Tuesday, September 22, 2020

Covid: Is it time we learned to live with the virus? - BBC News

Covid: Is it time we learned to live with the virus? - BBC News

Future of NYC - 5 things to start your day - btbirkett@gmail.com - Gmail

5 things to start your day - btbirkett@gmail.com - Gmail



And finally, here’s what Joe's interested in this morning

Big U.S. cities are struggling right now, but there's a particular amount of focus on the future of New York City and whether this crisis will catalyze a longer-lasting deterioration.

Here's a simple chart I put together to track NYC's economic recovery. The blue line is total MTA turnstile entries, so a decent proxy for how much people are going about their old, normal lives and confident enough to use public transport. As you can see, it's up from the depths in April, but at around 1.5 million per day, it's nowhere close to the old levels. Same goes for dining, the red line. At least per OpenTable, seated dining is still down around 80% on a year-on-year basis. And finally, the green line is shares of the big Manhattan office REIT SL Green. It's a nice way to see how investors are perceiving the health of commercial real estate in the city.


I'll keep updating this from time to time, but for now this seems like a decent way to get a snapshot of where the city's at. Note that each line is the 10-day moving average of each in order to smooth out the noise and see the trends better.

Sunday, September 20, 2020

Sunday Strategist: electric vehicle charging that makes sense - btbirkett@gmail.com - Gmail

Sunday Strategist: electric vehicle charging that makes sense - btbirkett@gmail.com - Gmail



Bloomberg
Few of us understand what a kilowatt hour represents. A minute, however, is a pretty intuitive unit of measurement and, New York aside, represents the same thing the world over.
So when electric vehicle entrepreneurs starting building public charging stations, they decided to price their power based on time, rather than the number of electrons zipping down the cord and through the plug.
It made perfect sense, largely because the seminal crop of electric vehicles took about the same amount of time to top off. Today, however, that tiny decision made years ago has grown into a byzantine morass of fees and pricing tiers, that vary by vehicle and state. When billing by the minute, even the weather can affect the cost of charging. One doesn’t have to be an electrical engineer to figure out what it’s going to cost to power up a Chevy Bolt, but it doesn’t hurt; a side hustle in public policy and/or economics is useful as well.
On Wednesday, some of that jerry-built pricing pyramid came tumbling down, as Electrify America, which owns and operates 470 of America’s fastest public chargers, started pricing by the power used– the kilowatt hour – rather than the minute.
The strategy follows Tesla, which owns and operates its own chargers for its vehicles. Elon Musk and company have long said it's a more fair and equitable fee structure. The case is even more compelling when considering the breadth of electron-driven machines hitting the market.
Electrify America was spun out of Volkswagen as a mandated response to its 2015 Dieselgate emissions scandal. As such, its leaders know better than most the pace of electric vehicle innovation. Generally, the coming machines will hold more power and charge far faster than Nissan engineers could have dreamed of when they were welding together the first little Leaf a decade. As vehicles hoover up electrons at speeds often five times faster than dated EVs, pricing by the minute is going to increasingly hamstring revenue for charging stations.
“We want to drive the adoption of (EVs) in the marketplace,” says Rob Barossa, Electrify America's senior director of sales, business development and marketing. “But we also want to make, sure for the infrastructure in the ground, that it’s a sustainable biz model.”
There's also growing inequity among consumers. Drivers in older, less advanced vehicles are often paying more than those in newer, sleeker EVs for the same amount of juice. Pricing tiers based on battery capacity make the equation somewhat more balanced, but are far from precise.
"It's going to cause a big problem over time," said Matt Teske, who founded a company called Chargeway that helps drivers make sense of charging stations and prices. "There are so many variables, you're never going to get it right." Ultimately, Teske says the complexity of the market has been a major barrier to adoption. 
What’s more, savvy drivers understand that their batteries charge more quickly when they are fairly empty. To game the system, in a sense, they often only partially fill their batteries – the fastest part of the spectrum – and drive off before the fee curve steepens.
Ultimately, Electrify America says the shift in pricing strategy will make for a far more simple, equitable system. Drivers will pay .43 cents per kilo-watt hour at most of its plugs, with a 28% discount for those who agree to a $4 a month membership fee. Those in fancier vehicles may end up paying more than they used to; those in scruffier machines, may see their fuel costs fall a bit. Much will depend on where drivers have been charging.
“For some drivers it may be a wash, it may be a little more expensive, it may be a lot cheaper,” Barossa said. “But now, you know exactly what you’re paying for.”
Though rival charging networks dabble in power-based pricing, the Electrify America decision is expected to pull the market along. EVgo, which owns and operates more than 800 fast-charging station in the U.S., said it will likely move away from time-based pricing sometime next year. "We've been trying to think long and hard on this," said Jonathan Levy, senior vice president of business development. "The question is how we make sure we do it thoughtfully."
Among other things, EVgo will have to decide if it will charge the same price for electricity in states where it pays substantially different rates to utilities. 
Still, state utility regulators are a persnickety bunch. They generally don’t like the idea of a company taking electricity and reselling it at whatever price they see fit. For the time being, Electrify America and its rivals will still charge by the minute in some 27 states, including four of the eight most populated: Texas, Florida, Pennsylvania and Georgia.
Consumers generally hate a shift in pricing strategy. It can feel like a trick and change, even when beneficial, is unsettling. To date, however, consumers have been pretty skeptical about electric vehicles as well. Eventually, most drivers will be counting their kilowatt hours, it's just a question of how long it will take. 

Saturday, September 19, 2020

Food Industry Turns to New Technology to Make Spaces Covid-Free - Bloomberg

Food Industry Turns to New Technology to Make Spaces Covid-Free - Bloomberg 





Startups Race to Develop Tech That
Can Clear Workplaces of Covid
Companies are desperate for ways to sanitize offices,
factories and stores. But surfaces are one thing—air is another.

By Larissa Zimberoff
September 18, 2020, 9:00 AM GMT+1

Smithfield Foods Inc. thought it was doing great. In the
first quarter of this year, the pork giant’s earnings were up 190% over the
same period in 2019. Then the pandemic hit, and the close quarters of
meatpacking plants made them ideal places for the coronavirus to spread.

Employee infection rates spiked, forcing temporary closures
and sudden shortages in supermarket meat aisles. After its revenue plummeted in
the second quarter, Smithfield and other meat processors started looking around
for strategies to make sure the same thing didn’t happen again.


While the industry has in some cases installed plastic
shields between workstations and made other coronavirus-related changes, some
executives contend social distancing isn’t feasible in such a labor-intensive
environment. Smithfield, the largest pork company in the world with 42,000
employees in 40 U.S. locations, decided to invest in some relatively new
technology to deal with the threat of contagion.

Howard Anderson, the company’s chief engineer, said he
reviewed a range of novel approaches, but is most hopeful when it comes to
ionized hydrogen peroxide vapor—and a machine to spread it built by Dayton,
Ohio-based Extreme Microbial Technologies (EMT).


“What we liked about [EMT] is that it’s a proactive
solution,” said Anderson. Many other options are passive, requiring that air be
pulled through a unit to be treated. Smithfield, owned by Hong Kong-based WH
Group, said it has installed EMT’s units in six locations, including a plant in
Elizabeth, New Jersey, and Sioux Falls, South Dakota, with three more locations
soon to follow.


According to data collected by Food & Environment
Reporting Network (FERN), some 42,567 meatpacking workers have tested positive
for Covid-19 and 203 have died.

In the spring, the Smithfield plant in Sioux Falls became
the number one virus hotspot in America, with a cluster of 644 confirmed cases
among employees and people they were in contact with. In May, 76 workers at the
largest of the Smithfield Foods plants in Tar Heel, North Carolina, became
infected, according to local health officials.

The U.S. Occupational Safety and Health Administration, the
federal agency responsible for the safety of workers, recently fined Smithfield
$13,494. The company is fighting the penalty. Smithfield declined to comment on
how many of its employees have been infected or died in the pandemic.

EMT, which was started in 2016, contends its technology is
an environmentally safe way to help reduce coronavirus in the workplace. But
experts say it’s a long way from being able to clear pathogens from the air.

The backbone of EMT’s technology is a “coated honeycomb
matrix” that, when hit by ultraviolet light, pulls moisture from the air and
forms hydrogen peroxide. Particles are pushed out of the machine, spreading
through a room and landing on surfaces. According to EMT, when the particles
come into contact with pathogens, a chemical reaction neutralizes them.

The company makes standalone units for office spaces (which
are the size of a waste-paper basket) or uses a building’s heating and cooling
(HVAC) system for bigger areas.

According to the Trump administration, hydrogen peroxide is
active against a wide range of microorganisms, including bacteria, yeasts,
fungi, viruses and spores. But at high concentrations, the molecule can be
harmful to humans. EMT contends the limited amount of vapor produced by its
machines makes them safe for humans as well as food production.

“This technology would not work fast enough, nor penetrate a
droplet traveling through the air in time to inactivate it before hitting a
person’s face.”

In a study done by the University of Florida in August,
ionized hydrogen peroxide was found to be 99.7% successful at reducing
microbial contamination levels of the coronavirus on stainless steel surfaces.
But the technology is only a first step toward total indoor protection, since
most coronavirus transmission is believed to take place through airborne
droplets.


“Surfaces are responsible for maybe 5% of all transmissions.
Likely much lower,” said Dr. Erin Bromage, an associate professor at University
of Massachusetts, Dartmouth, and an infectious disease expert. “This technology
would not work fast enough, nor penetrate a droplet traveling through the air
in time to inactivate it before hitting a person’s face.”

Still, EMT’s tech has been shown to work against a long list
of contaminants that food companies were already worried about, including E.
coli, Salmonella, Listeria and the norovirus.

Dr. David Acheson, a food safety expert and former official
with the U.S. Food and Drug Administration, said that if a vapor mechanism can
kill the norovirus, it can kill the coronavirus. The FDA granted an Emergency
Use Authorization for vaporized hydrogen peroxide to decontaminate N95 respirators,
a process used by 6,300 hospitals across the U.S.

“It’s a reasonable assumption that it will work on
surfaces,” Acheson said. “But any evidence that it will prevent
person-to-person transmission [is] a big question mark,”

“It’s a way that buildings are going to help distinguish
themselves to get people back.”

Despite the questions, industry analysts are cautiously
optimistic about the technology.

“Let’s say we get a vaccine tomorrow that everyone wants to
take, I think that as these investments move forward, it’s about future
proofing [a building],” said John Walsh, an industry analyst at Credit Suisse.
“It’s a way that buildings are going to help distinguish themselves to get
people back into [office] spaces.”

But for Nick Santhanam, a senior partner at McKinsey &
Co., whether companies like EMT keep growing after the Covid-19 pandemic
recedes remains an “open question.”

“People are thinking about it, and clients are asking about
it. You’re going to see a massive surge [in adoptions],” Santhanam said. “But
will it keep going? That’s tbd.”

Randy Mount, 51, chief executive of EMT, began his career in
real estate remediation, eradicating contaminants like mold from residential
homes. That was how he stumbled upon the use of vaporized hydrogen peroxide.
“We could decontaminate anything,” said Mount. “Restaurants, homes,
universities and schools—we started getting a reputation for being the guys to
call.”


In addition to Smithfield, his client list now includes
French-owned Bonduelle Fresh Americas, which he said installed units in one of its
four U.S. locations; sausage maker Glier’s Goetta, which has six units in its
Covington, Kentucky, production facility; and Graeter’s Ice Cream, a 1,500
employee-company that has installed seven machines in its production facility
in Mt. Auburn, Ohio.

EMT installation costs are calculated by cubic feet and
bio-load (the number or range of microorganisms in a facility). A machine for a
typical food production facility of 5,000 square feet with 12-foot ceilings
would cost about $11,000. Mount said the company is on track to make $10
million in sales this year.


The technology EMT uses isn’t new, however. Vapor
purification, or “nonthermal plasma,” was patented in 2014 by San Diego-based
Puradigm. While some businesses began taking steps to address airborne threats
long ago, most didn’t see the benefit, given the expense. The pandemic has
changed that, creating a huge opportunity for businesses already in the field
as more food-processing and food retail look for help.

Padraig Lawlor, Puradigm’s chief operating officer,
estimated his company’s 2020 sales will be $17 million. But next year, the
projection is $72 million, Lawlor said, adding that he’s mulling an IPO for
2022.

A Chipotle Mexican Grill Inc. Restaurant Ahead Of Earnings
Figures
Customers place orders inside a Chipotle in Culver City,
California. Photographer: Patrick T. Fallon/Bloomberg
One retailer that put such precautions in place was Chipotle
Mexican Grill, a restaurant chain which grappled with norovirus outbreaks in
2015 and 2017.

In between those years, the company installed combination
ultraviolet/vapor hydrogen peroxide systems built by RGF Environmental Group
Inc. In 2018, Chipotle added separate restroom units to “address
microbiological contaminants, including viruses that originate there,” wrote
Kerry Bridges, Chipotle’s vice president of food safety, in an email.

The air-purification systems sold by RGF are similar to what
Puradigm and EMT sell, said Dr. James Marsden, RGF’s executive director of
science and technology. Marsden was a professor at Kansas State University and
led Chipotle’s food safety group after the norovirus outbreak.

RGF’s Reme Halo ionizer unit.Source: Ryan Murphy/RGF
Florida-based RGF said its sales grew by 500% this year, and
that it’s currently testing its product’s effectiveness against the
coronavirus.

At Chef’s Garden’s, a 350-acre vegetable farm in Huron,
Ohio, that sells to high-end restaurants, business vanished when Covid-19
arrived. As the company pivoted to direct-to-consumer sales, Chief Executive
Officer Bob Jones, Jr. looked for ways to protect his 140 employees. He
installed EMT units in April, both to keep staff healthy and “protect the
integrity of the product,” he said.

Mike Willing, chief executive officer of Aloha Seafood in
San Francisco, said his company’s biggest problem before the coronavirus was
that when someone got the flu, it would spread like wildfire through the staff.
In 2019, he installed machines from EMT. Since then, Willing said he hasn’t had
a single case of the coronavirus to report. “We feel more comfortable with it
and my guys are ecstatic,” he said.


Friday, September 18, 2020

No ABV, Nonalcoholic Drinks, and Spirits That Taste Almost Real - Bloomberg

No ABV, Nonalcoholic Drinks, and Spirits That Taste Almost Real - Bloomberg





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Six Zero-Proof ‘Liquors’ That Taste Almost Like the Real
Thing
After tasting dozens of nonalcoholic spirits, we chose the
best.
By Elizabeth G Dunn
September 17, 2020, 1:25 AM EDT
relates to Six Zero-Proof ‘Liquors’ That Taste Almost Like the Real Thing

Forecasters expect Covid-19 to accelerate the decline of
booze consumption in the U.S. As fewer people visit bars, restaurants, and
sporting venues, retail purchases have increased, but overall intake has been
dropping.

The drinks industry is responding with an onslaught of
nonalcoholic spirits whose flavors evoke those found in traditional bottles.
Imagine a junipery, botanical bite of gin that mixes effortlessly into G&Ts
and greyhounds but without the buzz—or the hangover. Alongside these are
premixed canned mocktails, including a faux Negroni whose mix of juices and
spices mimics the rich punch of the classic. Sales of no-ABV spirits are
expected to more than double over the next five years, says the alcohol market
research company IWSR.

Quality, though, is inconsistent: Many are little more than
pricey, flavored water. We tasted our way through dozens of booze-free spirits
and cocktails released in the past five years so you wouldn’t have to. These
bottles stand out.

Monday Gin
In the zeroproofalcohol
category, producers have generally focused on gin, which makes sense,
considering it’s one of the most popular, versatile, and easy-to-distill
spirits. For fans of the classic London Dry profile, Monday Gin is made in one
of California’s oldest distilleries and has a strong juniper backbone that
comes through, whether you’re mixing it with tonic or adding lime to craft a
gimlet. Citrus extracts add complexity and just a hint of bitterness. $40

Ghia
The brainchild of marketing guru Melanie Masarin, formerly
of beauty upstart Glossier and the fast-casual chain Dig Inn, Ghia is an
aperitivo that draws on Gentian root, lemon balm, and elderflower to produce a
flavor that’s dry, complex, and pleasingly bitter—which helps it feel like an
adult beverage. Mix with grapefruit juice for a nonalcoholic greyhound, or make
a brisk “Sanghia” with equal parts Ghia, orange juice, and sparkling water. $33

Ritual Zero Proof
Chicago-based Ritual also makes zeroABV whiskey
and gin, but the best of its line is a faux tequila that brings together blue
agave flower, guava, and Mexican lime distillates in a softly smoky
formulation. Com
bined with lime juice and simple syrup, it manages to
slide convincingly into a classic margarita. For those inclined to do shots, a
liberal dose of chile pepper extract creates enough of a burn on the finish to
almost rival the real thing. $27

Kin Spritz
The zero-proof beverages from Kin are packed with adaptogens and nootropics—mood-altering
herbal pharmaceuticals geared toward “elevating the spirit and relaxing the body.”
The brand’s ready-to-drink Spritz contains the herb Rhodiola rosea, believed to help balance stress, while amino acids
such as 5-HTP, citicoline, and tyrosine are said to support “social stamina.”
For a pretty pink canned drink, it has an unexpectedly earthy, bitter flavor.
$27 for four

Curious Elixirs
A lightly sparkling blend of organic juices, spices, herbs,
roots, and botanicals makes up the base for these pre-batched craft
mocktails, which have numbers for names
. The formulations are loosely
inspired by classics: No. 2 takes its cues from a dark ’n’ stormy; No. 3 mimics
a cucumber Collins. We’re partial to No. 1, a pomegranate-based concoction
that’s similar to a Negroni
—dry, rich, and slightly bitter. Add an orange
slice to complete the effect. $29 for four

Wilderton Lustre
This Pacific Northwest ginlike spirit is created through vacuum
distilling
, a lower-temperature process than conventional distillation.
Wilderton’s founders say this allows the flavors of bitter orange peel,
lavender, bergamot, and other botanicals to be preserved and carried over into
the bottling. Lustre’s clean citrus and honey flavors can get lost beneath
juices, syrups, or other overly sweet mixers, so mix it with a splash of
club soda or tonic
. $33


lost antibodies - Fwd: 5 things to start your day - btbirkett@gmail.com - Gmail

Fwd: 5 things to start your day - btbirkett@gmail.com - Gmail



 In other worrying news, a study published in the Journal of the American Medical Association found that 11 of 19 volunteers who had developed antibodies as of April seem to have lost them only two months later.

U.S. Protests Stopped. In Portland, Oregon, They Continued. Why? - Bloomberg

U.S. Protests Stopped. In Portland, Oregon, They Continued. Why? - Bloomberg





What Happened to Portland?
Looking for the roots of the city’s
violent summer.

By David Shipley
September 17, 2020, 6:30 AM EDT
David Shipley is senior executive editor of Bloomberg
Opinion. He was deputy editorial page editor and op-ed page editor of the New
York Times, and served in the Clinton administration as special assistant to
the president and senior presidential speechwriter. Shipley is co-author of
“Send,” a guide to email.

In May, I went back to Portland, Oregon, my hometown. It was
the week George Floyd was killed by police in Minneapolis.

Protests in Portland followed, as they did around the
country. Unlike the rest of the nation, though, what began as peaceful and
constructive political expression devolved into something else entirely. In
fact, a cruel inversion took place over the summer: The proximate (and
righteous) cause was increasingly buried by violence. One receded and the other
rose, a dynamic that paused only when the larger, more lethal force of wildfire
took hold.

Over more than 100 nights, federal buildings, police
precincts, shops, stores and restaurants were assailed. Local police, federal
forces and protesters of every persuasion clashed. Portland saw rocks, eggs,
flash-bang grenades, tear gas and worse.

One video shows a man being pulled from a truck and beaten.
It’s shocking enough, and then you realize that the scene is unfolding in the
heart of downtown, and not in some frontier county, and that it goes on for
20-plus minutes without any sign of intervention.

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In late August, a pro-Trump parade was somehow allowed to
drive those same downtown streets. A 39-year-old man riding in the caravan was
shot and killed by a 48-year-old self-described anti-fascist, who was then
himself shot and killed by officers with the U.S. Marshals Service a couple
days later.

Much of this took place at night, but the effects were
plainly visible in the day — even as those days became shrouded in the haze and
smoke from the forest fires that ravaged the West. Portland got the nickname
“Stumptown” because of the stumps that dotted the pioneer landscape, a record
of rapid expansion in the 19th century. Today the trees have been put to
another use: to blanket downtown businesses in plywood.

Portland
The boards cover Tiffany and Co., Zara, 7-Eleven and bunch
of local stores — selling luggage, legal supplies, men’s suits — that have been
around since I was a kid in the 1960s. Some of the wood is mottled composite,
some of it is serpentine-grained, nearly all of it is covered with graffiti.
The slogans signal how far things have gone off track; only a fraction of them
refer to George Floyd or Breonna Taylor or the other names Americans have been
calling out for remembrance.

Portland
On a walk downtown earlier this month, two things caught my
eye. One was a man in an orange vest removing spray paint from a big
street-level window. He’d decided to start in the middle and had just managed
to clear a path halfway up the frame, like a snow plow cutting through the
center of a road after a blizzard. He had a long way to go.

The other was a man I saw from behind, reaching into the
back of his hatchback to put on a protective vest.

Well before it was enveloped in smoke, Portland was a city
in retreat. Even its 110-year-old elk statue had gone into hiding.

***

Not that long ago, Portland had a visionary, progressive and
capable government. It was activist in the best sense — it took action and
managed change. A bright mayor and an energetic city council in the 1970s
brought the city light rail and an urban growth boundary and the green space
that made it a magnet for hipness in the ’00s. This is not to minimize
Portland’s failings, most notably its well-documented history of codified and
tacit racism and exclusion, but government was present. It was there. And it
was trying.

A true story: Fifty years ago, in August of 1970, Portland
was host to an American Legion convention. President Richard Nixon was
scheduled to speak. The Vietnam War was at its height and anti-war riots were
feared. The last thing leaders wanted was a reprise of the violence that
bedeviled the Democratic National Convention in Chicago two years earlier, or
at Kent State that spring, which is exactly what the F.B.I. envisioned.

Governor Tom McCall, a Republican, endorsed a plan: The state would sponsor a free, multi-day
music festival, modeled on Woodstock, to take place at the same time as the
convention. It would be held in a state park just far enough from Portland that
travel back and forth would be a hassle.
The police would stay away.
Miraculously, “Vortex I: A Biodegradable Festival of Life” — that’s what it was
called — redirected thousands of potential protesters away from the city. (My
family — mom, dad, three little kids — was among them. I don’t remember this,
but according to my father, we met a guy as we were scouting for a place to put
down our blanket. He was naked. “Nice day for a picnic, sir,” is what he told
my dad, with a smile.)

This story has been on my mind as I think about Portland today.
Government, at its most basic and competent, is about making places safe so
that lots of people (with their varying agendas and needs and desires) can
coexist peacefully and get on with their lives. Sometimes it means diverting a crowd so that you can avoid the harm
that gets in the way of bringing about deeper change.
This is what Tom
McCall, who went on to enact the state’s visionary environmental agenda, did —
at least in this case. And it’s the opposite of the leadership we had this
summer.

***

Portland’s bad summer started long before this summer.
Governance in Portland has been struggling for years, but its diminishment has
been overlooked — obscured by its restaurants, wine and design, bike parades,
coffee, “Portlandia,” quirk. A Fred Armisen sighting covers a multitude of
civic failings — of which the city’s
omnipresent homelessness
is only the most visible.

Some of the problems can be laid at the feet of a succession
of one-term mayors, none of whom
were able to stay around long enough to have a sustained effect. Some can be
attributed to Portland’s commission form
of city government,
where no one (neither the mayor nor the elected
commissioners) has quite enough power, and everyone is always running
for re-election. A divided and
underfunded state government,
with a legislature that has a habit of
staging walkouts,
has been a factor, too, as has the absence of a sales tax to bring in needed revenue.

One thing that struck me this summer was the experience of no
longer having a regular local newspaper.
Walking to the end of the driveway
every morning, grabbing the Oregonian in its rain-dotted plastic, was once a
daily routine. Its front page defined the important events: Nixon resigns, the
Trail Blazers win, Mount St. Helens erupts, the Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh flees.

Now the paper gets delivered only a few days a week. It’s
online, sure, but there’s no reliable shared document to chronicle a small
city’s experience
. Social media doesn’t fill the void; it’s too balkanized.
On days without delivery, you feel disconnected.

This wasn’t an isolated feeling. You might think the turmoil
downtown would be all that anyone in Portland would want to discuss, and that
it would prompt constant outrage and interrogation. Certainly, it was the
subject people from outside the state called, emailed and asked about. But here
engagement on the protests was sporadic, like the newspaper schedule.

Part of this disparity can be explained. Things often look worse from the outside.
The news shows the smoldering wreckage of a bombed-out building, not the busy
mall around the corner. If you aren’t on the ground, that’s all you see. And
Portland as broadcast looked really bad, especially when it became entangled in
a broader political narrative; there were nights when it felt like MSNBC and
Fox were in a bidding war over who was to blame for the city’s descent.

But part of this disparity was harder to fathom. The
story of the summer was Portland’s anger.
What got less attention was its lack of anger, particularly among those who
had real reason to be angry: Portlanders themselves.

It was their hometown that was burned, held hostage by a
small group of angry extremists. It was their money that was going to sweep up
the garbage, power-wash buildings, and remove and store 6,800-pound elk
statues. It was their businesses getting boarded up, their jobs cut. It was
their elected officials who failed to provide the effective policing that was
needed, and who gave Donald Trump an opening to barge in with untrained federal
officers and make things worse.

Most of all, it was their sincere, concerted effort, in the
days after George Floyd’s death, to address the racism rooted in Oregon’s
history and in its once-exclusionary state constitution that got derailed,
obscured and burned away.

If ever a city deserved to get pissed off at what was
happening to it, it was Portland. And yet the anger never came. The Wall of
Moms and the Leaf Blower Dads went home and left the protesting to the rowdies.
The city’s Black community watched its cause overwhelmed by other forces. The
overdue reckoning on race and homelessness and the ills laid bare by the
pandemic went back in its box.

Hard-to-see, harder-to-solve
problems have a way of creeping up until it’s too late.
In Portland, and
throughout the West, the effects of climate
change
became cruelly visible this last week. A brutal reminder of the
costs of forestalling action. Perhaps the image of a state in ashes will spur
collective action; perhaps the unseemly speed with which political division
entered the discourse — the outlandish idea that the fires were set by
extremists on the left or right — will be enough to make Portlanders (and the
rest of Oregon) say “Enough.”

It’s easy, I know, to be beguiled by Portland, to let things
slide. This has been true for a long time, but maybe not anymore. You’re
surrounded by beauty — green mountains and open skies. But those mountains can
turn to fire, we’ve seen, those skies to a suffocating orange.

This column does not necessarily reflect the opinion of the
editorial board or Bloomberg LP and its owners.

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