1976 swine flu story swung from fear to farce
May 01, 2009 04:30 AM
L/>et's keep things in perspective. Yes, there is a potentially deadly strain of swine flu spreading around the globe. No, it's not necessarily the end of the world.
First, the facts. So far, only 13 people are confirmed dead from swine flu according to the World Health Organization – 12 in Mexico and one in the U.S. Around the world, 497 cases of the flu have been confirmed, including 34 in Canada.
Mexico suspects the virus may have already killed 168 people. Others there (the reported numbers range from 2,500 to 6,000) are showing flu-like symptoms.
But even if these numbers stand up, they, too, should be seen in context. All influenza is potentially deadly. In a normal year, between 6,500 and 7,500 Mexicans die from pneumonia-like diseases. According to the Canadian Medical Association Journal, the flu kills up to 2,500 Canadians and about 36,000 Americans annually. Worldwide, the number of deaths attributed to the flu each year is between 250,000 and 500,000.
So, yes, there have been deaths from this flu variant. There will almost certainly be more. But, relatively speaking, we're still in the realm of low numbers. What's more telling – so far, at least – is that most who contracted this strain of the virus have recovered quickly.
Flu outbreaks always raise memories of the epidemic of 1918. That year, the so-called Spanish flu killed somewhere up to 50 million people worldwide. In Canada, an estimated 45,000 died.
But history provides other examples as well. My favourite is the great swine flu panic of 1976.
That one, too, began with fear and fanfare when, in February, a 19-year-old U.S. army recruit at Fort Dix, N.J., died after contracting a mysterious strain of swine flu.
Politicians swung into action. Faced with the spectre of another 1918-style pandemic, then-U.S. president Gerald Ford promised to inoculate every American citizen with vaccine. The Canadian government followed suit, with the proviso that – because of the cost involved – it would be able to inoculate only some.
Throughout 1976, the swine flu story swung between fear and farce. In August, Ontario's health minister announced the province's first swine flu death, a Goderich man. This, as it turned out, was untrue. A coroner later determined that the victim, who choked on his on vomit, had never been infected.
At Queen's Park, politicians debated who would get the scarce vaccine. All agreed on police officers and doctors. But should bank tellers be vaccinated? And what about bus drivers?
In the U.S., Nobel Prize-winning scientist Linus Pauling argued that Vitamin C would fight swine flu better than any vaccine. Here at home, the Toronto Star helpfully suggested that those inoculated against the virus should be required to give up the right to strike.
Ontario's government hemmed and hawed until, in the end, it decided to offer the vaccine to anyone who wanted it.
Alas, few did. By December, the Star reported that municipal clinics set up in Toronto to offer free flu shots were shutting down for lack of customers. Which perhaps was just as well. For when several Americans developed a mysterious and deadly paralysis after being inoculated, swine flu shots were abruptly suspended in both countries.
In the end, the only known death from the 1976 swine flu pandemic was the original army recruit. Outside of Fort Dix, only two other people caught the bug. They both recovered.
