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How faster internet is being blocked by politics and poverty throughout the eastern US – CNET



For one public school teacher in Laurel County, Kentucky, proper education means making a painful and difficult decision. While her home is connected to AT&T’s U-Verse internet service, it’s only fast enough to support one person at a time. So in the midst of a pandemic-driven mandate for remote learning, she often has to choose between teaching her students and ensuring her own school-age kids are able to log on. 

“We have really done a horrible job making sure they have the means,” said the teacher, who requested we withhold her name out of fear of losing her job. 

One pandemic-driven solution in Kentucky has been to put mobile hotspots in public school parking lots so kids without internet at home can keep up with schoolwork, but that isn’t without its own flaws.

“If they don’t have gas money to come and get their child at the school when they’re sick, they’re sure not going to have gas money to drive to the school every day to download their assignments,” she said. 

This week, as three winter storms race across the Mississippi and Ohio rivers to pummel the heart of the Appalachian Mountains, residents of the 13-state region once again face the potential loss of internet access — if they had it in the first place. The cold snap threatens to compromise an aging telecom infrastructure already strained by a pandemic-borne tide of Zoom classrooms and telehealth consultations. Though much has changed in the past few decades, communities in this region face many of the same connection problems — providers are too few, infrastructure too underdeveloped, speeds too slow and prices too high. 

Rural Appalachia’s sparse strands of broadband wire and historically high poverty rates have made the region a fragile part of the wider web. In parts of rural Kentucky, for instance, AT&T has ceased offering its DSL line to new customers. Conversely, densely populated Louisville has access to 1 Gbps fiber-optic lines.

The stark contrast in broadband accessibility underscores the larger problem of a deepening digital divide that is leaving more people behind across a country struggling to deal with an economy-destroying pandemic. But across Appalachia, the stakes couldn’t be higher. Educational, economic and health outcomes dipped perilously below national averages, and in the midst of the pandemic they’re more closely tied to reliable broadband access than ever. 

Appalachia represents a key test for President Joe Biden’s $20 billion plan to get broadband access to communities that don’t have it. But Biden, who said during his campaign that rebuilding the middle class in America is the “moral obligation of our time,” faces a myriad of challenges in closing the gap, from actually laying down fiber-optic lines to educating consumers and ensuring that prices are affordable. 

A report from the Population Reference Bureau, drawing on data from the 2013 to 2017 American Communities Survey, found the share of Appalachian households with a connected device — desktop, laptop, smartphone or tablet — was 5 percentage points below the national average, just 82% compared with 87% overall. In 127 of Appalachia’s 420 counties, less than 75% of households had a connected device. 

Like many of Appalachia’s ongoing and historic battles with powerful industries such as coal, mining and agriculture, comprehensive broadband access has become a fight to hold massive companies accountable to the communities they often monopolize, while fighting to establish locally owned alternatives despite a siege of industry lobbying and influence. Meanwhile, inflated stats on connection rates, speeds and affordability have concealed the true extent of the digital divide in the region, leaving many frustrated by the lack of progress.

So when Federal Communications Commission Chairman Ajit Pai chose the pandemic-peak period in January to deliver an optimistic address at the tail end of his tenure touting his efforts to narrow the digital divide, he was met with criticism for leaving the Universal Service Fund, a key broadband safety net, in limbo. Blair Levin, former head of the Obama administration’s national broadband plan and a fellow at the Brookings Institute, said funding for the USF “is in a death spiral.”

“Thanks a fuckin’ lot, Ajit,” Levin said in an interview. 

But Pai defended his record, citing an ongoing FCC spectrum auction that could save the program. 

“The record-breaking C-band auction that was conducted under my tenure over the opposition of Democrats has provided tens of billions of dollars that Congress could now use for universal service funding,” Pai shot back in an email. 

The pitched debate is just the latest row over an unresolved funding problem that’s been the subject of bipartisan political can-kicking, and that underpins why Appalachians remain in limbo when it comes to reliable broadband.  

Shrinking the digital divide: No data, big problem  

Though the digital divide rips across urban and rural areas alike, it’s actually composed of parallel problems. The first is the divide created by a lack of physical infrastructure, largely affecting rural areas. Then there’s the larger cost divide which is more visible in, though not exclusive to, urban areas — three out of every four Americans who lack broadband access are offline not because they lack lines, but because they can’t afford the service. 

Struggling with some of the highest poverty and lowest broadband access rates in the country, Appalachia is caught in both. But before it can close the gaps, it has to confront its most immediate problem: No one actually knows how big the digital divide is. 

That’s what happened in Meigs County, Ohio. 

While the 740-acre census block inside Meigs County contains about 14 households, the FCC considers the entire area covered because just a single household gets service from incumbent internet service provider Frontier. This had the added effect of blocking the area from receiving funding from other programs. 

Although they were ultimately unsuccessful, ISPs fought for years to convince the FCC to accept their service maps as the authoritative source for the agency’s broadband deployment evaluations, arguing that a more granular service map would be too burdensome to create. According to those maps, an entire census block — which in rural areas can sometimes be several square miles — is considered covered by a provider, even if just a single resident is connected.

Meigs County isn’t alone. While FCC data holds that about 93% of Kentucky has broadband access, last September, Microsoft vice president Shelley McKinley said the portion of the state’s population actually using the internet at broadband speeds (defined as 25 Mbps down and 3 Mbps up) is only about 31%. Those findings echo Microsoft’s 2016 estimates that 162.8 million Americans are not using the internet at broadband speeds compared to the FCC’s count of 24.7 million. 

Using the data-thin maps provided by ISPs for its 2021 report, the FCC claimed to have reduced the broadband gap to just 14.5 million Americans in areas without broadband deployment, despite the passage of a bipartisan measure mandating ISPs report more detailed connectivity numbers about speed and coverage. 

“But you’ll find no evidence of that effort in this report,” FCC Commissioner Jessica Rosenworcel wrote in her blistering dissent. “Instead, the FCC ignores this mandate from Congress and presses forward with data that have repeatedly been shown to be wrong.”

It’s going to take time to reevaluate broadband deployment and speed rates across the entire country, though. A congressional mandate from 2020 may take at least a full year to fulfill as telecom providers and federal staffers have to gather — and make sense of — a nation’s worth of data. 

The FCC on Wednesday heard a plan to improve data collection during its open commission meeting. But for the moment, Appalachia may still be on its own in fact-checking telcos’ self-reported stats.  Some states have taken up the task of measuring connectivity rates themselves through state and local portals ahead of promised federal cash infusions as they scrape their coffers to keep students online and enable telemedicine in the mountains. 

Eliminating the competition

McKee, Kentucky, has been the darling of high-profile articles and studies. The one-traffic-light town, with some of the fastest internet in the country has enjoyed a broadband boom, connecting more than 18,000 people in Owsley and Jackson Counties since 2009. To top it off, the project has created more than 1,000 jobs, reducing unemployment in the area from 16% to 5% at an initial cost of $50 million in loans, grants and capital for about a thousand miles of cable. 

What’s less talked about is Hyden, about 90 minutes southeast, which has the slowest internet in the country at an average of 4.2 Mbps, or less than a tenth of the speed of the national average, according to at least one measurement in 2020

What’s the difference? 

Under the latent auspices of the New Deal’s Rural Electrification Act, McKee is one of the more than 750 American communities that have built their own municipal internet networks. McKee’s People’s Rural Telephone Company is often held up as a model for what’s possible in a more connected Appalachia. The Berkman Klein Center for Internet and Society at Harvard University found community-owned broadband was cheaper than private-sector ISPs, bolstering competition by driving down costs overall in their areas (something the FCC’s known since 2009).

Chattanooga has been a standard-bearer in municipal broadband over the past few years, after the municipally owned Electric Power Board of Chattanooga built its smart grid to tackle recurrent power outages and strung fiber-optic cable across the community. The builds were initially aimed at supporting the power needs of an incoming Volkswagen plant, but resulted in low-cost broadband at higher speeds in the community, and the community now draw requests from neighboring cities to join the network. 

But municipal broadband is either wholly or partially prohibited in 22 states. Seven of those states are in Appalachia, creating a patchwork of municipal service battlegrounds largely fought over by the lobbying arms of incumbent telecoms. 

Chattanooga’s incumbent provider, Comcast, tried to sue the power board in 2008 in an unsuccessful bid to prevent the board from building a fiber network, and then shut down its expansion efforts in the state’s legislature. The power board joined with another Appalachian city with a municipal broadband bone to pick — Wilson, North Carolina — and appealed to the FCC, which then overturned the state laws protecting the incumbent ISPs on a 2015 party line 3-2 vote under then-Chair Tom Wheeler

Wheeler’s controversial move was based on a lesser-known provision in the appeals court ruling that killed net neutrality, which gave the FCC the power to preempt state laws prohibiting municipal broadband. 

Tennessee and the telecoms returned fire, successfully suing the FCC, leaving the commission in a tricky position: It has the authority to overturn state restrictions on local municipal broadband, but if states choose to ban municipal broadband whole-hog, the FCC’s hands would be tied.

Change is in the winds, with 42 states working on broadband expansion legislation last year, including all but one (Tennessee) in Appalachia, several of which include policy-shaping clauses around municipal broadband. While several state-level broadband expansion programs have been dogged by delays and accusations of wasteful spending, there are some models, like those appearing in an April 2020 congressional analysis, that have proven valuable

The difference in Hyden’s and McKee’s internet speeds can be chalked up to a suite of differences between the two small towns. But among those differences is the opportunity and local control offered by a successful battle for municipal broadband. 

The last mile 

With Appalachia’s tangle of broadband problems waiting at the door, the Biden administration’s goal of closing the gap is a tall order. 

In his rural strategy one-sheet, Biden has proposed not only a $20 billion reinvestment in rural connectivity, but promised to direct the US National Telecommunications and Information Administration (the umbrella over the FCC) and the US Department of Agriculture to support cities and towns that want to build municipally owned broadband networks. He’s also promised to further spur ISP competition by making key federally controlled telecom resources available — like towers, poles, and rights-of-way to lay down cable — to municipal providers. 

Another plank of Biden’s digital divide platform includes revitalizing a cornerstone of Appalachian broadband access through the Lifeline program for low-income households. The program, fed by the imperiled Universal Service Fund, suffered nearly a billion dollars in cuts under the Trump administration, reduced from $2.2 billion in 2012 to $1.3 billion in 2020. The total number of people serviced by the program dropped by an estimated 40%. 

One of Pai’s last moves before exiting may prove to be a further blow to Lifeline access. Without a vote from the commission, he changed the rules for Lifeline telecom providers, increasing the amount of data they’re required to provide customers by 50% to 4.5 GB a month. While it might seem like a boon for low-income residents, carrier TruConnect said it and other Lifeline program participants won’t be able to afford to offer the free data and will likely either cut customers off or offer them only voice service. 

The USF is also shrinking because its funding source — the fees that appear on long-distance bills — is drying up. On his way out of office, Pai suggested Congress use the $50 billion in proceeds from the recent C-Band auction to keep the engines running while a new plan is built. 

Pai told CNET the proceeds would “provide both a multi-year bridge for people of good faith on both sides of the aisle to work on a permanent USF funding fix and relief for consumers from the current regressive universal service tax.”

Brookings Institute fellow Levin accused Pai of jeopardizing broadband assistance programs for low-income Americans via political can-kicking as he was leaving, noting that Congress was already prepared to support the USF using C-Band auction proceeds.

“When Congress and the Democrats wanted to devote the C-Band auction revenues to that very thing, you stood on the sidelines,” he said in an interview.

Pai wasn’t the only one who kicked the can, though. In a commentary published last week, former FCC Chair Wheeler called on the Biden administration to jump into significant Lifeline reforms right away. But contribution reforms weren’t completed under Wheeler’s tenure, either. For now, the can remains with the FCC’s Federal-State Joint Board on Universal Service, which is responsible for USF contribution issues — a board whose last public reports appear to be from 2010.

Critics have taken shots at the program itself. Lifeline gives you only about $10 a month, barely making a dent in the US average cost of $60 a month for basic broadband. In Kentucky, a distance-learning assistance plan launched by Gov. Andy Beshear has begun negotiating a $10 monthly service plan to connect the state’s 32,000 students in low-income areas who lack internet access, using federal COVID-19 relief funds. 

The monthly charge falls right under the Lifeline budget for qualifying households, those below 135% of the federal poverty line or participating in federal assistance programs like SNAP. Appalachia is at the heart of that eligibility target, and at its center is Kentucky — the state whose Appalachian eastern half has the worst poverty rate among its regional peers at 25.4%

It’s a big reason why only half of the Laurel County teacher’s students regularly attend online class. 

“Kids are still expected to do a lot online,” she said. “They’re expected to do research. They’re expected to access Google Classroom even. And many of the kids don’t have that. Most of my students live in town but for my low-income students it’s an issue because they don’t have the money for internet.” 

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COMMENTARY: Gas-price politics, from British Columbia and beyond –



If you’re fed up with high Canadian gas prices, you can at least be grateful that you don’t live in British Columbia.

Unless you do live in B.C. In that case, then go ahead and be mad as hell.

British Columbians are once again experiencing particular pain at the pumps as rising oil prices drive up the cost of gasoline.

It’s an extra-nasty case of gas-fuelled road rage in B.C., home to North America’s highest gasoline taxes.

Read more:
Is Canada’s carbon tax working? Experts, advocacy groups weigh in

How does the taxman sock it to B.C. drivers? Let us count the ways.

There’s the B.C. carbon tax, once fiercely opposed by NDP Premier John Horgan.

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When he was on the opposition benches, Horgan used to rail against the burden of the provincial carbon tax on B.C. families. Now the tax has risen steadily on his watch, with further increases set to kick in.

There’s also the B.C. Motor Fuel Tax. And the B.C. Transportation Financing Authority fuel tax. And Metro Vancouver’s TransLink fuel tax.

Ottawa takes a cut, of course, courtesy of the federal fuel excise tax.

Don’t forget the sour cherry on top: the federal GST, charged on the entire gas purchase, including all the other taxes.

Add it all up and Metro Vancouver drivers are getting hosed at the gas pump, creating a recurring political problem for Horgan and his B.C. government.

Read more:
U.S. deep freeze boosts Canadian oil and gas producer profits and prospects

Now that he’s a convert to the carbon tax, you might think Horgan would be pleased that high gas prices would discourage the use of polluting vehicles.

But Horgan has walked a political tight rope, jacking up the punitive carbon tax while griping about high gas prices at the same time.

His theme: Don’t blame me, blame greedy oil companies.

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“This is not a tax question, it’s a gouging question,” he said. “This is not about taxation.”

To drive the point home, the Horgan government recently passed a law forcing oil companies to reveal secret price-setting data.

Stopping short of government regulation to cap B.C. gas prices, the Horgan government instead said it would shame the oil companies into lowering prices themselves.

But the oil companies are fighting the forced disclosure of their corporate secrets. Now the dispute is snaking its way through the courts, while British Columbians are left paying sky-high gas prices.

Gas-price analyst Dan McTeague said B.C.’s strict low-carbon fuel standard — mandating cleaner-burning gas — also drives up B.C. fuel prices.

“All told, adding up all the government regulations and taxes, you’re looking at about 62 to 63 cents a litre in B.C.,” he said.

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McTeague has had a fascinating career as a one-time MP who transformed into a fierce critic of Prime Minister Justin Trudeau and his Liberal government’s energy policies.

“I’m a former Liberal MP, with the emphasis on ‘former,’” he understated, revealing that the federal Conservatives unsuccessfully courted him to run in the last election.

Read more:
Price of gas jumps again in B.C.’s Southern Interior (Feb. 20)

Now, McTeague is closely watching the fortunes of the Conservatives under new party leader Erin O’Toole.

O’Toole is under pressure to steer his party toward the middle of the political spectrum by adopting more environmentally friendly energy policies.

That includes the astonishing possibility that O’Toole might endorse a federal carbon tax, after years of slamming Trudeau’s federal tax.

If O’Toole does back a national carbon tax — especially with gas prices already spiking — McTeague thinks it would be a political disaster for the Conservatives.

“Trying to mimic the federal Liberals in the next election will get him zero votes — it will cost him votes instead,” McTeague said.

“I think it would be a fatal mistake for Mr. O’Toole. If he does that (promise a federal carbon tax), his time as leader of that party would be nasty, brutish and, of course, short.”

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Mike Smyth is host of ‘The Mike Smyth Show’ on Global News Radio 980 CKNW in Vancouver and a commentator for Global News. You can reach him at and follow him on Twitter at @MikeSmythNews​.

© 2021 Global News, a division of Corus Entertainment Inc.

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On a frozen Minnesota lake, political antagonisms melt away – CNN



In my years wandering the upper heartland, I’ve found that when you want to hear what people think, there are few more target-rich environments than an ice-fishing lake. Ninety-five percent of the sport involves sitting, drinking and talking. On a good day, you catch more new friends than fish.
Residents head out for some ice-fishing and conviviality.
But these have not been good days. In the 30 years since I covered sturgeon spearing for a tiny TV station in Minnesota, the United States has become is a lot less united. Covering the presidential election and inauguration in neighboring Wisconsin included more ply-wooded windows, body armor and “no comments” than I ever thought possible in my home state.
Walking out on Lake Minnetonka, I was worried. But it wasn’t 25 paces before a friendly couple walking huge dogs walked over and melted the worry with Midwestern warmth.
Kevin and Leah Beamish want people to get along, and sometimes that may mean avoiding talking about politics.Kevin and Leah Beamish want people to get along, and sometimes that may mean avoiding talking about politics.
“Everybody should be loving each other,” Leah Beamish told me as she played tug-o-war with Huxley. “There doesn’t need to be this …” she shook her head at the ice. “So divided. So divided.”
But as I walked from hole to hole, Northern pike to bluegill, Democrat to Republican, they all seemed united against disunity. “There’s no common ground anymore,” Tim Delaney said. “And everyone’s so angry about it. I think we’re just tired.”

‘People are a lot more optimistic’

Minnesota is understandably tense these days. Up north, they are bracing for a Standing Rock-sized standoff over the controversial Enbridge Line 3 oil pipeline. Down in the Twin Cities, concertina wire winds around civic buildings as they brace for the start of the George Floyd murder trial. And in every town in between, the Covid-19 pandemic is met with varying degrees of fear, loathing and pent-up frustration.
In this blue suburb of Minneapolis however, where families perched on buckets fish in front of the frozen front yards of million-dollar homes, there is some cautious relief. “I’m really happy with our new President,” said Cindy Garin, a 63-year-old health care worker, said as she described her first vaccination and plans for a Florida escape. “I think things are getting better … and I think people are a lot more optimistic.”
Ben Calvert sees Democrats delaying fulfilling their promises.Ben Calvert sees Democrats delaying fulfilling their promises.
But Ben Calvert, 27 and at college to become a wrestling coach, is fast losing faith with Democrats given that they are in charge in the White House, the Senate and the House. “A lot of my friends are really frustrated because they were like, ‘We’ve got to elect these two senators in Georgia! We’ve got to get Joe Biden in office and then everything’s going to be better! It’s not a $1,400 dollar check, it’s $2,000 checks,'” Ben said, making gloved air quotes.
“But now, they’re putting that stimulus check and minimum wage hike on the back burner while they’re dropping bombs in Syria. And those bombs are kind of expensive for a dude who owes me $2,000.”

Calmer criticism

Ben’s father, Valdo, has more patience for the new President but told me, “I don’t see it smooth sailing for Biden. I see it always going to be about obstructionism, but at least it’s more calm.” And like so many others on the lake frustrated by American disunity, the retired Forest Service emergency manager wonders how to unite with true believers of conspiracy theories like QAnon.
Valdo and Ben Calvert say there are some people they can't be with any more, even with the bonhomie on the lake.Valdo and Ben Calvert say there are some people they can't be with any more, even with the bonhomie on the lake.
His son nods in agreement. “I grew up wrestling and playing sports. You get liberal people, you get conservative people, but we all got along. Now those guys aren’t my friends anymore because I know what they really think,” Ben told me. “Maybe it’s not who they are in their heart, but can you hang out with someone who’s like, ‘I think it would be a good thing to assassinate the sitting [Speaker of the House.]'”
But just a short, fragrant stroll away, barbecue smoke master Tim Delaney described his desire to replace Nancy Pelosi with Donald Trump.
Tim Delaney wants Trump back in power, even if he hesitates to say so among his friends of a different political persuasion.Tim Delaney wants Trump back in power, even if he hesitates to say so among his friends of a different political persuasion.
“What if Trump ran for Congress, right?” Tim said, waving a silver tallboy. “And then we took the House and we took the Senate and then he could impeach the President and Vice President. He would be president for the next two years plus then he would be reelected for another four. Good idea?”

Laughter overcomes politics

None of his friends thought it was a good idea. As far as I could tell, they were all Democrats who obviously believed in the peacekeeping mantra repeated to me by Leah’s husband Kevin Beamish as we walked on to the lake. “It’s the old story,” he smiled. “Don’t talk politics or religion with friends and family.”
I don’t have that luxury, and the energy shifted noticeably when I strolled over with camera and asked, “How’s everybody feeling after the election?”
His friends may not agree with the politics of Tim Delaney, left, but they're still happy to break bread with him.His friends may not agree with the politics of Tim Delaney, left, but they're still happy to break bread with him.
“We don’t go there,” Tim said before going there. And while he joked that his burst of MAGA honesty might spoil the barbecue brotherhood, the laughs proved the opposite.
I walked out onto Lake Minnetonka braced for icy suspicion and dread, but I walked off with a stomach full of barbecue and hope. I’ll take it.
CORRECTION: An earlier version of this story misstated the first name of Leah Beamish’s husband. His name is Kevin.

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Politics and the public good – Gazette



The ongoing provincial election is unusual in more ways than one.

But faculty members from the Department of Political Science at Memorial are helping voters make sense of the situation through public engagement.

Dr. Kelly Blidook, an associate professor in the department, made a video explainer to help people understand Newfoundland and Labrador’s current political circumstances.

A question from anti-poverty advocate Dan Meades prompted Dr. Blidook to make the video, he says.

“There wasn’t anything out there that kind of captured the whole thing,” he said, adding that interviews with media can be piecemeal because they are usually reactionary and focused.

With the video, he hopes to provide a beginners’ overview of the situation.

“I tried to think of it as a regular lecture for an introductory level class, or even for a high school class,” Dr. Blidook said. “It was meant to bring together a lot of different ideas and try to figure out what the best path is.”

Watch the video below.

[embedded content]

Sharing expertise

The video is one of several ways that he is contributing to public discourse about the election, which moved to mail-in ballots only when the province went into another pandemic-related shutdown in mid-February.

Dr. Blidook is also a regular commentator for CBC. He also does interviews with other media outlets and contributes to conversations online via Twitter.

“Academics, in Canada at least, are significantly funded by the public,” Dr. Blidook said.

Writing books and articles is one way he and his colleagues provide a public good, he says, but most people won’t read them. Social media and media interviews are a way to share knowledge and spur conversation in real time.

Department-wide contributions

Dr. Blidook is one of several instructors and faculty members in the department who are sharing their political science expertise with the public.

Dr. Amanda Bittner also does regular media interviews and appearances, and shares insights and expertise on social media.

Dr. Amanda Bittner is a professor in the Department of Political Science.

“This election is tough to navigate — both as a “regular” citizen and an expert on elections and voting,” Dr. Bittner said.

She says she values the behind-the-scenes conversations she has with colleagues as they try to make sense of both the election and what it means for the province.

Some of those Political Science colleagues are having conversations with the public, too. Dr. Russell Williams uses social media to engage on the election and also does regular media interviews.

And along with lawyer Lyle Skinner, his colleague Dr. Alex Marland helped with Dr. Blidook’s video content.

“I’m grateful to my colleagues for sharing their expertise on social media and in traditional media interviews,” Dr. Bittner said.

A positive response

Dr. Blidook says the response to his video, which he uploaded to YouTube a week ago, has been largely positive so far.

The 22-minute video has almost 600 views and sparked discussion on Twitter. In the meantime, Political Science faculty and instructors continue to do media interviews as the election continues.

Amid the ongoing discussion, Dr. Bittner says that nobody has a crystal ball for the province’s future. But she hopes the importance of planning and preparation is one takeaway from the “pandemic” election.

“We have much to learn from this. It is my hope that on a go-forward basis, we take political processes more seriously in the province.”

Terri Coles is a communications advisor with the Faculty of Humanities and Social Sciences. She can be reached at

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