The temporary loss of radio was associated with a the disappearance of silence. In 2000, a U.S. National Park Service official enacted a “voice management and noise management” law that calls for parks to register and work to conserve natural noise. The law expired in 2004. Three years later, when the iPhone launched, Science described human noise pollution “as pervasive” in protected areas of the Americas. Naturalist Gordon Hempton believes that twelve places remain in the United States where one cannot hear man-made noises for 15 minutes. In addition to anger, such noise has been shown to increase the risk of heart disease, stroke, diabetes, and even cancer. The temporary increase in radio noise has also been alarming, the use of cell phones related to depression, anxiety, insomnia, teen suicide, and, surprisingly, traffic accidents.
Would there be fewer car accidents and deaths if it were not possible to drive and send instant messages? Wouldn’t it be better for all of us to stay in one place without another connection? Would our lives be richer and our communities stronger if we were not always online? And if all the benefits of a lesser life were true, would not Green Bank and its neighboring Quiet Zone be a form of utopia?
Those questions led me to Appalachia, across the snowy mountains and a steep slope, into the dense jungles of Daniel Boone and Stonewall Jackson, to the center of the National Radio Quiet Zone, in search of another way forward, phone-disruptive, beaten, destruction group. When I first arrived in 2017, the seafarers hosted 30 press visitors a year, publishing regular news reports about Quietest Town in the United States. Busy days can see three film crews crawling on top of Robert C. Byrd Green Bank’s Telescope, all competing for a picture of something at stake: stability.
When I first started go to Green Bank and Jenna, I have been back about a dozen in the next three years to stay longer, and come back so often that people ask if I have moved there forever. I joined a book club, helped build a house, repaired a railroad track, and went on a shooting spree with a 7-year-old boy. I went to a small rural church where the “Register of Attanceance and Offering” on the walls had not been changed; always states that there was an audience of 11 and $ 79 out of ten, which makes for a time to stand out, and a gentle attraction.
It was also a place of contention. Shortly after overseeing Chuck Niday, Sanjay Gupta, a medical journalist at CNN, went to Green Bank to participate in the Key Signs. “National Radio Quiet Zone,” Gupta told the camera, “means no telephones, no Wi-Fi, no radio. It’s just quiet.” After her illness, Katie Couric visited National Geographic. a statement when the list was released, followed by a review, “People here seem to be enjoying following the country’s laws.”
Even high-ranking government officials remained silent. “All residents of the 20-mile radius of the site will not have any equipment that produces a large amount of electric power,” Senator Joe Manchin wrote in a 2018 op-ed. “This includes WiFi routers, cell phones, and microwaves. However, these West Virgini faithful abandoned everything in order to advance science. ”
Teresa Mullen watched the language closely. A resident of Green Bank and a high school lecturer had a microwave. He had a smartphone. He had Wi-Fi. They know where to find a cell phone. “It’s not like we’re living a happy life,” he told me. It was no secret. One house across the street from the checkpoint had a Wi-Fi with the online name “Screw you NRAO,” an unofficial middle finger while security guards called for calm. Green Bank Hospital had Wi-Fi. So is the high place. “We should not do that,” said John Simmons, a senior district superintendent and former county commissioner, “but I think all of the noise is just speculation.”
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