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New Brunswick — ocean vistas, friendly locals and cheap, cheap real estate — wants you

Annick Robichaud Butland answered the phone after two rings, and reassured a rather startled caller from Ontario that getting an actual human being on the line after dialing a 1-800 government number in New Brunswick was the “Maritime way.”

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Some of the natural spoils of New Brunswick, highlighted in the province's Live for the Moment NB marketing campaign.

Annick Robichaud Butland answered the phone after two rings, and reassured a rather startled caller from Ontario that getting an actual human being on the line after dialing a 1-800 government number in New Brunswick was the “Maritime way.”

Turns out, Butland, in her role as a provincial outreach coordinator attached to the province’s Live for the Moment NB marketing campaign, has been answering a lot of calls from Ontario and points across Canada over the past week or so.

The clever push, conceived by several local economic development agencies and promoted on social media, includes a website aimed at all the poor young suckers — and you know who you are — currently marooned in overheated big city housing markets.

We’re talking about both those grinding away paycheque to paycheque to pay down the mortgage and those unable to afford a place — period — all now working remotely, weary of lockdowns and perhaps itching for change, which is smack where New Brunswick’s campaign hits them.

Cue the site’s 29-second teaser video with a groovy soundtrack and images of a hiker peering out to sea; a camper tossing bacon into a skillet; and paddle boarders on a calm-as-glass river with nothing around them, but nature’s abundant glory.

Bliss.

 Live for the Moment NB marketing campaign aims at young big city dwellers working remotely, weary of lockdowns and perhaps itching for change.

In cold hard text further down the page, the statistics: homes in parts of New Brunswick are 77 per cent cheaper than the million-dollar average in Toronto, a savings of $865,200, according to the site. Compared to Vancouver, the buy-in-NB discount is 81 per cent ($1,033,700); in Calgary, it is 53 per cent ($411,700); and in Montreal, 56 per cent ($441,979).

The campaign launched March 14. By day three, Butland and friends had already fielded more than 200 inquiries, and most of the callers, she said, had already done their “research.” But her phone isn’t the only one ringing. Pam Doak, a Fredericton-based realtor with 34 years of experience, said 50 per cent of her calls during the past year have been from people in Ontario.

People are more than just interested; they’ve been making the move. One prominent new resident is hip-hop icon Maestro Fresh Wes, who pulled up stakes in Toronto during the pandemic and now happily lives near the Bay of Fundy.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Doak said of the seismic uptick in interest.

Neither has New Brunswick. But that was before the pandemic sparked a shift in how people work, and how they viewed their lot in life. Suddenly, a historically have-not province has it all: Affordable homes, no traffic, ocean vistas, national parks, art galleries, restaurants, universities, bilingualism, work-life balance, super-friendly people, practically no COVID-19 cases and, coming in April, an Atlantic provinces travel bubble 2.0 to look forward to.

The housing market has been “insane” since last spring, Doak said, and it shows no signs of losing steam. People are buying houses without ever having set foot in them and, in some cases, without ever having set foot in the Maritimes.

In February, 824 homes were sold in the province, a year-over-year increase of almost 400 per cent. The average sale price year-to-date is $198,472. The market in Fredericton is red hot, Saint John is blazing, Moncton, too.

But the obvious question, and the one Butland said people keep asking her is: “What is it really like there?”

 Image from the Live for the Moment NB marketing campaign.

It’s something that Kristine Walker and her husband, Rory, started asking themselves five years ago in Langley, B.C., about a 30-minute drive (without traffic) from downtown Vancouver. Walker, a supply chain management expert, was working, as she describes it, “to pay the mortgage.” Her roundtrip commute could take as long as three hours. Her life, seemingly happy enough on the surface, was utter hell.

But Walker’s biggest fear was that her two boys would grow up with a mountain backdrop and yet never be able to afford a similar view. She and Rory were B.C. born and raised, but they ditched the West in 2016 in favour of a 4,000-square-foot home — double what they owned in Langley — on the opposite side of the country. After selling the Langley place, they pocketed a $400,000 difference.

“Neither one of us had ever set foot in New Brunswick, outside of the one day I was in Saint John on a cruise,” Walker said.

They bought in New Maryland, just outside Fredericton, and, irony of ironies, they recently put the house up for sale after gradually coming to the realization that more space simply meant more dusting.

“We are downsizing,” Walker said.

As an early pioneer of the move to New Brunswick movement, Walker speaks with authority and persuasiveness. She found work in her field. She made new friends. She has next to no commute. The kids are happy. In the months since the pandemic struck, she convinced her sister’s family, her mom and her mom’s partner to ditch the housing insanity of B.C. and move east.

“My mom bought a place on the beach in Saint John,” she said.

 Kristine and Rory Walker, and their boys, Trevor and Brendan. The Walkers moved from B.C. to New Maryland, NB in 2016, making them pioneers of the move East movement.

Five years after taking the leap, Walker has no regrets, aside from one minor lament: with the time difference, her beloved Vancouver Canucks’ games start right around bedtime.

“When I do watch the Canucks, sometimes they will pan out and show the harbour, and I’ll find myself missing the highrises, but that’s it,” she said.

Heartening as Walker’s story of family renewal and salesmanship in support of New Brunswick’s charms are, there is another, more ominous tale that also requires telling; one about a province in a demographic death spiral.

“Anecdotes aren’t statistics,” Richard Saillant, a Moncton-based economist and public policy consultant said.

According to the numbers, about 12,000 New Brunswickers each year turn 65 — official retirement age — but only 8,000 or so hit age 15, the official working age. Those are not good numbers for a province looking to grow.

“It leaves a gap of about 4,000 workers every year that the domestic labour supply can’t meet,” Saillant said.

In sum, New Brunswick is rapidly going grey. Any short-term bump in the number of young people throwing in the towel in Toronto, mid-pandemic, and zeroing in on a new life in, say, Moncton is a “mere blip on New Brunswick’s long-term demographic trajectory,” he said.

It’s not all bad news. For those younger people who actually take the leap, and who aren’t simply bringing the job they have elsewhere with them, they land in a province looking for skilled workers in information and communications technology, advanced manufacturing, agriculture and aquaculture and more.

Unlike bygone days, New Brunswick already enjoys annual net gains in inter-provincial migration. Prior to the pandemic crashing the numbers, the province also welcomed about 6,000 immigrants a year.

The out-of-province transplants are often baby boomers — yup, more seniors — but they typically arrive flush with cash after having sold a home in Montreal, Ottawa, Toronto, Calgary, Vancouver and points in between.

More people, especially people with disposable income, boost the local tax base. They also splash cash around the local community and fatten federal transfer payments. Boomers dine out, go to galleries and renovate kitchens. They buy new cars, get involved as volunteers, require doctors and nurses, and, as they near the end of their life’s journey, may need long-term care.

“Overall, that’s a net positive,” Saillant said.

Even the oldies can turn out to be goodies, particularly when what they most add to a community is their enthusiasm for the place.

 Ed Pavich, right, and his partner, Graeme Johnson moved from Ontario in September, lured by the cheap real estate.

Consider Ed Pavich. The 58-year-old banker was, as of March 1, 2020, preparing for a career shift with his employer in Niagara Falls, Ont. But when COVID-19 took hold, plans changed, and he opted for early retirement instead.

He and his life partner, artist Graeme Johnson, started looking at New Brunswick real estate. Neither had roots in the province. They had visited, though. The people seemed nice and the scenery was pretty, so they got serious and snapped up a four-bedroom Dutch colonial-style house bordering a forest outside Fredericton, with a pool and a barn that is now home to three pet alpacas, Zamir, Opus and Clovis.

They also have three large dogs and an extra $200,000 in the bank, thanks to the nice, but unremarkable three-bedroom, two-storey house with a small backyard they sold back in Ontario.

”I feel as though I have always belonged in New Brunswick,” Pavich said.

 Their Dutch-style colonial home just outside Fredericton has a barn out back that is home to the couples’ three pet alpacas — and a pool.

At first, the couple was “freaked out” by the locals’ friendliness. People are friendly enough in Ontario, but they are not nearly New Brunswick-friendly. Neighbours they had never met offered to do their shopping as they rode out their two-week quarantine in September. Gift baskets magically appeared at the front door, as did dinner invites. New friendships bloomed. People bought into mask-wearing protocols. Social distancing actually seemed cool. Community came first.

Johnson is now kicking around the idea of opening a bed and breakfast — working name: Maritime Mary’s Guesthouse and Alpaca Ranch. Unlike Pavich, he confesses to being a tad homesick. New Brunswick is awfully quiet. But as the weather has improved, so have Johnson’s spirits — further buoyed, no doubt, by their decision to splurge on a vintage Porsche Boxster.

“We are getting it shipped from Ontario,” Pavich said. “We have gotten so lucky. Everybody here has been so friendly.”

Of course, friendliness and better affordability aren’t exclusive to New Brunswick. Small communities, east, west and central, have been zeroing in on city slickers’ pandemic angst and overpriced housing heartache in an effort to entice them to relocate.

Owen Sound, Ont., a pretty spot on Georgian Bay a few hours northwest of Toronto, offers newcomers a new pair of plaid work-from-home pyjamas. Kawartha Lakes, to the northeast of the big city, is highlighting its newest famous resident, Erica Ehm.

A household name among the Gen-X crowd, the ex-Much Music VJ has built a successful digital marketing company and, as a podcaster, has been beavering away from a pretty place on a lake and telling people how great it all is.

Back in Hopewell Cape, a village on the Bay of Fundy, Annick Robichaud Butland was explaining to her caller from Ontario what New Brunswick is really like. Her kids are older now, but when they were little she would walk them down to where the school bus picked them up and watch the sunrise over the ocean.

It is a view she never tires of.

“People want to come to New Brunswick for the slower pace and the friendlier lifestyle,” she said. “So let us know when you come, because we’d love to show you around.”

• Email: joconnor@nationalpost.com | Twitter: oconnorwrites

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Chinese migration to US is nothing new – but the reasons for recent surge at Southern border are

A gloomier economic outlook in China and tightening state control have combined with the influence of social media in encouraging migration.

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Chinese migrants wait for a boat after having walked across the Darien Gap from Colombia to Panama. AP Photo/Natacha Pisarenko

The brief closure of the Darien Gap – a perilous 66-mile jungle journey linking South American and Central America – in February 2024 temporarily halted one of the Western Hemisphere’s busiest migration routes. It also highlighted its importance to a small but growing group of people that depend on that pass to make it to the U.S.: Chinese migrants.

While a record 2.5 million migrants were detained at the United States’ southwestern land border in 2023, only about 37,000 were from China.

I’m a scholar of migration and China. What I find most remarkable in these figures is the speed with which the number of Chinese migrants is growing. Nearly 10 times as many Chinese migrants crossed the southern border in 2023 as in 2022. In December 2023 alone, U.S. Border Patrol officials reported encounters with about 6,000 Chinese migrants, in contrast to the 900 they reported a year earlier in December 2022.

The dramatic uptick is the result of a confluence of factors that range from a slowing Chinese economy and tightening political control by President Xi Jinping to the easy access to online information on Chinese social media about how to make the trip.

Middle-class migrants

Journalists reporting from the border have generalized that Chinese migrants come largely from the self-employed middle class. They are not rich enough to use education or work opportunities as a means of entry, but they can afford to fly across the world.

According to a report from Reuters, in many cases those attempting to make the crossing are small-business owners who saw irreparable damage to their primary or sole source of income due to China’s “zero COVID” policies. The migrants are women, men and, in some cases, children accompanying parents from all over China.

Chinese nationals have long made the journey to the United States seeking economic opportunity or political freedom. Based on recent media interviews with migrants coming by way of South America and the U.S.’s southern border, the increase in numbers seems driven by two factors.

First, the most common path for immigration for Chinese nationals is through a student visa or H1-B visa for skilled workers. But travel restrictions during the early months of the pandemic temporarily stalled migration from China. Immigrant visas are out of reach for many Chinese nationals without family or vocation-based preferences, and tourist visas require a personal interview with a U.S. consulate to gauge the likelihood of the traveler returning to China.

Social media tutorials

Second, with the legal routes for immigration difficult to follow, social media accounts have outlined alternatives for Chinese who feel an urgent need to emigrate. Accounts on Douyin, the TikTok clone available in mainland China, document locations open for visa-free travel by Chinese passport holders. On TikTok itself, migrants could find information on where to cross the border, as well as information about transportation and smugglers, commonly known as “snakeheads,” who are experienced with bringing migrants on the journey north.

With virtual private networks, immigrants can also gather information from U.S. apps such as X, YouTube, Facebook and other sites that are otherwise blocked by Chinese censors.

Inspired by social media posts that both offer practical guides and celebrate the journey, thousands of Chinese migrants have been flying to Ecuador, which allows visa-free travel for Chinese citizens, and then making their way over land to the U.S.-Mexican border.

This journey involves trekking through the Darien Gap, which despite its notoriety as a dangerous crossing has become an increasingly common route for migrants from Venezuela, Colombia and all over the world.

In addition to information about crossing the Darien Gap, these social media posts highlight the best places to cross the border. This has led to a large share of Chinese asylum seekers following the same path to Mexico’s Baja California to cross the border near San Diego.

Chinese migration to US is nothing new

The rapid increase in numbers and the ease of accessing information via social media on their smartphones are new innovations. But there is a longer history of Chinese migration to the U.S. over the southern border – and at the hands of smugglers.

From 1882 to 1943, the United States banned all immigration by male Chinese laborers and most Chinese women. A combination of economic competition and racist concerns about Chinese culture and assimilability ensured that the Chinese would be the first ethnic group to enter the United States illegally.

With legal options for arrival eliminated, some Chinese migrants took advantage of the relative ease of movement between the U.S. and Mexico during those years. While some migrants adopted Mexican names and spoke enough Spanish to pass as migrant workers, others used borrowed identities or paperwork from Chinese people with a right of entry, like U.S.-born citizens. Similarly to what we are seeing today, it was middle- and working-class Chinese who more frequently turned to illegal means. Those with money and education were able to circumvent the law by arriving as students or members of the merchant class, both exceptions to the exclusion law.

Though these Chinese exclusion laws officially ended in 1943, restrictions on migration from Asia continued until Congress revised U.S. immigration law in the Hart-Celler Act in 1965. New priorities for immigrant visas that stressed vocational skills as well as family reunification, alongside then Chinese leader Deng Xiaoping’s policies of “reform and opening,” helped many Chinese migrants make their way legally to the U.S. in the 1980s and 1990s.

Even after the restrictive immigration laws ended, Chinese migrants without the education or family connections often needed for U.S. visas continued to take dangerous routes with the help of “snakeheads.”

One notorious incident occurred in 1993, when a ship called the Golden Venture ran aground near New York, resulting in the drowning deaths of 10 Chinese migrants and the arrest and conviction of the snakeheads attempting to smuggle hundreds of Chinese migrants into the United States.

Existing tensions

Though there is plenty of precedent for Chinese migrants arriving without documentation, Chinese asylum seekers have better odds of success than many of the other migrants making the dangerous journey north.

An estimated 55% of Chinese asylum seekers are successful in making their claims, often citing political oppression and lack of religious freedom in China as motivations. By contrast, only 29% of Venezuelans seeking asylum in the U.S. have their claim granted, and the number is even lower for Colombians, at 19%.

The new halt on the migratory highway from the south has affected thousands of new migrants seeking refuge in the U.S. But the mix of push factors from their home country and encouragement on social media means that Chinese migrants will continue to seek routes to America.

And with both migration and the perceived threat from China likely to be features of the upcoming U.S. election, there is a risk that increased Chinese migration could become politicized, leaning further into existing tensions between Washington and Beijing.

Meredith Oyen does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organization that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

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Vaccine-skeptical mothers say bad health care experiences made them distrust the medical system

Vaccine skepticism, and the broader medical mistrust and far-reaching anxieties it reflects, is not just a fringe position in the 21st century.

Women's own negative medical experiences influence their vaccine decisions for their kids. AP Photo/Ted S. Warren

Why would a mother reject safe, potentially lifesaving vaccines for her child?

Popular writing on vaccine skepticism often denigrates white and middle-class mothers who reject some or all recommended vaccines as hysterical, misinformed, zealous or ignorant. Mainstream media and medical providers increasingly dismiss vaccine refusal as a hallmark of American fringe ideology, far-right radicalization or anti-intellectualism.

But vaccine skepticism, and the broader medical mistrust and far-reaching anxieties it reflects, is not just a fringe position.

Pediatric vaccination rates had already fallen sharply before the COVID-19 pandemic, ushering in the return of measles, mumps and chickenpox to the U.S. in 2019. Four years after the pandemic’s onset, a growing number of Americans doubt the safety, efficacy and necessity of routine vaccines. Childhood vaccination rates have declined substantially across the U.S., which public health officials attribute to a “spillover” effect from pandemic-related vaccine skepticism and blame for the recent measles outbreak. Almost half of American mothers rated the risk of side effects from the MMR vaccine as medium or high in a 2023 survey by Pew Research.

Recommended vaccines go through rigorous testing and evaluation, and the most infamous charges of vaccine-induced injury have been thoroughly debunked. How do so many mothers – primary caregivers and health care decision-makers for their families – become wary of U.S. health care and one of its most proven preventive technologies?

I’m a cultural anthropologist who studies the ways feelings and beliefs circulate in American society. To investigate what’s behind mothers’ vaccine skepticism, I interviewed vaccine-skeptical mothers about their perceptions of existing and novel vaccines. What they told me complicates sweeping and overly simplified portrayals of their misgivings by pointing to the U.S. health care system itself. The medical system’s failures and harms against women gave rise to their pervasive vaccine skepticism and generalized medical mistrust.

The seeds of women’s skepticism

I conducted this ethnographic research in Oregon from 2020 to 2021 with predominantly white mothers between the ages of 25 and 60. My findings reveal new insights about the origins of vaccine skepticism among this demographic. These women traced their distrust of vaccines, and of U.S. health care more generally, to ongoing and repeated instances of medical harm they experienced from childhood through childbirth.

girl sitting on exam table faces a doctor viewer can see from behind
A woman’s own childhood mistreatment by a doctor can shape her health care decisions for the next generation. FatCamera/E+ via Getty Images

As young girls in medical offices, they were touched without consent, yelled at, disbelieved or threatened. One mother, Susan, recalled her pediatrician abruptly lying her down and performing a rectal exam without her consent at the age of 12. Another mother, Luna, shared how a pediatrician once threatened to have her institutionalized when she voiced anxiety at a routine physical.

As women giving birth, they often felt managed, pressured or discounted. One mother, Meryl, told me, “I felt like I was coerced under distress into Pitocin and induction” during labor. Another mother, Hallie, shared, “I really battled with my provider” throughout the childbirth experience.

Together with the convoluted bureaucracy of for-profit health care, experiences of medical harm contributed to “one million little touch points of information,” in one mother’s phrase, that underscored the untrustworthiness and harmful effects of U.S. health care writ large.

A system that doesn’t serve them

Many mothers I interviewed rejected the premise that public health entities such as the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention and the Food and Drug Administration had their children’s best interests at heart. Instead, they tied childhood vaccination and the more recent development of COVID-19 vaccines to a bloated pharmaceutical industry and for-profit health care model. As one mother explained, “The FDA is not looking out for our health. They’re looking out for their wealth.”

After ongoing negative medical encounters, the women I interviewed lost trust not only in providers but the medical system. Frustrating experiences prompted them to “do their own research” in the name of bodily autonomy. Such research often included books, articles and podcasts deeply critical of vaccines, public health care and drug companies.

These materials, which have proliferated since 2020, cast light on past vaccine trials gone awry, broader histories of medical harm and abuse, the rapid growth of the recommended vaccine schedule in the late 20th century and the massive profits reaped from drug development and for-profit health care. They confirmed and hardened women’s suspicions about U.S. health care.

hands point to a handwritten vaccination record
The number of recommended childhood vaccines has increased over time. Mike Adaskaveg/MediaNews Group/Boston Herald via Getty Images

The stories these women told me add nuance to existing academic research into vaccine skepticism. Most studies have considered vaccine skepticism among primarily white and middle-class parents to be an outgrowth of today’s neoliberal parenting and intensive mothering. Researchers have theorized vaccine skepticism among white and well-off mothers to be an outcome of consumer health care and its emphasis on individual choice and risk reduction. Other researchers highlight vaccine skepticism as a collective identity that can provide mothers with a sense of belonging.

Seeing medical care as a threat to health

The perceptions mothers shared are far from isolated or fringe, and they are not unreasonable. Rather, they represent a growing population of Americans who hold the pervasive belief that U.S. health care harms more than it helps.

Data suggests that the number of Americans harmed in the course of treatment remains high, with incidents of medical error in the U.S. outnumbering those in peer countries, despite more money being spent per capita on health care. One 2023 study found that diagnostic error, one kind of medical error, accounted for 371,000 deaths and 424,000 permanent disabilities among Americans every year.

Studies reveal particularly high rates of medical error in the treatment of vulnerable communities, including women, people of color, disabled, poor, LGBTQ+ and gender-nonconforming individuals and the elderly. The number of U.S. women who have died because of pregnancy-related causes has increased substantially in recent years, with maternal death rates doubling between 1999 and 2019.

The prevalence of medical harm points to the relevance of philosopher Ivan Illich’s manifesto against the “disease of medical progress.” In his 1982 book “Medical Nemesis,” he insisted that rather than being incidental, harm flows inevitably from the structure of institutionalized and for-profit health care itself. Illich wrote, “The medical establishment has become a major threat to health,” and has created its own “epidemic” of iatrogenic illness – that is, illness caused by a physician or the health care system itself.

Four decades later, medical mistrust among Americans remains alarmingly high. Only 23% of Americans express high confidence in the medical system. The United States ranks 24th out of 29 peer high-income countries for the level of public trust in medical providers.

For people like the mothers I interviewed, who have experienced real or perceived harm at the hands of medical providers; have felt belittled, dismissed or disbelieved in a doctor’s office; or spent countless hours fighting to pay for, understand or use health benefits, skepticism and distrust are rational responses to lived experience. These attitudes do not emerge solely from ignorance, conspiracy thinking, far-right extremism or hysteria, but rather the historical and ongoing harms endemic to the U.S. health care system itself.

Johanna Richlin does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organization that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

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Survey Shows Declining Concerns Among Americans About COVID-19

Survey Shows Declining Concerns Among Americans About COVID-19

A new survey reveals that only 20% of Americans view covid-19 as "a major threat"…

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Survey Shows Declining Concerns Among Americans About COVID-19

A new survey reveals that only 20% of Americans view covid-19 as "a major threat" to the health of the US population - a sharp decline from a high of 67% in July 2020.

(SARMDY/Shutterstock)

What's more, the Pew Research Center survey conducted from Feb. 7 to Feb. 11 showed that just 10% of Americans are concerned that they will  catch the disease and require hospitalization.

"This data represents a low ebb of public concern about the virus that reached its height in the summer and fall of 2020, when as many as two-thirds of Americans viewed COVID-19 as a major threat to public health," reads the report, which was published March 7.

According to the survey, half of the participants understand the significance of researchers and healthcare providers in understanding and treating long COVID - however 27% of participants consider this issue less important, while 22% of Americans are unaware of long COVID.

What's more, while Democrats were far more worried than Republicans in the past, that gap has narrowed significantly.

"In the pandemic’s first year, Democrats were routinely about 40 points more likely than Republicans to view the coronavirus as a major threat to the health of the U.S. population. This gap has waned as overall levels of concern have fallen," reads the report.

More via the Epoch Times;

The survey found that three in ten Democrats under 50 have received an updated COVID-19 vaccine, compared with 66 percent of Democrats ages 65 and older.

Moreover, 66 percent of Democrats ages 65 and older have received the updated COVID-19 vaccine, while only 24 percent of Republicans ages 65 and older have done so.

“This 42-point partisan gap is much wider now than at other points since the start of the outbreak. For instance, in August 2021, 93 percent of older Democrats and 78 percent of older Republicans said they had received all the shots needed to be fully vaccinated (a 15-point gap),” it noted.

COVID-19 No Longer an Emergency

The U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) recently issued its updated recommendations for the virus, which no longer require people to stay home for five days after testing positive for COVID-19.

The updated guidance recommends that people who contracted a respiratory virus stay home, and they can resume normal activities when their symptoms improve overall and their fever subsides for 24 hours without medication.

“We still must use the commonsense solutions we know work to protect ourselves and others from serious illness from respiratory viruses, this includes vaccination, treatment, and staying home when we get sick,” CDC director Dr. Mandy Cohen said in a statement.

The CDC said that while the virus remains a threat, it is now less likely to cause severe illness because of widespread immunity and improved tools to prevent and treat the disease.

Importantly, states and countries that have already adjusted recommended isolation times have not seen increased hospitalizations or deaths related to COVID-19,” it stated.

The federal government suspended its free at-home COVID-19 test program on March 8, according to a website set up by the government, following a decrease in COVID-19-related hospitalizations.

According to the CDC, hospitalization rates for COVID-19 and influenza diseases remain “elevated” but are decreasing in some parts of the United States.

Tyler Durden Sun, 03/10/2024 - 22:45

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