Coronavirus fixation a symptom of our sanitary society

“How bad is it really?” I wondered aloud. 

“It’s like the bird flu,” said one of my badminton buddies. 

“And... how bad was that?” 

There was momentary silence. 

“It’s just a new virus,” said my other badminton buddy. “They don’t know how to deal with it. You know, like SARS.” 

Ah, the SARS scare I remember. It’s what put Toronto on the map back in 2003. Social and racial stigmatization aside, I’m sure it has all the makings of a Canadian Heritage Minute. 

I also remember the H1N1 outbreak of 2009, when the use of alcohol-based hand gels reached epidemic levels. It was scary shaking peoples’ hands, with all that clear goop squishing between our palms. 

I joke, but don’t get me wrong, I’m as fearful of disease as the next person. I make a point of avoiding people in the office who are coughing, sneezing, or exhibiting the early signs of pink eye. There’s nothing worse than a co-worker coming into your cubicle sniffling and hacking, telling you how sick they are. I politely shuffle back into a corner, hoping they halt their advance at once. 

Perhaps we should do as the Japanese do when sick and wear a mask. It would certainly be easier to identify the infectors. But it's always made me wonder, how do you sneeze when wearing one of them? It defeats the purpose if you have to pull the mask off, but on the other hand, do you really want to keep it on? 

In our ultra-sanitary society, we’re obsessed with the spread of germs and disease. The media loves these outbreaks because we absolutely want to know: How many people were infected today? Where were they infected today? And most importantly, how soon before I could possibly die? 

Never mind the thousands who die from the common flu each and every year. In an especially bad flu season two years ago, an estimated 80,000 died in the U.S. alone. That barely made the news. 

Nor was there any media attention when my daughter contracted the norovirus in Drumheller last summer (maybe I should’ve contacted the local paper?) I’ve never seen a child expel that much from her body in such a short time period. Two days later I was down with it, also in a state of expelling things, but by that time we were back in Saskatchewan. If I hadn’t quarantined myself in my home for the next five days, all of western Canada could've been infected! 

While the flu can be serious for the elderly and those with chronic health conditions, we live in a country where contagious illnesses are a nuisance more than anything. Of course that's not true for all parts of the world. Malaria kills hundreds of thousands worldwide and water-borne diseases kill over two million people every year, the majority of them children. 

Thankfully, good sanitation and vaccines can address most serious viruses. After that, you have only to worry about the smaller ones... like coronavirus, which apparently, is less dangerous than SARS, but maybe a smidgen more lethal than bird flu? 

I really have no idea. I know only what I can glean from my badminton buddies and, oh yes, the news – updated hourly, each and every day. 

Economy flying high in spite of those in charge

I like the image of a plane when describing the economy. Even better: A plane flying to Hawaii. There’s no better imagery in the month of January. 

In this metaphorical plane there are pilots, but it's basically flying itself – controlled by computers much more sophisticated than any human brain. The captain can adjust course if need be, much like the Governor of the Bank of Canada or the Chair of the U.S. Federal Reserve, but for the most part, they’re limited where they can steer the thing. If the plane is destined to go to Hawaii, they’re not going to veer off to the Philippines.  

They can, however, change the plane’s speed. Just like a real captain can speed up or slow down a plane, those in charge of the central banks can raise or lower interest rates. A rise in interest rates means the plane is going too fast. You might get to your destination too early, or worse yet, burn excess fuel. That’s costly. Time to step on the brakes. 

Alternatively, they can cut interest rates when the economy’s sputtering. This means the plane is going too slow. Perhaps it's up against some strong headwinds and needs a little extra oomph to get to its destination on time. 

The co-pilot in this analogy is like the head of government: the president or prime minister. I’ll refer to this person in the masculine, but let's be clear, many of us would prefer a woman. 

The co-pilot (think Trump or Trudeau) is a bit of a joke. He tends to look out the window most of the time, thinking this will give him a better idea of where they are or should be. But make no mistake, he has no idea. He might view a cloud formation as an oncoming storm, when really it’s just a fluffy pod of moisture. 

The co-pilot does most of the communicating with the passengers, however, which gives him a false sense of authority. He tells them that the weather is great at their destination and everything is going just fine. And if things aren’t fine, he’ll tell them they're pretty good anyway.

“Hello, everyone, this is your co-pilot speaking. If I could distract your attention for a moment from the flames coming from the left side of the plane, you’ll notice a beautiful, dynamic view of the Pacific coastline on your right.” 

The co-pilot also relieves the captain during meals and washroom breaks, at which time he may make some adjustments of his own. He’ll fool around with the controls, speeding up the engine when they're already going too fast, or veering too far to the right when the plane simply needs to go straight. Governments, you see, like to pump up the economy at the worst of times, like when the economy is already doing well, and cut back on spending when the economy is about to nose-dive. It’s the exact opposite of what the captain would do, but he allows his co-pilot this false sense of importance. Like I said, he needs his washroom breaks. 

For the most part, though, the plane hums along with little to no intervention from either of the pilots. This heaving hunk of metal rises high into the sky, almost like magic, while they chomp on their peanuts and pretzels. 

It’s when the plane stops humming – when they begin to hit some turbulence – that the pilots pretend to spring into action. This is when the economy enters what is known as the R-word (don’t say it out loud – a recession). 

Most of the time it’s not the end of the world, but the co-pilot tells you calmly to put your seatbelts on anyway. “It’s just a little turbulence,” he’ll announce. “Continue watching your inflight entertainment. And remember, the weather in Hawaii is beautiful.” 

At this point, some people get the jitters and begin to grip their arm rests with the strength of a gorilla. They’re usually the ones in first class. Those in economy (no pun intended) don’t understand what’s going on until someone flies up in the air and hits his head on the ceiling. That’s when the panic sets in. 

Typically, even in the worst economic storms, no one actually dies. The pilots get their passengers to the destination, albeit battered and bruised.

Spending your vacation in recovery isn't pleasant though. The passengers who can still walk will sneer at the flight crew as they exit the plane – cursing, crying, and claiming they’ll never travel with them again. 

But they will, because they have to. There’s no other way home.

Sussexit on out to Saskatchewan

“In Canada, the Commonwealth country where the royal couple and their infant son, Archie, are widely speculated to be considering a move, their bombshell declaration of independence has been greeted with some warmth, a dash of discord — but mostly a shrug.” 

Washington Post, January 12, 2020 

There’s a lot of talk about the latest royal split. The Duke and Duchess of Sussex are wanting out, and one of the buzzwords for their royal departure is, unfortunately, Sussexit (don’t say it in front of the kids). 

Speculation is running rampant about where they’ll end up. Los Angeles? Toronto? Vancouver?

Let me suggest a better place. If they want to be free of the media attention, if they want seclusion, if they want to be like regular people, there’s no doubt that Saskatchewan is the place to be. Small-town Saskatchewan, preferably... Somewhere like Maple Creek, Saskatchewan’s unofficial hot spot, a place where, according to their website, “whiskey traders brewed their own mix, where the Native Americans moved with the buffalo, and where the North West Mounted Police ‘settled the west.’” Whiskey traders, Native Americans and the police, all living together in peace – could it get any better? 

I must confess, I don’t know much about this town, but again, based on their website, it appears to be ideal. They’ve got a Visitor Centre, a community swimming pool (summer swimming only), and even an annual Maple Creek Mustering. For those not familiar with a mustering, it can and does involve cowboy poetry.

The town’s location is prime: Close to Cypress Hills and just a short drive to the Rocky Mountains. The community is perfect for those wanting to escape attention, where, to quote a familiar Saskatchewan tune, there's not a lot goin’ on. 

That is until the royal family arrives. I can just hear the coffee-row banter now: “See the new folks in town? Kind of uppity, eh? Didn’t even set up an account at the Co-op, but... I guess that’s okay. Sure sound funny when they talk though, eh?” 

The novelty wouldn’t last long. In no time they'd be expected to do all the things people in small-town Saskatchewan are expected to do. Pick up the mail at the grocery store. Wave at people on the street (kind of similar to a royal parade). Join the town council. 

If they want to be regular people, this is it. For Prince Harry, it will be the exact opposite of everything he will have ever experienced. Without the media constantly on his tail, he might even begin to feel... insignificant. That pesky reporter from the Maple Creek News-Times won’t feel nearly as intrusive as the London paparazzi. 

What a golden age we live in, where even the royals want to become commoners. They said they want to achieve financial independence. In other words, they want to struggle like ordinary blokes, just like me!

If he can get a work permit, maybe Harry will find a job at the local hardware store. Could be tough though, as royalty doesn't count for much in our points-based immigration system. More than likely, American-born Meghan will have to be the breadwinner. With her acting abilities, she'd be a hit in a rejuvenated Corner Gas series. Or they could start their own reality show and call it "Small-town Royals" – but maybe that's what they’re trying to escape... 

In the end, I'm sure they'll make ends meet. Meghan probably has a few dollars stashed away from her stint in Hollywood, and I’m sure Harry’s got some royal paraphernalia he can pawn off. 

That should at least cover their moving costs. Maybe even skating lessons for the kid.

Hey, no one said living a regular life was easy.