The terms “essential” and “frontline” workers became much more common over the last year and a half, and for good reason. We found out certain jobs had to be done, even during lockdowns, and even amid stay-at-home orders.
When many of us hunkered down or worked remotely, others, including emergency responders, postal service employees and those in the food industry, continued punching the clock. When the world stopped, they kept going, and still do. But as we begin opening up and face a dire labor shortage, we’re realizing how many more previously overlooked jobs are also essential.
Take the bus driver shortage that is plaguing much of the country, including this county. In the Flathead, the lack of drivers has led to canceled and rescheduled sports contests and extracurricular activities. Parents have banded together to carpool kids to away games. Some schools have had teachers and administrators jump behind the wheel. And districts are offering bonuses to attract more applicants.
Elsewhere, it’s even worse. In Massachusetts as many as 250 National Guard troops, who are traditionally activated during natural disasters or civil unrest, have been called up to drive students to school. Officials in Buffalo, N.Y. are considering a similar plan.
It’s just one of many odd jobs that Guardsmen and women have been asked to do since the beginning of the pandemic, along with their more traditional roles. As Task & Purpose wrote earlier this month, “deploying the National Guard as a duct-tape fix for any and every problem is fast becoming the norm.”
The Guard has been asked to fill in as correctional officers at Rikers Island in New York because of lack of staff. It’s been asked to help secure the border with Mexico. And, all across the country, including in Montana, soldiers have been asked to help hospitals reaching capacity because of the latest surge of COVID-19 cases.
There are more essential jobs than essential workers. And some of those duties lacked resources before coronavirus shutdowns, ones for which even the Guard can’t fill in the gaps.
For instance, last week, a Yellowstone County judge fined Montana’s Office of Public Defender (OPD) up to $10,000 for failing to immediately assign public defenders in criminal cases he has referred to the office. OPD Director Rhonda Lindquist responded by expressing her frustration to a legislative budget subcommittee dedicated to public safety.
“I can’t let this go without saying: Our attorneys are the lowest paid in state government,” Lindquist said.
The department faces high turnover and heavy caseloads. The Billings office has 31.5 full-time lawyers, but according to OPD needs 43 to adequately do its job. And that’s just one example of a problem that has persisted since I covered the courthouse in Bozeman nearly 20 years ago.
Then, like now, public defenders were in short supply. Those who did take the work were attracted more by the sense of purpose than the number on the paycheck. And while the state Legislature has tried to address some of the challenges facing OPD, many of them persist nonetheless.
It makes you wonder whether these new shortages of essential workers are really temporary, or if the pandemic has made them permanent.