On ants and infection.

On ants and infection.

I live in a college town. Last week, students returned.

Yesterday’s paper explains that dire punishment awaits the students who attended a Wednesday night party. In bold letters atop the front page, “IU plans to suspend students over party.

In the decade that I’ve lived here, many parties have led to sexual assaults, racist hate speech, and violence. The offending students were rarely punished. But this party was egregious because “there were about 100 people there.

IU officials “have seen a photothat shows a large group of young people standing close together outside a house at night, many of them not wearing masks.

I’ve seen the images – someone filmed a video while driving by. There they are – a group of young people, standing outside.

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Science magazine recently interviewed biologist Dana Hawley about social distancing in the animal kingdom.

When spiny lobsters are sick, their urine smells different. Healthy lobsters will flee the shared den. Leaving is dangerous, since the lobsters will be exposed to predators until they find a new home, but staying would be dangerous, too – they might get sick. To survive, lobsters have to balance all the risks they face.

My favorite example of social distancing in the animal kingdom wasn’t discussed. When an ant is infected with the cordyceps fungus, it becomes a sleeper agent. Jennifer Lu writes in National Geographic that “as in zombie lore, there’s an incubation period where infected ants appear perfectly normal and go about their business undetected by the rest of the colony.

Then the fungus spreads through the ants body, secreting mind control chemicals. Eventually, the fungus will command the infected ant to climb to a high place. A fruiting body bursts from the ant’s head and rains spores over the colony.

Infection is almost always lethal.

If an ant notices that a colony member has been infected, the healthy ant will carry the infected ant away from the colony and hurl it from a cliff.

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The FDA will approve any Covid-19 vaccine that cuts risk by half. It’s very unlikely that a Covid-19 vaccine will cut the risk by more than about two-thirds, and the vaccine will work least well for people who need protection most.

Most likely, the Covid-19 epidemic will end before there’s vaccine. The herd immunity threshold seems to be much lower than some researchers feared – our current data suggest that the epidemic will end after about 40% of the population has immunity.

The herd immunity threshold isn’t an inherent property of a virus – it depends upon our environment and behaviors. In prisons, we’ve seen Covid-19 spread until nearly 90% of people were infected. In parts of New York City where many essential workers live in crowded housing, Covid-19 spread until 50% of people were infected.

In a culture where everyone kissed a sacred statue in the center of town each morning, the herd immunity threshold would be higher. If people wear masks while interacting with strangers, the herd immunity threshold will be lower.

In a world that maintains a reservoir of the virus, though, someone who hasn’t yet been exposed will always be at risk.

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The New York Times recently discussed some of the challenges that colleges face when trying to reopen during the epidemic.

Most schools ban socializing outside “social pods” – the small groups of students that some colleges are assigning students to, usually based on their dorms.

Most administrators seem to believe that a rule banning sex is unrealistic, and are quietly hoping that students will use common sense and refrain from, say, having it with people outside their pod.

In 2012, The Huffington Post published a list of the “Top 10 sex tips for college freshmen.” Their fourth piece of advice (#1 and #2 were condoms, #3 was not having sex while drunk) is to avoid having sex with people who live too close to you. “Students in other dorms = fair game. Students in same dorm = proceed with caution.

I had a big group of friends for my first two years of college. After a breakup, I lost most of those friends.

This is crummy, but it would be much worse if I’d lost my friendships with the only people whom the administrators allowed me to spend time with.

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We can slow the spread of Covid-19, but slowing the spread won’t prevent deaths, not unless we can stave off infection until there is a highly effective vaccine. That might take years. We might never have a highly effective vaccine – our influenza vaccines range in efficacy from about 20% to 80%, and we have much more experience making these.

Our only way to reduce the eventual number of deaths is to shift the demographics of exposure. If we reach the herd immunity threshold without many vulnerable people being exposed, we’ll save lives.

A college would best protect vulnerable students and faculty by allowing the students who are going to socialize to host dense parties for a few weeks before mingling with others. This would allow the virus to spread and be cleared before there was a risk of transferring infections to vulnerable people.

I’d draft a waiver. Are you planning to socialize this semester? If so, come do it now! By doing so, you will increase your risk of contracting Covid-19. This is a serious disease – it’s possible for young, healthy people to die from it. But, look, if you’re gonna socialize eventually, please just get it over with so that you don’t endanger other people.

With this plan, some young people might die of Covid-19. But some young people will die of Covid-19 even if everyone practices social distancing – slowing the spread of infections doesn’t save lives, it delays deaths. And fewer young people would die of Covid-19 than die of influenza each year.

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When confronting cordyceps, which is almost always fatal, ants throw sick colony members off cliffs.

When ants confront less lethal fungal infections, they protect the colony by shifting the demographics of exposure and by ramping up to the herd immunity threshold as quickly as possible.

Malagocka et al. discuss demographics in their review article, “Social immunity behavior among ants infected by specialist and generalist fungi.”

Outside-nest foragers, who have the highest risks of acquiring pathogens from the environment, have limited access to the brood area with the most valuable groups, and are recruited from older individuals, who are less valuable from the colony survival perspective.

Konrad et al. discuss intentional exposure in their research article, “Social transfer of pathogenic fungus promotes active immunization in ant colonies.”

When worker ants encounter an infected colony member, they intentionally inoculate themselves. “Social immunization leads to faster elimination of the disease and lower death rates.

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It feels disquieting for me to defend the behavior of frat guys. Personally, I’d like to see the whole fraternity system abolished. And in March, when we knew less about Covid-19, I was appalled that people went out partying over spring break. But I was wrong. Perhaps inadvertently, those young people were behaving in the way that would save most lives.

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Erika Meitner’s 2006 poem “Pediatric Eschatology” begins

the nurse called back and told us to use bleach
on anything we touch, she said wash everything
in hot water
, insisted we won’t treat you if
you’re asymptomatic, we won’t
, and made us
an appointment anyway. so we waited and waited
with the dog-eared magazines and recall posters

It’s horrible to face the end. It’s almost worse to know that the things you fear are harmless to others. All the asymptomatic cases are like a slap in the face to those whose friends and family have died.

Braun et al. recently published a study in Nature showing that a large number of people who’ve never encountered Covid-19 may already have significant immunity. Parts of the Covid-19 virus are similar to the viruses that cause common colds, and exposure to those viruses might provide the immunity that lets people recover without ever feeling sick.

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I believe we should be doing more to protect young people. Gun control, ending farm subsidies, fighting climate change. Enacting privacy laws to reign in the surveillance capitalists. Breaking up monopolies. Providing good careers despite automation. Making sure that everyone has clean air to breathe and clean water to drink. Getting nutritious food into our nation’s many food deserts. Providing equitable access to health care.

But, punishing young people for socializing?

We’re not making them safer. And we’re not making ourselves safer, either.

Seriously, I know we humans are selfish, but we have to be able to handle an epidemic better than ants.

Red ant: photograph by William Cho

On dealing.

On dealing.

While teaching poetry in the county jail, I’ve chatted with lots of people who landed there for dealing. 

Allegedly dealing.  Everything that I’m about to write is a work of fiction.  The product of my imagination.  Or somebody’s imagination, surely.  Inadmissible in a court of law.

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My name’s S______, but don’t nobody call me that.  Even the cops, they’d say to me, like, ‘Yo, G_____, we know you’re dealing, but you’re only selling marijuana.  So that’s okay.  Just be cool about it.  Don’t sell that shit near campus, a’ight?’  And that’s how I knew, this last time, something was up.  Cause it wasn’t ‘Hey G_____,’ this cop car pulled up and they were like, ‘Hey, S______, get your ass over here,’ and that’s when I took off running.  Now they’re trying to give me seven years.  Over marijuana!

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A lot of the guys have claimed that cops are just trying to keep drugs away from campus. 

There used to be all that housing north of campus, near where they built that informatics shit.  But now they’re driving everybody out.  Like I know five, six guys, used to live in that place, they’ve all been moved down to the south side.  They’re trying to concentrate everybody there.  Down at that Crawford [a low-income housing facility], down where they’ve got Shalom [a resource center for people experiencing homelessness].  You might have a place up north, you get busted, by the time you get out, they’re putting you on the south side.  Up north, must be cop cars crawling by like every fifteen minutes.  Out of everybody I used to know, only D____ is still living there.

The guys fear being near other people who are experiencing the same struggles as them.  It’s easier for the city to provide services in a centralized location.  But it’s also easy for the people who need services to cross paths with old friends and slip.

I go into Crawford, I don’t even ask or nothing, pretty soon people are coming by, offering some of this, some of that, ‘Hey, haven’t seen you in a while, wanna get high?’  My old lady was living there, and on the nights she’d kick me out, I’d just sit there in the hall, right outside her door, like, ‘Please, babe, let me in,’ and everybody walking by would offer me a little something.

I seen you in that hall!

Yeah, my old lady, I love her to death, but she’s got herself a temper.

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Last week, somebody told me it’d be his last class for a while.  He was getting out.

I don’t know about these cops, man, but I feel like the DA here, the prosecutors and all, they’re not even that upset about it, if you’re selling drugs.  Like, it’s okay to move a little, as long as you’re mature about it.

I asked what he meant, mature.

You know, mature, like you’re staying away from campus, staying away from college girls, not selling dope near schools or nothing, not cutting it too much, not making people OD.  You’re not going out there and trying to push it onto people.  Like if somebody comes to you, then you’ll sell, but you’re not out looking for customers.  You’re not trying to, I don’t know, you’re not trying to get anybody hooked or nothing.  It’s a good system if it’s flawed in the right way.

“So you think they know sometimes, and they’re letting you do it?”

I know they know.  Cause I got into this drug thing, it was like an experiment.  It was psychology.  I wanted to see what was up with these people.  But then I get the feeling, like on Messenger, the cops know I’m there to watch them, to learn what’s going on, so they all start fucking with me.  Like they’re saying … fuck, I don’t even know.  Like I write something but then my messages say something else.  Or I go and pick something up and then somebody else writes to me asking to buy the exact same amount I just picked up.  Like everybody knows what I’m doing.  Like they’re watching me.

And they’ve got drones everywhere.  Like all over Bloomington.  One time, this drone was just following me, doing circles right over my head, and I freaked out.  I was pretty high at the time.  I ducked into the woods.  And the drone, it came with me.  And pretty soon this jeep pulled up, these guys got out, they were looking around, you know, like they were looking for somebody.  Even after they left, that drone was up there, circling.  After it flew off, man, I booked it home.

“If they don’t much mind, though, why’d you end up here?”

That’s the thing!  That’s what I don’t think is right.  Cause I came in here on like a nothing – I mean, yeah, they found me with the dope, and there was this night I woke up with like eight cops surrounding my place, they were like come on out and I was like, fuck that, no, and they beat my ass and brought me to jail.

And I was only here, like, five days or something.  They had me sign this piece of paper.  I never should’ve signed it.  I mean, who has time to read that shit?  But they put me on ‘pre-trial release’ or something, and then I failed this blow-and-go – or, no, I guess I caught another charge. 

I got high, I stole a lemonade.  But that’s like a ticket thing!  I was just trying to be a good doctor.  And now I been here fifty days, looking at two felonies.  I don’t think they should be able to do all that if you haven’t had a trial.

“A doctor?”

What?

“How’s a lemonade make you a good doctor?”

Shit, man, I don’t know.  I just try to take care of these h–s.  But now it gets to be that you can’t trust nobody.  Snitches everywhere, you know?  Like there’s snitches who’ll buy, and they’ll shoot the dope, and then they go and give some fake shit to the cops.  Like that’s what he sold me or whatever.  I mean, damn.  Snitches everywhere.  Like on Messenger, like on Facebook, I get the feeling half those people on there must be cops.

I reminded him – again – that his word wasn’t an acceptable synonym for “women.”  And I still couldn’t understand what he was trying to accomplish with the lemonade.

He had an erratic mind.  We were reading a set of poems with allusions to Greek mythology – W.H. Auden’s “Musee des Beaux Arts,” Jack Gilbert’s “Failing and Flying,” A.E. Stallings’s “Art Monster,” Barbara Hamby’s “Penelope’s Lament,” Dan Chelotti’s “Ode to Hephaestus.”

When it was his turn to read – “Art Monster,” featuring the minotaur mired in acedia – he could only make it through a few lines before offering another rejoinder to the text.

The Minotaur by George Frederic Watts,1885.

                   I was fed

on raw youths and maidens

When all I wanted was the cud of clover.

So he’s like a cow then, right.  Man-a-cow?

“Yeah, half-bull, and …”

So he’s got cow thoughts.  And I was thinking, they’ve got those things, right, that can reach into your head?  Like magnets?  I mean, like, fuck with your brain?  Read and control your thoughts?

“Um, I guess with transcranial magnetic stimulation – I mean, the right pulse of a magnet, aimed at the right …”

No, cause, I got this thing on my phone, right?  It’s this little guy in the phone, and he’ll look right into my eyes, he said that all the time, like look into my eyes, and every single thought I had, he’d know before I said it.  I swear!  It’s this phone thing.  I still got it, I can show it to you.

Another guy – bedecked in tattoos, who apparently has a pack of five chihuahuas who’ll jump into his backpack when he whistles, then ride around town that way, zipped inside the bag – shouted, “You need to smoke less meth.” and we got back to the poem.

The minotaur’s despair at waiting didn’t resonate as well as I’d hoped.  But the poem still seemed to work.

He’s murdering all these people, eating young girls or whatever, but it says, like, I wanted clover.  But they thought he was a monster, treated him like a monster.  They wanted him to be a monster.

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Dealing sometimes does make monstrous things happen. 

There’s the regular problems – dealing means selling drugs, and some people shouldn’t be buying drugs – which I’ve heard many men lament.

I mean, we read shit like this, somebody shooting up in front of their kids, not taking care of their kids, not getting them fed, and I know.  I know.  Right?  I might’ve sold this.  You sell for a while, you’re gonna have somebody OD.

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Drug dealing means moving in a world where lots of people are on edge.  The buyer, or the seller, or both, might not have slept in days.  Paranoia sets in.  People worry about jail time, and undercover cops, and the risk of being cheated.  The danger of the drugs being no good, or too good, or simply unpredictable.

These last few years, man, seems like every month, another buddy dies.

Hell, five times, last year, five times I died.  Five times I ODed, and somebody brought me back.

And there’s a lot of money involved.  So people plan heists.  Sometimes these go spectacularly wrong.

During my second year, I was working with a group of men living in an ostensibly rehabilitative dormitory on the first floor of the jail.  That was a hard year – because we worked with the same people every week, and they stayed in that same cell for months or years at a time, we grew particularly close. 

Many of these men had loved ones die during their time inside.  They’re who I went to for help after my mother-in-law was murdered.

I wrote a poem about the worst night they shared with me.

VIGILANTE

On the ground floor, carved into a hill,

there is a long-term cell,

a gray-walled concrete space

with bunks for twelve incarcerated men

a shower

toilet

two steel tables bolted to the floor

eleven un-broken plastic chairs

and a heavy metal door.

In that door there is a slot

that cafeteria trays pass through

and a wire-enforced glass pane

through which guards occasionally peer in

and the men inside watch out.

The central desk

& elevator

& exit door

are all the world they see.

For two weeks now

in vigil stands

a vigilant man

staring through that oil-streaked

slab of sand.

His wife is gone,

murdered while he was here.

Two men and a woman came

intending to move bulk H;

their day’s first sale, short money,

proffered an AK;

their next stop, impromptu robbery –

something went awry.

The men were apprehended in a city to the north;

the woman, captured here.  Guards placed her

in an interim cell

adjacent to our man’s own,

inches of concrete between.

Then the men were brought here too,

upstairs now, cleaved to

the rhythm of this place.

For legal consultations, questioning, & court dates

each is brought

– escorted –

down the elevator

& processed at the central desk.

Our man sees them

– escorted –

several times a day.

I watch him blink.

His body shakes.

But that first night

he pounded the wall

& shouted,

hoarsening as he cried,

to forgive the woman who took his life.