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How an Iowa summer resort region became a Covid-19 hot spot
Emily Mendenhall
2 hrs ago
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© Provided by Vox.comA party on Lake Okoboji in the Great Lakes region of Iowa over July Fourth weekend.
ARNOLDS PARK, Iowa — Walking down Broadway Street, flanked with nightclubs and restaurants, you would never know that the coronavirus is lurking here. The sun is shining, maskless people are buzzing about, and ice cream is selling. This is the 100 days of summer in which the Iowa Great Lakes region makes most of its money. Everything is open.
But this year, the vacation destination is also a regional coronavirus hot spot.
The local economy shut down in the spring for about a month. There were no cases recorded in the area by May 1, when Republican Gov. Kim Reynolds partially reopened restaurants, retail stores, and many other businesses in rural areas, like Dickinson County, where the lakes are located. There was also minimal testing.
By Memorial Day, only six cases had been recorded in the county, which has a population of about 17,000 people year-round and nearly 100,000 in the summer. Although big events were canceled, the hotels began filling back up and the lakes were scattered with tourists.
As of August 7, cases in Dickinson were up to 377, and at least six county residents have died from the virus. Many additional cases may have originated here because of the constant flux of tourists, young and old, from places like Sioux Falls, Omaha, and Des Moines.
Why have there been there so many cases here this summer? Why is it so unusual to see people wearing masks, despite broad consensus that they are helpful in limiting the spread of Covid-19?
As a medical anthropologist who has studied the overlap of diseases and society around the world, I set out in June to understand what was going on in the Iowa Great Lakes region where I grew up. I interviewed more than 80 people all over town, reaching out to old friends and classmates, business owners, elected officials, and public health leaders.
Here is what I learned about my hometown region — and how its deep conflicts around the coronavirus reflect broader friction across the country.
© Provided by Vox.comBoaters congregate on Lake Okoboji in the Iowa Great Lakes region over the July Fourth weekend.
Conflicting Midwestern values
Dickinson County is largely white (96 percent), Republican (72 percent of voters returned a straight Republican ballot in the November 2016 election), and Christian (more than two-thirds). There is an overwhelming ethos of American individualism over collectivism, along with the cultural ideal of self-sufficiency and of pulling yourself up by your bootstraps. I heard many people say, “I am not scared of coronavirus,” or, “I’m not scared, I believe in God,” or “If it’s my time to go, God will take me.”
For instance, if you wear a mask around here, it reflects defiance against President Trump. When masks became this sort of political statement, most people described feeling deeply hurt — simply due to the divergent views that were (or weren’t) now spread across their faces.
This division recently came to a head in a heated open school board meeting on August 3 about reopening schools. Many board members invoked “freedom” and “individual choice” in their comments on masking at schools.
One school board member said he would not “dictate” what the children do because personal liberties were more important. Another member dissented by arguing that masking should be mandatory for high school students due to overwhelming safety concerns.
Sometimes this conflict was apparent even in individuals. On her way out the door, one member said she was going to “pray real hard” about what to do about masking in schools, moments after asking if the school board could get sued if it didn’t implement more stringent measures.
These conflicts are being fostered by a lack of local political support for public health measures, which reflects the greater coronavirus tragedy in the American Midwest. The superintendent of the school district, for example, plans to open schools with few safety measures in place, despite the local public health leaders providing opposing advice.
At the state level, Gov. Reynolds never instituted a statewide lockdown and recommended closing most businesses for only a little over a month. This meant some local business owners felt entitled to actively try to impede public health measures, including calling the hospital and demanding them to stop putting educational videos on Facebook because it was hurting business.
Statewide, the governor’s approval rating over handling the coronavirus outbreak is markedly lowin part because of her lack of leadership on public health measures.
When I asked people what they have taken away from these leaders’ actions (and inactions), most say that because there was never a state lockdown and the state is open, there is no need to wear masks. This sentiment is perpetuated from the top and embodied in local behavior: The pandemic is over. Now you’re on your own.
Emily Mendenhall
2 hrs ago
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ARNOLDS PARK, Iowa — Walking down Broadway Street, flanked with nightclubs and restaurants, you would never know that the coronavirus is lurking here. The sun is shining, maskless people are buzzing about, and ice cream is selling. This is the 100 days of summer in which the Iowa Great Lakes region makes most of its money. Everything is open.
But this year, the vacation destination is also a regional coronavirus hot spot.
The local economy shut down in the spring for about a month. There were no cases recorded in the area by May 1, when Republican Gov. Kim Reynolds partially reopened restaurants, retail stores, and many other businesses in rural areas, like Dickinson County, where the lakes are located. There was also minimal testing.
By Memorial Day, only six cases had been recorded in the county, which has a population of about 17,000 people year-round and nearly 100,000 in the summer. Although big events were canceled, the hotels began filling back up and the lakes were scattered with tourists.
As of August 7, cases in Dickinson were up to 377, and at least six county residents have died from the virus. Many additional cases may have originated here because of the constant flux of tourists, young and old, from places like Sioux Falls, Omaha, and Des Moines.
Why have there been there so many cases here this summer? Why is it so unusual to see people wearing masks, despite broad consensus that they are helpful in limiting the spread of Covid-19?
As a medical anthropologist who has studied the overlap of diseases and society around the world, I set out in June to understand what was going on in the Iowa Great Lakes region where I grew up. I interviewed more than 80 people all over town, reaching out to old friends and classmates, business owners, elected officials, and public health leaders.
Here is what I learned about my hometown region — and how its deep conflicts around the coronavirus reflect broader friction across the country.
Conflicting Midwestern values
Dickinson County is largely white (96 percent), Republican (72 percent of voters returned a straight Republican ballot in the November 2016 election), and Christian (more than two-thirds). There is an overwhelming ethos of American individualism over collectivism, along with the cultural ideal of self-sufficiency and of pulling yourself up by your bootstraps. I heard many people say, “I am not scared of coronavirus,” or, “I’m not scared, I believe in God,” or “If it’s my time to go, God will take me.”
For instance, if you wear a mask around here, it reflects defiance against President Trump. When masks became this sort of political statement, most people described feeling deeply hurt — simply due to the divergent views that were (or weren’t) now spread across their faces.
This division recently came to a head in a heated open school board meeting on August 3 about reopening schools. Many board members invoked “freedom” and “individual choice” in their comments on masking at schools.
One school board member said he would not “dictate” what the children do because personal liberties were more important. Another member dissented by arguing that masking should be mandatory for high school students due to overwhelming safety concerns.
Sometimes this conflict was apparent even in individuals. On her way out the door, one member said she was going to “pray real hard” about what to do about masking in schools, moments after asking if the school board could get sued if it didn’t implement more stringent measures.
These conflicts are being fostered by a lack of local political support for public health measures, which reflects the greater coronavirus tragedy in the American Midwest. The superintendent of the school district, for example, plans to open schools with few safety measures in place, despite the local public health leaders providing opposing advice.
At the state level, Gov. Reynolds never instituted a statewide lockdown and recommended closing most businesses for only a little over a month. This meant some local business owners felt entitled to actively try to impede public health measures, including calling the hospital and demanding them to stop putting educational videos on Facebook because it was hurting business.
Statewide, the governor’s approval rating over handling the coronavirus outbreak is markedly lowin part because of her lack of leadership on public health measures.
When I asked people what they have taken away from these leaders’ actions (and inactions), most say that because there was never a state lockdown and the state is open, there is no need to wear masks. This sentiment is perpetuated from the top and embodied in local behavior: The pandemic is over. Now you’re on your own.