newyorker--2020-03-22--Performing Artists and the Financial Fallout of the Coronavirus

On Thursday , March 12th , the morning after the N.B.A .
suspended its season and Donald Trump banned travel from Europe , the actor Emily Cass McDonnell was in rehearsals for an upcoming production of Annie Baker ’ s play “ The Antipodes.
” In the play , a group of people sit around a table brainstorming for a project , the exact nature of which is never fully defined .
In the last scene , as an apocalyptic storm brews outside , the group ’ s leader arrives and calls the whole thing off .
That Thursday , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ when , weeks into rehearsal , McDonnell and the rest of the cast learned that , due to safety measures to contain the spread of the coronavirus , their show was being cancelled .
McDonnell did not question what needed to be done , but did wonder whether the shutdowns would last .
At first , members of the cast discussed whether they might perform the show with lower audience capacity , or live-stream it .
They considered reading the script through one last time , but some of the actors felt that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ others had to make arrangements to get back home .
A member of the creative team begged the producers to wait to destroy the set , just in case .
“ I think some people really believed it would be two weeks , ” she told me , when we spoke on the phone a few days later .
By the next morning , it was clear that even a gathering of the cast would be irresponsible .
New York ’ s performing-arts scene has taken hits before—after 9/11 , during the recession @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Sandy—but its elimination for an indefinite period of time is unprecedented .
On March 11th and 12th , Governor Andrew Cuomo , of New York , forbade all gatherings of more than five hundred people , and Broadway and Off Broadway theatres were shut down .
The cancellation of theatrical runs , musical tours , comedy shows , club nights , film screenings , book launches , and political fund-raisers quickly followed .
The night of Monday , March 16th , when bars and restaurants were officially closed , the calendar had been @ @ @ @ @ @ @ clusters of friends lose their jobs in the past , but last week , when dozens of friends and acquaintances saw their livelihoods evaporate in a matter of twenty-four hours , was different .
Requests appeared online : if you could afford to eat the cost of your ticket , consider it a donation to the theatre .
If you couldn ’ t go see the musician live , buy her album on Bandcamp .
Night clubs started Venmo accounts for their bartenders and bouncers .
Independent bookstores , where readings had been @ @ @ @ @ @ @ who bought new releases .
The world seemed to bifurcate into people who still had jobs ( for now ) and those who didn ’ t , with the former anxiously looking for ways to cover for the latter , who were now scrambling for new sources of income , any income .
On my social-media feeds , one musician I know offered virtual cello lessons ; another offered virtual reiki consultations .
People who produce sound events advertised their services mastering music .
People put their musical equipment up for sale .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ scene in New York is inextricably linked to the service and event-production industries , and the loss of creative livelihoods has been compounded by the closures of bars , restaurants , and coffee shops , and the cancellations of weddings , conferences , and other large events .
Day jobs and night jobs disappeared at the same time .
I spoke with McDonnell on Tuesday , the day that she had been scheduled to fly from New York , where the production had held its rehearsals , to Los Angeles , where its @ @ @ @ @ @ @ at the Mark Taper Forum , on April 1st .
She had just learned that she and the rest of the cast would be paid for exactly one more week .
She had spent the morning on the phone , trying to negotiate a less punitive severance .
She had called the state about unemployment benefits , and had spent almost an hour on hold with the New York Department of Labor , who told her to call back on April 4th , when she would qualify .
She wondered whether , on @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a Department of Labor to call—the person she spoke with , who was still working from an office , told her that he couldn ’ t work remotely because he didn ’ t own a computer .
Her concerns were not only material but existential .
Like many of us , McDonnell had spent the weekend coming to understand that the night life and culture that many of us are missing will not simply reconstitute itself the moment we can all hang out together again .
Venues will close .
Young people who @ @ @ @ @ @ @ careers and can no longer pay their rents will return to the cities they came from .
McDonnell , who lives alone , felt isolated and worried .
Online chatter about watching television and cooking beans was not helping .
“ I can ’ t concentrate , ” she told me on the phone , last Tuesday .
“ I haven ’ t settled into watching shows and reading my books and catching up on things .
I know that everyone ’ s in shock and trying to make the best of it @ @ @ @ @ @ @ notion of a staycation feels super offensive to me.
” After the barrage of closures of last week , many of the performers I spoke with were still in this process of adjustment .
For an office worker , the question of how to exercise can be answered with a yoga video in the living room ; for a dancer , maintaining physical conditioning without space to move can be more difficult .
( Alicia Graf Mack , the director of dance at the Juilliard School , broadcast a barre class online from @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ t have music today , ” she says .
“ I ’ ll talk you through.
” ) Writers , who at least can console themselves with the fact that a book is a material object that exists independent of groups of people , are lamenting the rare chance that a book launch offers to emerge from solitude and interact with an audience .
Rebecca Dinerstein Knight , whose second novel , “ Hex , ” will be published at the end of the month , told me , “ The failure @ @ @ @ @ @ @ with respect to work that has taken years.
” Dinerstein Knight had events planned in New York , Los Angeles , and San Francisco , all of which have been cancelled .
“ Aside from the couple hundred of book sales that we would have brought in at those larger events , the word of mouth and the community building and the sort of long extension of those events in those geographies is unquantifiable.
” Plays that were going before an audience for the first time might never get their chance .
Daniel @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” with the late Michael Friedman .
Its run at Playwrights Horizons was cancelled the week of its première .
“ My colleagues and producers will never get to see it , ” he said .
“ The actors are sad because they had a show that they loved and believed in , and for a lot of them it was going to be their New York débuts.
” But the most pressing needs were economic .
“ All theatre people , except the ones who have institutional jobs—we ’ re gig people @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , as an associate director on the Broadway show “ Come From Away ” is also now gone , said .
“ We ’ re no different than a handyman .
When the theatres closed we were literally all unemployed .
Everyone I know is unemployed.
” The economic fallout of the virus has made the disparity between employed workers and independent contractors clearer than ever .
New York has a paid-sick-leave law , but it does not cover contract workers .
Many freelance workers in the arts have high self-employment taxes and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ 401 ( k ) matching programs or employer-backed disability insurance , or severance when work is called off .
If artists have health insurance through a guild or a union , coverage is usually dependent on working for a certain number of weeks every year .
“ Think about losing your health coverage in the midst of a pandemic , ” Len Egert , the national executive director of the American Guild of Musical Artists , a union that represents workers in the fields of opera , choral music , and dance , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ sixty collective-bargaining agreements .
Egert told me the response has varied by company .
“ Some companies are stepping up and doing great—Sarasota Ballet is paying dancers through their contracted season , ” he told me .
“ Other companies are cancelling a performance and not paying anything .
”

On Thursday, March 12th, the morning after the N.B.A. suspended its season and Donald Trump banned travel from Europe, the actor Emily Cass McDonnell was in rehearsals for an upcoming production of Annie Baker’s play “The Antipodes.” In the play, a group of people sit around a table brainstorming for a project, the exact nature of which is never fully defined. In the last scene, as an apocalyptic storm brews outside, the group’s leader arrives and calls the whole thing off. That Thursday, the finale took on an oracular significance when, weeks into rehearsal, McDonnell and the rest of the cast learned that, due to safety measures to contain the spread of the coronavirus, their show was being cancelled.
McDonnell did not question what needed to be done, but did wonder whether the shutdowns would last. At first, members of the cast discussed whether they might perform the show with lower audience capacity, or live-stream it. They considered reading the script through one last time, but some of the actors felt that it would be too painful, and others had to make arrangements to get back home. A member of the creative team begged the producers to wait to destroy the set, just in case. “I think some people really believed it would be two weeks,” she told me, when we spoke on the phone a few days later. By the next morning, it was clear that even a gathering of the cast would be irresponsible.
New York’s performing-arts scene has taken hits before—after 9/11, during the recession that began in 2007, after Hurricane Sandy—but its elimination for an indefinite period of time is unprecedented. On March 11th and 12th, Governor Andrew Cuomo, of New York, forbade all gatherings of more than five hundred people, and Broadway and Off Broadway theatres were shut down. The cancellation of theatrical runs, musical tours, comedy shows, club nights, film screenings, book launches, and political fund-raisers quickly followed. The night of Monday, March 16th, when bars and restaurants were officially closed, the calendar had been wiped clean. I have seen small clusters of friends lose their jobs in the past, but last week, when dozens of friends and acquaintances saw their livelihoods evaporate in a matter of twenty-four hours, was different. Requests appeared online: if you could afford to eat the cost of your ticket, consider it a donation to the theatre. If you couldn’t go see the musician live, buy her album on Bandcamp. Night clubs started Venmo accounts for their bartenders and bouncers. Independent bookstores, where readings had been cancelled, offered discounted shipping to people who bought new releases. The world seemed to bifurcate into people who still had jobs (for now) and those who didn’t, with the former anxiously looking for ways to cover for the latter, who were now scrambling for new sources of income, any income. On my social-media feeds, one musician I know offered virtual cello lessons; another offered virtual reiki consultations. People who produce sound events advertised their services mastering music. People put their musical equipment up for sale. As in most cities, the arts scene in New York is inextricably linked to the service and event-production industries, and the loss of creative livelihoods has been compounded by the closures of bars, restaurants, and coffee shops, and the cancellations of weddings, conferences, and other large events. Day jobs and night jobs disappeared at the same time.
I spoke with McDonnell on Tuesday, the day that she had been scheduled to fly from New York, where the production had held its rehearsals, to Los Angeles, where its opening night would have been held, at the Mark Taper Forum, on April 1st. She had just learned that she and the rest of the cast would be paid for exactly one more week. She had spent the morning on the phone, trying to negotiate a less punitive severance. She had called the state about unemployment benefits, and had spent almost an hour on hold with the New York Department of Labor, who told her to call back on April 4th, when she would qualify. She wondered whether, on April 4th, there would still be a Department of Labor to call—the person she spoke with, who was still working from an office, told her that he couldn’t work remotely because he didn’t own a computer.
Her concerns were not only material but existential. Like many of us, McDonnell had spent the weekend coming to understand that the night life and culture that many of us are missing will not simply reconstitute itself the moment we can all hang out together again. Venues will close. Young people who came to New York to pursue creative careers and can no longer pay their rents will return to the cities they came from. McDonnell, who lives alone, felt isolated and worried. Online chatter about watching television and cooking beans was not helping. “I can’t concentrate,” she told me on the phone, last Tuesday. “I haven’t settled into watching shows and reading my books and catching up on things. I know that everyone’s in shock and trying to make the best of it and deal with it but the whole notion of a staycation feels super offensive to me.”
After the barrage of closures of last week, many of the performers I spoke with were still in this process of adjustment. For an office worker, the question of how to exercise can be answered with a yoga video in the living room; for a dancer, maintaining physical conditioning without space to move can be more difficult. (Alicia Graf Mack, the director of dance at the Juilliard School, broadcast a barre class online from an empty studio: “We don’t have music today,” she says. “I’ll talk you through.”) Writers, who at least can console themselves with the fact that a book is a material object that exists independent of groups of people, are lamenting the rare chance that a book launch offers to emerge from solitude and interact with an audience. Rebecca Dinerstein Knight, whose second novel, “Hex,” will be published at the end of the month, told me, “The failure to celebrate becomes this weird transcendent problem with respect to work that has taken years.” Dinerstein Knight had events planned in New York, Los Angeles, and San Francisco, all of which have been cancelled. “Aside from the couple hundred of book sales that we would have brought in at those larger events, the word of mouth and the community building and the sort of long extension of those events in those geographies is unquantifiable.”
Plays that were going before an audience for the first time might never get their chance. Daniel Goldstein co-wrote the musical “Unknown Soldier” with the late Michael Friedman. Its run at Playwrights Horizons was cancelled the week of its première. “My colleagues and producers will never get to see it,” he said. “The actors are sad because they had a show that they loved and believed in, and for a lot of them it was going to be their New York débuts.” But the most pressing needs were economic. “All theatre people, except the ones who have institutional jobs—we’re gig people,” Goldstein, whose day job, as an associate director on the Broadway show “Come From Away” is also now gone, said. “We’re no different than a handyman. When the theatres closed we were literally all unemployed. Everyone I know is unemployed.”
The economic fallout of the virus has made the disparity between employed workers and independent contractors clearer than ever. New York has a paid-sick-leave law, but it does not cover contract workers. Many freelance workers in the arts have high self-employment taxes and health-insurance costs; they do not have 401(k) matching programs or employer-backed disability insurance, or severance when work is called off. If artists have health insurance through a guild or a union, coverage is usually dependent on working for a certain number of weeks every year. “Think about losing your health coverage in the midst of a pandemic,” Len Egert, the national executive director of the American Guild of Musical Artists, a union that represents workers in the fields of opera, choral music, and dance, said. The union has more than sixty collective-bargaining agreements. Egert told me the response has varied by company. “Some companies are stepping up and doing great—Sarasota Ballet is paying dancers through their contracted season,” he told me. “Other companies are cancelling a performance and not paying anything.”


newyorker--2020-03-22--How the Coronavirus Shattered Trump’s Serene Confidence

Early last week , the Trump era—which defined itself by a lurid celebration of “ alternative facts , ” a contempt for science , and an assault on global institutions and the “ administrative state ” —came to an end .
Regrettably , Donald Trump remains in office , but , at least for the moment , he appears to have ceded the argument : he can not bend the harshest realities of the world to his fantasies .
The aggressive and deadly coronavirus is unimpressed and unimpeded by the bluster of a con .
Yet the prolonged process of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ it took him to recognize the power of the global pandemic that has emptied our streets , has put untold numbers of Americans at risk .
The disease now known as COVID-19 was first identified three months ago , in the Chinese city of Wuhan .
Much like SARS , which flared eighteen years ago , the likeliest breeding ground for the new coronavirus was a live-animal market .
Like SARS , H.I.V.
, and Ebola , COVID-19 , scientists believe , is a zoonotic disease , one that “ jumps ” from @ @ @ @ @ @ @ The coronavirus that causes COVID-19 soon made its way to nearly every corner and crevice of the planet .
For many weeks , the President resisted understanding the magnitude of the problems and the responsibilities of his office .
In late January , he declared , “ We have it totally under control .
.
.
.
It ’ s going to be just fine.
” A month later , he told attendees at a White House celebration of Black History Month , “ One day—it ’ s like a miracle—it will disappear.
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ ?
He gave himself “ a ten.
” Those who raised concerns about the Administration ’ s cuts in emergency preparedness or the outrageous failure to supply testing kits were promulgating “ a hoax.
” This blithe unconcern for the looming crisis was hardly limited to Trump .
His satraps in the “ alternative fact ” industry took their cues from him to rest easy in a warm bubble bath of denialism .
Rush Limbaugh , who received a Presidential Medal of Freedom at Trump ’ s latest State of the Union address @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the virus was “ the common cold , folks.
” And , by the way , “ Keep in mind where the coronavirus came from .
It came from a country that Bernie Sanders wants to turn the United States into a mirror image of : Communist China.
” Mark Steyn , filling in for Limbaugh one day , said that a shelter-in-place order had been issued in the Bay Area because “ it ’ s a big gay town , San Francisco , and they ’ re the ones with all the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ & Friends , ” Ainsley Earhardt dismissed any cautions against travel–– “ It ’ s actually the safest time to fly ” ––and her sidekick Pete Hegseth mentioned that he was starting to think that the Democrats were “ rooting for the coronavirus to spread.
” Over on Fox Business , Trish Regan accused the liberal media and Democrats of trying to manipulate the news of the coronavirus as “ yet another attempt to impeach the President.
” Sean Hannity , who has the biggest ratings on cable news , invited Dr. Anthony @ @ @ @ @ @ @ on the White House coronavirus task force , to appear on his show .
But , in Hannity ’ s world , as in Trump ’ s , bloviation precedes fact .
And so Hannity went first .
“ The standard flu every single year kills tens of thousands of Americans .
Now , does truth matter ?
Does perspective matter ?
” Fauci , just as he does when standing beside the President , betrayed no sign of disdain , as he politely corrected the misinformation .
“ Sean , to make @ @ @ @ @ @ @ about what goes on , ” he said , COVID-19 is “ ten times more lethal than the seasonal flu.
” Fake news and conspiracy theories are opportunistic viruses , and for many weeks there was no end to their spread .
Jerry Falwell , Jr. , one of Trump ’ s leading evangelical supporters , repeated a theory suggested to him by a restaurant owner he knows : “ You remember the North Korean leader promised ‘ a Christmas present for America back in December ’ ?
Could it be they got @ @ @ @ @ @ @ present ?
” Ron Paul , a former Republican Presidential candidate and a physician , wrote , “ People should ask themselves whether this coronavirus ‘ pandemic ’ could be a big hoax , with the actual danger of the disease massively exaggerated by those who seek to profit––financially or politically––from the ensuing panic.
” During this dangerous period , a range of polls revealed that Republicans , in particular , trust Trump ’ s information on the virus more than that of the “ lame-stream media.
” A Marist College-NPR-PBS poll found @ @ @ @ @ @ @ thought the risk was being “ blown out of proportion.
” The Trumpian efforts to downplay the threat to public health held fast among “ the base.
” What finally shattered Trump ’ s serene confidence and the consensus of his followers ?
Fauci and other officials on the White House task force certainly began to cut through his dismissals in their briefing sessions .
An analysis from epidemiologists at Imperial College London , forecasting as many as 2.2 million American fatalities and a health-care system under siege , reportedly helped advance the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , because this is Trump World , the President listened attentively when he received a visit at Mar-a-Lago from Tucker Carlson , who broke ranks with his Fox News colleagues and urged serious action .
Trump can not be forgiven for his preening and his belatedness .
And yet this least trustworthy of Commanders-in-Chief is entrusted by the authority of his office to make a series of critical decisions .
In order to “ flatten the curve , ” we have rightly set in motion a set of edicts that , while necessary @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to batter the economy , create deep atomization , and cause all manner of suffering .
The human need for solidarity is frustrated by the need for social distancing .
An economy that seizes up entirely could , in theory , produce nearly as much suffering as the virus itself , particularly for the most vulnerable among us .
A host of well-judged policy decisions must be made and executed effectively if the country is to be spared the worst .
As recently as Friday , however , the President spent much of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ alarming the public .
It is better to be lucky than good , the old saw has it .
Trump is not good ; we must hope that he will be lucky .
Right now , as we sit in our homes , washing our hands yet again , as we try to read the querulous expressions of our children , scientists and pharmaceutical companies are racing to develop antiviral treatments and—what will be our most valuable weapon—a vaccine .
But no such deliverance is likely to arrive in this calendar year .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ protection has become more urgent than ever .
Misinformation and cant , along with a kindred scorn for science and professional expertise : these things are pathogens , too .
Counterfeit facts can polarize , alienate , disaffect , rouse misdirected rage , and foment social division .
They have long come at a cost to our civility ; at a time of pandemic , especially , they also come at a cost in human lives .
♦

Early last week, the Trump era—which defined itself by a lurid celebration of “alternative facts,” a contempt for science, and an assault on global institutions and the “administrative state”—came to an end. Regrettably, Donald Trump remains in office, but, at least for the moment, he appears to have ceded the argument: he cannot bend the harshest realities of the world to his fantasies. The aggressive and deadly coronavirus is unimpressed and unimpeded by the bluster of a con. Yet the prolonged process of Trump’s humbling, the time it took him to recognize the power of the global pandemic that has emptied our streets, has put untold numbers of Americans at risk.
The disease now known as COVID-19 was first identified three months ago, in the Chinese city of Wuhan. Much like SARS, which flared eighteen years ago, the likeliest breeding ground for the new coronavirus was a live-animal market. Like SARS, H.I.V., and Ebola, COVID-19, scientists believe, is a zoonotic disease, one that “jumps” from mammalian animal hosts to human beings. The coronavirus that causes COVID-19 soon made its way to nearly every corner and crevice of the planet.
For many weeks, the President resisted understanding the magnitude of the problems and the responsibilities of his office. In late January, he declared, “We have it totally under control. . . . It’s going to be just fine.” A month later, he told attendees at a White House celebration of Black History Month, “One day—it’s like a miracle—it will disappear.” Was he doing a good job? He gave himself “a ten.” Those who raised concerns about the Administration’s cuts in emergency preparedness or the outrageous failure to supply testing kits were promulgating “a hoax.”
This blithe unconcern for the looming crisis was hardly limited to Trump. His satraps in the “alternative fact” industry took their cues from him to rest easy in a warm bubble bath of denialism. Rush Limbaugh, who received a Presidential Medal of Freedom at Trump’s latest State of the Union address, told his immense radio audience that the virus was “the common cold, folks.” And, by the way, “Keep in mind where the coronavirus came from. It came from a country that Bernie Sanders wants to turn the United States into a mirror image of: Communist China.” Mark Steyn, filling in for Limbaugh one day, said that a shelter-in-place order had been issued in the Bay Area because “it’s a big gay town, San Francisco, and they’re the ones with all the compromised immune systems.”
On “Fox & Friends,” Ainsley Earhardt dismissed any cautions against travel––“It’s actually the safest time to fly”––and her sidekick Pete Hegseth mentioned that he was starting to think that the Democrats were “rooting for the coronavirus to spread.” Over on Fox Business, Trish Regan accused the liberal media and Democrats of trying to manipulate the news of the coronavirus as “yet another attempt to impeach the President.”
Sean Hannity, who has the biggest ratings on cable news, invited Dr. Anthony Fauci, the most visible public-health official on the White House coronavirus task force, to appear on his show. But, in Hannity’s world, as in Trump’s, bloviation precedes fact. And so Hannity went first. “The standard flu every single year kills tens of thousands of Americans. Now, does truth matter? Does perspective matter?” Fauci, just as he does when standing beside the President, betrayed no sign of disdain, as he politely corrected the misinformation. “Sean, to make sure your viewers get an accurate idea about what goes on,” he said, COVID-19 is “ten times more lethal than the seasonal flu.”
Fake news and conspiracy theories are opportunistic viruses, and for many weeks there was no end to their spread. Jerry Falwell, Jr., one of Trump’s leading evangelical supporters, repeated a theory suggested to him by a restaurant owner he knows: “You remember the North Korean leader promised ‘a Christmas present for America back in December’? Could it be they got together with China and this is that present?” Ron Paul, a former Republican Presidential candidate and a physician, wrote, “People should ask themselves whether this coronavirus ‘pandemic’ could be a big hoax, with the actual danger of the disease massively exaggerated by those who seek to profit––financially or politically––from the ensuing panic.”
During this dangerous period, a range of polls revealed that Republicans, in particular, trust Trump’s information on the virus more than that of the “lame-stream media.” A Marist College-NPR-PBS poll found that more than half of this group thought the risk was being “blown out of proportion.” The Trumpian efforts to downplay the threat to public health held fast among “the base.”
What finally shattered Trump’s serene confidence and the consensus of his followers? Fauci and other officials on the White House task force certainly began to cut through his dismissals in their briefing sessions. An analysis from epidemiologists at Imperial College London, forecasting as many as 2.2 million American fatalities and a health-care system under siege, reportedly helped advance the argument for strict social-distancing measures. And, because this is Trump World, the President listened attentively when he received a visit at Mar-a-Lago from Tucker Carlson, who broke ranks with his Fox News colleagues and urged serious action.
Trump cannot be forgiven for his preening and his belatedness. And yet this least trustworthy of Commanders-in-Chief is entrusted by the authority of his office to make a series of critical decisions. In order to “flatten the curve,” we have rightly set in motion a set of edicts that, while necessary to control the pandemic, will continue to batter the economy, create deep atomization, and cause all manner of suffering. The human need for solidarity is frustrated by the need for social distancing. An economy that seizes up entirely could, in theory, produce nearly as much suffering as the virus itself, particularly for the most vulnerable among us. A host of well-judged policy decisions must be made and executed effectively if the country is to be spared the worst. As recently as Friday, however, the President spent much of his briefing berating a reporter and further alarming the public. It is better to be lucky than good, the old saw has it. Trump is not good; we must hope that he will be lucky.
Right now, as we sit in our homes, washing our hands yet again, as we try to read the querulous expressions of our children, scientists and pharmaceutical companies are racing to develop antiviral treatments and—what will be our most valuable weapon—a vaccine. But no such deliverance is likely to arrive in this calendar year. In the meantime, another form of protection has become more urgent than ever. Misinformation and cant, along with a kindred scorn for science and professional expertise: these things are pathogens, too. Counterfeit facts can polarize, alienate, disaffect, rouse misdirected rage, and foment social division. They have long come at a cost to our civility; at a time of pandemic, especially, they also come at a cost in human lives. ♦
A Guide to the Coronavirus


newyorker--2020-03-22--My Mother Is Under Quarantine, but We’re Still Staying Close

By Sunday , March 15th , only thirty-five people in the United Kingdom had died of COVID-19 .
My mother , Janie Caesar , knew one of them .
On Monday morning , she sent me a text that read , “ Vrons , one of my dearest friends , came to Normandy with us , died last night C Virus .
.
.
distraught .
Stay safe darling .
.
.
MD x.
” “ MD ” is my mother ’ s playful , semi-ironic signature .
It stands for “ Mother Dearest.
” I didn ’ t know @ @ @ @ @ @ @ that , six decades ago , she and my mother had been contemporaries at an austere convent school in Sussex , in the South of England , and that in recent years they had reconnected .
My mother , who is seventy-three and lives in London , is intensely sociable .
She has an excruciating habit of talking to strangers on trains .
Her chatty , and sometimes indecipherable , e-mails have a wider circulation than some local newspapers .
It ’ s not an exaggeration to say that she would describe at @ @ @ @ @ @ @ friends.
” Losing Vrons was a blow .
The two women enjoyed each other ’ s company enough that they spent vacations together .
In 2018 , they went to France with my stepfather , Peter , and visited the Normandy beaches and several Second World War battlefields .
I remember seeing a low-quality selfie that they took during the trip .
The three of them are on a boat , somewhere in the English Channel .
A shadow falls across the portrait ; a third of Vrons ’ s head is missing @ @ @ @ @ @ @ government now terms an underlying health condition : a heart problem .
Recently , her situation had deteriorated .
Although she and my mother hadn ’ t seen each other in person for a while , they were in regular contact .
On Saturday , my mother received a text from Vrons saying that she had been admitted to a hospital near her home , in Surrey , just outside London , with a cardiovascular complaint , and that she had tested positive for COVID-19 .
“ It ’ s all very scary @ @ @ @ @ @ @ after me , ” Vrons wrote .
She died on Sunday night .
When I received the news , I felt a pang .
I am the youngest of three boys and the one best placed to visit my mother .
( My oldest brother is serving overseas , as an Army medic ; my other brother , an emergency-room doctor who also advises the Scottish government , is working onerous hours . )
I live in Manchester , and under normal circumstances I could have easily gone down to London to see @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the train to see me .
We could have hugged , eaten lunch , and irritated each other in familiar and comforting ways .
My children , who are seven and four , would have cheered her up .
But these are not normal circumstances .
Even if we had ignored the British government ’ s warning against nonessential travel , we could not have met each other in good conscience .
My mother has her own underlying health problems .
In the summer of 2017 , she was given a diagnosis of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ malignant pleural effusion—a terminal condition .
The doctor told her that she might not see Christmas that year .
She outlasted his dire prediction , but she is now on her fourth round of chemotherapy , and her immune system is weak .
A hug from a grandchild infected with COVID-19 could do for her what cancer so far has not .
The British government ’ s current recommendation for people aged seventy and up is to practice strict social distancing .
But the elderly , and others in high-risk groups , will @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of social shielding , or isolation .
That ’ s a long stretch for anyone , but especially in the life of someone for whom time has become precious .
It ’ s also tough for the people separated from ill family members .
In the most hopeful scenario , we won ’ t see my mother until June .
Around the world , people are being asked—or told—to stay home .
My family ’ s story is not unique ; it might even be normal .
But the edicts to protect the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ an untested social experiment .
Nobody knows for sure what the ultimate consequences of drastically reducing personal encounters will be .
What happens when a grandparent doesn ’ t see her grandkids for a while ?
There is convincing research suggesting that loneliness is bad for your health .
Steve Cole , a professor of medicine , psychiatry , and biobehavioral sciences at U.C.L.A.
, has done pioneering work on the subject .
When we spoke , last week , he told me that humans are intrinsically sociable animals .
They need other @ @ @ @ @ @ @ us of contact , and our cells undergo an inflammatory fight-or-flight reaction—which is good if you ’ re expecting to be wounded in battle but bad if you need to fight off a virus .
When I spoke to Kavita Vedhara , a professor of health psychology at the University of Nottingham , she was more direct .
Not only was there a proven link between social isolation and “ poor health outcomes ” ; it was a fact that “ lonely people die quicker.
” As the coronavirus crisis unfolded in England @ @ @ @ @ @ @ whether loneliness was going to be such a big problem .
Yes , some people were physically separated from their friends , caregivers , and loved ones .
But isolation is not the same as loneliness .
Facebook and WhatsApp groups had sprung up , connecting neighbors .
( On Thursday , a printed flyer arrived in our mailbox , inviting my wife and me to join our street ’ s Facebook page . )
Communities were organizing check-ins on older people and on others in need .
There was an outpouring of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in West Yorkshire , a man named Tom Long helps to run the Senior Citizens ’ Support Group , a charity that organizes exercise classes , trips , and a choir for older locals .
When the group was established , a decade ago , its stated purpose was to “ stop elderly people being isolated in their own four walls.
” The coronavirus has brought the group ’ s activities to a temporary stop , but Long—who is seventy-six—was busy designing creative workarounds .
The next choir rehearsal , on Tuesday , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ It ’ s going to be different , ” Long told me , laughing .
Despite this wave of neighborliness , many people I contacted spoke of lost connections .
I e-mailed with Ray Gallop , a ninety-old-year-old retired civil servant in rural Wiltshire ; he is a widower and lives on his own .
Gallop was a keen archer until his ninetieth birthday .
Now he likes to read about medieval and Second World War history , not to mention “ murder/thriller books , ” for “ more relaxed reading.
” One @ @ @ @ @ @ @ weekly drink with a younger neighbor , a historian and journalist .
The coronavirus put an end to this , at least for now .
Gallop wrote , “ I am lucky in that I had gotten used to ‘ self-isolation ’ since Elizabeth , my wife , died two to three years ago.
” Sue Ridley is seventy-five and lives in Essex .
She has a respiratory problem called bronchiectasis which puts her at a high risk of severe illness during the outbreak .
Her children have told her to take self-isolation @ @ @ @ @ @ @ advice ; she told me that she has played her last game of bridge for a while .
For now , Ridley is filling the gaps in her calendar by answering , and making , dozens of calls a day .
She feels nurtured by her family and by friends in her local village .
But she is frightened .
One of her daughters lives in Kenya , with her husband and children .
“ I ’ m not sure if I ’ ll ever see them again , ” Ridley told me @ @ @ @ @ @ @ if I did get the virus , I wouldn ’ t survive it .
”

By Sunday, March 15th, only thirty-five people in the United Kingdom had died of COVID-19. My mother, Janie Caesar, knew one of them. On Monday morning, she sent me a text that read, “Vrons, one of my dearest friends, came to Normandy with us, died last night C Virus . . . distraught. Stay safe darling . . . MD x.” “MD” is my mother’s playful, semi-ironic signature. It stands for “Mother Dearest.”
I didn’t know Vrons—a woman named Veronica Bailey—but I knew that, six decades ago, she and my mother had been contemporaries at an austere convent school in Sussex, in the South of England, and that in recent years they had reconnected. My mother, who is seventy-three and lives in London, is intensely sociable. She has an excruciating habit of talking to strangers on trains. Her chatty, and sometimes indecipherable, e-mails have a wider circulation than some local newspapers. It’s not an exaggeration to say that she would describe at least five hundred people as “close friends.”
Losing Vrons was a blow. The two women enjoyed each other’s company enough that they spent vacations together. In 2018, they went to France with my stepfather, Peter, and visited the Normandy beaches and several Second World War battlefields. I remember seeing a low-quality selfie that they took during the trip. The three of them are on a boat, somewhere in the English Channel. A shadow falls across the portrait; a third of Vrons’s head is missing.
Vrons suffered from what the U.K. government now terms an underlying health condition: a heart problem. Recently, her situation had deteriorated. Although she and my mother hadn’t seen each other in person for a while, they were in regular contact. On Saturday, my mother received a text from Vrons saying that she had been admitted to a hospital near her home, in Surrey, just outside London, with a cardiovascular complaint, and that she had tested positive for COVID-19. “It’s all very scary but they’re trying to look after me,” Vrons wrote. She died on Sunday night.
When I received the news, I felt a pang. I am the youngest of three boys and the one best placed to visit my mother. (My oldest brother is serving overseas, as an Army medic; my other brother, an emergency-room doctor who also advises the Scottish government, is working onerous hours.) I live in Manchester, and under normal circumstances I could have easily gone down to London to see her, or she could have taken the train to see me. We could have hugged, eaten lunch, and irritated each other in familiar and comforting ways. My children, who are seven and four, would have cheered her up.
But these are not normal circumstances. Even if we had ignored the British government’s warning against nonessential travel, we could not have met each other in good conscience. My mother has her own underlying health problems. In the summer of 2017, she was given a diagnosis of Stage 4 ovarian cancer, with a malignant pleural effusion—a terminal condition. The doctor told her that she might not see Christmas that year. She outlasted his dire prediction, but she is now on her fourth round of chemotherapy, and her immune system is weak. A hug from a grandchild infected with COVID-19 could do for her what cancer so far has not.
The British government’s current recommendation for people aged seventy and up is to practice strict social distancing. But the elderly, and others in high-risk groups, will shortly be asked to begin twelve weeks of social shielding, or isolation. That’s a long stretch for anyone, but especially in the life of someone for whom time has become precious. It’s also tough for the people separated from ill family members. In the most hopeful scenario, we won’t see my mother until June.
Around the world, people are being asked—or told—to stay home. My family’s story is not unique; it might even be normal. But the edicts to protect the oldest and the most vulnerable amount to an untested social experiment. Nobody knows for sure what the ultimate consequences of drastically reducing personal encounters will be. What happens when a grandparent doesn’t see her grandkids for a while?
There is convincing research suggesting that loneliness is bad for your health. Steve Cole, a professor of medicine, psychiatry, and biobehavioral sciences at U.C.L.A., has done pioneering work on the subject. When we spoke, last week, he told me that humans are intrinsically sociable animals. They need other people like they need food. Starve us of contact, and our cells undergo an inflammatory fight-or-flight reaction—which is good if you’re expecting to be wounded in battle but bad if you need to fight off a virus. When I spoke to Kavita Vedhara, a professor of health psychology at the University of Nottingham, she was more direct. Not only was there a proven link between social isolation and “poor health outcomes”; it was a fact that “lonely people die quicker.”
As the coronavirus crisis unfolded in England, this past week, I wondered whether loneliness was going to be such a big problem. Yes, some people were physically separated from their friends, caregivers, and loved ones. But isolation is not the same as loneliness. Facebook and WhatsApp groups had sprung up, connecting neighbors. (On Thursday, a printed flyer arrived in our mailbox, inviting my wife and me to join our street’s Facebook page.) Communities were organizing check-ins on older people and on others in need. There was an outpouring of generosity and fellow-feeling.
In Wakefield, in West Yorkshire, a man named Tom Long helps to run the Senior Citizens’ Support Group, a charity that organizes exercise classes, trips, and a choir for older locals. When the group was established, a decade ago, its stated purpose was to “stop elderly people being isolated in their own four walls.” The coronavirus has brought the group’s activities to a temporary stop, but Long—who is seventy-six—was busy designing creative workarounds. The next choir rehearsal, on Tuesday, will take place on Zoom. “It’s going to be different,” Long told me, laughing.
Despite this wave of neighborliness, many people I contacted spoke of lost connections. I e-mailed with Ray Gallop, a ninety-old-year-old retired civil servant in rural Wiltshire; he is a widower and lives on his own. Gallop was a keen archer until his ninetieth birthday. Now he likes to read about medieval and Second World War history, not to mention “murder/thriller books,” for “more relaxed reading.” One of his habitual pleasures has been a weekly drink with a younger neighbor, a historian and journalist. The coronavirus put an end to this, at least for now. Gallop wrote, “I am lucky in that I had gotten used to ‘self-isolation’ since Elizabeth, my wife, died two to three years ago.”
Sue Ridley is seventy-five and lives in Essex. She has a respiratory problem called bronchiectasis which puts her at a high risk of severe illness during the outbreak. Her children have told her to take self-isolation seriously, and she is following their advice; she told me that she has played her last game of bridge for a while. For now, Ridley is filling the gaps in her calendar by answering, and making, dozens of calls a day. She feels nurtured by her family and by friends in her local village. But she is frightened. One of her daughters lives in Kenya, with her husband and children. “I’m not sure if I’ll ever see them again,” Ridley told me. “I’m concerned that if I did get the virus, I wouldn’t survive it.”
At this time, we are understandably preoccupied with thinking about who needs extra help. But we might also think about who might benefit from giving extra help. Vedhara, the University of Nottingham professor, told me that assisting others is not just emotionally satisfying; it yields measurable health benefits. In 1999, the Journal of Health Psychology published the results of a five-year study examining the correlation between volunteerism and mortality rates. Among participants with similar age and health profiles, volunteers had a forty-four-per-cent lower death rate than non-volunteers. Vedhara told me, “In these times, the people who are thinking about friends and family and their community, they absolutely will benefit. Quite opposed from those people who are stockpiling toilet paper.”
Hilary Cottam, the author of “Radical Help,” urges Western nations to transform how they assist those in need. In the book, she documents the often unintentional cruelties of the British welfare state and proposes a new system that centers on person-to-person relationships. The emphasis in Cottam’s work is on the power of networks to improve lives and to release pressure on institutions of last resort, such as hospitals and prisons. To this end, she has developed community-membership organizations, such as Circle, which help older people connect with one another and create new networks of friends and helpers. In the most successful iterations of the Circle scheme, users become real-life friends instead of relying on traditional social services.
In a recent conversation with me, Cottam noted that Britain’s welfare system had been built out of the ashes of the Second World War. She discerns both tragedy and opportunity in our current extraordinary moment. “You can see, with hindsight, how important social infrastructure is,” Cottam said. “I think it’s really incredible how fast people have rushed to take care of each other. We’re seeing how people want to get involved, but they’re never asked. What I really hope happens, as a result of this, is that we have a mass reckoning, and we go forward with strengthened ties.”
Since the COVID-19 pandemic began, commentators have expressed concern that current practices of isolation and distancing will deepen insidious trends in modern life: the atomization of society, the demise of in-person conversation, widespread loneliness. I’m more optimistic. There certainly are problems with the ways we live and communicate now—and many studies indicate that loneliness is common in both Britain and America. But perhaps there have always been large numbers of lonely people. There is scant evidence that Western societies are any lonelier than they were fifty years ago (not least because there are no field studies from that era to form the basis of a comparison). Moreover, digital communications may not connect us in the way a bar or a softball team connects us, but they are much better than silence.


newyorker--2020-03-22--D-Nice’s Club Quarantine Is What You Need

The odd irony of the current plague is that we are experiencing it at once collectively and entirely by ourselves .
The governors and mayors who oversee various swaths of the country have ordered their residents to stay indoors , and we have bristled and mostly complied .
But it took Derrick Jones , professionally known as DJ D-Nice , to give us a reason to want to .
For nine hours on Saturday night , D-Nice oversaw a spectacle that was part dance party , part social-media therapy , and a health-policy initiative cleverer than anything the government has @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
Lenny Kravitz was there .
So were Diddy , Timbaland , Alicia Keys , Ava DuVernay , MC Lyte , Halle Berry , Rihanna , Jamie Foxx , and Kerry Washington .
Michelle Obama popped in for a minute and caused a record skip as D-Nice froze , trying to decide what to play for the former FLOTUS—he went with a Beyoncé set .
The virtual party , broadcast over Instagram Live , featured a simple Webcam shot of D-Nice—bopping in a white T-shirt , wire-framed glasses , and a rotating array @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
setup in Los Angeles and curating sets of classic R. & B. , soul , old-school hip-hop , dance music , nineties pop , and the occasional salsa or Afrobeat offering .
Somewhere in the fifth hour , Mark Zuckerberg dropped in like a club owner swinging by to check out the revenues before heading home for the night .
Like any great impresario , Jones made sure his audience knew why it wanted to be there : hyping his next set , shouting out friends and new celebrity arrivals .
In @ @ @ @ @ @ @ gem of the corona era : “ Wash your hands !
” and “ We ’ re in Club Quarantine , but we ain ’ t gon na let corona stop us !
” The night was the latest step in an artistic journey for Jones , who is forty-nine and started out in the late eighties as a minor member of the hip-hop group Boogie Down Productions .
( His 1990 single , “ Call Me D-Nice , ” is a semi-obscure gem of rap ’ s golden era . )
In @ @ @ @ @ @ @ rapper , he reinvented himself as a photographer and gained enough of a following to become a brand ambassador for Leica , only to then generate even more acclaim as a d.j .
He played for Barack Obama ’ s farewell party at the White House , on October 26 , 2016—a little more than a week before Donald Trump was elected President of the United States .
So there was a symmetry to what he did on Saturday night , offering music as a balm , this time in the midst of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
And there was an overlapping guest list : Michelle Obama , Naomi Campbell , and Usher had been at the White House that night and were in the virtual room on Saturday evening .
Typically , d.j.s feed off the energy of the crowd , and that ’ s part of what made D-Nice ’ s performance exceptional : he stood , in all likelihood , in an otherwise empty room , and became the architect of a vibe washing over thousands of people around the world whom he could not see @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Quarantine , on Wednesday , he had about two hundred listeners .
By 7 P.M. Eastern Time on Saturday , the crowd was hovering around nineteen thousand .
The audience size was all the more impressive because Instagram ended D-Nice ’ s live stream after sixty minutes , meaning he had to start again from scratch each hour .
What could have been an impediment instead became an hourly affirmation that the crowd wanted more .
At the peak , around 10:30 P.M. Eastern Time , he hit a hundred and five thousand @ @ @ @ @ @ @ endorsement .
People sent liquor to his hotel room—by the end of the night , he could ’ ve stocked a wet bar with donations alone .
Others searched for him on Venmo , trying to pay a “ cover charge ” as tribute .
The set at Club Quarantine followed the arc of all good things that become a little too popular : first , a small number of people intimately connected to the cause and familiar with the references , people who know exactly why he ’ d play Meli ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ s Paradise ” early on and Frankie Beverly ’ s “ Before I Let Go ” late in the game .
Then a bigger , more diverse set of folk show up , drawn by word of mouth—the scroll of A-listers popping into the room tends to have that effect .
Finally , comes the list of people—Joe Biden , Bernie Sanders , a Kardashian—who might not know where exactly they are , just that there ’ s some cachet to being there .
And some of these people were certainly represented by @ @ @ @ @ @ @ their behalf .
( Still , it was fun to imagine that Sanders might actually be out there with a casual slouch in his bearing , one hand grasping a Guinness stout and the other thrown in the air as salute during the Buju Banton dancehall set . )
D-Nice ended around two in the morning on the East Coast , and there was a sense that people who joined the live stream had witnessed a thing , that they might talk about his set on Club Quarantine the way older partygoers reminisce @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in the eighties .
In the currency of social media , D-Nice took in a haul—six hundred thousand new Instagram followers—but , more significantly , he took people ’ s minds off the invisible peril that surrounds us .
If our physical worlds have contracted , our virtual ones , D-Nice seemed to be pointing out , retain far broader horizons .
As the set wound down , the digital crowd drifted away , back to their bottles of hand sanitizer and stockpiles of toilet paper , back to monitoring every sneeze as @ @ @ @ @ @ @ virus is still around , but so is Club Quarantine .
Before D-Nice signed off , he told his stragglers that he ’ d be spinning again at 6 P.M. on Sunday .
• How to practice social distancing , from responding to a sick housemate to the pros and cons of ordering food .
• How people cope and create new customs amid a pandemic .
• What it means to contain and mitigate the coronavirus outbreak .
• How much of the world is likely to be quarantined ?
• Donald @ @ @ @ @ @ @ • The coronavirus is likely to spread for more than a year before a vaccine could be widely available .
• We are all irrational panic shoppers .
• The strange terror of watching the coronavirus take Rome .

The odd irony of the current plague is that we are experiencing it at once collectively and entirely by ourselves. The governors and mayors who oversee various swaths of the country have ordered their residents to stay indoors, and we have bristled and mostly complied. But it took Derrick Jones, professionally known as DJ D-Nice, to give us a reason to want to.
For nine hours on Saturday night, D-Nice oversaw a spectacle that was part dance party, part social-media therapy, and a health-policy initiative cleverer than anything the government has put together. Chaka Khan showed up. Lenny Kravitz was there. So were Diddy, Timbaland, Alicia Keys, Ava DuVernay, MC Lyte, Halle Berry, Rihanna, Jamie Foxx, and Kerry Washington. Michelle Obama popped in for a minute and caused a record skip as D-Nice froze, trying to decide what to play for the former FLOTUS—he went with a Beyoncé set. The virtual party, broadcast over Instagram Live, featured a simple Webcam shot of D-Nice—bopping in a white T-shirt, wire-framed glasses, and a rotating array of wide-brimmed hats—standing at his digital d.j. setup in Los Angeles and curating sets of classic R. & B., soul, old-school hip-hop, dance music, nineties pop, and the occasional salsa or Afrobeat offering. Somewhere in the fifth hour, Mark Zuckerberg dropped in like a club owner swinging by to check out the revenues before heading home for the night. Like any great impresario, Jones made sure his audience knew why it wanted to be there: hyping his next set, shouting out friends and new celebrity arrivals. In between, he offered the occasional public-health gem of the corona era: “Wash your hands!” and “We’re in Club Quarantine, but we ain’t gonna let corona stop us!”
The night was the latest step in an artistic journey for Jones, who is forty-nine and started out in the late eighties as a minor member of the hip-hop group Boogie Down Productions. (His 1990 single, “Call Me D-Nice,” is a semi-obscure gem of rap’s golden era.) In the wake of his career as a rapper, he reinvented himself as a photographer and gained enough of a following to become a brand ambassador for Leica, only to then generate even more acclaim as a d.j. He played for Barack Obama’s farewell party at the White House, on October 26, 2016—a little more than a week before Donald Trump was elected President of the United States. So there was a symmetry to what he did on Saturday night, offering music as a balm, this time in the midst of calamity, not as preface to it. And there was an overlapping guest list: Michelle Obama, Naomi Campbell, and Usher had been at the White House that night and were in the virtual room on Saturday evening.
Typically, d.j.s feed off the energy of the crowd, and that’s part of what made D-Nice’s performance exceptional: he stood, in all likelihood, in an otherwise empty room, and became the architect of a vibe washing over thousands of people around the world whom he could not see. On the first night of Club Quarantine, on Wednesday, he had about two hundred listeners. By 7 P.M. Eastern Time on Saturday, the crowd was hovering around nineteen thousand. The audience size was all the more impressive because Instagram ended D-Nice’s live stream after sixty minutes, meaning he had to start again from scratch each hour. What could have been an impediment instead became an hourly affirmation that the crowd wanted more. At the peak, around 10:30 P.M. Eastern Time, he hit a hundred and five thousand listeners. There were other forms of endorsement. People sent liquor to his hotel room—by the end of the night, he could’ve stocked a wet bar with donations alone. Others searched for him on Venmo, trying to pay a “cover charge” as tribute.
The set at Club Quarantine followed the arc of all good things that become a little too popular: first, a small number of people intimately connected to the cause and familiar with the references, people who know exactly why he’d play Meli’sa Morgan’s “Fool’s Paradise” early on and Frankie Beverly’s “Before I Let Go” late in the game. Then a bigger, more diverse set of folk show up, drawn by word of mouth—the scroll of A-listers popping into the room tends to have that effect. Finally, comes the list of people—Joe Biden, Bernie Sanders, a Kardashian—who might not know where exactly they are, just that there’s some cachet to being there. And some of these people were certainly represented by social-media managers who had tuned in on their behalf. (Still, it was fun to imagine that Sanders might actually be out there with a casual slouch in his bearing, one hand grasping a Guinness stout and the other thrown in the air as salute during the Buju Banton dancehall set.)
D-Nice ended around two in the morning on the East Coast, and there was a sense that people who joined the live stream had witnessed a thing, that they might talk about his set on Club Quarantine the way older partygoers reminisce about nights spent at the Paradise Garage in the eighties. In the currency of social media, D-Nice took in a haul—six hundred thousand new Instagram followers—but, more significantly, he took people’s minds off the invisible peril that surrounds us. If our physical worlds have contracted, our virtual ones, D-Nice seemed to be pointing out, retain far broader horizons. As the set wound down, the digital crowd drifted away, back to their bottles of hand sanitizer and stockpiles of toilet paper, back to monitoring every sneeze as an omen of ill health. The virus is still around, but so is Club Quarantine. Before D-Nice signed off, he told his stragglers that he’d be spinning again at 6 P.M. on Sunday.
A Guide to the Coronavirus


newyorker--2020-03-22--The Beloved Kenny Rogers Runs Out of Aces

The country singer Kenny Rogers died on Friday , at his home in Sandy Springs , Georgia .
In 2018 , Rogers stopped performing , for health reasons , and , though the cause of his death has not yet been specified , his publicist confirmed that he had been in hospice care for some time .
He was eighty-one , and left behind an extraordinary discography , including twenty-one No .
1 country songs .
One of those hits , “ The Gambler , ” was released in November , 1978 , as the lead single for an album @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Gambler ” is the sort of song that becomes especially transcendent when cued up on a karaoke machine in a dive bar in some midsized American city , at an impolite hour , when you have no friends left in the room .
People sing “ The Gambler ” for themselves .
It was written by Don Schlitz , and recorded by a handful of country luminaries—Johnny Cash , Bobby Bare—before Rogers finally took a crack at it .
Something about his rendition clicked .
The song went to No .
1 on @ @ @ @ @ @ @ which was less common in the late seventies than it is now .
Perhaps this success can be credited to the smoothness and steadiness of Rogers ’ s voice , which is made more dynamic by the tiniest bit of grit—a little sand in the suntan lotion .
“ The Gambler ” also drew power from Rogers ’ s age .
He found success in midlife ( he had his first hit , “ Lucille , ” at thirty-eight ) , which meant that there was always something vaguely fatherly about his presence—it @ @ @ @ @ @ @ him .
There ’ s a funny kind of authority in that uncannily robust salt-and-pepper mustache , and in the way he appeared preternaturally skilled at harmonizing , lifting his partner ’ s voice , as if he were an adult pushing a child on a swing .
The chorus of “ The Gambler ” — “ You ’ ve got to know when to hold ’ em / Know when to fold ’ em / Know when to walk away / Know when to run ” —might be the single most profound @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
Who among us hasn ’ t clung when we should have pushed off ?
Rogers was born on August 21 , 1938 , in Houston .
His father was a carpenter , and his mother worked as a cleaner .
In 2014 , he told Rolling Stone that his interest in music began at twelve , when he saw a performance by Ray Charles .
“ It was like an epiphany , ” he said .
“ People laughed at everything Ray said , they clapped for everything he sang .
I @ @ @ @ @ @ @ t want to do that ?
” In high school , he formed a doo-wop group called the Scholars , and studied the work of R. & B. singers such as Sam Cooke ; in 1958 , after the Scholars disbanded , he released a moony ballad called “ That Crazy Feeling ” on Carlton Records , a regional label , and appeared on “ American Bandstand.
” He flitted for a while between genres , messing around with psych-rock , jazz , country , and folk .
In 1967 , he formed @ @ @ @ @ @ @ They had a hit with “ Just Dropped In ( To See What Condition My Condition Was In ) , ” a weird and awesome song written by Mickey Newbury .
It was an early instance of Rogers taking a track that several other artists ( in this case , including Jerry Lee Lewis ) had already recorded , yet somehow making it richer , deeper , and more resonant .
“ Just Dropped In ” recounts a bad trip— “ I pushed my soul in a deep dark hole and then I @ @ @ @ @ @ @ crawling out as I was a-crawling in ” —though the lyrics can be adapted to almost any life-altering situation .
( It is used , to delightful effect , in “ The Big Lebowski , ” shortly after the Dude ’ s White Russian is drugged . )
Rogers sold more than a hundred million records in his lifetime ; he always looked terrific in a sequinned blazer .
He had several compelling side hustles , including Kenny Rogers Roasters , a fast-food restaurant specializing in wood-fired rotisserie chicken .
( He co-founded @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , Jr. , a chief executive of Kentucky Fried Chicken , and the former governor of Kentucky . )
Kenny Rogers Roasters has since ceased operations in the United States , but the chain , under new ownership , remains quite popular in Southeast Asia .
( The phrase “ a former Kenny Rogers Roasters in Saginaw , Michigan ” does still invite a very particular sort of pathos , however . )
Of all his recordings , I especially love Rogers ’ s duets with Dolly Parton .
The most of famous @ @ @ @ @ @ @ “ Islands in the Stream , ” which was written by the Bee Gees , and named after a novel by Ernest Hemingway .
The song , like many hits that have transformed into musical furniture over the years—grown ignorable and banal through sheer repetition—is more complicated than you might remember .
It begins with a kind of koan : “ Baby , when I met you , there was peace unknown , ” Rogers sings .
“ I was soft inside / There was something going on.
” It ’ s a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ made gentle , unformed , still raw before love takes hold .
Then the chorus evokes an island as a symbol of intimacy , rather than isolation : “ Islands in the stream / That is what we are , ” he and Parton sing .
It is hard to think of a better or more comforting phrase for this particular moment .
Listening to Parton and Rogers harmonize , it ’ s clear that they loved each other deeply .
They always insisted their relationship was platonic , and I believe them @ @ @ @ @ @ @ keep it than if you satisfy it , ” Rogers told Today . )
They performed the song on “ The Dolly Show , ” a variety series Parton hosted in the early nineteen-eighties .
On YouTube , the description field is merely the word “ enjoy ” repeated ten times , and , really , how couldn ’ t a person ?
Parton ’ s hair is enormous—a mountain range .
Rogers is showing off about eight inches of bare chest .
I feel a swell of hope each time they sing @ @ @ @ @ @ @ for the real thing !
” It always could be , and sometimes it is .

The country singer Kenny Rogers died on Friday, at his home in Sandy Springs, Georgia. In 2018, Rogers stopped performing, for health reasons, and, though the cause of his death has not yet been specified, his publicist confirmed that he had been in hospice care for some time. He was eighty-one, and left behind an extraordinary discography, including twenty-one No. 1 country songs.
One of those hits, “The Gambler,” was released in November, 1978, as the lead single for an album of the same name. “The Gambler” is the sort of song that becomes especially transcendent when cued up on a karaoke machine in a dive bar in some midsized American city, at an impolite hour, when you have no friends left in the room. People sing “The Gambler” for themselves. It was written by Don Schlitz, and recorded by a handful of country luminaries—Johnny Cash, Bobby Bare—before Rogers finally took a crack at it. Something about his rendition clicked. The song went to No. 1 on both the pop and country charts, which was less common in the late seventies than it is now. Perhaps this success can be credited to the smoothness and steadiness of Rogers’s voice, which is made more dynamic by the tiniest bit of grit—a little sand in the suntan lotion.
“The Gambler” also drew power from Rogers’s age. He found success in midlife (he had his first hit, “Lucille,” at thirty-eight), which meant that there was always something vaguely fatherly about his presence—it just felt right to receive advice from him. There’s a funny kind of authority in that uncannily robust salt-and-pepper mustache, and in the way he appeared preternaturally skilled at harmonizing, lifting his partner’s voice, as if he were an adult pushing a child on a swing. The chorus of “The Gambler”—“You’ve got to know when to hold ’em / Know when to fold ’em / Know when to walk away / Know when to run”—might be the single most profound piece of counsel ever dispensed via song. Who among us hasn’t clung when we should have pushed off?
Rogers was born on August 21, 1938, in Houston. His father was a carpenter, and his mother worked as a cleaner. In 2014, he told Rolling Stone that his interest in music began at twelve, when he saw a performance by Ray Charles. “It was like an epiphany,” he said. “People laughed at everything Ray said, they clapped for everything he sang. I thought, boy, who wouldn’t want to do that?” In high school, he formed a doo-wop group called the Scholars, and studied the work of R. & B. singers such as Sam Cooke; in 1958, after the Scholars disbanded, he released a moony ballad called “That Crazy Feeling” on Carlton Records, a regional label, and appeared on “American Bandstand.”
He flitted for a while between genres, messing around with psych-rock, jazz, country, and folk. In 1967, he formed a band called the First Edition. They had a hit with “Just Dropped In (To See What Condition My Condition Was In),” a weird and awesome song written by Mickey Newbury. It was an early instance of Rogers taking a track that several other artists (in this case, including Jerry Lee Lewis) had already recorded, yet somehow making it richer, deeper, and more resonant. “Just Dropped In” recounts a bad trip—“I pushed my soul in a deep dark hole and then I followed it in / I watched myself crawling out as I was a-crawling in”—though the lyrics can be adapted to almost any life-altering situation. (It is used, to delightful effect, in “The Big Lebowski,” shortly after the Dude’s White Russian is drugged.)
Rogers sold more than a hundred million records in his lifetime; he always looked terrific in a sequinned blazer. He had several compelling side hustles, including Kenny Rogers Roasters, a fast-food restaurant specializing in wood-fired rotisserie chicken. (He co-founded the chain with John Y. Brown, Jr., a chief executive of Kentucky Fried Chicken, and the former governor of Kentucky.) Kenny Rogers Roasters has since ceased operations in the United States, but the chain, under new ownership, remains quite popular in Southeast Asia. (The phrase “a former Kenny Rogers Roasters in Saginaw, Michigan” does still invite a very particular sort of pathos, however.)
Of all his recordings, I especially love Rogers’s duets with Dolly Parton. The most of famous of these is, of course, “Islands in the Stream,” which was written by the Bee Gees, and named after a novel by Ernest Hemingway. The song, like many hits that have transformed into musical furniture over the years—grown ignorable and banal through sheer repetition—is more complicated than you might remember. It begins with a kind of koan: “Baby, when I met you, there was peace unknown,” Rogers sings. “I was soft inside / There was something going on.” It’s a curious and unexpected image: a person made gentle, unformed, still raw before love takes hold. Then the chorus evokes an island as a symbol of intimacy, rather than isolation: “Islands in the stream / That is what we are,” he and Parton sing. It is hard to think of a better or more comforting phrase for this particular moment.
Listening to Parton and Rogers harmonize, it’s clear that they loved each other deeply. They always insisted their relationship was platonic, and I believe them (“Tension is better if you keep it than if you satisfy it,” Rogers told Today.) They performed the song on “The Dolly Show,” a variety series Parton hosted in the early nineteen-eighties. On YouTube, the description field is merely the word “enjoy” repeated ten times, and, really, how couldn’t a person? Parton’s hair is enormous—a mountain range. Rogers is showing off about eight inches of bare chest. I feel a swell of hope each time they sing, “This could be the year for the real thing!” It always could be, and sometimes it is.


newyorker--2020-03-22--The United Kingdom Takes Shelter from the Coronavirus

It ’ s beginning to feel a lot like Christmas , in the United Kingdom .
Families have gathered together at home , wondering how long the peace and good will ( let alone the alcohol ) will last ; kids are no longer at school , and most people are not going to work ; and a mythical figure , whom everyone sees in pictures but nobody has ever met in person , is doling out gifts for free .
The role of Santa Claus is played by Rishi Sunak , the Chancellor of the Exchequer and , by @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
The son of a doctor and a pharmacist , both of whom were born in India , Sunak was head boy at Winchester College , one of the grandest of British private schools , and still delivers his public briefings as if winding up the school debate .
He studied at Oxford ; he was a Fulbright scholar at Stanford and an analyst at Goldman Sachs ; he will celebrate his fortieth birthday in May ( if the blowing out of candles is permitted ) ; and he looks about twenty-two .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ managing the nation ’ s finances , for fewer than five weeks , and bears the faintly stunned expression of a junior go-kart champion who has been promoted directly to monster trucks .
The past few days , in retrospect , have not been the quietest of Sunak ’ s life .
Nothing has been quiet , anywhere , since the arrival of COVID-19 .
On Tuesday , the Chancellor unveiled a large package and a couple of exciting holidays .
The package consisted of business loans , totalling around three hundred and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ companies to stay afloat rather than being swept away during the crisis .
As for the holidays , well , if you ’ re having trouble paying your business rates , or your mortgage , you can pause for three months and—allegedly—suffer no ill effects .
But wait .
There is more .
Sunak ’ s dark-suited sobriety may be that of an ambitious funeral director , but his recent munificence has bordered on the Pickwickian .
On Friday , he announced that the government would be paying people ’ s salaries—eighty per @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the wages due to those who , thanks to the coronavirus pandemic and the ensuing shutdown , can not work .
A maximum of roughly twenty-nine hundred dollars , per head , per month .
If Sunak had voiced such a proposition at Goldman Sachs , he would have likely been told to place any personal belongings in a cardboard box and been escorted from the building , but the world has wobbled since then .
Money in the time of the coronavirus , like love in the time of cholera , is @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Chancellor , during these statements , has been the Prime Minister , Boris Johnson , a study in flabbergasted determination .
Gripping his lectern , he appears to crouch even when standing up , as though preparing to launch himself into the wrestling ring .
Johnson , too , has got—and given away—far more than he bargained for when he ascended to the seat of power for which he has striven so long .
There used to be a little problem named Brexit ( remember that ? )
, and it may yet @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ghost , and throw the proceedings into deeper disarray .
For now , however , COVID-19 commands the stage , forcing the Prime Minister to adopt unorthodox postures .
Some of the mandates that he issued this week lie at the furthest possible remove , let us say , from his natural inclinations .
Johnson is a libertarian .
His persona , carefully arranged in its carelessness , is that of someone who is as keen to jolly people along as he is reluctant to invade or to curtail the jollity .
You @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , and , despite his robust victory in the recent general election , his detractors view his brio as a form of lightly disguised bullying .
Of one thing , though , you can be sure .
When the Prime Minister announced that theatres , pubs , and restaurants would close from Friday night , and instructed his fellow-Britons , especially the young , not to go out for one final shindig before the shutdown , lest they infect each other , he will have done so with a heavy and bewildered heart @ @ @ @ @ @ @ partied so doggedly at Oxford ?
It is the nightmare of every tortured cavalier : to be transfigured , by force of compulsion , into a puritan .
So , how will citizens of the United Kingdom cope with their confinement ?
Much as the French , the South Koreans , or the Americans will do , presumably , although publessness , for British thirsts , is a very particular plight .
Elderly Britons , likewise , are a singular breed , and the folk most menaced by COVID-19 are precisely those who @ @ @ @ @ @ @ : if you are eighty or over , you were born either during or before the Second World War .
You knew danger , deprivation , rationing , and loss at first hand , and it ’ s therefore nonsense—an insult , almost—to be informed that , now , in the well-earned serenity of life ’ s dusk , you must hunker in your bunker .
All your instincts tell you to share the burden of your predicament in the usual ways : meet up with old friends , shake hands , have @ @ @ @ @ @ @ thing off .
And guess what ?
The laugh can kill you .
There is one other chunk of the British population that is not just feeling the strain but fearing that it may succumb , and that is the self-employed .
Not for them the bountiful handouts of Chancellor Sunak ; no one will see them through the worst , or help to pay their rent .
Who ’ d be a taxi-driver , when everyone ’ s too nervous , or too low on cash , to take a cab ?
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ likely to be spared such anxieties .
Obligatory self-isolation , stuck in the prison of home , far from one ’ s comrades , with nothing to eat in the house : welcome to the world of the writer .
There will be poets , in every land , who won ’ t fret about COVID-19 for the simple reason that they won ’ t notice it , even when they contract it .
A racking cough , in front of the blank page or the dead screen , is par for the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ revered as a fount of inspiration .
Indeed , we should ready ourselves for the terrifying prospect that ordinary , contented inhabitants of the planet , hitherto untouched by the rage to create , will use their enforced loneliness , in the coming months , to start writing .
Just imagine : the most enduring legacy of this disaster , once it has passed , could be the publication , in September , 2021 , of a hundred million new novels , with authors clamoring for interviews in multiple tongues .
Brave , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ children , don protective scrubs , and go into battle against the scourge of coronafiction .
Be afraid .
Be very afraid .
• How to practice social distancing , from responding to a sick housemate to the pros and cons of ordering food .
• How people cope and create new customs amid a pandemic .
• What it means to contain and mitigate the coronavirus outbreak .
• How much of the world is likely to be quarantined ?
• Donald Trump in the time of coronavirus .
• The coronavirus @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a year before a vaccine could be widely available .
• We are all irrational panic shoppers .
• The strange terror of watching the coronavirus take Rome .

It’s beginning to feel a lot like Christmas, in the United Kingdom. Families have gathered together at home, wondering how long the peace and good will (let alone the alcohol) will last; kids are no longer at school, and most people are not going to work; and a mythical figure, whom everyone sees in pictures but nobody has ever met in person, is doling out gifts for free.
The role of Santa Claus is played by Rishi Sunak, the Chancellor of the Exchequer and, by any measure, a person of interest. The son of a doctor and a pharmacist, both of whom were born in India, Sunak was head boy at Winchester College, one of the grandest of British private schools, and still delivers his public briefings as if winding up the school debate. He studied at Oxford; he was a Fulbright scholar at Stanford and an analyst at Goldman Sachs; he will celebrate his fortieth birthday in May (if the blowing out of candles is permitted); and he looks about twenty-two. He has been Chancellor, tasked with managing the nation’s finances, for fewer than five weeks, and bears the faintly stunned expression of a junior go-kart champion who has been promoted directly to monster trucks.
The past few days, in retrospect, have not been the quietest of Sunak’s life. Nothing has been quiet, anywhere, since the arrival of COVID-19. On Tuesday, the Chancellor unveiled a large package and a couple of exciting holidays. The package consisted of business loans, totalling around three hundred and eighty-four billion dollars, which would assist companies to stay afloat rather than being swept away during the crisis. As for the holidays, well, if you’re having trouble paying your business rates, or your mortgage, you can pause for three months and—allegedly—suffer no ill effects.
But wait. There is more. Sunak’s dark-suited sobriety may be that of an ambitious funeral director, but his recent munificence has bordered on the Pickwickian. On Friday, he announced that the government would be paying people’s salaries—eighty per cent, to be exact, of the wages due to those who, thanks to the coronavirus pandemic and the ensuing shutdown, cannot work. A maximum of roughly twenty-nine hundred dollars, per head, per month. If Sunak had voiced such a proposition at Goldman Sachs, he would have likely been told to place any personal belongings in a cardboard box and been escorted from the building, but the world has wobbled since then. Money in the time of the coronavirus, like love in the time of cholera, is a wild thing.
Standing beside the Chancellor, during these statements, has been the Prime Minister, Boris Johnson, a study in flabbergasted determination. Gripping his lectern, he appears to crouch even when standing up, as though preparing to launch himself into the wrestling ring. Johnson, too, has got—and given away—far more than he bargained for when he ascended to the seat of power for which he has striven so long. There used to be a little problem named Brexit (remember that?), and it may yet show up, like Banquo’s ghost, and throw the proceedings into deeper disarray. For now, however, COVID-19 commands the stage, forcing the Prime Minister to adopt unorthodox postures. Some of the mandates that he issued this week lie at the furthest possible remove, let us say, from his natural inclinations.
Johnson is a libertarian. His persona, carefully arranged in its carelessness, is that of someone who is as keen to jolly people along as he is reluctant to invade or to curtail the jollity. You can applaud that stance or abhor it, and, despite his robust victory in the recent general election, his detractors view his brio as a form of lightly disguised bullying. Of one thing, though, you can be sure. When the Prime Minister announced that theatres, pubs, and restaurants would close from Friday night, and instructed his fellow-Britons, especially the young, not to go out for one final shindig before the shutdown, lest they infect each other, he will have done so with a heavy and bewildered heart. Was it for this that he partied so doggedly at Oxford? It is the nightmare of every tortured cavalier: to be transfigured, by force of compulsion, into a puritan.
So, how will citizens of the United Kingdom cope with their confinement? Much as the French, the South Koreans, or the Americans will do, presumably, although publessness, for British thirsts, is a very particular plight. Elderly Britons, likewise, are a singular breed, and the folk most menaced by COVID-19 are precisely those who were raised not to make a fuss: if you are eighty or over, you were born either during or before the Second World War. You knew danger, deprivation, rationing, and loss at first hand, and it’s therefore nonsense—an insult, almost—to be informed that, now, in the well-earned serenity of life’s dusk, you must hunker in your bunker. All your instincts tell you to share the burden of your predicament in the usual ways: meet up with old friends, shake hands, have a drink, and laugh the whole thing off. And guess what? The laugh can kill you.
There is one other chunk of the British population that is not just feeling the strain but fearing that it may succumb, and that is the self-employed. Not for them the bountiful handouts of Chancellor Sunak; no one will see them through the worst, or help to pay their rent. Who’d be a taxi-driver, when everyone’s too nervous, or too low on cash, to take a cab?
Only one minor subsection of society is likely to be spared such anxieties. Obligatory self-isolation, stuck in the prison of home, far from one’s comrades, with nothing to eat in the house: welcome to the world of the writer. There will be poets, in every land, who won’t fret about COVID-19 for the simple reason that they won’t notice it, even when they contract it. A racking cough, in front of the blank page or the dead screen, is par for the course, and fever has long been revered as a fount of inspiration. Indeed, we should ready ourselves for the terrifying prospect that ordinary, contented inhabitants of the planet, hitherto untouched by the rage to create, will use their enforced loneliness, in the coming months, to start writing. Just imagine: the most enduring legacy of this disaster, once it has passed, could be the publication, in September, 2021, of a hundred million new novels, with authors clamoring for interviews in multiple tongues. Brave, exhausted critics will bid farewell to their children, don protective scrubs, and go into battle against the scourge of coronafiction. Be afraid. Be very afraid.
A Guide to the Coronavirus


newyorker--2020-03-22--Dr. Fauci Reports That Alcohol May Help People Survive Coronavirus Briefings

WASHINGTON ( The Borowitz Report ) —Calling it a “ promising development , ” Dr. Anthony Fauci said on Sunday @ @ @ @ @ survive the most severe effects of coronavirus briefings .
Noting that millions of Americans have @ @ @ @ @ briefings of the White House Coronavirus Task Force , Fauci said that he had voluntarily @ @ @ @ @ of the alcohol-based therapy .
“ What we have found is that a single dosage @ @ @ @ @ much as a double dosage after the briefing do much to alleviate the most acute @ @ @ @ @ .
The esteemed virologist said that if Americans are able to administer additional doses during @ @ @ @ @ yourself lucky.
” But , even as Fauci hailed the benefits of the new treatment @ @ @ @ @ of caution .
“ The effect of this medication is temporary , ” he said @ @ @ @ @ ’ s findings are in line with anecdotal reports indicating that Americans have been alleviating @ @ @ @ @ since November , 2016 .

WASHINGTON (The Borowitz Report)—Calling it a “promising development,” Dr. Anthony Fauci said on Sunday that alcohol may help people survive the most severe effects of coronavirus briefings.
Noting that millions of Americans have been exposed to the daily briefings of the White House Coronavirus Task Force, Fauci said that he had voluntarily submitted to a preliminary trial of the alcohol-based therapy.
“What we have found is that a single dosage before the briefing and as much as a double dosage after the briefing do much to alleviate the most acute suffering,” Fauci said.
The esteemed virologist said that if Americans are able to administer additional doses during the briefings, “Consider yourself lucky.”
But, even as Fauci hailed the benefits of the new treatment, he sounded a note of caution. “The effect of this medication is temporary,” he said. “Sadly.”
Fauci’s findings are in line with anecdotal reports indicating that Americans have been alleviating symptoms in a similar manner since November, 2016.
Read More Satire from the Borowitz Report