Pandemic public policy is now a field unto itself, saturated with experts, desperately low on data, yet with dangerously high stakes, at least politically.
Take the case of New Zealand. Here is a prime minister and a country that has done, according to the chattering classes, everything right. A serious, long term lockdown, early on, entirely stamped out the disease before it took root. Prime Minister Jacinda Ardern was feted across the globe for her farsighted seriousness. New Zealand became the model for containment.
But last week, despite over 100 days without any new cases, several new ones emerged. Conventional wisdom would suggest a moderate response. But this puts the lie to that wisdom: security is still one significant concern that will always outpace economic productivity. Medium to long range economic damage will never outpace short term but certain security concerns. As with so many things, we have been here before.
In the early 20th century, idealists argued at length that the prospects of a real war breaking out between Great Britain and the new German Empire were virtually nil. Such a war, the pundits correctly pointed out, would be tantamount to economic suicide. The German and British industries were too intertwined, their contracts too internationalized, the trade too rich. War was unthinkable. Yet, it is precisely what we got. Security and insecurity are not perfectly rational, cost-benefit games, and even certain future economic loss can be preferable to uncertain present-day risks to life and limb.
This was what I had in mind as I watched New Zealand spiral into panic again. With an international record any of us could envy, its largest city – Auckland – reentered a Stage 3 lockdown. Supermarkets were overrun with hysterical buyers, and Prime Minister Ardern held a midnight press conference. At that time, there were four cases in the entire country. Now, the Prime Minister has said she is delaying the parliamentary election to October 17.
States aren’t going away because security isn’t going away. We idealistically imagine that we will become rich, cosmopolitan, or globalist enough that the rickety, tired structures of the nation-state will soon be a piece of the archaic political past. But overnight, the American passport went from one of the most powerful documents in the world to nearly meaningless. It will rebound, to be sure, but no matter how much money or influence the Americans have – and it is an awful lot – even the poorest countries of the world are turning their tourist dollars away with a firm: “No thank you.”