Confronting Storms, Fires, and Pestilence: Meaningful Evaluation for a Hazardous World

The world as we know it would appear to have suddenly become more hazardous than ever before in our living memory. This may not actually be so considering the entire hazardscape, but the types of societal threats have changed. The sweet complacency of the affluent West has been disrupted. Instead of history ending in an unstoppable march of globalisation and economic growth, we are suddenly faced with natural and social calamities that threaten the sustainability of our common future. 

Before looking at the role of evaluation in development and transformational change, the root causes of destruction are examined, along with the maldistribution of the repercussions of this destruction. It is argued that evaluation must take a broad view within a complex system that includes the natural environment if it is to make a contribution to a world that is socially, economically, and environmentally sustainable.

The full article is available (open access) in the journal Evaluation Matters—He Take Tō Te Aromatawai 7:21.

The Jazz that Passed

Blue Swamini in January 2020 (photo by author)

That 2020 was a bad year goes without saying. One of the areas of human endeavor that suffered most was arts and culture. And these are also amongst the most vital areas for us. In a year dominated by a pandemic and a health crisis (which is fundamentally an expression of how our human society has an unhealthy relationship with nature), social and political strife, closures of small businesses and rising unemployment, police brutality and the Black Lives Matter movement and the rise of right-wing violence and white supremacy, and the sad farce of an increasingly mad president in the United States, it’s easy to overlook how important a role music and other arts play in our wellbeing.

As countries and cities locked down in the spring, museums, galleries, concert halls and live music venues boarded up as well. I personally had planned to have an active year of music and cultural events. In fact, it all started off well. In January, I managed to first catch the Beijing Bamboo Orchestra (a Chinese ensemble that features more than 30 instruments all made of bamboo) and then saw the Kassa Overall Blue Swamini, a fabulous and innovative band with the unusual set-up of harp, vibes, bass and drums, also featuring the vocalist Carmen Lundy. In early-February, I was delighted to witness the performance of composer and bassist Linda May Han Oh’s work Aventurine for strings and a jazz quartet. All of these interesting and elevating events at Washington DC’s Kennedy Center for Performing Arts.

While there is no doubt the Kennedy Center, the Metropolitan Opera and other major venues around the world will bounce back—they have the resources to bridge over these tough times and their patrons will be eager to come back—I am frankly terribly worried about smaller live music venues and clubs. Many have already closed down and many of them, I fear, permanently. In August, we lost one of the best clubs in Washington, DC, Twins Jazz, which had operated for 33 years on U Street. One of the biggest losses for the jazz scene in New York (and the world) was the closure of Jazz Standard, another well-established club, which featured nightly many of the city’s best talent, often of the more progressive variety creating new and innovative music. 

Then there were those who died of COVID-19. The first one I took note of early in the pandemic was Manu Dibango, who passed on March 24 in his adopted city, Paris. The Cameroonian saxophonist and multi-instrumentalist was highly influential in mixing African music with funk and jazz. His best known piece was probably the 1972 hit Soul Makossa. Dibango was 86.

The last day of March witnessed the passing of Wallace Roney (59), a protégé of Miles Davis and a remarkable trumpeter in his own right. Three decades ago, Roney was one of the “Young Lions” who wanted to bring back the glory of modern jazz from earlier days. There was a lot of Miles in his playing, as can be heard in the recording of Metropolis from 2018, but he was definitely his own man. One of the top trumpeters in his generation and beyond.

On April 1st, world lost the pianist Ellis Marsalis who died of pneumonia triggered by COVID at the age of 85. Apart from being a musician, Ellis Marsalis was an important music educator in New Orleans where his legacy lives on in the Ellis Marsalis Center. His legacy is also evident in his four sons, Winton, Branford, Delfeayo and Jason who have become household names as jazz masters. 

The guitarist John “Bucky” Pizzarelli died on the same day at the age of 94. Pizzarelli was a highly skillful guitarist who had performed with luminaries such as Benny Goodman, Sarah Vaughan and Frank Sinatra and recorded with pop musicians ranging from Paul McCartney and Michael Franks to Aretha Franklin and Carly Simon. Both presidents Ronald Reagan and Bill Clinton invited him to perform at the White House. He also performed frequently with his son, guitarist John Pizzarelli. 

Onaje Allan Gumbs may not have been a household name, but he was a highly established pianist whose music inspired me as a teenager in Finland. Gumbs died in New York on April 6th at 70. 

Then ten days later, on April 15th, the world lost two great senior statesmen of modern jazz. Lee Konitz passed away from COVID-related pneumonia at the age of 92. It is impossible to capture the importance of Lee Konitz in a paragraph. He was one of the greatest and most original alto saxophone players of all time. He was born in Chicago to a Jewish immigrant family and started his professional career with dance and blues bands in the Windy City in 1944. He moved to New York City in 1947 and soon performed and recorded with greats, such as Gil Evans, Miles Davis, Lenny Tristano, Stan Kenton and Bill Evans. His trademark was an alto sound that was pure and his expression was devoid of anything beyond the musical essential. He recorded the last album of his incredibly productive career, Old Songs New, in 2017 just after his 90th birthday. 

All of these deaths are tragedies, of course, but one that made me saddest was that of Henry Grimes who passed away in Harlem on the same day as Konitz at the age 84. From the late-1950s, Grimes was an active participant on the jazz scene, playing with greats such as Coleman Hawkins. However, he made his mark especially as part of the free jazz movement with others including Albert Ayler, Pharoah Sanders, Archie Shepp, Cecil Taylor and Don Cherry. He fell on hard times in 1968 when his bass broke on a tour with Jon Hendricks. Henry was left stranded, broke and without an instrument in Los Angeles where he stayed working as janitor until 2003 when he was discovered by a social worker who luckily recognized the great musician. He made a celebrated comeback on the New York music scene where jazz aficionados had never forgotten about him. He was a warm and open person and even I managed to connect with him on social media.

The list goes on and I could add so many names, but here I have only focused on those firmly in the jazz world. Just to pay my respects to others, here are some: Trini Lopez, Kenny Rogers (who, incidentally, was a jazz bassist before he found fame as a country star), the renowned bass guitarists Matthew Seligman and Adam Schlesinger, Dave Greenfeld of the Stranglers, John Prine, Alan Merrill (best know as the co-writer of ‘I Love Rock ’n’ Roll’), and the composer William Pursell.

A totally unnecessary casualty of the pandemic was the Japanese pianist Tadataka Unno who was badly beaten by a bunch of thugs upon entering the subway in New York City in September. While the details of the attack are blurry, there is reason to believe that this was a racist attack as he remembers his attackers calling him Chinese. One of the many unfortunate side effects of the inflammatory rhetoric of Donald Trump who insisted on calling COVID-19 the “Chinese virus.” 

These have all been terrible losses to the music world. But apart from those who died, many more have seen their livelihoods disappear. Behind this is also the greater change in how music is consumed. With the shift to streaming, musicians can no longer make a living wage through recordings—and there are so many people who, quite inexplicably, think that music should be free and who do their best to avoid paying even the paltry fees that services like Spotify and Pandora would transfer partly to the artist (can you imagine people suddenly deciding that farmers or doctors should not get paid for their work because they “enjoy” it and provide something that is good for the world?). All of this is very bad for musicians, especially those who create a novel kind of music that doesn’t get millions of instances of airplay. But that’s another story for another time.

The closing of live music venues and concert sites and the halting of tours has left countless musicians with very little possibilities of earning an income. There are some creative ideas around, of course. I’ve personally contributed to a number of music projects through crowdsourcing sites like Kickstarter. Live music has been partially reinvented through live streaming from artists’ homes and some clubs. One of my favorites, the fabulous pianist Yoko Miwa, for example, has shared a lot of music from her home in Boston.

Here in DC, the Kennedy Center streams concerts, as do clubs like our premier jazz and supper club Blues Alley and New York’s famed Blue Note. I listen to these events on occasion—and always make a point of paying the “entrance fee” even it would be easy to skip it. The fabled New Orleans club Tipitina’s broadcasts live music from the club in as realistic manner as possible. According to the current owners of the club, members of the jam band Galactic, the silver lining is that very few people could actually get a place in the front row if they were physically at the club, while at home we can all have that experience. I guess one could also turn the heater and the space humidifier on full blast, grab a few beers, and let go at home—at least until the neighbors complain. 

The spontaneity of live performances can be created this way and you can still hear new music, but obviously the experience is different both to the listener and the performers who will miss the feedback from a live audience. As Jimmy Page, the legendary guitarist and founder of Led Zeppelin, said in a recent NME interview: “I will never be one of those people who’ll record alone and send someone a file. I never went into music in the first place to do that, it was for playing together and this is what it means.” He states his conviction that “music means nothing without live shows.” 

As long as we need social distancing because of the pandemic, seeing performances online is better than nothing. Apart from the US and UK, some other countries around the world, like New Zealand, Japan and Finland, have been somewhat less severely hit due to better policies and a more disciplined population. There, live music may make a comeback sooner, although tightly packed enthusiastic crowds will remain risky for a long while. Eventually, this current pandemic will wane and we’ll all get vaccinated (worryingly, there is a large proportion of population hesitant to take the vaccine). Although it may take years before we can again mingle freely in crowded places—and there are other novel viruses lurking in nature waiting to spill over to humans as we continue to abuse the environment—there is hope that live music will come back.

But the likelihood is that most of the venues that have now closed will not reopen, as the operators have moved on and reopening would require a lot of money in a situation that remains highly uncertain. Furthermore, there has been a movement of people away from city centers during the pandemic and that, obviously, is bad news for clubs that depend on dense concentrations of customers. 

The website of Jazz Standard in New York has an upbeat message: We’ll be together again! I believe that there are millions of people around the world who feel the same. That should be our best hope.

Towards evaluation for a sustainable and just future

Transporting logs on Rio Tapajos in Amazonia (photo by author).

Over the past eight months, the novel coronavirus pandemic has infected some 20 million people and killed more than 700,000, sparing virtually no country. The economic and social consequences have been devastating. The virus SARS-CoV-2 that caused COVID-19 crossed over from its non-human host, probably a bat, directly or more likely through an intermediate host like a pangolin, to a human in or around the city of Wuhan in China in late 2019. The exact transmission mechanism is still not known but the root causes are clear. The spill-over of zoonotic viruses like SARS-CoV-2 is becoming more common as we come into ever closer contacts with animals, both domesticated and wild.  As human activities extend deeper into undisturbed ecosystems, undiscovered pathogens are released. The destruction is driven by the expansion of agriculture and cattle ranching, logging and deforestation, road construction, mining, new settlements and urban sprawl, making space for the growing human population and its ever increasing demands for raw materials, food stuffs and consumer goods.

Although COVID-19 in itself was not known, the coming pandemic was widely predicted by scientists and there were even government taskforces set out to prepare us for its eventuality. There were precedents—SARS, MERS, H1N1, Zika, Ebola and others—although their impacts were much more modest. COVID-19 spread like a wildfire in a globalized world—there were 3 billion airline trips taken in 2019—due to its characteristics of being airborne and contagious before infected persons become symptomatic.

What does any of this have to do with evaluation, you might ask. In my view, everything. And if not, what is the relevance of evaluation to the real problems of the world? The pandemic is an illustration of the kind of challenges we face today, how interconnected the world is, and how events in one place have global consequences. It also shows how economic development and environmental degradation are intimately intertwined. As we cut down trees, not only do we come into contact with lethal pathogens, but we also undermine the forest’s ability to sequester carbon thereby speeding up global warming. As people get richer, their diets tend to become more meat-based. There are now half a billion cows and 23 billion chicken on the planet. There is a patch the size of Denmark in the Amazon, which has been cleared to grow soy beans to feed pigs in Denmark. Another consequence of the increased meat consumption is higher rates of obesity, diabetes and cardiovascular diseases even in countries that previously didn’t experience them. A recent study by Harvard University provided strongest evidence yet linking air pollution directly to higher mortality. Human health and ecosystem health are inseparable.

The pandemic has affected different groups and communities differently. In the USA, Black, Indigenous and other People of Colour (BIPOC) have been disproportionately hit because they are more likely to be employed in essential jobs that cannot be done remotely, and their living conditions are more cramped. They may also have more pre-existing medical conditions rendering them more vulnerable to the virus. Climate change affects the poor and vulnerable communities hardest, whether it is those living on the low-lying coast of Bangladesh pummelled by more frequent cyclones and sea-level rise or small farmers in African drylands suffering during prolonged droughts.

Many evaluators write about these global challenges, using terms like ‘complex’ and ‘wicked,’ but I am not sure that the practice of evaluation has kept up with the theory. Evaluation as a profession has its roots in social inquiry, where we test the effectiveness of interventions on a well-defined treatment population against a control group. We may use experimental or quasi-experimental tools, or we may lean more towards more participatory and qualitative approaches, but either way the focus is on a single intervention and its effects. Our evaluations test the effectiveness of the intervention in terms of its pre-determined objectives. The desire is to be able to attribute any changes in the outcome to the intervention—or, recognizing the complexity and presence of multiple actors, at least the specific contributions of the intervention.

Apart from being narrowly project-focused, evaluations are still driven by donor concerns for accountability and ‘value for money.’ This treats the central question as a matter of simple accounting instead of a choice between types of intervention or organization that can, say, lift the largest number of people out of poverty with the least amount of money. To make things worse, the accounting in development cooperation is for the purposes of the donors and their priorities, not for the benefit of the claim-holders that the project is intended to benefit. This accounting mentality in evaluation tends to miss the big picture and may end up doing more harm than good.

Seldom do evaluations look at the big picture: Are we actually doing the right thing? Is the intervention that we are promoting meaningful in the larger whole? Is it something that the intended beneficiaries want and need? Is it fixing one part of the problem but creating others elsewhere? Is it having unintended consequences for the environment, for disadvantaged groups, for indigenous peoples, for power relations, etc.?

We must incorporate the environment into our evaluations. Sustainable development lies on social, economic and environmental foundations, yet evaluation—like national accounting—is almost exclusively concerned with the economic and, to a lesser degree, social capital, while natural capital and its depreciation are considered external to the system. According to the World Bank, low-income countries get 47% of their wealth from natural capital. This figure certainly underestimates the value of ecosystem services, in terms of clean water and air, health benefits, recreation, protection against natural hazards, etc. Evaluators must learn how to operate at the nexus of environment and development, which means understanding the interplay between human and natural systems.

Some of these lessons come out clearly in the evaluation of the GEF Global Wildlife Program, which is directly relevant to warding off pandemics such as the current one. The evaluation revealed the need to address the root causes of illegal wildlife trade on multiple fronts while also protecting endangered species in situ. Working with local communities to provide sustainable livelihoods is important, but not sufficient. It is essential to address political will, corruption and demand for wildlife products in the market countries of Asia, Europe and North America. Such interventions—and evaluating them—require holistic perspectives and a broad understanding of the dynamic systems.

For evaluation to remain relevant, it must rise above its project mentality and start looking beyond the internal logic of the interventions that are evaluated. It must systematically search for unintended consequences that may lie outside of the immediate scope of the evaluation. It must expand its vision to encompass the coupled human and natural systems and how they interact. And it must resist focusing on accountability for donors and instead make sure that it contributes to learning, for the wellbeing of the beneficiaries and nature in an equitable manner. If we achieve this, evaluation will be better positioned to contribute to more sustainable and just development in an interconnected world.

[Originally published on the website of the European Evaluation Society (https://europeanevaluation.org/2020/08/17/towards-evaluation-for-a-sustainable-and-just-future/)]

It's a matter of cultural standards

How the Japanese deal with the pandemic is illustrative of what’s wrong in America.

The US just set a new record: more than 40,000 new cases of COVID-19 infections in one day. This is the end of June 2020 when many states have been reopening their economies and people around the country have breathed a big sigh of relief: The pandemic is over and we survived it! Except that it is not over and many did not survive. So far there have been more than 125,000 deaths confirmed to have been caused by the virus in the US. This is a quarter of all deaths globally (Americans stand for just over 4% of the world population).

Meanwhile in Japan, there is growing concern that a second wave of the pandemic is about to hit the country. This widespread fear among the general population and politicians alike has been caused by the fact that over the past three weeks or so there has been an increase in the number of new cases detected daily, mostly in the capital city. It is important to note, however, that these infection figures causing the panic are entirely in a different range than those in America. On Saturday, June 27, Tokyo discovered 57 new infections. The day before that, the figure was 54 and the day before that 55. That is 55, not 55,000.

Now, your reaction may be that, well, Japan is a small country. It is indeed much smaller that the United States, just 377,975 km² (147,937 sq. miles), as compared with the 9,833,520 km2 (3,796,742 square miles) of the USA. The US thus has many times the land area of Japan, but Japan’s population of 126 million is well over a third of America’s 328 million. Japan’s population density is therefore many times higher than that of the United States. Pandemics thrive in densely populated places. Tokyo is one of the largest cities in the world—probably the largest if you count the surrounding areas the form the contiguous metropolitan area. Just the area falling under the administrative unit of Tokyo proper houses 14 million people, one-third more than New York City.

Despite this enormous population concentration, Japan has so far only had just over 18,000 corona cases, as compared with America’s almost 2.5 million. Japan also sits next to China, where the pandemic started at the end of last year, and is a major destination for Chinese tourists: 9.6 million Chinese visited Japan in 2019, some of them bringing the virus with them, especially to the northern island of Hokkaido that experienced an early surge in infections.

So what might explain these striking differences? Japan’s Finance Minister Taro Aso, as reported by The Japan Times, had a short and clear answer: Cultural standards. Aso was criticized for his insensitivity, including by some of his fellow politicians in Japan (this is not the first time that he is taking flak for blunt comments that can be seen as culturally chauvinistic), but it would be impossible to dismiss his observation offhand. Unlike in the USA where efforts to (belatedly) control the spread of the virus through lockdowns and social distancing have been met with armed protests, the Japanese never implemented any draconian closings. Sure, there were many common sense changes—restaurants would stop serving alcohol early in the evening encouraging people to return home, train service was significantly reduced—but much of It was done voluntarily.

There are different forces at play. One is that the Japanese tend to be on the average a well-educated populace with a high science literacy. This naturally comes with a respect for scientific authority. People would heed the advice that epidemiologists and medical professionals would give them. This is the first obvious contrast to the US where an anti-science bias has long and deep roots, as documented by the historian Richard Hofstadter in his 1963 classic Anti-Intellectualism in American Life. Many people simply reject scientifically proven facts. Even during the COVID-19 crisis, there have been people claiming that the pandemic is just a liberal ploy to destroy the American way of life.

Secondly, Japan is ethnically and socially a very homogenous country with very low numbers of foreigners and relatively small differences between the rich and the poor. This homogeneity has maintained centuries old social structures and hierarchies. It is also a society with generally a high level of trust: between people and between people and the government. Needless to say, nothing could be further from truth when it comes to the American society today where divisions run deep between different groups and where distrust of the government has in recent years risen to feverish levels.

The Japanese homogeneity is of course not pure idyll. Its downside is that people who are different are often frowned upon, even ostracized. During the pandemic earlier in the spring, “virus vigilantes” would harass those seen as breaking the social rules and putting other people at risk. There were also reports of discrimination against people who would be—rightly or falsely—suspected of carrying the virus, including quite unreasonably health care workers.

Respect for rules and other people’s safety and comfort, however, runs very deep in the Japanese culture. This would be part of the “high cultural standards” that Taro Aso was referring to as helping ward off the spread of the virus. Having lived in Japan for almost a decade and visiting frequently since then, I can attest to the extreme politeness and considerateness that people show to others. Wearing surgical masks has for decades been par for the course during the flu and pollen allergy seasons, not to protect oneself but out of consideration to others. Inconveniencing other people is highly embarrassing. So when the pandemic started, everyone naturally started wearing a mask. Cleanliness overall is at a remarkably high level in Japan, so again few adjustments had to be made in terms of hygiene.

No formal travel limitations had to be put in place as people censored themselves. My wife hails from Iwate, an area between the central mountains and the Pacific Ocean in the northern part of the main island, Honshu. Iwate has been the only prefecture in the country where no COVID cases have been recorded throughout the pandemic (they may well be there, but no-one has got sick enough to require hospitalization). This fact is thanks to health checks of people entering the prefecture that were not mandated by the central government and, notably, by self-regulation by travelers. Like my wife has pointed out: Being the person who gets to be known as the one who brought the virus to a hitherto uncontaminated place would bring unbearable shame to the person and her/his family, so people would rather not risk acting as the vector.

So, now there is a resurgence of the virus in Japan, which has led to quick action by both the authorities and regular people. Scientists have been able to trace the infection clusters that have emerged in the past few weeks since Japan started getting back to normal after new cases almost disappeared towards the end of May. These new clusters are almost all traceable to entertainment areas in Tokyo—karaoke bars, clubs and gyms, “associated with heavy breathing in close proximity,” as a new scientific paper put it.

This same pattern is, of course, visible in the States. Partying over the Memorial Day weekend resulted in a new spread of infections. The pandemic has now moved south, to places like Florida, Arizona and Texas that opened up their economies prematurely, crowding beaches and bars as the weather warmed. On Friday, June 26, the governors of Texas and Florida were again forced to close down bars as new COVID-19 cases shot through the roof. Florida alone reported 8,942 new cases in one day alone.

The question now is, what will happen next. There may be a second wave hitting Japan but it is bound to be a very small one that will again be curbed in a few weeks, as people refrain from behaviors that put themselves and others at risk. It is hard to see the pandemic contained as easily in the US. The rudderless and reactive government response, self-centered instant gratification-seeking behavior of individuals, hugely divided society, and distrust of authority will guarantee that.

The renowned political scientist Francis Fukuyama recently wrote in Foreign Affairs that the factors that have determined successful response to the pandemic across countries are state capacity, social trust, and leadership. The United States has failed in all three. Others have observed that Americans seem to have simply given up on the pandemic, focusing on different things instead. Some are serious—like the Black Lives Matter and police brutality—but many people just want to get their lives back, whether it’s getting on with work and making money or simply enjoying the summer. Now it’s coming back to bite us—and the world watches in stunned bafflement as the country that used to lead the way in so many ways now only leads the way to a downward spiral. In the meantime, the European Union (EU) mulls a travel ban for American visitors and countries like Japan require a 14-day quarantine for anyone arriving there, leaving people like us spinning our wheels at our homes and watching as every new day brings more and more misery that could have been avoided.

Published in Medium.

Summer of Hazards: Pandemic, hurricanes and other dangeers

We’re in for a wild ride this summer if the early indications are to be believed. The COVID-19 pandemic is not showing any signs of waning, irrespective of how tired people are getting to shelter in space and despite wishful thinking by politicians. Unlike in Asia and Europe where the numbers of infections are actually going down rapidly, the US pandemic is still growing. Just in one day, May 21^st, there were more than 24,000 new cases reported in the United States. Only the geographical patterns are shifting.

On top of the pandemic we are seeing other threats creeping up on us, many of them also related to the global environment. I say also, as it is a scientific fact that the root causes of this pandemic—like the ones before it and others to come after we have cleared this one—lie in how we interact with and abuse the natural environment. The virus causing COVID-19 is zoonotic, meaning it originated in animals and jumped over to humans. Such spillovers have gotten more frequent as our contacts with both domesticated and wild animals have intensified and as our activities have spread deeper into previously undisturbed environments through urban sprawl, agricultural expansion, road building, logging, mining and other disruptive actions.

While weather is notoriously hard to predict even with the highly sophisticated computer simulations using big data that today are used for the purpose, virtually all major organizations engaged in such predictions agree that the 2020 Atlantic hurricane season will be way more active than in an average year.

NOAA, the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, released its annual forecast on Thursday, May 21, predicting there will be 13-19 named storms in the season from June 1 to November 30, as opposed to an average of 12 such storms. Out of these, NOAA predicts 6-10 may become hurricanes, compared with an average year’s 6 hurricanes. Three to six out of these could further develop into major hurricanes—or category 3-5 storms—with wind speeds of more than 111 miles per hour (178 km/h). Of course, we do not know how many of these will actually hit continental USA, but even one major hurricane can do terrible damage.

Tropical cyclones—types of storms that include hurricanes in the Atlantic and typhoons in the Pacific—are named in order to easily distinguish between them as in busy times more than one may be active. Names are usually given to storms that reach sustained wind speeds of at least 40 miles per hour (65 km/h). Although the season only officially starts on June 1 there already was one—Arthur—that formed as early as May 16 off the Florida coast. While Arthur veered off to the open sea having brought only moderate rain and wind to the southeastern coast, its early appearance can be seen as a harbinger of things to come.

The increased hurricane activity is inevitably linked to climate change. It is statistically impossible to link any particular hurricane or storm to climate change. However, at a larger scale and over longer timeframes scientists are able to model how the warming trends increase the likelihood of hurricanes in terms of their frequency and intensity. One of the key drivers of stronger hurricane activity is the warmer than normal sea surface temperatures in the tropical parts of the Atlantic and the Caribbean. The primary reason for this is the warming of global temperatures caused first and foremost by the burning of fossil fuels for energy and transportation. Cutting down forests to make way for agriculture and human settlements, as well as methane emissions from cattle ranching are other huge culprits.

A warming climate gives a double whammy to coastal communities. It brings more frequent and larger storms, and it causes sea levels to rise as the warming water expands. Places like the Outer Banks off the North Carolina coast will bear the brunt of these changes, but in the medium term the entire Eastern Seaboard and its large cities from Miami to New York are vulnerable.

Further inland, this past week we saw two catastrophic dam failures in the Tittabawassee River basin in central Michigan, forcing the evacuation of 10,000 residents from their homes in the midst of the pandemic. This is another climate-related disaster. The dams were breached because of excessive rainfall upstream. The engineers described this as a once in a 500 years event. However, such standards are rapidly becoming obsolete with rainfall and other weather patterns changing as a result of global warming, bringing increased rains to some places and droughts to others.

A natural hazard only becomes a disaster when it meets frail infrastructure. The broken dams failed because they were in poor shape. CBS News reported on Thursday (May 21, 2020) that the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission, FERC, had in 2018 revoked the license from Boyce Hydro Power, the company that operated one of the failed dams, the Edenville Dam, citing the company’s “long history of non-compliance” related to the dam’s ability to cope with a major flood.

This is by no means a unique situation amongst America’s 91,000 dams. As reported by the Guardian (May 23, 2020), the federal government’s National Inventory of Dams identifies over 15,000 dams in the country that would likely result in deaths should they fail. According to the inventory, at least 2,300 of them are in poor shape. The average age of the US dams is 57 years (the Edenville Dam was built in 1924) and many are hardly maintained. Seventy percent of the nation’s dams are under the jurisdiction of state governments and another 5 percent watched over by the federal government, but one quarter have no governmental oversight at all. Even in cases where regulatory agencies point out to deficiencies, the operators often fail to follow up because of high costs associated with repairs and upgrades.

The dams, of course, are but one aspect of America’s infrastructure that has been rendered vulnerable due to decades of lacking investment in maintenance. Powerlines, bridges and other transportation infrastructure will be equally susceptible to damage and disruption from floods, storms, landslides, erosion and other events that are likely to increase as the climate changes and we continue cutting down forests and building in unsafe places.

In the highly politically polarized environment of the USA today, there is a certain irony in how these multiple hazards manifest themselves geographically. One of the reasons why it has been easy for protesters to dismiss the pandemic thus far is that it has mostly ravaged big cities like New York and San Francisco. These cities are also liberal bastions and epitomize the degenerate coastal elites in the minds of many in the heartland. This has allowed people to believe in conspiracy theories that the pandemic is really just an invention of those who want to foil President Trump’s re-election bid or force vaccinations upon people or just generally destroy the American way of life. This is now changing as the pandemic spreads to smaller cities and rural areas, when states are prematurely opening up their economies. Amongst the states with the highest increases in infection rates are now Tennessee, Louisiana, Texas, North Carolina and Michigan.

Some of these are the same places that are going to suffer from the other hazards, as is indeed the case of Michigan where the dam breaches and flooding disaster added to the pandemic woes. The hurricanes, naturally, are mostly going to pound the states on the Atlantic shore. The hardest hit will be those in the south, from Florida to North Carolina—including its barrier islands—places where beach vacationing plays a central part in lifestyle and economy.

Unfortunately, too, as we’ve seen in the past, the first ones to be hit by hurricanes are the Caribbean islands whose economies are so totally dependent on tourism. In September 2017, Puerto Rico was devastated by Hurricane Maria whose effects are still acutely felt on the island. The storm caused as much as $95 billion in damages, wiped out 80 percent of the island’s agricultural crop, and has since caused more than 130,000 residents to leave the island. It has taken months to restore reliable power and water to households. This spring, the pandemic has halted tourism to Puerto Rico as well as other islands placing a further strain on the recovery and people’s lives.

It is of course not only the islands and coastal areas that are exposed to such multiple hazards. Dams and other vulnerable infrastructure exist everywhere in the country. Like always, the people who suffer most are the ones who have the least resources to fall back on when they lose their property, livelihoods or health. They also tend to be the ones living in locations most exposed to both natural and manmade hazards. COVID-19 has demonstrated clearly the inequalities at play, and many of them have a geographical dimension. But that is a story for another piece.

Now, as many states are reopening and so many people can’t wait to get their lives back, it is not an easy message to deliver that the summer that is so full of hope may end up being full of hazards instead. Medical experts and epidemiologists all seem to agree that getting back to normal, enjoying the parties, the barbecues, the beaches that go with a good summer, will almost inevitably result in second waves of the pandemic in places where it now has started to wane—and to full blooms in places that have yet to be hit by it. When at the same time we get hit by hurricanes and other natural calamities, coping only gets that much harder. We can of course get through it, if we decide to behave responsible and to support each other. We also need competent public services that can help people and communities in distress. In the longer term, we must get used to the idea that this may be the new normal.

It still isn’t too late to improve our relationship with nature, to become more mindful of how we use natural resources, where and how we build, and how we pollute the atmosphere, land and oceans. We must find ways of more sustainable development that shares the benefits more equally. These are solutions that are absolutely needed but will only start making a difference many years from now. For the immediate future, we need to find effective ways of adapting to climate change and building a society that is more resilient towards shocks, be they pandemics, storms, floods or something that we cannot even imagine at this time. It can be done, but it requires trust: in institutions, in expertise, in science and, not least, in each other.

https://medium.com/@JuhaUitto/summer-of-hazard-pandemic-hurricanes-and-other-dangers-9fc9cb6d4cf8

The Pandemic and the Global Environment: Which Way Next?

The COVID-19 pandemic has brought home the fact that humans do not exist outside of the Earth’s ecological system. The SARS-CoV-2 coronavirus is zoonotic, meaning it has originated in animals and crossed over to humans. The causes of the increasing occurrence in zoonotic pandemics lie in the higher frequency of encounters between humans and animals (both wild and domesticated). This is exacerbated by how we exploit and abuse the natural environment, and how human influence has become ever more pervasive in the Anthropocene.

The pandemic has revealed significant vulnerabilities even in the North, with severe economic consequences likely leading to an extended recession. Much will depend on how we respond to the crisis and how we approach the recovery. The crisis will present an opportunity to rethink what kind of development we as a society want to pursue. We should take this opportunity to reconsider how to restructure the economy towards more sustainability, respect for nature, equality and participation.

The 2030 Agenda recognises the three pillars of sustainable development, but the environment is usually relegated to a subservient role. A certain shift in attitudes is detectable, but powerful interests will push to restore growth at any cost. The slowed economic activity has in a short period resulted in measurable environmental and associated health benefits to arise. Human health and wellbeing are closely related with a healthy natural environment, including ecosystem integrity, clean air and a stable climate. Should we return to business as usual after the crisis subsides, we will pay the price and the next pandemic will be waiting in the wings.

Policy Recommendations

• Future policies and societal directions should be based on the principles of sustainable development considering the social, economic and environmental dimensions in a balanced way. Decision-making must be informed by science.
• More funding—and funding that is sustained and reliable—is needed for medical and other scientific research to help cope with future pandemic risks. This research should encompass both social and natural sciences. Strong public-private partnerships are needed.
• The sustainable development discourse must recognise the close interlinkages between human health, ecosystem health, climate change, disasters, equality and economic development. This also means that environmental concerns other than climate change, such as habitat destruction and biodiversity loss that are directly linked to pandemics must receive more attention.

 This article was published in Global Policy. The full article can be accessed here.