Politics

This sticker on a dorm room door is the only political statement of any kind that I've seen in McMurdo

Current conditions:  Con3.  Temperature 32ºF (windchill 24ºF).  Population ≈ 1000

We've heard some vague murmurings down here that there may be some political bruhaha going on in the U.S.  Something about impeachment?  Or was it about Giuliani?   I don't know.  It's probably nothing...

Well, actually, Dean and I are glued to the news but outside of our dorm room, we NEVER talk about it.  Once in a while the topic will vaguely come up.  At lunch yesterday, the visiting Air Force flight surgeon said that people on the right were far more open to new ideas than people on the left.  I begged to differ although I did support the view that openness was both rare and essential for meaningful debate.  The six people at the table visibly tensed at the mere whiff of political discussion and shifted the conversation to safer grounds.  Marisa, a Uruguayan by birth, said, "a rule my father set for our dinner conversation was no discussion of politics, religion or soccer".   So we turned back, yet again, to the quality of the food.

This is not to say there are no politics here but rather that all politics are local.  We don't talk about Trump or Biden but we do discuss local challenges of leadership and how to navigate decisions between the various powers that try to wield control.

Here are two examples which I beg my blog readers to please keep to yourselves

1.  Case one.  Civilian-Air Force politics.
Yesterday, we were asked to medevac someone from the South Pole with high altitude sickness (the South Pole is at about 9,300 feet but closer to 11,000 physiologically due to flattening of the earth at the poles). The treatment for high altitude sickness is removing the person from high altitude and bringing them to sea level (McMurdo).  A plane sat on the polar airfield, ready to leave, and one was about to take off from McMurdo for the pole. When we were called by the the doctor at the pole (who had probably already dilly-dallied for one day too long), Dean, who is the civilian in charge, said "put him on that plane".  But the Air Force, which owns and runs the planes, said "we can't.  It would mean a delay and the flight crew would exceed its Air Force duty hours". Dean said: "you can get a waiver". The Air Force guys said "no".   So Dean said, "then put him on the plane flying in right now".  The Air Force guys said "No.  We don't have a qualified Air Force medical crew on board.  We need qualified flight crew [this despite the fact that last week, we sent someone back without a qualified flight crew]."  Dean was adamant.  It went up the AF chain of command to the US.  The decision--against Dean's recommendation--was to fly in a third plane, later in the day, with a qualified Air Force medical crew.  That's what happened.  But, unfortunately, that plane arrived only to boomerang back without landing because of problems with the landing gear--exactly what Dean feared would happen.  A plane on the runway is worth 20 in a distant Antarctic air field.  So the patient, who really should have been here two days ago (the medical team also delayed in contacting us from the Pole) is continuing to struggle to breathe because we couldn't overcome a power struggle between the Air Force rules and common sense.  In addition, three of our four flight crew--those who went out yesterday--now can't fly this morning if the plane goes (and it may not because the weather is iffy) because of rest restrictions.  So the only "good" that may come of this is that I might get to go to the Pole if the plane goes before duty hour restrictions are over.

2.  Case two.  NSF politics.
Those of you who read my blog might recall the fight over doing research down here (see blog of 10/6/19).  The politics go on.   About a month ago, in trying to respond to an NSF request for proposals (NSF 19-506), I contacted the NSF to ask whether they would fund any human subjects research.  They wrote back that the NSF would not sponsor it but I could write to the NIH or NASA and, if they wanted to fund it, the NSF would work with them to set up the project.

Now any of you who has written an NIH grant knows that you can't just write a proposal to work somewhere without having an a priori agreement at the site. So I did what any diligent grant writer would do:  I tried to find out how to set up a collaboration at the South Pole.  Below is the eruption that occurred when I tiptoed into navigate this requirement.

My boss at UTMB sent me the subsequent email chain.  Next, the first innocuous step up the ladder.

This next email is from the person who told me to apply to the NIH or NASA.  Still okay.

So now, the emails start to get nasty.    I didn't ask the NSF to support the research.  I was doing what they, themselves, told me to do.

Now, getting really nasty.

And now the end of the telephone stream: no research in the clinic.  Nothing about trying to get a grant written for a study to perhpas begin 2 years ago.

The end result, we got reamed out by the the medical boss in UTMB who told us we must cease and desist Dean's CDC viral surveillance study for no apparent reason (although he said he would eventually get back to them to restart it).

Probably the end of the line for my idea.  Or should I fight on?  At least I have a nice picture.