newyorker--2020-06-26--A Night with Occupy City Hall

A Night with Occupy City Hall

About twenty-four hours into its existence , a little before nine in the evening on Wednesday , Occupy City Hall held its first assembly , with about a thousand people in attendance .
The organizers had set up tables and marked them clearly : the welcome table , the supplies table , the P.P.E .
table , tables with food and water , a charging station , and an area with donated sleeping bags and blankets .
The leaders had also formed committees : the Care Bear team , which is responsible for de-escalating any conflicts between the activists and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ medics ; the welcome committee , which orients newcomers to the place and the issues ; the vibe committee , responsible for music , teach-ins , and good energy ; and the art committee .
Everyone , they said , was responsible for volunteering for table shifts or cleanup , and for outreach—for texting their friends to make sure they joined , too .
“ This is direct action—this is not your college lawn , ” one of the speakers reminded the very young , predominantly white crowd .
The organizers ’ plan @ @ @ @ @ @ @ City Hall until the City Council finishes deliberating the budget—which it is scheduled to take up next Tuesday—and the mayor has signed it .
The goal is to reduce the amount allocated to the N.Y.P.D .
by at least a billion dollars—about one-sixth of the current operating budget for the department—and to insure that that money is invested , instead , in underfunded communities .
Most of the leaders of Occupy City Hall—more than a dozen black activists—have day jobs in the nonprofit world .
Their idea for the new action , which @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Black Lives Matter marches in the city , was strategic and straightforward .
“ Since the beginning of the uprising , people have taken a broader issue and made it local , ” Charles Khan , who is thirty-one and a professional organizer by day , told me ; he was referring to cities that have announced major reductions in police budgets , and to activists who have called for defunding their local police forces .
“ We have the biggest police force in the world , ” Khan added .
“ This @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
We are occupying this space because City Hall is supposed to be the center of our democracy.
” City Council Speaker Corey Johnson has proposed cutting the police budget by more than a billion dollars ; Mayor Bill de Blasio has also pledged to reduce the police budget , but he hasn ’ t committed to a specific amount .
As Khan and I talked , next to the police barrier that now stands on the sidewalk in front of City Hall , a young white man led a procession of several @ @ @ @ @ @ @ from the encampment .
What looked like a march was , in fact , a trip to a bathroom in a church a few blocks away .
During the day , protesters use bathrooms in nearby businesses—McDonald ’ s , coffee shops , a deli ( locations and hours of operation are posted on a piece of cardboard on the welcome table ) —but , at night , they go in groups that depart a couple of times an hour .
Several of the organizers were involved in Occupy Wall Street , an @ @ @ @ @ @ @ 2011 .
They have brought their expertise—which may explain why Occupy City Hall had a shape and virtually everything it needed to function within twenty-four hours of starting—and clear ideas about what to avoid in an occupation .
Unlike Occupy Wall Street , this encampment is not run entirely by consensus—the core group of black leaders plans to continue making key decisions—nor is it an open-ended social experiment .
“ We are here to take action to an end , ” Nelini Stamp , who is thirty-two and works as the director of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ said .
“ We are not going to build an alternative society ” —or , rather , they are , but not all at once in front of City Hall .
Just then , a young white woman , carrying a broom in one hand and a large black garbage bag in the other , and with a flashlight stuck through the band of her backward baseball cap , came by to sweep the sidewalk clean of cigarette butts .
Stamp , who had just stubbed out her own cigarette , thanked her @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , we will continue organizing , ” Stamp continued .
“ We still have to get cops out of schools , we still have to pass a law banning walking-while-trans arrests ” —a reference to the police practice of arresting transgender women on the assumption that they are engaging in sex work .
As the clock struck midnight , a young black woman in a red silk dress , holding a large pan-African flag , stood near a closed subway entrance—decorated with signs that read “ Black Lives Matter ” and “ Abolish @ @ @ @ @ @ @ crowd through a megaphone .
“ Today would have been Tamir Rice ’ s eighteenth birthday !
” she said , and called for a moment of silence .
The crowd kept rumbling .
“ I said a moment of silence !
” she shouted in frustration .
Two other young black people , now armed with two megaphones that they could aim at different parts of the crowd , came to her aid .
“ Mike check !
” they shouted .
This time the occupiers fell silent for a minute , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ with one fist raised in the air .
Then the music resumed , from a sound system mounted on a cargo bike .
“ It ’ s a space of joy , ” Bianca Cunningham , a thirty-five-year-old organizer of Occupy City Hall , told me .
Street musicians who have lost their usual income from playing in the subway now come to play at the encampment instead .
Other programming includes teach-ins : they planned several for Thursday , Cunningham said , on rent cancellation , abolishing the police , and immigration @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a labor organizer by day and one of the founders of the Afrosocialists and Socialists of Color Caucus of the Democratic Socialists of America .
She told me that , by the end of the first day of the encampment , the Occupy City Hall Instagram account had garnered seven thousand followers , and its Venmo account had received fifteen thousand dollars in donations—triple the goal set by the organizers .
At the art station , a dozen people sat on the ground making signs , near a notice that said , “ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ A young white woman was writing , “ ‘ I am no longer accepting the things I can not change—I am changing the things I can not accept.
’ –Angela Davis.
” Sign-making was one of the first orders of business for the encampment : within a day , the entire perimeter and , it seemed , every other available surface was adorned with signs that signalled the meaning of the protest to the drivers of passing cars and the police patrolling the area .
They ranged from “ Black Lives Matter , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” portraits of George Floyd , and lists of black people killed by police , to more specific slogans , such as “ Refund the people , ” “ 6B is just the operating budget !
, ” and a blackboard with a list of eight demands :

Organizers want to redirect one-sixth of the N.Y.P.D.’s operating budget—about a billion dollars—and invest it in underfunded communities. Photograph by Jelani Rice
About twenty-four hours into its existence, a little before nine in the evening on Wednesday, Occupy City Hall held its first assembly, with about a thousand people in attendance. The organizers had set up tables and marked them clearly: the welcome table, the supplies table, the P.P.E. table, tables with food and water, a charging station, and an area with donated sleeping bags and blankets. The leaders had also formed committees: the Care Bear team, which is responsible for de-escalating any conflicts between the activists and the police or among activists; the medics; the welcome committee, which orients newcomers to the place and the issues; the vibe committee, responsible for music, teach-ins, and good energy; and the art committee. Everyone, they said, was responsible for volunteering for table shifts or cleanup, and for outreach—for texting their friends to make sure they joined, too. “This is direct action—this is not your college lawn,” one of the speakers reminded the very young, predominantly white crowd.
The organizers’ plan is to camp out in front of City Hall until the City Council finishes deliberating the budget—which it is scheduled to take up next Tuesday—and the mayor has signed it. The goal is to reduce the amount allocated to the N.Y.P.D. by at least a billion dollars—about one-sixth of the current operating budget for the department—and to insure that that money is invested, instead, in underfunded communities.
Most of the leaders of Occupy City Hall—more than a dozen black activists—have day jobs in the nonprofit world. Their idea for the new action, which started after more than three weeks of Black Lives Matter marches in the city, was strategic and straightforward. “Since the beginning of the uprising, people have taken a broader issue and made it local,” Charles Khan, who is thirty-one and a professional organizer by day, told me; he was referring to cities that have announced major reductions in police budgets, and to activists who have called for defunding their local police forces. “We have the biggest police force in the world,” Khan added. “This is a microcosm of the entire rebellion. We are occupying this space because City Hall is supposed to be the center of our democracy.” City Council Speaker Corey Johnson has proposed cutting the police budget by more than a billion dollars; Mayor Bill de Blasio has also pledged to reduce the police budget, but he hasn’t committed to a specific amount.
As Khan and I talked, next to the police barrier that now stands on the sidewalk in front of City Hall, a young white man led a procession of several dozen people up Centre Street, away from the encampment. What looked like a march was, in fact, a trip to a bathroom in a church a few blocks away. During the day, protesters use bathrooms in nearby businesses—McDonald’s, coffee shops, a deli (locations and hours of operation are posted on a piece of cardboard on the welcome table)—but, at night, they go in groups that depart a couple of times an hour.
Several of the organizers were involved in Occupy Wall Street, an encampment that lasted for two months in 2011. They have brought their expertise—which may explain why Occupy City Hall had a shape and virtually everything it needed to function within twenty-four hours of starting—and clear ideas about what to avoid in an occupation. Unlike Occupy Wall Street, this encampment is not run entirely by consensus—the core group of black leaders plans to continue making key decisions—nor is it an open-ended social experiment. “We are here to take action to an end,” Nelini Stamp, who is thirty-two and works as the director of strategy for the Working Families Party, said. “We are not going to build an alternative society”—or, rather, they are, but not all at once in front of City Hall.
Sign-making was one of the first orders of business for the encampment. Photograph by Jelani Rice
Just then, a young white woman, carrying a broom in one hand and a large black garbage bag in the other, and with a flashlight stuck through the band of her backward baseball cap, came by to sweep the sidewalk clean of cigarette butts. Stamp, who had just stubbed out her own cigarette, thanked her. “If we win on budget, we will continue organizing,” Stamp continued. “We still have to get cops out of schools, we still have to pass a law banning walking-while-trans arrests”—a reference to the police practice of arresting transgender women on the assumption that they are engaging in sex work.
As the clock struck midnight, a young black woman in a red silk dress, holding a large pan-African flag, stood near a closed subway entrance—decorated with signs that read “Black Lives Matter” and “Abolish the Prison-Industrial Complex”—and addressed the crowd through a megaphone. “Today would have been Tamir Rice’s eighteenth birthday!” she said, and called for a moment of silence. The crowd kept rumbling. “I said a moment of silence!” she shouted in frustration. Two other young black people, now armed with two megaphones that they could aim at different parts of the crowd, came to her aid. “Mike check!” they shouted. This time the occupiers fell silent for a minute, some standing, some sitting, all with one fist raised in the air.
Then the music resumed, from a sound system mounted on a cargo bike. “It’s a space of joy,” Bianca Cunningham, a thirty-five-year-old organizer of Occupy City Hall, told me. Street musicians who have lost their usual income from playing in the subway now come to play at the encampment instead. Other programming includes teach-ins: they planned several for Thursday, Cunningham said, on rent cancellation, abolishing the police, and immigration as a black issue. Cunningham is a labor organizer by day and one of the founders of the Afrosocialists and Socialists of Color Caucus of the Democratic Socialists of America. She told me that, by the end of the first day of the encampment, the Occupy City Hall Instagram account had garnered seven thousand followers, and its Venmo account had received fifteen thousand dollars in donations—triple the goal set by the organizers.
At the art station, a dozen people sat on the ground making signs, near a notice that said, “Please disinfect art supplies after use.” A young white woman was writing, “ ‘I am no longer accepting the things I cannot change—I am changing the things I cannot accept.’ –Angela Davis.” Sign-making was one of the first orders of business for the encampment: within a day, the entire perimeter and, it seemed, every other available surface was adorned with signs that signalled the meaning of the protest to the drivers of passing cars and the police patrolling the area. They ranged from “Black Lives Matter,” “No justice no peace,” portraits of George Floyd, and lists of black people killed by police, to more specific slogans, such as “Refund the people,” “6B is just the operating budget!,” and a blackboard with a list of eight demands:
1. Defund the police!!!
2. Demilitarize communities
3. Remove cops from schools
4. Free people from prison and jails!
5. Repeal laws criminalizing survival!
6. Invest in community self-governance!
7. Provide safe, accessible, and affordable housing
8. Fully invest in care! Not cops!
Shortly after 1 A.M., two middle-aged white policemen in white shirts—a sign of senior rank in the N.Y.P.D.—strolled along the sidewalk between the barricades and the crowd, which seemed to have settled down for the night. The part of the camp closest to them—or at least those of the protesters who were awake—erupted in chants of “Quit your job!,” which morphed into “You’re about to lose your job!” and, as the policemen were about to leave the self-declared territory of the camp, finished with “Put on your mask!” A small group seemed intent on following the officers across the street, to what appeared to be a permanent post set up to watch the protesters: a dozen policemen stood on that corner at all times. Several people who appeared to be on the Care Bear team, whose role includes inserting themselves between the protesters and the police, intervened.


newyorker--2020-06-26--Seattle’s Capitol Hill Occupied Protest Has Always Been in Flux

In the nearly three weeks that the Capitol Hill Organized Protest , or CHOP , has occupied Seattle ’ s densest neighborhood , the experiment in police-free self-governance has proved impossible to pinpoint .
An early name change flummoxed the media .
It has no officially defined leadership .
And multiple shootings , one fatal , have damaged the occupation ’ s hard-won peaceful image .
The protest ’ s one reliable feature is flux .
It is ever evolving .
The CHOP you visit today will not be the same CHOP you visit tomorrow .
Just how in flux @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , June 16th , eight days into the occupation .
Morning broke with the rip of a Caterpillar engine .
Around 9 a.m. , in the community formerly known as CHAZ ( the Capitol Hill Autonomous Zone ) , a line of Cat loaders rolled down East Pine Street , hoisting slabs of concrete , as workers from the Seattle Department of Transportation , in hard hats and orange vests , lugged rectangular planks of plywood and wielded shrieking handheld drills .
In its short life , CHOP had drawn the leering gaze @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ s faux-wrath—and also that of conspiracy theorists and people with an unhealthy preoccupation with acronyms .
The six or so cordoned-off blocks that surround the Seattle Police Department ’ s abandoned East Precinct building had been called many things over the previous week .
A takeover by domestic terrorists .
An armed shakedown of local businesses .
“ Crazy town , ” in a Fox News headline .
But no one , not even Tucker Carlson , had ever once characterized it as something so pedestrian as a municipal construction site .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ of men in hard hats , commanding heavy equipment and installing concrete barriers as part of a contested agreement between city leaders and protesters .
Officials from multiple city departments clustered at the top of the street .
Only the fire chief , Harold Scoggins , appeared to make forays away from the pack , strolling up and down East Pine to survey the progress of the plan that he ’ d help negotiate .
They were going to “ re-shape ” CHOP , the chief could be overheard saying .
That was @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the area since its creation : a white ally who ran the No Cop Co-op , where donated items—bottled water , pizza , toiletries—are free to all ; the demonstrators emerging from their tents in Cal Anderson Park , roused by the clang and drum of construction ; and William Parham , manning the white-tented checkpoint station at Twelfth Avenue and Pike Street .
Parham , a thirty-five-year-old black man who is often seen around CHOP and at marches wearing a T-shirt silk-screened with the crumpled mug of the cartoon character Popeye , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ southeastern entrance .
Reports that the far-right Proud Boys were nearby had swept through the community , as well as accounts of cars attempting to drive into the crowd , as had happened nine days earlier , when a Honda Civic barrelled down Eleventh Avenue and its driver shot a protester .
Parham kept a watchful eye on the street until , around 9:45 a.m. , one of CHOP ’ s self-appointed sentinels , a white ally wearing a bulletproof vest who goes by the handle Slate , approached and asked Parham if @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Yeah , man .
I don ’ t necessarily agree with it , ” Parham said .
Like so many others , he was learning , in pieces , what had been negotiated .
Over the weekend , Scoggins , the fire chief , along with the director of the Seattle Department of Transportation and the general manager of public utilities , had met with a handful of informal protest leaders and two people representing neighborhood real-estate and business interests .
The representatives of local businesses said that restaurant owners , who were @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , were hurting financially as a result of CHOP ; food-delivery drivers trying to pick up orders—the restaurateurs ’ main source of revenue during the coronavirus pandemic—sometimes couldn ’ t enter the zone .
Scoggins complained that CHOP ’ s heavily fortified border—a mix of police barricades once used against protesters and demonstrators ’ personal cars and trucks , which could be moved when access was permitted—violated multiple fire codes .
Touted as a way to protect protesters , Capitol Hill residents , and businesses alike , the plan that the groups settled @ @ @ @ @ @ @ removing multiple gates and establishing a new border made of concrete blocks , which would be spaced apart just enough to permit foot traffic .
The protesters lost a street lane , given over to one-way car traffic ; an access alley ; and , most concerning to Parham at the moment , nearly all of the Twelfth Avenue block between Pike and Pine Streets—the block he ’ d been guarding .
“ We ’ re , what , a week and a half in , and we ’ re already making concessions @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , incredulous .
He ’ d been peacefully protesting since the beginning of the local George Floyd-inspired demonstrations .
Night after night , Parham demonstrated for his right not to live in fear of the state .
He was teargassed , repeatedly .
He was teargassed even after Seattle ’ s Mayor , Jenny Durkan , promised the protesters that they would not be gassed .
Through unity and peaceful perseverance , they had taken this small pocket of the city , after police ceded the East Precinct , on June 8th .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ achingly close to defeat .
Slate , the sentinel in the bulletproof vest , countered , “ I would say that this isn ’ t concessions to the city , ” and cited past examples where coöperation with local businesses and public officials led to better negotiating terms for activists .
You can ’ t anger the powers that be too much , Slate argued .
“ But that ’ s what has to happen to see long-term change , ” Parham said .
He believes that many of the well-intentioned white allies @ @ @ @ @ @ @ terrorists .
It frustrated him that white protesters , after being gassed and lied to by city officials , would be willing to work with the city .
“ You guys might be out here for CHOP and CHAZ , ” Parham told Slate , “ but I ’ m here for Black Lives Matter , because , when I go out on that street and I see a police officer , I have the possibility of that officer trying to kill me.
” Those in power should be uncomfortable , Parham said @ @ @ @ @ @ @ s densest—and priciest—neighborhoods even more of a tourist attraction wasn ’ t going to accomplish that .
“ I ’ m just afraid that it ’ s going to be an open-air shopping mall in , like , four years .
.
.
.
You guys are increasing the property value right now by putting in the one-way [ street ] .
” “ We have to have some degree of local popular support , ” Slate insisted .
Up the street , construction continued .
Crews kept dropping concrete slabs in the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ road what looked like a gapped smile of cement teeth .
The workers shouted in the universal way of construction crews—screeched , clipped calls that sound to passersby like something between yelling , in order to be heard over the noise , and bickering , about how to get the job done .
Scoggins , wearing a black uniform jacket , a black hat , and a black face mask , stood at the corner of Twelfth , looking down Pine , its surface an incomplete canvas of protest messages— “ Defund SPD @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , ” “ Black & Fearless ” —as crews dropped more teeth .

In the nearly three weeks that the Capitol Hill Organized Protest, or CHOP, has occupied Seattle’s densest neighborhood, the experiment in police-free self-governance has proved impossible to pinpoint. An early name change flummoxed the media. It has no officially defined leadership. And multiple shootings, one fatal, have damaged the occupation’s hard-won peaceful image. The protest’s one reliable feature is flux. It is ever evolving. The CHOP you visit today will not be the same CHOP you visit tomorrow. Just how in flux? Look no further than last week—Tuesday, June 16th, eight days into the occupation.
Morning broke with the rip of a Caterpillar engine. Around 9 a.m., in the community formerly known as CHAZ (the Capitol Hill Autonomous Zone), a line of Cat loaders rolled down East Pine Street, hoisting slabs of concrete, as workers from the Seattle Department of Transportation, in hard hats and orange vests, lugged rectangular planks of plywood and wielded shrieking handheld drills. In its short life, CHOP had drawn the leering gaze of cable news and netted the President’s faux-wrath—and also that of conspiracy theorists and people with an unhealthy preoccupation with acronyms. The six or so cordoned-off blocks that surround the Seattle Police Department’s abandoned East Precinct building had been called many things over the previous week. A takeover by domestic terrorists. An armed shakedown of local businesses. “Crazy town,” in a Fox News headline. But no one, not even Tucker Carlson, had ever once characterized it as something so pedestrian as a municipal construction site.
Yet here they were, a swarm of men in hard hats, commanding heavy equipment and installing concrete barriers as part of a contested agreement between city leaders and protesters. Officials from multiple city departments clustered at the top of the street. Only the fire chief, Harold Scoggins, appeared to make forays away from the pack, strolling up and down East Pine to survey the progress of the plan that he’d help negotiate. They were going to “re-shape” CHOP, the chief could be overheard saying. That was news to many protesters who had occupied the area since its creation: a white ally who ran the No Cop Co-op, where donated items—bottled water, pizza, toiletries—are free to all; the demonstrators emerging from their tents in Cal Anderson Park, roused by the clang and drum of construction; and William Parham, manning the white-tented checkpoint station at Twelfth Avenue and Pike Street.
Parham, a thirty-five-year-old black man who is often seen around CHOP and at marches wearing a T-shirt silk-screened with the crumpled mug of the cartoon character Popeye, stood guard at the zone’s southeastern entrance. Reports that the far-right Proud Boys were nearby had swept through the community, as well as accounts of cars attempting to drive into the crowd, as had happened nine days earlier, when a Honda Civic barrelled down Eleventh Avenue and its driver shot a protester.
Parham kept a watchful eye on the street until, around 9:45 a.m., one of CHOP’s self-appointed sentinels, a white ally wearing a bulletproof vest who goes by the handle Slate, approached and asked Parham if he’d been briefed. “Yeah, man. I don’t necessarily agree with it,” Parham said. Like so many others, he was learning, in pieces, what had been negotiated.
Over the weekend, Scoggins, the fire chief, along with the director of the Seattle Department of Transportation and the general manager of public utilities, had met with a handful of informal protest leaders and two people representing neighborhood real-estate and business interests. The representatives of local businesses said that restaurant owners, who were largely in support of Black Lives Matter, were hurting financially as a result of CHOP; food-delivery drivers trying to pick up orders—the restaurateurs’ main source of revenue during the coronavirus pandemic—sometimes couldn’t enter the zone. Scoggins complained that CHOP’s heavily fortified border—a mix of police barricades once used against protesters and demonstrators’ personal cars and trucks, which could be moved when access was permitted—violated multiple fire codes.
Touted as a way to protect protesters, Capitol Hill residents, and businesses alike, the plan that the groups settled on shrunk the footprint of CHOP by removing multiple gates and establishing a new border made of concrete blocks, which would be spaced apart just enough to permit foot traffic. The protesters lost a street lane, given over to one-way car traffic; an access alley; and, most concerning to Parham at the moment, nearly all of the Twelfth Avenue block between Pike and Pine Streets—the block he’d been guarding.
“We’re, what, a week and a half in, and we’re already making concessions to the city?” Parham said, incredulous. He’d been peacefully protesting since the beginning of the local George Floyd-inspired demonstrations. Night after night, Parham demonstrated for his right not to live in fear of the state. He was teargassed, repeatedly. He was teargassed even after Seattle’s Mayor, Jenny Durkan, promised the protesters that they would not be gassed. Through unity and peaceful perseverance, they had taken this small pocket of the city, after police ceded the East Precinct, on June 8th. Giving up even a sliver now felt achingly close to defeat.
Slate, the sentinel in the bulletproof vest, countered, “I would say that this isn’t concessions to the city,” and cited past examples where coöperation with local businesses and public officials led to better negotiating terms for activists. You can’t anger the powers that be too much, Slate argued.
“But that’s what has to happen to see long-term change,” Parham said. He believes that many of the well-intentioned white allies in CHOP are scared of being called terrorists. It frustrated him that white protesters, after being gassed and lied to by city officials, would be willing to work with the city. “You guys might be out here for CHOP and CHAZ,” Parham told Slate, “but I’m here for Black Lives Matter, because, when I go out on that street and I see a police officer, I have the possibility of that officer trying to kill me.”
Those in power should be uncomfortable, Parham said. Making one of the city’s densest—and priciest—neighborhoods even more of a tourist attraction wasn’t going to accomplish that. “I’m just afraid that it’s going to be an open-air shopping mall in, like, four years. . . . You guys are increasing the property value right now by putting in the one-way [street].”
“We have to have some degree of local popular support,” Slate insisted.
“A week and half in, though?”
Up the street, construction continued. Crews kept dropping concrete slabs in the center of Twelfth Avenue, giving the road what looked like a gapped smile of cement teeth. The workers shouted in the universal way of construction crews—screeched, clipped calls that sound to passersby like something between yelling, in order to be heard over the noise, and bickering, about how to get the job done. Scoggins, wearing a black uniform jacket, a black hat, and a black face mask, stood at the corner of Twelfth, looking down Pine, its surface an incomplete canvas of protest messages—“Defund SPD,” “The Truth Is Here,” “Black & Fearless”—as crews dropped more teeth.
Maurice Cola, another protester who opposed the agreement with the city, paced at the corner of Eleventh Avenue and Pine Street. The city’s involvement is going to turn the occupation into a sanctioned event, Cola said. “We’re losing traction by working with them.” Cola, who is black, wore a black oversized hoodie, dark-gray sweatpants, and faded black leather sneakers that had seen him through days of protest. Flecks of silver showed in his hair and beard when he moved his head in the sun.
Ali, a Pakistani-American and a friend of Cola’s, chimed in, noting that the cinder blocks would be effective in “stopping idiots from coming through, so from a pragmatic perspective—”
“No. No, look,” Cola interrupted. “Now they can get right up to us,” he warned, referring to the Proud Boys and other potential threats. “They can throw rocks. They can shoot every protester in the whole thing now.” He held up an imaginary rifle, miming, presumably, a Proud Boy picking off demonstrators with an AR-15.
“A fire hazard’s still a fire hazard at the end of the day. The fire department’s trying to do their job,” Ali, who preferred that his last name not be used but jokingly referred to himself as Cola’s talent agent, said. “Look, the whole city is not bad. There’s bad actors who teargas us, but there are good actors who want to make sure that fires don’t kill people.”
“O.K.! Thank you, Ali!” Cola said, sarcastically. “This is not the time for that conversation. . . . This is a protest. Us trying to coördinate with them in that way is giving too much compromise, when they need to be fucking defunding.” One of the protesters’ unmet core demands is that the city defund the Seattle Police Department’s budget by fifty per cent.
Cola was among a dozen or so informal leaders who had convened on June 13th to change the name from CHAZ to CHOP. The “autonomous zone” name, Cola argued, suggested that protesters wanted to secede from the U.S. He doesn’t want to secede. He wants change. He expressed frustration with the protest’s festival-like atmosphere, with tourists, parties, and stage performances. Like Parham, he feared that all they had really accomplished was making the neighborhood more appealing to investors. “We got pepper-gassed and maced to give Cap Hill the best farmer’s market in the fucking state, the country. . . . It’s a fucking minstrel show, a farmer’s market with ice cream, and the fucking community center that no one from the hood’s going to go to,” he said, over the sound of hammers and drills and the beeping of Cat loaders.


newyorker--2020-06-26--Trump Retreats to His Hannity Bunker

Trump Retreats to His Hannity Bunker

June began poorly for President Trump , and it ’ s ending worse .
Despite Trump ’ s optimistic pronouncements about the coronavirus , the pandemic is surging across the American South and West .
His poll numbers against Joe Biden are cratering .
His former national-security adviser is selling a book that calls him a corrupt fool who ’ s unfit for office .
The number of jobless Americans continues to climb .
But , luckily , there are some things Trump can still count on—like the Fox News host Sean Hannity .
On Thursday night , with America @ @ @ @ @ @ @ sign of easing , Trump appeared at a Fox News “ town hall ” led by Hannity .
It was a reassuringly safe space for the President .
There was not a single mention of the terrifying spike of COVID-19 cases in Texas or Arizona or anywhere else .
No one so much as alluded to the hundred and twenty-five thousand or so Americans who have already died from the disease .
And Hannity—Trump ’ s close friend and confidant , who has been called his shadow White House chief of staff—refrained from @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , including one by Fox , that show Trump losing to Biden by double-digit percentage points .
The audience of Trump superfans , many of whom wore pro-Trump “ Make America Great Again ” gear , obliged as well .
When Hannity got around to taking questions from them , twenty-five minutes into the forty-three-minute broadcast , a woman named Linda asked Trump , “ What do you think is your greatest accomplishment ?
” Hannity ’ s latest in-kind contribution to the Trump campaign was perfectly predictable , of course .
The @ @ @ @ @ @ @ million dollars a year by Fox , is so reliable a wingman to the President that my colleague Jane Mayer reported that Trump bragged he was a ten out of ten on the loyalty scale .
Before the 2018 midterms , the President had Hannity appear onstage at his big preëlection rally , a faux pas even for Fox that earned Hannity a reprimand from his bosses .
Before Thursday ’ s event , in Green Bay , Wisconsin , Trump hosted Hannity as his guest on Marine One , and photographers snapped @ @ @ @ @ @ @ as Hannity walked on the tarmac to the plane ’ s steps .
In a pre-town-hall interview , at a Wisconsin airplane hangar , the two looked like co-stars in a buddy movie ; they were even dressed in matching long red ties and dark suits .
When the show got going , Trump saluted Hannity as a “ great journalist.
” Hannity ’ s show is the Fox bunker that Trump retreats to when everything else is going wrong .
Not surprisingly , some of Trump ’ s most outrageous comments about @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Hannity ’ s program .
In early March , just a little over a week before he declared a national emergency and shut down the country , Trump told Hannity that the coronavirus was “ very mild , ” that it was similar to the annual flu , and that hundreds of thousands of people could recover from it while still going to work .
On March 26th , the President touted the malaria treatment hydroxychloroquine as a miracle drug to combat the coronavirus .
“ This could be the big answer , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ 7th , Trump was back on the show , promoting himself and hydroxychloroquine .
“ We have millions of doses that I bought , ” Trump said , before correcting himself , “ that the country bought.
” He added , “ It ’ s not like it ’ s something unsafe.
” A few weeks later , medical studies suggested that the drug was risky , and U.S. government health officials recommended it not be given to COVID-19 patients .
The general theme of all these conversations with Hannity—which are better characterized @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Hannity occasionally figures—has been the President ’ s increasingly urgent need to tout his own brilliance at handling the pandemic .
“ We ’ re way under .
.
.
in terms of death , ” he told Hannity , in April .
But it wasn ’ t true , then or now .
In the past three months of the pandemic , Trump ’ s virus-spin cycle has become as familiar as it is mind-numbing , an endless loop of denial , magical thinking , blame-shifting , and fearmongering .
Often , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in the same day : We beat the invisible enemy .
The country is transitioning to greatness .
The virus is fading away .
Cases are only going up because we are testing more .
A miracle vaccine will be ready soon , probably , maybe , likely by the end of this year .
People are wearing masks just because they want to hurt me politically and the media is lying to them .
We did a great job .
It ’ s the “ kung flu.
” It ’ s the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ points the President has made , just in the past few days .
The virus , however , does not care what Trump has to say about it .
It ’ s a virus .
It doesn ’ t watch Fox or care about ratings .
“ The virus is not going to disappear , ” Anthony Fauci , the nation ’ s chief infectious-disease expert , said , at a congressional hearing on Tuesday .
“ We have a long way to go , ” Admiral Brett Giroir , the Administration ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ virus has “ brought this nation to its knees , ” Robert Redfield , the head of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention , said .
On Wednesday , the U.S. set a record for new coronavirus cases , according to the COVID Tracking Project , of 38,672 .
The previous record was set two months ago , on April 26th .
American deaths from the virus are , by far , the most that have been recorded anywhere in the world , and are predicted to reach some two hundred thousand @ @ @ @ @ @ @ flattened .
There is no summer respite .
This awful spring , the Trump Administration declared that the country had “ thirty days to stop the spread , ” a chirpy slogan repeated by Trump , Vice-President Mike Pence , and the rest of the coronavirus task force back in March .
But the thirty days ended and the spread did not .
America failed .
No wonder Trump retreated to his Hannity bunker on Thursday , to talk about the border wall and Barack Obama ’ s “ treason ” and the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” of Michael Flynn , and how much of a “ disaster ” his former Attorney General , Jeff Sessions , was .
About the “ rioters ” and “ terrorists ” destroying America ’ s cities in the wake of George Floyd ’ s killing .
This is a week when even Trump ought to have a hard time denying the reality of the disaster the country is facing , and his own political predicament .
The virus is spiking in Republican-led states , such as Arizona , South Carolina , Arkansas @ @ @ @ @ @ @ are must-wins for Trump in the fall .
Texas alone reported six thousand new cases on Thursday , and its Republican governor , Greg Abbott , who had spent months aligned with Trump in downplaying the threat , is now urging state residents to shelter at home .
On Thursday , he announced that he was pausing the state ’ s plans to reopen .
So did the equally pro-Trump Republican governor of Florida .
Not exactly on-message for their President .
Shortly after 6 P.M. on Thursday , Trump sent out a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ taped earlier that day in Wisconsin , where a new Times poll shows him trailing Biden by eleven points .
Minutes after Trump ’ s tweet , Fox News released the results of its own new poll in key battleground states .
It showed Trump behind Biden in every single one , including , for the first time in a Fox News poll , the Republican bastion of Texas .
In the lead-up to Trump ’ s Hannity interview , Tucker Carlson ’ s show opened with this banner : “ PRESIDENT TRUMP @ @ @ @ @ @

June began poorly for President Trump, and it’s ending worse. Despite Trump’s optimistic pronouncements about the coronavirus, the pandemic is surging across the American South and West. His poll numbers against Joe Biden are cratering. His former national-security adviser is selling a book that calls him a corrupt fool who’s unfit for office. The number of jobless Americans continues to climb. But, luckily, there are some things Trump can still count on—like the Fox News host Sean Hannity.
On Thursday night, with America deep in a crisis that shows no sign of easing, Trump appeared at a Fox News “town hall” led by Hannity. It was a reassuringly safe space for the President. There was not a single mention of the terrifying spike of COVID-19 cases in Texas or Arizona or anywhere else. No one so much as alluded to the hundred and twenty-five thousand or so Americans who have already died from the disease. And Hannity—Trump’s close friend and confidant, who has been called his shadow White House chief of staff—refrained from citing the recent wave of national polls, including one by Fox, that show Trump losing to Biden by double-digit percentage points. The audience of Trump superfans, many of whom wore pro-Trump “Make America Great Again” gear, obliged as well. When Hannity got around to taking questions from them, twenty-five minutes into the forty-three-minute broadcast, a woman named Linda asked Trump, “What do you think is your greatest accomplishment?”
Hannity’s latest in-kind contribution to the Trump campaign was perfectly predictable, of course. The TV host, who is paid twenty-five million dollars a year by Fox, is so reliable a wingman to the President that my colleague Jane Mayer reported that Trump bragged he was a ten out of ten on the loyalty scale. Before the 2018 midterms, the President had Hannity appear onstage at his big preëlection rally, a faux pas even for Fox that earned Hannity a reprimand from his bosses. Before Thursday’s event, in Green Bay, Wisconsin, Trump hosted Hannity as his guest on Marine One, and photographers snapped a picture of U.S. Marine guards saluting as Hannity walked on the tarmac to the plane’s steps. In a pre-town-hall interview, at a Wisconsin airplane hangar, the two looked like co-stars in a buddy movie; they were even dressed in matching long red ties and dark suits. When the show got going, Trump saluted Hannity as a “great journalist.” Hannity’s show is the Fox bunker that Trump retreats to when everything else is going wrong.
Not surprisingly, some of Trump’s most outrageous comments about the ongoing pandemic have been uttered on Hannity’s program. In early March, just a little over a week before he declared a national emergency and shut down the country, Trump told Hannity that the coronavirus was “very mild,” that it was similar to the annual flu, and that hundreds of thousands of people could recover from it while still going to work. On March 26th, the President touted the malaria treatment hydroxychloroquine as a miracle drug to combat the coronavirus. “This could be the big answer,” he told Hannity. On April 7th, Trump was back on the show, promoting himself and hydroxychloroquine. “We have millions of doses that I bought,” Trump said, before correcting himself, “that the country bought.” He added, “It’s not like it’s something unsafe.” A few weeks later, medical studies suggested that the drug was risky, and U.S. government health officials recommended it not be given to COVID-19 patients. The general theme of all these conversations with Hannity—which are better characterized as rambling monologues by Trump in which Hannity occasionally figures—has been the President’s increasingly urgent need to tout his own brilliance at handling the pandemic. “We’re way under . . . in terms of death,” he told Hannity, in April. But it wasn’t true, then or now.
In the past three months of the pandemic, Trump’s virus-spin cycle has become as familiar as it is mind-numbing, an endless loop of denial, magical thinking, blame-shifting, and fearmongering. Often, he seems to do all of this in the same day: We beat the invisible enemy. The country is transitioning to greatness. The virus is fading away. Cases are only going up because we are testing more. A miracle vaccine will be ready soon, probably, maybe, likely by the end of this year. People are wearing masks just because they want to hurt me politically and the media is lying to them. We did a great job. It’s the “kung flu.” It’s the “ChinaVirus.” These are all real points the President has made, just in the past few days.
The virus, however, does not care what Trump has to say about it. It’s a virus. It doesn’t watch Fox or care about ratings. “The virus is not going to disappear,” Anthony Fauci, the nation’s chief infectious-disease expert, said, at a congressional hearing on Tuesday. “We have a long way to go,” Admiral Brett Giroir, the Administration’s testing czar, said. The virus has “brought this nation to its knees,” Robert Redfield, the head of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, said.
On Wednesday, the U.S. set a record for new coronavirus cases, according to the COVID Tracking Project, of 38,672. The previous record was set two months ago, on April 26th. American deaths from the virus are, by far, the most that have been recorded anywhere in the world, and are predicted to reach some two hundred thousand by October. The curve has not flattened. There is no summer respite. This awful spring, the Trump Administration declared that the country had “thirty days to stop the spread,” a chirpy slogan repeated by Trump, Vice-President Mike Pence, and the rest of the coronavirus task force back in March. But the thirty days ended and the spread did not. America failed.


newyorker--2020-06-27--A Disastrous Summer in the Arctic

A Disastrous Summer in the Arctic

The remote Siberian town of Verkhoyansk , three thousand miles east of Moscow and six miles north of the Arctic Circle , has long held the record , with another Siberian town , for the coldest inhabited place in the world .
The record was set in 1892 , when the temperature dropped to ninety below zero Fahrenheit , although these days winter temperatures are noticeably milder , hovering around fifty below .
On Saturday , Verkhoyansk claimed a new record : the hottest temperature ever recorded in the Arctic , with an observation of 100.4 degrees Fahrenheit—the same temperature @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
Miami has only hit a hundred degrees once since 1896 .
“ This has been an unusually hot spring in Siberia , ” Randy Cerveny , the World Meteorological Organization ’ s rapporteur of weather and climate extremes , said .
“ The coinciding lack of underlying snow in the region , combined with over-all global temperature increases , undoubtedly helped play a critical role in causing this extreme.
” Siberia , in other words , is in the midst of an astonishing and historic heat wave .
Anthropogenic climate change is @ @ @ @ @ @ @ as fast as the rest of the planet .
Climate models had predicted this phenomenon , known as Arctic amplification , but they did not predict how fast the warming would occur .
Although Verkhoyansk has seen hot temperatures in the past , Saturday ’ s 100.4-degree record follows a wildly warm year across the region .
Since December , temperatures in western Siberia have been eighteen degrees above normal .
Since January , the mean temperature across Siberia has been at least 5.4 degrees Fahrenheit above the long-term average .
As the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the heat that has fallen on Russia in 2020 “ is so remarkable that it matches what ’ s projected to be normal by the year 2100 , if current trends in heat-trapping carbon emissions continue.
” By April , owing to the heat , wildfires across the region were larger and more numerous than they were at the same time last year , when the Russian government eventually had to send military aircrafts to battle vast blazes .
The scale of the current wildfires—with towering plumes of smoke visible for thousands of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ could be worse .
Because of the coronavirus pandemic , they will also be more complicated to fight .
Toward the end of May , as the sun stopped dropping below the horizon , the heat continued .
In the town of Khatanga , far north of the Arctic Circle , the temperature hit seventy-eight degrees Fahrenheit , or forty-six degrees above normal , topping the previous record by twenty-four degrees .
The heat and fires are also hastening the dissolution of Siberian permafrost , perennially frozen ground that , when thawed , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the land , with grave consequences .
On May 29th , outside Norilsk , the northernmost city in the world , the thawing ground buckled , causing an oil-storage tank to collapse and spew more than a hundred and fifty thousand barrels , or twenty-one thousand tons , of diesel fuel into the Ambarnaya River .
The spill was the largest to ever occur in the Russian Arctic .
Norilsk , which was constructed in the nineteen-thirties by prisoners of a nearby Gulag camp , Norillag , was already one of the most @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of its hundred and seventy-seven thousand residents work for Norilsk Nickel , the company that owns the collapsed oil tank .
Its massive mining and metallurgy complex alone is worth two per cent of Russia ’ s G.D.P .
The city contributes a fifth of the global nickel supply and nearly half of the world ’ s palladium , a metal used to make catalytic converters .
Factories billow clouds of sulfur dioxide incessantly , and the resulting acid rain has turned the city and its surroundings into an industrial wasteland , with @ @ @ @ @ @ @ dirt and dead trees .
Life expectancy in Norilsk is twenty years shorter than it is in the United States .
The last time the town made the news , before the oil spill , was exactly a year ago , when an emaciated polar bear , a refugee from its melting home , was photographed rummaging through the city dump .
Norilsk Nickel ’ s executives have tried to skirt responsibility for the oil spill by blaming the thawing permafrost—or , as a press release stated , “ a sudden sinking of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ which served accident-free for more than thirty years.
” But the thaw did not happen unexpectedly , out of nowhere .
Buildings in Norilsk have collapsed because of the sagging ground .
Russian and international experts have been aware of the risks that rapidly thawing permafrost represents for more than a decade .
A 2017 report from an Arctic Council working group said that “ communities and infrastructure built on frozen soils are significantly affected by thawing permafrost , one of the most economically costly impacts of climate change in the Arctic.
” @ @ @ @ @ @ @ freshwater , when previously frozen industrial and municipal waste is released , and that the bearing capacity of building foundations has declined by forty to fifty per cent in some Siberian settlements since the nineteen-sixties .
They also noted that “ the vast Bovanenkovo gas field in western Siberia has seen a recent increase in landslides related to thawing permafrost.
” The authors of a 2018 paper , published in Nature Communications , found that “ 45 % of the hydrocarbon extraction fields in the Russian Arctic are in regions where thaw-related ground @ @ @ @ @ @ @ built environment.
” The paper continued , “ Alarmingly , these figures are not reduced substantially even if the climate change targets of the Paris Agreement are reached.
” In early June , President Vladimir Putin declared a national emergency , and scolded local authorities for their slow response to the spill .
The Kremlin allegedly found out about the spill two days after the fact , from pictures of a crimson river posted on social media .
Although the Russian prosecutor general ’ s office agreed , in a preliminary finding , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ factor to the spill , investigators also said that the fuel-storage tank had needed repairs since 2018 .
They arrested four employees of the power plant on charges of violating environmental regulations .
Norilsk Nickel denied the accusations but said that the company is coöperating with law-enforcement agencies and has launched “ a full and thorough investigation.
” “ We fully accept our responsibility for the event , ” the company said in a statement provided to the Guardian .
Vladimir Potanin , the president of Norilsk Nickel and the richest man in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ pay for the full cost of the disaster , which he estimated at ten billion rubles , or a hundred and forty-six million dollars .
( A Russian environmental watchdog , Rosprirodnadzor , put the cost at around one and a half billion dollars . )
Putin , meanwhile , publicly lambasted Potanin for the disaster , emphasizing that it was his company ’ s negligence that led to the spill .
“ If you replaced them in time , ” Putin said , in a video call in early June , referring @ @ @ @ @ @ @ there wouldn ’ t have been the damage to the environment and your company wouldn ’ t have to carry such costs.
” The company ’ s initial response efforts—floating booms to contain the spill—largely failed .
By June 9th , the oil had entered the forty-three-mile-long Lake Pyasino , which borders a nature preserve and flows into the Pyasino River .
“ Once it enters that river system , it can ’ t be stopped , ” Rob Huebert , an Arctic expert at the University of Calgary , said .
“ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to the Arctic Ocean.
” On June 11th , Russia ’ s investigative committee charged Norilsk ’ s mayor with criminal negligence , for his botched response to the disaster .
Last Friday , in another video call , Putin ’ s emergencies minister reported that response teams had collected 3.6 million cubic feet of polluted soil and 1.1 million cubic feet of contaminated water .
The company will construct a pipeline to pump the contaminated muck to unspecified disposal sites .
But the region will remain toxic .
Diesel oil seeps into @ @ @ @ @ @ @ is contained to the lake , the contamination can never be fully removed .
Some of it will make its way through the food chain .
Wildlife—fish , birds , reindeer—could suffer for decades .
“ You can ’ t ever really clean a spill up , ” Huebert said .
Putin , in the call , emphasized that work must continue until the damage is remedied .
“ Obviously , the disaster has brought dire consequences for the environment and severely impacted biodiversity in water bodies , ” he said .
“ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to reclaim and restore the environment .
”

The remote Siberian town of Verkhoyansk, three thousand miles east of Moscow and six miles north of the Arctic Circle, has long held the record, with another Siberian town, for the coldest inhabited place in the world. The record was set in 1892, when the temperature dropped to ninety below zero Fahrenheit, although these days winter temperatures are noticeably milder, hovering around fifty below. Last Saturday, Verkhoyansk claimed a new record: the hottest temperature ever recorded in the Arctic, with an observation of 100.4 degrees Fahrenheit—the same temperature was recorded that day in Las Vegas. Miami has only hit a hundred degrees once since 1896. “This has been an unusually hot spring in Siberia,” Randy Cerveny, the World Meteorological Organization’s rapporteur of weather and climate extremes, said. “The coinciding lack of underlying snow in the region, combined with over-all global temperature increases, undoubtedly helped play a critical role in causing this extreme.” Siberia, in other words, is in the midst of an astonishing and historic heat wave.
Anthropogenic climate change is causing the Arctic to heat up twice as fast as the rest of the planet. Climate models had predicted this phenomenon, known as Arctic amplification, but they did not predict how fast the warming would occur. Although Verkhoyansk has seen hot temperatures in the past, Saturday’s 100.4-degree record follows a wildly warm year across the region. Since December, temperatures in western Siberia have been eighteen degrees above normal. Since January, the mean temperature across Siberia has been at least 5.4 degrees Fahrenheit above the long-term average. As the meteorologist Jeff Berardelli reported for CBS, the heat that has fallen on Russia in 2020 “is so remarkable that it matches what’s projected to be normal by the year 2100, if current trends in heat-trapping carbon emissions continue.” By April, owing to the heat, wildfires across the region were larger and more numerous than they were at the same time last year, when the Russian government eventually had to send military aircrafts to battle vast blazes. The scale of the current wildfires—with towering plumes of smoke visible for thousands of miles on satellite images—suggest that this summer could be worse. Because of the coronavirus pandemic, they will also be more complicated to fight.
Toward the end of May, as the sun stopped dropping below the horizon, the heat continued. In the town of Khatanga, far north of the Arctic Circle, the temperature hit seventy-eight degrees Fahrenheit, or forty-six degrees above normal, topping the previous record by twenty-four degrees. The heat and fires are also hastening the dissolution of Siberian permafrost, perennially frozen ground that, when thawed, unleashes more greenhouse gases and dramatically destabilizes the land, with grave consequences. On May 29th, outside Norilsk, the northernmost city in the world, the thawing ground buckled, causing an oil-storage tank to collapse and spew more than a hundred and fifty thousand barrels, or twenty-one thousand tons, of diesel fuel into the Ambarnaya River. The spill was the largest to ever occur in the Russian Arctic.
Norilsk, which was constructed in the nineteen-thirties by prisoners of a nearby Gulag camp, Norillag, was already one of the most polluted places in the world. Most of its hundred and seventy-seven thousand residents work for Norilsk Nickel, the company that owns the collapsed oil tank. Its massive mining and metallurgy complex alone is worth two per cent of Russia’s G.D.P. The city contributes a fifth of the global nickel supply and nearly half of the world’s palladium, a metal used to make catalytic converters. Factories billow clouds of sulfur dioxide incessantly, and the resulting acid rain has turned the city and its surroundings into an industrial wasteland, with no green space or parks, just dirt and dead trees. Life expectancy in Norilsk is twenty years shorter than it is in the United States. The last time the town made the news, before the oil spill, was exactly a year ago, when an emaciated polar bear, a refugee from its melting home, was photographed rummaging through the city dump.
Norilsk Nickel’s executives have tried to skirt responsibility for the oil spill by blaming the thawing permafrost—or, as a press release stated, “a sudden sinking of the storage tank’s pillars, which served accident-free for more than thirty years.” But the thaw did not happen unexpectedly, out of nowhere. Buildings in Norilsk have collapsed because of the sagging ground. Russian and international experts have been aware of the risks that rapidly thawing permafrost represents for more than a decade. A 2017 report from an Arctic Council working group said that “communities and infrastructure built on frozen soils are significantly affected by thawing permafrost, one of the most economically costly impacts of climate change in the Arctic.” They found that thawing permafrost could contaminate freshwater, when previously frozen industrial and municipal waste is released, and that the bearing capacity of building foundations has declined by forty to fifty per cent in some Siberian settlements since the nineteen-sixties. They also noted that “the vast Bovanenkovo gas field in western Siberia has seen a recent increase in landslides related to thawing permafrost.” The authors of a 2018 paper, published in Nature Communications, found that “45% of the hydrocarbon extraction fields in the Russian Arctic are in regions where thaw-related ground instability can cause severe damage to the built environment.” The paper continued, “Alarmingly, these figures are not reduced substantially even if the climate change targets of the Paris Agreement are reached.”
In early June, President Vladimir Putin declared a national emergency, and scolded local authorities for their slow response to the spill. The Kremlin allegedly found out about the spill two days after the fact, from pictures of a crimson river posted on social media. Although the Russian prosecutor general’s office agreed, in a preliminary finding, that the thawing permafrost was a contributing factor to the spill, investigators also said that the fuel-storage tank had needed repairs since 2018. They arrested four employees of the power plant on charges of violating environmental regulations. Norilsk Nickel denied the accusations but said that the company is coöperating with law-enforcement agencies and has launched “a full and thorough investigation.” “We fully accept our responsibility for the event,” the company said in a statement provided to the Guardian. Vladimir Potanin, the president of Norilsk Nickel and the richest man in Russia, said that the company will pay for the full cost of the disaster, which he estimated at ten billion rubles, or a hundred and forty-six million dollars. (A Russian environmental watchdog, Rosprirodnadzor, put the cost at around one and a half billion dollars.) Putin, meanwhile, publicly lambasted Potanin for the disaster, emphasizing that it was his company’s negligence that led to the spill. “If you replaced them in time,” Putin said, in a video call in early June, referring to the aging oil-storage tank, “there wouldn’t have been the damage to the environment and your company wouldn’t have to carry such costs.”
The company’s initial response efforts—floating booms to contain the spill—largely failed. By June 9th, the oil had entered the forty-three-mile-long Lake Pyasino, which borders a nature preserve and flows into the Pyasino River. “Once it enters that river system, it can’t be stopped,” Rob Huebert, an Arctic expert at the University of Calgary, said. “The oil could then make its way to the Arctic Ocean.” On June 11th, Russia’s investigative committee charged Norilsk’s mayor with criminal negligence, for his botched response to the disaster. Last Friday, in another video call, Putin’s emergencies minister reported that response teams had collected 3.6 million cubic feet of polluted soil and 1.1 million cubic feet of contaminated water. The company will construct a pipeline to pump the contaminated muck to unspecified disposal sites. But the region will remain toxic. Diesel oil seeps into river banks. Even if the oil is contained to the lake, the contamination can never be fully removed. Some of it will make its way through the food chain. Wildlife—fish, birds, reindeer—could suffer for decades. “You can’t ever really clean a spill up,” Huebert said. Putin, in the call, emphasized that work must continue until the damage is remedied. “Obviously, the disaster has brought dire consequences for the environment and severely impacted biodiversity in water bodies,” he said. “It will take a lot of time to reclaim and restore the environment.”


newyorker--2020-06-27--Could the Supreme Court’s Landmark L.G.B.T.-Rights Decision Help Lead to the Dismantling of Affirmat

Could the Supreme Court’s Landmark L.G.B.T.-Rights Decision Help Lead to the Dismantling of Affirmative Action?

In 1946 , William K. Wimsatt and Monroe C. Beardsley argued , in their classic essay , “ The Intentional Fallacy , ” that critics interpreting a literary work should cast aside pursuit of the author ’ s intent .
“ The poem belongs to the public , ” they wrote , because “ it is embodied in language , the peculiar possession of the public.
” The New Criticism , a movement that dominated the academic study of literature in mid-century , asserted that only close analysis of the words and structure of the text—not external knowledge about the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a reader ’ s feelings—was the key to understanding its meaning .
Salvatore Eugene Scalia , a professor of Italian literature at Brooklyn College , was an adherent of this theory .
He also advocated for “ literalness ” in reading and translation , to avoid “ yielding to the temptation ” to follow one ’ s own language ’ s conventions in interpreting the words of the text .
The New Criticism fell from prominence in the nineteen-eighties , but its impact became discernible in another field , through Professor Scalia ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to the Supreme Court in 1986 , the same year that the elder Scalia died .
Justice Antonin Scalia became the country ’ s most important expositor of textualism , the influential method of legal interpretation wherein “ the text is the law , and it is the text that must be observed , ” regardless of what lawmakers may have intended in passing the law .
Since the nineteen-eighties , textualism has been favored by legal conservatives—but , in more recent decades , its focus on the words of a text has @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
Last Monday , under the shadow of Antonin Scalia , who died in 2016 , the current conservative Justices aired their strife over his textualist legacy in Bostock v. Clayton County , a landmark gay-and-transgender-rights case .
Title VII of the Civil Rights Act of 1964 makes it unlawful for an employer to discriminate “ because of ” an “ individual ’ s race , color , religion , sex , or national origin.
” All the jurists agreed that Congress did not have in mind sexual orientation or gender identity .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ the Court ’ s majority , joined by Chief Justice John Roberts and the four liberal Justices , held that Title VII ’ s ban on discrimination based on sex has always meant protection for gay and transgender individuals .
This tremendously significant decision will transform the workplace anti-discrimination landscape for gay and transgender people , while its logic stands to have wide-ranging effects well beyond the workplace and those communities .
Gorsuch based the decision on an avowedly textualist interpretation , saying that “ only the words on the page constitute the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the President , ” not “ extratextual sources and our own imaginations.
” Closely reading the sex-discrimination ban , Gorsuch observed that “ it is impossible to discriminate against a person for being homosexual or transgender without discriminating against that individual based on sex.
” That is , an employer who fires someone for being gay or transgender necessarily acts based on behavior or traits—for example , marrying , or living as , a man—that are deemed unacceptable because that employee is not of the opposite sex .
In holding that such an @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Gorsuch said that was “ no more than the straightforward application of legal terms with plain and settled meanings.
” Although he had said at the oral argument , last October , that it was “ really close , really close , ” and wondered about a “ massive social upheaval , ” his opinion ultimately concluded that “ no ambiguity exists.
” Justices Clarence Thomas , Samuel Alito , and Brett Kavanaugh strongly disagreed , saying that Gorsuch ’ s interpretation mangled the text , and textualism along with it .
Alito @ @ @ @ @ @ @ “ the Court attempts to pass off its decision as the inevitable product of the textualist school of statutory interpretation championed by our late colleague Justice Scalia , but no one should be fooled.
” He likened Gorsuch ’ s opinion to “ a pirate ship ” that “ sails under a textualist flag , ” pretending to be purely textualist but really doing what Scalia “ excoriated ” —updating old statutes to fit contemporary values .
To Alito , it was clear that Americans reading the law in 1964 “ would not @ @ @ @ @ @ @ meant discrimination because of sexual orientation , much less gender identity.
” Indeed , he detailed , over multiple pages , how our society at the time treated homosexuality as a mental disorder and a crime .
He added that “ to its credit , our society has now come to recognize the injustice of past practices , and this recognition provides the impetus to ‘ update ’ Title VII .
But that is not our job.
” He said the Court ’ s decision was “ a brazen abuse of our authority.
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ tone , acknowledging that gay people “ ‘ can not be treated as social outcasts or as inferior in dignity and worth , ’ ” but he did so , tellingly , by quoting from Justice Anthony Kennedy ’ s decision in Masterpiece Cakeshop v. Colorado Civil Rights Commission , which held in favor of a baker who refused to make a wedding cake for a gay couple .
On the larger point , Kavanaugh agreed with Alito that Gorsuch was being a bad textualist .
According to Kavanaugh , even if firing @ @ @ @ @ @ @ action that , in the most literal sense , is taken “ because of ” his “ sex , ” a reasonable reader of the phrase “ discriminate because of sex ” would see that it does not refer to that kind of discrimination .
To Kavanaugh , it was clear that , in common parlance , “ sexual orientation discrimination is distinct from , and not a form of , sex discrimination , ” and not recognizing that “ destabilizes the rule of law ” and “ thwarts democratic accountability.
” Invoking @ @ @ @ @ @ @ that Gorsuch was usurping Congress ’ s role to amend a statute .
Among the surprises of this milestone gay-and-transgender-rights decision was that no liberal Justices wrote at all , leaving their conservative colleagues to lambaste one another over whether the Court ’ s method was a grave betrayal of Scalia .
Each opinion appeared to accept the terms of the textualist enterprise , arguing only about whether it was being done correctly , and what the ordinary meaning of the words were in the context of 1964 .
As Justice Elena Kagan @ @ @ @ @ @ @ “ I think we ’ re all textualists now in a way that just was not remotely true when Justice Scalia joined the bench.
” She went on to explain that “ the center of gravity has moved ” toward his method—toward “ the idea that , yes , Congress has written something and your job truly is to read and interpret it , and that means staring at the words on the page.
” Textualism ’ s main competitor has been “ purposivism , ” which holds that a judge should identify @ @ @ @ @ @ @ if there is a conflict between the text and the “ spirit ” of a law , the latter wins out .
Conservatives became distrustful of the indeterminacy of purposivism in the nineteen-eighties , in reaction to several decades of a liberal Court expanding rights and protections based on broad reasoning about laws ’ social purposes .
Scalia believed that the “ departure from text ” was incompatible with democracy , even “ tyrannical , ” because the quixotic search for legislative intent would , in practice , end with judges imposing their @ @ @ @ @ @ @ done .
Textualism was therefore presented as a way to limit the discretion of judges and prevent them from engaging in lawmaking , which belongs to the legislature .
But Scalia ’ s extreme insistence on excluding key evidence of intent—particularly legislative history—could sometimes result in textualists actually thwarting what the legislature evidently meant to accomplish .

In 1946, William K. Wimsatt and Monroe C. Beardsley argued, in their classic essay, “The Intentional Fallacy,” that critics interpreting a literary work should cast aside pursuit of the author’s intent. “The poem belongs to the public,” they wrote, because “it is embodied in language, the peculiar possession of the public.” The New Criticism, a movement that dominated the academic study of literature in mid-century, asserted that only close analysis of the words and structure of the text—not external knowledge about the author, politics, morality, or a reader’s feelings—was the key to understanding its meaning.
Salvatore Eugene Scalia, a professor of Italian literature at Brooklyn College, was an adherent of this theory. He also advocated for “literalness” in reading and translation, to avoid “yielding to the temptation” to follow one’s own language’s conventions in interpreting the words of the text. The New Criticism fell from prominence in the nineteen-eighties, but its impact became discernible in another field, through Professor Scalia’s only child, who was appointed to the Supreme Court in 1986, the same year that the elder Scalia died. Justice Antonin Scalia became the country’s most important expositor of textualism, the influential method of legal interpretation wherein “the text is the law, and it is the text that must be observed,” regardless of what lawmakers may have intended in passing the law. Since the nineteen-eighties, textualism has been favored by legal conservatives—but, in more recent decades, its focus on the words of a text has become influential with liberal judges, too.
Last Monday, under the shadow of Antonin Scalia, who died in 2016, the current conservative Justices aired their strife over his textualist legacy in Bostock v. Clayton County, a landmark gay-and-transgender-rights case. Title VII of the Civil Rights Act of 1964 makes it unlawful for an employer to discriminate “because of” an “individual’s race, color, religion, sex, or national origin.” All the jurists agreed that Congress did not have in mind sexual orientation or gender identity. But Justice Neil Gorsuch, writing for the Court’s majority, joined by Chief Justice John Roberts and the four liberal Justices, held that Title VII’s ban on discrimination based on sex has always meant protection for gay and transgender individuals. This tremendously significant decision will transform the workplace anti-discrimination landscape for gay and transgender people, while its logic stands to have wide-ranging effects well beyond the workplace and those communities.
Gorsuch based the decision on an avowedly textualist interpretation, saying that “only the words on the page constitute the law adopted by Congress and approved by the President,” not “extratextual sources and our own imaginations.” Closely reading the sex-discrimination ban, Gorsuch observed that “it is impossible to discriminate against a person for being homosexual or transgender without discriminating against that individual based on sex.” That is, an employer who fires someone for being gay or transgender necessarily acts based on behavior or traits—for example, marrying, or living as, a man—that are deemed unacceptable because that employee is not of the opposite sex. In holding that such an action is prohibited by Title VII, Gorsuch said that was “no more than the straightforward application of legal terms with plain and settled meanings.” Although he had said at the oral argument, last October, that it was “really close, really close,” and wondered about a “massive social upheaval,” his opinion ultimately concluded that “no ambiguity exists.”
Justices Clarence Thomas, Samuel Alito, and Brett Kavanaugh strongly disagreed, saying that Gorsuch’s interpretation mangled the text, and textualism along with it. Alito, joined by Thomas, wrote that “the Court attempts to pass off its decision as the inevitable product of the textualist school of statutory interpretation championed by our late colleague Justice Scalia, but no one should be fooled.” He likened Gorsuch’s opinion to “a pirate ship” that “sails under a textualist flag,” pretending to be purely textualist but really doing what Scalia “excoriated”—updating old statutes to fit contemporary values. To Alito, it was clear that Americans reading the law in 1964 “would not have dreamed that discrimination because of sex meant discrimination because of sexual orientation, much less gender identity.” Indeed, he detailed, over multiple pages, how our society at the time treated homosexuality as a mental disorder and a crime. He added that “to its credit, our society has now come to recognize the injustice of past practices, and this recognition provides the impetus to ‘update’ Title VII. But that is not our job.” He said the Court’s decision was “a brazen abuse of our authority.”
Justice Kavanaugh took a more conciliatory tone, acknowledging that gay people “ ‘cannot be treated as social outcasts or as inferior in dignity and worth,’ ” but he did so, tellingly, by quoting from Justice Anthony Kennedy’s decision in Masterpiece Cakeshop v. Colorado Civil Rights Commission, which held in favor of a baker who refused to make a wedding cake for a gay couple. On the larger point, Kavanaugh agreed with Alito that Gorsuch was being a bad textualist. According to Kavanaugh, even if firing a man for being gay is an action that, in the most literal sense, is taken “because of” his “sex,” a reasonable reader of the phrase “discriminate because of sex” would see that it does not refer to that kind of discrimination. To Kavanaugh, it was clear that, in common parlance, “sexual orientation discrimination is distinct from, and not a form of, sex discrimination,” and not recognizing that “destabilizes the rule of law” and “thwarts democratic accountability.” Invoking the separation of powers, he said that Gorsuch was usurping Congress’s role to amend a statute.
Among the surprises of this milestone gay-and-transgender-rights decision was that no liberal Justices wrote at all, leaving their conservative colleagues to lambaste one another over whether the Court’s method was a grave betrayal of Scalia. Each opinion appeared to accept the terms of the textualist enterprise, arguing only about whether it was being done correctly, and what the ordinary meaning of the words were in the context of 1964. As Justice Elena Kagan said in an interview in 2015, “I think we’re all textualists now in a way that just was not remotely true when Justice Scalia joined the bench.” She went on to explain that “the center of gravity has moved” toward his method—toward “the idea that, yes, Congress has written something and your job truly is to read and interpret it, and that means staring at the words on the page.”
Textualism’s main competitor has been “purposivism,” which holds that a judge should identify the purpose of the statute, and if there is a conflict between the text and the “spirit” of a law, the latter wins out. Conservatives became distrustful of the indeterminacy of purposivism in the nineteen-eighties, in reaction to several decades of a liberal Court expanding rights and protections based on broad reasoning about laws’ social purposes. Scalia believed that the “departure from text” was incompatible with democracy, even “tyrannical,” because the quixotic search for legislative intent would, in practice, end with judges imposing their views of what the legislature should have done. Textualism was therefore presented as a way to limit the discretion of judges and prevent them from engaging in lawmaking, which belongs to the legislature. But Scalia’s extreme insistence on excluding key evidence of intent—particularly legislative history—could sometimes result in textualists actually thwarting what the legislature evidently meant to accomplish.
William Eskridge, the leading liberal critic of textualism, has suggested that the malleability of language means that the words of a text do not constrain judges from reaching their desired outcomes any more than their looking to other evidence of legislative purpose. According to Eskridge, a judge should implement the general goals of an old statute by adapting its meaning to the changed social context, in ways that might well contradict the text’s semantic meaning or its specific directives. Such a non-textualist approach could, of course, lead to the same result that Gorsuch reached. In Bostock, the “liberal” outcome, from a textualist, conservative Justice, joined by conservative and liberal colleagues, illustrated both textualism’s dominance and its growing ideological ambivalence. The sharp conflict among conservatives also underscored that textualism is no less indeterminate than other methods of interpretation.
Justice Alito warned that “the entire Federal Judiciary will be mired for years in disputes about the reach of the Court’s reasoning,” and provided an extraordinary—and quite helpful—fifty-two-page appendix, including more than a hundred federal statutes that prohibit discrimination because of “sex,” and that will surely be affected by Bostock’s logic. One is Title IX, which prohibits schools that receive federal funding from discriminating “on the basis of sex,” and now will likely be interpreted to protect gay and transgender students. Bostock also seriously undermines the Trump Administration’s recent interpretation of Congress’s ban on sex discrimination in health care to exclude protections for transgender people. But the Court’s opinion also has some potential land mines for liberals. For one, the extreme formalism of its vision of what it is to discriminate “because of sex” means that a person’s gender, sexual orientation, or transgender status should be irrelevant to institutional decisions. On this theory, heterosexual and cisgender people, too, may have valid Title VII claims if they are not hired or promoted because of their sexual orientation or gender identity, say, by an organization that preferred to hire or promote gay or transgender individuals to work with the communities it serves.
And Bostock surely stands to affect other categories that Title VII addresses, most importantly race. In Steelworkers v. Weber, in 1979, the Court held that race-based affirmative action was legal under Title VII. The decision was a classic example of purposivist interpretation by the great liberal Justice William Brennan, who explicitly focussed on Title VII’s “spirit” rather than its text, using legislative history and historical context to reason that Congress had intended to insure integration of African-Americans through employment opportunities. But, in Bostock, the echo we hear instead is of Chief Justice Roberts in Parents Involved in Community Schools v. Seattle, which found that race-based school assignments undertaken to produce racially diverse schools violated the equal-protection clause of the Constitution. In a famously hyper-formalist statement, Roberts wrote, “The way to stop discrimination on the basis of race is to stop discriminating on the basis of race.”
With the Court expected to hear affirmative-action cases within two years—including ongoing lawsuits against Harvard and the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill—there is reason to think that Bostock’s formalist articulations on discrimination will bolster a conservative decision to dismantle race-conscious admissions policies. Gorsuch offers a hint of that logic, writing that Title VII protects “individuals rather than groups,” and that any scheme that treats individuals differently because of their protected characteristic is unlawful, “even if the scheme promotes equality at the group level” and is “motivated by a wish to achieve classwide equality.” These words reveal that he has affirmative action in his sights, because affirmative-action policies necessarily consider race in their treatment of individuals.
Bostock opened by acknowledging that “sometimes small gestures can have unexpected consequences,” and that “major initiatives practically guarantee” unexpected consequences. Title VII has now resulted in the veritable thunderbolt of the Supreme Court interpreting “sex” to protect gay and transgender individuals from discrimination. So, too, we can see that textualism leads to acutely different consequences in the hands of different interpreters, unmoored from its ideological associations—driving home that interpretive methods, no less than texts, evade control by their creators and expounders. We may try to predict what comes next or in a few decades. But what’s most predictable is that expectations will be unsettled, because words so often have unforeseen meanings for later readers. We obsess over interpretation because it gives rights and takes them away.


newyorker--2020-06-27--What Activities Are Safe as the Coronavirus Continues to Spread?

On Tuesday , Anthony Fauci , the director of the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases , testified before Congress that the U.S. is seeing a “ disturbing surge ” in coronavirus cases .
He added , “ The next couple of weeks are going to be critical in our ability to address those surges we are seeing in Florida , Texas , Arizona , and other states.
” There have now been more than a hundred and twenty thousand deaths from the virus in the U.S. , and the American caseload , after being relatively even with Europe @ @ @ @ @ @ @ it .
Despite these indicators , most states are in the process of reopening their economies .
To discuss the status of the pandemic and how Americans should think about conducting their lives in response to it , I spoke by phone with Marc Lipsitch , a professor of epidemiology at Harvard ’ s T. H. Chan School of Public Health .
During our conversation , which has been edited for length and clarity , we discussed why contract tracing may be less effective than some had hoped , what states should be @ @ @ @ @ @ @ how much outdoor activity is now safe for most people .
What is your big-picture takeaway about the state of the virus in terms of where we are today , on June 23rd ?
In a few places , it ’ s very much under control and then in other places , like certain parts of the United States and Brazil , it ’ s not at all under control .
Because a small minority of the population has been infected to date , and because of the level of contagiousness that it @ @ @ @ @ @ @ way from the point where natural immunity , even if it ’ s strong , will provide a significant block to further transmission of the infection and , therefore , we ’ re just in this rather awful position .
As at the beginning of the pandemic , most of the population is still susceptible .
We ’ ve learned something about how to control it and what works and especially what doesn ’ t , and we ’ re just at a position where further spread is inevitable in most parts of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ how we limit that and how we mitigate the consequences of having it , and also the consequences of limiting it , which are also really terrible .
What are your biggest lessons about what has and has not worked ?
I think there ’ s emerging evidence—not proof yet , but emerging evidence—of some seasonality to transmission .
I think we ’ ve learned that a very intense shutdown of society , as in either the European version or the East Asian version , can reverse transmission even in the season of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to its most intense .
A big ingredient in that was the locking down of populations , and another ingredient was the contact tracing and testing and case-based interventions .
I think New York and some other places that didn ’ t have testing in place at the time when the epidemic was most intense , and certainly didn ’ t have contact tracing in place , have shown that lockdowns alone can control transmission and bring the reproduction number below one .
What we don ’ t know yet is which parts @ @ @ @ @ @ @ maintaining transmission at an acceptable level .
Probably that ’ s because different people have different ideas about what ’ s acceptable , and partly that ’ s because we haven ’ t done the relaxation in places that really had it under control—and we especially haven ’ t done that in the winter .
I think the question is , How much can we restore society to a minimal level of functioning while still controlling the virus ?
Is there an overlap between acceptable viral control and acceptable social functioning ?
I @ @ @ @ @ @ @ location , because both concepts of acceptability are social constructs , but I think it ’ s going to be particularly challenging in a place like the U.S. , which seems to have some of the least tolerance of any place in the world for the pain brought by the lockdowns .
How much of America ’ s problem is its size , and how much of it is luck , and how much of it is poor policy choices ?
I think size is an important piece of it .
I think @ @ @ @ @ @ @ minimization of the threat by our national government , and a deliberate sidelining of public-health authorities in the response .
And if you take the President ’ s words seriously , there are deliberate efforts to continue misunderstanding the epidemic by keeping testing limited .
It all amounts to a really clear explanation for why we have the size of problem we have .
I think we had time at the beginning of this epidemic—really , almost a couple of months , January and February—to make preparations , to treat this as a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ was worth investing money , time , and political will to avert , and that ’ s what a number of other countries did .
They built up their health-care systems , they figured out ways to get out testing , and made many other preparations—and our national government actively blocked doing that .
Did those missteps cause the divergence , or is it that we ’ re not taking steps now that other countries are taking ?
I think we ’ re missing a second opportunity .
In those places where it @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , which is most of the United States , we should be , again , using the time to actively prepare for the eventuality of having our health-care system overwhelmed and also trying to prevent it .
Even this morning , there was news from Florida that the governor is trying to change the reporting of intensive-care beds , and that in a state that ’ s been one of the worst states for reporting clearly what the data show throughout the epidemic .
You know , this is a crisis where good @ @ @ @ @ @ @ with the way that you report data to try to make things look better is exactly the opposite of what we need .
I think that , at some state levels , there are a lot of missed opportunities to be gearing up rather than gearing down .
We ’ re missing the second opportunity .
It ’ s not just the history .
In some places , we ’ re doing much better .
Massachusetts is an example of a place that I think is being about as effective as it could @ @ @ @ @ @ @ that ’ s so effective ?
New York is another one .
The governors are soliciting advice and listening to advice from epidemiologists and scientists .
The data being produced are of relatively high quality .
It ’ s challenging to get good data right now , because public health has been not well funded for so long , and the systems are not great , but the quality of data is relatively high in some of these states , like New York and Massachusetts .
In New York City , for example @ @ @ @ @ @ @ that I ’ m aware of to publish their data on contact tracing , and they got panned in the press for doing it , but they responded to that by publishing more and trying to get more people to look at the data .
My understanding is that there ’ s a clear awareness within state governments like Massachusetts and New York that things could get really bad again , and that plans are being made for how to deal with that and try to avoid some of the difficulties from the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ this as an ongoing threat where , like with insurance , you hope you don ’ t use it , but you put some money and some time into it because you want to be in a better position should things get bad .
Also , the reopening is being targeted to specific metrics of improvements in the COVID-19 burden , and is being done fairly gradually .
That ’ s really different from a lot of other states .

On Tuesday, Anthony Fauci, the director of the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases, testified before Congress that the U.S. is seeing a “disturbing surge” in coronavirus cases. He added, “The next couple of weeks are going to be critical in our ability to address those surges we are seeing in Florida, Texas, Arizona, and other states.” There have now been more than a hundred and twenty thousand deaths from the virus in the U.S., and the American caseload, after being relatively even with Europe’s, has soared ahead of it. Despite these indicators, most states are in the process of reopening their economies.
To discuss the status of the pandemic and how Americans should think about conducting their lives in response to it, I spoke by phone with Marc Lipsitch, a professor of epidemiology at Harvard’s T. H. Chan School of Public Health. During our conversation, which has been edited for length and clarity, we discussed why contact tracing may be less effective than some had hoped, what states should be doing to contain the virus, and how much outdoor activity is now safe for most people.
What is your big-picture takeaway about the state of the virus in terms of where we are today, on June 23rd?
In a few places, it’s very much under control and then in other places, like certain parts of the United States and Brazil, it’s not at all under control. Because a small minority of the population has been infected to date, and because of the level of contagiousness that it has, we’re a long way from the point where natural immunity, even if it’s strong, will provide a significant block to further transmission of the infection and, therefore, we’re just in this rather awful position. As at the beginning of the pandemic, most of the population is still susceptible. We’ve learned something about how to control it and what works and especially what doesn’t, and we’re just at a position where further spread is inevitable in most parts of the world. The only question is how we limit that and how we mitigate the consequences of having it, and also the consequences of limiting it, which are also really terrible.
What are your biggest lessons about what has and has not worked?
I think there’s emerging evidence—not proof yet, but emerging evidence—of some seasonality to transmission. I think we’ve learned that a very intense shutdown of society, as in either the European version or the East Asian version, can reverse transmission even in the season of the year when transmission is probably close to its most intense. A big ingredient in that was the locking down of populations, and another ingredient was the contact tracing and testing and case-based interventions. I think New York and some other places that didn’t have testing in place at the time when the epidemic was most intense, and certainly didn’t have contact tracing in place, have shown that lockdowns alone can control transmission and bring the reproduction number below one.
What we don’t know yet is which parts of that we can relax while still maintaining transmission at an acceptable level. Probably that’s because different people have different ideas about what’s acceptable, and partly that’s because we haven’t done the relaxation in places that really had it under control—and we especially haven’t done that in the winter.
I think the question is, How much can we restore society to a minimal level of functioning while still controlling the virus? Is there an overlap between acceptable viral control and acceptable social functioning? I think that depends a lot on the location, because both concepts of acceptability are social constructs, but I think it’s going to be particularly challenging in a place like the U.S., which seems to have some of the least tolerance of any place in the world for the pain brought by the lockdowns.
How much of America’s problem is its size, and how much of it is luck, and how much of it is poor policy choices?
I think size is an important piece of it. I think not just poor policy choices but deliberate minimization of the threat by our national government, and a deliberate sidelining of public-health authorities in the response. And if you take the President’s words seriously, there are deliberate efforts to continue misunderstanding the epidemic by keeping testing limited. It all amounts to a really clear explanation for why we have the size of problem we have.
I think we had time at the beginning of this epidemic—really, almost a couple of months, January and February—to make preparations, to treat this as a preventable possible crisis, and that it was worth investing money, time, and political will to avert, and that’s what a number of other countries did. They built up their health-care systems, they figured out ways to get out testing, and made many other preparations—and our national government actively blocked doing that.
Did those missteps cause the divergence, or is it that we’re not taking steps now that other countries are taking?
I think we’re missing a second opportunity. In those places where it’s not a crisis right now, which is most of the United States, we should be, again, using the time to actively prepare for the eventuality of having our health-care system overwhelmed and also trying to prevent it. Even this morning, there was news from Florida that the governor is trying to change the reporting of intensive-care beds, and that in a state that’s been one of the worst states for reporting clearly what the data show throughout the epidemic. You know, this is a crisis where good data is essential, and playing around with the way that you report data to try to make things look better is exactly the opposite of what we need. I think that, at some state levels, there are a lot of missed opportunities to be gearing up rather than gearing down. We’re missing the second opportunity. It’s not just the history.
In some places, we’re doing much better. Massachusetts is an example of a place that I think is being about as effective as it could possibly be.
What are they doing that’s so effective?
New York is another one. The governors are soliciting advice and listening to advice from epidemiologists and scientists. The data being produced are of relatively high quality. It’s challenging to get good data right now, because public health has been not well funded for so long, and the systems are not great, but the quality of data is relatively high in some of these states, like New York and Massachusetts.
In New York City, for example, they’ve been the first that I’m aware of to publish their data on contact tracing, and they got panned in the press for doing it, but they responded to that by publishing more and trying to get more people to look at the data. My understanding is that there’s a clear awareness within state governments like Massachusetts and New York that things could get really bad again, and that plans are being made for how to deal with that and try to avoid some of the difficulties from the first round. It’s treating this as an ongoing threat where, like with insurance, you hope you don’t use it, but you put some money and some time into it because you want to be in a better position should things get bad. Also, the reopening is being targeted to specific metrics of improvements in the COVID-19 burden, and is being done fairly gradually. That’s really different from a lot of other states.