June 10, 2017

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Jelena Ostapenko Pulls A Thrilling Upset To Win The French Open

Jelena Ostapenko celebrates a point during the French Open final in Paris on Saturday. The unseeded Latvian upset Simona Halep with a ferocious performance full of both winners and unforced errors.

Julian Finney/Getty Images

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Julian Finney/Getty Images

At one point Saturday, it looked as if Simona Halep was on her way to her first ever major victory. She’d won the first set of the French Open against her unseeded opponent, and despite fierce play from Jelena Ostapenko, few onlookers expected the unseeded Latvian to mount a comeback.

So much for that.

On the strength of an unrelentingly aggressive attack, hitting just about as many unforced errors as she did winners, Ostapenko ultimately wore down Halep, taking the second and third sets in thrilling fashion. Ostapenko, only a few days removed from her 20th birthday, upset Halep to take home her own first-ever major.

She won the final, 4-6, 6-4, 6-3.

“I cannot believe I am champion at 20 years old. I love you guys. It’s so amazing to be here,” she said after the match.

She added: “I knew Simona was a great player. But I tried to play aggressive and everything turned my way. I fought for every point. I’m glad it finished my way.”

As The New York Times reports, Saturday’s win makes Ostapenko the first unseeded woman to win the French Open since 1933. The paper notes she is also the first Latvian ever to win a singles Grand Slam.

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Town That Helped Power Northwest Feels Left Behind In Shift Away From Coal

The Colstrip Generating Station near Colstrip, Mont., is the second-largest coal-fired power plant in the West. Two of its four units are scheduled to close by 2022, if not sooner.

Nathan Rott/NPR

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Nathan Rott/NPR

Colstrip, Mont., is about 750 miles away from Seattle, as the crow flies. Politically, the two places may be even further apart. And yet, they’re connected.

If you’re turning the lights on in the Pacific Northwest, some of that electricity may be coming from Colstrip. And if you’re in Colstrip, wondering how long your own lights will stay on, you’re likely looking west.

America’s energy system is a web, connecting inland to coast and urban to rural. And as that system shifts, people are starting to ask: What — if any — support should a town like Colstrip get from places like Seattle or the federal government as the town enters an uncertain future?

Despite the recent promises from the Trump administration to bring the coal industry back, America’s energy system is shifting increasingly toward natural gas, wind and solar. Economics are driving the change. But so are politics.

In the week since President Trump announced that he would withdraw the U.S. from the Paris climate agreement, a broad coalition of cities, states, businesses and universities have promised to uphold the agreement and reduce their carbon emissions. “We’re still in,” is their motto. Washington state was already in. It has a commitment to use less coal.

Colstrip is a coal town. And even though the challenges it’s facing existed long before Trump’s announcement, people there are angry about the push to change America’s energy demands. They feel like they don’t have a say. And they fear they’ll be left behind.

A town built on coal

Colstrip is a company town that’s built on coal — coal that’s scraped from beneath the surrounding sage-covered hills and trucked or transported past tree-lined streets and idle train cars, to a towering four-unit power plant at the heart of this tidy, tucked-away town. It’s there — at the second-largest coal-fired power plant in the West — that the coal is burnt, heating water to steam, generating 2,094 megawatts of electricity that travels by wire across Montana to the greater Pacific Northwest.

“That’s who we are,” says Lu Shomate, the director of the town’s historical center. “If it wasn’t for the coal, and then the generation of course, none of us would be here.”

“Colstrip United” banners, posters and car stickers can be seen all around Colstrip, Mont. The group aims to elevate pro-coal voices in the larger debate about energy.

Nathan Rott/NPR

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Nathan Rott/NPR

And what’s here, she says, is good. Colstrip isn’t some dusty, dreary, down-and-out town.

There’s an 18-hole golf course, a 32,000-square-foot recreation center and 32 parks that are all free to the town’s 2,300 residents. The streets are wide and clean. The estimated median household income in Colstrip is $84,145. In Montana overall, it’s $47,169.

But recently, things have started to change. A lawsuit filed by two environmental groups alleged that the Colstrip Generating Station hadn’t updated its technology to meet air quality requirements. A couple of the utilities that own the plant settled, agreeing to close the older two of the plant’s four units by 2022. There have since been indications it could happen sooner.

On top of that, the two biggest customers for Colstrip’s power — Washington and Oregon — announced long-term commitments to get off coal.

The combined uncertainty has sent real estate values in Colstrip plummeting, leaving people in sunken mortgages. Kerri Kerzmann, who helps run the town’s before-school programs for coal workers’ children, says her house has gone from being worth “a couple hundred thousand dollars,” to maybe $60,000 or $70,000 now.

Lori Shaw, the co-founder of Colstrip United, tries to elevate pro-coal voices in the wider energy debate and show the human side of America’s transitioning energy systems. “We are people out here,” she says.

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Nathan Rott/NPR

Resident and activist Lori Shaw says a “crisis fatigue” has set in.

“You’re so used to being on the edge for so long,” she says, “It’s almost like you forget to panic anymore, even though it is panic-worthy. It’s like, yeah, I know we might lose everything next month. What’s new?”

Shomate says the same thing that’s happened in Appalachia and other parts of blue-collar America is starting to happen here: “The middle class is being ripped apart.”

Shomate, Kerzmann and others in Colstrip want a plan to help the town now and as it transitions into an uncertain future. All say that coal should be part of that plan, but they know it can’t be the only part.

“We know there are better ways of doing things, so let’s work on that together,” Shomate says. “But we’re not getting that support. It’s just: shut it down, dirty, filthy coal.”

Planning for an uncertain future

A plan for a town like Colstrip requires resources. It needs money. And if you ask people here where that money should come from, they’ll point west.

“There would be no Facebook. There would be no Bill Gates. None of that would be in Seattle without low-cost, reliable power that comes from Colstrip, Mont.,” says Duane Ankney, a state senator who represents the town in the state legislature.

The reality is a bit more complex. Hydroelectric power provides the bulk of Washington’s energy. But coal has historically played a role there as well.

The construction of the power plant in Colstrip, which began operating in 1970s, was actually spurred by power companies in the Pacific Northwest that wanted another source of electricity for the region’s fast-growing energy demands. Before that, it was the Northern Pacific Railroad that turned this coal-rich patch of prairie into a company town to provide coal for the rails.

Colstrip’s history is laid out in old photos that line the walls of the town’s historical center. “That’s who we are,” says Lu Shomate, the center’s director. “If it wasn’t for the coal and then the generation [of electricity], of course, none of this would be here.”

Nathan Rott/NPR

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Nathan Rott/NPR

Today, Washington-based Puget Sound Energy owns one-third of Colstrip’s electric output, enough to power 500,000 homes in western Washington.

That history is well-known in Colstrip and it factors largely into the local sentiment that outsiders should be partly responsible for the town’s future.

At Alison’s Pantry, a coffee shop in town, Hugh Mannix and a group of older men who call themselves the “Rusty Zippers” sneer when they talk about Washington’s efforts to get off coal.

“So we can put up with all the pollution and they get the gravy,” Mannix says. “And that’s gone on for 40 years. And we took it. We run with it. We made it successful and now these prima donnas out there can just walk away? Well, no. Pay your way out of it now.”

Ankney, the state senator, proposed a bill in Montana’s legislature earlier this year that would require utilities to do just that.

There are six utilities that have ownership in Colstrip’s plant. All are based out of state.

Ankney’s bill would have required them to help pay for the social costs of decommissioning the plant, by making them have “a plan in place for the workers,” he says. That plan would include money for lost real estate values, tax revenues and to help re-train the workers.

The bill, Ankney says, was about accountability to the state of Montana and to the workers who made the utilities what they are.

“I think that would go a long ways, to cop a phrase, to make America great again. It’s when you have corporate responsibility,” says Ankney, a Republican and retired coal mine superintendent.

The bill failed in Montana’s legislature. It was fought by utilities and environmental groups, who feared that it would scare away future investment in Montana from renewable energy companies.

A related bill, which required that the utilities have a plan and money set aside for environmental remediation at the plant site, passed.

Shaw, the community activist, says it seems like there’s more interest in helping “grass and dirt” than people.

A federal plan

At the union hall in Colstrip, Rex Rogers shares some of the same frustrations as Shaw and others.

Rogers is the business manager for the local chapter of the International Brotherhood of Electrical Workers. He represents about 250 workers at Colstrip’s power plant. And he too wants to see a plan in place to help those workers when parts of the plant start to close down.

The irony is that there was a plan: President Barack Obama’s Clean Power Plan.

Rogers keeps a copy of it at the union hall. He lifts it — all 1,560 pages — from a wood side table and plops it down on a table in the middle of the room.

“I wouldn’t have printed it, if I’d known how big it was going to be,” he says.

Rex Rogers keeps a copy of the Clean Power Plan at the union hall in Colstrip. As the business manager for the local chapter of the International Brotherhood of Electrical Workers, he represents about 250 workers at the town’s power plant.

Nathan Rott/NPR

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Nathan Rott/NPR

The Clean Power Plan was Obama’s biggest effort to combat climate change. It would have required that states like Montana reduce their carbon emissions. Rogers was on Montana’s team that studied how that would play out on the ground. The expectation, he says, is that it would have forced the closure of the two older units at the town’s power plant.

Put another way: “The impact on Colstrip would have been exactly what we’re seeing now,” he says.

Only now, the Clean Power Plan is gone. Montana was one of dozens of states that successfully sued to stop the plan. Trump has ordered that it be repealed.

“Well the concern with that is, built into the Clean Power Plan was [a section] about transitioning, taking care of the workers and those parts of it,” Rogers says.

Rogers is referring to Obama’s Power+ Plan, which aimed to give resources to “assist communities and workers that have been affected by job losses in coal mining, coal power plant operations, and coal-related supply chain industries due to the changing economics of America’s energy sector.”

It was the Obama administration’s way of saying: We know the market is changing; here’s our plan to help cushion the fall.

Now, Rogers says, the cushion is gone and there’s nothing being proffered by the new administration to replace it.

“Even though we won the ‘war on coal,’ it doesn’t appear that there was anything in that for the workers,” he says.

Colstrip Mayor John Williams knows there are challenges ahead, but he’s hopeful that the Trump administration can help the community by repealing regulations on the coal industry.

Nathan Rott/NPR

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Nathan Rott/NPR

Rogers’ opinion of the Clean Power Plan is not widely shared in Colstrip. Most people in the town are happy to see it, and other Obama-era regulations on the coal industry, gone or on their way out.

“With Trump in there doing some of the things that he’s doing to eliminate some of those needless regulations, I think it’s going to make a positive impact here,” says Colstrip Mayor John Williams.

If nothing else, he says, it’s nice to have a president who supports coal.

A difficult question

While Trump’s never-say-die approach to the coal industry is refreshing to some, it’s worrisome to others.

“It appears that that comes with a price of: then let’s pretend that the transition isn’t happening,” says Julia Haggerty, a professor at Montana State University. “That, I think, does not do a service to the places that are experiencing the transition.”

Haggerty studies efforts to help struggling coal towns. She’s spent a lot of time in Colstrip and other coal towns in the Mountain West. And she knows how hard it is to even have a discussion about transitions in those places.

“These are purpose-built energy towns,” she says. “So it’s pretty tricky, I think, to ask ‘what comes next?’ That’s often a painful conversation to have because what comes next in a remote, isolated energy-producing town is really a very difficult thing to know.”

She says it’s important that these conversations happen though; that plans are made for the future as the nation moves further away from coal.

Those conversations, Haggerty says, need to include places like Colstrip that have historically provided energy and places like Seattle who no longer want it.

As a professor, she sees students who have very little understanding of where energy comes from and where it’s traditionally come from. That lack of recognition, she says, “to the places and resources that have created enormous wealth for the region, I think, really contributes to the bitterness and the difficulty of these conversations.”

And, she says, it’s contributing to the divisions that exist in America today.

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A Dad Takes His Son To The Doctor And Discovers Fear Of Vaccines

Erik Vance holds his son while a pediatrician administers vaccinations.

Courtesy of Erik Vance

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Courtesy of Erik Vance

I am a man of science. Okay, perhaps not of science, but certainly near it. As a science journalist, I’m science-adjacent. But I consider myself to be bound by logic and facts.

Which is why it was weird when I took my infant son in for his first vaccines and started peppering his pediatrician with questions. I inspected the boxes, telling myself that I was concerned about a recent bad batch of vaccines in Oaxaca, Mexico, that made a bunch of kids sick. But really, I was looking for a label that read “not the autism kind of vaccine.”

I felt really uncomfortable and started to sweat. I looked at the clear liquid in the vials and wondered, will I regret this for the rest of my life? I started to think about maybe delaying the injections until it was safer or maybe stretching them out over a longer period of time. I mean, it just can’t be safe giving all these vaccines at once.

Seriously? I’ve spent years following the vaccine safety debate, reading the stories and writing a few about how safe and effective vaccines are. And yet here I am putting my entire profession to disgrace, just as scared and confused as anyone else. In that moment, I wanted to slap my brain upside the temporal lobe. The sight of one little needle was turning me into a raging anti-vaxxer.

Before I go any further, just so we are clear, every scrap of reliable data confirms that vaccines are a safe and crucial part of medicine. Plenty of very clever people have pointed out that they have very few risks and many benefits, which accrue not only to the child being vaccinated but also to society at large. And there is abundant evidence that they don’t cause autism.

Father and son meet up with the pet pig often seen in their neighborhood in Mexico City.

Courtesy of Erik Vance

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Courtesy of Erik Vance

But this is not a post about vaccines or autism or even evidence. This is a post about fear. If there is one thing that psychologists can say for sure, it’s that fear is more deep and powerful than just about any other emotion we can experience.

In my book, Suggestible You, I note that while placebos can be incredibly potent in treating some (often chronic) diseases, their alter egos — nocebos — are reliably more so. Nocebos occur when something unhealthy happens to your body, solely based on belief. They can be as simple as feeling slightly more pain during an experiment just because a doctor says you should or as complex as side effects for placebo pills, or mass hysteria. Perhaps the best example of a nocebo in pop culture would be a curse. (In the book, I even get cursed myself at one point.) In other words, if placebos are hope, nocebos are fear.

Scientists have found that nocebos are easier to create than placebos — and last longer. So fear is more powerful in the body than hope. Saying “fear is a powerful thing” is a little like saying “money can come in handy” — it kind of undersells it. Fear is the No. 1 tool for selling newspapers, insurance, snake-oil medicine and Swedish cars. Sometimes that’s a good thing, and sometimes it’s not. It’s what kept our ancestors alive for millions of years, and it’s history’s favorite way of selling political ideology.

So it’s not surprising that fear forces people to accept some strange ideas about medicine. The most tragic and extreme of these are cancer patients so terrified of modern cancer therapies that they turn toward more “natural” solutions and shun proven treatments that could have saved their lives.

I would gladly suffer a few rounds of chemotherapy to prevent harm from coming to my child. The bottom line is that what happens to me when I go in for my kid’s shots has nothing to do with vaccines or mercury or thimerosal or any science whatsoever. It’s about fear and a loss of control.

Maybe I’ve done one too many stories on autism and crossed some kind of threshold. So that is how I ended up sweating when I was in the doctor’s office again two weeks ago, waiting for the 18-month vaccination that would protect him from diphtheria, meningitis, whooping cough and tetanus. Here I was again, deeply ashamed yet still wondering whether we should put off the shot until it was “safe.”

But I knew I could never make the shot, or the world, as safe as I would like. Safe from what? I don’t know, I just want my baby to be safe all the time, OK? And do you have any smaller needles?

The doctor asked me to restrain my son, who looked at me a little bewildered but trusted his daddy. Then the doctor injected four neutralized pathogens into his legs. The baby screamed for a few seconds with what I assumed was a deep sense of personal betrayal before the doctor deftly pulled out a tin of lollipops and slipped one into his mouth. I gotta give the guy some credit; the kid shut right up and went to work on the candy.

At a checkup in May, a lollipop makes everything OK, even as Dad finds himself consumed with what he admits is irrational fear.

Courtesy of Erik Vance

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Courtesy of Erik Vance

Then at that moment, I had a realization. If fear is more powerful than hope and this could happen to a fundamentally rational person like me, then what hope does science really have? What chance does “This is a well-studied, safe intervention” have against “Holy shit, I might be ruining my child!”?

Now go beyond that to other issues where fears and tribal loyalties conflict with reason, like GMOs, climate change or evolution. How can rationality win when irrationality is so much more attractive? I sat in the doctor’s office staring into space, now terrified of something totally different.

The doctor looked at me for a second, then grabbed his tin and pushed it at me. “Maybe Daddy wants a lollipop, too?”


Vance is the author of Suggestible You, which was supported in part by the Pulitzer Center on Crisis Reporting. A version of this essay appeared on the blog The Last Word On Nothing.

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