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During the pandemic, I’ve spent a lot of time alone. I live by myself. I work from home. At times, I experienced fits of fidgetiness and restlessness, contributing to feelings of burnout.

Here’s what helped: reappraising the situation.

What I was feeling was isolation, and the loneliness that comes with it. Instead of letting it gnaw at me, I tried to remember: Loneliness is normal, sometimes even useful. I remembered that sadness existed in part to remind me of something I really value, the company of other people. I knew, when the opportunity arose, I’d reorient myself to immersion with others. And when that time came, I’d embrace it; it was a reminder that I was still capable of feeling the joy I had been lacking. And as a consolation, that felt good.

Cognitive reappraisal — sometimes called cognitive reframing — is most commonly encountered in therapy, where it’s used to regulate emotions. It’s a component of cognitive behavioral therapy, a whole suite of strategies that can encourage positive patterns of thinking and behavior.

Reappraisals are useful. But they’re not something people learn exclusively in the context of clinical care. It’s arguably a skill we all can benefit from. And by “we all,” I mean just about everyone, all across the globe.

Recently, hundreds of researchers in 87 countries published the results of the largest cognitive reappraisal study to date in Nature Human Behavior. They were asking a simple question: Could they make people feel better about the pandemic, if only for one moment in time, by teaching reappraisals? The study, which amassed data on more than 20,000 participants, came back with a resounding answer: yes.

The new study validates the concept of reappraisal. But it also suggests that it could potentially be feasible to deploy as a large-scale global health intervention.

It’s a simple skill, but it could help many people foster resilience in a chaotic world.

Cognitive reappraisal, explained

The peer-reviewed paper in Nature Human Behavior is the most recent project from the Psychological Science Accelerator, a group of hundreds of researchers who combine their resources to pull off psychological studies with massive participant pools and an unusually rigorous methodology.

Near the start of the pandemic, the group put out a call for project proposals to test psychological interventions that could, simply, help people feel better.

“The reason why we choose cognitive reappraisal is because it has been the most widely studied and well-understood strategy,” Ke Wang, the Harvard Kennedy School doctoral student who first proposed this massive project, explains. It’s also a strategy that people don’t always use spontaneously on their own: It helps to be taught.

(The group has two other papers testing different psychological interventions, on how public health messaging in the pandemic can influence behavior. Of note: They’re testing whether “loss aversion,” an influential idea that suggests people respond more strongly when they think they have something to lose, encourages people to protect their health during a pandemic.)

Cognitive reappraisal works because “there’s a link between our thoughts and our feelings,” Kateri McRae, a University of Denver psychologist who studies emotion and who was not involved in this study, says. “A lot of times, our feelings are preceded by certain thoughts.” So when we shift our thoughts, that can precipitate a change in our emotions.

It can be a strategy to cope with a bout of anxiety or depression, or it can just be used to foster mental health resilience. “Individuals who report greater amounts of well-being and daily positive emotion report using reappraisal more frequently than people who report daily negative emotion,” McRae says — though she adds that “there is a little bit of a chicken-and-egg thing here.” What comes first: Do positive people reappraise, or do reappraisers become positive people? “But I certainly think that most people consider it to be something that might serve as a buffer.”

Once you get the hang of the technique, it’s easy to apply reappraisal thinking to many different situations. For instance, sometimes when I felt the excruciating boredom of the pandemic winter lockdown, I tried to reappraise the feeling of boredom as peacefulness, the absence of a bad thing. “I’m lucky to be bored,” I’d think. It would make the bitter pill go down more easily.

Emotion regulation passes a massive worldwide test

Wang and the hundreds of other authors wanted to see if they could teach thousands of people around the world similar coping strategies, to help deal with the stress of the pandemic.

They conducted a preregistered study — meaning a study where the methods and analysis plans are locked into place before data collection begins, to help ensure rigor — and tested two subtly different reappraisal methods, targeting negative emotions associated with living through the pandemic.

The first method is called “refocusing.” It might be better described as “looking on the bright side.”

Let’s say you’re feeling sad, staying home during a lockdown. You can refocus your thoughts to some of the more positive aspects of staying at home. Like: “Staying at home is not that bad,” as Wang explains. “You may find more time to spend with your family, or do things you may not have had time to do, such as cooking.”

Another is called “reconstruing.” This goes a little beyond just looking at the bright side of any particular burden, trying to find an overall less-negative narrative to tell ourselves about the pandemic. It’s less about finding the positive in our individual circumstances and more about looking at the big picture in a new light.

In reconstruing the burdens of the pandemic, for example, you could think: “In the past, people have overcome many challenges that seemed overwhelming at the time, and we will overcome Covid-19 related challenges too,” as the study text suggested to participants.

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This isn’t about becoming a blinkered robot that’s only allowed to think positive thoughts. “In our intervention, we’re not forcing them to feel positive all the time,” Wang explains. “We’re teaching them to use it to regulate emotions.” It’s about intervening when thoughts become distressing.

It’s not about never acknowledging negative thoughts, either. “I think there’s a really delicate balance between acknowledging the reality, allowing people to sometimes sit with negativity, but also realizing that positive interpretations of things are possible,” McRae says.

In the study, participants were assigned to read about refocusing, reconstruing, or two control conditions. Participants took a survey before they learned the technique to assess their baseline emotional state. Afterward, they were measured again and asked to assess their feelings overall about the pandemic, and how they are responding to it.

Notably, both techniques fared equally well in decreasing people’s negative emotions, and the effects, the authors report, aren’t just statistically significant — they seemed to make a big practical difference for people.

The difference in feelings between those who learned reappraisals, compared to those who did not, was as big as the difference between people who had faced extreme hardships due to the pandemic, compared to those who had not. That’s a notable improvement. (Of course, the interventions are not “guaranteed” to work for any particular individual. The study reported changes on average.)

Also, the interventions didn’t seem to decrease willingness to engage in Covid-safe behaviors like masking. “Some people may worry that if you improve emotions, people may be less cautionary,” Wang says. “But we don’t find that in our study.”

Notably, too, the interventions — which were translated by a team of hundreds of people into 44 languages — broadly worked in every country tested, though there was some variability. The interventions were most effective in Brazil, Germany, and Hungary, and they were least effective in Russia, Romania, and Egypt. “So far, we haven’t found anything that can systematically explain what country can benefit more or less,” Wang says. (The researchers didn’t have representative samples in all the countries studied, so there could be a lot of reasons why they found the variation.)

A psychological finding you can trust

The narrower conclusion of this study, that cognitive reappraisal works, is not super surprising. “The finding that reappraisal decreases negative emotion and increases positive emotion is something that has been replicated over and over and over ad nauseam,” McRae says. “I couldn’t just get that finding published if I really wanted to, because it’s been so well-established.”

But there were aspects of the study that are new and significant. “I think this scale, scope, and timeliness to speak to the crisis we’re in right now were the most impressive parts about it,” she says.

There’s a burgeoning research movement in psychology dedicated to testing out single-session interventions, delivered either online or remotely. Mental health care is often inaccessible and expensive, so the more psychological interventions that can be unbundled from a whole suite of intensive therapy, the more good they can potentially do around the world. Many people whose distress doesn’t rise to the level of a mental health diagnosis could still benefit, the study suggests.

That said, there’s still more work to do here. Other researchers not involved in the project wish it had studied these participants over time, to see if the intervention had a lasting effect.

“A study this large would have provided a particularly informative test of whether a single-session universal intervention could exert lasting, more generalized effects,” says Jessica Schleider, a Stony Brook University psychologist who specializes in studying single-session psychological interventions. “I do think it’s scientifically valuable to know that reappraisal can provide in-the-moment support this broadly, and it can be recommended as one coping option to try for folks in distress.”

The authors of the paper acknowledge this limitation, and some others. The study had people view photos reminding them of Covid-19 stresses, which “might not represent local situations for different groups of participants,” the authors report. It also doesn’t represent all the myriad emotional triggers we encounter living during a pandemic. But most of all, they see this work as foundational for other questions.

The Psychological Science Accelerator, the group behind the massive undertaking of the paper, was launched in response to psychology’s “replication crisis.” Over the past decade, many famous psychological theories have collapsed under rigorous re-testing. As many as 50 percent of all psychology papers might not be replicable, though no one knows the true extent of the rot in the foundations of psychology. There have also been some high-profile cases of outright data fraud related to some of psychology’s most popular findings. The Accelerator, which operates on a shoestring budget (it reports that this study of tens of thousands of people cost only $17,000, much of which came from individual lab members), is seeking to rebuild the field on a firmer foundation.

It’s a “credibility crisis,” Patrick Forscher, a psychologist and member of the Accelerator who worked on the reappraisal paper, says. “Because there are more issues rather than just replicability. So my personal view is that you can look at a lot of psychological findings and just put a question mark on them — not that they’re definitely false. We know that some of the practices that were used to produce a lot of those findings are, themselves, not all that credible.”

The latest test of cognitive reappraisals puts the science of mental health interventions on a firmer foundation. Psychology encompasses a lot of flimsy ideas that claim to make your life better. Here’s one that seems to actually work.

On Monday, the United Nations announced an environmental and public health milestone: the end of the use of leaded gasoline in automobiles and road vehicles worldwide.

The last holdout was Algeria, which had large stockpiles of leaded gasoline; in July, those stockpiles ran out, and Algeria has now made the transition to unleaded gasoline.

Lead poisoning causes immense societal harm: brain damage, chronic illness, lowered IQ, elevated mortality. Lead exposure in childhood has been linked with violent crime rates decades later. Extremely high lead levels can lead to seizures, coma, and death. Lower levels tend to cause less detectable harm, but there’s no safe level of lead exposure: Scientists’ current best guess is that any lead exposure at all causes harm.

Many of lead’s dangers have been known for decades. Leaded gasoline was invented by a General Motors research lab in the 1920s, and already at that time, there were people noticing that children exposed to high levels of lead suffered devastating health consequences. But Thomas Midgley Jr., leaded gasoline’s inventor, campaigned to convince the world that it was safe. (Midgley also invented ozone-depleting refrigerants called CFCs, which would end up being banned by the 1987 Montreal Protocol; he’s been called a “one-man environmental disaster.”)

For more than 50 years after the invention of leaded gas, virtually all cars around the world pumped aerosolized lead into the air.

In the 1970s, though, following more research firmly establishing lead’s harms, rich countries started addressing the problem. In the US, the Clean Air Act imposed restrictions on lead pollution, and a few years later, the Environmental Protection Agency mandated that gas pumps offer unleaded gas, as the first step toward a transition away from leaded fuels.

The EPA estimates that the amount of lead used in automotive gasoline in the US fell by 99 percent between 1976 and 1989. Measured blood lead levels followed. Crime rates dropped, too. Those benefits were realized even though the lead used in gasoline (and in paint and other consumer products) before bans on its use is still widespread in our soil and dust and still posing a major public health challenge.

In 1996, the EPA completely banned leaded gasoline for on-road vehicles. Japan and Europe issued their own bans over the same time period. In 2000, China and India followed.

How the United Nations phased out leaded gasoline worldwide

In 117 countries around the world, though — largely low-income ones — leaded gasoline was still in use.

In 2002, the UN’s Environment Program (UNEP) launched a sustained effort to phase out leaded gasoline, called the Partnership for Clean Fuels and Vehicles.

UNEP Director Inger Andersen describes it as a “UN-backed alliance of governments, businesses and civil society,” and its tactics were quite flexible: convincing governments of policy bans, teaching businesses how to make cleaner vehicles, finding investment for better refineries, and in one case navigating a massive bribery scandal, when it turned out that a leaded gasoline producer, the chemical company Innospec Ltd., was fighting to keep its product legal in Indonesia by bribing government officials.

The UN’s initiative saw fast adoption in sub-Saharan Africa, where 25 countries signed on to a plan to de-lead their gasoline in 2005. It made slower progress elsewhere, especially in the Middle East, where many countries had enormous stockpiles of leaded gasoline.

In 2011, a study by Peter L. Tsai and Thomas H. Hatfield estimated the phaseout of leaded gas was increasing global GDP by 4 percent, or $2.4 trillion (counting health savings as well as social benefits from higher IQ and lower crime).

They also estimated the direct benefits in lives saved at 1.2 million a year. The phaseout of leaded gasoline has been the “single most important strategy” for combating lead poisoning, they conclude, “with the economic benefits exceeding costs by more than 10 times.”

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And while there’s a lot of academic debate about the exact magnitude of lead’s effect on crime, there’s no debate that transitioning away from lead fuels passes almost any cost-benefit analysis: Poisoning your entire population is just really bad, and transitioning away from leaded fuels is one of the cheapest ways to dramatically reduce lead poisoning.

By 2014, automotive leaded gasoline was legal only in parts of Algeria, Iraq, Yemen, Myanmar, North Korea, and Afghanistan.

By 2016, it was just Algeria, Yemen, and Iraq. And now, two decades after the campaign kicked off, cars everywhere in the world will use unleaded gas.

The road ahead

The end of leaded gasoline in automobiles is a big step forward, and one worth celebrating. But the fight to end lead poisoning’s effects on our world and on the next generation has a lot further to go.

In the US, leaded gasoline in cars has been illegal for more than 25 years. But the lead from that gasoline has settled in the soil and dust, and still contributes to poisoning children today.

The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention tracks lead exposure across the country. In 2018, the most recent year for which data is available, it found that in most states, between 1 and 5 percent of children had more than 5 micrograms per deciliter of lead in their blood — enough to potentially cause them serious health problems and lifelong harm. (Children exposed to lead in the US today are mostly exposed through soil and dust ingestion. Often, dust has lead in it because paint in old houses contains lead.)

Worldwide, UNICEF estimates that around one in three children have lead levels in excess of the 5 µg/dL line. While leaded gasoline for automotives has historically been the single biggest contributor to lead levels in population centers, there are others: heavy industry, inadequate battery recycling and disposal, decaying pipes, and lead-based pottery glazes, for example.

In the US, lead-based fuels, though illegal on the road, are still allowed in aviation and a few other specialized contexts — and there’s no real progress toward phasing them out. While they cause a lot less lead exposure than automotive leaded gasoline did, the fact that there’s no known safe level of lead exposure should still give us pause — even the smaller exposures from these rarer sources can cause problems.

The end of leaded gasoline throughout the world will do a lot to fight lead poisoning by itself, but ideally it would be accompanied by measures to attack the other ways lead enters children’s bodies. The bipartisan infrastructure bill making its way through the US Congress includes money for lead remediation measures and lead pipe replacement — but it’s probably not enough to replace all aging lead pipes in the US.

UNICEF calls for “completely removing the potential for exposure to lead in areas where children live, play and learn,” and while it would be a tremendous expense, it would have a tremendous return. Poisoning the next generation is about as shortsighted as it gets, and investment in lead protection is an investment in our future.

Celebrating — and learning from — humanity’s achievements

The UN is frequently criticized as “bloated, undemocratic”, not focused on the world’s biggest problems, and not capable of moving us toward meaningful solutions.

But the worldwide elimination of leaded gasoline in cars is a genuine achievement worth celebrating — and worth examining, to see how the world can use the tactics that triumphed against leaded gasoline to combat the other huge problems requiring international coordination that face us in the 21st century.

The team at work on it has already expanded their focus to the next crucial transition for road vehicles: a move from gasoline-based ones to lower-emissions and zero-emissions alternatives. The leaded-gas initiative “is testament to the power of multilateralism to move the world towards sustainability and a cleaner, greener future,” Andersen, the director of UNEP, argued in a press release accompanying the announcement. “We are invigorated to change humanity’s trajectory for the better through an accelerated transition to clean vehicles and electric mobility.”

They’re also at work phasing out lead paint, another major source of household lead exposure.

The road map that the UN used for the fight against leaded gasoline — a combination of technological solutions that made it easier to switch away from lead in engines, political coalition-building, partnerships with businesses, and a few prosecutions of bad actors who used bribery to keep lead in business — is a road map that can be applied to challenges like climate change as well.

And separate from all of that, it’s worth taking a moment to rejoice in humanity’s achievements over death, disease, and our own self-inflicted horrors. Leaded gasoline and its mass use was one of the biggest mistakes of the 20th century. Ending it is one of the first big global triumphs of the 21st.

Medicare, the federal health insurance program that covers Americans over 65, is facing an impossible dilemma: Should it cover a new and expensive medication for Alzheimer’s disease, which afflicts 6 million Americans and for which there is no existing treatment, even though the drug might not actually work?

It is an enormous question. Alzheimer’s patients and other families with members who endure mild cognitive impairment that may progress to Alzheimer’s have been waiting decades for an effective treatment. For them, even a few more months of life with improved cognition, one more birthday party or a grandchild’s graduation, is the priority.

But the evidence on whether Biogen’s treatment, called aducanumab, is effective is, at best, mixed; the FDA approved it this week over the objections of its own advisory committee. And with a preliminary announced price of nearly $60,000 annually per patient, covering the treatment could cost upward of $100 billion a year, mostly to Medicare, which would almost double the program’s drug spending. Patients themselves could be on the hook for thousands of dollars in out-of-pocket costs.

What Medicare does about aducanumab will have major ramifications not only for the millions of patients who could potentially be eligible for the drug, but for the future of US health care writ large.

The dilemma results from a feature of the American health care system: Unlike in other countries, the federal government has little room to negotiate what Medicare will pay for treatments.

Independent analysts think the drug is worth more like $8,000, but Medicare has no authority to charge a lower price. Instead, the federal program is likely in effect obligated to cover the new drug now that it has FDA approval. The tools it has to make a determination about whether or not to cover aducanumab and for whom are fraught with legal and ethical risk.

The government now finds itself trying to figure out how to satisfy patients who desperately need help, even though scientists think this particular treatment lacks strong evidence for its effectiveness and policy experts warn it is setting up a budgetary nightmare for Medicare in the future.

“Every conversation we’re going to have for the next few years about health care access is going to be about this drug, whether implicitly or explicitly,” Rachel Sachs, a law professor at Washington University in St. Louis who studies drug pricing, told me this week.

The troubled path to aducanumab’s approval

Alzheimer’s is a terrible disease that robs people of their agency during the final years of their lives and robs families of the loved ones they once knew. The emotional and financial costs are severe. And as the number of Americans over 65 grows, those costs are only expected to increase.

In recent history, the decades-long search for an effective treatment or cure has been driven by what’s known as the amyloid hypothesis, which holds that plaque in the brain found in Alzheimer’s patients is at least in part responsible for the disease and removing that plaque could help relieve the symptoms.

Aducanumab, accordingly, targets the amyloid plaque. Clinical trials of the drug started in 2015 but were halted in March 2019 because it did not appear it would meet the threshold for clinical effectiveness established at the start of the trials. It appeared, in other words, as though the drug didn’t work.

Normally, that would be the end of the story. But an unexpected twist came a few months later when Biogen revealed that, after additional data analysis with the FDA, some patients in one trial had actually seen “better but ultimately mixed results,” as the authors of a Health Affairs post on the controversy put it. Biogen announced it would push ahead with seeking FDA approval in October 2019, with the FDA’s apparent support.

Then, in November 2020, Biogen and aducanumab faced what looked like the ultimate setback: The FDA’s advisory committee on neurological therapies voted the data did not demonstrate the drug was clinically effective. The vote was all but unanimous, with zero in favor, 10 nays, and one uncertain. They raised concerns about potential side effects, such as brain swelling in patients who were given high doses.

But, in defiance of its own advisory committee’s recommendation, the FDA granted aducanumab its approval on Monday. The news was welcomed by Alzheimer’s patient groups but roundly criticized by experts in drug development.

“The FDA … has failed in its responsibility to protect patients and families from unproven treatments with known harms,” the Institute for Clinical and Economic Review (ICER), an independent non-government group that gauges the value of new drugs, said in a blistering statement.

And the agency not only approved the drug over the advice of its scientific advisers, but it put effectively no restrictions on which patients with cognitive impairment should be given the drug, a decision that further stunned experts, as STAT reported.

“For the FDA to approve it and with a very broad indication, I was shocked,” Stacie Dusetzina, who studies drug costs at Vanderbilt University, told me. “I really expected them to say no, based on the body of evidence.”

Medicare almost always covers FDA-approved drugs

Now that aducanumab is approved by the FDA, the issue of coverage falls largely to Medicare; because of the age of the patient population most affected by Alzheimer’s, the federal program is likely to bear the brunt of the drug’s costs.

In practice, if the FDA approves a drug, Medicare will pay for it. Aducanumab would be covered through Medicare Part B, which covers outpatient care, because it is an infusion treatment administered directly by doctors. To be covered by Part B, medical care must be “reasonable and necessary” — a vague standard that has, for medications, historically been mostly synonymous with FDA approval.

Because the drug is covered by Part B, doctors will even have a financial incentive to prescribe it. For prescription drugs, the program pays physicians the average price plus 6 percent, a policy that both Presidents Obama and Trump proposed changing but nevertheless remains in place. Determining which patients would benefit from the drug requires expensive scans, and practices will be able to bill Medicare for those, too.

At the individual level, patients could face out-of-pocket costs anywhere from $0 for patients eligible for both Medicare and Medicaid, to $10,000 annually, since Medicare Part B can hold patients responsible for up to 20 percent of costs, advocates told me.

When I asked Russ Paulsen, chief operating officer of UsAgainstAlzheimer’s, about Biogen’s list price, he responded with an audible sigh, saying: “It’s a big number.”

He continued: “We care a lot about making sure the people who are disproportionately affected by this disease, which includes poor people, have the ability to access this drug.”

Medicare’s inability to determine the price it pays for aducanumab is a uniquely American problem compared to health systems in the rest of the developed world. Countries like Australia and the United Kingdom have independent boards that evaluate a new drug’s effectiveness and set a price based on that estimated value. The US pharma industry says the US system is important for encouraging innovation, and companies have made amazing breakthroughs, such as the hepatitis-C drugs that effectively cure that disease.

But, as the standards for approving have sometimes seemed to slip in recent years, the chances of the FDA approving very expensive drugs with only marginal benefits have risen.

“We don’t require prices to reflect the value of treatment, period,” Dusetzina said. “Companies can price their drugs as high as they want. Companies can also get drugs approved with little evidence.”

So Biogen is planning to charge $56,000 annually for aducanumab. ICER, which evaluates the estimated value of new drugs, estimates, based on the clinical evidence, that it’s worth more like $8,000; perhaps as little as $2,500 or as much as $23,100. Regardless, the price announced after Biogen secured FDA approval “far exceeds even this optimistic scenario,” ICER concluded.

“If we were talking about a cure for Alzheimer’s disease, we would figure it out,” Dusetzina told me. “It would be so important to address that burden on our society, we would need to figure it out.”

But aducanumab is not that drug, according to the available data. So what is Medicare to do?

Despite the tradition of honoring FDA approval, experts do not expect Medicare to simply announce it is going to cover the drug with no limitations. One option would be for the program to conduct “national coverage determination,” a lengthy review process to figure out whether to cover the drug and for which patients. (The price would not be on the table.)

The decision that would lead to is unclear. Many experts are urging Medicare to pursue what is called “coverage with evidence development”: essentially setting up its own clinical trial by authorizing aducanumab for use by some patients and collecting real-world data on their outcomes.

“I think it’d be a really smart move,” Dusetzina, who recently joined Medicare’s payment advisory board, said. “This is the perfect time to reevaluate why we need to consider value when we consider what is a fair price for a treatment.”

Along those lines, the private health insurer Cigna announced it would pursue a value-based contract with Biogen to cover the drug, though it did not provide any more details.

But for Medicare, none of these options are ideal. A previous attempt to set up coverage with evidence development for a new cancer drug in 2017 ended up being scuttled after pushback from the drug industry and doctors. Patients with Alzheimer’s and their families are desperate for treatment and will likely object if Medicare tries to restrict access to the drug while undertaking that data collection.

Alzheimer’s advocates are mindful of aducanumab’s cost to the US health care system as well as individual patients, and its potential limitations. They are not necessarily opposed to more evaluation of its effectiveness.

But their ultimate goal is to buy patients more time. As Paulsen told me: “This drug doesn’t do it perfectly, doesn’t do it amazingly well for every single person. But it’s the first one that does that.”

They say they worry about restricting access to patients who are living with this disease right now, for whom time is running out. They point out that cancer drugs with marginal benefits have also been approved by the FDA, with exponentially higher costs per patient than aducanumab.

“We do not want to see delays in the ability of patients and doctors to begin to discuss whether this treatment is right for them,” Robert Egge, chief public policy officer of the Alzheimer’s Association, said. “And if it is, if that’s their decision together, we want them to have access to it. What we do not want to see is a long protracted process that effectively delays the ability for people to begin this treatment now that approval has been given.”

The stakes are enormous — for everyone. The cost of expensive drugs ultimately trickles down in the form of higher premiums or taxes. As the investment advisory firm Capital Alpha DC pointed out this week in a note that warned the drug “could break the Medicare program,” the Medicare trustees are expected to issue a report any time now with an updated estimate of when the program’s hospital benefit might start to become insolvent — which could be as soon as 2024.

As Sachs told me: “It’s very difficult to see how our health system moves through this without significant negative consequences.”

Medicare’s inability to negotiate pharmaceutical prices has meant that a budget crisis is always just one drug approval away. With aducanumab, that crisis has arrived — even when evidence so far suggests there may be minimal benefit for patients in return.

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The world’s leading health organization, the WHO, repeatedly broke its own rules and spent millions of dollars on high-priced management consultants, according to a new independent audit — even as the United Nations agency has struggled to pay for lifesaving equipment and vaccines in its global Covid-19 response.

An unnamed consulting company, which Vox has identified as BCG, charged the World Health Organization $11.72 million since the start of the pandemic for contracts that were dubiously awarded, according to the audit.

These revelations, which one expert called “disturbing” in an interview with Vox, came after a Vox investigation showed how management consulting firms such as BCG and McKinsey have become ubiquitous in global public health organizations, despite the concerns of many health practitioners about multimillion-dollar price tags, potential conflicts of interest, and the opaque nature of consulting work.

WHO researchers told Vox that the auditor report raised questions about the agency’s ability to responsibly and transparently spend public money from the 194 member countries that fund it. In recent months, the WHO has requested donations from its members and the general public, citing a funding gap of more than a billion dollars for its pandemic response.

Given that the WHO’s 2020-21 budget is $5.84 billion, $12 million may not sound like a massive amount — “but $12 million for a health care system in a low-income country would comprise a significant portion of their funding,” says Adam Kamradt-Scott, the incoming global health chair at the School of Transnational Governance in Florence, who studies the WHO. That amount could pay for about 600,000 Covid-19 vaccine doses from Pfizer/BioNTech or Moderna. (The WHO is part of Covax, whose aim is to ensure all countries have equitable access to vaccines.) “If it’s money being wasted, that’s a lot of vaccines that could have been purchased,” Kamradt-Scott added.

The audit, which examines a sampling of the WHO’s biggest contracts, analyzed the agency’s work with BCG, known as “Consulting Firm A” in the report, and uncovered multiple violations of WHO policies. The auditors claim WHO staff sought to circumvent the organization’s public procurement rules in order to help BCG win a contract. Staff at the agency also broke WHO rules by repeatedly starting work with the firm before seeking formal approval to do so, according to the report.

Before the pandemic, Vox revealed the WHO committed at least $12 million on consultants to support the agency’s reform, approximately a quarter of which has been paid for directly by the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation. At the time, a WHO spokesperson said the agency welcomed consultants’ work. “The [consulting] companies have supported WHO in areas where we lack in-house expertise or want to tap the current best-in-class standards.”

But controversy has surrounded high-priced consultants in a field dedicated to improving the health of the world’s poorest people. The consulting firm McKinsey advised the Trump administration on how to cut spending on food and medical care for migrants and played a role in increasing sales of prescription opioids, which have been linked to the deaths of hundreds of thousands of people around the world. Vox also documented how BCG helped boost sales of sugary drinks in India, although the WHO has called for reducing sugary drinks consumption and supports taxing the products.

The findings in the audit were recently accepted by the WHO’s member states at the annual World Health Assembly. In a statement, the WHO said it “takes seriously the recommendations of our oversight bodies and uses the constructive comments to address any identified weaknesses in our control environment — we are a learning organization, and these reports help us to continuously improve in all identified areas.”

The international agency said the contracts were awarded in the context of an unprecedented health emergency, but added that the agency is taking the recommendations in the report seriously, and has “already begun implementing many of those related to procurement.”

In a statement, BCG said, “As the global pandemic unfolded last year, BCG rapidly mobilized teams to support worldwide efforts to fight the spread of the virus. We are extremely proud of our work that contributed to saving lives in this unprecedented time and remain committed to providing our best minds and efforts to support the progress of public health.”

It’s possible “the high stress and the insufficient human resources at the onset of the pandemic made things worse and made WHO even more in need of consultants’ support and more vulnerable to their conditions,” said Gian Luca Burci, the WHO’s former legal counsel.

But “this seems to have been a misuse of funds,” Kamradt-Scott said. “This is disturbing. At least on the surface, it would appear that due diligence checks in how external agencies are engaged don’t appear to have been followed.”

“The auditor’s report raises a red flag, and the issue of WHO’s contracts with management consulting firms deserves more scrutiny,” said Suerie Moon, co-director of the Global Health Centre at the Graduate Institute of Geneva. At the end of the day, Kamradt-Scott said, the WHO has a “moral obligation to ensure every cent is spent appropriately.”

How the WHO broke its rules to work with BCG

Publicly funded agencies, including those that are part of the UN system like the WHO, are supposed to follow stringent rules when hiring external contractors such as management consultants. According to WHO policy, staff should “obtain the best value for money” when hiring external contractors, allow for “transparent competition among prospective providers,” and treat contractors equally.

According to the audit, BCG won eight contracts with the WHO in 2020 for a total value of $11.72 million, and the auditors closely scrutinized the two highest-value contracts, for which the WHO paid $5.4 million.

1) The auditors found WHO staff changed criteria to help BCG win work at the agency. For a contract that lasted from December 2020 to May 2021, the organization asked consultants for competitive proposals to “support the long-term vision for WHO supply chain and to build capabilities to execute the long-term supply chain vision.” Of the four consultants that submitted bids, BCG was one of two that were deemed technically qualified. But another firm won the highest score and should have been awarded the contract, the audit found. “WHO changed the evaluation criteria and re-evaluated the bids as per which Consultant A [BCG] scored higher and was awarded the consultancy,” the report said.

“The findings of the independent auditor suggest this doesn’t seem to be a case of negligence where protocols haven’t been followed because someone didn’t know what to do,” Kamradt-Scott told Vox. “It would appear WHO staff knowingly sought to circumvent the rules in order to engage a preferred provider.”

2) BCG started working for the WHO ahead of formal approval, according to the report. For the second contract, which ran from March to October 2020, BCG was hired to help the WHO purchase personal protective equipment and other essential supplies during the pandemic. Here, too, the auditors uncovered multiple irregularities.

The WHO started the work with BCG “without due approval of the competent authority, despite the fact that it entailed payment of $2.53 million by WHO,” the auditors wrote. WHO staff only sought formal approval four months after BCG started work for the agency and three of the four phases of their contract were complete, the audit found.

In the report, the WHO says it didn’t have the human resources to go through the proper procurement processes, but the auditors rejected this reasoning. “We are of the view that the formal process of approval should have been adopted before accepting the offer of [BCG] and engaging the firm. The delay in getting the approval of the competent authority was not justified.”

3) The auditors questioned whether BCG provided value for money. In one of the nine purchase orders that BCG negotiated on behalf of the WHO, the consultants got a 20 percent price reduction on protective gowns. The WHO and the consultants placed the order and approved the quality of the gowns. But an external PPE supplier, which was supporting the WHO, deemed the gowns low-quality and canceled the order. In another case, auditors flagged a missed opportunity for savings. Consultants negotiated a discount of 0.08 percent off N95 masks, for a savings of $9,750. In the same month, the same supplier fulfilled another mask order with a discount that amounted to $303,200. “We noted that [BCG] did not negotiate this price, which had better potential for saving,” the auditors wrote.

4) WHO paid millions of dollars for “pro bono” work. Another revealing finding from the audit was that BCG characterized its PPE procurement work as “pro bono,” even though one seven-month contract cost $7.3 million, of which $2.53 million was paid for by the WHO. Only the cost of the first of three phases and a transition period was covered by the consulting firm. “We are of the view that calling this engagement pro bono is not correct,” the report says.

The report comes at a time when the WHO is trying to strengthen its finances and wrangle more flexibility over how it spends money. The agency is asking for more support from countries that fund it — known as “assessed contributions” — which can be spent on a variety of expenses. The WHO is also funded by donors, such as the Gates Foundation, but that money tends to be earmarked for specific purposes.

As troubled as Moon was by the audit report’s findings, she suggested that scrutiny from the auditors is a step toward a stronger World Health Organization. “You can only have less earmarking if it’s followed by more accountability and transparency,” she said. “Heightened scrutiny of contracts with management consulting firms is one place to start.”

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Summer has not officially started yet, but wildfire season has already arrived in the US. Now an intense heat wave coupled with extreme drought is threatening to make things worse.

Large wildfires have already burned 981,000 acres this year to date, more than the 766,000 acres burned by the same time last year, according to the National Interagency Fire Center.

In Arizona, more than 208,000 acres have burned, sending smoke into Colorado. The 123,000-acre Telegraph Fire is now in Arizona’s top 10 largest fires in history.

In Utah, blazes have charred more than 25,000 acres, with a new fire ignited every day for three weeks. California has seen a fourfold increase in year-to-date area burned compared to 2020.

It’s poised to get worse as summer officially begins. While 2021 may not beat the record-setting 2020 season, experts say it will be severe. “It’s probably going to be above-average for sure, but it’s not going to be off-the-charts,” said Craig Clements, director of the Wildfire Interdisciplinary Research Center at San Jose State University.

It’s important to remember that wildfires are a natural part of many ecosystems. They help clear decay, restore nutrients to the soil, and are even required for some plants to germinate. Regular fires are a feature of many healthy forests and grasslands. However, wildfires have been getting more destructive in recent years, and humans are to blame. From building in fire-prone regions to suppressing natural fires to igniting blazes to changing the climate, humanity is making wildfires more expansive, costly, and deadly.

Even so, there are a lot of complicated and surprising factors that contribute to massive infernos, so there is a lot of variability year to year. Here are some of the factors that forecasters are worrying about in the western US.

Why 2021 is expected to be a bad fire year for the West

To ignite, a wildfire needs fuel, favorable weather, and an ignition source. But whether the overall fire season will be particularly severe or mild depends on variables that interact in complicated and sometimes contradictory ways.

For instance, a wet winter can help encourage more vegetation to grow in the spring, which can then turn into fuel as summer heats up. But a dry winter can add to aridity from ongoing droughts, particularly in areas that already have a lot of flammable fuel, such as forests. “In California, if it’s a dry year, it’s a bad fire season. If it’s a wet year, it’s a bad fire season,” Clements said.

So depending on the particular ecosystem — coastal forest, mountain forest, grassland, chaparral — the same weather and climate conditions can shift fire risk in different directions. But right now, these are the biggest factors driving wildfire risk across the board in the West:

Massive drought
Huge swaths of the western US are experiencing extreme dryness. About 72 percent of the region is considered to be in “severe” drought, while 26 percent is in the worst category of “exceptional” drought. Water levels in reservoirs like Lake Oroville in California and Lake Mead in Nevada have dropped to historic lows. Oregon just experienced its driest spring on record.

This dryness is a combination of both a 20-year drop in precipitation called a megadrought, as well as seasonal variation.

Last summer brought extreme heat to the region, which caused more moisture in the soil to evaporate, leaving less water for plants. The following winter then failed to bring much snow and rain, driven in part by a cooling pattern in the Pacific Ocean known as a La Niña. The snow that did accumulate dissipated faster than average, leaving a zero percent snowpack in the Sierra Nevada in May.

Warm weather
California was graced with some cool weather and light rainfall earlier this month, but now the temperature is starting to rise. The Southwest, meanwhile, is bracing for record heat this week. As many as 40 million Americans are poised to swelter as temperatures rise as high as 120 degrees Fahrenheit.

High heat has a close relationship with fire risk. “If it’s really warm, we generally have a higher fire season,” Clements said. “If it’s cooler, it’ll be below average.”

Air can absorb about 7 percent more water for every degree Celsius the air warms. But if there isn’t much moisture to absorb to begin with, then there is a gap between what the air can fully absorb and what moisture is actually present. This gap is known as the vapor pressure deficit, and it’s a key warning signal of wildfire risk, indicating that there is little moisture moving through trees, shrubs, and grasses.

Lots of dry fuel
The combination of heat and aridity has left vegetation parched and primed to ignite. “Fuel moisture content is a critical factor in understanding fire behavior and fire danger,” Clements said.

That exceptionally dry vegetation then causes fires to burn hotter, faster, and longer, which in turn hampers efforts to contain them. It creates a cycle that can end up driving massive, devastating wildfires.

Day-to-day conditions can mitigate some of the long-term wildfire trends

While the deck is stacked in favor of major wildfires again this year, it’s not a guarantee that they will be larger, more frequent, or more destructive. Blazes still require an ignition source, and they depend on wind and persistent dry conditions to spread. “Things are looking scary, but if there’s no ignition, it’s not so bad,” Clements said.

If there isn’t a major wind event as fires ignite, they could remain contained. Similarly, bouts of rainfall or lower temperatures could quench flames. These weather events can drastically change the dynamics of fires and it’s not clear yet what the coming weeks will hold.

And if there is nothing to spark the flames, then there will be few new fires. The majority of wildfires in the US, upward of 84 percent, are ignited by humans. That can come from arson, unattended campfires, downed power lines, or machinery. So taking steps to reduce ignition, like banning fires in forested areas or limiting routes open to cars in fire-prone chaparral, can go a long way in reducing wildfire risk. Power companies like Pacific Gas & Electric are readying plans to shut off power to their customers to prevent their hardware from lighting new blazes.

But nature can ignite fires too. A dry lightning storm last year triggered a wave of fires in California. July is the peak month for lightning strikes in the West, and that’s one thing humans can’t prevent.

Over time, it’s possible to reduce the destructiveness of wildfires — for example through controlled burns, regular thinning of trees and brush that build up, and relocating homes and businesses away from high-risk areas. But the current situation developed over more than a century of poor planning, and it won’t be fixed overnight. So wildfires in the West are likely to get worse before they get better.

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Tiny, wriggling horrors are hatching right now, under our feet, across the country.

No, not the billions of Brood X cicadas emerging throughout the eastern US. I’m talking instead about baby invasive “crazy worms” that thrash through garden, farm, city, and forest soil, growing to 3 to 6 inches in length, sucking up nutrients, and transforming rich leaf litter into coarse droppings. All while laying nearly 20 hardy worm cocoons a month, without needing a mate.

Variously known as jumping worms, snake worms, Alabama jumpers, and Jersey wrigglers, common Amynthas species are a super-powered version of the more familiar, squishy languidness of the garden-variety European earthworms (whose genus name, Lumbricus, itself sounds plodding). And their rapid spread into new areas has led to a surge of concern about these worms.

This vigorous lifestyle can quickly lead to full-blown infestations — and decimated topsoil. Perhaps it’s no wonder jumping worms recently have been invading the internet, too.

“You can see hundreds of them massing together, eliciting squeals of either horror or delight,” says Bernie Williams, a plant pest and disease expert at the Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources, who has been studying worms for some 20 years (“too many years”). Jumping worms, of the genus Amynthas, have now been spotted in more than half of US states and at least one Canadian province.

Amynthas worms raise not only the frequent disgust of gardeners, but also serious concern for land management experts. By churning through such high volumes of surface mulch and litter (and not allowing it to decompose more naturally into the soil), these worms seem to tie up plant-friendly nutrients into their dry castings, which are then easily washed away. They can physically undermine plants by loosening the top layer of soil — especially when hundreds of them are at work — and make it less able to retain moisture. They also seem to eradicate European earthworms, which help mix and aerate healthy soil, wherever they arrive.

So, it’s panic time, right?

It turns out we know very little about these annelid invaders beyond their self-fertilizing fecundity, physical vigor, and prolific digestive habits. It is true that they are changing the landscapes they enter, but some researchers say that while we should work to control jumping worms, we also need to learn more about them — and, yes, learn how we can live with them, too.

This is a second-wave invasion

America didn’t always have worms. At least not of the familiar earthworm variety.

European earthworms were once an invader to North America, too. When they arrived from across the Atlantic in the 1600s, much of the continent had been free of a meaningful earthworm population since at least the last ice age. When they got here, they brought their share of changes to the landscape, including altering native forests. But in the intervening centuries, we have learned to live with — and sometimes even love — them.

Amynthas worms, by contrast, are slightly newer, second-wave invaders. Although the first documented observations of them in the US reach back to the 1930s, their arrival in many regions has been within just the past decades or even years. When such a vigorous organism moves in, the early results can be shocking, especially with jumping worms. “There are so many of them, and they’re so active, people get really disturbed by them,” Williams says.

The Amynthas species we have in the US (most commonly Amynthas agrestis and Amynthas tokioensis) are primarily from Japan and the Korean peninsula. In their home habitats, they evolved along with the local ecosystems — and the ecosystems along with them. But here, “just like any other invasive species that are displaced into a brand new habitat that might not have controls, they’re able to take advantage of that and go gangbusters,” says Brad Herrick, an ecologist at the University of Wisconsin-Madison Arboretum.

But buried in this issue is a big and more concerning mystery: Researchers don’t know why, over the past decade and a half, these worms seem to be spreading so much farther and faster.

The worm invasion may be getting worse

It’s believed Amynthas worms are primarily spread through moved mulch and compost; soil transported with plants or on vehicles; streams by natural distribution and use as fishing bait; and, of course, by snaking their way across the landscape. (Part of Amynthas’s success lies in the hardiness of their tiny cocoons, which are just 1 to 3 millimeters in diameter, can survive temperatures ranging from about -15 to 103 degrees Fahrenheit, and some of which are thought to hide cryptically in the soil for more than a year before hatching.)

Why are we now seeing so many more of them, and in so many more places? Part of it might be due to increased awareness, but Herrick and others also think there is more to it than that. Climate change could be one possibility, he says, opening up more northern latitudes to their liking. Another is that they have reached a population tipping point that makes mass spreading more likely, Herrick notes.

Although much remains unknown about these worms, we do have some good reason to worry about them — and to do our best to limit their spread.

Take the way they move through the soil, for example. European earthworms, on the one hand, are wide-ranging feeders. They make their way through surface, mid-, and lower levels of the soil. In this ambling habit, they circulate nutrients (ingesting some debris here, leaving their castings there) and break up the soil among strata, providing air and water to the layers below.

Amynthas worms, on the other hand, stick to the surface. So not only do they not perform the helpful mixing, but they also leave all of their castings — which Herrick likens to “coffee grounds or taco meat” — on the surface, where they are easily washed away by rain and irrigation. “They can transform the soil in one growing season,” Herrick says. This can cause problems for cultivated landscapes, such as gardens and urban areas, as they lose nutrients in runoff and have less stable upper soil layers for plants to root into. (Their potential impact on US agriculture has not yet been well studied, although heavily tilled and treated cropland is a less welcoming habitat for them.)

They also seem to be altering forests. In North American forests, which evolved over more than 10,000 years without earthworm populations, earthworms of any kind can undermine the soil’s density and change its composition. Amynthas worms also pose a threat to the many organisms — plants, bugs, microorganisms — that make up the established understory ecosystem. “Once this layer disappears, this whole biodiversity disappears, and impacts forest ecology as a whole,” explains Katalin Szlavecz, a soil ecologist at Johns Hopkins University. This disturbance can also make it easier for other invasive species to move in, Herrick adds.

And then there’s jumping worms’ uncanny ability to push out established European earthworm populations. They clearly seem poised to outcompete their more methodical relatives. After an invasion, “It’s almost like War of the Worlds: what happened?” says Williams.

The reason for the decimation remains unclear. “Is it a virus? Is it an associated nematode? Do they have a chemical release? There’s a huge mystery here,” she says.

“The can of worms is open, and you can’t put them back in”

In light of these unhelpful doings, some states have tried to slow the spread by listing Amynthas worms as prohibited species. And to try to beat back existing infestations, researchers have investigated using everything from controlled burns to sulfur treatments, with moderate localized success. But, says Szlavecz, “I don’t think, on a large scale, any of these are efficient.”

Some commercial processes might help stop them. For example, Herrick has found that heating the cocoons to 104 degrees for three days kills them. And others are investigating different types of soil applications, including worm-killing fertilizers and fungi.

Gardeners, meanwhile, have been fighting their own battles against Amynthas. Some are still trying to prevent them from entering by erecting a shallow barrier of metal flashing to serve as a subterranean wall. Williams recommends also not picking up roadside compost, mulch, or plants, and asking nursery staff about the potential for jumping worms in products. There may be some that get in anyway: “you can’t stop birds from flying, you can’t stop worms that like to wriggle across the soil,” Williams says.

Still, others dealing with current infestations can try solarizing soil with plastic in the spring or forcing worms to the surface with a “mustard pour” — mixing powdered mustard with water and pouring it over the soil surface — and then handpicking them out.

While most land management experts encourage all of the reasonable steps we can take to control these voracious worms, there is little hope of eradicating them from North America. “The can of worms is open, and you can’t put them back in,” Williams says.

In other words, we now have our own adapting to do.

Herrick and his colleagues are currently enlisting local gardeners and others to help learn what native and ornamental plants might survive well or even thrive in jumping worm-modified soil.

“There are more question marks here,” Szlavecz adds. Which is why, she argues, continued research — as well as individuals’ observation — of these worms needs to continue. She argues for a rebranding as well. Not only do they not jump, “they’re not ‘crazy’ — it’s a big enough problem that they are invasive. Calling them ‘crazy’ just adds to the panic.”

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From his home in remote coastal British Columbia, Ernest Mason, a 77-year-old elder and hereditary chief of the Kitasoo/Xai’xais Nation, remembers. He remembers a childhood fishing trip with his father, when they packed sleeping bags but caught so many halibut they were home before dark. He remembers setting traps for pink Dungeness crab and floating hemlock branches to collect edible herring eggs.

He also remembers watching the first two times the herring stocks collapsed, and then, fearing a third collapse, telling the Canadian government that he and the other chiefs were banning commercial fishermen from their traditional territorial waters. “I said, ‘We’ll do what it takes to protect what we have,’” Mason told Vox. “This is one of the ways our grandfathers taught us, how to look after things. That’s one of the chores now.”

For coastal Indigenous communities like Mason’s, these ancestral lessons can be the difference between plenty and poverty. Mason is one of the province’s few elders who was not forced into Canada’s residential schools, which stripped Indigenous children of their languages, oral histories, and cultures. This is one reason Mason, who often wears a baseball cap over his silver hair, remembers so much.

Around the world, the memories of elders like Mason are playing a powerful role in understanding and helping to preserve marine species. A growing group of researchers, some of them from within Indigenous communities, is translating the qualitative stories of fishermen into quantitative data, in a process that often requires sensitive negotiations and uncomfortable conversations between Indigenous leaders and Western institutions. Their recollections can help fill historical and geographical gaps that have eluded scientists until now.

Five years ago, University of Victoria PhD candidate Lauren Eckert interviewed Mason for hours about his earliest fishing memories. Since then, a series of Indigenous-led research projects — based on those memories and others — have rewritten best practices on the management of two species, Dungeness crab and yelloweye rockfish. “Science is exceptionally good at taking accurate snapshots that approach truth,” Eckert says. “But Indigenous knowledge includes long-term datasets that provide this massive canvas of information that spans decades to thousands of years.”

Both yelloweye rockfish and Dungeness crab are essential to coastal Pacific ecosystems. Dungeness crab, according to one government description, is “the most important crab species harvested” in the country’s western province. Yelloweye is threatened because adults must live 15 years before they start to spawn, making them vulnerable to overfishing.

But government managers only have reliable information on yelloweye abundance starting in 2001 — the same year a population crash forced them to start a targeted conservation plan. Yelloweye are considered a “data-poor” species, according to the plan, because data was only collected “sporadically” from the 1980s onward. This made it difficult for government scientists to tell how steeply the population had fallen since the advent of big-boat commercial fishing in the 1970s, says Eckert.

One place they hadn’t looked, however, was in the memories of those who were there all along.

To reconstruct the historical abundance, or baselines, of rockfish and crab, Eckert drew on an interview methodology developed after the 1990s Atlantic cod collapse. In this “vessel-based approach,” fishermen in Newfoundland and Labrador were asked to recall memories of specific boats on which they had fished; this prompted specific memories of fish size and abundance, as well as when and where fish had been caught. Researchers translated the accounts of Central Coast fishers into box graphs estimating size, which corroborated the official modern catch records to an astounding — but not surprising — degree, Eckert says.

As biodiversity loss and climate change loom large over our planet’s fate, these types of projects are beginning to model healthier, less extractive relationships between biologists and the communities in which they work. In the process, they could also bring key species back from the brink of extinction.

Useful Indigenous knowledge for managing species has been brushed aside

Reached by phone in late May, Mason says he still fishes whenever he can, and had spent the past few weeks chasing a run of spring salmon. He speaks of a strong connection to the species that have sustained him. “Everything within our world — that’s where our stories are told, that is where our history is told,” he says.

When Mason was growing up in Klemtu, a verdant village in traditional Kitasoo/Xai’xais territory, it seemed as if a yelloweye rockfish hovered in every deep ocean crevasse. Often caught as unintended bycatch, these highlighter-orange fish have bulging amber eyes, scooped, goldfish-like pectoral fins, and a crown of towering dorsal spikes. Yelloweye can grow to nearly a meter and are one of the world’s longest-lived fish species — one caught in Alaska in 2013 was 121 years old.

In the days before refrigeration, every yelloweye Mason and his father landed was eaten fresh, salted, or dried. Nothing went to waste. The years passed, and with them arrived faster, higher-powered commercial trawlers. Soon, Mason and his peers started noticing they weren’t catching enough yelloweye, even for their ceremonial potlatches, and the fish they were catching were getting smaller. The same was true for Dungeness crab.

Kitasoo/Xai’xais technical staff and political leaders had long expressed concerns about both species, and others, to Fisheries and Oceans Canada (DFO). Yet the experiences of elders and fishermen were dismissed as merely anecdotal, says Alejandro Frid, an ecologist at the Central Coast Indigenous Resource Alliance. Founded in 2010, the CCIRA works to incorporate the best of Indigenous and Western knowledge, says Frid, and represents four nations including Mason’s.

For more than 10,000 years, the Central Coast nations have developed and practiced intricate harvesting techniques based on respect and reciprocity — like harvesting herring eggs on hemlock boughs — that long allowed the species they relied on to thrive alongside their annual harvests, says Frid.

That Indigenous stewardship was swept aside with the arrival of European settlers, who were, says University of British Columbia marine biologist Daniel Pauly, “a bunch of racists.” Science, when properly done, Pauly says, draws on all available evidence. Canadian authorities “thought that the First Nations didn’t know what they were doing,” he says. “And in 20 years, they destroyed the salmon run.”

Even Canada’s very first fisheries legislation tried to force Indigenous memories and stewardship out of the equation, says Andrea Reid, a Nisga’a Nation citizen and the principal investigator at UBC’s new Centre for Indigenous Fisheries. The government went so far as to ban freshwater fishing weirs and nets that allowed for sustainable harvesting.

One great irony, Reid says, is that Indigenous “ways of knowing” are now widely seen as “inherently scientific” in her field, in that they use experimentation and observation to learn about nature. “Many Indigenous fishing approaches stem from relational values that treat fish as relatives that we live in reciprocity with,” says Reid. “Not commodities that we exploit or command and control.”

The Central Coast Nations are not alone in this boundary-breaking work. In one paper from 2004, researcher R.J. Hamilton lived alongside Western Solomon Island spearfishers for his research into topa, or bumphead parrotfish. In addition to biological surveys, Hamilton also conducted in-depth translated interviews with 21 fishermen, many of them elderly. Near the top of his paper, he made an effort to explain the importance of Indigenous knowledge, adding that “the anthropological nature of indigenous knowledge makes it a topic that is not well understood by many marine biologists.”

More recently, the construction of a hydroelectric dam on the Amazon’s Xingu River spurred research into small-scale Indigenous fishers in a 2015 study published in the Brazilian Journal of Biology. The dam would cause a permanent disruption of a traditional way of life, wrote the authors, a conclusion that came to pass within a year. “It used to take an hour to get to the fishing grounds. Now it takes twice as long,” Natanael Juruna, a member of one Indigenous community, told journalist Isabel Harari in 2016. “Some places are inaccessible because the water level is too low and we can’t pass [in our boats].”

Capturing vanishing memories is validating for those who hold them

While the scientific approach to gathering memories may differ, there are patterns across research projects. Many papers published in this emerging field draw heavily on the methods of anthropology — a field that has its own history of racism and colonialism. Often, data takes the form of anecdotes and recollections, which are gathered during confidential, hours-long, in-person interviews.

In the case of the work done by Eckert’s team and the Central Coast Indigenous Resource Alliance, interviewees were questioned on specific places and times as prompts — for instance, the first boat they worked on, or their earliest memories of catching fish — and promised that their fishing locations would be kept secret. Finally, the researchers anonymized, collated, and analyzed these memories before drawing conclusions from the patterns that surfaced.

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Mason often felt frustrated that even as his nation fought for its tribal rights, many members of his community seemed to show deference to the Canadian government’s approval. Local and ancestral knowledge has been discounted even within Indigenous communities, says Reid. While working on her doctoral research, she herself often encountered elders who were ecstatic that their hard-won expertise was finally being taken seriously. “It has a legitimizing effect,” she says. “Even though they know more about salmon than I ever will.”

Indigenous knowledge can actually surpass and transcend the grasp of Western science, argues Frid, the CCIRA ecologist. Stories some refer to as “myths,” adds Pauly, are often vital insights passed down through generations, capturing truths and teachable lessons about everything from floods to famines. “It’s a sad statement of how there was an undervaluing of traditional and local knowledge, that [Fisheries and Oceans Canada] couldn’t see it for its own value, that it had to be translated into their own terms,” says Frid. “But it did initiate a transformation.”

In 2017, after a decade of data-gathering by the coastal nations, DFO announced it would establish a decision-making pilot program that required Indigenous leaders and government executives to agree on Dungeness crab management strategies. It was part of the government’s commitment to reconciliation, which included 2019 changes to the fisheries act designed to “lay the groundwork for better and more collaborative fisheries management,” says DFO spokesperson Jo Anne Walton. (While some DFO scientists support this blended approach, Frid encountered some reluctance that he likened to “kicking and screaming.”) The nations have yet to see changes in how yelloweye are protected.

Living up to an old adage

Years ago, Mason met with Fisheries and Oceans Canada envoys and listed off the many species that rely on small, oily herring: ling cod, halibut, red snappers, quillbacks, salmon. From there, he says, he worked his way up the food chain: “I named off humpback whales, killer whales, sea lions, seals, otters, and the birds; the loons, eagles, ravens.”

Later, Mason recalls, a federal minister expressed confusion about why orcas were dying off. With the knowledge he grew up with, it seemed simple: Without herring, the salmon went hungry; without salmon, orcas starved. He didn’t need a research study to tell him that. “For goodness’ sakes, you’re supposed to be looking after the fisheries,” he remembers thinking.

But Mason says that today, he focuses on preserving and reviving his nation’s lands and waters for future generations, not past harms. “Hopefully, we’ll get it back to a point where all our traditional foods are plentiful again,” he says. Even in the leanest, hardest times, Mason’s ancestors could harvest abalone, clams, cockles, mussels, sea cucumbers, and Dungeness crab from the low-tide ocean bottom. The ultimate goal, he says, is to live up to the old adage he once heard from his father: “When the tide is down, the table is set.”

Picture this: You’ve worked hard all year. You’re burned out. Every atom in your brain and body is crying out for a relaxing vacation. Luckily, you and your partner have managed to save up $3,000. You propose a trip to Hawaii — those blue waves are calling your name!

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Just one problem: Your partner refuses, arguing that you both should donate the money to charity instead. Think how many malaria-preventing bednets $3,000 could buy for kids in developing countries!

You might find yourself thinking: Why does my partner seem to care more about strangers halfway around the world than about me?

A philosopher would tell you that your partner may be a utilitarian or consequentialist, someone who thinks that an action is moral if it produces good consequences and that everyone equally deserves to benefit from the good, not just those closest to us. By contrast, your response suggests you’re a deontologist, someone who thinks an action is moral if it’s fulfilling a duty — and we have special duties toward special people, like our partners, so we should prioritize our partner’s needs over a stranger’s.

According to research out of the Crockett Lab at Yale University, if you’re put off by the consequentialist’s anti–Hawaiian vacation response, you’re not alone. Neuroscientist Molly Crockett has conducted several studies to determine how we perceive different types of moral agents. She found that when we’re looking for a spouse or friend, we strongly prefer deontologists, viewing them as more moral and trustworthy than consequentialists.

In other words: When we’re looking for someone to date or hang out with, extreme do-gooders of the consequentialist variety need not apply. (It’s worth noting that deontologists can be hardcore do-gooders, too, just in their own very different way.)

Crockett’s studies raise a lot of questions: Why do we distrust consequentialists despite admiring their altruism? Are we right to distrust them, or should we try to override that impulse? And what does this mean for movements like effective altruism, which says we should devote our resources to causes that’ll do the most good for people, wherever in the world they might be?

I reached out to Crockett to discuss these issues. A transcript of our conversation, edited for length and clarity, follows.

Sigal Samuel

In the past, it’s typically been philosophers who’ve investigated issues of morality and altruism, and they’ve focused a lot on sacrificial dilemmas.

The most famous one is the Trolley Problem: Should you make the active choice to divert a runaway trolley so that it kills one person if, by doing so, you can save five people along a different track from getting killed? The consequentialist says yes, because you’re maximizing overall good and outcomes are what matter. The deontologist says no, because you have a duty to not kill anyone as a means to an end, and your duties matter.

In your studies, you do examine these types of sacrificial dilemmas, which involve doing harm. But you also examine “impartial beneficence” dilemmas, which involve doing good, and specifically the idea that we shouldn’t prioritize our family and friends when we do good. Why did you decide to study those dilemmas?

Molly Crockett

Studying impartial beneficence is really psychologically juicy, because it gets at the heart of a lot of the conflicts we face in our social relationships as the world becomes global and we think about how our actions are affecting people we’re never going to meet. Being a good global citizen now butts up against our very powerful psychological tendencies to prioritize our families and friends. So we wanted to study the social consequences people might experience as a result of having consequentialist views.

Sigal Samuel

And what did you find?

Molly Crockett

When it comes to sacrificial dilemmas, we find that generally people strongly favor nonconsequentialist social partners. We trust people a lot more if they say it’s not okay to sacrifice one person to save many others.

When it comes to impartial beneficence dilemmas, we see the same pattern. The preference is not as strong, which I think makes sense because a helpful action tends to weigh less heavily on us psychologically than a harmful action. But we still see that when it comes to deciding who we’ll be friends or spouses with, we tend to prefer nonconsequentialists.

Sigal Samuel

There was an exception in the impartial beneficence dilemmas, right? It turned out that when we’re looking for a political leader, we actually prefer the consequentialist. To me, it makes a ton of intuitive sense that we’d prefer different types of moral agents in different social roles. Were your results seen as surprising?

Molly Crockett

Well, what’s remarkable is that moral psychology up until now has mostly been about hypothetical cases involving strangers. But new research suggests that actually relational context is super important when it comes to judging the morality of others.

I’ve recently started collaborating with Margaret Clark at Yale, who’s an expert in close relationships. We’re testing some predictions that moral obligations are relationship specific.

Here’s a classic example: Consider a woman, Wendy, who could easily provide a meal to a young child but fails to do so. Has Wendy done anything wrong? It depends on who the child is. If she’s failing to provide a meal to her own child, then absolutely she’s done something wrong! But if Wendy is a restaurant owner and the child is not otherwise starving, then they don’t have a relationship that creates special obligations prompting her to feed the child.

Sigal Samuel

Totally. Philosophy abhors inconsistency, and applying deontology in some cases and consequentialism in others might come off as inconsistent. But maybe it’s actually the most rational thing to apply different moral philosophies in different relational contexts.

In your study, the story you tell about why we prefer to marry or befriend deontologists is that, naturally, if I’m looking for someone to marry I’m going to want someone who’ll give me preferential treatment over a stranger in another country. But just to kick the tires on that story a bit: Is it possible that our preference comes about not because we want someone who’ll prioritize us but because being with radical do-gooders makes us feel crappy about ourselves — because we feel like immoral jerks compared to them?

Molly Crockett

That’s a fascinating question and something we haven’t tested empirically, but it would be very consistent with the Stanford psychologist Benoit Monin’s work on “do-gooder derogation.” He essentially showed exactly what you predict, which is that people feel less warm toward people who are extremely moral and altruistic. His studies showed that the extent to which people dislike vegetarians is related to their own feelings of moral conflict around eating animals.

Sigal Samuel

Yeah, we don’t tend to love being around people who make us grapple with uncomfortable questions. Especially if they’re very in-your-face or self-righteous about it and you have to be around them all the time, like with a romantic partner.

Your study also refers to something called the “partner choice model.” Can you explain that a bit?

Molly Crockett

“Partner choice” is a mechanism through which traits evolve because they promote being chosen as a social partner. There’s a lot of work suggesting that our preferences for cooperation evolved through partner choice mechanisms, because people who were naturally more cooperative were more likely to be chosen as social partners. They reaped the benefits of being chosen, both through social capital and through reproduction, and then they passed those traits to the next generation.

My idea is that some of our moral intuitions might be explained through the same mechanism. Our deontological intuitions, to the extent that they signal to others that we’re better social partners, make us more likely to be chosen, and therefore they get passed onto the next generation.

Sigal Samuel

Wait, unpack this evolutionary explanation a bit. By “through reproduction,” do you mean that parents with deontological views are more likely to rear their kids with deontological views?

Molly Crockett

Both that, and … This is more speculative, but to the extent that deontological moral intuitions have a genetic component, it could be passed on that way as well. Obviously there’s not going to be a gene for deontological intuitions. There’s not a one-to-one mapping between genetics and complex psychological traits. But to the extent that these traits arise from brain processes (and there’s a lot of evidence that they do), there may be a heritable component.

Sigal Samuel

This reminds me of the neurophilosopher Patricia Churchland’s new book, Conscience, about the biological basis of morality. Churchland and I recently talked about how brain differences, which are underwritten by differences in our genes, shape our moral attitudes — and how those can be highly heritable. So genetics isn’t everything, but it is playing some role.

Molly Crockett

Absolutely. Broadly, my work is quite compatible with Churchland’s views.

I think the argument she makes is consistent with some of our empirical work showing that when people are deciding whether to benefit themselves by harming another person, their brain activity tracks with how blameworthy other people would find the harmful choice. Conscience might manifest as the brain predicting how other people would view our actions.

Sigal Samuel

When you write about the implications of your studies, you talk specifically about effective altruism, a movement supported by Peter Singer, who’s probably the most influential utilitarian philosopher alive. You say the studies’ findings suggest that if you’re an effective altruist you’re going to face some stumbling blocks in terms of how people perceive you, which could impact the movement’s ability to grow. What can effective altruists do to mitigate the potential negative perception of them?

Molly Crockett

I think there are a few possibilities. Here’s one: We’ve shown in some other work that when people are judging the praiseworthiness of good deeds, they consider both the benefits that those deeds bring about and also how good it feels to perform those actions. If anything, our data suggests people weight how good it feels more strongly in judging praiseworthiness, such that people might think that a good deed that brings very little benefit but gives you a really warm fuzzy glow is actually more praiseworthy than a good deed that feels detached and emotionless but brings about a lot of benefit.

Drawing on this insight, effective altruists might emphasize the personal satisfaction that can arise from donating to effective causes, and talk about their own personal experience with the movement in ways that convey what it means to them.

In my lab now, we’re starting to think a lot about narrative — how the stories we tell about our own and others’ behavior give rise to our sense of ourselves as moral beings, and how that can actually change our behavior over the long run. I think the effective altruism movement in some sense misses an opportunity to draw on the very powerful role that narratives play in shaping our psychology.

Sigal Samuel

So, if I have a narrative about myself that emphasizes why having a more evidence-backed, cost-effective approach to giving actually makes me feel really good and gives me that glow, conveying that might get people more interested in my approach?

Molly Crockett

Potentially. Of course, conveying that may butt up against the “do-gooder derogation” effect. So you’d have to be careful about that.

I think this conversation just goes to show how much of a challenge it is to change moral behavior. There are so many different levers you can press to try to change behavior, but often they’re working at odds with one another. So if you press one, that inadvertently presses other levers that counteract its effect. It’s a complex system we’re dealing with.

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SEAN MEEHAN LOOKS set to miss the rest of Cork’s season as he undergoes surgery to repair a hamstring injury.

The talented defender, who was the only Cork player nominated for an All-Star in 2021, will fly to the UK today ahead of the operation, according to county board chairman Marc Sheehan. 

“Sean Meehan, our joint-captain, is off to London for his surgery on his hamstring on Tuesday,” he said. 

“We wish him well on that. He’s facing (lengthy) rehabilitation certainly after that.”

It generally takes athletes at least three to six months before returning to the field following hamstring surgery so, depending on the severity of the injury, Meehan looks highly unlikely to feature again for the Rebels in 2022. 

Meehan was performing well on Galway talisman Shane Walsh before he limped off after 41 minutes in the round 4 clash. He received his All-Star nomination last season after holding David Clifford scoreless from play in the Munster final, despite the hammering Cork shipped on the day.

“We’ll be supporting his recovery like we will all the other players,” added Sheeham.

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Meehan is one of a number of injuries Cork have shipped during a difficult league campaign that sees them battling to avoid relegation and dropping into the Tailteann Cup.

Sean Powter has already been ruled out of the league with the ‘significant’ hamstring injury he suffered in the Sigerson Cup final. Liam O’Donovan, Nathan Walsh, Maurice Shanley, Brian Hartnett and Damien Gore are also on the treatment table. 

On the bright side Cathail O’Mahony and Brian Hayes returned from injury to feature off the bench in Navan yesterday. 

“We’ve a hell of a lot of injuries and that’s been a feature for the last while,” said Sheehan.

“Let’s see where we’re at in terms of preparing for the championship and seeing who’s going to be there for us and all that. It is high (injury count) there’s no doubt about that.

“It was a tough game out there as well today. You get nothing soft up here in Pairc Tailteann.

“It’s been a very challenging afternoon, as you can see. A number of injuries over the course of the 70-plus minutes as well certainly didn’t help things.”

Cork were forced to use three temporary subs against Meath after players shipped heavy blows, while Brian Hurley limped off with nine minutes to play. 

Their battle to stay in Division 2 will see them host Down next weekend before they travel to Tullamore to face Offaly.

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Sheehan admitted the fact they’re facing two fellow relegation candidates was “a bit of a silver lining”.

“We’re in a difficult position but there’s a resilience in the group and there’s a spirit there notwithstanding the setbacks of the various results. in the league. That’s the focus now.

“It’s a difficult enough situation but the key from our point of view is the two games coming ahead. We need to get results there.

“We’re not in a great position, we’re acknowledging that, but there are two matches to be played, there is 140-plus minutes of football to be played and we’re certainly going to be up and about for that as it were and let’s see where it goes from that.”

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National Football League results

Division 3

Wicklow 0-8 Laois 1-17

Fermanagh 0-14 Louth 2-12

Division 4

Sligo 3-19 London 0-10

Carlow 1-10 Leitrim 2-14

Cavan 1-7 Tipperary 1-11

Wexford 0-15 Waterford 0-14

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IT WAS A mixed afternoon for the promotion-chasers in Division Four of the National Football Leagues. They all came head-to-head as the top of the table tightens, and the basement battle heats up.

Cavan’s 100% record came to an end after a four-point defeat to Tipperary in Kingspan Breffni Park, though they remain at the summit.

Both sides won provincial titles on a dramatic November day in 2020, but find themselves in the bottom-tier after being relegated from Division 3 together last season.

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While they’re both now pushing to go straight back up, it was the Premier County who were celebrating today after a significant win on the road.

Tipperary led 1-5 to 1-4 at half time; Conor Sweeney’s 21st-minute goal cancelled out by Caoimhín O’Reilly’s at the other end just before the break. Sweeney finished with 1-4 (three frees, one mark), though goalkeeper Michael O’Reilly and his defence were key as they limited Cavan to just three frees in the second half.

Sligo, meanwhile, got their own promotion bid back on track with a comprehensive 18-point win over London at Markievicz Park.

Star forward Niall Murphy hit 2-5 for the Yeats county, while Brian Egan also found the back of the net in the first half. Both teams finished with 14 men after Sligo’s Conor Griffin and Conal Gallagher of London were sent-off in the second-half.

Elsewhere in Division 4, Andy Moran’s Leitrim enjoyed an impressive seven-point win in Carlow, while Waterford remain the only team without a win after a one-point defeat to Wexford. 

Source: GAA.ie.

It’s tight at the top!

Five counties in Div. 4 are still in the mix for promotion.

Two games left each, Cavan and Tipp in control of their own destiny 👇

Cavan: London/Waterford
Tipp: Carlow/London
Sligo: Waterford/Leitrim
Leitrim: Wexford/Sligo
London: Cavan/Tipp@Score_Beo pic.twitter.com/KBvy5BAMfb

— Tommy Rooney (@TomasORuanaidh) March 13, 2022

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In Division 3, Mickey Harte’s Louth put themselves right in the promotion race with an excellent win over Fermanagh in Brewster Park, Enniskillen.

It finished 2-12 to 0-14, with Tommy Durnin and Sam Mulroy’s first-half goals crucial for the Wee County. Mulroy and former AFL player Ciaran Byrne were influential before the posts, the latter sprung from the bench, while the ever-present Sean Quigley led Fermanagh’s scoring charge.

FT – Fermanagh 0-14 Louth 2-12.

Louth win in Fermanagh for the first time since March 14, 2010, and for just the second time ever in a league match.

The last time they won at Brewster Park, they went to the Leinster final.

A real promotion showdown with Antrim next Sunday.

— Caoimhín Reilly (@CaoimhinReilly) March 13, 2022

And Laois recorded a convincing 12-point win over Wicklow in Aughrim.

The O’Moore county head home with two valuable points, their promotion hopes alive and relegation fears eased. Gary Walsh top-scored with 0-7 (five frees), while Evan O’Carroll contributed 1-2.

Wicklow remain rooted to the bottom of the table, without a win.

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