Category Archives: Current events

The diaries of Dr. Fauci

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Dr. Fauci and his diaries are in the news.

When I discovered that 478 pages of them are available to read online, I decided to take a look. It’s not that I’m particularly interested in the arguments about the origins of coronavirus, which Paul Rand and various Republicans seem to be making theatre of around the person of the doctor. What drew my attention was criticism of Dr. Fauci’s mentions of his overwhelming celebrity in the midst of the pandemic. Bits like this, for example, from Forbes:

“In a May 2020 entry, Fauci wrote the “situation with my national and international fame is explosive and really unimaginable,” saying he may be “the most famous and talked about person in the country and one of the most recognizable person in the world,” citing a front-page Washington Post article and magazine profiles about him. “Press still hot and heavy about me. Multiple stories per day directly or indirectly involving me,” Fauci wrote in April 2020, also noting in June 2020 he was “invited to appear on Dancing with the Stars – no thanks!” Fauci also wrote of the various merchandise bearing his name and face that popped up during the height of his fame, which he said included “bottle openers, magnets and mugs” as well as more bizarre items like “prayer candles depicting ‘St. Fauci’” and a replica of his high school basketball jersey. “The ‘swag’ around me is getting really ridiculous,” Fauci wrote, adding, “Geeeez!! I do not like this one bit.”

As the keeper of a diary/journal myself, I felt myself a little defensive on the man’s behalf. For one thing, it doesn’t sound like he was that comfortable with the fame, though admittedly, he seemed to enjoy meeting interesting and famous people and mentioned as much. Who wouldn’t? Are these lines really evidence of overweening pride, in the light of his long contribution and career? Second, a diary is, by its very nature, a fair bit of me-me-me. Nor do I see sentences like “Amazing day!” and “Stock market crashing!” with their attendant exclamation points as especially cringe-worthy, as one pundit writer does. Goodness, people, have none of you kept diaries?!

Anyway, I dived in and read the first two months of the diaries, January and February 2020, which I admit, is hardly a large sampling. But it’s enough to say it’s fascinating, actually, and what even these two months document, in quite some detail (perhaps with a book in back of mind) was that one acts and reacts only to what one has and knows in the moment. There are endless meetings and consultations, there are lists of names and numbers and reports coming in from everywhere, there are requests from media to explain what’s going on, there is the president to advise, there are news conferences. And does he occasionally mention compliments he gets? Yes, he does. Even the president, initially, addressed his questions only to Dr. Fauci and praised him and Dr. Fauci noted as much. Did he also feel flattered at times? Well, I suppose he did, though he expressed plenty of frustration later. But what I see, in my brief reading so far, is a man busy at the very tasks he’s been given to do, trying — with the help of others — to guide the country and not panic it, and to lead in crucial and really complex questions of containment and mitigation and everything else as the unknown was only gradually revealing itself.

On this further line of defense/defensivenss, just for the fun of it I looked at the same two months in my diary. Completely not-famous me, that is. But what would you think, if you read it? I mention news events now and then, the killing of Soleimani, the impeachment trial of president Trump, the helicopter crash that killed Kobe Bryant. But mostly it’s about what’s going on in my small world. And since my novel All That Belongs had come out the previous year, I wrote a sentence like this, “I continue to get nice things said about ATB, which is gratifying” and I might quote such nice things when they came in now and then. I wrote down a really lovely complimentary note sent me by one of my children too.

This is what one does in a diary. Things that others say, good or bad, impact one’s life and if it’s encouraging, you’re encouraged, so you note it. A little ego scratch to be sure. There can be obsessiveness about this, of course, but if the quotes pulled out by his critics about Dr. Fauci’s mentions so far are the best representation of the apparently inflated state of his ego, well, I’m not buying it.

But back to the main point, the point any diary makes, which is that we have no idea at the moment of writing where we are in the ongoing narrative of our lives. Nor, depending on what we record on any given day, quite apart from all we may not get around to or leave out, can we gauge the cumulative effect of such a record. Elizabeth Outka (“How Pandemics Seep into Literature” Apr. 8, 2020, Paris Review newsletter) stated this well in the early stages of the pandemic, and I copied it into my own journal. It says something very true about that time, but also, I think, about what a diary will eventually demonstrate. It’s an indispensable source for later, but is never more than human, more than partial, more than one specific day with its specific mood that day.

“One’s reality doesn’t simply shift in a pandemic; it becomes radically uncertain—indeed, uncertainty is the reality. The unpredictability of the COVID-19 virus and all we don’t know about it means we have no idea where we are in the story or even what story we are in. Is this the first wave of something even deadlier to come? Have we reached the top of the curve? What’s the scope of the tragedy? Is the economy the real story? What do we think we know now that may prove fatally wrong?” Also, the invisibility of the enemy, and contagion guilt. And, last sentences: “Whether in illness or in observation, our own bodies are busy now. They are recording our pandemic, setting in place the reverberations that will echo into our future.”

How I Got Scammed

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No excuses, but it was early and I was just beginning my coffee. I was checking my mail, my social feed. Checking to see what was new, and then I saw a post about an investment project by none other than Mark Carney, whom I happen to respect. Now I will admit that I skimmed rather than read it carefully, that my mind had immediately thought war or savings bonds, that type of thing, and what a good idea, thought I, and since I’ve been feeling especially patriotic in the last months on account of you-know-who (haven’t we all?) I clicked, and long story short, I was led to believe it was exactly as I’d supposed. And before I knew it I had joined the club and given my credit card number in the amount of $250 (U.S. I noticed later). I was passed from one person to another to “Patrick”, my personal minder, I guess you could call him. As soon as I gave up my number, I got a cell ping from my credit card company with a warning, and there were a few other red lights flashing by now, but to every fear and/or objection I raised came assurances as smooth and confident as maple syrup.

When “Patrick” asked my name, he exclaimed that, wow, his wife had just read my book, something about a hidden thing, right, an Amish story, right? “Mennonite” I said, still quite friendly, even though I was beginning, yes, to have doubts about everything. Half my brain told me he had simply googled my name and come up with this information, but the other half was, I’ll be honest, flattered, even kind of excited at this amazing coincidence, because his wife thought it was such a great book; she simply loved it! And somewhere along the way I must also have indicated that it wasn’t greed for returns that motivated me but patriotic idealism, for I had enough to live on, and by this time, I can also assume in retrospect, he calculated my age and thus knew I had some money in the bank. Worth fishing for.

Long story short, as I say, I did realize I’d been hooked for something that wasn’t what I thought it was, and now it was too late to get out of the credit card transaction. Shortly after, I wrote and said I’d felt pressured, I wanted out immediately. With apologies and cheer I was informed that yes, of course, they hadn’t meant that at all, and the next day I would find my deposit returned in full along with what I had already gained in one day. Which was truly there the next morning, with $100 “earned” on my “investment.” Wow, good returns, eh? But by now I knew they were just upping the bait. At any rate, I locked my credit card (and later cancelled it).

When “Patrick” said he would call the next day, I said he should do so at 11 a.m. I arranged to go over to my son’s place for that time (he was working at home). Ashamed, embarrassed, I explained the situation. He confirmed its scam-ishness. Then the phone rang. “Patrick.” I said Hello and handed the phone to my son. He gave “Patrick” a thorough scolding, for leading his mother along and all that. If he exaggerated my capacity (lack of, that is) a little, so be it; his vigorous defence of me felt good.

Although it ended well enough, there was still the mess to clean up. Once the transaction moved from “pending” to paid I did the dispute process,.The credit card assistant reminded me that I had freely given my number, but fortunately the transaction was successfully reversed. It may seem that I scammed the scammers, for technically I got back all I gave and more, but it’s not quite true, for my bank has bracketed that transfer and it will be investigated by their fraud department, so neither the bank nor I will be liable for receiving fraudulent funds. And it was such a huge hassle, cancelling my credit card, changing all my passwords, taking various other precautions, and my stomach was in turmoil for a couple of days until I felt innerly strong again.

I asked my son not to tell anyone about his mother’s foolishness and he agreed, but several days later he said, “Actually, you should talk about it.” He’s right. So I took his advice and have been compelled, like the penitential Ancient Mariner, to tell my tale to others. Sharing such stories and one’s vulnerabilities can be a mutual education. In the process I’ve heard of others’ follies and gained from their lessons.

But now I’ve told “the world” on my weblog so maybe it’s enough.

Otherwise I’m having a lovely summer, being extra careful on all fronts, no impulsive clicking, and the local hydrangea flowers are at their most glorious and the blackberries are a-ripening.

Living in this moment

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This year, I’ve resolved to show up here at least once a month, say that I’m still alive, what’s on my mind and all that. I am alive, reasonably so thanks, and what’s much on my mind is this moment. “This moment” is often used to particularly position ourselves — right now I’m sitting at my round table in the living room, the sky is grey, moving branches tell me there’s wind, I’m talking via a blog post, getting a little hungry since it’s near noon, for example — but more recently it has come to mean the situation we collectively find ourselves in because of what’s happening in Washington D.C., in Ukraine/Europe, in Gaza/Israel, in tariffs/Canada. Say “in this moment” and most everyone knows exactly what is meant without further elaboration.

I confess that I engage a lot, perhaps more than I should, eyes on what’s there, sometimes reacting, looking for hope. Honestly, I’m afraid. For the future. For the world on multiple fronts. It takes some wilful energy these days to keep strategizing my inner position and, especially, talking back to my fear, or better said, letting scripture and wise people, past or present, talk back to it. I ask myself, is there something I can do about it? I can shop Canadian and possibly add my name or body to a protest or write a letter to an official, speak up or affirm someone else with a “like”. Generally, however, for those bigger problems there’s next to nothing I can do except pray (yes, as a way of pleading on behalf of others, as a way of turning to Power greater than myself). No, generally there isn’t much except keep alert to the macro but live in the present, in the micro level, where my feet happen to be.

A kind of grief as well

I’ve been noticing in conversations with people in my generational cohort (so-called Baby Boomers) that, for us, there’s a kind of grief in this moment as well. Unbeknownst to us, we entered the world after the end of the Second World War. With the war over, it was a buoyant time, one in which we benefitted economically and educationally. We eventually learned what preceded us, of course, we read Anne Frank and Elie Wiesel and Victor Frankl. We read fiction and non-fiction about what had happened, we saw TV and movies, we visited places like Auschwitz and Mauthausen when we travelled, and, speaking for myself, the horrors of the Nazi regime and the Holocaust lodged deeply within and I truly believed “never again.” Actually, again speaking for myself, I could not grasp how it happened even though I knew, for a fact, that it had.

And, although Boomers have been accused of trying to be young forever and making everything about themselves, many participated in and pushed for progress in the women’s liberation movement and the civil rights movement and the anti-war movement and the LGBTQ movement and anti-acid-rain. There was progress. Much, much more to be done, yes, for sure, but what is so grievous and troubling now is that far from moving forward on human rights issues and the propagation of democracy, even those past hard-won advances seem to be in jeopardy. Naively, I suppose, we figured the momentum of our decades on earth would continue to be forward. We’re realizing instead that a great big pendulum seems to be swinging back, that people in the western world are bitterly divided, that horrors can happen again, are still happening again, not to mention the onward march of climate change. So there’s disappointment layered into our reactions to this moment.

The necessary “but”

So this, I guess, is where I should take a turn and say “but.” There are buts, even if I refuse to speak them in caps; there are good things too, and there’s hope, and I’m grateful. Pulling this moment into the personal particular present I see, at this very moment, a gleaming part in the clouds and I stopped to have lunch and it was delicious and since I made enough Spanish rice to last for one meal of it every day this week (that’s how I cook nowadays) I’m set for more deliciousness and there are friends and family, books, music, jigsaw puzzles. Prayers to pray, enough things to do where my feet happen to be.