Inclusion Reinterpreted

I arrive at my building on campus. The poster on the double doors says "Masks Required." It has been there since the beginning of the COVID-19 pandemic. It is now September of 2021, the beginning of my 7th year as a Ph.D. student and a year and a half into the pandemic. A few weeks ago, the COVID numbers in the US were the lowest they've been, only 223.4 deaths per day (1,2). But with the start of school and the new Delta variant, cases are rising again. So as of August, the University has reinstated mandatory masking in all campus buildings (3).

I walk to my office. The halls along the way are filled with bulletin boards covered in glossy posters of smiling students and words like "Respect," and "Diversity," and "Inclusion." When I reach my office, I toss my coat over the back of my chair. It's a small room with four desks spanning the walls, two on each side, and enough room to walk between them, if you turn sideways. I pick up a webcam and go to the room where I teach. The school's deans have declared that all classes must be taught in person. But we are allowed to teach hybrid, if we want. I set up the webcam, load up my slides, and look over a list of questions I've gotten this week. When class starts, I am the only one in the room. There are about 20 students on zoom. They prefer it. I prefer it too, but the school has officially returned to in-person instruction, so I need to be there. I teach.

An hour and a half later, I pack up and head back to my office. I am making preparations for the experiment that will complete my dissertation and I have a lot to do. When I get back to my office, one of my five officemates is sitting at the desk next to mine. They are not wearing a mask. I say "good morning" and make eye contact, my mask clearly visible. I sit at my desk and start organizing my work for the day. My officemate goes back to their work, still unmasked.

I think about the effects getting COVID would have on me and my loved ones.

I think about my major depressive disorder. I've learned, through many years of painful trial and error, that I need at least 30 minutes of daily exercise to reliably prevent a months-long depressive episode. I think about how those episodes make it nearly impossible to focus, or concentrate, or even to get out of bed. A depressive episode means I can't work. I can't teach. I can't take care of my family, or even take care of myself. I've worked so incredibly hard to build the exercise and sleep I need into my routine, and to stick to it, so I can continue to function. But even a small cold can disrupt that routine and put me at risk. Getting COVID would almost certainly trigger a depressive episode that would take many painful weeks or months to recover from, assuming I remain one of the lucky ones that comes out alive.

I think about my partner who lives in constant pain from a chronic illness. On good days, their pain is distracting. On bad days it's excruciating and leaves them bedridden. They work hard to balance work, parenting, and living life. They do their best to fit all those into their limited good days. COVID could mean no good days for weeks, and Long COVID could mean even fewer good days for the rest of their life. They could lose their job, their health insurance, their hobbies, and their ability to parent. They have to work so hard already, they don't deserve to have any more of their life stolen from them.

I think about my elderly father who I take care of. He never finished high school, but he worked ten hours a day, six days a week to put me through undergrad. He has emphysema, and at his age, he very well might not survive COVID. If I got it on campus and then gave it to him, I couldn't forgive myself.

But most of all, I think about my five year old daughter. I think about her brave smile after her second open-heart surgery. That was when she was two. The doctors gave her a 95% chance to survive that surgery. She's going to need another one before she's an adult. She takes medication every day to keep her heart healthy. Her condition puts her at higher risk for the cardiovascular complications of COVID (4), and getting COVID could interfere with her next surgery. I need to do everything I can to keep her heart in good condition for that next surgery.

I look at my unmasked officemate.

"Do you need a mask?" I ask.

"I think we don't need to do that anymore," they reply.

"Pretty sure we do," I say.

I'm not surprised. I've had this same conversation dozens of times. When the University reinstated mandatory masking, my school didn't announce the policy. Instead, there was one mention, as an aside, in an email about room reservations, suggesting masking in shared spaces. The only reason I know is from seeing an article in the news and searching the University website for the current policy. Since then, I've been told confidently by my peers and professors that masks aren't required anymore. Or that masks are only required in classrooms. Or if you have symptoms. Or only if the door is open. Or if the door is closed. None of the students or faculty I've talked to know there is a written policy. My peers didn't get the memo, because there was no memo.

My officemate starts digging through their bag looking for a mask. I think about the research showing that the virus stays viable in aerosol droplets for hours after someone exhales them (5). I think about the research showing that masks are better at stopping contagious people from spreading the virus than they are at protecting the wearer (5,6). If my officemate is infected, masking up now won't be much help. I pack up my work and go home.

I email the associate dean in charge of office policy, asking if he can make an announcement to clarify the policy on masking. He replies, noting that there is an exception for "single enclosed private offices" and says his interpretation is therefore that "it should be OK to remove the mask when alone in an office," even a shared office. The exception is clearly meant for offices with a single desk reserved for a single person, not for offices with four desks regularly shared by six students. That is not what "single enclosed private office" means in the English language. I think to myself that there is no way a tenured faculty member with a Ph.D. actually believes it does. I only imagine, for example, how a new professor promised a "private office" would react if they arrived to find four desks and five other professors sharing the space.

I email academic HR, explaining the office configuration used by grad students at our school, and ask if the associate dean is correct that there is an exception to the masking policy. They respond: "Your example is not among those listed as an exception to the indoor masking mandate." This seems clear enough, masking is in fact required in our offices. I email the associate dean again, forwarding my exchange with HR. He responds: "My official interpretation is that our offices are private at times when only one person is in them and not private when multiple people are in them." He says he will send out a survey so that students can decide whether or not masks will be required in their office.

I try to reason one more time. I respond, explaining that HR has already confirmed he is violating university policy. I say that the policy is meant to protect disabled people, and people with disabled family members. I say that knowingly violating that policy is discrimination, and that it puts my health and life at risk. He replies: "On the interpretation of the university policy, you and I will have to respectfully disagree." He knows he is violating University policy. He knows he is discriminating against disabled students. But he also knows no one will stop him, because he's a dean.

Days go by. I get an email saying I have been assigned to a new office, designated as mandatory masking. I go to campus to exchange my key and move my things. When I get to the new office, it is the same size as my old office. Four desks. But there are eight names on the nameplate by the door. It turns out that all of the students who wanted the University's masking policy enforced were assigned to the same office. On my way out that day, I pass several offices. In many of them, I see people sitting side-by-side, unmasked.

I have spent the past decade studying networks, the flow of things like traffic, and ideas—and diseases. I know that if a disease is allowed to spread through a partially vaccinated population, the likely result is new vaccine-resistant variants. I know that more people will die, and that a lot of them will be people like me and my family.

I contact the union and file a grievance. HR tells us they need time to research the issue. Weeks go by. Finally, I get an email. I read the email. I wish I could say the dean changed his mind and decided to follow the University policy. I wish I could say that HR insisted the dean follow university policy, or that Environmental Health and Safety stood up for their own policy, or that the other deans, or the provost, or the president stepped in to enforce the policy. I wish I could say that the University followed through on its promises to disabled students.

According to the email, the deans of my school have been talking to Environmental Health and Safety. The University will be revising the masking policy. "Single enclosed private office" is being changed to "alone in an enclosed office." When a dean breaks a rule, just change the rule.

I go on with my work. I start working from home whenever I can. The Omicron variant surges. On class days, I drive to campus and teach, often to a webcam in an empty classroom. After that, I leave. I walk past the offices of my unmasked peers and professors. I walk past the glossy posters that say "Respect," and "Diversity," and "Inclusion." Then I walk out through the double doors with the "Masks Required" poster, printed on the same thin glossy paper.

Works Cited

1 . Fagen-Ulmschneider W. 91-DIVOC. Retrieved March 18, 2024 from

https://91-divoc.com/pages/covid-visualization/?chart=countries&highlight=United%20States&show=highli

ght-only&y=fixed&scale=linear&data=deaths-daily-7&data-source=jhu&xaxis=right#countries

2. Center for Systems Science and Engineering (CSSE) at Johns Hopkins University. COVID-19 Data

Repository. Retrieved March 18, 2024 from https://github.com/CSSEGISandData/COVID-19

3. Jordan, D. (2021, August 9). "U-M to require face coverings indoors across all campuses." The

University Record. https://record.umich.edu/articles/u-m-to-require-face-coverings-indoors-across-all-campuses/

4. Farshidfar, F., Koleini, N., & Ardehali, H. (2021). Cardiovascular complications of COVID-19. JCI insight,

6(13).

5. Van Doremalen, N., Bushmaker, T., Morris, D. H., Holbrook, M. G., Gamble, A., Williamson, B. N., ... &

Munster, V. J. (2020). Aerosol and surface stability of SARS-CoV-2 as compared with SARS-CoV-1. New

England journal of medicine, 382(16), 1564-1567.

6. Lindsley, W. G., Beezhold, D. H., Coyle, J., Derk, R. C., Blachere, F. M., Boots, T., ... & Noti, J. D.

(2021). Efficacy of universal masking for source control and personal protection from simulated cough

and exhaled aerosols in a room. Journal of occupational and environmental hygiene, 18(8), 409-422.

7. Coyle, J. P., Derk, R. C., Lindsley, W. G., Blachere, F. M., Boots, T., Lemons, A. R., ... & Noti, J. D.

(2021). Efficacy of ventilation, HEPA air cleaners, universal masking, and physical distancing for reducing

exposure to simulated exhaled aerosols in a meeting room. Viruses, 13(12), 2536.

About the Author

Edward L. Platt, Ph.D.

Edward (he/they) completed his Ph.D. in Information Science in 2022. He lives in Ann Arbor with his partner, child, and cats. Since graduation, he has started a consultancy working with researchers and non-profits on cooperative governance and Free/Open-Source Software.

Image description: Edward is a middle-aged white man with short facial hair and long braids. He is wearing a scarf and striped sweater. He is sitting at a desk, smiling at the camera.