Category: Granite Views

Sometimes our strong desire to live free or die gets in the way of common-sense solutions. A case in point is the initial rejection of $27 million in federal funding by our Executive Council to bolster Covid vaccination efforts, with New Hampshire being the only state to reject the funds. The majority of Council members believed that accepting the funds would commit New Hampshire to future federal vaccine mandates. Attorney General Formella had addressed this concern and advised that interpretation was incorrect. His advice was disregarded in the initial vote.

Weeks later, the Council reversed its position, agreeing to accept $22 million of the funding. What drove the change in mindset? A non-binding resolution that accompanied the contract stating that the governor and Council are on record against any federal vaccine mandate. Also included was language changing the state’s immunization registry from “opt-out” to “opt-in.”

NHPR’s Nov. 2 report on vaccination rate discrepancies in New Hampshire signifies the importance of accepting these funds. The CDC, along with other online reporting sites, consistently reports New Hampshire’s vaccination rate as much higher than the state reports on its own site (covid19.nh.gov).

According to DHHS Commissioner Shibinette, the state’s records are missing thousands of doses. She noted this is a result of ending the state of emergency, the rollout of the state vaccine registry system, and the inability to collect Covid-19 data for individuals not presented with the ability to opt out of the system (as required by state law). In a nutshell, the state numbers don’t include doses administered by the pharmacies as they are federal providers and are not required to provide an opt-out option when reporting data to the federal government.

After years of discussion and concerns over privacy issues, New Hampshire was the last state in the nation to approve a statewide immunization registry. Will the $22 million coming to New Hampshire allow us to provide accurate data in this registry? According to the Union Leader, the funding allows for the hiring of 13 full-time and temporary staffers to build out the immunization registry and other vaccine activities.

Accurate data should be what is driving policy and decision making. When Executive Councilors are misinformed, and our data systems are inaccurate, public policy decisions are questioned, and rightfully so. Officials are elected to serve in the best interest of our citizens and our state versus pandering to the vocal few.

Robin Milnes is a small-business owner and advocate with more than 30 years of experience in real estate acquisitions, property management, sales, leasing, budgeting, fiscal oversight, human resources and administration. She can be reached at rmilnes@inex.com.

Whether the topic is the pandemic, the economy, the climate, world affairs or politics, we all seem to be having serious conversations these days. And to come to those conversations with knowledge, we often feel there is so much to read, to view or to listen to. It seems overwhelming. What I have observed, sadly, is that those conversations too often end with a comment such as, “I am really worried” or “I feel so depressed” or “Will things ever change for the better?”

The roller coaster of daily life these days contributes greatly to this sense of dis-ease. With its flow and ebb, Covid-19 keeps us shifting our behavior, ever uneasy about where to go, what to do or with whom to be, and with what consequences. The rising cost of living, the persistence of hate speech and acts, the inequities of our society, and the sufferings of so many cast deep shadows over the lives of so many. No wonder there exists the mental stress about which we read, which we see in others and we feel at times ourselves.

A recently departed dear friend once counseled me, “Hope is that most noble of human virtues. Especially in tough times, we need it to keep us going and to do what we need to do.”

Those words came back to me as by chance I happened upon a poem by John O’Donohue titled “This is the Time to be Slow” (from his collection To Bless the Space Between Us: A Book of Blessings). While the very title of the poem was strangely, and in a welcome way, quieting to me, it was an image in his poem that impressed me most by its simplicity and beauty.

He counsels the reader not to let “the wire brush of doubt scrape [from your heart] all sense of yourself.” Instead, he urges we remain generous even as our “hesitant light” may flicker. For with hope, we shall, in time, find a new beginning. We’ll step again on “fresh pastures of promise.”

A poem is a purse made of words into which a treasure is kept (or so I once heard it described). O’Donohue’s poem did indeed carry a treasure greatly in need at this time in all of our lives. His image of “the wire brush of doubt” and its potentially abrasive effect is truly wise counsel too. I hope to keep it firmly in mind and to share it with others.

On Nov. 9 UNH will be hosting its second program in the 2021-2022 Sidore Lecture Series. The topic will be Caregiving: Honor and Burden, Contributions, and Impact, and it will feature local and national subject matter leaders. All are invited to attend this virtual (and free) Zoom session.

My own involvement with caregiving is a personal one at both a familial and a community level. Having spent my entire life in New England, I have seen the ways the belief in individualism can ripple out into communal care. My grandmother hid her memory loss from her family and my Péperé struggled with managing his diabetes because neither one wanted to be seen as a burden. Relying on one another can seem counter to many of the values I’ve seen espoused in whiteness.

Intergenerational relationships have been paramount in my life and I see the ways that these connections have held mutual benefit for all involved. I can literally say I wouldn’t be where I am in life without them. There is something beautiful when we can honor the experiences and humanity of each other and, especially for me, when it transcends many of the social norms we’ve been conditioned to expect.

Being a member of the LGBTQIA community has given me heightened appreciation of the role of caregiving. The experiences shared with me from the “elders” are ones I’ll never find in the history books.

As the AIDS epidemic devastated the gay population, there were many members of their chosen family who were there to offer the care needed to navigate the virus. The stories I’ve heard are both heart-wrenching and uplifting as they have demonstrated the true value of love when we are at our most vulnerable.

As I’ve navigated this process, I can sense the fear of becoming too needy or overly relying on other people to live my life. I find this to be a devastating side effect to the notion of freedom and I often wonder what lies beneath these fears. Do we truly believe we are not an interdependent species? That without you there really cannot be a me?

Caregiving is a two-way street and I encourage all readers to tune into this important program on Nov. 9. You can find more information by searching “UNH Sidore Lecture” or just email me for the link. I am excited about the possibility presented in how we view this critical part of our society. We may be the “Live Free or Die” state but, maybe, we can begin to consider a new path grounded less in burden and more in honor, contributions and impact.

I like to hike and to write. Both activities demand focus. One foot, or one word, in front of another. The effort distracts me from problems and surfaces memories and ideas.

As if the foliage on the Kancamagus Highway weren’t glorious enough, I recently hiked the Champney Falls Trail up Mt. Chocorua. Golden, orange and red leaves floated down from the treetops. Balsam and damp moss scented the air. Just out of sight the waterfall hummed like a highland bagpipe. Poking my poles into the leaves in search of solid ground, I picked my way among the rocks and roots. I was thinking about my mother.

Chocorua was the last big mountain my mother climbed before multiple sclerosis confined her to lower ground. Due to that disease, even her vinyl kitchen floor proved rough terrain on bad days. Remembering her determination to enjoy life and help others despite her condition, I backtracked in my mind to the stories she told us of growing up in the Depression and World War II. As a child in rural New Hampshire, she didn’t know that much about the interplay of economic, political and military forces at work. What she did understand from a young age was that she and her family and neighbors could make a difference. They needed to help with “the war effort.” They could, and did, grow victory gardens for food self-sufficiency; collect and donate scrap metal and rags; save quarters to buy war bonds; and make do with rationing. My grandmother sometimes served “peanut butter oatmeal chops” for supper. My mother knew it was her patriotic duty not to complain.

As in the 1940s, the U.S.A. now faces multiple fronts: the Covid pandemic, substance abuse, and mental health crises; financial precariousness; economic, educational and racial disparities; political stalemate; and, above all, climate change. Where are the 21st-century equivalents of those ebullient World War II posters urging Americans to do their part? Too few of us are getting the message that there is something we each can do. Too many are obsessed with protecting individual rights and ignoring societal responsibilities. Our republic is in dire danger. What to do? For starters, just get vaccinated.

I have to pause, breathing in-in-in and out-out-out. Above the treeline, granite boulders loom between me and the summit, grating my knees as I scramble up. But at the top, the blue sky, the distant lakes, the company of the other mountains, steadies me. Everything seems possible — even the resolution of our nation’s problems. It is not enough to hike, though. I have to write.

Susan Hatem, former Director of Programs and Grant Making at New Hampshire Humanities, is a CASA of NH guardian ad litem and a connector, mentor and writer. Email her at susanh8m@gmail.com.

I’m genuinely afraid for the future of my/our country. We seem to have gotten to a point where it feels nearly impossible to talk to one another. There are some smart folks who are comparing the atmosphere in this country to just before the Civil War. Is it possible that, in our lifetime, maybe even within a generation or two, we will start to see the breakup of America? One of the primary areas of our inability to communicate is around the issue of race. This breaks my heart.

It’s not hard to understand how minorities can get upset at inequities, whether real or perceived. But, it’s also not hard to understand how whites can get upset when the term “racist” is often used, seemingly, at the drop of a hat.

I believe that most Americans are not racists and that the vast majority of our fellow citizens buy into the “all men are created equal” notion that our country is built on. That said, I also believe that, pardon the analogy, it’s not all black and white where you’re either a racist or you’re not. In my opinion, there is a lot of gray. In fact, I believe that the majority of us, regardless of our race, fall into that gray area.

While I believe that most would view my personal history as non-racist, only I know what is in my heart. I regularly try to measure my unconscious bias and admit that I have some. While I have never felt proud of being white, I continued to feel proud of my Italian heritage. Is that OK in your eyes? Or, is that somehow problematic? How do you measure your unconscious bias?

Too often, I have heard Democrats refer to Republicans as racists. I’m sure that there are Republicans who are racists, but I believe that most Republicans also fit into that gray area. To lump them together in this highly negative way is not only hurtful but ensures the furthering of our divisions and our inability to talk to one another. This is dangerous! We have to find a way to talk to one another in a manner that will ensure everyone stays at the discussion table. If we can’t, I fear for the future of our democracy.

I believe that the majority of us believe that America is the greatest country in the history of the world. Is it possible that we could blow this?

Fred Bramante is a past chairman and member of the New Hampshire State Board of Education. He speaks and consults on education redesign to regional, state and national organizations.

I have written on several occasions in this column about my work with Fellowship Housing Opportunities in Concord. This nonprofit provides safe, affordable housing and services to people suffering from long-term mental health issues. I am proud to serve as its Board President, and I am a strong advocate of the role that it plays in the Concord community, recognizing that without this nonprofit there would likely be 63 additional people in Concord classified as “homeless.”

I also wear a business owner’s hat as a property owner in downtown Manchester. Our corporate offices are in a commercial office building in the center of downtown, just a block off Elm Street. Since employees returned to the office from a work-at-home environment, they are faced with finding trash, used needles, human waste, stolen bicycles and other items left behind. It is not uncommon to see a homeless person use the property’s gardens as a personal restroom in broad daylight. Repeated calls have been made to the Manchester Health Department, the police, and directly to Mayor Craig’s office. To date, little has happened to resolve the impact on our property.

The city and state have been regularly evicting the homeless from various camps throughout Manchester. With each eviction, this population relocates. While services are offered, and a majority of the homeless do reside in shelters provided by several nonprofits, many choose not to. Homelessness is a complex issue that requires a multi-faceted solution. Some homeless people have temporarily fallen on hard times, and with a little assistance will get back on their feet. Some have addiction and mental health issues and require a broader spectrum of support in addition to housing and financial.

I am dedicated to the mission of Fellowship Housing. I recognize we are but a cog in the wheel in dealing with a worsening situation. As a business and property owner there is also recognition that this burden is too big for nonprofits to bear alone. It is time for Manchester to develop a comprehensive plan to ensure that this population is properly cared for. Shuffling homeless people from property to property is not a solution and is negatively impacting those in need as well as the quality of life for those who call Manchester home, including business and property owners.

An interesting change has been taking place in New Hampshire politics. Towns that were once solidly Republican have either switched over to competitive towns or are now tilting toward Democrats.

A recent example of this was the special election in Bedford for a state House seat. There was a time when that would be a safe Republican seat. But no more. Republicans lost the seat in a very close election. With that win, Democrats hold two of Bedford’s five seats. And almost a year ago in 2020, Bedford went for President Joe Biden over former President Donald Trump. In 2008, a year that saw President Barack Obama win New Hampshire and both U.S. House seats go to Democrats, Bedford elected all Republicans and in the presidential race went for Republican John McCain.

The same trend has been happening in other suburban towns. In Amherst, Democrats control all of its state House seats, just as they do in Bow. In Hollis, Democrats control one of two seats. The same trend has been happening on the Seacoast. Towns such as Rye, North Hampton and Hampton are electing more and more Democrats.

In the larger cities such as Manchester, Nashua, Concord and Portsmouth, Democrats have a near sweep of House seats.

Republicans continue to hold tight to Londonderry, Derry, Windham, Salem, Atkinson, Hudson and some smaller rural towns.

Parties tend to win because of a couple factors: changes in the party itself and changes in the electorate. Since Democrat Jeanne Shaheen was elected governor, Democrats have been careful to broaden their appeal, staying away from unpopular issues like statewide income taxes. This effort to broaden the appeal of the party has been very successful, creating a nearly unbroken 20 years of Democratic control of the governor’s office. Republicans were only able to take back the governor’s office with a centrist candidate, Chris Sununu. Sununu, for example, was able to win in Hampton, North Hampton and Rye, all towns his predecessor Maggie Hassan also won. He then helped Republicans take back the state House and Senate in 2020.

So what happened in Bedford and is it a wake-up call for Republicans or just a fluke?

It’s likely that voters, especially those in suburban towns like Bedford and Amherst, got more than they bargained for with the Republican legislature, a group that tilted far more right than the governor and took highly polarizing votes on abortion, public funding of private education and vaccinations. These are issues that might appeal to a vocal slice of the party, but they alienate voters in the suburban towns who will decide who controls the next legislature. To win elections, parties need to broaden their appeal.

Over the years we were colleagues, my friend was a gifted and visionary leader in his field. To whatever task he put his hand, he always promised “to leave the woodpile a little higher than [he] found it.” He succeeded admirably and his retirement was well-deserved. To retirement as well he set the same goal, namely to take full advantage of the time and, in the words of Robert Kennedy, “to make gentle the life of this world.” That, too, he did when he published a book of reflections on life in the region in which he and his wife had settled.

It was a shock, then, when the news came that my friend had entered a memory care facility. I knew then that our long conversations about the books we were reading, the events of the day, and the state of things generally, and especially the ways of Mother Nature at this critically changing time, were to be no more.

Not able now to hear his voice, I turned instead to his printed words, and these spoke even more forcefully and compellingly that when first I had read them, though at the time of that reading, many of his observations were underlined, to wit:

“It is in weathering that knowledge comes to the heart.”

“Love is a long gift in a hard season.”

“We are either solitary by nature and search for community, or are inherently communal and long for solitude.”

“Then, too, I am among that last generation that will have lived a full lifetime with the printed page. Everything is in electronic form today. My bookcase of old friends is already a museum of obsolete technology.”

“That memory fades is a blessing the moving sun bestows that otherwise would trap all we know in shadow and a single sounding of the bell.”

My mornings, like those of friends I know, begin with a quiet time. “Meditation” would be too grand a term. That half hour serves, as my late mother-in-law was fond of describing, as “the rudder of the day.” It is now my friend’s little book of reflections that gives the jump-start to my musings. He would approve of that, most certainly. I wish I could tell him so.

Ultimately, my friend puts it all in context: “Only that nature harms and heals alike — self serene, and without regret or praise.” He has truly accomplished his mission: the woodpile is taller.

Memorial Day and Labor Day are our unofficial bookends of summer and both offer spaces for reflecting and honoring their roles in U.S. history.

I remember, vividly, the Memorial Day school concerts and parades throughout my childhood but I cannot say the same is true for Labor Day.

On June 28, 1894, Grover Cleveland made Labor Day a federal holiday. At their height in 1954, 34.8 percent of all U.S. wage and salary workers, public and private, belonged to a union; today that number is 10.8 percent.

The private sector is where most of the losses have come, which saw membership slide from 16.8 percent in 1985 to 6.7 percent in 2015. Who is protecting our most vulnerable workers, often low-wage earners, if unionization is not allowed? That’s a reality that has been facing our nation for several decades now. The stagnant wages, lack of access to health care and retirement benefits, and disintegration of the middle class over my lifetime cannot simply be coincidences.

Although some may argue that there is no longer a need for these protections, I would beg to differ. I think of Amazon and Walmart employees who have, for years, worked to try and unionize only to have their efforts thwarted through political tactics. Unions have consistently worked to put the power in the hands of the people and that can be threatening to many in executive-level positions.

Right to Work bills are presented each legislative session in New Hampshire and across the country. Although it hasn’t yet passed in the Granite State, I worry that it’s inevitable that it will eventually become law.

Much like most of our systems, labor unions are not perfect. They have their own dark history of racism, sexism, political manipulation and many other tools of oppression. But, at their essence, the organized labor movement is what helped to create safe and healthy places for people to work. They helped to build the United States and we cannot forget that as we enjoy our annual long weekend.

I cannot imagine a world today where a woman with an eighth-grade education and for whom English was a second language would find a job that not only paid a living wage but also helped to save for retirement, reasonable hours and good health insurance benefits. Yet that’s exactly the story of my Nan, who worked for a private manufacturer in Nashua for her entire life. She was able to appreciate class mobility and, in turn, so have I.

I hope we can find the space to move out of the political polarization of unions and appreciate their role in giving our most vulnerable populations a space to survive and thrive.

Our first three kids went off to college pre-pandemic, so my husband and I were pretty well practiced in that transition. But No. 4’s drop-off in 2020 was like no other. First stop was a huge tent where students had Covid nose swabs. Next we drove to a parking lot behind her dorm. Per emailed instructions, she unloaded her gear at precisely 2:30 p.m. and hauled it up to her third-floor room. By herself. In contrast, I remember fluffing the comforter on my firstborn’s dorm bed. Luckily, the email had warned her to bring only what she could carry, in case the college had to shut down. Still wearing her mask, my sweet youngest waved to me from her window.

That’s it. I drove away.

Whatever my daughter was experiencing, for me one of the biggest contrasts to her brothers’ drop-offs was the lack of ceremony. By that I mean everything from quirky customs introducing students to school culture to formal events with inspiring speeches. These practices eased the 18-year-olds into college and the parents out of micromanagement. At one school, cheering upperclassmen sporting logo garb lined the drive onto campus. At another, we were invited to attend a mass — followed by cocktails. Long ago at my own university, the “Freshman Assembly” included faculty in academic robes and the glee club. (Watch The Chair on Netflix.)

Historically, colleges and universities have been particularly partial to formal celebrations but ceremony is important in many spheres. Ceremony is how society marks transitions and gives meaning to life. Think baptisms, first day of school, bar and bat mitzvahs, graduations, weddings, anniversaries, retirements, funerals. So many of these events had to be put off during the pandemic. Some were rescheduled. Others were reshaped, still marking an occasion but perhaps not serving the original purpose. Our high school seniors instituted a car parade that has become fun for young families and empty-nesters to watch. But a memorial service months after a loved one’s death doesn’t help start the grieving process. Grief doesn’t wait. Nor does business. No matter how long or how much an employee has contributed to an organization, a goodbye party really has to take place when the separation occurs. Those who remain get back to work.

Despite the delta variant, this fall, with all its back-to-school optimism, is a good time to acknowledge some of the transitions that went unmarked last year. Did a colleague, teacher or coach retire without fanfare? Did a new generation become the oldest in their family? What about our 20-somethings, forging their way as adults in this confusing, divided time? I think they deserve recognition. We need a Forward-in-Life ceremony.