Why the masks look the same in “Spanish Flu” pics: The rise of mask-wearing during the 1918 “Spanish Flu” pandemic

Vintage photos of masked individuals and crowds during the 1918 influenza pandemic have been circulating in news stories and on social media. What I find particularly interesting is that they all seem to wearing very similar masks, consisting of a white, rectangle and two ties, like this one worn by barbers:

Open air barber shop during influenza epidemic. National Archives and Records Administration / Public domain

Or this mask, covering the face of an elevator operator:

 Elevator operator in New York City, N.Y., wearing mask.
National Archives and Records Administration / Public domain

Why are they all so alike, especially considering the diversity of homemade and store-bought masks in our current reality?

Two factors explained the uniformity in masks then (and lack thereof now). First, many of the masks were created and distributed by Red Cross volunteers. And when people had to make their own masks, they could follow the straightforward, Red Cross-issued instructions that encouraged the use of white gauze and ties. Sample masks to be used as demos were sent to local chapters. Before masks were required, people were encouraged to use handkerchiefs, but this doesn’t appear to be as common as the gauze coverings.

“New mask design” from the Red Cross.
Published in The Washington Times on September 27, 1918

The Red Cross was heavily involved in directly and indirectly caring for influenza patients. Newspapers encouraged people to do their part to help the sick, especially ill enlisted men. And they did. Volunteers donated chicken, rags, pajamas, canned jellies and fruits, and other items.

And when did wearing masks become required during the Spanish Flu? Not as quickly as some “Spanish Flu as a Lesson”-type stories may lead you to believe (messages that have been using as cautionary tales for the current pandemic. I debunk one here). In 1918, many folks were still getting used to the concept of sanitary practices in the hospital. This April 1918 gem explains why nurses sometimes wear face masks to care for contagious patients.

Printed in the Rock Island Argus on April 10, 1918.

It wasn’t common practice for the general public to wear masks then (or now, at non-pandemic times). Doctors and nurses masked up during the spring outbreaks in the military camps (downplayed and ignored by media). No evidence suggests that regular people wore masks during this time.

In the summer of 1918, news media reported on the deadly disease as it spread through Asia and then Europe. However, nothing suggests that the U.S. prepped for influenza to come home. Articles focused on a different type of protection — the gas mask — needed to protect soldiers from poison gas attacks in the trenches.

Warnings of the impending influenza appeared in July. At the end of the month, 5 cases were documented at Camp Eberts in Arkansas, but incidence remained low for the next month. August newspapers documented illness and deaths aboard ships headed for the U.S.

As ships were being quarantined at New York and other ports, September 13th, Public Health Reports published the Navy’s preparation plan for handling the epidemic, including “Methods for the control of the disease.” Quarantine and isolation, at least for the Navy, were deemed “impracticable” due to the prevalence of healthy carriers. The final section advised mask-wearing for patient attendants and discouraged gatherings:

Published in Public Health Reports, September 13, 1918.

Excerpts of this report were published in newspapers across the country, paired with stories of rising cases, for the next few months.

By mid-September, influenza had become epidemic in some of the army camps and continued to spread across the country. On September 18, the Richmond Times-Dispatch reported that the local Red Cross chapter had requested 4,000 face masks for caregivers the previous day. The next day, a Connecticut paper recommended masks made from gauze for those near influenza patients.

Over the next two weeks, reports of Red Cross volunteers producing masks for nurses and other influenza attendants in military camps increased, as did cases of influenza. Still, there was no indication that regular people had started wearing face masks, nor had quarantine (outside of ports) been implemented.

Approximately 23,000 cases had erupted at military camps before soldiers were advised to wear masks while training. Female volunteers made them for the Red Cross, producing an average of 1 every 5 minutes. Cases of influenza reached epidemic levels in 26 states before it became common for even enlisted men to wear masks.

Like we’ve experienced in the last three months, society shut down before masks became required. Similar to now, restrictions varied by city and state. Flu mask ordinances were implemented primarily in November and December, as barber shops, theaters, and other crowded places began to open. In some places, everyone was required to wear masks. More often, though, care attendants, those in recovery, barbers, and elevator operators were required to don masks, while others were simply encouraged, especially those riding on street cars.

Contrary to numerous social media posts and contemporary articles on “Spanish Flu,” mask-wearing did not occur immediately, nor was it universally required and accepted. That said, the wide distribution of masks by the Red Cross made them much more accessible, especially for those enlisted and/or caring for patients.

Note: In researching for this blog post, I examined newspaper coverage using the search terms “masks” and “influenza” from March through December 1918 (and beyond). I weeded through numerous articles about gas masks. Even at the height of the pandemic, war news dominated media outlets.

Published in several news outlets, including the Fulton County News,
September 26, 1918

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Children in the Pandemic: Why They Should be Included in the Conversation

Note: I wrote this piece a few weeks ago. Some of my thoughts have shifted since the reopening. That said, I still feel like kids are being left out, especially as running mundane errands continue to be stressful. I decided not to revise it to preserve my unsettled nerves of the moment.

“Stay back! Stay back!” An older man said sternly to my 11-year-old several weeks ago, as she calmly pushed the grocery cart about 8 feet away from a “t” in the store. Nora brushed off his comment, and I redirected focus to our list. Inside, though, his recoil startled and upset me. I know that he was just trying to safe. At the same time, when did children become the enemy?

Past epidemics restricted the activity of minors, primarily when they were the most susceptible. In the polio epidemic of 1916, New York restricted traveling for children. The fear of later outbreaks prompted the closing of pools, beaches, and other places that attracted groups of kids in the summer. But these responses matched the fear of children contracting disease, not harboring and transmitting it to older adults, which we have seen with the current pandemic. Media stories emphasize how children typically have only mild symptoms, but can still pass COVID-19 to the adults around them. This discourse may help assuage concerns about sick children. At the same time, it stigmatizes and dismisses them in our coronavirus discussions.

Omitted from public spaces and conversation, children have been left out of this new reality that divides between the essential and non-essential. Let’s face it, everything they do is non-essential. Childhood is about toys, frivolity, and spontaneity, not n95 masks, R0 factors, and restrictions. It’s hard to fit kids into this new grim reality, in which every move feels so predictable and deliberate. Don’t touch your face. Remove gloves inside out. Have you scrubbed your phone? Wash your hands. . .no, wait, longer. Follow the arrows in the store. Is this six feet of distance?

This pandemic is incredibly tough on children, many of whom are experiencing the impact of their parents’ unemployment or fear for their safety on the job. Not to mention kids in abusive homes, thosewithout enough to eat, or without a safe place to be.

Even in the best circumstances, children are still contending with stressed-out parents attempting to both homeschool and work at the same time, while voicing their own concerns about the illness and death, the economy, food shortages, canceled appointments, and distanced loved ones. Kids don’t fit within the melancholic cloud over our pandemic reality. Day-to-day, they cannot stay in crisis mode.

Children’s experiences in epidemics have been historically ignored. We know little of their actions or feelings during yellow fever of 1793 or in the Spanish Flu. Even in polio epidemics, in which children were at the center, their voices and experiences were seldom shared, except for a sound bite or a choreographed March of Dimes poster. Only decades later did oral history projects capture adults’ recollection of surviving polio as kids.

But children do matter in this pandemic. Like all of us, they feel lonely, isolated, agitation, aimless, unsatisfied, worried, sad, and afraid. Removed from grandparents and other relatives, favorite teachers, peers, coaches, and other special people,they are experiencing a true sense of loss. Much of what structures their lives and brings them joy has been removed. Social distancing is difficult to explain and justify, even to older children, who might understand the risk, but emotionally struggle with canceled sleepovers, field trips, and competitions. Kids need to be included in the conversation. We can’t ignore the impact of quarantine, their fears of disease, or frustrations. Instead, children’s roles in this pandemic need to be considered and shared, with their experiences recorded and preserved for future generations.

After the grocery store incident, I stopped bringing my children to the store just so they wouldn’t have to experience the anxiety-ridden climate of fear. Many don’t have the luxury of shopping alone. Single parents have been cut off from their social networks, therefore, may need to bring kids along to get food or pick up prescriptions. We shouldn’t be quick to judge or ridicule children just for existing in a public space. They are not incubators of disease, but people also living in this world of uncertainty.

Zoom Fatigue? More Like Life Fatigue

I’ve read the insightful article on why Zoom sessions tire us out. “Zoom fatigue,” explained here, refers to the exhaustion felt after virtual interactions and has become an issue in our shift to the online world. I would argue (and I think most would agree) that what we are currently experiencing goes beyond the impact of our interfacing platforms. Life itself is wearing us out.

For the last few months, I’ve been too consistently tired to reflect on why I’ve felt drained. However, a weekend break from our humdrum reality gave me some clarity. We took a trip to a mountain cabin (immediate family, brought food, and didn’t do extra touristy stuff) and spent two wonderful days hiking and hanging out–trying to temporarily escape from the weight of the world.

Our return prompted me to ponder why we are so generally tired, even on days that we seem to do little. We now have so many decisions to make, all shrouded in tension and uncertainty. As I wrote about in my blog post of questions, none of us really know how to approach this reopening stage. What we feel comfortable doing is constantly changing. At the same time, we, in effect, clouded by our own teeter-totter about the present contagion: Are we going to get the virus? Have we and didn’t know it? Are others the threat or am I (even though I haven’t had symptoms)? I can definitely relate to this post:

But it’s not just about the ever-present COVID-19. Minor decisions are hard now, partly because we have so many of them to make. With no school for the kids, suddenly we are deciding what to feed our herds numerous times per day. We are also deciding how to keep them entertained, engaged, and learning, while trying to navigate working from home, which comes with its own bundle of decisions.

Every big choice now leads to a hundred little choices, as we are all venturing into uncharted territory. It’s like we are living the least fun version of Choose Your Own Adventure, guided by a bombardment of conflicting media messages.

Adding to that, our support system outside of our own households has been reduced to only phone calls and social media. No FB Messenger post is a substitution for a face-to-face friend lunch at a local restaurant. It’s hard to make decisions. It’s even harder to make them alone, while your kids pop in and interrupt you (5 times in the writing of this post).

It’s not that we are tired from doing nothing, then. Our brains are fatigued from the endless decision-making. What was seemingly effortless must now be intentional and it is exhausting–especially without in-person friends or childcare.

“How do we do it?” or “Who’s Going to Ruin it for Everyone?”

Last night, a pensive version of myself only had questions for the blog. After thinking about my uncertainties, the professor in me feels that I should at least try to offer answers (or at least points of discussion). I will address each numbered question, one post at a time. Tonight, it’s about how we start to venture out in public.

When we inevitably reenter the public sphere (as I assume everyone is planning to do at some point), it will be like a public swimming pool at the beginning of a season.

A splash from August 2018

Some people will stay home until the weather warms up. Of those who decide to head to the pool, many will stay wrapped in towels on the deck. A few people will kick off their flip flops and cannonball in, not caring if they splash the dry onlookers.

But most people will proceed rather cautiously for that first dip, testing the temp by dangling toes in the water. Looking around, these individuals seek the comfort of others also venturing into the pool. “You go first!” One yells. “No, you!” A friend replies. The two agree to go on three and eventually jump in.

As with getting in the pool, we will (or already have) seek the confirmation that our friends and family are on the same page as we are in beginning to enter the public space of this new reality. If they are not, likely they won’t be invited or consulted about the next step in undoing isolation.

Where can we go and should we are two different questions. Because there are no clear right answers, I won’t offer false advice about what is “safe.” I do, however, find Dr. Erin Bromage’s explanation about risk particularly helpful. What I can say is that the decision of where to go and when is a personal one. It’s okay if you feel anxious and don’t know what to do. At the same time, we shouldn’t be rushing out to party like it’s Y2K or that COVID-19 has been eradicated.

Like the pool, folks clearly have different opinions of when and how to do this. Unfortunately, one lesson I learned from my lifeguarding days is that crowded water often leads to contamination, quickly shutting down the facility. In other words, if most people abandon social distancing measures and refuse to wear masks, stay at home orders will soon resume.

How. . . ? A Post of Questions

The Wallypug of Why, by G. E. Farrow, illustrations by Harry Furniss and Dorothy Furniss, 1895.

The farther that we get into this [what do we call it? And to what am I referring? Pandemic? Isolation? “Crisis-schooling?”], the more that my thoughts are filled with questions and not answers. Thus, I am launching into a cathartic list of my current uncertainties. Some of these questions (concerns, issues?] have answers, but are they the right ones? Other current mysteries will be resolved soon [by me? Others? No one?].

  1. If/when we do this reopening [or as?], how do we do it? Who should go? Where can we go? What is okay? What is not? How do we balance safety with a need to take care of certain things [and what are those things?]? If wearing a mask is for other people’s protection, why do other people get to decide the level at which I am protected?
  2. Why won’t my kids go to sleep so I can write my post?
  3. How do we keep doing the impossible balance of caring for children and working from home? Who gets the short end of the stick? Or is it a regular stick with so many branches that it is the tree that suffers? When can a sliver of uninterrupted time become a regular expectation and not a moment of luxury?
  4. At what point can we acknowledge that online learning at any stage is not the same as an in-person experience [or did I just do that?]?
  5. Is it okay to admit that this time of isolation is hard, even though we are safe and healthy?
  6. What does the future hold? For my kids? For my students? For everyday life? Will I get to enjoy my office in the Fall, especially the chocolates I left on my desk? Why did I leave them there when I need them here more?
  7. When will we reach a point in which we can stop contextualizing everything with [COVID-19, “this weird time,” “the current situation”]?
  8. As someone who has studied epidemics, should I have more answers?
  9. How will this pandemic end? When? In how many waves? With how many lost?
  10. When will we move beyond this crisis? Will we remember? How do we make sure that generations after us know about these experiences?

We Made It Through, but the Online Format is Not a Long-term Solution: Planning for the Future

With 2.5 more weeks of “crisis-schooling” for the kids, a summer class to prep, and numerous other tasks, it was necessary for me to push through and finish Spring 2020. I submitted final grades for all of my classes yesterday. The last gen. ed. assignment for the semester required students to briefly reflect and describe their experiences, including additional challenges they faced.

This short essay was very telling and I learned a great deal about my students’ feelings, activities, and obstacles since the midterm. Students expressed concerns over their parents and other family members — about the future of their family businesses, recent unemployment, and health. Three or four students had family members who had recovered from COVID-19 or had had it themselves. Other students worried about vulnerable parents or grandparents, fearing what would happen if they became sick. Many had become unemployed and struggled to buy food and other essentials. On the flip side, some students had significantly increased their hours, working 40-60 hours a week in addition to school.

Access to reliable technology was a significant hurdle for a large portion of the class. One student had left a laptop in the dorm and had to wait more than a week to get it back. Other students had no WiFi at home and had to drive elsewhere to use D2L or they had WiFi but connectivity was poor. Students also experienced multiple challenges at the same time — working on a farm, for example, with no internet at home.

Students faced other challenges as well, getting stuck far from home after visiting a friend on Spring break, dealing with canceled trips, performances, and training. Issues related to mental health were frequently brought up, in relation to isolation, a lack of purpose, and distancing from the world. Furthermore, many expressed their personal difficulties with online learning, explaining that they struggle with time management and understanding material in an online delivery.

What surprised me most was that I didn’t know about these hindrances until the day of the final. I had asked about challenges periodically throughout the semester, but few had piped up. In other words, students were not seeking excuses and exceptions in these reflections, just conveying their current realities.

Obviously we had to shift online this semester and for the summer. Beyond that, though, these reflections reinforced what I was already suspecting: the online format fundamentally does not work for many students. While my own university did an exceptional job with providing resources and support, our students do not have the widespread access and support to fully succeed. It is just not feasible for a student to juggle separating cattle and driving 40 minutes to complete school work or sharing a computer with multiple family members in the same household.

On April 30th, President McPhee announced that on-campus classes with resume next semester. Knowing our students’ challenges, I support this decision.

If we don’t at least try to have in-person classes, I wonder how many students would not return in Fall 2020. For those who did come back, how many would fail because of limitations outside of their control? Moreover, what classes cannot be taught effectively online?

For all colleges and universities that plan to resume in-person, the question is how do we do this? Obviously, cases may escalate and the in-person experience may not be feasible in a few months. However, we can still plan for the different possibilities and at some point, will reopen.

  • Increase the number of online courses by having faculty identify which ones can go online. It makes sense to offer more online courses for students that choose this format, knowing that they have the resources to make it work. Increasing online courses would also help vulnerable faculty members who cannot safely teach in-person at this time. There’s a difference between offering and mandating the online format.
  • Allow vulnerable faculty and staff to work from home.
  • Rethink class sizes, splitting up large lectures. Schedule classes in larger capacity rooms.
  • Hold faculty and student training sessions for online learning.
  • Encourage all instructors to create contingency plans for the semester and communicate them to students.
  • In preparation for another shutdown, identify students that are most likely to struggle and help them prepare for the shift to online learning.
  • Share guidelines across disciplines and universities for in-person and online classes in this new normal.

Today’s post is my reflection on my students’ experiences this semester. I felt for the ones struggling and those who stopping submitting assignments and taking exams. I did what I could to help my classes make it through the content, but it still did not feel like enough. Well, maybe for crisis mode/half term. However, it’s definitely not the default path for future semesters.

Creative Media Projects: Joy During the Teaching Crisis

Like other instructors, our mid-semester shift to online teaching forced me to quickly rethink assignments and assessment. For my intro course, 180 of 200 points remained of the group project. Obviously, it would have been unrealistic to expect students to work together to produce a paper and presentation, at least in the current crisis mode in a gen. ed. class. At the same time, I was reluctant to just do away with these points, shrinking the overall pool so that tests made up the majority of the grade.

My solution was to replace the majority of the group work with an individual creative project, in which students could either continue with their group’s historical topic or choose to create an original work that captured an aspect of our current situation. My only instruction was that they had to make something engaging that could be shared on D2L. Acceptable formats could include videos, songs, poems, posters, memes, and any other format approved by me. I also made the assignment a competition, allowing everyone to vote on their favorite projects.

This week, they turned in their projects. I wasn’t sure what to expect when I opened the folder, but I was immediately blown away by their creations, in thoughtfulness, innovation, and the overall quality. Students wrote poems, stories, and letters, created photo essays, pictures, and comic art. Several students produced songs that were so well done, I asked for verification that they had actually created them, like this song by David Moore on life as an introvert (shared with permission).

A song by David Moore

The diversity in the videos was also impressive. Some were pensive reflections on the challenges of working and finishing the semester. Others were humorous: one student filmed herself attempting a skateboard trick. Another student created a ’90s sitcom intro, starring, well, only herself. Students were also thoughtful in their evaluations of each other’s projects, noting the skill and emotion put into their peers’ work or commenting on how songs and videos gave them new perspectives on how other people are experiencing life right now.

The top project was this mixed art painting by Jernicya McCrackin:

“For my Creative Media project, I wanted to do a mixed media illustration relating to how fashion covers and social media has converted wearing face mask to a fashion statement. ” by Jernicya McCrackin (shared with permission).

A project that I had thought would be a collection of hastily-created memes turned out to be so much more. While I did receive a handful of “distracted boyfriend” meme templates (lesson learned on my part), the majority of the submissions were so much better than I could have imagined. Thanks to my students, their projects became a bright spot in a difficult semester.

“My Quarantine Life Vlog in Japan” by Yurika Misuna. She was studying as an exchange student in the U.S. when the university shut down. Fortunately, she made it back to Japan.

No place for good-byes: Mourning the end of the school year

Nora and Hazel with their wonderful principal, Dr. Clark Blair. Last day of school, 2018-19.

Today I visited my kids’ school to retrieve their stuff. As instructed, I went alone, carrying a handful of loaned books. The parking lot felt uncharacteristically desolate for a Tuesday afternoon–the empty, now-gated playground signifying the current crisis. I entered the building with no “buzzed” entry, nor security check at the door.

My eerie feelings temporarily waned when the principal, Dr. Blair, assistant principal, Mr. Roach, and security officer greeted me warmly. Wandering alone, the strangeness of the situation returned. I passed through the abandoned halls lined with labeled paper bags and stacks of books on tables.

After I deposited loaned books and gathered my children’s things (woefully noticing my daughter’s recorder peaking out of the bag), the finality of it all hit me. While we’ve known about the in-person school closing for some time and that the kids will continue online, this experience emotionally marked the point of no return for this year. Moreover, for my 5th grader, this was it for her time at McFadden School of Excellence.

She will be going to a fantastic middle school and she’s excited about new opportunities. And yet, I don’t want to downplay the difficulty of cutting short the end of an incredible six years (longer than I ever spent at any school), four of which she shared with her younger sister.

While the kids and their families are great, it is the teachers and staff that will be missed the most. They have brought new meaning to “above and beyond,” not only in providing interesting lessons, but in passion and care for their students. The Foss school at our house has been a poor substitution, a huge step-down that I am aware during each day of “class.”

Closing school was the right choice. At the same time, we should acknowledge the impact of this abrupt ending for all students, especially those transitioning to new schools without the formal farewell. Even if there’s eventually a socially-distant picnic, it won’t be the same.

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Don’t inject disinfectant: The danger of “sarcasm”/false messages in a position of power

Whatever the White House claims this was, it was irresponsible and a blatant disregard for the lives of the American public.

I won’t focus as much on what Trump does or says, as it’s clear that he doesn’t think, nor care, about his own words and contradictory statements. Instead, I use this example to shed light on the impact of authority figures on the people who trust and follow them.

No one in a position of power should be making jokes or unsubstantiated claims about anything related to COVID-19 right now. Every line to the public needs to be clear, direct, and factual, drawing directly from the recommendations of WHO, CDC, and infectious disease experts. No sarcasm. No quips. No unverified “what-ifs.” Nothing about the origin of disease, transmission, precautions, remedies, or cures. If your job is to lead people, then you need to do just that.

I’m not just talking about politicians. We have opinion leaders at various levels of society: clergy members, teachers, professors, military officers, health professionals, CEOs, and journalists, to name a few. If you have access to a group of people who rely on you for information and guidance, then you are an opinion leader. What you say and write has the potential to influence what others think and do.

At an interpersonal level, we can all be opinion leaders in our own networks of family and friends. Social media posts, tweets, and shares impact people who are linked to us online. Therefore, what you write, how you respond, and the messages that you choose to share can influence others.

Why does this especially matter now? We are in an incredibly vulnerable time, in which uncertainty, fear, and isolation have taken their toll on mental health. Individuals are much more susceptible to accepting misinformation/”jokes” as fact and to adopting behaviors that they might question in their regular, pre-pandemic reality.

I did not laugh at the absurdity of the “inject disinfectant” remark. Nor did I agree with tweets that suggest that those who believed it are “morons” and thus, should be dismissed (or worse, be given a Darwin Award). I appreciate that the makers of Lysol and a number of organizations issued statements warning people not to drink or inject disinfectant, taking the potential effects of Trump’s “idea” seriously. These groups recognized the potentially lethal consequences and addressed the misinformation directly.

I’m not saying that we shouldn’t make jokes or create parodies. Rather that we should be mindful of spreading misinformation, stigmatizing groups, or offering unfounded advice. A press briefing during a pandemic should never contain dangerous instruction, no matter what justification is given for such remarks (did I really have to say that?).

“Open everything!” or “Stay at Home:” The Partisan Divide in Perceptions of the Pandemic

When a contagious disease breaks out in a city, the most certain means of preventing it from becoming epidemic, or from spreading, is to prohibit all intercourse between the sound and the infected.
–Dr. William Currie, 1794

We are obviously in a unique time. No school, no sports, no conferences, at least for the foreseeable future. The Olympics have been postponed. All of this, of course, is to hopefully reduce the number exposed and flatten the curve.

Even with “shelter at home” and other social distancing measures, more than 2.7 million cases have been identified with over 191,231 deaths–49,963 in the United States. Last Sunday, The Boston Globe had 16 pages of obituaries. Similarly, the New York Times series “Those We’ve Lost,” is tragically demonstrating just how many people, across age, gender, race, and occupation, have died from COVID-19. Heroic health professionals tearfully describe exhausted efforts to keep patients alive and the devastating last moments with others. Earlier this month, a woman on ventilator gave birth. The stories of sorrow and loss, paired with hope and triumph, are abundant.

Or at least I thought so.

Last week’s protests and the continued push to lift restrictions indicate a rising vocal minority that seem to exist in another reality. Maura Judkis makes a solid comparison in this Washington Post article between the protesters and zombie images in pop culture. Hundreds of people gathered in multiple states demanding that businesses. More terrifying than this request (and the crowd itself) were the barrage of signs: “Fear is the real virus!” “#FakeCrisis,” “COVID-19 is a lie,” and “I want a haircut.”

These crowds of anti-science extremists were backed by Trump, through his tweets of “LIBERATE MINNESOTA,” “LIBERATE MICHIGAN,” and “LIBERATE VIRGINIA,” and produced results. The governors of Florida, Georgia, Montana, Ohio, Oklahoma, South Carolina, Tennessee, Texas, and a few other states declared their intentions to lift of “stay-at-home” orders and, in varying degrees, allow businesses, parks, and churches to open.

Ensuing debates following these announcements have demonstrated the chasm between the two sides. Within a local Facebook group, a single thread erupted into dozens of comments both for and against reopening. Different online communities had similar polarized conversations, in which the remarks are not so much focused on restrictions. Rather, the central question that fundamentally drives these discussions is do you perceive the virus as a threat?

It’s not surprising that there are individuals who dismiss science or grossly distort it to support their own beliefs. This type of group predates vaccination, drawing from the arguments of staunch anti-inoculators James Franklin and Dr. William Douglass in 1721. However, it doesn’t seem to be the anti-vaxxers this time.

This is a different group, with the American “disease perception” division occurring along party lines–a phenomenon recognized early in the coronavirus pandemic (and well-known, as anyone reading this can attest). Our fragmented, numerous media options have further widened the gap between the two groups, as COVID-19 coverage has differed significantly by media outlet. Most individuals primarily seek out news sources and social media networks that fit with their partisan biases and beliefs. It is likely then that many people are not getting the full story.

So how can these two diverging groups come together for a unified perception of the pandemic? Truly unified is probably unrealistic so let’s take it up a level. How do you convince people that they are at risk? The answer, unfortunately, is that we can’t, unless we have a). more coverage across media outlets and platforms that humanize those who died from COVID-19 and b). an eruption of cases so prevalent that every person is personally and directly affected (as currently experienced in New York, New Jersey, and other areas with high numbers). If people continue to act as recklessly as last week’s protesters, it may not be long before everyone will heed Dr. Currie’s advice from 1794.