What were public health officials at every level of government doing last year? Were they preparing for a pandemic? Or were they using their office to meddle with your lifestyle choices?

The partisan political sniping over Covid-19 is completely predictable and counter-productive. There’s plenty of fault to go around, but the blame-gaming should be ignored or discounted for what it is: self-aggrandizing grandstanding.

It is, however, worthwhile to examine a tension that has been brewing in the public health world for decades. That dichotomy is: should we focus on communicable diseases, as has long been the mission of public health institutions, or do we have enough bandwidth and resources to venture out into the much more controversial area of non-communicable diseases (NCDs)?

To get to the answer, think about this. What were public health officials at every level of government doing last year? Five years ago? Were they first ensuring that their track and trace systems were in place for a pandemic? Or were they using their office to meddle with your lifestyle choices?

The discipline of public health has long been rooted in fighting contagious diseases. For the most part, it has done very well. Notwithstanding the current Covid-19 pandemic, sanitation, vaccines and therapies—mainly drugs—have dramatically reduced the toll of communicable diseases.

That success has led many in public health agencies, especially in the United States, to argue that we must now use our limited resources to combat NCDs, and that we can address both effectively. It isn’t exactly working out that way.

Efforts to fight non-contagious diseases such as heart disease and diabetes frequently raise questions about individual liberty, including the freedom to make poor choices. All too often, the politicized debate causes both sides to overstate or manipulate the science supporting their viewpoints.

When former New York City Mayor Michael Bloomberg, the biggest booster of today’s public health movement, campaigned against sugary drinks like soda, it landed the city’s health department in hot water. For instance, a taxpayer-funded ad campaign created by the Department of Health showed a photo of a man purportedly with amputated legs. The city’s ad agency had Photoshopped his legs out of the photo to support the valid claim that Type 2 diabetes can lead to amputations.

The Bloomberg administration’s antics, which even elicited criticism from within the health department, indicates the degree to which his wing of the public health movement has lost sight of its most primary and unifying functions: preparedness.

This lack of preparedness is not partisan. It exists in the current Republican administration, as it did in the prior Democrat administration. Cities, counties, and states long governed by each party were equally ill-prepared for a pandemic.

Commentators on the left and the right have referred to Coronavirus and Covid-19 as a “black swan event.” But it doesn’t meet the definition. A pandemic of this type was not only predictable, it was something communicable disease experts have warned about rather specifically for many years. The warning signs were ignored, and we were ill-prepared.

A 2007 review article in the American Society for Microbiology’s publication, Clinical Microbiology Reviews, entitled, “Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome Coronavirus as an Agent of Emerging and Reemerging Infection,” concluded: “Coronaviruses are well known to undergo genetic recombination, which may lead to new genotypes and outbreaks. The presence of a large reservoir of SARS-CoV-like viruses in horseshoe bats, together with the culture of eating exotic mammals in southern China, is a time bomb. The possibility of the reemergence of SARS and other novel viruses from animals or laboratories and therefore the need for preparedness should not be ignored.”

Rather than marshal finite resources towards preparedness for a coming communicable disease, lots of public health resources, including taxpayer dollars, media attention, and legislative priorities, were deployed to address non-communicable diseases, from domestic violence to gun regulation.

Think back to a different time not so long ago. During the second half of 2019, federal, state and city health officials throughout the country were busy confronting a new and scary lung disease. The health reporters covering them churned out news articles, regularly garnering front-page placement. Major charities such as Bloomberg Philanthropies were making large public health grants. So it should come as no surprise that the American public and political leaders were keenly focused on this emerging health threat.

The disease wasn’t Covid-19, of course. It was a something the Centers for Disease Control called e-cigarette or vaping product use-associated lung injury, or EVALI.

At the time, public health activists were, for years, calling for bans on the types of e-cigarettes used to quit smoking. Despite strong evidence that nicotine e-cigarettes are 95 percent less harmful than smoking and can help smokers quit, public health agencies treated e-cigarettes as the most important threat to public health. Yet they still failed to convince policymakers to institute widespread bans on the most popular e-cigarettes.

But as consciousness of EVALI reached a crescendo, states began to ban most flavored e-cigarettes, and the FDA further tightened the regulatory screws on nicotine-containing e-cigarettes.

It turned out that none of these nicotine e-cigarettes were ever responsible for the lung disease that bears their name. It took until late December for the Centers for Disease Control to (partly) acknowledge that the lung injuries were caused not by vaping liquid nicotine e-cigarettes such as Juul, but by the use of THC oil contaminated with vitamin E acetate.

Public health agencies were so ideologically opposed to e-cigarettes as a tool for tobacco harm reduction that they sowed panic, promulgated misinformation, and actually caused a failure to identify the true culprit in a life-saving and timely way. Still, nobody has been held accountable.

So, back to the question about communicable and non-communicable disease: Has public health been able to “do both” well? It turns out, that when purportedly trying to do both, public health hasn’t been able to do either effectively.

I’m not suggesting that public health’s EVALI scandal was the only or even primary culprit for the failure of public health departments around the country to ensure that their communities had an adequate supply of personal protective equipment in the event of a predictable communicable disease outbreak, or that the CDC was otherwise preoccupied. Instead, the EVALI episode was more of a symptom of something wrong in public health.

The institution of public health has largely been co-opted by those with a desire to control individual choices to such a degree that it has largely lost sight of its fundamental role of pandemic preparedness. At this point, taxpayers should realize that we are giving the keys to the public health car to people who have long been driving in the wrong direction.

Originally published here.

The Consumer Choice Center is the consumer advocacy group supporting lifestyle freedom, innovation, privacy, science, and consumer choice. The main policy areas we focus on are digital, mobility, lifestyle & consumer goods, and health & science.

The CCC represents consumers in over 100 countries across the globe. We closely monitor regulatory trends in Ottawa, Washington, Brussels, Geneva and other hotspots of regulation and inform and activate consumers to fight for #ConsumerChoice. Learn more at consumerchoicecenter.org