tragicomic end not to be feared. A skeleton elicits laughs or smiles here: terror NOB. Katrinas, lovingly-maintained roadside shrines to pedestrians killed (oh, so many), and sugar-candy skulls (calaveras): very different indeed!

The final obvious difference brings these observations together: the effects of the coronavirus pandemic. A nation which emphasizes taking care of your own (vice relying on the government, which is usually corrupt or ineffective), where family is the most important thing and work something you do, not who you are? A place that laughs at death and knows how to party? Where life may be unfair, but people are ready to go the extra mile for those in need? How would they deal with a deadly, global pandemic?

Mexico is 10th largest country (in population) and 15th in GDP. They currently have over 200,000 CoVid19 cases (11th overall) and 27,000 fatalities (7th overall). Yes, there is the same mix of resentment of the government, ridiculous conspiracies, and magical thinking as other countries/populations. The medical system does better for the wealthy than the poor and is inadequate for large-scale intensive care needs. The federal government initially tried denial as a national policy and still is not stepping up to secure the economy. Yet, there is no panic. Why has the nation weathered the storm so well?

In a word: Culture. Corona beer faced a marketing catastrophe: it doubled down and came out smiling. Mexican society is more unequal than America’s (as measured by the Gini coefficient); people aren’t happy about it, but still no one is out protesting about it. The economic consequences of the lockdown have been severe, yet somehow people are getting by. Extended families look out for one another, and for neighbors and friends of friends.

Think culture matters? Nicholas Kristof had an interesting Op Ed piece in the New York Times yesterday. He detailed something called the “Hispanic Paradox.” Hispanic Americans are part of a marginalized ethnic minority, yet they drink less alcohol, commit fewer crimes, die less frequently of drug overdoses, and are less likely to commit suicide than the white majority. On top of discrimination and poverty, Hispanics are less likely to have health insurance than either black or white Americans, yet they have the longest life expectancy among those three groups. Interestingly, as immigrants give way to second- and third-generation Americans, these advantages gradually recede. The overwhelmingly largest group of Hispanic Americans? Mexican Americans.

No one cultural point (e.g., faith) explains the paradox. But anyone familiar with the culture of Mexico, its web of family and friends, its relentless sense of joy and personal satisfaction, and its acceptance of life’s indignities or death’s inevitability, would not have any difficulty explaining it.

Eponyms

Don’t look it up: you know the word already! When the band Boston cut their record-selling first album, you certainly heard a radio DJ refer to it as their “eponymous” album, and somehow you figured out the album title was just their name. Eponyms, names which develop a permanent meaning on their own, have a long history. For the person, they are a source of immortality: statues can be torn down (oh. can they!), histories forgotten (or never learned), but words, they long outlast us.

Sometimes brands become eponyms: most people reach for a kleenex when they sneeze, and who doesn’t google something they don’t know? But for individuals, it’s a rare honor. Well, there was ancient Sissyphus, who gave us our favorite adjective for endlessly uncompleted work. Dr. Mesmer sold us a technique to hypnotize, and Elbridge Gerry donated a political tool for manipulating elections. Then there is Charles Cunningham, or at least that was the name he used during a visit to the States in 1881.

Charles was an English land agent and tenant-farm owner in 19th century Ireland. He was not particularly mean or greedy (for his type), but was still disliked by the Irish peasants who worked his lands. After a dispute over rents, the peasants decided to stop working for him, and encouraged (in the way only the Irish can, with a shillelagh) everyone else in the locality to join in. No bread from the bakery, no mail from the postboy, no goods from the grocery. Charles had to call on Orangemen from Ulster to salvage his crops, protected by soldiers, at his expense. There was no violence (sure and begorrah, a miracle), but the costs to Charles were ruinous, forcing him to leave Ireland for good. He left with his reputation intact, but not his good name. See, his full name was Charles Cunningham Boycott, and his name came to signify the kind of protest which brought him near to ruin.

The Irish peasants’ rebellion against Mr. Boycott was peaceful, proportionate, and purposeful, to borrow the three rules I suggested for protests. Peaceful, since while there were insinuations of potential violence by both sides (and a long history of real violence), none happened this time. Proportionate since they limited their actions: they didn’t shutdown the province or target his relations. Purposeful in that Mr. Boycott was the source of the protestors’ concern: they left the Orangemen, the Crown, and the Union Jack out of it. Oh, and they were successful!

Which is a long way of getting to the subject of boycotts. In today’s hyper-partisan world, where all things associated with the other side are not only wrong, they are evil, boycotts are much called for. There is always a danger in such actions: what if the target is not whom you thought? What if otherwise innocent people are harmed? How well do you know the actions, reasons, and intentions of the party for whom you’re supporting a boycott? Ah, nevermind!

As a helpful guide to all sides looking to avoid conducting business with evil, I’ve gathered the data (and sources, at the hyperlinks). I’ll use the general terms Republican and Democrat, as that is the way campaign contributions are counted in the States. The data actually shows how the employees of a given firm donate, as the companies themselves cannot do so under federal law.* And I’ll note where some the donations break equally, but what does that mean? Does it demonstrate evenhandedness, or a particularly amoral view that as long as they give roughly equivalent money to both sides, they’re safe from partisanship (but guilty of hypocrisy)?

As to the links, Business Insider covers the Fortune 500 top donating companies here. Progressives seem much taken with boycotts, so the Progressive Shopper has a site (and a Chrome extension) to guide you. They go beyond the basics of who-gives-how-much-to-whom and include such other issues as “Fox News Advertisers” and “pink-washing.” Finally, Goods Unite Us lets you have the data as an app.

Staying on the correct side of the lines is complicated. Democrats would want to fly only British Airways, Virgin Airways, or something called Evergreen International Airlines. Except that last one has longstanding ties to the CIA! Republicans are safe with United, American, and Southwest, but Delta splits down the middle. Anyway, Boeing and Lockheed Martin give almost equal money to both sides, so you’re going to need to check the make of your plane in addition to the airline, to remain unsullied.

Republicans will have to do without FaceBook, Google, Apple, Microsoft, ATT, Verizon, and Intel, so learn to program with Java, operate on Linux, and can you still get dial-up? Since they have so much time on their hands without the internet, Republicans can shop at Home Depot and Publix, use Revlon products, and eat at Chick-fil-A and Papa John’s, all off-limits to true believer Democrats.

No gassing up at Exxonmobil for Democrats, no caffeinating at Starbucks for Republicans. According to the money, Amazon is sort of ok for Democrats, but they “are a Fox News advertiser, enable the gun industry, fund anti-abortion politicians, ‘pinkwash’ LGBT+ rights, and dodge taxes” . . . but don’t even think of shopping at EBay or WalMart instead! Most major financial institutions split evenly, as does Johnson & Johnson, Best Buy, and Target. Best to check further first. Exhausting, no?

Yet that’s the easy part. How to discern the implications of the policies of a major multinational? Apple is famous for standing up to the US government to protect the privacy of its customers, but enables China’s government to spy on its own citizens. What about the difference between a corporation and its franchises? What about the individuals? Is the manager at your local REI a tree-hugger or a survivalist boogaloo boy? How would you know? If you really care (and that’s the point, isn’t it?), most states have laws requiring public records of campaign donations. So you can check these things out.

Federal records, check. State records, check.

Boycotts can be an effective, if sometimes slow-acting, tool: the treatment of South Africa under the apartheid regime is a case in point. They can be faster and more effective when done locally (per Mr. Boycott). Yet there is a difference between holding someone accountable for their direct actions and shunning them for some second or third-order relationship. Life seems so much easier when lived in a bubble of certainty: “don’t be evil” as Google proclaimed. But the truth is so much more difficult to face. So have at it, but remember: no excuse for not knowing, the data is out there, if you really care.

*Yes, it is possible for companies to create PACs and use other means to funnel money to candidates, parties, and campaigns, but that just muddies the water further.

La Lluvia

Pronounced “la YU-vi-a”, it is Spanish for the rain. Frequent readers will notice that I have tried to wax rhapsodic about the coming of the rainy season. I don’t think people who live with intermittent rains all year long can really understand what it’s like to go without rain for six months. There is a dryness in the air that, like the polvo (dust) from the road, gets into the very soul. The omnipresent sun, such a blessing, becomes a curse only shade can aleve. There is a reason, I believe, the word arid in English has negative connotations in climate and relationships. The old joke “yeah, but it’s a dry heat” is only a joke told in temperate climates.

Here in the waning days of June, any precipitation is a cause for expectation. Is this it: the end of the dry season, the beginning of the rain? Even the year after a year of record rainfall (when some locals were worried about the potential for flooding because the lake had not receded much and the rainy season was about to begin): yes, even then we welcomed the advent of the rains.

In the temperate world, rain requires context. A drenching rain in summer cools off the land, while the cold rains of Spring are a plague (ask me about my Camino!). Rain in the winter yields the careful calculation of the freezing point. In the workaday world, rain meant accidents and delays on crowded highways. Rain on a long run might be acceptable, but rain on a picnic: no.

Here it is different. Rain changes everything, and heralds the best time of the year. During the dry season, water your plants everyday or they die, unless you choose (like me) to plant succulents native to this high desert plateau. During the rainy season, water the garden mañana. The extra fine coating of dust which nightly overlays your terracotta tile floor, suggesting an ice rink, magically disappears. The strategic positioning of curtains–to block the relentless sun–and fans–to promote circulation–are suddenly unnecessary. Each evening, clouds do the blocking and winds whip up (whence tonight?) to clear the air.

Then the rain: cooling, thunderous, at times horizontal and changing cardinal directions at a moment’s notice. And of course the freshness that is everywhere after a good hard rain. When we first moved here, I would scurry to close the windows from the capricious rain. Then I realized that the water just collects on the tile, and you brush it out the door or let it dry and so what?

Reign on me!

It is saddening that the snowbirds who overwinter here in Mexico mostly miss the rainy season. The transition period, when our flora move from Phoenix to Honolulu, when the temperature briefly flirts with too hot before settling into wonderful, and the sun passes from scorching to friendly: that is what makes some call it paradise.

The Ides of June are well past, so we’ll have no early start to the rainy season. But start it will. It rained once last week, and then again two nights back. And now again last night. There is something different in the air, and it is as welcome as an old friend.

Interesting Times

No doubt you’ve heard of the ancient Chinese curse “may you live in interesting times.” It’s a legend, of course, and no such statement exists in Chinese; the closest aphorism is something about it being better for dogs in routine times than for humans in changing times. The saying remains popular despite its lack of provenance (it appears in 1930s England) because it rings true. All change is hard; great change is phenomenally difficult.

Seems like we do live in interesting times. Of late, we’ve had protest and riot coming on the heels of plague and economic collapse, following populism and climate change and financial disaster, which was preceded by accelerating technological advance and geopolitical change. Phew!

Some Christian sects constantly survey the news for signs of the impending End Times, and these days they have plenty of ammunition. Actually, they always have. There is a constant historical theme of how important and decisive today’s events are. What first-person histories we have contain comments by people great and small about how amazing it was to live through, well, any period of history. And from the standpoint of the individuals involved, it was all true: it was incredible (to them) to live through the era they did. Judgment Day remains scheduled for mañana.

This notion rises to its zenith in Presentism, a philosophical mistake that emphasizes things now at the expense of things past. It shows up when people treat current events as unprecedented, current fads as enduring or inevitable, and evaluate history using current standards. Presentism requires a unique combination of lack of historical knowledge and collective egotism. We’re witnessing an amazing peak of Presentism today.

I’ve seen claims we’re on the verge of a fascist takeover of the United States. Some cite secret conspiracies about vaccines, chips, or tracking apps. Several have quoted my favorite bomb-thrower, Thomas Paine, to the extent that “these are the times that try men’s souls” and call for action! Presidential abuse of power, crime, protest, anti-semitism, racial violence (especially by the police), and technological change are peaking. Except that they aren’t. Some are increasing, others stagnant or decreasing. Plus ça change . . .

Looks like a right reasonable chap, what?

Thomas Paine may be the ideal (if ironic) icon for our times. Paine was a failed English businessman who, at the suggestion of Benjamin Franklin, avoided debtor’s prison by emigrating to the colonies. His signature writing style was a clever mix of diatribe and well-turned phrases, making him easily the most followed writer during the American Revolution. His fellow revolutionaries (and historians since) credit his tracts, especially “Common Sense” with being the fuel that ignited the larger movement.

As it turns out, Thomas was a one-note wonder. His bombast was always stuck on “high” and he inevitably destroyed friendships with shrill accusations. He moved to Paris during the French Revolution, cheering it on as it went from Liberté, Egalité, et Fraternité to guillotine, garrote, and grotesquery. He was saved from execution only by the happy coincidence of a jailor’s misplaced mark on his cell door, and the impending turn of the tide against Robespierre, the architect of his imprisonment. He remained an ardent fan of the cause.

Paine ended up safely back in the States, but turned his ire on the one icon above reproach: George Washington. Paine accused Washington of hypocrisy, treachery, and vainglory, doing no damage to Washington’s legacy but cementing Paine’s reputation as a bitter polemicist. He died separated from his former friends, practically unmourned. When an English admirer later disinterred his remains for more honorable reburial in England, the remains were lost.

Thomas Paine was a wicked good writer, and many of his ideas about freedom and equality were as stirring as they were ahead of his time. Yet he couldn’t brook disagreement, viewed compromise as surrender, and saw excess as pure zeal. If atheists named patron saints, he’d be the patron saint of Twitter, if not social media writ large. Somehow, he was right about the revolution, but wrong about so much more.

Re-opening, cautiously

As expats, we’re all strangers in a strange land, but never more so than now. Today all expats live in the same place: pandemia. Expats always face the fundamental challenge of how and where to access healthcare, and that challenge stares one in the face when sick or injured abroad. I’ve written before that–especially for older retiree expats–healthcare is the number one reason expats return to their homeland.

Any Coronavirus? Why are you so close to me? Where’s your mask? Did I hear a hawk?

A pandemic places those challenges in a particularly harsh light. You may have health insurance, but how does it consider an outlier event like a pandemic? Many folks with travel insurance learned that their insurers treated a pandemic as a force majeure, an act of God, outside coverage: surprise! Going to the doctor or hospital and dealing with medical terminology is difficult enough, but how about translating all that through a foreign language? Now add in crowded conditions and overwhelmed staffs. How does your host country view palliative care, determine treatment priorities (e.g., limiting ventilators to younger patients), or distribute new medicines? When the local government suggests you stay home via a police helicopter loudspeaker overhead, does that mean “please” or “or else!”?

I get a weekly reminder from the US Embassy in Mexico City that some flights are still available, as well as a note saying that if I wait too long I may not be able to return when I want. The Canadian government went a step further, I am told, and basically directed Canadian expats to return or face the loss of their health coverage, which instigated a mass take-off of Canadian snowbirds northward.

The Mexican government has taken a low-key approach to the pandemic. The state-run health system is chronically underfunded and understaffed, so the biggest problem has been lack of capacity. The federal government has not emphasized testing, as testing is mainly useful as a guide to treatment, and their logic is since no treatment is available, why test? Instead they have emphasized social distancing, masks, and closures/lockdowns, while tracking hospital admissions and trying to create additional capacity when and where it is needed. Of course transparency is also not a big thing in government here, so it is unclear how well the approach is working.

We have a daily press briefing with Presidente AMLO, and color-coded charts of cases, and phases of closure/reopening. The state of Jalisco has somewhat gone its own way, while not violating the federal government’s guidelines. We are currently in something called “fase cero” (phase zero) which is a preparatory phase for businesses to get certified to reopen starting June 1st. Except now we’re not.

Overnight, the federal government changed the criteria and reporting grades on the country, moving every state (save Zacatecas) to “maximum risk” without further explanation. While the government’s own data has shown the number of cases rising, there was no sudden spike in deaths/hospitalizations. According to the federal government, this new status freezes reopening for the foreseeable future. Some critics say the move appears to be an attempt to deflect blame if things get worse.

However, Governor Alfaro of Jalisco has other ideas. He has decided not to accept the federal description of our state’s data, and instead continue with Phase Zero activities for two more weeks. For locals, that’s great news! Here is the Governor’s address (all fifteen minutes of it) with subtitles:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I50IoVCEXRs&feature=youtu.be&fbclid=IwAR2JV_1lrOcg8s49f63D4jfNZ0yWqIgyZWzUp0t1QlfMNmvXJu7LA9QaR20

This announcement is full of entreaties to the citizens of Jalisco to keep doing the right thing (social distancing, mask wearing, etc.) so we can continue to advance out of the lockdown. It reminds me of the old maxim “if you want to be treated as responsible adults, act like responsible adults.”

For our part, we’re (cautiously) enjoying the extra freedom.

Lunch @ Gosha’s? 300 pesos
Four glasses of wine? 200 more pesos
Out with the most wonderful woman in the world? priceless!

A Reminder out of Time

Wrapped up as we all are in the travails of life in a time of plague, the seasons roll on. Nature cares not for the whims of man.

The daylight lengthens whether we are there to use it or not. The sun warms and the night cools, e’en as we remain cocooned in our conditioned cells.

In little more than a month, deer began loitering on the highways, sheep decided to make town visits, and boar seemed to be asking “what’s up?” Nature abhors a vacuum, and the top of the food chain was apparently vacant.

Spring and its discontents, like its flowers, are in full bloom. The next snow in New England will be the last one (sure!), our local “rain birds” drone out the telly, the early reconnaissance mosquitoes are back. But who will they bite?

Yup, rains a ‘comin

Man is the only creature to markedly alter his environment, we are told. We fashion ourselves masters of this little bit of the universe, able to build up and tear down: dam the greatest rivers, scrape the highest skies, control the very carbon in the atmosphere. As usual, Shakespeare skeptically said it best:

What a piece of work is man, 
How noble in reason, 
how infinite in faculty, 
In form and moving how express and admirable, 
In action how like an Angel, 
In apprehension how like a god,
(Hamlet, Act II, Scene 2)

Our thirst for knowledge is tireless, as is our demand for mastery. We discovered fire and yoked water & wind. We probed light to find it is both wave and particle. We pulled apart matter and unleashed its immense energy. We dug still deeper and found . . . strings!?! We aim our telescopes ever closer to the very instant of the Big Bang. We tug at the corners of consciousness and convince ourselves there is nothing that science cannot eventually explain. Except perhaps, “why?”

Modern man may be a Colossus astride the globe, but he was staring at his iPhone, about to trip over the smallest of stumbling blocks: tiny, non-living chemical bomblets called viruses.

“My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings; Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!” — Shelley

We have come to worship progress; I use that term “worship” advisedly, but I think accurately. When you worship something, you place all your trust, your faith, in it. Despite a great deal of history, especially the twinned history of mankind and disease, we look to medical science to solve such problems. Yet that long history has been marked by failures to do so. I mean no disrespect to those brave men and women who daily put their lives on the line in medical garb: watching their dedication as they seek treatments or vaccines or even palliative care fills one with reassurance in mankind’s basic heroism and compassion. But no faith in progress: it is now–in 2020– as it ever was, in 1919, in 1665, in 1346, and . . .

Pandemics come with regularity: that we have forgotten this is testament to our advances in medicine and retreats in studying history. They do so because that is what bacteria and viruses do. Nature is not angry with us; it would pay man little attention, if it could. Unless, of course, you worship the Earth Goddess Gaia, in which case you should be out doing some serious sacrificing.

I am not one to describe any event, let alone a pandemic, as God’s wrath. A husband is wise to admit the mystery of his wife’s mind, so “who has known the mind of the Lord, or who has been His counselor?” (Romans 11:34). Likewise I defer judging as those who say “God does not . . .” There are very few endings to that phrase that can hold true other than “. . . think as man does.” I do know whatever the origins of this novel pandemic, God will make of it what He will. All things end up in conformity with His plans, as obscure as they may be to we mere mortals.

I pray that it be His Will that we take a little less pride in our progress, our science, our medicine. That we stop treating politics as the alpha and omega of our thought. That people stop striving so much to be on “the right side of history” as to be just good. To act first justly in our daily lives, with compassion to our neighbors, before looking for the intervention of higher powers (of the earthly or divine type). To be more in the moment rather than in the act of becoming.

If things change at all after this plague, I think the epitaph for the society which passed would be “They were proud, they were accomplished, they were distracted, and it was their undoing.”

Take me out to the ball game

It’s baseball season–what else is going on?–so here’s a brief look at today’s game of the week, already in progress.

Color Announcer (CA): “A big welcome to those fans just joining us from the daily media lack-of-information update. I can assure you we’ll break away from the action for irrelevant and ominous news as always, but for now, you’re looking live at Amazon-Alphabet Stadium, with its Earthfield sponsored by the new iPuke, where the hometown Homo Sapiens are battling the upstart Virus from Corona.”

Play-by-play (PbP) man: “Let’s catch you up on the action. Y’all know Corona comes on strong, very aggressive, and this game has been no exception. Sapiens may be the reigning champion species, but the newcomer Virus is giving them all they can handle.”

CA: “In the top of the first inning, the Virus loaded the bases with no outs. Their clean-up hitter slapped a sharp, sinking line drive at Xi, the Sapiens’ rising star at third base. The Virus, as aggressive a team as I’ve ever seen, had the run and hit on, so the runners were all in full stride! Xi dropped it, then tried to pretend he caught it. As the runners rounded the bases, he lazily tossed the ball to WHO, on first (naturally), who then jogged into the dugout as if the inning was over. Corona cleared the bases before the umpires could even get Sapiens to return to the field. Before the first half of the inning was over, Corona had staked a big lead.”

PbP man: “If Xi makes the catch, he probably would have made an unassisted triple play. Been a real hero. As it was, just admitting the mistake and making a real throw would have gotten one or two of the runners out. In baseball, like life, it’s not what you do, but how you react that matters.”

CA: “So true. Did you get that off a greeting card?”

PbP man: “Fortune cookie from Chinese carry-out last night. By the way, how do you eat Kung Pao chicken with a mask on?”

CA: “You don’t eat it with a mask on; you eat it with chopsticks. But we’ll investigate that further if the game really gets out of hand.”

PbP man: “We’re now in the bottom of the third, and Corona continues to pile on runs while Sapiens has only a few scattered hits. Xi came out with a big stick and went deep, while the Sapiens infield of Merkle, Moon, and Tsai have played great defense, limiting Corona’s scoring opportunities despite the continued erratic performance by WHO’s on first. Right now, with runners in scoring position, Sapiens’ pitcher, the Big Orange Hurt, is at the plate.”

CA: Big Orange trumpets himself as a modern day Babe Ruth, phenomenal pitcher and batter, and this would be the time to shine, with runners in scoring position and two outs.”

Umpire: “Striiiii-iiike one”

PbP: “BO wasn’t even looking as that pitch was thrown, is that confidence, or what?”

CA: “I’ll take ‘or what’ for 500, Alex.”

PbP: “Who’s Alex?”

CA: “No, WHO’s on first, but the Sapiens are at bat, now, and . . .”

Umpire: “Striiiiiii-iiike two”

Pbp: “Looks like The Hurt is in the hole, down two in the count, and he seems to be arguing with the umpire.”

BOH: “That was SO not a strike. That was a ball. The BIGGEST ball. And I know a ball when I see it. When I throw a ball, it’s . . .”

Umpire: “Striiii-ike three, yer out!”

BOH: “I’m out? You’re out! You’re out of your mind, You’re fired!”

CA: “That ends the inning; it looks like the umpire got the best of that exchange. Let’s go to the Sapiens dugout where Pitching Coach Anthony “Mad Tony” Fauci will give us his thoughts about the game.”

Dugout reporter (Dr): “Tony, what can the Sapiens do to get back in this contest?”

Mad Tony: “Baseball ain’t bean bag, and it ain’t timed, either. As long as we got at-bats, this game is still on, however long it takes. I tell you this: we got solid mid-game relief, and we got the world’s best closer. I been watching Virus for a while now: they can’t throw a curve for nothing, and like Michael Jordan, they can’t hit a curve neither. It’s all fastball. Their stuff don’t mutate for (beep).”

Dr: “You’re referring to your closer, Big Pharma, and I suppose he’s already warming up?”

Mad Tony: “Sure, they jumped all over the Orange guy today, but our relief will give them some junk they ain’t seen before. And Big Pharma? Oh, he’s ready. One shot is all he needs.”

CA: “Mad Tony, a question from up here in the booth. How hard is it to keep Big Orange’s head in the game in a situation like this? I mean, from up here it looks like he’s as likely to bean WHO on first as fire one past the batter.”

Mad Tony: “See, The Big Orange guy is what we call E-rratic. It’s like unpredictable, but with more attitude. Not his best outing, but then nobody has played their A-game today; Virus does that to you. Makes you look sick, but only for so long. They’re a one-trick pony. Fool me once, shame on me. Fool me twice, . . . er, uh, we won’t get fooled again, I always say.”

CA: “Thanks, Mad Tony, words to live by, or at least play Quotable with. While Sapiens retakes the field, I sense the crowd is growing a little restless here at the iPuke.”

Stands Reporter (SR): “It’s pronounced Poo-kay, but you’re right about the crowd. They don’t like losing, they don’t like sitting six feet apart, and they don’t like wearing masks. There is a rumor swirling that the bathrooms are out of toilet paper, and the concessionaire is out of hamburgers. Don’t get me started on the price of beer. The crowd is still into it, making themselves heard, but nobody knows what they’re cheering. It doesn’t look like any Virus fans showed up, but a few fights have broken out among Sapiens’ supporters. Of course, it’s hard to land any blows at that distance, but many just seem to enjoy arguing! As if they had nothing else to do.”

CA: “Nor do we all. Let’s get back to the action, and just in time, here’s our play-by-play man, back from a break.”

PbP man walking in with armload of TP and hamburger: “Armed gunmen in the toilets, and a riot at the hamburger stand. Just another weekend in Philly to me.”

CA: “Let’s talk about your last family reunion another time. What do you expect from the Sapiens in the field, right now?”

PbP: “Big Orange has to settle down and just do his job. He’s got a great supporting cast and all the tools to win. No mocking WHO on first, no calling the umpire names, no random throws at hecklers in the stands. For their part, the fans need to get it together; they keep looking for who to blame, but the game isn’t over. The players aren’t playing that well, but for the most part they’re trying. Some of them look like they haven’t played this game in a hundred years!”

CA: “That’s oddly specific. But you must admit, some of the players have been, well, lackluster?”

PbP: “Behind the plate, E. Union has been solid, but pretty much just goes along and reacts. The outfield has been literally all over the place. In right, The Swede acts like it’s just another game. Mack Ron always looks great in center and Boris looks awful in left, and I mean, he always looks awful. He looks sick now. They may have to replace him, but all they have on the bench is Jair B. and he seems to spend more time in the stands with the fans then on the field. You play the game with the team you have, not the team you want.”

CA: “Right. And by that, you mean . . . ?

(long pause)

PbP: “Well, you’ve got your known knowns, which are the things you know that you know. Then you got your unknown knowns, which you don’t even know you know, but you know. And of course your known unknowns, which you know you got to figure out because you know you don’t know them. But the real problem is them unknown unknowns, because, well . . .

CA: “You don’t know that you don’t know them?”

PbP: “No, that’s ridiculous. Surely you jest!”

CA: “That’s just how the quote ends. and don’t call me Shirley. To finish up, what does Sapiens need to do when they come to bat”

PbP: “They’re down nine-to-one, it’s only the top of the fourth. As Yogi Berra liked to say, you only score runs one at a time in baseball.”

CA: “What about a grand slam? Isn’t that four runs in one at bat?”

PbP: “You arguing with the Yogi? See, first the batter runs to first, and the runner on third runs to home. That’s one run. The the runner on second runs to third, and the runner on first goes to second. Then the runner on third goe…

(Commotion in the booth, as a handsome, immaculately coiffed man ((ICM)) enters and grabs the mike.)

ICM: “We interrupt this broadcast to bring you an extremely important announcement. Homo Sapiens is in danger of losing the game, the series and the entire planet.”

CA: “Wait a minute! Who are you? and why did you say ‘we” when it’s just you?”

ICM: “I identify with the royal we, and prefer the first person plural pronoun; I am the instantly recognizable face of network news.”

CA: “Sorry, I didn’t recognize you.”

ICM, after a pause to consider the impossibility of not being recognized: “Our sources have learned that Homo Sapiens is losing by AT LEAST eight runs, and it could get worse. Fans are so upset they are rioting in the stadium, and food shortages have been identified.”

CA: “OK, first of all, the team is losing by eight runs, not ‘at least eight.’ What does that even mean? Second, it could get worse because the other team is at bat, and you can only score when your team is at bat. So it’s just as possible it could get better.”

PbP man: “and the fans are angry about toilet paper, not the team. They ran out of hamburgers, not food!”

ICM: “Again, to summarize: Homo Sapiens is definitely losing, violence is breaking out, and we are running out of food.” Stay tuned for further updates, and watch our special this evening: ‘How bad is it and how much worse can it get?’ We now return you to your original programming.”

ICM leaves the booth. CA and PbP man look at each other and shrug.

CA: “Back to the game! Sapiens shut down Virus in the top of the fourth, and now they have runners on base with no outs. Is this the rally all fans have been waiting for?”

PbP man: “Maybe the start of something big, or maybe the rally fizzles. In any event, the game is only half over, and maybe the fans should pay more attention to the results on the field, and less attention to how it’s characterized. I know this: in the end, we will know the score and how each player contributed to the outcome. Along the way, all we have is speculation and opinion, and we all know that opinions are like (beep)holes; everybody has one, and they all stink.”

CA: “didn’t get that from a fortune cookie, did you?”

PbP: “No it just occurred to me when the network guy started talking.”

Mask on, Mask off

A guard at a Family Dollar in the States has been shot to death because (allegedly) he told a family they all needed to wear masks to enter the store. A Texas park ranger was pushed backward off a pier into a lake while explaining to a group of young people why they still needed to practice social distancing in a state park. Protestors have shown up at several state capitol buildings, sans masks, to protest wearing them (among other things); they have also taken to berating those wearing masks (especially news media).

Some feel the US government told them not to wear masks, then told them to wear masks: very confusing, if not suspicious. Some feel the masks are a not-so-subtle way of imposing control over people: starting with a rule, then enforcing it with fines and jail, and finally telling you how to live. Some feel masks are unnecessary because the virus can pass through them. Some feel masks are ineffective because people don’t know how to wear them correctly. Some feel the coronavirus is no big deal, so what’s with a mask? And many feel masks are a sign of sanity and good citizenship and anyone who disagrees is a fascist, know-nothing, violent domestic terrorist.

Phew, so many feelings! Let’s take a look at the facts and think about masks for a change, shall we?

First of all, never use the word mask by itself. If we were going to discuss vehicles, you might first ask me “what kind?” Race cars are different from pickup trucks are different from tanks and motorcycles and Segways. All are vehicles. Lucky for us, the mask discussion can easily break down into two categories: Respirators (such as the famous N95) and surgical masks (which also includes all lower forms of face covering, down to the humble Buff).

Respirators don’t look all that different from some surgical masks, so what is the difference? First, respirators protect the wearer from even small particles, while surgical masks only protect from large particles. Second, respirators can be reused (even though manufacturers prefer you discard them). Finally, respirators require a face-seal, or a tight fit in the PPE parlance. Back in the Army, we practiced wearing gas-masks (respirators+) for hours at a time, and we had to get a seal when we put them on. The way they trained us? We put on our masks with a good seal, then went into a tent full of teargas so thick you couldn’t see. The instructor ordered us to reach to the back of our mask and break the seal. The gas roared in, and everybody immediately went into full flight mode as teargas burned your throat & lungs, fluid poured from your eyes, nose, & mouth, and you ran blindly toward the exit to spend about fifteen minutes retching on the ground, gasping for air. Never had any problem convincing soldiers to get a good seal after that.

To put it in laymen’s terms, respirators are custom finish, while surgical masks (despite the name) are more builder’s grade. The CDC has a great infographic here.

So about the mask frenzy. Yes, the federal government told you (and me) to not buy masks, that we didn’t need them. To be precise, that we didn’t need them as much as medical professionals needed them; they were referring to the N95 respirator type of masks. They were/are in limited supply. They keep the wearer safe from Coronavirus while you are exposed to sick people all day long, if they are properly worn and fitted. See, if you aren’t trained, they won’t work well for you, they will just give you a false sense of security. It’s not just the fit/seal issue: you have to train how to put them on and take them off so as not to contaminate the insides of the mask, and not touch your face. So they are just not appropriate, like a tank is not appropriate as a vehicle for commuting (unless you drive I-395 daily).

Why is the government telling us to wear surgical masks now if they don’t protect the wearer from the virus? Such masks do provide some minimal protection, but if you walk under a fresh rainbow sneeze of coronavirus, your surgical mask or balaclava or Buff probably will not save you. These masks are there mostly to prevent you from generating the rainbow sneeze on your fellow man. You may not feel sick, or you may just feel a little off, but you may be infected, and if you sneeze/cough/scream/kiss (just sayin’) your neighbor, you are now a super-spreader, the Typhoid Mary of the neighborhood. And a mask on yo’ face helps with that.

Some folks (mostly guys) love this Pee analogy. Doesn’t work for me, but to each his own!

Some other analogies if you like:

Respirators for doctors (and the like) are like space suits for astronauts. Astronauts don’t wear space suits except to train, and when in space. They don’t have to wear them in space either; they’ll just die without them. So too with doctors and respirators.

Buffs don’t work for doctors; they need eye protection.
“The doctor will see you now.”
“No, no he won’t”

Surgical masks are more like a custom. Sneezing/coughing is neither good nor bad; it’s something the body does as it fights off a disease or reacts to an allergy. Humans have a custom that we don’t intentionally sneeze in each other’s faces. Why is that? Why should I care; I’m already sick! We do it as a courtesy. It’s so automatic and ingrained us, that I dare you to try to walk up and sneeze at someone. It’s almost impossible! We are asked to adopt a new custom–wearing face coverings–simply to protect others. That’s all.

Bottom line: Leave to go out, mask your snout! Staying in; show your chin!

Since you made it this far, click on this link and read Edgar Allan Poe’s short story (four pages) The Masque of the Red Death to reward yourself. Why? One, it’s short; did I mention four pages? Two, it’s Poe, so it’s dark and rich and scary. Three, whenever anybody asks you what you read during the pandemic, you can say “Poe’s Masque of the Red Death.” It will impress most, and only Lit majors will get the joke. Four, it’s about a plague, so, timely. Five, depending on your take, you might even get a little schadenfreude out of it–which reminds me, it has a glossary explaining some of the more arcane terms from Poe’s time.

Enjoy!

To Phase Three or not to Phase Three

That is the question. Mexico is entering into Phase three (according to Presidente AMLO), which is the peak of the epidemic. The government announced new restrictions: mandating the wearing of masks in all public spaces (even walking the dog or driving the car); limiting movement to essential activities (buying groceries, getting medicine, etc.); and basically instructing everyone sixty years old or older to stay home all the time. I have never been happier to be fifty-nine years and six months old.

Our local leader, the Presidente (Mayor) of Chapala, banned all sales of alcohol at grocery and convenience stores, due to the fact that ‘it was unfair’ to the liquor stores which had been deemed non-essential. Luckily, he reversed that decision a few days later. On the positive side, he noted that we have no confirmed cases locally, that the roadside checks had discouraged thousands of unwanted holiday visitors last week, and that he would not be using the jail times and fines authorized under law, as the people were complying of their own free will. An excellent example of the concept of liberty as “the right to do what one ought” as opposed to “the freedom to do want one wants.”

On the negative side, the more stringent restrictions closed our local club, so no more tennis or gym access (you feel our tears, I know!). Judy and I have collected an assortment of exercise gear over the decades, so I dug out the box and we selected various implements of personal destruction. Judy went back to her kettlebells, with an obligatory case of hamburger hands, while I did a variety of improvised stretches, hand-weights, stretch bands, a medicine ball, and jumped rope up on the mirador. I played music loud so I couldn’t hear the neighbors laughing!

Why I don’t do kettlebells: hamburger hands.

Judy got stopped by the policia coming back from the local farmacia: she had to show her license to explain why she was heading that direction (home). The government announced that restrictions will be extended until May 30th, except for smaller communities with no or few cases. They will be allowed to resume phase one activities (more normal life, with businesses reopening) on May 18th. I haven’t seen an official list of which towns qualify, but we’re certainly in the running.

Our state, Jalisco, is in an interesting position. Guadalajara is the capital, and it is the second largest city in Mexico, with our airport being the main transit hub for cargo. Yet we’ve had far fewer cases per capita than Ciudad de Mexico or other, smaller cities. As an analogy, in the CoVid19 pandemic in Mexico, Jalisco is playing California to Mexico City’s New York. The analogy even extends to the political side, as Jalisco is the center of (more conservative) opposition to the (more liberal) central government.

There is little of the panic evident here compared to the media coverage up north. The national government has emphasized they believe they have enough emergency room beds and ventilators to cover the surge; that may be wishful thinking, but there is much more of a common understanding that this is a deadly virus and that means some people will die. Flattening the curve means limiting avoidable deaths, not evading all deaths. Mexicans have an altogether different concept of death. It is not fatalistic so much as death as seen as an eventuality. One does what one can, and sometime (eventually) one dies. We’ll see how it all plays out.

Presidente AMLO’s sky high approval ratings have dropped steadily, but mostly due to the economic effects of the shutdown. Most Mexicans work “off book” and have little savings: the closures leave many completely bereft of resources. The federal government is attempting to make payments directly to the poor, but leaving businesses to fend for themselves. The state government is trying to bail out small businesses. Again, another experiment to watch.

It seems that leaders everywhere and at all levels are groping with the same challenges: unprecedented policy proposals, uncertain models with changing data, ambiguous public willingness to abide restrictions. Some have locked down, some are loosening up, although I have yet to see anyone with a blanket reopening approach. Some are doing more testing, some are doing less–and the results vary! Almost all are social distancing and emphasizing masks. The biggest single difference I see is the amount of drama involved: Mexico (like many countries) is treating the pandemic as a singular, very significant event: a life and death one. But just that.

Elsewhere, it seems to be closer to pandemonium than a pandemic.