Some watch B.C.'s COVID-19 briefings 'religiously.' Others have tuned out

Twice a week, shortly before 3 p.m., Paul Moxness dons his workout gear and slides onto his stationarybike in his bedroom in Kelowna, B.C.

The 60-year-old powers on his televisionand, as he starts pedalling, watches Provincial Health OfficerDr. Bonnie HenryannounceB.C.'slatest COVID-19 case numbers.

"We watch the briefings pretty religiously," said Moxness, a security consultant, whose wife joins him for the viewings.

"I like to get things from the horse's mouth and as soon as possible."

Moxness is among those British Columbianswho haveturned the province's COVID-19 briefings into a cornerstone of their pandemic experience.

The hour-long briefings, led by Henry and B.C.'s Health Minister Adrian Dix, have emerged as the province's most prominent communication tool, aired on radio stations, streamed online and beamed on tens of thousands of television screens.

What health officials say carriesprofound consequences: It's when people learn whether they can gather with friends or family, business can stay open or must shutter, and whether the province's curve is trending in the right direction.

The briefings have alsoreflected frustrations around B.C.'s pandemic response, including unclear guidelines around restrictions,lack of data, and public health messagingthat runs counter to what federal counterparts say.

Some people, in turn, have built the briefings into their days and developed viewing rituals, while others have tuned out.

On live streams, viewers make note of the province's jaunty jazz music before the briefings start. Some give shoutouts to the American Sign Language interpreters, who have earned their own fan clubs. Others fretfully guess case numbers.

Heather Hill's prep comes before that. On briefing days, she sets her phone timer for 2:55 p.m.

Once it rings, the Port Moody lawyer tunes into the first live stream she can find, and starts plugging in case numbers into a spreadsheet. She calculates five- and seven-day averages, and tracks hospitalizations and deaths.

"I'm a data-driven person, so I like to see the trends," she said.

Jesse Johnstone, a 43-year-old business owner in Langley, B.C., almost always watches the briefings live to learn of any changes that could impact her business.

As she watches, she texts real-time updates to a group chat with friends, dissecting new developments such as stalled vaccine deliveries.

Johnstone said she has noticed confusion andfrustration from people who don't tune into the announcements.

"They don't really have that background of why certain decisions were made," she said. "If you really listen to Henry, she provides a lot of information and she is quite consistent."

Henry is 'chief communicator': researcher

B.C.'s briefings havestood out from other jurisdictions,said HeidiTworek, a history and public policyprofessor at the University of British Columbia.

Sheco-authored a reportlast fallon how nine different countries, along withB.C. and Ontario, have communicated during the pandemic.

Tworek said B.C. has cemented Henry as its "chief communicator," whereas other provinces have heavily featured their premiers and politicians.

This plays outin the briefing esthetics, she said. Ontario'sbriefings feature around five people in a "slightly militaristic trangle formation," whereas B.C.'s briefings showcaseHenry with Dix at her side.

B.C.'s method"has really helped to avoid quite a lot of confusion," Tworek said.

While British Columbians have complained aboutthe province's lack of clarity, she added, "that has been nothing compared to the confusion people have complained about in places like Ontario."

B.C.'s responsewas widely praised at the onset of the pandemic including Henry's mantra to"Be kind. Be calm. Be safe." but some viewershave grown increasingly wary of her approach.

Colin Lai, 33,saidhe stopped watching the briefings at the start of the new year after watching Henry sidestep issues such as mask mandates and rapid testing, which appearedat odds with other jurisdictions that successfully battledthe virus.

"We all can read science journals online," he said."I just don't understand sometimes how she can be so sure about things that kind of deviate from the mainstream science."

For that reason, Lai said he wants more time dedicated in the briefings to reporter questions and less focus oncase numbers, which he argues can be shared online.

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Then there is another hurdlefor the province: the viewer that doesn't tuneinto the briefings at all.

Gurbir Grewal, a 28-year-old film and television producerin Vancouver, watched parts of the briefings early in the pandemic but eventuallystopped, a decision he chalksup to information fatigue.

Instead, Grewal prefers to digest bits of news from journalists on Twitter, and catch up periodically on bigger developments, such as updates on restrictions.

"If I can't control anything, I'm going to surrender what I can for my own mental health, and just try and stay informed at a pace that feels OK to me," he said.

Regardless of people's stances, Tworek, the UBC professor, said the briefings have become an important symbol of the pandemic in B.C.

"It is an anchor for people right now knowing that this is a time when things get released," she said.

"When we no longer do this, that will symbolize that we have moved beyond the crisis stage of the pandemic."