‘There’s No Public Health Without a Public’: An Interview with Geoff Manaugh and Nicola Twilley

The authors of Until Proven Safe on the ongoing pandemic, the history of quarantine, and our existential precarity.

In August of 2019, Geoff Manaugh and Nicola Twilley gave a lecture in Moscow on the phenomenon of quarantine. “I would go out on a limb and say that we are entering the age of quarantine,” Manaugh said toward the end of the presentation. “If everyone at this event at some point in their life experiences quarantine, it wouldn’t be entirely surprising.” 

This prediction was eerily accurate. Due to the global spread of COVID-19—the first cases of which were identified a few short months after the aforementioned lecture—the once obscure subject of quarantine has taken on new relevance. While Manaugh and Twilley’s Until Proven Safe: The History and Future of Quarantine (MCD) is a timely release well suited for our current moment, it is not a book dealing strictly with the present. Rather, it tracks the historical evolution of quarantine, the origins of which date back to the 14th century.  

Heavily researched and inquisitive, Until Proven Safe is an atypical travelogue of quarantine sites that includes the lazarettos of Croatia, the International Cocoa Quarantine Centre in London, and a radioactive waste depository in New Mexico. Along with carefully considering the spatial and temporal implications of the legacy of quarantine, the journalistic duo also looks toward the current pandemic to examine what we can learn to guide us in the future. 

Manaugh and Twilley, who are married, spoke with me over the phone from their home in Los Angeles. Both are accomplished thinkers in their own right: Manaugh is the creator of BLDGBLOG and author of A Burglar's Guide to the City; Twilley is a New Yorker contributor and co-host of the podcast Gastropod. It was exciting to have them on the line at once. It wasn’t a light conversation, but it was engaging, much like the couple’s assorted work.    

Andru Okun: As your book notes, the last mass quarantine event before COVID-19 was about a hundred years ago. I know the interest you both have in quarantine pre-dates the pandemic, so I’m curious to hear what it was like to have a subject you had been researching for years suddenly enter into global public consciousness. 

Geoff Manaugh: Speaking for myself, it was kind of an emotional rollercoaster to be working on a project that, to be honest, was relatively obscure up until about a year-and-a-half ago. Even some of the experts that we talked to for the book thought of quarantine as a thing of the past, that we had moved on to other solutions to dealing with pandemics or contagious disease. We went from feeling as if we were writing a book that made people look twice at us—wondering why on earth are you interested in quarantine?—then suddenly every trip to a restaurant, bar, or gym there’d be a TV on and people would be talking about quarantine. It kind of felt as if our book had leaked out into the world and taken things over. It definitely made us get the book done; we realized that this was something we had been well placed to write about because we had been researching it for so long, and now was the time to finish it.

Nicola Twilley: One funny thing is that the book was actually going to be called The Coming Quarantine. Then, of course, quarantine came, so it got a new title. Geoff said it was a rollercoaster and it was. One of the emotions was frustration at seeing all of the challenges, abuses, and issues around quarantine that we had seen through our research for the book. It was almost this strange déjà vu where everything we had learned about quarantine played out in real time, but it was so frustrating to see we hadn’t really learned from quarantines past. In some ways, it made the book a little more activist than it would have been in really flagging how we can do this better next time.

I imagine you’ve both formed opinions on the recent pandemic responses throughout the world. Where do you think quarantine measures have been successful and where have they failed?

NT: There’s a few examples of success that are interesting for different reasons. Quarantine was initially reliant on islands when it was formulated during the Black Death. Dubrovnik used islands, Venice used islands—that built-in cordon sanitaire of the ocean has always been useful. And it was no surprise to us to see that the countries that did well in keeping COVID out were island nations. New Zealand and Australia were able to take advantage of the ocean and their relative geographic isolation. The other places that have done well, frustratingly, are the ones that used the U.S. pandemic response playbook that we ourselves did not use. One of the central figures in our book is Dr. Martin Cetron, the head of the CDC’s Division of Global Migration and Quarantine. We spoke to him a couple of times during the pandemic, and we could hear the anguish in his voice explaining to us that, say, South Korea was running a playbook that the CDC had written and trained them on, and yet, the CDC was not implementing this playbook itself.

GM: While in agreement with everything Nicky said, quarantine is really a very specific thing. It’s different from a lockdown or a stay-at-home order or social distancing. In the United States, if you do in fact say it’s quarantine, and if you are quarantining individuals, that comes with a federal duty of care for making sure people can get through quarantine. They’d have accommodations and access to food, maybe even wage coverage. If it’s just a lockdown or a stay-at-home advisory, then there’s no real obligation to do anything for those people. So, basically, you’re asking the population of a city or a nation to take on all of the loss, risk, and responsibility of mitigating a pandemic disease but not doing anything to help them. In nations that took it seriously—that said, we're going to pay lost wages or make up for some of the loss that goes into a pandemic response—people were more willing to do the things they were asked to do.

NT: The U.S. is more individualistic and doesn't have public safety nets in place. It’s like we say in the book: there’s no public health without a public. Countries that don’t have a strong culture of public welfare or public good did worse. 

Why is this distinction between quarantine and isolation so important? 

NT: These terms do get used interchangeably and we’re not pedantic about it, but one of the things that makes quarantine so interesting is this element of uncertainty and suspicion that makes it so powerful and prone to abuse. That’s why we focused on it.

GM: We didn’t write a book about isolation or pandemics. We wrote a book about quarantine specifically because it’s so metaphorically interesting. Quarantine means you don’t know if you’re infected or infectious; you don’t know if someone or something is dangerous. So, quarantine takes on these really interesting, almost poetic overtones—there’s something inside of you that might be waiting to reveal itself, and quarantine is the time and space needed to give it a chance to appear. I think that metaphoric aspect is one of the things we tried to emphasize in the book as well—that you find quarantine operating at different scales, far bigger than just medical response. It informs our mythologies, our sense of ancient religion. It gets into a poetic discussion that I think is quite exciting.  

Would you elaborate on these metaphorical implications?

GM: During the Black Death, quarantine was expanded from thirty days to forty days, and it was done because of the biblical resonance of forty days—it ties back to Christ’s time in the desert and the rainfall that caused the flood for Noah’s ark. The number forty provides this sense of quarantine being tied back to something much larger than oneself, and it thus gives it a kind of theological weight. 

“The Masque of the Red Death” [by Edgar Allan Poe] would be a classic literary example of this idea of separating from others and waiting to see if something is in you. Arguably, it’s a story about isolation, but to a certain extent, it’s a story about quarantine. The wealthy of the society seal themselves off to avoid catching a hemorrhagic fever, only to find that they’ve locked themselves in with the disease. Quarantine pops up a lot in contemporary horror as well, even in a movie called Quarantine that came out in 2008, as if the title itself was enough to let you know it was a horror story. 

On a mythological level, one of the stories that I love because it’s so fascinating from a cultural point of view is the story of Alexander’s gates. Alexander the Great, when he was conquering the open lands of Asia, had built a huge set of gates in the Caucasus Mountains that would divide the Christian West from a monstrous Eastern other. It’s also very interesting because the Caucasus Mountains became sort of pseudo-scientifically associated with the origin site for the Caucasian race; there’s something fascinating about the idea that Europeans actually thought that at the very heart of what it means to be Caucasian is a set of iron gates in the Caucasus Mountains dividing them from the “other” that challenge their identity. Although that’s a story of separation, it touches on some of these themes of how quarantine, isolation, and spatial segregation impact even our identities as ethnic races. 

NT: Another example is how the Austro-Hungarian cordon sanitaire—or quarantine corridor—ended up informing European vampire myths. For about a century, there was a thousand-mile quarantine corridor along the imperial frontier of the Austro-Hungarian empire. It went through Serbia, Bosnia, Croatia—this swath of land that was at the edge, neither one thing nor the other, a sort of liminal zone in which travellers crossing had to wait and see if they were carrying disease. And the people who lived there had to serve on the quarantine line. It’s had a lasting impact on how people conceive of the edge of Europe, how that region functions. It is also the home of vampire sightings in Europe. So, there’s this idea that there’s a zone of suspicion, and inside the inhabitants are neither healthy nor sick; it’s also the home of these sort of liminal, living dead figures. It was interesting to see that these edge spaces are home to monsters, as well as people waiting to see if they have a disease.  

I was particularly fascinated and horrified to learn about the “American Plan.” I had no idea of this piece of American history.  

NT: I also had never heard of this; I don’t think it gets taught in school. When people look back at mass quarantines of the past, they tend to look at the 1918 flu. But around the same time, there was this Orwellian-sounding American Plan that used quarantine to detain suspect women. A new generation of women were starting to not just stay at home, get married, and have kids; they were moving to cities and working in offices and factories. That newfound independence was causing great alarm among the patriarchy and there was a fear that these “loose women” (and there was no evidence that they were particularly loose) would infect America’s young men with STDs. There was no sense that America’s young men might bear some responsibility for that or might be even able to avoid those STDs. Quarantine was used to detain these women on suspicion of spreading STDs and it was used widely and in very biased way[s]: African American women were detained under American Plan laws at a far higher rate; people used it for personal vendettas, like husbands reporting their wives after an argument to have them detained; bosses reported recalcitrant workers to the American Plan officials. It was an ugly set of laws and even uglier in its implementation. There’s one book about it that came out, [The Trials of Nina McCall] written by Scott Stern, who wrote his Ph.D. thesis on this and then turned it into a book. Until then, I think it was a forgotten piece of American history and a fascinating example of how quarantine could be abused. 

Do you think we’ve seen similar abuses of quarantine during the current pandemic? 

GM: We certainly have. We see that a lot in how potential guilt has been assigned to an entire class of people. In the early days of the pandemic, a lot of divisive language was used to describe Asian individuals—whether they were U.S. citizens or foreigners—as potential carriers of COVID-19. The attitude toward who was considered potentially contagious or quote-unquote dirty or a risk to others. To a certain extent that’s continued, as seen in the huge spike in crimes against Asian Americans. I think that the rhetoric we saw from the previous presidential administration also carried on these themes of who was a risk and who was a threat to the American public and the health of our nation.  

NT: This is a slightly different example, but another thing that’s always been true of quarantine in history is that the wealthy and the poor are viewed and treated differently. Even in the very first quarantine regulations in Dubrovnik during the Black Death, essential workers had to stay and the wealthy were allowed to flee. You saw that display of limitations of people’s mobility during COVID-19, too.  

In regards to how the U.S. handles quarantine, there seems to be an issue of guiding principles. Given how profit-driven the country is, I question how possible it is to even have a successful mass quarantine unless people figured out how to profit from it. How do you think current socio-economic factors impact our susceptibility to pandemics?

GM: I absolutely think that larger questions about inequality, wealth disparity, access to health care, and even access to a home (if you’re being asked to stay at home, you need to have a home to stay in), all of these conversations are relevant. I also think that that’s exactly the role of governance—and I’m saying this as a believer in government. That’s when government steps in to fill a void that is otherwise unaddressed by economic or social circumstances. It’s the government who would be responsible for the individual in the case of last resort, so you can make up for lost wages. Or if you’re asking someone who can’t afford to quarantine because they still have to buy medications or put food on the table and they don’t have savings or have family members that they’re trying to take care of, then they actually have a way to make up for that and they can afford to not work. 

NT: One interesting thing that a former head of the CDC, Julie Gerberding, pointed out to us at a pandemic simulation is that the U.S. has a very well-funded military with the sort of health care that you would hope to see. When it quarantines, it provides housing and people continue to get paid and their families are fed. The military does quarantine and health care right, and the U.S. taxpayer funds that. It’s interesting to me that we have this example that is much more functional, and yet there’s an unwillingness to expand it beyond that limited group. One of the things we saw again and again in pandemic simulations, [was that] people who were supposed to evaluate our pandemic preparedness would talk about our manufacturing capabilities and our PPE reserves, but our preparedness to quarantine never came up during these simulations. As Geoff said, can people do what is being asked of them? And if not, how do we make them ready to do so? How do we put in place the structure and resources that would make quarantine possible? As we write in the book, quarantine was just invoked and not discussed or imagined in any way as an experience. There wasn’t thought given to what it would be like to be prepared for it.

GM: Also, you mentioned if people could figure out how to profit off of quarantine. I genuinely believe that’s going to happen. I think there’s a drive to get in on quarantine as a business model. One of the things we try to do at the end of the book is look at a rise in the quarantine profiteer—people who are trying to disrupt quarantine in the Silicon Valley sense—and get ahead of it. So next time there are stay-at-home orders, maybe your smart home can be an active participant in your medical isolation. Maybe your subscription Amazon purchases can be used to help mitigate the kind of difficulty of staying at home. We’re already seeing everyday appliances becoming diagnostic tools—our Alexas and other always-on microphones can pick up the sound of a cough and detect whether it might be COVID-19 or not. We’re seeing the rise of all kinds of things that are going to turn quarantine into a niche industry. To be clear, I say this in the dystopian sense and I’m not advocating for it, but I do see that there is going to be profit made in keeping people isolated from one another. And so, it will be quite interesting to imagine when the next pandemic hits exactly who makes money off our quarantine experiences.   

This is actually something I wanted to talk about. Contact tracing and genomic sequencing have shown how collecting information can help us respond to viral outbreaks. But on a smaller, more personal scale, data presents some frightening scenarios, like the hypothetical of the hyper-connected smart home determining that a person living within it is potentially contagious, then imposing quarantine upon them by locking them inside against their will. As far as pandemics go, how concerned should we be about surveillance and diagnostic infrastructure?

GM: I would say that diagnostic infrastructure is not in and of itself dystopic, but I think the idea that corporate interests will find a way to spin a profit off of making sure that we stay isolated from one another has dystopian overtones. I think it’s a really complex and nuanced conversation because I don’t think the answer is that we need data privacy. It goes back to what Nicky was saying, that we can’t have public health without a public. If people are known to be carrying highly transmissible diseases that are threats to the general public body of a nation or city, public health officials need access to that information. They need to know who is infected and at what stage of the infection they are in, so I think that the testing and tracing infrastructure is important. It belies the idea that we all have to have absolute privacy over all of our data. At the same time, obviously we don’t want to turn all of our medical diagnoses over to the public so that everybody knows our illnesses and ailments. So, I think that we’re constantly going back and forth between information that is vital for public health versus information that is being sold to corporations that potentially don’t have public health in their interests. One of the examples we use are bleach companies or vitamin firms getting access to our state of health—curing illness is not necessarily in their interest if they can profit off of cleaning surfaces for the next six months or selling cough drops instead of a cure. You get into not just mixed messages regarding whether or not they’re on our side, but incentives that could potentially go against public health itself. 

NT:  Adam Kucharski, one of the epidemiologists we talked to, has been working on modelling for the U.K. government, and I think he has a really smart attitude to this. He relies on data, and sometimes data that you might otherwise be very reluctant to share about your movements and interactions with people. His point is that it requires trust; if you're asking people to do this, you have to demonstrate a social benefit. You have to think in terms of permission rather than just doing it and hoping you get away with it. You have to involve people; if it’s for a social good then it should be a social effort. The data gathering in and of itself is not inherently bad; using that data to limit people’s movement is not inherently bad. How the protections and the process around building that system work is where the nuance lies, making sure that it’s being done for the public good and not private profit. 

One thing that’s worth noting is that throughout the pandemics of history, surveillance and quarantine have gone hand-in-hand and the tools of that surveillance and that monitoring of people’s movement have hardened into the bureaucracy we know today: the border control, the passports. There is a real risk that things put in place to manage a pandemic will harden into a new reality without discussion. I think we would all do well to have the kinds of discussions that Adam advocated and that we advocate, too. 

The pandemic is still very much ongoing, but I have wondered about what aspects of the past year-and-a-half will stick. Do either of you have any thoughts on that?  

GM: It will be so fascinating to see what the remnants of COVID-19 are and how it changes cities. I think that there are certainly positive things, like the changes to the use of the streets for outdoor dining. It’s almost like the Europeanization of American cities in the name of social distance, so you can eat outside in a way that would be typical for a European city, but that isn’t something that you see very often in a place like Dallas. I think that things like that would be great if they stuck around. Other minor cultural quirks might change, like handshakes; although, it's funny to see people who can’t stop shaking hands. I could definitely go the rest of my life without shaking hands again. I think that the hand sanitizer market is likely poised for a permanent boost, in terms of having hand sanitizer stations everywhere. This also ties into the argument now about vaccine passports. These things already exist in the sense that you’re required to get certain vaccinations before going to schools. For travel, there are recommended vaccinations for places where you might be exposed to certain diseases, but now that it’s happening with COVID-19 there’s this kind of exaggerated political outrage. But will we see vaccine passports become a permanent part of life? Or having to bring your vaccine card around? All these things are going to be interesting to track in the months to come. 

NT: And, certainly, there are examples in other countries, like the way China expanded its Alipay system into a health and mobility control app. I don’t see that being rolled back. One thing that I think is interesting is that in the U.S., so much is driven by the idea of liability and trying to avoid it that it’s actually businesses and universities (which are basically businesses) that are figuring out how to bring everyone back together but not make ourselves liable to a COVID super spreader event. So, what you’re getting is these businesses—not in discussion with their employees or consumers—implementing different testing regimes, whether it be swabbing buildings or monitoring sewage or air quality. And those kinds of monitoring systems also are invasive of peoples’ privacy. That’s all being done right now without any real oversight, guidance, or consultation, all in the interest of liability. We've been taught to think that we’re on CCTV in public spaces, but we haven’t been taught to think that what we’re breathing out is now being surveilled through an air quality sensor. And that’s personal information that we’re leaving in a space that's being gathered, and it’s not necessarily something we agreed to. Surveying air quality or swabbing surfaces as a sentinel of disease is a great idea, it’s just something that you want to think twice about the privacy issues around before implementing and ideally have a conversation with people whose privacy is going to be invaded in this way.  

While reading this book, I felt like I was being regularly reminded of how incredibly vulnerable the human species is. For so many people, there seems to be a very deep-seated unwillingness to acknowledge this precarity, an unwillingness that is especially pronounced in affluent countries. I’m curious to hear if either of you feel the same.

GM: I agree with that. That comes to the fore whenever there’s a blackout basically anywhere in the United States and people suddenly realize how thin the line is that keeps us back from a much earlier age in which we maybe don’t even know how to survive. We certainly don’t know how to make our goods or grow food. I think one of the reasons why there’s been a decade-long interest in infrastructure—especially in architecture and geography—is that it’s almost a branch of precarity studies. It’s people looking into these systems that are otherwise invisible and exist on the periphery of the world and yet keep everything moving. It’s like the stagecraft that allows the actors to get through their roles, and I think that kind of interest—at least in an academic world where people are interested in writing about ports, electrical infrastructure, or hydrology—all of these things are an attempt to shine a light on that precarity. I think that people don’t really want to admit that things are as bad as they are. One of the things that’s funny is that every political ideology has its own pet disaster, and I think on the right there’s a huge fear of electromagnetic pulse weaponry, but it's a very peculiar worry that is specific to conservative geopolitical thinkers. The idea is that North Korea or a similar power will explode a nuclear weapon in the atmosphere above the United States, and so, while it won’t kill everyone with an explosion, it will short out all of our electrical devices, including our power stations and cars. So, there’s this idea that we have to harden ourselves against the disappearance of civilization, which is to say the short-circuiting of our infrastructure. I think that’s fascinating. 

NT: The larger, more abstract way that I think about this, and it comes up in my refrigeration research all the time too, is that we have not assigned economic value to resilience and we have assigned economic value to efficiency and optimization. So, we have a system that is highly efficient and optimized (of course in some cases it’s not actually that efficient, but it’s economically efficient and not resilient). I think the idea of incentivizing resilience—or even requiring resilience through regulatory means—is something that we really need to do. Climate change is making this increasingly obvious, but it is something we’re very reluctant to do because the benefits are almost invisible: it’s things not going wrong. It’s hard to get excited about that, as it’s not a clear win in the same way. We saw this again and again in the pandemic preparedness sphere, these big simulations where the same things would go wrong every time. But until they actually go wrong, there’s no incentive to do anything about it. 

When you say “resilience,” what specifically do you mean? 

NT: It looks different in different examples, but resilience could be not having a supply chain that is entirely dependent on the Suez Canal being open, for example. It could be not having a fruit and vegetable supply that only comes from three states, as that’s inherently fragile. 

GM: Redundancy is a really important thing, to have a backup. Also, I think COVID-19 has shown us the limits of just-in-time inventory and infrastructure. Companies have gotten so used to having something shipped in on a twenty-four-hour notice, that we’ve seen a lot of companies just running out of goods. Products are running short on shelves. Starbucks was the big story recently because they were running out of ingredients and didn’t have access to things that they needed for their drinks. The global economy has become really dependent on this just-in-time approach to life, it’s almost become an ideology. I think resilience would be not being dependent on [things being] just in time, even though that would have its own costs built into it.      

It also seems like there’s an issue of precedence. There are people in power who don’t want to set up a dynamic in which they help another country out of a dire situation because I think we all know, even if we don’t want to admit it, that more dire situations are certainly on the way. Which brings me to nuclear waste . . .


Your reporting on nuclear waste was an unsettling illustration of how difficult it is to safeguard against human error. How did you arrive at the subject of geologic disposal?

GM: What we wanted to do was look at the outer limits of isolation technology in terms of how we think of threats and dangerous material, as well as how we try to contain it. There are so many similarities between the burial of nuclear waste and some of the protocols that exist for quarantine and high-level isolation units in hospitals. There were many similarities we saw between how Ebola patients would be treated in London and the Royal Free Hospital and how the nuclear waste isolation pilot plant in New Mexico is run, in terms of circulation, filtration, and air ventilation. When you get into nuclear industry, these interesting similarities are scaled-up dramatically, and what we wanted to look at was how we handle something that has a danger that is far in excess of an individual human life, if not the lifespan of human civilization itself. How do we figure, model, confront, and build for that?  That led us into nuclear waste as a way of looking at containment, isolation, and, to a certain extent, quarantine vis-à-vis taking something dangerous out of society and placing it elsewhere in a kind of sacrifice zone. We thought that there would be lessons to learn from that; that we could look at the way that systems are designed for long-term, if not permanent, isolation and see how both metaphorically and literally those same systems might inform a quarantine station design or the design of a hospital. 

NT: The second half of the book, where we look at planetary quarantine and agricultural quarantine and nuclear waste isolation, we thought that by looking at how we implement these protocols in different fields that we could get perspective on things that are harder to extrapolate when you’re talking about just quarantining humans. When the consequences are existential, you have to approach risk differently. You can’t approach it in terms of likelihood, you have to approach it in terms of its consequences. Looking at nuclear waste isolation helped us pull out larger threads that apply to quarantine and isolation as a whole.

GM: One of those things is the challenge of communicating risk to future generations. That’s something we saw throughout the history of quarantine and even during COVID-19 where there was a struggle to communicate to people that this is actually dangerous, a real virus that should be avoided. People don’t always believe the information and they may not trust the authority that’s communicating it. In the history of quarantine, we saw that houses being marked as dangerous or under quarantine were specifically targeted by criminals and burglars as places to break in and steal items because those were seen as unprotected houses where things could be taken. In other words, the warnings weren’t heeded even then, so there’s a challenge to communicate over huge spans of time that a nuclear waste site is in fact a place to avoid, that the danger is real and the risk is not exaggerated. That was a major aspect not just of the nuclear waste chapters, but also just the entire challenge of communicating the need to quarantine. 

This last question is very much an existential one: Until Proven Safe claims that there’s an increased likelihood of quarantine in the future. Generally speaking, how optimistic do either of you feel about our ability to handle the crises that await us? 

GM: Ooph. I guess I’d say, for me, there are at least two answers to that question. In terms of the prognosis that we’re going to quarantine more, not less, in the future, I definitely stand by that. If we take the time to learn from this pandemic and to learn where and how quarantine worked or failed, then we can use quarantine as a very simple spatial power to address disease mitigation and to prevent the next pandemic from being as bad as it could be. Quarantine has a reputation for political abuse and for being ominous and dystopian, but at heart it’s just an unbelievably simple form of personal responsibility that says we’re going to take some time apart and ensure that we’re not a danger to one another. I’m optimistic that if we’re able to make quarantine work as a tool then it will become appreciated for what it is as opposed to feared. The other question I think is just a temperament question: am I optimistic about our ability to address challenges? Nicky and I kind of swap back and forth between who’s the doomsday foreteller here, but I would say that I am not optimistic at all that we're able to address these larger problems as a civilization or as nation-states or even as a species. Again, I think that’s a temperament question rather than a rational, political assessment of where we are. I would say there are many larger problems than COVID-19; there are many diseases that are much more fatal and dangerous; there are other problems like climate change that we simply are not addressing right now, and those stand out to me. But Nicky, what do you think?

NT: I see no evidence that society at large has learned from pandemics past. Individuals have; again, Dr. Martin Cetron at the CDC did a detailed study of what had worked and not worked in quarantines past to come up with new federal quarantine regulations that do all the things that we need to do to make quarantine work. It’s just that they weren’t implemented at scale—we were in lockdown deliberately, not quarantined, and we didn't follow the CDC playbook. So, individuals can learn, but whether we as a society can learn, I see no evidence that that’s been the case in the past, therefore I am not optimistic we will. We need to; we need quarantine. We’re going to use it again, as Geoff said. We need to redesign it so that it works better next time, and if I had to put money on it I would say we’re not going to. I would really like to be wrong.