HSU and Covid Crisis: A Clarence Thomas Move

In my last post on the issue of HSU students returning to campus at this point in the covid crisis, I referred to HSU President Tom Jackson's email, which accuses Humboldt County Public Health Officer Dr. Teresa Frankovich of "prejudicial statements" in her email that cites the dangers of bringing hundreds of students--in the age group with the highest new infection rate-- from elsewhere in the state with much higher infections.  (His exact words are: "There are prejudicial statements in your email that are concerning. It seems irresponsible to assume that students from outside the county are a threat, particularly in a county that remains fully open for travel and tourism.")

When I read this I sensed a racial reference, and had an immediate flashback.  But though the word "prejudicial" is loaded, the following sentence did not fully support a racial interpretation, though it is otherwise specious.  So I gave Jackson the benefit of the doubt and didn't mention it.

Now it seems my first reaction wasn't wrong.  I've since learned of others who interpreted it the same way, especially after the most recent Humboldt County supervisors Zoom meeting, in which Dr. Frankovich participated. When the discussion turned to HSU and the exchange of emails, here's what Lost Coast Outpost reported:

Third District Supervisor Mike Wilson urged people not to “other” HSU students, saying they’re “really adults and residents,” many of whom will live here for years — some permanently.

First District Supervisor Rex Bohn said he wanted to applaud Wilson for that statement, though Second District Supervisor Estelle Fennell noted, “Some students from HSU do come [to Humboldt County] from areas on the [governor’s] monitoring list.”

Again, "other" or "othering" can have references other than to race, but I'm told that it is used these days mostly in that context.

Since then, Dr. Frankovich has refuted charges of racism at least twice publicly. In her August 19 media availability, she read a statement that included this summary of her actions regarding HSU (in part, and with my emphasis in bold):

"Certainly many HSU students are year-round Humboldt residents, but on August 7th I was informed that up to 850 additional students would begin arriving on the 15th for residence in dorms and would arrive over [the span of] about a week while an additional, unknown number of students would be arriving to off-campus housing throughout the month.

In light of our current epidemiology, I was concerned and expressed that concern to the HSU planning group. Later that day, the state released guidance for higher education and reopening. This affirmed my concerns. It was clear that with our increasing case counts, multiple outbreaks, current testing capacity and need, as well as contact investigation demands, we did not meet state recommendations regarding on-site instruction.

Let me make one thing clear: This is not a case of “othering.” It is a case of trying to make safe choices for the entire community in the midst of a pandemic. This is about trying to juggle competing needs for testing resources across skilled nursing facilities, agricultural settings, tribal communities, local public schools, businesses and organizations, and the community as a whole.

State resources have not been able to be utilized to date so our local laboratory is currently shouldering the entire responsibility on its own. Insinuations of racism and flat-out allegations of incompetence have been directed toward me and this incredible health department that I proudly represent simply for stating the facts. That has been disheartening to say the least."

In response to a question beginning her August 21 avail, as to whether the charges of racism and incompetence came from Tom Jackson in his emails "or otherwise," she replied: " I have had both email exchanges and verbal conversations with President Jackson, and at this point I just want to reiterate that I don't plan on discussing this further, we're moving on."

So reading between the lines--and this is all about dog whistles and reading between the lines--the charge of racism did come from President Jackson, in either emails or conversation or, it seems most likely, both.

Jackson started his first email expressing disappointment that Dr. Frankovich had not waited for him to return her call, but committed her views to an email.  This suggests he knew that the emails were going to be public records.  So perhaps in his email, he was being circumspect about his charge.

Which brings me back to my flashback when I read that sentence in his long email.  It was to the 1991 Senate hearings on the nomination of Clarence Thomas to the Supreme Court.  Anita Hill had completed her devastating testimony, charging Thomas in great detail with a pattern of behavior that was--at the very least--improper, and legally called sexual harassment.

In a hearing that followed--which I watched on TV at the time--Thomas was asked to respond.  Instead of being contrite or even defending himself, he accused the committee itself of conducting "a high tech lynching."  It was the first time that race had figured in the hearings, and the white Senators--including Joe Biden--were visibly aghast.  A Black nominee to the Supreme Court was accusing them of racism.

There were four other women waiting to testify, supporting Anita Hill's contentions  (Hill of course is also Black), but suddenly their testimony was cancelled, the hearings folded, and Clarence Thomas has been on the Supreme Court ever since.

The Clarence Thomas move is what immediately came to mind when I read Tom Jackson's letter.  The move is a simple one, though it can be instantly intimidating. Its purpose is to inject race into a controversy in order to to distract, to muddy the waters and put those seen as adversaries on the defensive, and of course it is particularly effective when the charge is made by a Black person.

There are many issues in which racism, including institutional and systemic racism, and racial prejudice, are relevant.  This is not one of them.  Since when did "HSU student" become code for "Black student"?  Since when is California outside Humboldt County synonymous with racial othering, in the context of public health?   It is preposterous on the face of it, and cheapens in a most cynical way the sincere efforts towards racial justice and racial equality and understanding.

The issue here isn't the race of an incoming student, it is that student's potential as a virus carrier and super-spreader, given the level of infections where they are coming from, and the conditions of college life when they get here-- and especially the widespread ignoring of masking and social distancing among college students and others of that age group (excepting front line workers on the job), which is clearly visible everywhere, including here and now.

Dr. Frankovich's statement was based on science, not on race.  If we start confusing these, especially as a desperate ploy, then we will never control this pandemic, and more people will get sick and more will die, and the economy and education--including higher education--will suffer greater loss.

We know now that young people, even those who are asymptomatic or have an apparent mild case of covid, can suffer lifetime physical damage, including heart damage. And many people other than Dr. Frankovich (some of whom are quoted in my post linked above) are convinced that reopening college campuses is likely to spread the virus, among students and into the host community.

As ABC News reports, at least three dozen states are seeing Covid outbreaks among returning students, and some universities that tried to reopen, are closing because of covid.  Some outbreaks have already been attributed to large parties without masks or social distancing among students, with many other such parties also reported.  So it is likely more will close their classes and dorms and send their students home, or should.

HSU has reported four students with infections so far, with hundreds yet to test, and with no announced plans to test students living in the community.  Dr. Frankovich referred to their "unknown number."  Yet they will be interacting with other students and the community.

And of course the tragic rebound of the Clarence Thomas move that supports HSU's desperate insistence on populating dorms and classes and off-campus apartments, if this turns out to be devastating to the community's health, is that statistically the burden of serious covid illness and death is felt disproportionately among Blacks, Native and other non-White communities.

I also now suspect who were among those "important people" Jackson said he was sending copies of his email. Could it have been supervisors Wilson and Bohn, with their less than subtle insinuations of "othering" to the person and the people who are doing the most, relentlessly, to safeguard this community's health?

Add these supervisors' names to Jackson's, as well as that of the Chancellor of the state university system, as officials on the public payrolls who must be held accountable for whatever happens this fall in Arcata and Humboldt County.

Democratic Unconventional: Ally of the Light

On paper, the lineup for the final night of the Democratic Unconventional looked prettty conventional.  But it started and ended with surprising emotion, with plenty of moments in between.

Many speakers this night as well as the preceding nights referred to this moment of historic multiple crises. None dramatized it more than Governor Newsom of California, standing in front of what looked like a redwood, a mile from a major forest fire.  He spoke rapidly and eloquently--without his usual tech-speak--as if he could feel the flames (he could certainly smell the smoke, and we almost could, too.)

 The emphasis would quickly move to the future, when the producers asked speakers from tonight and earlier to speculate on what they'd like to see one year from today.  This was the theme of the night, of the event: the present crises laid bare, but real and determined hope for how to address them and get beyond them.

Then the newly minted Chicks sang the national anthem in three part harmony, and that's what embraced the present and the future: the faith borne of the past, of the founding, and of crises met.

There were moments to come: 13 year old Brayden Harrington bravely told of Joe Biden's help in working through his stutter, something Biden had also suffered from as a child.  And my biased highlight: Steph and Ayesha Curry and their two daughters.  An informal discussion among Biden's presidential rivals was a humanizing moment rare in official politics.  And there was more.

But everything built to the major moment: Joe Biden's acceptance address.  For those who had watched what came before, a real sense of Biden as a human being provided a context for his words, and they heard those words flowing naturally from all that he is and has been.

"Here and now I give you my word. If you entrust me with the presidency, I will draw on the best of us, not the worst. I will be an ally of the light, not the darkness. It is time for us, for we, the people, to come together. And make no mistake, united we can and will overcome this season of darkness in America."

Biden spoke with passion about what he would specifically do as President.

"As president, the first step I will take will be to get control of the virus that’s ruined so many lives. Because I understand something this president doesn’t.
We will never get our economy back on track, we will never get our kids safely back to school, we will never have our lives back, until we deal with this virus..."

"I will do what we should have done from the very beginning. Our current president has failed in his most basic duty to this nation. He failed to protect us. He failed to protect America. And, my fellow Americans, that is unforgivable."

He outlined an economic plan focused on jobs, and later related this plan to confronting the climate crisis.  He addressed the crisis and the opportunity to confront racial and environmental injustice. "America’s history tells us that it has been in our darkest moments that we’ve made our greatest progress. That we’ve found the light. And in this dark moment, I believe we are poised to make great progress again. That we can find the light once more."

In the course of his speech he did what the current White House occupant could never do: offer recognition and solace to the survivors of those 171,000 and counting Americans who have died officially from Covid so far.  And early in the speech--harking back, as other themes did, to President Obama the night before--he made a pledge that Trump could never credibly utter:  that he would work just as hard as President for those who didn't vote for him as those who did; that he would be President of the entire United States.

The rhetoric was not soaring, the rhythms were punchy, as the content was a series of punches.  But the speech received almost universal praise.  Steve Schmidt of the Lincoln Project called it the most important speech of his 49 years in politics.

So after months of media quiet, Joe Biden emerged and met the moment.  Now it's Joe time.

As for the Unconventional, it ended, not with dancing and drunken throngs yelling and beating each other with placards, but a huge fireworks display, which the candidates and their spouses watched in a parking lot, along with people in lines of cars who had been watching a drive-in movie which was the Unconventional.  Like the roll call and a lot else, it worked even better than what it replaced.

Democratic Unconventional: Not Alone

Perhaps more than the first two nights, the third night of the Unconventional was often geared to young voters.  It related major issues of immigration, climate crisis and racism viscerally and particularly from the point of view of the young.  It had at least one mesmerizing musical performance by Billie Eilish.  And apart from introducing herself and telling her story, vice presidential candidate Kamala Harris spoke especially (I thought) to a younger audience.

But major moments belonged to all, and especially to those who have had to numb themselves during these past four years.  There were more cathartic video moments, including outrages already forgotten because of the unremitting onslaught of new ones.  An absolute highlight was the appearance of Gabby Giffords, the centerpiece of a segment on gun violence.  She was a gun victim--a political assassin's victim--we shared, and we saw again the tragedy and her courage and resilience and determination.

We try to avoid the overload, but there are a range of benefits to realizing that we share these reactions to the past four years.  Kamala Harris expressed it this way: "The constant chaos leaves us adrift.  The incompetence makes us feel afraid.  The callousness makes us feel alone."

But it was President Barack Obama who embodied and expressed what we see and have concluded, but which we don't often hear from our leaders, or the media or the institutions that cannot operate unless they maintain some sense of normality, or at least aren't used to doing anything else.

The first part of his riveting 18 minute speech set the context for the paragraphs that will be the chief soundbites.  (Several outlets have the text, including this one.)

"The one Constitutional office elected by all of the people is the presidency. So at minimum, we should expect a president to feel a sense of responsibility for the safety and welfare of all 330 million of us – regardless of what we look like, how we worship, who we love, how much money we have – or who we voted for.

But we should also expect a president to be the custodian of this democracy. We should expect that regardless of ego, ambition, or political beliefs, the president will preserve, protect, and defend the freedoms and ideals that so many Americans marched for and went to jail for; fought for and died for.

I have sat in the Oval Office with both of the men who are running for president. I never expected that my successor would embrace my vision or continue my policies. I did hope, for the sake of our country, that Donald Trump might show some interest in taking the job seriously; that he might come to feel the weight of the office and discover some reverence for the democracy that had been placed in his care.

But he never did. For close to four years now, he has shown no interest in putting in the work; no interest in finding common ground; no interest in using the awesome power of his office to help anyone but himself and his friends; no interest in treating the presidency as anything but one more reality show that he can use to get the attention he craves.

Donald Trump hasn't grown into the job because he can't. And the consequences of that failure are severe. 170,000 Americans dead. Millions of jobs gone while those at the top take in more than ever. Our worst impulses unleashed, our proud reputation around the world badly diminished, and our democratic institutions threatened like never before."

As Hillary Clinton reminded us earlier in the evening,  she told us so, and too many voters didn't hear or believe or take the possibility seriously.  They didn't vote, or they threw away their vote.  Without saying so exactly, President Obama spoke to them, shamed them and anyone who won't vote Trump out of office this year, in for me the even more powerful part of his speech, so genuinely delivered.

He addressed those who were disenchanted with democratic government, warning that this cynicism is the chief weapon of the autocrat in the White House. He began with a story.

"Last month, we lost a giant of American democracy in John Lewis. Some years ago, I sat down with John and the few remaining leaders of the early Civil Rights Movement. One of them told me he never imagined he'd walk into the White House and see a president who looked like his grandson. Then he told me that he'd looked it up, and it turned out that on the very day that I was born, he was marching into a jail cell, trying to end Jim Crow segregation in the South.

What we do echoes through the generations.

Whatever our backgrounds, we are all the children of Americans who fought the good fight. Great grandparents working in firetraps and sweatshops without rights or representation. Farmers losing their dreams to dust. Irish and Italians and Asians and Latinos told to go back where they came from. Jews and Catholics, Muslims and Sikhs, made to feel suspect for the way they worshipped. Black Americans chained and whipped and hanged. Spit on for trying to sit at lunch counters. Beaten for trying to vote.

If anyone had a right to believe that this democracy did not work, and could not work, it was those Americans. Our ancestors. They were on the receiving end of a democracy that had fallen short all their lives. They knew how far the daily reality of America strayed from the myth. And yet, instead of giving up, they joined together and said somehow, some way, we are going to make this work. We are going to bring those words, in our founding documents, to life."

The words are powerful, but the way he delivered them makes you listen, really listen to them.  Maybe at last some will really hear the linkages: The "Irish and Italians" of my grandparent's generation, "and Asians and Latinos" of more recent generations, all "told to go back where they came from."  Not just the "Muslims and Sikhs" of today, but the "Jews and Catholics" of generations within living and especially family memory, "made to feel suspect for the way they worshipped."

The words went on to, again, today's young people who can "take our country to a better place."  But not inevitably--for they are "the ones who will decide whether or not America becomes the country that fully lives up to its creed."  And then the conclusion, the final fierce urgency of now:

"That work will continue long after this election. But any chance of success depends entirely on the outcome of this election. This administration has shown it will tear our democracy down if that's what it takes to win. So we have to get busy building it up – by pouring all our effort into these 76 days, and by voting like never before – for Joe and Kamala, and candidates up and down the ticket, so that we leave no doubt about what this country that we love stands for – today and for all our days to come."

Historians are already on record saying that no ex-President have ever spoken like this before.  That it is this President, whose words and style many of us heard and saw for eight years or more, adds to their weight.  Yes, it's scary.  But it's out in the open now.  If you realized this before, now you're not alone.  Now there are things to do, even if it's just voting, and making sure those we know also vote.  It may take more than that, but saying it out loud is a start.

Democratic Unconventional: On A Roll

The second night of the Democratic Unconventional had a number of noteworthy statements, speeches and appearances: a searing health care segment, terse condemnations of Trump by ex-officials, hopeful exhortations by 17 young Democratic officeholders, Cindy McCain narrating a very effective video about the friendship between John McCain and Joe Biden in more bipartisan days, and more.

Dr. Jill Biden ended the evening, speaking in an empty classroom where she once taught, addressing the nearly universal concerns right now of schools in the time of coronavirus, and emphasizing her husband's ability to solve problems and heal the nation.

Of the ex-officials, fired Attorney General Sally Yates was a particular reminder of how far back the damage goes--to apprentice dictator's opening days and the attempted Muslim ban in the early days of 2017.

Of the short speeches I heard, the best was John Kerry's, speaking as a former Secretary of State: every line a succinct and eloquent indictment of Trump's so-called foreign policy.




Senator Joe Biden met John McCain when he was the military attache assigned to him on a foreign trip. The McCain video contained a wonderful moment in which the two men later swapped speeches.  McCain referred to how he carried Biden's bags on that trip.  "He never carried my bags," Biden retorted. "He was supposed to, but he never did."  McCain was caught laughing in delight.

Furthering the Unconventional theme, Joe Biden was officially nominated--not by a Democratic politician or movie star (Tommy Lee Jones nominated Al Gore), but by an elevator operator in the New York Times building who he befriended on his trips up and down to give the requisite interview for the newspaper's endorsement he did not get.  She was cool, dignified and spoke with conviction.

But the highlight of the night by far was supposed to be the most troublesome and dull duty: the roll call of the states culminating in Biden's official nomination.

I confess I've always loved the roll call of the states, even at its most excessive, when the state spokesperson, with others crushed around them in their section on the vast and crowded, chaotic and noisy convention floor, would recite an ever more lengthy list of the state's virtues before announcing the actual vote counts.

Not that there usually was any suspense about the outcome, though there was often jockeying the numbers and order of the states to be the state that put the nominee over the top, when the convention duly erupted in shouting, loud music, a snowstorm of confetti and balloons.

This time was necessarily different, though the outcome was even less in doubt than usual.  Instead of the party chair or top officeholder, each state selected meaningful representatives to make the announcement, and created tableaus in emblematic locations, often outdoors.  Each state had a brief, scripted message, relating their state (or territory) to a prominent issue.

It came off beautifully.  It moved briskly, there were few glitches or even hesitations. Especially for a travel-starved nation, the backgrounds were often breathtaking.

The wealth of faces, voices and accents showed off the country's diversity (even to the point of having a southern accent in Las Vegas, and a non-southern accent in deep southern states.)  I was most moved by the number of Native Americans, members of tribes indigenous to that state or territory.  There had to be at least a half dozen.


There were symbolic touches to remind us of this year's racial history and consciousness: Black Lives Matter St. in D.C. and a Black Lives Matter mural in Tulsa Oklahoma; a Frederick Douglass statue and a John Lewis mural, and an unheralded Carol Moseley Braun, the first Black woman elected to the U.S. Senate, representing Illinois to endorse the ticket including the first Black woman vice presidential nominee.

There were real moments: the representatives from Iowa noting that they'd planned to talk about clean energy but instead the state was still reeling from damaging storms; a lone worker in a field in Ohio not mincing words about Trump; a plea from Puerto Rico in Spanish to be respected again as Americans.   And a moment of humor that harked back to the convention floor roll calls when Rhode Island bragged on (and held out a tray of) its calamari.

For me there are multiple forms of catharsis in all of this, from the recognition of the real pain and suffering that is what it is, to a kind of catharsis in renewing the recognition of empathy and decency, and the beauty and diversity of America.  The rhetoric of all that gets repetitious--in speeches it works best in specifics.  But the images of it are the most important.  And that's the irony here: the ongoing tragedy made a regular convention impossible, and instead made possible this Unconventional, where those images dominate.

The Democratic Unconventional: Opening Night

It's an unconventional format for an unhinged year.  Instead of a sweaty convention, it's a minimalist TV show.  But so far so good.

Republican John Kasich demonstrating America at
the crossroads 

The opening night theme (though the DNC didn't state it this way) was unity, as in the United States, bringing ex- and current Republicans together with America's most lovable socialist, plus a number of the Dem primary candidates, and an array of citizens--from the Dem coalition to disillusioned Trumpers--to endorse Joe Biden for President, to bring the country together and essentially save our form of government--and in a real sense, the United States itself.

George Floyd's brothers spoke in an video 

The obvious star of the evening was Michelle Obama.  She previously showed a mastery of the public speech, relating to the voters in the living room and the throngs on the conventional floor.  But pretaped weeks ago alone in a silent room, she was the absolute master of the camera connection.  In a serious but conversational tone, her eyes never wavering from the camera--from our watching eyes--except in the kind of gesture familiar to a one-on-one conversation, she made direct contact in a way I've seldom seen before.  Even Barack's eyes dart to the transparent side panels or to the page.

Her speech was at once universal and specific to Black viewers. She was both the distraught TV viewer of shootings, mask hysteria, demonstrations under attack, and (as Joy Reid commented) the Black woman on the block organizing voters to go to the polls.  She deployed familiar rhetoric--perhaps more potent this year than in 2016--but she was more direct than ever in saying why Trump must be defeated.  And she didn't spare those in her audience who stayed home in 2016--she told them they were responsible for letting this happen.  She spoke about the need for empathy, and empathy as the basis of society.  But she also said that empathy is not just a feeling, it is action.

Kristin Uruiza

There were memorable lines, which will be quoted at least until Tuesday night: the most potent pronounced by Kristin Urquiza, a young woman whose father died of covid:“My dad was a healthy 65-year-old. His only preexisting condition was trusting Donald Trump, and for that, he paid with his life.”  

But the moments that stood out for me were images and impressions.  I noted that the speakers who endorsed Biden--including the Republicans--endorsed him personally, as a decent, compassionate and able man.  They said he listens.

The montage of comments by some of his primary rivals were cheerful and affectionate.  Cory Booker spoke of his surprise, standing next to Biden on a debate stage just after Booker had taken issue with him, that during a commercial break, Biden gave him a "pep talk" and told him how important it was that he was on that stage.

Every candidate gets at least one warm and fuzzy video, but Monday's was unique: it was about Biden's relationships with the people who worked on the trains that he had taken every day between Washington and Wilmington, between his Senate workplace and his home.  He talked to them, listened to them, knew about their lives.  When one railroad employee was recovering from a heart attack, Vice President Biden called him to ask how he was doing.

That moment meshed with the images that stood out for me, in several video compilations, one of them to Bruce Springsteen's "The Rising."  The images that flashed by without comment told the story of the past few years, especially just these past several months, from the demonstrations and the attack on Lafayette Park, to the detention camps for asylum seekers,  to health care workers and others on the front lines of the covid crisis.  The most potent were such scenes as a family holding up a baby for a very old woman to see, as she stood alone at the small window of her quarantined room, and another family gathered under such an institutional window with a 100th birthday cake for the elder within.

I think of these, and the scenes of the isolated dying in hospitals, and of individuals who have died of covid (I suspect we'll see more of those), as they connect to Trump statement about covid deaths--"it is what it is"-- that Michelle Obama shaded. That was the awful difference--and the moral distance--that this opening night drew, between empathy in action, and the cold and corrupt it is what it is.  

Poetry Monday: Trying To Read

Trying To Read

If I read a good book in the morning,
marvelous thoughts fly into my mind
like swifts, and out again.
They sweep me away from the page
And leave me in the empty sky.


In the afternoon bog water
sloshes behind my eyes,
slow wavering water weeds,
minutes on each word.


Evening is the time to read.
Then I can follow the other man's thoughts
over the roads, but too late!
I fall asleep on the way.

--Samuel Moon

From the posthumous collection, A Little Farther: Selected Works of Samuel Moon (Village Books; Bellingham, WA.)