Building Trust with Respect

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One of the people I have come to respect deeply over the last two years is Dr. Nirav Shah, head of Maine’s CDC (Centers for Disease Control.)

Almost weekly, since March 2020, he has held a press briefing on Maine Public Radio, taking questions off the cuff from media journalists in Maine in an attempt to keep the public informed about COVID. Frequently, Maine’s governor, Janet Mills, and its Commissioner of Health and Human Services, Jane Lambrew, have joined Dr. Shah on these broadcasts. Together they have answered questions, explained CDC guidelines and recommendations, and encouraged Maine’s citizens to do everything possible to stay safe during the COVID pandemic.

I have been impressed time and again by Dr. Shah’s communication skills and his command of COVID scientific findings and statistics. In my mind, he is the consummate communicator. He speaks lucidly, intelligently, respectfully, and empathetically. I have only once or twice heard him ruffled by not having information at his fingertips. Throughout the last nearly two years, he has never criticized or showed anger or frustration with those who refuse to follow mandates and guidelines, deny the seriousness of the pandemic, or continue to resist vaccination. He has the proverbial “patience of Job.”

On January 3, he demonstrated his genuine care, concern, and respect for the people of Maine by participating in a Maine Public Radio Broadcast—Maine Calling, hosted by Jennifer Rooks. (Maine CDC director Nirav Shah addresses questions about the pandemic, particularly about vaccine hesitancy) His purpose for this call-in program was to open a dialogue with those not vaccinated against COVID; his stated goal was to build trust. When I began listening to the broadcast, I was nervous that none of those opposed to vaccinations would call in, the ultimate slap in the face to trust-building. However, callers, emailers, and tweeters engaged with Dr. Shah for nearly an hour. Because he entered into an authentic dialogue with each one, asking genuinely curious questions about their views, assumptions, and situations, relatively few callers got on the air. Some were angry, afraid, and belligerent; others were open and curious.

While he acknowledged and lamented that vaccinations had become politicized, he avoided political debate or criticizing others who engage in such discussion. Instead, he stayed with the “facts”—the statistics, the scientific models, and studies. One could hear the sincere emotion in his voice as he spoke about Mainers who had died of COVID. He listened, expressed understanding, acknowledged agreement where he could. Though he didn’t say these words, I could imagine him thinking, “I can’t do anything to change the politics, nor can I force anyone to follow CDC guidance. All I can do is build trust and try to persuade.”

As the pandemic has unfolded, scientific information and best-practice recommendations have changed and developed repeatedly. As a result, early guidance was superseded by the findings of further studies. Dr. Shah acknowledged that the evolving nature of the scientific understanding of COVID has led to confusion and fed into mistrust of public officials and their recommendations. This broadcast, he said, was one attempt to rebuild trust. It was worth the try.

Such a genuine, careful, skilled effort at trust-building could only come from one who respects his fellow Mainers. Dr. Shah demonstrates that he believes each of us wants to do the right thing. Therefore, he is willing to invest the time to understand the convictions of others and is hopeful that offering his best knowledge and sincere concern will make a difference.

I encourage you to listen to the podcast at the link above. Some have heard me say that I wish Nirav Shah would run for President of the United States. I am saying that I want all politicians and public servants to demonstrate the respect that he does for the people they serve.

Final Burst! 2021 Wrap-up

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Near the beginning of 2021, I began a series of articles under the theme of “Brief Bursts.” My goal was to be less wordy—to say things as briefly and directly as possible—and therefore post more frequently. Unfortunately, as you can see from the shortlist of articles under this sub-heading AND the length of several, I did not accomplish either goal.

In the previous twelve months, many of my posts have appeared under comments to the first article, “Deep Listening.” There, I’ve engaged in an enlightening conversation with my conservative friend Ryan about a wide range of topics, including politics, leadership, and, recently, attitudes toward vaccinations and COVID.  I encourage you to read these comments if your interest is piqued by an exchange between a bleeding-heart Democrat (me) and a conservative Republican (Ryan.) It is not a coincidence that this conversation appears in a blog about respect.

Where With All Due Respect is headed in 2022 is still a mystery. I’m currently preoccupied with writing my first novel and find myself wanting to dedicate most of my creative and wordsmithing time and energy to that. Approaching the sixth anniversary of my retirement, I see the rhythms of my daily life coalescing more and more around the act of writing—my way of being in the world, my orientation toward life.  Whenever I put pen to paper or fingertips to keyboard—journaling in the early morning hours, email during the day, scant hours writing fiction, essays, and the occasional poem, or short phrases jotted in my “brain-dump” notebook just before sleep—choosing the precise word is a passion bordering on obsession.

Yesterday, the best-selling writer Joan Didion died at the age of eighty-seven. An NPR report (Joan Didion has died at 87: NPR) declared that

Didion spoke about the act of writing more astutely than pretty much anybody else. “I write entirely to find out what is on my mind, what I’m thinking,” she said.

“The writing itself was a path to understanding and clarification. Her definition of a writer was ‘a person whose most absorbed and passionate hours are spent arranging words on pieces of paper.’ She said that in a 1976 speech at her alma mater, the University of California, Berkeley.”

For me, those passionate hours are spent arranging and re-arranging words on a computer screen. And a total of ­­­­ 39 journals over 50 years betrays my compulsion for writing as inner exploration.

Thank you to those who read With All Due Respect and offer your comments and encouragement.  Thank you to fellow bloggers who inspire me, including three with different styles and perspectives: Carolyn, Rick, and Joan. I’m grateful to my two writers’ groups: the spiritual writers (Al, Ann, Carol, Hugh, Nancy, Paige, Rick, and Sarah) and the group from my retirement community (Deanna, Fayal, Marcia, Mark, Nan, Phyllis, and Terry).  They have patiently read and critiqued my monthly submissions for over three years, and I’ve become a better writer with their kind guidance. Finally, though it may seem odd, I want to put in a plug for Grammarly, the editing app that I use daily for everything from email to chapters in my book. It’s improved my grammar tremendously and saved me from some dreadful faux pas.

Writing is what I most love to do. Paradoxically, the tragic circumstances of the pandemic have provided more opportunity to do it than my busy nature would have eked out on its own. So, whatever becomes of With All Due Respect in 2021, I will enjoy every minute of it.

Creeping Normalcy…in a retirement community

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I have not posted to the series “Diary From a Social Distance” in many months. The novelty, even of a pandemic, and the insights it might offer each of us, have gradually faded into the background of daily life, no matter how restricted. I offer this poem, written over the course of the summer and early fall, as a final post in this series. An historic US election will take place in less than a month and, regardless of the result, will, perhaps, give birth to a new series of posts under the umbrella of “respect.”

Creeping Normalcy

Normalcy is creeping back into our lives.

It is hard to resist.

All my resolutions to live

By the lessons learned during

These past months of pandemic,

Are donning fresh feathers and

Getting ready to fly out the window.

Sick of “social distancing” guidelines,

An impromptu cocktail hour

Has sprung up on the patio.

Technically, chairs should be

Six feet apart and masks should be donned,

But even without a tape measure, I can

See that the chairs are nudging closer.

And masks are dangling from one ear

Or bundled beneath the chin.

A nose peeps out, to catch a breath

Or lips to speak a word unmuffled by a covering.

Others have dispensed with masks all together.

After all, how can you consume a cocktail

With your lips held prisoner by a mask?

The staff, hoping I suppose to set good examples,

Wear their masks avidly and sit at great distances

For their lunch breaks on the patio.

At the beginning of this long ordeal,

When I would step outside my door in early morn,

To begin my daily round,

I would be shocked by the quiet – the absence

Of traffic humming in the distance.

Now, not only do I hear it at

Rush hour, but when I drive to some “essential” errand

I notice a “normal” number of cars on the road. 

In pandemic’s early months, the streets were quite deserted.

Though I have not dined in a restaurant,

But only ordered take out,

Or shopped in any store,

Except a pharmacy or a supermarket,

I felt emboldened by the warm weather

To meet friends outdoors and walk

Among the budding trees,

Six feet apart, of course,

En-masked for sure.

Now that nearly seven months have passed,

And we are reminded frequently that not one single

COVID case has plagued our retiree sheltered lives,

We feel a sense of invulnerability.

We think, why not eat inside at the “Dolphin”

Shop with crowds at Walmart,

Go to church, a wedding, or a funeral.

Let those who live in congregate housing

And those who live in cottages co-mingle, we implore,

To do jumping jacks and yoga,

Play bridge and ping pong,

Meditate and talk!

But no, the risk is still too great

Until we vaccinate.

The prime concern as winter comes,

And holidays are round the bend

Is contact with our families.

We’ve seen them “en plein air,”

So to speak, in summer months.

Cold gradually prevents that luxury now.

The staff is searching for a way

For us to see those we love in cold and snow.

A special room, a special shield,

Hygienic cleansing, no touching please!

Enormous effort, expensive too.

Reminding some of TV scenes

Of prisoners on either side of

Touch-proof glass

With hands outstretched, and eyes engaged.

What seems acceptable and normal now

A year ago

Would have been unthinkable.

This normalcy has crept upon us

Each day, each week, each month.

So now, the temptation is oh-so-keen

To abandon caution,

Let down our guard.

But no! En garde! My friends.

A little more patience and sacrifice

Is required of us still.

Our strength and ingenuity will help us

In this battle against virus and the flu.

Get your shot, wash your hands,

Wear your mask, stay six feet apart.

We will prevail!

And though the virus spreads and kills,

We’ll do our part on our small front

To end this Plague, and stem this Tide

Of loss and grief,

Inhumanity, and vicious Pride.

Moriah Freeman

October 10, 2020