Time-Space Compression in the Digital Realm

My work on time in the digital realm is coming slowly but surely. At the moment I'm thinking of multiple temporalities and the ways in which we occupy these dimensions while adhering to standardized time. Birth (2007) explores these issues with an article that deals with the conflicts that can arise out of a meeting of biology, clock, sun, and sociality. Birth raises a point in particular that has given me some pause: “If place-bound identities are becoming more significant as Harvey argues (1993, 4), then one wonders about the ways time and space are experienced locally … and in relationships that span different time zones” (2007: 216). But can this statement be applied to the digital realm as well? Are place-bound identities still significant in the digital realm?

Service in the City: Breakfast Vendor

To wrap up the Service in the City series for this week, we'll talk to Akhmed, a breakfast cart vendor who serves up coffee, bagels, and pastries every morning to help sleepy workers start their day.

"Service in the City" doesn't end here. I'll occasionally add to this series as I collect more stories from service individuals. I urge you to talk to the service industry folks in your life, and if you'd like to feature them on Anthropology in Practice, drop me a line.

Service in the City: Cleaning Staff

Continuing the Service in the City series, today we'll be talking to Marge who works for an office cleaning company. Surely you didn't think your garbage can was emptied by helpful elves?

Is Your Time My Time? Deconstructing "Social" Time (3)

I've been doing a lot of sifting through the articles and books I have on Time, and some graduate writing I did on the subject. And I think I'm ready to address my question as to whether there are parallels in Intersubjective Time. To do so, we're going to take a trip to the Caribbean. (But first I recommend you check out Part 1 and Part 2 of this series if you haven't already.)

Is Your Time My Time? Deconstructing "Social" Time (2)

Time. Sometimes it can seem as though there isn't enough of it. Sometimes it can seem endless. I woke up thinking about my notion of temporal freedom because it seems to run contrary to social order, which is structured in such a way that encourages intersubjectivity (the shared social experience of individuals). We exist within networks that overlap—I am a wife, sister, daughter, writer, anthropologist, godmother, bibliophile, former student, etc. Each of these roles carries with it experiences and memories that overlap with those of others in these networks. What I have named as temporal freedom actually seems to tied to a great number of external factors and persons. These thoughts sent me back to my bookshelves and to my notes from grad school. Here is what I have managed to puzzle out today—perhaps you can help strip back the layers on this as well, Reader. Hold on tight. We're going to delve into some theory today.

Is Your Time My Time? Deconstructing "Social" Time (1) [Updated]

My stay in Port St. Lucie forced me to consider the issue of time. In New York City it's easy to take time for granted. New York City is after all "the city that never sleeps"; it's inhabitants and workers are constantly on the go. As a result, time is managed and constructed so that it is convenient: for example, many businesses offer extended hours to accommodate late shift workers, party-goers, and just general late nighters. (One of the things I missed most about the City while I situated in North Carolina was the ability to get a roast beef and salami sandwich at 3 am.) Extended hours is a practice that makes for good business—if you have your doubts, just check out the lines that form for street food vendors when the bars start to empty in the wee hours of the morning. The result, I think, is that time is stretched so that we have more hours in which to do things. So even though we may have less hours of sunlight, we're not necessarily bound by a circadian rhythm that demands we sleep soon after nightfall or wake at the crack of dawn. We've by-passed the natural clock. We've adjusted so that dinner or breakfast (depending on when your day starts) at 9 or 10 pm is not unusual; a late lunch means eating at 4; and pharmacies and some supermarkets are open 24 hours—just in case you decide you need toothpaste or an orange at 4:30 am.

Collaborative Online Gameplay Builds Better Teams Offline

We recently acquired an Xbox gaming console in my home, which has resulted in quite a few late nights and some bleary-eyed mornings. But sacrificing sleep may have a positive outcome: collaborative game play may actually result in stronger relationships and better teamwork offline.

Video games have received a lot of press in recent years. Mainly concerning the effect violent games may have on the social development of children: some studies have suggested that exposure to violent video games may desensitize children and normalize violence, encouraging them to exhibit aggressive and violent behaviors. However, the fact has often been overlooked that many video games are meant for adult audiences. The resulting ratings guide was designed to inform parents about the nature of the content of the games they are purchasing for their children. While video games are given some credit for enhancing dexterity and problem solving skills, only recently have people begun to discuss the ways they can actually encourage teamwork. [Image Left: Xbox 360. Credit: Microsoft]

In multiplayer first-person shooters, such as the popular Halo series and Call of Duty, players can form teams for "capture the flag" simulations, where they must work together to successfully defend their base from a common enemy. Recently, I've watched a team of coworkers work as a defensive unit in Halo 3: ODST. Using headsets to communicate, they warned each other of impending attacks and provided backup as needed.  The implications for this kind of collaborative work may actually impact their relationship within the workplace, according to one researcher:

"Team objective-based games require a lot of communication between players to allow them to complete objectives, and playing such games can improve these skills and potentially help develop leadership styles."

In working together in a virtual environment, coworkers may enhance problem-solving skills, learn to assert leadership skills, and test a willingness to pursue creative solutions. In virtual worlds, players learn to play to each other's strengths:

• If one person is better at operating a vehicle than another, then he becomes the driver while the others wield weapons. 

• If a propensity for a particular weapon is demonstrated, then efforts are made to claim that weapon for the player and support is provided as he uses it. 
  

[Above: CAPTION CORRECTED: Scene from Halo 3 Multiplayer: Orbital Drop Shock Troopers in action. Credit: Bungie.net]

In addition, resources are shared—weapons and leadership roles are rotated. On virtual teams where the players have an actual offline relationship, collaborative game play may act to cement their network connections forging stronger relationships that can be drawn upon in real world settings. In video games, you cannot advance until the level/match is complete. In a collaborative setting, this encourages teams to stick with a problem—they actually have no choice but to work through it. In the workplace, teams that are connected online may bring this same sense of problem-solving tenacity to the situation. They may also be less likely to discount unusual suggestions.

The collaborative nature of some multiplayer games has been cited as proof that today's video games are actually social instruments—the image of the lonely geek playing video games on a personal computer is growing obsolete as people form networks and relationships in online gaming communities. Today's geek is likely to have international teammates that rival the connections of some businessmen. Teamwork guides have been developed, emphasizing respect for fellow gamers, good communication, and understanding expectations. The proliferation of these types of games with the Millennial generation and the growing popularity of social networking applications and media with these groups suggest that people are learning to work together in new ways.

I'm not suggesting that managers mandate a online gaming night for their team members, but these types of exercises could be helpful in building solidarity and trust in work units.The workplace is definitely changing as more "digital natives" fill in cubicles, perhaps they'll also bring new strategies for collaboration as well.

Has your workplace implemented technological strategies to encourage collaboration—i.e., a blog or custom designed video game? Talk back below (you don't need to share your employer's name).

Culture in Action 3: Parades—Public Festivals, Public Spectacles

Whether you care or not, if you live in the United States, you undoubtedly know by now that the New York Yankees won their 27th World Series title. As part of the winning tradition, the players and relevant staff were honored with a ticker tape parade on Friday, Nov. 6th, down the Canyon of Heroes (also known as Broadway when it isn't packed with screaming sports fans). The parade wound its way down to City Hall, where recently re-elected Mayor Bloomberg presented the team with the keys to the city.

Parades are held to mark a celebration. They're a form of public festival that draws in the community, and actually work to reestablish social ties: The idea is that we are all gathered to celebrate the same accomplishment—we are united in our celebration. Parade-goers are linked by their sense of pride and camaraderie. In a larger sense, parades are also a spectacle. It's a chance for a community to put on a show for their neighbors, to demonstrate their dominance. The accomplishment being celebrated connects the people present, but it also distinguishes them from others as well. And there is a great deal of preparation that goes into the show—from transit to safety to entrepreneurship to turning a blind eye when employees go missing for a few hours, everyone has a part to play. The spectacle is supported by the government because it provides a momentum that can be used. If buildings need to be built, laws need to be passed, or even wars need to be started, the momentum from such public celebrations can be mobilized. This sense of pride can carry forth many political agendas. [Image Left: A vendor sets up an impromtu stall on Nassau Street using a permanent sidewalk ornament.]

Ethnographers should always try to understand their biases, and their audiences should also have a sense of how the objectivity of information may be compromised. So before I go on, I need to confess that I considered calling this post "Infiltrating Enemy Territory." I am not a Yankees fan, as some of you may have surmised. I root for that other New York team, whose name I will not mention in a post about a parade for their rivals. I put a lot of though into whether this parade should be filed under the Culture in Action series, and ultimately decided that parades have a huge cultural element to them: they can reveal a great deal about the character and personality of a people through the ways in which society responds to these occasions. Regardless of the cause, a parade is still a chance to think about and talk about crowd dynamics. So as a dedicated anthropologist (who works within the vicinity of the parade route), I elbowed my way into enemy camp on Friday morning, bore witness to the scene, and extricated myself when chants of "Boston Sucks!" began to rise in pitch and intensity (belatedly realizing that I was wearing a red jacket—the color associated with the Yankees' arch rivals, the Boston Red Sox, and the team they beat for the championship, the Philadephia Phillies).

A coworker taking the PATH trainThe day began early for many fans. A great many people called in late or played hooky entirely, and teachers may have noticed a few empty desks on Friday morning. My morning commute was slightly more hectic than usual, as I contended with the large number of fans boarding the LIRR and subway. (which operates in a system similar to the LIRR) shared his morning commute with a dog who alternated between wandering the aisle and hopping up on the seat much to the annoyance of the conductor. Food vendors selling breakfast staples were doing brisk business as I made my way to my office building, weaving between the droves of people trying to get to Broadway.The came from all directions, of different sizes, shapes, and colors, all sporting the navy blue of their team. And there to greet them were the opportunistic street vendors who saw an chance to make a quick and relatively easy profit: banners and hats were $5.00, t-shirts cost $10.00. [Image Right: A dog ready for the Yankees' celebration downtown. Credit: J. DiBenedetto]

At about a quarter to eleven, I slipped into my jacket, grabbed my camera and hurried west on Wall Street. Several small groups—families with young children in tow—passed me, emitting triumphant whoops of joy. We all soon encountered a road block that could have ended all parade activities right then: Wall Street was closed at William Street, a good two blocks from Broadway. The police were blocking off street perpendicular to Broadway as they filled with people, and given the high profile of Wall Street itself, extra precautions were being taken to preserve the landmark. A cop advised us to walk north, so we walked a block to Pine Street, passing some more vendors, and turned west again to pack together as closely as we could to get a glimpse of the parade route. I ultimately wound up approximately half a block away from Broadway and still could only just see the events ahead of me. People got creative in searching for a good spot. Some climbed on the shoulders and backs of accommodating friends, boyfriends, and parents. Others climbed on top of city vehicles, though they were quickly chased off by watchful police. Some scaled buildings. Many buildings downtown have ledges about eight feet or so above the ground. They aren't wide, but if you're nimble, you can perch there to get above the crowd. And still others hung out of office windows.

[Above: Fans find a good vantage point.]

The crowd seemed to feed off of the growing energy. Laughter would erupt, and in true Yankees fan form, chants of "Boston Sucks!" and "Phillies Suck!" and "Let's Go Yankees!" and "Twen-ty Sev-en"—the hyphens emphasize the musical intonation of that particular chant—would swell periodically. It was definitely something to feel: a sea of people packed into side streets in shoulder to shoulder formation, speaking as one and thinking as one (except for the impostor in the red jacket). We were momentarily transported back to the stadium. The chants were something that everyone could participate in, including those who had not made it to a side street before the police began barricading those as well. But in truth, even those at the very end of the blocks and the people behind the barricades didn't seem upset that they couldn't see their beloved team. They were content to stand there, to be a part of the crowd, and take up their favorite war cries.

[Above: Crowd packed into Pine Street awaiting the parade.]

"Ticker tape" (really just shredded paper), thrown from buildings, drifted through the clear blue sky. In no time at all, the ground was covered, and everyone standing in the vicinity had scraps of paper in their hair and on their jackets. Ticker tape parades are unique to urban settings. They originated (where else?) in New York City. The first parade of this kind occured in 1886, when ticker tape was thrown during the dedication of the Statue of Liberty. The tape came from the old stock ticker machines, and when they were replaced by their electronic cousins, the ticker tape that filled the sky for these parades came from shredded office waste paper and city-supplied confetti. Caught in the wind, the scraps drifted for miles, blanketing Wall Street and the neighborhood. Lumbering street sweeping vehicles were on standby to get things back to order once the ceremonies wrapped up. [Image Left: "ticker tape" fills the sky.]

So there I was, in my red jacket, standing amongst a throng of people who probably would have fed me to the lions in the Colosseum had they known of my true loyalties. A cheer began to grow from the right along Broadway, cameras were thrust into the air around me, and the band marched by. Not to be dissuaded, the crowd continued to roar, their cries growing louder as the official photographers made their way down the Canyon. And then finally, They came. The moment these people had been waiting for arrived, and the crowd erupted, extending to the peripheries. In fact, those were the folks who probably yelled the loudest. Children were hoisted into the air. Hats were waved. A woman began to cry. [Image Right: Exuberant young fan tries to catch ticker tape. He did wind up snagging several large white sheets of copy paper.]

Remember when I said that athletes are our representatives on a public stage? We support teams because we believe in them—we trust them to protect our interests on the national stage. Well, the parade-goers turned out to say "Thank you." That was the feeling that seemed to radiate through the crowd. Yes, there was a bit of arrogance, but a certain amount of swagger is to be expected from the victorious—particularly when it is cultivated, and believe me, New Yorkers cultivate their swagger. People were there to say thank you. The spectacle was in the showing. The turnout was meant to send a clear message to rivals, and perhaps the strength of voices behind the cheers and the chants were meant to carry—I wonder if the hair on the backs of the necks of Bostonians and Philadelphians stood on end at that moment. Could the energy from this group have been so great as to travel that distance? [Image Left: The team passes this section of the crowd.]

Once the team passed, people began to trickle away from Broadway. Some were going back to their offices, like me, and others were headed to City Hall for the final celebration, and still others were packing into bars and joining lines to buy hot dogs and chicken with rice from food vendors. The mood was jubilant. Vendors were still hawking their wares as I made my way back toward Wall Street, fighting the crowd heading in the direction of City Hall. But the day was not over for many. Those who did not have tickets to the City Hall ceremony seemed content to mill about and drink in the remaining atmosphere. [Image Right: People moving toward City Hall.]

The effects of this public festival/spectacle will last well beyond the coming baseball season. The city's spirit has been renewed by this gathering of fans—even though they don't represent the complete spectrum of baseball supporters in New York. The festival/spectacle has permitted the assertion of a sense of social dominance and it will be something that all residents—whether you support this team or not—will carry forth with them in their travels. Our reputation, whether we want to share in it or not, has been bolstered. Once again, we are a city united, albeit some more reluctantly than others. The parade created a substantial expense for the city, which probably saw a tab in the range of $330,000.00, but the long term effects appear to outweigh these costs.  

[Above: Debris post-parade.]

Have you witnessed a parade or village festival on a smaller scale? Perhaps in your town or village? What was the atmosphere like? Let's talk about it below while we wait for Spring Training 2010.

Fido Speaks: In the Grip of the Anthropomorphized Pet

When you were a kid, did you have or want a pet? What about now?

I have a fairly full pet history. I am a sometimes reluctant co-owner/parent of two cats, one regal and sedate, Blink, and the other playful and slightly odd, Blaise—I adore them but it's hard to be enthusiastic when you come home to cat vomit because the younger one decided to eat all the dry food you left out to exert her dominance. I'm also an aunt of sorts to a cocker spaniel (he belongs to my brother-in-law); since I am responsible for his name, Frodo, I figure that grants me some degree of parentage, though as a cat person I tend to find him smelly and clumsy. (In hindsight, I would have suggested Maximus or Lucky if I'd known anyone would take me seriously. Really, I was just thinking aloud. And I secretly call him Maximus anyway, which is probably why he's confused.) And as a child, I've also had a pair of rabbits (my parents gave them away), the requisite childhood goldfish (I nearly overfed them), a stray dog I named Kit (yes, after the talking car in Knight Rider), and assorted parakeets thrown into the mix (in truth, these have always been more my father's pets than mine). No rocks, though. [Image Right: Frodo, the fearless cocker spaniel.]

If you have a similar list, we're not alone. According to the ASPCA, 60% of all households in the U.S. have at least one pet. The Humane Society reports that in 2008, there were approximately 75 million dogs as pets, and 88 million cats as pets (including my own two terrors).There's no question that pets occupy a special place in our lives—they have clothing lines, their own products, they even have a care industry (e.g., pet sitters, doggy day care, walkers, doggy valium, etc). The Internet is littered with videos of pets doing funny things, like the kittens who thought they would hitch a ride on a Roomba.

Humans have been keeping pets for as long as they have been able to support them. The earliest pets—dogs and cats, descendants of wolves and large wild cats—were probably domesticated for work (protection, hunting, etc) and grew into partnerships with their owners over time so that their descendents enjoyed greater status within the household. An article in November's National Geographic describes the honor awarded to royal egyptian pets: they were often interred with their owners, along with mummified food and playthings.  I had the good fortune of seeing the Hapi-men mummy last summer at the University of Pennsylvania Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology (see image below). He was buried with a mummified terrier—dogs may want to reconsider the whole idea of "man's best friend" and what that entails. But it seems that Egyptians kept a variety of pets, from assorted birds to crocodiles to lizards.

[Image: Hapi-Men mummy.]

 

Animal mummies were once cast aside, children sold nice specimens to tourists but the bulk of these findings were turned into fertilizer—until anthropologists and archaeologists realized that a lot could be learned about life in ancient Egyptian times from these mummies. For example, they can reveal which animals were sacred, such as the bull and the crocodile. They can tell us about votive offerings, and they can tell us about the mummy industry itself, which was in full swing by 664 B.C. As is common with any popular commercial trade, it was soon infiltrated by less than savory characters:

(C)orruption crept into the assembly line, and the occasional pilgrim ended up with something dodgy ... x-rays have revealed a variety of ancient consumer rip-offs: a cheaper animal substituted for a rarer, more expensive one; bones or feathers in place of a whole animal; beautiful wrappings around nothing but mud.

But perhaps there is something to be learned from our current relationships with our furry, finned, and feathered friends as well. What becomes clear in reading about mummified animals is that they were cast with anthropomorphic properties—that is, they were accorded human characteristics. We can say this because we know that cults grew around certain animals, and they were believed to be connected or representative of certain gods. For example, crocodiles were associated with Sobek, a water god of fertility; falcons were connected to Horus, a sky god and protector of the living king; and dogs were linked to the jackal-headed Anubis, guardian of the dead. The Apis Bull was revered as a representation of the all powerful king. Apis bulls were treated to special sanctuaries and elaborate funeral rites. [Image Right: Animal mummy.]

We don't quite worship our pets in this way, but we definitely do think of them in anthropomorphic terms. Blink likes to cuddle under the blanket. Is she emulating her owners who pull the covers up to their chins when they're ready for a nap? Blaise likes to settle near my books. Is she reading them when I go to bed? And on more than one occasion, they've parked themselves in front of the television. Are they watching and understanding the way we do? [Image Left: Blink under the blanket.]

Anthropomorphism is perhaps deeply rooted in our social nature. When we began to domesticate animals, the easiest way for us to understand them would have been to contextualize them in terms of what we knew best—ourselves. Attributing human characteristics to our pets links us to them: they are firmly in our control, but we are equally in their power. Because they have human elements to them, we are obligated to care for them.  Anthropomorphism has been explained as early attempts to understand the world, to link the divine with the natural, but perhaps there is a simple need for companionship in the equation as well. In a world still full of mysteries, is it any wonder that we tried to root ourselves firmly in that world by tying it to ourselves in this way?

And just as an industry grew around mummified pets, so too has an industry grown around our own. If pets have human characteristics, then of course, they must mirror their humans in other ways and they must need things, providing opportunities for padded profit margins. As Egyptian priests would sell votive mummies at higher prices to parishioners who looked like they could pay more, so too are unnecessary products peddled with earnest. And we believe we need to provide jewel studded collars and elaborate pet homes and carriers because we have to fulfill our obligations to our pets. In humanizing our pets, we have become captives to a certain degree. [Image Right: Blaise watches television.]

It is clear from both a historical and modern perspective that our pets are here to stay. The question is how far will we go to integrate them into our lives? Pet cemetaries are already fairly commonplace. Are these interments any different from pet mummies? Some pets can go to school to learn to be more petlike, a quality that we define and manage. The drive to humanize seems to march onward, but toward what end?

Share your pet stories below.

Paradigms of Sociality in a Digital World

In today’s digital world, we increasingly rely on social media to manage and maintain social connectivity. From Facebook to Twitter, we’re all connected and used to sharing—or over-sharing—details of our daily lives. Having dinner? Angry with someone or about your commute? At the gym? Witness something strange on the street? Having a miscarriage? People are using technology to share everything—and sometimes there are consequences to posting. People are also spending more time in digital worlds, such as Second Life, and more than one relationship has ended because a partner has been unable to disconnect or is guilty of a virtual affair.

We are more connected than ever, but does this extend beyond the digital arena? It seems that while we are willing to share the most intimate details of our lives online, we want to minimize our contact with others in the physical world. For example, text messaging is one means of avoiding conversations with others. (Know anyone who’s been dumped by a text message?) Are we moving toward a paradigm of public social avoidance with the rise of social media?

We actually take physical steps to reduce contact with each other. On my morning commute, the majority of riders have reduced opportunities for social contact through the use of iPods. I have blogged previously about how these devices can intrude upon one’s personal space in the public arena, but they serve a purpose: with earbuds firmly in place, the iPod user can “tune” out distractions—and each other: 

The immense storage capacity of iPod and its imitators offers at least the opportunity for total, uninterrupted isolation from one's surroundings for long -- extremely long -- periods of time. It is now possible to commute, to stroll, to shop, even to go to a Knicks game, without having to listen to another human being, or even the same song. There is no rewinding or CD-changing to permit the outside world to leak inside the cocoon. With a jukebox in your pocket, a suitable tune is always at the ready, no matter your mood. And if you have little white ear buds rammed in your ears, there is always an excuse not to acknowledge fellow humans. ''I'm busy right now,'' iPod users seem to say. ''I'll get back to you in 10,000 songs.'' 

I admit to being a "reading commuter"—a good book occupies the time it takes for me to get to and from work. Or so I tell myself. In truth, being engrossed in a good story means that I have a polite out in the event any of my fellow commuters decide to strike up a conversation—I can keep it short and polite and pointedly go back to my book. And it also means that I can ignore some of the more “colorful” characters who may cross my commuting path. But why do I engage in this means of social avoidance? After all, I am a prolific Facebook user and I have posted my share of “I’m making dinner” statuses—and given the size of my network, I’ve likely shared this information with people who could care less. But in public, like my fellow commuters, I’m not particularly open to sharing non-personal details.

Social avoidance is not a particularly new phenomenon. It is most famously been linked to the Kitty Genovese murder that took place in the 1960s in Kew Gardens, NY. Kitty’s screams for help went unacknowledged—none of her neighbors phoned the police despite potential evidence that they heard her cries. Social psychologists have studied this case extensively and attribute the inaction of Kitty’s neighbors to two possible reasons: pluralistic ignorance and diffusion of responsibility. The former refers to the private rejection of a norm by a group that remains inactive because they believe that the majority support this norm. The latter refers to inaction due to the belief that someone else will act—responsibility is not explicitly assigned to any single individual. Both reasons are linked to social avoidance.

The link between iPod users, reading commuters, and Kitty's neighbor's lies in the extent to which our social ability to “see” is hampered by these tools and strategies. Public safety officers have long encouraged runners and others to be aware of their surroundings for their own personal safety. The idea being that while you may be grooving out to Queen, Blink 182, or Fall Out Boy during your morning run, you could miss the sound of footsteps coming up behind you, or if you’re holding your breath as you travel with Stephen King through the macabre, you could may find that your wallet or Metrocard has abandoned you at some point during the journey. But beyond personal safety, are we losing our ability to see others. Remember our discussion about the invisible homeless? If we lose our ability our see each other, how does that affect our ability to read social biofeedback? Does this compromise our theory of mind—our ability to mentalize, to attribute beliefs and attributes to others? Theory of mind is integral to social life—it allows us to navigate and manage our social relationships because it allows us to read social biofeedback to understand others. But social interaction is important to the development of theory of mind. If we willingly limit opportunities for social interaction, what are the implications? What are your thoughts on why we would seek to limit physical interactions in the first place?

Follow up: The NYT City Room blog posted reader responses to the issue of cell phone abusers.


Technorati Tags: iPod, commuting, social avoidance, Kitty Genovese, sociality, Second Life, World of warcraft, invisibility, theory of mind, text messages, Facebook, Twitter

Much Ado About the (Swine) Flu?

Have you gotten your seasonal flu shot?

Unless you've been living in some extremely remote region, completely cut off from the world (and then let's face it, you wouldn't be reading my post), you've likely heard of the dreaded H1N1 (swine) flu virus that's been making the rounds since the last flu season. Well, Stephen King predicted this would happen, so we should have been prepared! Seriously, go read the original version of the The Stand, and tell me that we aren't facing similar circumstances—well, okay, humankind hasn't been virtually eliminated except for two polarized factions aligned with opposing divine forces (at least not yet), but the part about a mutating flu virus and the resulting panic seems appropriate in this context. But all joking aside, people are definitely frightened, and its understandable to a certain degree.

Why are they frightened though? As a species, we've faced this before—something like it anyway—and (most of us) survived to tell the tale. It's a shame students don't learn more about past pandemics in history class—because pandemics have happened before. From 1918 to 1920, a version of the H1N1 virus swept the globe, called the Spanish Flu, killing anywhere from 50 to 100 million people. Approximately 1/3 of the world's population was infected. In the United States, 28% of Americans were infected, and approximately 675,000 people died. And we've faced—and spread—other viral outbreaks. Native American populations, as well as other Amerindian groups, were decimated by smallpox and other communicable diseases. And before contact with the new world, there was the Black Death of the 14th century, which caused approximately 60% of Europe's population to die painfully and grotesquely. And there have been subsequent outbreaks throughout the globe well into the 20th century. These outbreaks have been traced well into our history. For example, according to Barquet and Domingo (1997),

Smallpox is believed to have appeared at the time of the first agricultural settlements in northeastern Africa, around 10 000 BC. It probably spread from Africa to India by means of Egyptian merchants in the last millennium BC. The earliest evidence of skin lesions resembling those of smallpox is found on the faces of mummies from the time of the 18th and 20th Egyptian Dynasties (1570 to 1085 BC) and in the well-preserved mummy of Ramses V, who died as a young man in 1157 BC.

The bottom line is that viruses have been around a long time. An outbreak can be devastating, there's no doubt. And it's frightening, but we've learned strategies for coping with them that we shouldn't lose sight of.

It sometimes feels as though in this age of information, we have access to too much information. Shocking to think, isn't it? But there is so much opposing information available to a public that may not read science articles and blogs too closely, that they may have trouble deciding what information they can believe and what sources they can trust. All it takes is the click of a button to create widespread panic. Let's say a concerned mom wanted to read a bit about vaccinations before she takes Timmy in for his flu shot. She does a Google search for vaccinations and finds a link for The Vaccination Debate. Immediately, she posts information from this site on her Facebook page and she tweets about it to her network, and when she goes to pick up Timmy from school, she talks to other moms and dads picking up their kids. At home, while doing more research (because now she's worried about all the other vaccines Timmy has had) she learns about a leaked memo with information about the H1N1 vaccine. She doesn't check up on the source, and so she joins the parents who won't vaccinate their children against H1N1 due to concerns about possible side effects from the flu vaccine.

The H1N1 outbreak and the  push to vaccinate specific groups has sparked a furious debate—particularly for health care workers for whom the vaccine was declared mandatory in New York. A New York State judge suspended the regulation in the face of a lawsuit from three nurses who did not want to be subject to what they believe is an experimental vaccine. Their lawyer responded to the ruling with the following statement:

These three women are not saying, "We don’t want to be vaccinated" ... They’re saying: "We don’t need this vaccination. We don’t think, for any number of reasons, it’s effective or necessary. It might be harmful to us. It hasn’t been adequately tested."

The resulting comments from NYT readers have been interesting to read. One reader posted,

This is a victory for personal liberty, but a public health disaster.

While still another stated:

We require that students receive vaccinations before attending public schools, because otherwise we put their fellow students and instructors at risk of an outbreak. Health professionals work in close settings with individuals who may have the flu or may have compromised immune systems. It is the right thing to do for them to receive the vaccination.

And a third added,

In 15 years when you are curious as to why all three of your kids are on Ritalin, and you are having anxiety attacks, maybe you’ll have time to ponder what testing was/wasn’t done on your vaccine.

I can see both sides of the story—I wouldn't want to be injected with an experimental drug, but at the same time, if I'm hospitalized or in an at-risk group, I want to know that all the necessary precautions have been taken to keep me safe. I know that vaccinations against TB have saved millions of people, and Salk's polio vaccine changed the lives of countless others. A troubling aspect of influenza is that it mutates. From 1918 to about 1957, the H1N1 virus circulated in the fall and spring. In 1957, the virus shifted to a new strain, H2N2, and because people had not been exposed to the H2N2 strain previously, a rough flu season ensued. In 1977, the H1N1 reemerged with an altered genetic makeup and more people got sick. Are you seeing the pattern here? Of course, I'm not saying that you shouldn't worry, because scientists really don't fully understand how immunity to influenza work, but we have been through this before. The virus emerged, and because it was new to our immune system, we had no resistance to it and people got sick and some may have died from influenza-related complications. But over time, we developed a resistance to it, and we survived (relatively better than King's population in The Stand)—until the virus shifted and we started the cycle again. All strains of influenza can prove to be deadly, particularly to someone with a compromised respiratory system, but its not the flu itself that causes people to die—influenza is an underlying reason for death.

There is a lot of information about influenza and outbreaks available at our fingertips, but people have to go looking for it beyond a basic Google search, and given the rising panic about the availability of H1N1 vaccines, this doesn't appear to be happening. Our fear of the flu is creating disruptions in daily life activities—for example, sharing food at the office has been discouraged, shaking hands at church during a peace ritual has also been discouraged, and family members are finding themselves unable to visit relatives in the hospital. In The Stand, people start to regard each other suspiciously, and a process of shutting out others begins, so that people ultimately die alone. We've adapted to this type of environment before and we know what measures work to protect us: vaccines, hand washing, covering your mouth when you sneeze or cough, seeing a doctor when you're ill, etc. Of course, by the 19th century, it was clear the Black Death bacterium could become drug resistant, and strike with renewed vigor. Yes, it's frightening. Frightening that in today's age of amazing scientific breakthroughs that something as simple as the flu can aggravate other symptoms leading to death. But we live in an age where we can mobilize quickly and minimize tragedy. We created a vaccine for this strain of H1N1 in record time—which of course raised concerns about its effectiveness. But does it also reflect a disbelief that we could mobilize so quickly?

The evidence in favor of vaccines outweighs the consequences, but that doesn't mean that one shouldn't be cautious of course. Vaccinations do have minor side effects that almost everyone feels, such as body aches, a low-grade fever (under 101 degrees F), and soreness at the site of the injection. I know of at least one person for whom these symptoms masked a respiratory infection that caused him to land in the hospital for three days. But your health care provider should be able to accurately advise which vaccines you need—and if you're looking for more information about H1N1, the CDC has a great site with lots of information for the public (and you may want to talk to your PCP). Another good site for information is Flu.gov.

Share your thoughts on vaccines, the H1N1 virus, the flu, or my questions in the comments box below.

All virus photos courtesy of the CDC.

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