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Move Thanksgiving to October

The Atlantic

www.theatlantic.com › culture › archive › 2024 › 11 › move-thanksgiving-october › 680802

You are so tired! I can tell because I’m tired too. In a couple of days, tens of millions of Americans will get on planes or trains or highways, crunching our limbs in godless ways for hours on end, worrying if we left the stove on or packed enough layers. We will fight the crowds, brave the chaos, pay the money. And then we will get to wherever we’re going, and we’ll eat. It will probably be lovely, or maybe it will be bad, but either way, it will be a little nuts because we will then (then!), in less than the time it takes a carton of half-and-half to go bad, do it all again.

Or at least many of us, those who are gluttons for punishment, will. We’ll move our bodies and our belongings around the country during precisely the time of year when the climate becomes, in many places, dark, wet, icy, and freezing—again. We’ll contemplate togetherness, and family, and potatoes—again. Maybe we’ll watch football—again. Many of us will eat turkey—again. We’ll pack all our traveling and relative-wrangling and big-mealing into one overstuffed, exhausting month, and for no extrinsic reason.

There’s a better way to do things, and in fact another country already does it. That country is Canada, and it celebrates Thanksgiving in October. We should too.

Canadian Thanksgiving is the second Monday of October, though many people observe it over the weekend. To preserve some tradition, I propose we reschedule ours to fall on the Thursday before Canada’s holiday. Superfans of the calendar may notice that this is the same long weekend as Indigenous Peoples’ Day/Columbus Day, which seems fine—they’d each have their own days, and besides, you can probably appreciate that there’s some thematic overlap here. So we’d have Thanksgiving Thursday and another holiday Monday, creating one mega-long weekend, and then roll gently into Halloween. After that, we’d have a whole month to avoid interstate travel and its attendant costs, spiritual and financial. We’d get our blood sugar in order before the holiday-party season begins in earnest.

[Read: The no-drama Thanksgiving]

Halloween and Thanksgiving decorations can easily commingle if we want them to—a squash is a squash—and we’d get to celebrate the bounty of the harvest during the actual harvest. In the parts of the country where the leaves turn, they would be beautiful. Everywhere, it would be a little warmer, a little easier to schlep around. We’d let the holiday season stretch out long and easy, making time for Thanksgiving on its own terms, rather than treating it like the dress rehearsal for Christmas. We could still eat the same stuff, still have a parade, and still, I’m sure, go shopping the next day. The only difference is the timing, which will now have been made rational.

We tend to think of Thanksgiving as something fixed—part of our national topography, like Mount Rushmore. A major feature of holidays is, after all, that they are pretty much the same every year. But another major feature is that they are social constructs, and Thanksgiving has been changing basically since it was invented. The first Thanksgiving—the one many of us learned about in school, the one with the Pilgrims—is believed by historians to have taken place sometime between September and November, and aside from being a meal, it had almost nothing to do with our modern celebration.

In 1789, George Washington and the first Congress did declare Thursday, November 26, a “Day of public Thanksgiving,” but this wasn’t enshrined anywhere in perpetuity: For decades, the holiday was just observed ad hoc by individual governments and families when events warranted giving thanks, which meant not necessarily in the same way, or on the same day, or even in same month, or at all. Not until the 19th century did the Thanksgiving we now know come to be, in part because Sarah Hale, the editor of an influential women’s magazine, decided America needed a holiday that honored the domestic sphere—that is, the topics her magazine covered—and celebrated Protestant values. For years, she “badgered” the government about this, according to the historian Anne Blue Wills, and in 1863, Abraham Lincoln, hoping to unite the nation while war cleaved it apart, acquiesced: Thanksgiving was now a federal holiday, celebrated permanently on the last Thursday of November.

Not that permanently, though, because 76 years later, we moved it. In 1939, Thanksgiving fell on the last day of the month, and retailers worried that a late start to the Christmas-shopping season would depress sales. Fred Lazarus Jr., the chairman of the company that would later become Macy’s, lobbied President Franklin D. Roosevelt to move Thanksgiving a week earlier, to the second-to-last Thursday of the month. Lazarus was successful, though the whole thing did not go over super well. Football coaches were enraged, having seen their big-ticket games suddenly moved from a major holiday to a random Thursday. A political rival of Roosevelt’s accused him of acting with “the omnipotence of Hitler.” The Three Stooges mocked the change in a short film. Only 23 of the 48 states honored the new date, and until 1941 we had two Thanksgivings, a week apart. Finally, Congress passed a resolution declaring Thanksgiving the fourth Thursday of November, where it has remained ever since.

My point is that we as a society are pretty resilient. I think we can handle changing Thanksgiving again. It seems unlikely that retailers will mind much, and I’m sure that if given enough notice, the football coaches can prepare. And Thanksgiving, as many Americans’ favorite secular celebration, deserves better. At its best, the holiday welcomes people regardless of religion or relationship status, and it doesn’t even require them to bring a gift. It pulls us together with the people we love and honors one of the highest art forms of human existence: gratitude, though on Thanksgiving the more apt word is the one Buddhists use—katannuta, “to have a sense of what was done.”

[Read: How to be thankful when you don’t feel thankful]

Thanksgiving has changed along with the country. We started celebrating it in November because of, “basically, one woman’s understanding of the national calendar,” as Wills told me, and then we moved it because some guy named Fred asked the president to. We have made and remade it to serve the needs of nationalism, business, politics. What’s stopping us from remaking it again?

Canada, Mexico leaders stress cooperation after Trump tariffs threat

Al Jazeera English

www.aljazeera.com › news › 2024 › 11 › 26 › canada-mexico-leaders-stress-cooperation-after-trump-tariffs-threat

Justin Trudeau and Claudia Sheinbaum urge dialogue as Donald Trump plans to hit US neighbours with 25-percent tariffs.

Climate Diplomacy’s $300 Billion Failure

The Atlantic

www.theatlantic.com › science › archive › 2024 › 11 › cop-climate-baku-outcome-finance › 680789

The problem that the United Nations’ annual climate conference was meant to solve this year was, in one way, straightforward. To have any hope of meeting their commitments to holding global warming at bay, developing countries need at least $1 trillion a year in outside funding, according to economists’ assessments. Failure to meet those commitments will result in more chaotic climate outcomes globally. Everyone agrees on this.

And yet, after two weeks of grueling, demoralizing negotiations, the assembled 198 parties agreed to a deal that was, in the most generous terms, weak. The agreement committed to $300 billion a year, by 2035, in funding for climate action in developing countries—triple the current target but less than a third of that trillion-plus goal.

These negotiations have operated on the presumption that a significant chunk of this money would come from wealthy countries, because where else would it come from? A limited number of places—the U.S., Canada, Australia, New Zealand, Japan, Israel, and Europe—have been the source of 92 percent of excess carbon emissions since industrialization. The countries that are bearing the brunt of climate change largely didn’t emit the carbon causing it. And the wealthiest countries failed to make a financial commitment even close to what was needed. “They’re really finding ways to avoid their responsibility,” Nafkote Dabi, the climate-change-policy lead at Oxfam International, told me.

Even the climate financing that was agreed to is not just a cash handout. Previous agreements had promised $100 billion annually, a goal that the world claims to have finally managed to hit in 2022. But about 70 percent of that financing came in the form of loans. Much of the money in this agreement will likely be structured as debt too—and will add to a global debt crisis that the International Monetary Fund estimates has 35 countries in dire financial straits this year. Dabi described debt—both a country’s existing national debt and climate finance taking the form of new debt—as the elephant in the room at COP. Even as developing countries worried about their debt burden growing from funds promised at the conference, they worried that discussing debt forgiveness would derail the already fragile negotiations.

But both national debt and new climate debt stand in the way of COP’s stated goals. Towering national debts are stifling countries’ ability to invest in climate resilience: Some 3.3 billion people live in countries that spend more on servicing the interest payments on their debt than on education or health, let alone climate adaptation. And as climate change fuels hurricanes, droughts, and other disasters, the country must take on more debt to respond. African nations in particular are struggling. Last year, the chief economic adviser for Kenya’s president tweeted, “Salaries or default? Take your pick.” The country’s economy is collapsing under the weight of debt repayments. Kenya is also ricocheting between drought and flooding, and although climate funding might help build irrigation systems for drought-stricken farmers or finance renewable-energy infrastructure, it could also exacerbate the economic crisis if it arrives in the form of debt, adding to a burden that itself makes people that much less resilient to climate change’s challenges.

Pakistan is perhaps the clearest example of how debt and climate risk can send a country into a downward spiral. It is one of the countries most loaded with external debt, owing some $100 billion to mostly the Asian Development Bank, IMF and World Bank, and a handful of wealthy countries including China, Japan, and the United States. And disasters worsened by climate change only add to its hardship: In 2022, for instance, flood damage amounted to $30 billion in losses. Pakistan can never repay its debts, and natural disasters will push it to rack up more.

Dramatically lessening Pakistan’s debt would offer some recognition that the country is suffering under climate conditions it was not responsible for creating, and to which it will struggle to respond otherwise. Mark Brown, the prime minister of the Cook Islands, has called for countries on the front lines of climate change to have their national debts forgiven, and the president of Nigeria recently wrote that offering climate financing to African countries without restructuring their debts would be like “pedaling harder on a bicycle as its tires go flat.”

There is precedent for mass debt forgiveness: In the 1990s and early 2000s, the IMF led the Highly Indebted Poor Countries initiative to restructure debts. It managed to cut out up to 64 percent of the countries’ debts on average. Kevin Gallagher, the director of the Boston University Global Development Policy Center and an expert on climate finance, told me he’d like to see a new program like it, but one meant to wrangle the many private bondholders that have since entered the debt market. These companies, he says, tend to be reluctant to grant a country debt relief, despite charging extremely high interest rates meant to cover losses in the likely case the country defaults. “They’ve already priced it in,” he told me. Right now, China and other major debt holders are then also wary of offering debt relief, knowing the debtor country will likely use any financial breathing room to pay the private bond market.

China, which is the single biggest creditor of any country in the world, is actually a far more progressive lender than private bondholders, experts say. China can be reluctant to restructure countries’ debts when they’re at risk of default, but it also lends at much lower interest rates than private bondholders. And few other creditor countries have been willing to entertain cutting debts as part of a climate-resilience strategy either, according to Jason Braganza, a Kenyan economist and the executive director of the African Forum and Network on Debt and Development. If a major debt-restructuring initiative managed to get China, other creditor countries such as the U.S., private bond markets, and global-development banks to the table, that could alter the fate of the world: Although every one of the poorest indebted countries could default on its loans without having a huge impact on the global financial system, the financial strain of them defaulting—and tumbling into austerity—would drag down the global economy, Gallagher said. “If these countries can’t even afford to pay back their international debts, they certainly can’t invest in climate resilience, mitigation, and development.”

Debt forgiveness poses a similar challenge to the climate-finance question that COP failed so miserably to address: Solving either crisis would take collective will, and at COP, too few responsible entities were willing. And although COP could agree not to issue new climate finance in the form of debt, a multilateral agreement on debt forgiveness wouldn’t happen at COP, which doesn’t include nonstate actors.

Still, last week in Brazil, President Joe Biden called on G20 countries to swiftly provide debt relief to nations that need it, urging a faster debt-restructuring process. Many analysts say wealthy countries have an obvious interest in preventing default in the developing world: The impact of debt distress is not confined to the distressed country’s borders. Indebtedness breeds austerity, and if countries are unable to shield themselves from the effects of climate change and to transition away from fossil fuels, then that crisis deepens into an issue of global security. Emissions go up, as does displacement. If the world could think differently about debt, perhaps the next round of climate talks, scheduled for November 2025 in Brazil, could go differently too.

Everyone Agrees Americans Aren’t Healthy

The Atlantic

www.theatlantic.com › health › archive › 2024 › 11 › trump-fda-cdc › 680784

Robert F. Kennedy Jr. is wrong about a lot of things in public health. Vaccines don’t cause autism. Raw milk is more dangerous than pasteurized milk. And cellphones haven’t been shown to cause brain cancer. But the basic idea behind his effort to “Make America Healthy Again” is correct: America is not healthy, and our current system has not fixed the problem.

Joe Biden entered office promising to “beat” the coronavirus pandemic, cure cancer, and get more people health care. Arguably no one on Earth can talk more passionately about funding cancer research than Biden, whose son Beau died of brain cancer in 2015 and who, in 2022, announced an initiative to halve U.S. cancer deaths in the next 25 years. Robert Califf, Biden’s FDA commissioner, has been particularly stalwart in arguing that the agency must play a role in reversing a “catastrophic decline” in Americans’ life expectancy, and has repeatedly warned of “an ever-growing epidemic of diet-related chronic diseases,” such as cardiovascular disease and type 2 diabetes. A 2019 study found that just 12 percent of Americans are considered metabolically healthy, based on their waist circumference, blood sugar, blood pressure, and cholesterol.

Of course Biden’s White House was never going to end cancer or obesity in four years. But many of its policies barely scratched the surface of America’s wide-ranging health problems. Despite Califf’s dramatic language about the country’s diet problems, for example, the FDA’s efforts to improve the situation have mostly revolved around giving Americans more information about healthy foods.

The public-health bureaucracy that the Trump administration will inherit is more focused on and skilled at treating America’s health problems than preventing them. That shortcoming—despite the billions of dollars spent every year at these agencies—has damaged the credibility of the public-health establishment enough that Kennedy is now Donald Trump’s nominee for secretary of Health and Human Services. Marty Makary, Trump’s pick to lead the FDA, has similarly risen in prominence by second-guessing "medical dogma" in the U.S. and beyond. And Trump’s pick to lead the CDC, former Representative Dave Weldon, has criticized the agency’s vaccine policies and once attempted to block its vaccine-safety research because of what he claimed were conflicts of interest. A set of men who have made careers of distrusting our existing health-care agencies may soon be empowered to try to blow them up.

The Biden administration, to be fair, had less time to deal with America’s deeper health issues, because it was forced to deal with at least a few calamities. Much of Biden’s term was spent navigating the country out of the pandemic. On the whole, his administration achieved most of its COVID goals. The Biden White House provided Americans with free COVID tests and mounted a vaccination campaign that resulted in more than three-quarters of the country getting a shot. Still, the pandemic left the CDC beleaguered by claims that it was simultaneously too slow and too aggressive in its efforts to fight the virus. During Biden’s presidency, the agency promised to “share science and data faster” and “translate science into practical policy,” but it has struggled to respond to the continued spread of bird flu. Public-health experts have slammed the CDC for not sharing enough information about the virus’s spread, including a human case in Missouri earlier this year, and farmers have been reluctant to implement the agency’s recommendations for preventing transmission of the virus from sick cattle to humans.

Some of those calamities were self-inflicted. The FDA is entrusted with ensuring that our food and medicines are safe, and it generally does spot issues quickly after they occur. But for months, the FDA failed to act on a whistleblower complaint alerting regulators to deplorable conditions at an infant-formula factory that eventually caused nationwide formula shortages and two infant deaths. The FDA is also supposed to decide what tobacco products can be sold, but it has failed to police the illegal market for vapes and nicotine pouches, such as Zyn. And for all the administration’s talk of being guided by “science and truth,” the White House seemingly bowed to political pressure and abandoned a plan to ban menthol cigarettes at the very end of a long rule-making process. The past four years have revealed that crucial parts of the agency’s remit—most notably its oversight of tobacco and the food system—have been neglected by agency leadership; in 2022, independent reviews of the FDA’s food and tobacco centers found that both lacked clarity on mission and goals.

At the same time, the administration has failed to deliver on its loftier ambitions. Biden quietly dropped some of his bolder ideas, such as his campaign promise to create a public-option insurance plan. The Advanced Research Projects Agency for Health, a new government agency that funds high-risk, high-reward research and is essential to Biden’s cancer goals, is in its infancy, and Republicans in Congress are already eager to cut its budget. And some promises, such as Biden’s grand goal to help change America’s diet, have been approached more like trivial pursuits.

The administration branded its 2022 hunger and nutrition conference, for instance, as the largest and most important gathering on nutrition policy since the Nixon administration. That 1960s conference led to millions of children gaining access to school lunch and to the creation of the Special Supplemental Nutrition Program for Women, Infants, and Children (or WIC), which provides food to about 6 million Americans each month. The Biden administration’s summit ended with a pledge to end hunger and improve America’s diet by 2030, but the steps taken toward tackling those goals—such as developing a plan to add warning labels to unhealthy foods—have been modest. And all the agency has done so far on that project is conduct research on the labels’ potential design. The FDA has also pledged to lower the sodium in foods, but the targets it’s set for the food industry are entirely voluntary.

These efforts are understandably careful and bureaucratic. The agency’s caution over warning-label design comes amid threats from the food industry to sue over any label deemed unjustified. Indeed, in the U.S. legal system, regulators have trouble mandating that companies do much of anything without it being branded as unconstitutional. But the Biden administration’s efforts look comically inadequate given the scope of America’s health problems.

RFK Jr. is promising a break from the status quo. This is not to say that he, should he be confirmed as health secretary, has a better plan. Most of his ideas amount to little more than pronouncements that he will take sweeping actions immediately once Trump is sworn in as president. The reality is that many of those efforts would take months, if not years, to implement—and some might not be feasible at all. He has signaled, for example, that he will clear house at the FDA’s food center, despite rules that prevent government bureaucrats from being fired willy-nilly. He also has pledged to ban certain chemicals from food, which he’s argued are contributing to American’s lower life expectancy. But for every chemical the FDA bans, it will have to go through a lengthy regulatory process, which would likely be challenged by food companies in court. Kennedy’s notion of significantly altering the system of fees that drug makers pay the FDA to review their products would likely send the agency into a budgetary crisis.

If Kennedy gets confirmed to lead HHS, he will quickly be confronted with the reality that governing is a slow and tedious process that doesn’t take kindly to big, bold ideas, even with an impatient leader like Trump calling the shots. At the outset of his first term, Trump declared war on drug companies, which he claimed were “getting away with murder” due to their high prices. Trump’s then–health secretary, Alex Azar, in turn spent the next four years trying radical fixes that included requiring drug makers to post their prices in TV ads, importing drugs from Canada, tying American drug prices to other countries’, and eliminating the rebates that middlemen negotiate for insurance companies. But each idea got bogged down in bureaucracy and lawsuits. Trump’s early attempts to contain COVID by blocking international air travel similarly did little to keep the virus out of America, despite his claims at the time that the policy “saved us” from widespread outbreaks.

Biden benefited from Operation Warp Speed's rapid push to create vaccines, but it was his team of technocrats that finally got them distributed. And they eventually lowered drug prices too, in a much simpler way than Trump was proposing. But technocracy has also failed to address our most pressing—and most visible—health problems. Trump’s picks have little experience navigating the Rube Goldberg puzzle that is American bureaucracy. They certainly aren’t afraid of trying something new, but we’re about to find out how far that will get them.