newyorker--2020-06-27--The Lancet Editor’s Wild Ride Through the Coronavirus Pandemic

On January 24th , four days after President Xi Jinping made his first public statement about the coronavirus , The Lancet , a British medical journal that has been printed weekly since 1823 , published a clinical account of forty-one patients who had been infected in Wuhan .
The seven-page paper , which had twenty-nine co-authors and was funded by the Chinese Academy of Medical Sciences , listed the symptoms of COVID-19 that the world now knows by heart .
In clear , urgent terms , the paper described how twelve of the patients developed acute-respiratory-distress syndrome and how thirteen @ @ @ @ @ @ @ spoke of cytokine storms—dangerous overreactions of the immune system—and suggested a worryingly high mortality rate .
Six of the patients in the study died .
Richard Horton , who has edited The Lancet since 1995 , approached the paper as an excited editor—looking for problems , checking that it made sense .
It was only when the article appeared in print that he began to fully assess the public-health implications .
( In the late nineteen-eighties , Horton practiced as a doctor . )
“ I really thought , Oh , my god @ @ @ @ @ @ @ are being admitted to I.C.U.
, ” he told me , earlier this week .
“ This is coming.
” At the time , Horton was also working on several other COVID-19 articles .
The Lancet published five papers on the outbreak in the last week of January .
In Britain , at least , Horton sensed that the authorities weren ’ t grasping the gravity of the crisis .
On January 25th , he tweeted , “ Few countries have the clinical capacity to handle this volume of acutely ill patients .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ Horton , who is fifty-eight , has become one of the sharpest critics of the public-health response to the pandemic in Britain , the United States , and other nations whose governments have failed their populations .
The Lancet sounds like—and is—a rather forbidding publication .
Unlike other leading scientific journals , it does not produce simplified versions of its articles .
“ The Lancet is not The Economist , ” Horton says .
“ We don ’ t spend a great deal of time trying to translate research for public consumption.
” @ @ @ @ @ @ @ His Twitter bio reads , “ Welcome to a permanent attack on the present.
” He has described Donald Trump ’ s decision to withdraw funding from the World Health Organization as a crime against humanity .
He despairs of Jair Bolsonaro , in Brazil .
He has accused Boris Johnson of “ misconduct in public office , ” a criminal offence that can be punished by life imprisonment , for his handling of Britain ’ s outbreak , which has killed an estimated sixty thousand people .
“ If somebody says to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ angry ?
, ’ I say , ‘ Look at the number of deaths , ’ ” Horton told me .
“ Every single citizen of this country should be furious.
” In a manner that is unusual for the editor of a scientific journal , Horton has leaped into the politics of the pandemic .
Watching daily coronavirus briefings from Downing Street , which ended this week , after Johnson signalled the end of Britain ’ s “ hibernation , ” Horton kept up an acerbic commentary , impugning ministers and the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ “ COVID-19 will be a case study in the death of independent scientific advice , ” he tweeted on April 13th .
“ This is a mass delusion .
Resist .
Resist .
Rebel , ” he wrote on June 9th .
In the past three months , Horton has given scathing evidence to Parliament ; been cited by the British government in defense of its actions ( a tactic that he regards as disinformation ) ; and written a short , angry book , “ The COVID-19 Catastrophe ” —all while carrying @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and undergoing immunotherapy for advanced melanoma , a treatment course that he expects to complete in July .
I spoke to Horton on Zoom at his home , in Muswell Hill , in North London , where he has been since March 23rd , when Johnson announced Britain ’ s lockdown .
Because of his health , Horton has scarcely left the property .
He sat at a garden table , wearing a dark T-shirt , in the shade of a deep-red umbrella .
The leaves of a large bush framed an empty @ @ @ @ @ @ @ describe editing The Lancet during the pandemic .
“ We ’ ve been deluged with research papers and communications from all over the world , ” he said .
Submissions to the journal are currently running at four or five times the usual rate ; Horton and the editorial team reject about ninety-five per cent of them .
“ My constant anxiety is , Have we let something go that could be really important ?
” he said .
“ I don ’ t think I ’ ve ever been in a situation @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in such a short space of time.
” He and the journal have struggled to cope .
“ I don ’ t think we ’ ve had the capacity easily to deal with it , and that has stretched all of us , ” Horton said .
“ Inevitably , in moments like that , you get very , very anxious about mistakes.
” On May 22nd , The Lancet published a striking paper about hydroxychloroquine , the antimalarial drug touted , and taken , by President Trump , as a potential treatment @ @ @ @ @ @ @ which had merely questioned the drug ’ s effectiveness , The Lancet article claimed that the use of hydroxychloroquine carried a greater risk of heart arrhythmia and death .
The paper ’ s stark conclusions and huge sample size—it purported to use data from 96,032 patients on six continents—halted hydroxychloroquine trials around the world .
But , within days , reporters and public-health experts noticed anomalies in the study ’ s data set , which was provided by Surgisphere , a small tech company outside Chicago .
Surgisphere supplied almost real-time “ cloud-based @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in Africa , which other researchers found improbable .
It overstated the number of deaths from the disease in Australia .
Thirteen days after the paper was published , The Lancet retracted it .
An hour later , The New England Journal of Medicine , the world ’ s other preëminent medical journal , also retracted a COVID-19 study that relied on Surgisphere data .
Horton described the episode as “ a monumental fraud.
” ( On June 3rd , Sapan Desai , the chief executive of Surgisphere , told the Guardian that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ what our system is and how it works.
” ) Horton said that something like this happens every few years .
“ In some ways , this is normal science , ” he said .
“ Science is not immune to having bad people .
There are bad people in society , and there are bad people in science .
Science is very vulnerable to deceit .
.
.
.
When somebody submits a paper to The Lancet , the first thing I think is not , Do I need to consider research @ @ @ @ @ @ @ appeal of the hydroxychloroquine study , in light of Trump ’ s remarks .
“ It certainly excited our editors and peer reviewers about the possibility of answering that question , ” Horton said .
“ And we all made a collective error , and that collective mistake was to believe what we were being told.
” But Horton rejected the criticism of other Lancet papers that have been peer-reviewed and published at speed during the pandemic .
On June 1st , the journal published a review , funded by the W.H.O.
, @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of face masks and social distancing , which has been criticized for its statistical methods .
The paper has been alternately cited and debunked by the opposing sides in Britain ’ s debate about reopening the economy .
“ A research article is not an event .
It ’ s part of a process of trying to understand a treatment or a disease , ” Horton told me .
“ This time is different .
Every paper we publish is scrutinized and dissected .
That has advantages .
But it also means that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ s very hard to have those.
” Horton accused some of the scientists who have questioned the paper of using COVID-19 to grandstand and raise their media profile .
“ That ’ s very disappointing behavior , ” he said .

How Richard Horton balances science and politics. Photograph by Antonio Olmos / Guardian / eyevine / Redux
On January 24th, four days after President Xi Jinping made his first public statement about the coronavirus, The Lancet, a British medical journal that has been printed weekly since 1823, published a clinical account of forty-one patients who had been infected in Wuhan. The seven-page paper, which had twenty-nine co-authors and was funded by the Chinese Academy of Medical Sciences, listed the symptoms of COVID-19 that the world now knows by heart. In clear, urgent terms, the paper described how twelve of the patients developed acute-respiratory-distress syndrome and how thirteen required treatment in intensive care. It spoke of cytokine storms—dangerous overreactions of the immune system—and suggested a worryingly high mortality rate. Six of the patients in the study died.
Richard Horton, who has edited The Lancet since 1995, approached the paper as an excited editor—looking for problems, checking that it made sense. It was only when the article appeared in print that he began to fully assess the public-health implications. (In the late nineteen-eighties, Horton practiced as a doctor.) “I really thought, Oh, my god. A very large proportion of patients are being admitted to I.C.U.,” he told me, earlier this week. “This is coming.” At the time, Horton was also working on several other COVID-19 articles. The Lancet published five papers on the outbreak in the last week of January. In Britain, at least, Horton sensed that the authorities weren’t grasping the gravity of the crisis. On January 25th, he tweeted, “Few countries have the clinical capacity to handle this volume of acutely ill patients. Yet no discussion.”
Since then, Horton, who is fifty-eight, has become one of the sharpest critics of the public-health response to the pandemic in Britain, the United States, and other nations whose governments have failed their populations. The Lancet sounds like—and is—a rather forbidding publication. Unlike other leading scientific journals, it does not produce simplified versions of its articles. “The Lancet is not The Economist,” Horton says. “We don’t spend a great deal of time trying to translate research for public consumption.” But Horton is also a polemicist. His Twitter bio reads, “Welcome to a permanent attack on the present.” He has described Donald Trump’s decision to withdraw funding from the World Health Organization as a crime against humanity. He despairs of Jair Bolsonaro, in Brazil. He has accused Boris Johnson of “misconduct in public office,” a criminal offence that can be punished by life imprisonment, for his handling of Britain’s outbreak, which has killed an estimated sixty thousand people. “If somebody says to me, ‘Why are you so angry?,’ I say, ‘Look at the number of deaths,’ ” Horton told me. “Every single citizen of this country should be furious.”
In a manner that is unusual for the editor of a scientific journal, Horton has leaped into the politics of the pandemic. Watching daily coronavirus briefings from Downing Street, which ended this week, after Johnson signalled the end of Britain’s “hibernation,” Horton kept up an acerbic commentary, impugning ministers and the country’s most senior scientists. “COVID-19 will be a case study in the death of independent scientific advice,” he tweeted on April 13th. “This is a mass delusion. Resist. Resist. Rebel,” he wrote on June 9th. In the past three months, Horton has given scathing evidence to Parliament; been cited by the British government in defense of its actions (a tactic that he regards as disinformation); and written a short, angry book, “The COVID-19 Catastrophe”—all while carrying out his day job at The Lancet and undergoing immunotherapy for advanced melanoma, a treatment course that he expects to complete in July.
I spoke to Horton on Zoom at his home, in Muswell Hill, in North London, where he has been since March 23rd, when Johnson announced Britain’s lockdown. Because of his health, Horton has scarcely left the property. He sat at a garden table, wearing a dark T-shirt, in the shade of a deep-red umbrella. The leaves of a large bush framed an empty summer sky. I asked Horton to describe editing The Lancet during the pandemic. “We’ve been deluged with research papers and communications from all over the world,” he said. Submissions to the journal are currently running at four or five times the usual rate; Horton and the editorial team reject about ninety-five per cent of them. “My constant anxiety is, Have we let something go that could be really important?” he said. “I don’t think I’ve ever been in a situation where so much knowledge has been produced in such a short space of time.” He and the journal have struggled to cope. “I don’t think we’ve had the capacity easily to deal with it, and that has stretched all of us,” Horton said. “Inevitably, in moments like that, you get very, very anxious about mistakes.”
On May 22nd, The Lancet published a striking paper about hydroxychloroquine, the antimalarial drug touted, and taken, by President Trump, as a potential treatment for COVID-19. Unlike other studies, which had merely questioned the drug’s effectiveness, The Lancet article claimed that the use of hydroxychloroquine carried a greater risk of heart arrhythmia and death. The paper’s stark conclusions and huge sample size—it purported to use data from 96,032 patients on six continents—halted hydroxychloroquine trials around the world. But, within days, reporters and public-health experts noticed anomalies in the study’s data set, which was provided by Surgisphere, a small tech company outside Chicago. Surgisphere supplied almost real-time “cloud-based health-care data” from 4,402 COVID-19 patients in Africa, which other researchers found improbable. It overstated the number of deaths from the disease in Australia. Thirteen days after the paper was published, The Lancet retracted it. An hour later, The New England Journal of Medicine, the world’s other preëminent medical journal, also retracted a COVID-19 study that relied on Surgisphere data.
Horton described the episode as “a monumental fraud.” (On June 3rd, Sapan Desai, the chief executive of Surgisphere, told the Guardian that there was “a fundamental misunderstanding about what our system is and how it works.”) Horton said that something like this happens every few years. “In some ways, this is normal science,” he said. “Science is not immune to having bad people. There are bad people in society, and there are bad people in science. Science is very vulnerable to deceit. . . . When somebody submits a paper to The Lancet, the first thing I think is not, Do I need to consider research misconduct?” He acknowledged the political appeal of the hydroxychloroquine study, in light of Trump’s remarks. “It certainly excited our editors and peer reviewers about the possibility of answering that question,” Horton said. “And we all made a collective error, and that collective mistake was to believe what we were being told.”
But Horton rejected the criticism of other Lancet papers that have been peer-reviewed and published at speed during the pandemic. On June 1st, the journal published a review, funded by the W.H.O., of studies looking at the relative effectiveness of face masks and social distancing, which has been criticized for its statistical methods. The paper has been alternately cited and debunked by the opposing sides in Britain’s debate about reopening the economy. “A research article is not an event. It’s part of a process of trying to understand a treatment or a disease,” Horton told me. “This time is different. Every paper we publish is scrutinized and dissected. That has advantages. But it also means that conversations about the nuances of work—it’s very hard to have those.” Horton accused some of the scientists who have questioned the paper of using COVID-19 to grandstand and raise their media profile. “That’s very disappointing behavior,” he said.


newyorker--2020-06-27--What Shopping in New York City Looks Like Now

Shopping in New York City , at least in the Before Times , was all about the schlep .
The schlep—heaving heavy shopping bags across the city , often between boroughs and on several forms of public transportation—was rarely a planned activity .
I think of the time , a few summers back , when I saw the most beautiful , jumbo-sized aloe plant in the window of a gardening supply store in the flower district as I was on the way to meet a friend for a drink .
I ended up carrying it with me to the bar @ @ @ @ @ @ @ chubby toddler .
It rolled along with us to a second location for dinner , and then rode the 7 train home .
Shopping for me has never been only about the thrill of accrual ( I eventually end up purging half of what I drag home ) ; it ’ s about the pleasure of roaming the city , of long walks with drooping bags , of swinging your new purchases into the back of an idling cab .
I did not expect to miss the schlep when nonessential retail stores first @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the coronavirus took hold of the city .
Anything I needed I could summon to my doorstep ; anything I didn ’ t need I was scared to let pass the threshold for fear of contamination .
Self-quarantine felt , for a moment , like an opportunity to recalibrate my consumer habits .
No more impulse-purchasing bodega flowers that would wilt inside my tote bag before I could get them home .
No more splurging on a pair of shoes , on sale in a SoHo shop window , only to wear them @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ) Online , I limited my shopping to things at least somewhat practical—bath bombs , good marmalade , whatever else seemed like it might improve life indoors .
But , recently , as New York City has begun its process of reopening retail stores and other businesses , I ’ ve ventured out into my Brooklyn neighborhood tentatively seeking , for the first time in months , the old feeling of strolling and touching things , and maybe even acquiring something new .
It will be a long while before flânerie-style shopping will @ @ @ @ @ @ @ While much of the rest of the country has reopened nonessential retail ( a move that , given the spike in coronavirus cases in some states , may well have been premature ) , New York has taken a more cautious approach .
On Monday , June 8th , Governor Andrew Cuomo cleared the city for “ Phase I ” reopening , which allowed businesses ( including stores selling clothing , flowers , home goods , sporting equipment , cosmetics , luggage , and jewelry ) to begin curbside or in-store pickup only @ @ @ @ @ @ @ II , ” which permits customers to enter stores in limited numbers .
Still , many of the biggest stores continue to sit dormant on retail thoroughfares ; on Broadway in SoHo , Nike , Victoria ’ s Secret , and Lululemon remain entirely shuttered .
( I know this only from calling the stores to check : like many New Yorkers who don ’ t own a car and remain leery of the subway and cabs—and are too short to fit on a CitiBike—I could go shopping in SoHo only by trekking @ @ @ @ @ @ @ walk through Williamsburg during the first week of Phase I , I found that the neighborhood ’ s main shopping corridor , Bedford Avenue , remained deserted .
The Doc Martens store was closed , as was the Apple Store , a Sephora , and the jewelry store Catbird .
Nearby , on the retail row of North Sixth Street , nearly every chain store was boarded up : Everlane , Le Labo , Urban Outfitters .
Faded U.P.S .
notices plastered the window of a Madewell .
Several blocks north , in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ few independent boutiques were open for curbside pickup , but several others had closed permanently .
Pas Mal , an upscale clothing store that sold Ganni dresses , Lauren Manoogian knits , and Boy Smells candles , had a “ For Rent ” sign in the window .
Fox & Fawn , a vintage store that had been in the neighborhood for a decade , announced on Instagram that it would not be reopening its physical store .
One storefront that had its lights on was Lockwood , a home-goods and gifts shop @ @ @ @ @ @ @ five businesses of the same name in Queens and Brooklyn .
The store manager , Molly Morlock , was inside by herself , perched on a high stool and wearing a floral mask .
A small table blocked the entrance from the street so that customers could not enter .
I approached it and inquired about a cheerful rainbow wall hanging I ’ d noticed in the window .
Morlock retrieved one for me from the back of the store .
I also asked to see some throw pillows , which she picked @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a distance , like showcase items on “ The Price Is Right.
” I left my credit card on the table and stepped back into the street while Morlock rang up the wall hanging and a gray-tasselled pillow ; afterward , I cleaned my card with a Lysol wipe from my tote bag .
This new retail etiquette was not much different from the choreography that most New Yorkers have learned at pharmacies or groceries in recent months , but it felt distinctly strange and indulgent : with only one customer passing through @ @ @ @ @ @ @ other staff members to share shifts with , retail clerks have effectively become personal shoppers .
Later , by phone , Farquer , the owner , told me that , when it came to rehiring employees , she had to think differently about what the job entailed .
She needed people who “ are willing to sit in a store completely alone for hours , with maybe only two or three pickups , doing a job that they were not hired to do.
” Reopening , like closing down , has been improvisatory @ @ @ @ @ @ @ text with eight other small-business owners and none of us know what the right thing to do is , ” Farquer said .
Mayor Bill de Blasio “ hasn ’ t told us , ” she added .
“ We can ’ t find any consistent guidelines anywhere .
So we are just trying to use common sense , and pivot.
” Nearby , on Franklin Street , the luxury-shoe and leather-goods purveyor Brother Vellies was not yet officially open to the public , but four employees were inside taping up cardboard boxes @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ s owner , the designer Aurora James , told me that the group was fulfilling mail orders as part of a subscription service that she launched at the beginning of the pandemic .
For thirty-five dollars a month , her two thousand subscribers receive small surprises in the mail—a terra-cotta mug , a hanging vase .
“ Luxury shoes and bags in a global pandemic—people are not interested , nor do I want to force consumers to be interested , ” she said .
Late last month , as protests against the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , James launched a campaign , “ 15 % Pledge , ” calling for large retail stores to stock fifteen per cent of their products from black-owned businesses .
“ We represent 15 % of the population and we need to represent 15 % of your shelf space , ” she wrote on Instagram , adding , “ You want to be an ally ?
This is what I ’ m asking for.
” Sephora became the first company to officially sign on , followed by Rent the Runway .
Earlier this week @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , I took another long walk around the neighborhood and spotted small signs of new life .
On Franklin Street , the clothing boutique Alter was still open only for curbside pickup , but a few people with shopping bags tucked under their arms paused to inspect the jewelry and hand-dyed shirts in the window .
Most stores still seemed caught in a state of semi-animation : there were signs in the windows thanking clientele for their patience and loyalty , or listing phone numbers that customers could call to arrange private deliveries @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , will remain more intimate and more purposeful—and more uncertain—than it used to be .
“ Five stores is a lot , ” Farquer , of Lockwood , told me , when we spoke .
“ I definitely have a list of which ones we will close if there is a second wave.
” A block over from her store on West Street , the plant store Greenery Unlimited had a modest line of people waiting to enter , two at a time .
The space has giant , garage-style doors , which @ @ @ @ @ @ @ feel of an open-air market .
I ended up waiting to go in , and purchased a sixteen-pound bag of potting soil , along with a small philodendron that I hope will wind its way across my office wall .
For the duration of my twelve-minute walk home , the schlep was back .

Shopping in New York City, at least in the Before Times, was all about the schlep. The schlep—heaving heavy shopping bags across the city, often between boroughs and on several forms of public transportation—was rarely a planned activity. I think of the time, a few summers back, when I saw the most beautiful, jumbo-sized aloe plant in the window of a gardening supply store in the flower district as I was on the way to meet a friend for a drink. I ended up carrying it with me to the bar, balanced on my hip like a chubby toddler. It rolled along with us to a second location for dinner, and then rode the 7 train home. Shopping for me has never been only about the thrill of accrual (I eventually end up purging half of what I drag home); it’s about the pleasure of roaming the city, of long walks with drooping bags, of swinging your new purchases into the back of an idling cab.
I did not expect to miss the schlep when nonessential retail stores first closed down, in mid-March, as the coronavirus took hold of the city. Anything I needed I could summon to my doorstep; anything I didn’t need I was scared to let pass the threshold for fear of contamination. Self-quarantine felt, for a moment, like an opportunity to recalibrate my consumer habits. No more impulse-purchasing bodega flowers that would wilt inside my tote bag before I could get them home. No more splurging on a pair of shoes, on sale in a SoHo shopwindow, only to wear them once. (Remember wearing shoes?)
Online, I limited my shopping to things at least somewhat practical—bath bombs, good marmalade, whatever else seemed like it might improve life indoors. But, recently, as New York City has begun its process of reopening retail stores and other businesses, I’ve ventured out into my Brooklyn neighborhood tentatively seeking, for the first time in months, the old feeling of strolling and touching things, and maybe even acquiring something new.
It will be a long while before flânerie-style shopping will fully return to the five boroughs. While much of the rest of the country has reopened nonessential retail (a move that, given the spike in coronavirus cases in some states, may well have been premature), New York has taken a more cautious approach. On Monday, June 8th, Governor Andrew Cuomo cleared the city for “Phase I” reopening, which allowed businesses (including stores selling clothing, flowers, home goods, sporting equipment, cosmetics, luggage, and jewelry) to begin curbside or in-store pickup only. This past Monday came “Phase II,” which permits customers to enter stores in limited numbers. Still, many of the biggest stores continue to sit dormant on retail thoroughfares; on Broadway in SoHo, Nike, Victoria’s Secret, and Lululemon remain entirely shuttered. (I know this only from calling the stores to check: like many New Yorkers who don’t own a car and remain leery of the subway and cabs—and are too short to fit on a CitiBike—I could go shopping in SoHo only by trekking there on foot.)
On a walk through Williamsburg during the first week of Phase I, I found that the neighborhood’s main shopping corridor, Bedford Avenue, remained deserted. The Doc Martens store was closed, as was the Apple Store, a Sephora, and the jewelry store Catbird. Nearby, on the retail row of North Sixth Street, nearly every chain store was boarded up: Everlane, Le Labo, Urban Outfitters. Faded U.P.S. notices plastered the window of a Madewell. Several blocks north, in Greenpoint, where I live, a few independent boutiques were open for curbside pickup, but several others had closed permanently. Pas Mal, an upscale clothing store that sold Ganni dresses, Lauren Manoogian knits, and Boy Smells candles, had a “For Rent” sign in the window. Fox & Fawn, a vintage store that had been in the neighborhood for a decade, announced on Instagram that it would not be reopening its physical store.
One storefront that had its lights on was Lockwood, a home-goods and gifts shop owned by Mackenzi Farquer, who operates five businesses of the same name in Queens and Brooklyn. The store manager, Molly Morlock, was inside by herself, perched on a high stool and wearing a floral mask. A small table blocked the entrance from the street so that customers could not enter. I approached it and inquired about a cheerful rainbow wall hanging I’d noticed in the window. Morlock retrieved one for me from the back of the store. I also asked to see some throw pillows, which she picked up and displayed for me, at a distance, like showcase items on “The Price Is Right.” I left my credit card on the table and stepped back into the street while Morlock rang up the wall hanging and a gray-tasselled pillow; afterward, I cleaned my card with a Lysol wipe from my tote bag. This new retail etiquette was not much different from the choreography that most New Yorkers have learned at pharmacies or groceries in recent months, but it felt distinctly strange and indulgent: with only one customer passing through stores at a time, and no other staff members to share shifts with, retail clerks have effectively become personal shoppers.
Later, by phone, Farquer, the owner, told me that, when it came to rehiring employees, she had to think differently about what the job entailed. She needed people who “are willing to sit in a store completely alone for hours, with maybe only two or three pickups, doing a job that they were not hired to do.” Reopening, like closing down, has been improvisatory. “I am in a group text with eight other small-business owners and none of us know what the right thing to do is,” Farquer said. Mayor Bill de Blasio “hasn’t told us,” she added. “We can’t find any consistent guidelines anywhere. So we are just trying to use common sense, and pivot.”
Nearby, on Franklin Street, the luxury-shoe and leather-goods purveyor Brother Vellies was not yet officially open to the public, but four employees were inside taping up cardboard boxes. By phone afterward, the store’s owner, the designer Aurora James, told me that the group was fulfilling mail orders as part of a subscription service that she launched at the beginning of the pandemic. For thirty-five dollars a month, her two thousand subscribers receive small surprises in the mail—a terra-cotta mug, a hanging vase. “Luxury shoes and bags in a global pandemic—people are not interested, nor do I want to force consumers to be interested,” she said. Late last month, as protests against the killing of George Floyd swept the city, James launched a campaign, “15% Pledge,” calling for large retail stores to stock fifteen per cent of their products from black-owned businesses. “We represent 15% of the population and we need to represent 15% of your shelf space,” she wrote on Instagram, adding, “You want to be an ally? This is what I’m asking for.” Sephora became the first company to officially sign on, followed by Rent the Runway.
Earlier this week, as Phase II of reopening began, I took another long walk around the neighborhood and spotted small signs of new life. On Franklin Street, the clothing boutique Alter was still open only for curbside pickup, but a few people with shopping bags tucked under their arms paused to inspect the jewelry and hand-dyed shirts in the window. Most stores still seemed caught in a state of semi-animation: there were signs in the windows thanking clientele for their patience and loyalty, or listing phone numbers that customers could call to arrange private deliveries. Shopping, for the foreseeable future, will remain more intimate and more purposeful—and more uncertain—than it used to be. “Five stores is a lot,” Farquer, of Lockwood, told me, when we spoke. “I definitely have a list of which ones we will close if there is a second wave.” A block over from her store on West Street, the plant store Greenery Unlimited had a modest line of people waiting to enter, two at a time. The space has giant, garage-style doors, which were thrust open, giving it the feel of an open-air market. I ended up waiting to go in, and purchased a sixteen-pound bag of potting soil, along with a small philodendron that I hope will wind its way across my office wall. For the duration of my twelve-minute walk home, the schlep was back.
A Guide to the Coronavirus


newyorker--2020-06-27--In “Wendy, Master of Art,” Walter Scott’s Antihero Grows Up

Walter Scott ’ s comic book “ Wendy , ” from 2014 , introduced readers to its titular protagonist , a lovable but messy post-college hipster who makes her way through the art scene of Montreal , partying and crashing , hooking up and falling down .
Late-night binges , regrettable one-night stands , art-practice disasters , friendship breakups and makeups—in all of these , Wendy ’ s lust for life is inseparable from her knee-jerk self-destruction .
In “ Wendy on a Bendy , ” the book ’ s first strip , we see the inextricability of these two @ @ @ @ @ @ @ vomiting into a toilet bowl , and then stretched out on the floor clutching her phone .
With her features nearly German Expressionist in their distortion , bespeaking the scrambled state familiar to anyone who has ever gone too hard , Wendy groans , “ OH MY GOD .
UHU .
NO .
I WANT THIS TO BE OVER.
” But the next panel , portraying “ the very next day , ” shows her stuffing her face vigorously with breakfast and cheerfully muttering , “ OMG K LETS GET HAMMURT TONITE.
” @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the strip ’ s final panel predicts , the statement ’ s obviousness a kind of punch line . )
Although there is pleasure in the comic ’ s depiction of the predictable cycle of Wendy ’ s highs and lows , this is not all that Scott ’ s work offers .
In “ Wendy , ” as well as in its sequel “ Wendy ’ s Revenge , ” from 2016 , and , now , in “ Wendy , Master of Art , ” the third installment of his protagonist @ @ @ @ @ @ @ this month , Scott goes beyond caricature , allowing Wendy and the characters surrounding her to become fully formed .
Scott manages a rare thing : the sharpness of his satire doesn ’ t preclude a realistic rendering of personhood , and the seeming flatness opens up , at every turn , to a depth of feeling .
Before he collected it in a book , Scott self-published “ Wendy ” as a zine , and his black-and-white drawings gesture toward the work ’ s low-res origins , as they capture what it @ @ @ @ @ @ @ muddled , ambitious and self-defeating , horny and depressed .
As readers—especially those of us who have long ago left behind our more raucous years—we might gaze at Wendy as a kind of anthropological specimen .
But we become involved in her story , too , following it closely from book to book , as if it were an engrossing Victorian serial .
What will our heroine do next ?
Will she triumph , or , at the very least , develop into a progressively less disastrous adult ?
In Scott ’ s @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Montreal from club to bar to art opening ; falls for a shifty but sexy drummer whose paltry affections she fights her best friend for ; leaves town for a remote residency , where she has an affair and makes some enemies ; comes back ; fantasizes about being a millennial success story by becoming an art director , but ends up as a barista in a coffee shop ; sleeps with an awkward hippie and watches episode after episode of “ Nurse Jackie ” on her laptop while hungover .
The scope @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in the more plot-heavy “ Wendy ’ s Revenge , ” as Wendy moves first to Vancouver , where she gets involved in the local art scene , then to Yokohama , for a residency , and on to Los Angeles , where she joins forces with an old nemesis to defeat two corrupt art-world operators .
Scott also gives more room to the stories of secondary characters , like the sensible Winona , Wendy ’ s friend and occasional art collaborator , who , like Scott , is an Indigenous Canadian and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Screamo , Wendy ’ s casually nihilistic gay pal .
In “ Wendy , Master of Art , ” Wendy moves to a small Canadian town—the kind whose main street has a shop called Yawn & Yarn—to pursue a visual-arts M.F.A .
at the University of Hell .
( Scott , who , apart from his cartooning , is also a sculptor and multimedia artist , completed an M.F.A .
at Ontario ’ s University of Guelph , in 2018 . )
Within this controlled setup , we become familiar with a whole @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ s classmates to her professors to her undergrad students to her new boyfriend , who happens to also be dating another woman .
( “ POLYAMORY , ” Wendy thinks , her eyes bulging , when she realizes this . )
Scott ’ s fairly tight concentration on the foibles of art school puts this book in league with other texts that have come before it , like Dan Clowes ’ s “ Art School Confidential ” comic , which was later adapted into a movie , or Rachel B. Glaser ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Fran.
” As in those earlier works , the depiction of that world ’ s types—grandiose and insecure , self-centered and self-loathing—makes for great , equal-opportunity social satire .
We have Eric , the sweaty white male artist , hyper-concerned about everyone else ’ s “ problematic ” politics ; Maya , the enigmatic art star who is always wrapping up international projects ( “ This is my work from the Liverpool Biennale ” ) ; Yunji , the sculptor who ’ s obsessed with “ really long string ” ( “ It @ @ @ @ @ @ @ get ” ) ; Cliff Masterson , the older , washed-up professor ( “ You might remember me from my last solo exhibition , in 1998 ” ) ; Maduhri , whose work is “ an intersection of fermentation , poetry , and painting , ” and who refers to herself , deadpan , as “ the program ’ s token dyke ” ; and so on .
But despite the absurdity of Hell ’ s assorted types , and in spite of the institution ’ s name , Scott seems to have @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and the kind of experience it allows for .
When Winona comes to visit Wendy , who ignores her in favor of endless conversations with her peers about the program , she becomes a stand-in for us non-M.F.A.ers : What in the world could be so interesting about a bunch of people making harebrained objects , relying on pretentious concepts ?
This ridiculousness , however , is part of the point , and goes hand in hand with the freedom—both nightmarish and exhilarating—of playing in the studio , exploring the stupidity and glory @ @ @ @ @ @ @ self-indulgent practice .
We don ’ t really get to see much of Wendy ’ s work , and this is turned into a bit of a joke—in one panel , it is hidden by Maya ’ s enormous hat , and in another it is concealed behind Wendy ’ s own head—but this also suggests , perhaps , that in art school the struggle and process of making is much more significant than any result could be .
“ Wendy , Master of Art ” is full of low-key art-school gags , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of my favorites , Scott depicts Wendy ’ s classmate Yunji , in the back of various panels , repeatedly installing , over the course of the book , what appears to be the exact same string sculpture . )
The canvas that Scott works with here is perhaps his most compact , and yet the book presents Wendy ’ s world in its most fully realized form to date .
His mastery of his characters ’ faces and gestures is also wonderful , his line quick and sure and expressive .
When @ @ @ @ @ @ @ fed up , the shape of her mouth begins to resemble a bird ’ s beak ; when she is down in the dumps or agitated , her googley eyes turn into two flat black pancakes ; when she is really losing it , her head might turn upside down , resembling a Modernist abstraction .
This visual shorthand provides laughs , but Scott is also interested in the development of Wendy as the protagonist of her own life .
One of the strengths of this book is that readers who have been @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to see her actually stretch herself into adulthood .
She is still a mess , but now she avoids at least some of the kinds of mistakes she ’ s made in previous books , whether it ’ s sleeping with a friend ’ s boyfriend or doing just one more key bump .

Walter Scott’s comic book “Wendy,” from 2014, introduced readers to its titular protagonist, a lovable but messy post-college hipster who makes her way through the art scene of Montreal, partying and crashing, hooking up and falling down. Late-night binges, regrettable one-night stands, art-practice disasters, friendship breakups and makeups—in all of these, Wendy’s lust for life is inseparable from her knee-jerk self-destruction. In “Wendy on a Bendy,” the book’s first strip, we see the inextricability of these two tendencies, as Scott draws his heroine vomiting into a toilet bowl, and then stretched out on the floor clutching her phone. With her features nearly German Expressionist in their distortion, bespeaking the scrambled state familiar to anyone who has ever gone too hard, Wendy groans, “OH MY GOD. UHU. NO. I WANT THIS TO BE OVER.” But the next panel, portraying “the very next day,” shows her stuffing her face vigorously with breakfast and cheerfully muttering, “OMG K LETS GET HAMMURT TONITE.” (“NOT THE END,” the strip’s final panel predicts, the statement’s obviousness a kind of punch line.)
Although there is pleasure in the comic’s depiction of the predictable cycle of Wendy’s highs and lows, this is not all that Scott’s work offers. In “Wendy,” as well as in its sequel “Wendy’s Revenge,” from 2016, and, now, in “Wendy, Master of Art,” the third installment of his protagonist’s misadventures, which came out this month, Scott goes beyond caricature, allowing Wendy and the characters surrounding her to become fully formed. Scott manages a rare thing: the sharpness of his satire doesn’t preclude a realistic rendering of personhood, and the seeming flatness opens up, at every turn, to a depth of feeling. Before he collected it in a book, Scott self-published “Wendy” as a zine, and his black-and-white drawings gesture toward the work’s low-res origins, as they capture what it’s like to be young and muddled, ambitious and self-defeating, horny and depressed. As readers—especially those of us who have long ago left behind our more raucous years—we might gaze at Wendy as a kind of anthropological specimen. But we become involved in her story, too, following it closely from book to book, as if it were an engrossing Victorian serial. What will our heroine do next? Will she triumph, or, at the very least, develop into a progressively less disastrous adult?
In Scott’s first book, young Wendy traipses around Montreal from club to bar to art opening; falls for a shifty but sexy drummer whose paltry affections she fights her best friend for; leaves town for a remote residency, where she has an affair and makes some enemies; comes back; fantasizes about being a millennial success story by becoming an art director, but ends up as a barista in a coffee shop; sleeps with an awkward hippie and watches episode after episode of “Nurse Jackie” on her laptop while hungover. The scope of these delicious details broadens a bit in the more plot-heavy “Wendy’s Revenge,” as Wendy moves first to Vancouver, where she gets involved in the local art scene, then to Yokohama, for a residency, and on to Los Angeles, where she joins forces with an old nemesis to defeat two corrupt art-world operators. Scott also gives more room to the stories of secondary characters, like the sensible Winona, Wendy’s friend and occasional art collaborator, who, like Scott, is an Indigenous Canadian and grew up on a reserve, and Screamo, Wendy’s casually nihilistic gay pal.
Illustration by Walter Scott
In “Wendy, Master of Art,” Wendy moves to a small Canadian town—the kind whose main street has a shop called Yawn & Yarn—to pursue a visual-arts M.F.A. at the University of Hell. (Scott, who, apart from his cartooning, is also a sculptor and multimedia artist, completed an M.F.A. at Ontario’s University of Guelph, in 2018.) Within this controlled setup, we become familiar with a whole new cast of characters, from Wendy’s classmates to her professors to her undergrad students to her new boyfriend, who happens to also be dating another woman. (“POLYAMORY,” Wendy thinks, her eyes bulging, when she realizes this.) Scott’s fairly tight concentration on the foibles of art school puts this book in league with other texts that have come before it, like Dan Clowes’s “Art School Confidential” comic, which was later adapted into a movie, or Rachel B. Glaser’s RISD novel, “Paulina and Fran.” As in those earlier works, the depiction of that world’s types—grandiose and insecure, self-centered and self-loathing—makes for great, equal-opportunity social satire. We have Eric, the sweaty white male artist, hyper-concerned about everyone else’s “problematic” politics; Maya, the enigmatic art star who is always wrapping up international projects (“This is my work from the Liverpool Biennale”); Yunji, the sculptor who’s obsessed with “really long string” (“It’s crazy how long it can get”); Cliff Masterson, the older, washed-up professor (“You might remember me from my last solo exhibition, in 1998”); Maduhri, whose work is “an intersection of fermentation, poetry, and painting,” and who refers to herself, deadpan, as “the program’s token dyke”; and so on.
But despite the absurdity of Hell’s assorted types, and in spite of the institution’s name, Scott seems to have a lot of love for art school and the kind of experience it allows for. When Winona comes to visit Wendy, who ignores her in favor of endless conversations with her peers about the program, she becomes a stand-in for us non-M.F.A.ers: What in the world could be so interesting about a bunch of people making harebrained objects, relying on pretentious concepts? This ridiculousness, however, is part of the point, and goes hand in hand with the freedom—both nightmarish and exhilarating—of playing in the studio, exploring the stupidity and glory of one’s own solitary, self-indulgent practice. We don’t really get to see much of Wendy’s work, and this is turned into a bit of a joke—in one panel, it is hidden by Maya’s enormous hat, and in another it is concealed behind Wendy’s own head—but this also suggests, perhaps, that in art school the struggle and process of making is much more significant than any result could be.
Illustration by Walter Scott
“Wendy, Master of Art” is full of low-key art-school gags, visual and otherwise. (In one of my favorites, Scott depicts Wendy’s classmate Yunji, in the back of various panels, repeatedly installing, over the course of the book, what appears to be the exact same string sculpture.) The canvas that Scott works with here is perhaps his most compact, and yet the book presents Wendy’s world in its most fully realized form to date. His mastery of his characters’ faces and gestures is also wonderful, his line quick and sure and expressive. When Wendy is telling a lie or getting fed up, the shape of her mouth begins to resemble a bird’s beak; when she is down in the dumps or agitated, her googley eyes turn into two flat black pancakes; when she is really losing it, her head might turn upside down, resembling a Modernist abstraction. This visual shorthand provides laughs, but Scott is also interested in the development of Wendy as the protagonist of her own life. One of the strengths of this book is that readers who have been familiar with Wendy’s trajectory get to see her actually stretch herself into adulthood. She is still a mess, but now she avoids at least some of the kinds of mistakes she’s made in previous books, whether it’s sleeping with a friend’s boyfriend or doing just one more key bump.
One of the most touching arcs in the book (and certainly a relatable one, for anyone who has ever taught undergrads) is Scott’s depiction of Wendy as a professor. Just imagine, chaotic Wendy is now “Mrs. Wendy,” as her student Kaylee addresses her. (“Just Wendy is fine,” Wendy responds.) “That girl probably hates me,” she mutters to herself, on the verge of tears, when Kaylee leaves her office hours, still not completely grasping why she can’t continue to just draw horses for her art-class assignments. (“This time . . . I did a CUBIST horse.”) Later on, though, Wendy runs into a skimpily dressed, party-ready Kaylee, out with a friend for a night on the town. “This is my teacher Wendy!” Kaylee says. “She’s the cool one you always tell me about?” the friend asks, and Kaylee responds, “Ya! She told me super helpful things about making art, I’m super inspired now!” Wendy is a famous artist who shows in Toronto, Kaylee goes on. “I feel like there’s a place for me in art now,” she says to Wendy. “I want a career like yours when I graduate.” Wendy frowns. The moment is fraught but also sweet. As the elder here, she knows that her career, such as it is, is full of disappointment, frustration, turmoil. And yet she goes on, and will likely continue to do so, encountering meager if valuable lessons along the way. Soon, it will be Kaylee’s turn to discover that when you’re an artist this is simply the way things are.


newyorker--2020-06-27--It’s Cooking Day at Preschool!

It’s Cooking Day at Preschool!

O.K.
, everyone , let ’ s crisscross applesauce our legs and put our hands in our laps .
Jakey , hands in your—no , Jakey , in your lap , not Henry ’ s lap .
Henry gets to decide whose hands go in his lap .
O.K.
!
Great !
So , can anyone tell the class the name of the special room we ’ re in ?
Sorry , what was that , Harper ?
Uh , no , we ’ re not in the basilica .
That ’ s a big word , though—good for you @ @ @ @ @ @ @ right , Gertrude !
We ’ re in a kitchen !
Can anyone guess why we ’ re in the kitchen ?
It has to do with what we ’ ve been talking about all week .
Does anyone—Jacob !
Hands in your own lap !
Does anyone remember—JACOB .
Do I need to get the stickers ?
Thank you , Jakey ; that ’ s better .
So , does anyone remember what we ’ re studying this week ?
No , sorry , Harper , it ’ s not basilicas .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ s right , bread .
Today , we ’ re going to make some bread , because it ’ s Thursday , and for some godforsaken reason we ’ ve decided to make Thursday Cooking Day this year .
What kind of bread , Panacea ?
That ’ s a great question !
Can we all snap for Panacea for asking such a gre—Jakey , please come back and sit down .
Jakey !
Crisscross applesauce !
JACOB .
Thank you , Jakey .
Wait , Henry , where are you going ?
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ Oh , you ’ re scared of bread ?
That ’ s not what I was expecting .
Could you tell Ms. Natalie why ?
Because you saw your papa punch bread dough one time ?
Oh , dear , that does sound upsetting .
But there ’ s seriously no way I ’ m going to try to make bread dough with all y ’ all , so don ’ t worry !
No punching !
Come on back .
Thank you , Henry .
Snaps for Henry and Panacea .
Class @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a bread-maker !
Now , Miss Lara , she said that using a bread-maker is kind of cheating , but I don ’ t think it is !
I think Miss Lara should mind her own business !
Here ’ s the bread-maker—you can see it ’ s heavy and very white , very pretty .
Which is not to imply that things that are white are prettier than other things—uh , anyway !
Would you like to touch it ?
O.K.
, one at a time , you can stand up and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , you first .
Panacea ?
Melodylynn ?
Dylan S. ?
Dylan P. ?
Dylan S. P. ?
Great , I love how you ’ re taking turns !
Henry , how about you ?
O.K.
, yes , you and Jakey can touch it together .
Oh , that was great , that was very brave .
Jakey !
Why did you punch the bread-maker ?
Oh , I see , you were protecting Henry .
Hmm , that seems both well-intentioned and difficult to allow .
Since there are no other @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Kenny called in sick again today , I ’ m going to let it slide .
Did everyone get to touch the bread-maker ?
What was that , Harper ?
Uh-huh .
Uh-huh .
Uh-huh .
Uh-huh .
Uh-huh .
Jakey , stop !
Uh-huh .
Uh-huh .
O.K.
!
Well , I didn ’ t know that about flying buttresses .
Thanks , Harper !
Snaps for Harper , whose dads must have bought her a book about church architecture , everyone .
Here ’ s a box of the ingredients we @ @ @ @ @ @ @ my bread-maker .
There ’ s flour , baking powder , sugar , and yeast .
Can anyone guess what the last ingredient I ’ ll need is ?
It ’ s in this kitchen .
What do you think , Dylan S. ?
Aww , love is very important !
That ’ s true , I should always cook with love .
But I was thinking of something a little more practical .
Nope , it ’ s not chocolate chips , Morgan , although I ’ m sure they would be @ @ @ @ @ @ @ it ’ s not strawberries , either , but that ’ s a good guess , Panacea .
You ’ re on fire today .
What ?
Frogs ?
No , Alithia !
Not frogs , gross .
Henry , please come back , I promise that we won ’ t put frogs in our bread .
I promise .
Water !
The last ingredient we need is water !
Water is very important !
Remember when our theme of the week was water , and we went to the water park , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and we painted with watercolors ?
Really ?
No one remembers that ?
It was literally last month .
Wow .
O.K .
Well , anyway , it ’ s water .
Who would like to measure out the flour ?
Melody , come on up .
Sorry , Melodylynn .
I apologize , Melodylynn .
Your mom is right—we should always have our names said the way we want .
And again , Melodylynn , my name is Ms. Natalie , not Miss—well , that was close .
Good try .
Great @ @ @ @ @ @ @ lynn !
Now we ’ ll put the sugar in .
Who ’ s sweet enough to help me with the sugar ?
Dylan P. , come on up !
Oh , Henry , I didn ’ t mean to imply that everyone else isn ’ t sweet .
You ’ re all equally sweet and beloved by .
.
.
wait , where ’ s Jakey ?
Has anyone seen him ?
Jakey ?
JACOB !
Bianca , why are you pointing at the refrigerator ?
Is .
.
.
is .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
oh , thank God , no .
But where is he ?
Takeysha , why are you giggling ?
No , please don ’ t pout , it ’ s fine to giggle , giggling is a wonderful sound , but I was just wondering if maybe your giggling had anything to do with Jakey—oh , you were just remembering something funny on “ PAW Patrol.
” Fine , O.K.
, Takeysha .
So , class , this is no big deal , but has anyone seen Jakey , because .
.
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ to measure out the sugar for us !
That ’ s a good job for Jakey !
Again , Henry , it ’ s not that you aren ’ t also sweet .
Morgan ?
Why are you staring fixedly under the counter—A-HA !
Jakey !
That ’ s where you ’ ve been !
Yeah , you sure did surprise me .
I am really fu—very surprised .
O.K .
Let ’ s get back to the bread .
Wait , where ’ s the sugar ?
It was—hey , why do @ @ @ @ @ @ @ just ate a sugar donut ?
Melodylynn ?
Dylan S. ?
Dylan P. ?
Dylan S. P. ?
Bianca ?
HENRY ?
Did y ’ all eat that sugar ?
What ’ s behind your back , Morgan ?
Did y ’ all eat like a QUARTER OF A POUND OF SUGAR ?
!
Ms. Natalie is being very loud because she ’ s WORRIED !
DID YOU ?
Yes , Harper ?
Uh-huh , I ’ m going to stop you right there , Harper .
This may not be the best @ @ @ @ @ @ @ between the transept and the quire .
I ’ m just going to take this bag of sugar and hold it in my lap , and we ’ re all going to play a game I just made up called Look at Your Hands .
That ’ s it , that ’ s the whole game .
Ready ?
One , two , three—look at your hands !
I am crying a little bit , Morgan , yes .
Just a little bit .
I ’ m a little sad because I miss @ @ @ @ @ @ @ if you want to sing “ Let It Go , ” that would be nice , sure .
Oh , you ’ ll all sing ?
Oh , that is actually really nice .
I love you guys very much .
So , everyone , when Miss Lara said that the bread-machine was a bad idea , I decided to also buy a bag of croissants at the grocery store .
They ’ re bread , too .
Sometimes when we have Cooking Day , it ’ s more about appreciating that we @ @ @ @ @ @ @ us than cooking ourselves .
They ’ re on the counter .
Gertrude , could you get those for us ?
That ’ s right .
My God , Gertrude , I would be a hot mess without you—you are an amazing four-year-old .
And who would like to get the butter ?
Dylan S. P. , good job .
Let ’ s have a picnic on the floor of the kitchen !
Won ’ t that be fun ?
Now , who wants butter on their croissant ?
Yes , Harper , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
No , I didn ’ t know that the word “ croissant ” means crescent .
.
.
.
Let ’ s have snaps for croissants .
From “ Why Did I Get a B ?
: And Other Mysteries We ’ re Discussing in the Faculty Lounge ” by Shannon Reed , to be published by Atria Books .

O.K., everyone, let’s crisscross applesauce our legs and put our hands in our laps. Jakey, hands in your—no, Jakey, in your lap, not Henry’s lap. Henry gets to decide whose hands go in his lap. O.K.! Great! So, can anyone tell the class the name of the special room we’re in? Sorry, what was that, Harper? Uh, no, we’re not in the basilica. That’s a big word, though—good for you! Anyone else? That’s right, Gertrude! We’re in a kitchen! Can anyone guess why we’re in the kitchen? It has to do with what we’ve been talking about all week. Does anyone—Jacob! Hands in your own lap! Does anyone remember—JACOB. Do I need to get the stickers? Thank you, Jakey; that’s better. So, does anyone remember what we’re studying this week? No, sorry, Harper, it’s not basilicas. Dylan S.? Yes, that’s right, bread. Today, we’re going to make some bread, because it’s Thursday, and for some godforsaken reason we’ve decided to make Thursday Cooking Day this year.
What kind of bread, Panacea? That’s a great question! Can we all snap for Panacea for asking such a gre—Jakey, please come back and sit down. Jakey! Crisscross applesauce! JACOB. Thank you, Jakey.
Wait, Henry, where are you going? Why are you crying, honey? Oh, you’re scared of bread? That’s not what I was expecting. Could you tell Ms. Natalie why? Because you saw your papa punch bread dough one time? Oh, dear, that does sound upsetting. But there’s seriously no way I’m going to try to make bread dough with all y’all, so don’t worry! No punching! Come on back. Thank you, Henry. Snaps for Henry and Panacea.
Class, we’re going to use a bread-maker! Now, Miss Lara, she said that using a bread-maker is kind of cheating, but I don’t think it is! I think Miss Lara should mind her own business! Here’s the bread-maker—you can see it’s heavy and very white, very pretty. Which is not to imply that things that are white are prettier than other things—uh, anyway!
Would you like to touch it? O.K., one at a time, you can stand up and walk over and touch it. Carlisle, you first. Panacea? Melodylynn? Dylan S.? Dylan P.? Dylan S. P.? Great, I love how you’re taking turns! Henry, how about you? O.K., yes, you and Jakey can touch it together. Oh, that was great, that was very brave. Jakey! Why did you punch the bread-maker? Oh, I see, you were protecting Henry. Hmm, that seems both well-intentioned and difficult to allow. Since there are no other adults in the room, because Mr. Kenny called in sick again today, I’m going to let it slide. Did everyone get to touch the bread-maker? What was that, Harper? Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Jakey, stop! Uh-huh. Uh-huh. O.K.! Well, I didn’t know that about flying buttresses. Thanks, Harper! Snaps for Harper, whose dads must have bought her a book about church architecture, everyone.
Here’s a box of the ingredients we’ll need to make bread with my bread-maker. There’s flour, baking powder, sugar, and yeast. Can anyone guess what the last ingredient I’ll need is? It’s in this kitchen. What do you think, Dylan S.? Aww, love is very important! That’s true, I should always cook with love. But I was thinking of something a little more practical.
Nope, it’s not chocolate chips, Morgan, although I’m sure they would be very good in bread.
Nope, it’s not strawberries, either, but that’s a good guess, Panacea. You’re on fire today.
Not real fire, Henry, it’s an expression.
What? Frogs? No, Alithia! Not frogs, gross.
Henry, please come back, I promise that we won’t put frogs in our bread. I promise.
Water! The last ingredient we need is water! Water is very important! Remember when our theme of the week was water, and we went to the water park, and we had a water-balloon battle, and we painted with watercolors? Really? No one remembers that? It was literally last month. Wow. O.K. Well, anyway, it’s water.
Who would like to measure out the flour? Melody, come on up. Sorry, Melodylynn. I apologize, Melodylynn. Your mom is right—we should always have our names said the way we want. And again, Melodylynn, my name is Ms. Natalie, not Miss—well, that was close. Good try.
Great job measuring, Melody . . . lynn! Now we’ll put the sugar in. Who’s sweet enough to help me with the sugar? Dylan P., come on up! Oh, Henry, I didn’t mean to imply that everyone else isn’t sweet. You’re all equally sweet and beloved by . . . wait, where’s Jakey? Has anyone seen him? Jakey? JACOB!
Bianca, why are you pointing at the refrigerator? Is . . . is . . . Jacob in the . . . oh, thank God, no. But where is he? Takeysha, why are you giggling? No, please don’t pout, it’s fine to giggle, giggling is a wonderful sound, but I was just wondering if maybe your giggling had anything to do with Jakey—oh, you were just remembering something funny on “PAW Patrol.” Fine, O.K., Takeysha.
So, class, this is no big deal, but has anyone seen Jakey, because . . . uh, I really want him to measure out the sugar for us! That’s a good job for Jakey!
Again, Henry, it’s not that you aren’t also sweet. Morgan? Why are you staring fixedly under the counter—A-HA! Jakey! That’s where you’ve been!


newyorker--2020-06-28--Sunday Reading: Cocktail Hour

Sunday Reading: Cocktail Hour

There ’ s an old legend about the novelist Ernest Hemingway “ liberating ” the bar at the Hotel Ritz in Paris with a group of soldiers , in 1944 .
Hemingway was known to be partial to Martinis and Daiquiris , and was in good company among acclaimed writers and artists in documenting his personal notions of a well-concocted cocktail .
This week , we ’ re bringing you a selection of pieces about alcohol and the cultural influence of various spirits .
In “ Manhattan , ” the novelist Chang-rae Lee reflects on a summer spent in New @ @ @ @ @ @ @ he learned how to make the perfect drink of that name .
In “ Mezcal Sunrise , ” Dana Goodyear travels to Mexico to explore innovative new kinds of artisanal mezcal .
In “ The Intoxicating History of Gin , ” Anthony Lane examines the persistent popularity of that spirit , and of the Martini .
Finally , in “ A Few Too Many , ” Joan Acocella writes about the history of the hangover and all of its attendant remedies .
We hope that these stories add some zest to your weekend @ @ @ @ @ @ @ you ’ ll be reading Acocella ’ s piece as a prescription .
The current gin craze knows no bounds , but the British have been imbibing the stuff for hundreds of years , sometimes with disastrous results .
Is there any hope for the hungover ?

Photograph from Shutterstock
There’s an old legend about the novelist Ernest Hemingway “liberating” the bar at the Hotel Ritz in Paris with a group of soldiers, in 1944. Hemingway was known to be partial to Martinis and Daiquiris, and was in good company among acclaimed writers and artists in documenting his personal notions of a well-concocted cocktail. This week, we’re bringing you a selection of pieces about alcohol and the cultural influence of various spirits. In “Manhattan,” the novelist Chang-rae Lee reflects on a summer spent in New York, during the nineteen-eighties, when he learned how to make the perfect drink of that name. In “Mezcal Sunrise,” Dana Goodyear travels to Mexico to explore innovative new kinds of artisanal mezcal. In “The Intoxicating History of Gin,” Anthony Lane examines the persistent popularity of that spirit, and of the Martini. Finally, in “A Few Too Many,” Joan Acocella writes about the history of the hangover and all of its attendant remedies. We hope that these stories add some zest to your weekend. Careful not to overdo it—otherwise, you’ll be reading Acocella’s piece as a prescription.
—David Remnick
Playing the high life.
Illustration by Bjorn Lie
Searching for the ultimate artisanal distillate.
The current gin craze knows no bounds, but the British have been imbibing the stuff for hundreds of years, sometimes with disastrous results.
Illustration by Floc’h
Is there any hope for the hungover?


Our Ghost-Kitchen Future

Last fall , walking down Mission Street , in San Francisco , I noticed a new addition to an otherwise unremarkable parking lot at the base of Bernal Heights Hill : a large , white trailer , about the size of three parking spaces , plastered with a banner that read “ food pick up here.
” On one side was a list of restaurant brands with names and logos that seemed algorithmically generated : WokTalk , Burger Bytes , Fork and Ladle , Umami , American Eclectic Burger , Wings & Things .
The trailer was hooked up to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ two portable toilets ; it occupied parking spots once reserved for Maven , an hourly-car-rental startup , funded by General Motors and marketed to gig-economy workers .
( G.M .
shut down Maven in April . )
Through a small window cut into the side , I could see two men moving around what appeared to be a kitchen .
The generator hummed ; the air carried the comforting smell of fryer oil ; the toilets were padlocked .
One of the men came to the window and apologized : I couldn ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ me—I would have to order through the apps .
The trailer , along with a few others in San Francisco , is operated by Reef Technology , a startup based in Miami .
According to marketing materials , Reef creates “ thriving hubs for the on-demand economy ” by “ reimagining the common parking lot.
” By bringing in utilities like electricity , gas , and water , and setting up “ proprietary containers , ” the company hopes to turn parking lots into reconfigurable community hubs .
Lots might be “ formatted @ @ @ @ @ @ @ gardens , retail pop-ups , vertical farms , auto-body shops , medical services , rental stations for electric vehicles , and so on .
“ We have these pods , which arguably are not pretty , but they ’ re functional .
They can support any kind of application , ” Ari Ojalvo , the C.E.O .
of Reef , told me .
“ If you want to put a grocery store in there , put a grocery store in there .
Laundry , put laundry.
” Ojalvo compares his company to Apple @ @ @ @ @ @ @ developers to create and sell iOS-based tools and services , so Reef provides infrastructure for parking-based businesses .
“ Apple uses connectivity as a platform ; we use proximity as a platform .
We allow third-party applications to stand on this proximity platform and get closer to consumers , ” he said .
Ojalvo and one of his three co-founders , Umut Tekin , met as undergraduates at Northwestern University , in the late nineteen-nineties .
After graduation , both worked as management consultants : Tekin in technology , and Ojalvo focused on @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in 2013 , in Miami , under the name ParkJockey , and initially offered an app for reserving parking spaces in advance , which launched the following year in London and Chicago .
The app included a back-end service for parking operators , and the company continued to build out its garage-management software .
In 2018 , ParkJockey raised nearly a billion dollars from SoftBank Vision Fund , and acquired the two largest parking operators in North America , Impark and Citizens Parking .
In the trade publication Parking Today , publisher John @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ParkJockey ’ s ascent .
“ I have received a number of calls from operators across the fruited plain asking about ParkJockey , ” Van Horn wrote .
“ Who are they ?
What does their software do ?
Yikes , are we prey ?
” Shortly after the acquisitions , the company changed its name to Reef , to evoke a thriving ecosystem .
It now manages 1.3 million parking spaces in forty-five hundred locations—city centers and residential neighborhoods , as well as airports , hospitals , stadiums , and hotels—in Canada @ @ @ @ @ @ @ left the company in 2019 . )
In the past , Reef has pitched itself as anticipating a world in which autonomous cars are the norm , and fleets of self-driving ride-share vehicles make parking mostly obsolete .
In such a world , parking lots would have to be repurposed .
Over the past two years , though , the company ’ s narrative has changed somewhat : Reef ’ s executives now emphasize their work in “ creating the next phase of a neighborhood ” by forming local logistics and mobility hubs @ @ @ @ @ @ @ partnership with Bond , a logistics startup that operates “ nano-warehouses ” : fulfillment centers , often in vacant storefronts , that can be used for last-mile delivery .
City-dwellers may someday pick up their Amazon packages and clamshell-carton dinners in a parking lot or empty retail space , like college students dipping into the campus center before retreating back to the dorms .
For now , though , Reef is focussing on food preparation as a test case—a proof of concept for other sorts of “ applications ” that might make sense @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Food prep is a sensible first experiment for Reef ’ s modular approach to repurposing parking lots : over the past few years , delivery has been on the upswing , and delivery-only kitchens—referred to as “ ghost kitchens ” or “ dark kitchens ” —are having a moment .
Reef operates kitchens across eighteen cities in the United States , in seventy-odd parking lots .
In the trailer on Mission Street , meals from all six of the advertised restaurants are prepared on site—the culinary equivalent of a multicolor retractable pen .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ Reef : designed and staffed by its employees , with menus developed by a culinary team that includes former executives from Roti Modern Mediterranean , Potbelly , and Jamba Juice .
The menus lean toward comfort food , and are a little arbitrary .
Wings & Things offers mozzarella sticks , chicken tenders , cronuts ( “ dusted with cinnamon maple sugar and served with a side of Canadian Maple dipping sauce ” ) , Skittles , Red Bull , and two kinds of Greek-yogurt bowls .
Currently , the food offered by @ @ @ @ @ @ @ U.S. Foods , an international , private-equity-owned institutional food distributor that works with colleges , hotels , and hospitals , and is a wholesale supplier for independent restaurants and diners .
In San Francisco , the menu items are delivered to a central commissary in the Bayview area , and come individually wrapped ; precise assembly instructions are provided to line cooks .
Every night , Reef ’ s trailers , which are managed under a subsidiary , Vessel CA , return to the commissary , where the gray-water tanks are drained , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the refrigerators are restocked .
Reef has ambitions to offer fresher , more sophisticated fare , eventually .
But , for now , customers may find themselves paying a premium for meals similar to those found at a fast-food restaurant , or in a supermarket freezer .
The ghost kitchen is an increasingly crowded space .
In addition to Reef , there are Zuul and Kitchen United in the United States , Deliveroo in London and Paris , and Panda Selected in China .
CloudKitchens , the new venture run by Travis Kalanick @ @ @ @ @ @ @ real estate , brings in kitchen facilities , and leases them to chefs and small-business owners , most of whom do not have other brick-and-mortar spaces .
Ojalvo cites his own experience in the restaurant industry ( as a partner , he worked on the expansion of Sushi Samba , a Peruvian , Japanese , and Brazilian fusion-restaurant chain with locations in Las Vegas and Amsterdam ) to note that opening a brick-and-mortar restaurant is high-risk and expensive , whereas ghost kitchens are lower-risk , offering a more affordable way for entrepreneurs to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , opening a brick-and-mortar restaurant requires a gauntlet of permits and inspections ; restaurateurs waiting on permits might find themselves paying months of rent for space they aren ’ t yet allowed to use .
Reef ’ s kitchens are registered as mobile food facilities , which tend to have fewer permitting requirements .
Like the trailers themselves , the business details are configurable : Reef offers flexible staffing arrangements and short-term leases .

Last fall, walking down Mission Street, in San Francisco, I noticed a new addition to an otherwise unremarkable parking lot at the base of Bernal Heights Hill: a large, white trailer, about the size of three parking spaces, plastered with a banner that read “food pick up here.” On one side was a list of restaurant brands with names and logos that seemed algorithmically generated: WokTalk, Burger Bytes, Fork and Ladle, Umami, American Eclectic Burger, Wings & Things. The trailer was hooked up to a generator, which was positioned behind two portable toilets; it occupied parking spots once reserved for Maven, an hourly-car-rental startup, funded by General Motors and marketed to gig-economy workers. (G.M. shut down Maven in April.) Through a small window cut into the side, I could see two men moving around what appeared to be a kitchen. The generator hummed; the air carried the comforting smell of fryer oil; the toilets were padlocked. One of the men came to the window and apologized: I couldn’t order food directly, he told me—I would have to order through the apps.
The trailer, along with a few others in San Francisco, is operated by Reef Technology, a startup based in Miami. According to marketing materials, Reef creates “thriving hubs for the on-demand economy” by “reimagining the common parking lot.” By bringing in utilities like electricity, gas, and water, and setting up “proprietary containers,” the company hopes to turn parking lots into reconfigurable community hubs. Lots might be “formatted” to include mobile kitchens, beer gardens, retail pop-ups, vertical farms, auto-body shops, medical services, rental stations for electric vehicles, and so on. “We have these pods, which arguably are not pretty, but they’re functional. They can support any kind of application,” Ari Ojalvo, the C.E.O. of Reef, told me. “If you want to put a grocery store in there, put a grocery store in there. Laundry, put laundry.” Ojalvo compares his company to Apple: just as the App Store allows developers to create and sell iOS-based tools and services, so Reef provides infrastructure for parking-based businesses. “Apple uses connectivity as a platform; we use proximity as a platform. We allow third-party applications to stand on this proximity platform and get closer to consumers,” he said.
Ojalvo and one of his three co-founders, Umut Tekin, met as undergraduates at Northwestern University, in the late nineteen-nineties. After graduation, both worked as management consultants: Tekin in technology, and Ojalvo focused on supply-chain optimization. They started their company in 2013, in Miami, under the name ParkJockey, and initially offered an app for reserving parking spaces in advance, which launched the following year in London and Chicago. The app included a back-end service for parking operators, and the company continued to build out its garage-management software. In 2018, ParkJockey raised nearly a billion dollars from SoftBank Vision Fund, and acquired the two largest parking operators in North America, Impark and Citizens Parking. In the trade publication Parking Today, publisher John Van Horn speculated about the repercussions of ParkJockey’s ascent. “I have received a number of calls from operators across the fruited plain asking about ParkJockey,” Van Horn wrote. “Who are they? What does their software do? Yikes, are we prey?” Shortly after the acquisitions, the company changed its name to Reef, to evoke a thriving ecosystem. It now manages 1.3 million parking spaces in forty-five hundred locations—city centers and residential neighborhoods, as well as airports, hospitals, stadiums, and hotels—in Canada and the United States. (Tekin left the company in 2019.)
In the past, Reef has pitched itself as anticipating a world in which autonomous cars are the norm, and fleets of self-driving ride-share vehicles make parking mostly obsolete. In such a world, parking lots would have to be repurposed. Over the past two years, though, the company’s narrative has changed somewhat: Reef’s executives now emphasize their work in “creating the next phase of a neighborhood” by forming local logistics and mobility hubs. This year, Reef launched a partnership with Bond, a logistics startup that operates “nano-warehouses”: fulfillment centers, often in vacant storefronts, that can be used for last-mile delivery. City-dwellers may someday pick up their Amazon packages and clamshell-carton dinners in a parking lot or empty retail space, like college students dipping into the campus center before retreating back to the dorms.
For now, though, Reef is focussing on food preparation as a test case—a proof of concept for other sorts of “applications” that might make sense in some later, future time. Food prep is a sensible first experiment for Reef’s modular approach to repurposing parking lots: over the past few years, delivery has been on the upswing, and delivery-only kitchens—referred to as “ghost kitchens” or “dark kitchens”—are having a moment. Reef operates kitchens across eighteen cities in the United States, in seventy-odd parking lots. In the trailer on Mission Street, meals from all six of the advertised restaurants are prepared on site—the culinary equivalent of a multicolor retractable pen. The restaurants are “internal” to Reef: designed and staffed by its employees, with menus developed by a culinary team that includes former executives from Roti Modern Mediterranean, Potbelly, and Jamba Juice. The menus lean toward comfort food, and are a little arbitrary. Wings & Things offers mozzarella sticks, chicken tenders, cronuts (“dusted with cinnamon maple sugar and served with a side of Canadian Maple dipping sauce”), Skittles, Red Bull, and two kinds of Greek-yogurt bowls.
Currently, the food offered by Reef’s internal brands comes from US Foods, a food distributor that works with colleges, hotels, and hospitals, and is a wholesale supplier for independent restaurants and diners. In San Francisco, the menu items are delivered to a central commissary in the Bayview area, and come individually wrapped; precise assembly instructions are provided to line cooks. Every night, Reef’s trailers, which are managed under a subsidiary, Vessel CA, return to the commissary, where the gray-water tanks are drained, the potable-water tanks are refilled, and the refrigerators are restocked. Reef has ambitions to offer fresher, more sophisticated fare, eventually. But, for now, customers may find themselves paying a premium for meals similar to those found at a fast-food restaurant, or in a supermarket freezer.
The ghost kitchen is an increasingly crowded space. In addition to Reef, there are Zuul and Kitchen United in the United States, Deliveroo in London and Paris, and Panda Selected in China. CloudKitchens, the new venture run by Travis Kalanick’s City Storage Systems, buys real estate, brings in kitchen facilities, and leases them to chefs and small-business owners, most of whom do not have other brick-and-mortar spaces. Ojalvo cites his own experience in the restaurant industry (as a partner, he worked on the expansion of Sushi Samba, a Peruvian, Japanese, and Brazilian fusion-restaurant chain with locations in Las Vegas and Amsterdam) to note that opening a brick-and-mortar restaurant is high-risk and expensive, whereas ghost kitchens are lower-risk, offering a more affordable way for entrepreneurs to enter the business. In most cities, opening a brick-and-mortar restaurant requires a gauntlet of permits and inspections; restaurateurs waiting on permits might find themselves paying months of rent for space they aren’t yet allowed to use. Reef’s kitchens are registered as mobile food facilities, which tend to have fewer permitting requirements. Like the trailers themselves, the business details are configurable: Reef offers flexible staffing arrangements and short-term leases.
Like Reef, many of the brands operated by CloudKitchens and the like are “virtual.” The branding and food are real, but the restaurants do not exist elsewhere in the physical world; consumers, presumably, are none the wiser. Uber Eats, which delivers from Reef and CloudKitchens, among others, has facilitated seven thousand virtual restaurants, more than four thousand of which are in North America. Using data from in-app searches, Uber Eats identifies opportunities for certain cuisines in various neighborhoods, then approaches existing brick-and-mortar restaurateurs to pitch them the idea of launching a virtual restaurant. “Virtual restaurants are meant to be a demand-generation tool for our restaurant partners,” Kristen Adamowski, the virtual-restaurants lead at Uber Eats, said. “We partner with a restaurant to spin up virtual restaurants, to fulfill that cuisine gap. We’ll provide the high-level cuisine insight. And then we take it one step further, and provide a list of menu items within that cuisine type that are also in high demand. So we provide that granular menu-level insight.”
In the Mission, an outpost of Top Round Roast Beef, a small, national, fast-casual chain restaurant, dedicates part of its kitchen to three delivery-only brands that exist solely on Uber Eats: Red Ribbon Fried Chicken, TR Burgers and Wings, and Ice Cream Custard. In New York, the kitchen of Wok Wok, a Thai restaurant in Chinatown, operates multiple spinoff brands, all seemingly search-engine optimized: Thai Ai Ai, Panang Panang! Thai Curry, and Fire Ass Thai. Chuck E. Cheese, a family restaurant chain with on-site arcades and a friendly rat mascot, recently launched its own virtual restaurant brand, Pasqually’s Pizza & Wings, to reach a broader customer base during the pandemic. (The parent company recently declared bankruptcy due to pandemic-related closures.) In May, NRD Capital, the private-equity firm that owns Ruby Tuesday, announced a “host kitchen” initiative, in which existing restaurants will lease kitchen space to third-party brands for delivery; a variation on this is already employed by Wow Bao, a fast-casual chain selling dumplings and steamed buns, which rents kitchen space—and labor—from existing brick-and-mortar restaurants to expand its delivery footprint.
Some restaurant owners operate ten virtual brands from a single kitchen. In February, when the New York City Council held an oversight hearing on the impact of ghost kitchens on local businesses, Matt Newberg, an entrepreneur and independent journalist, testified that he had visited a CloudKitchens commissary in Los Angeles where twenty-seven kitchens, occupying eleven thousand square feet, operated a hundred and fifteen restaurants on delivery platforms. Newberg posted a video online, which depicted line cooks packed into a windowless warehouse, yelling over the sounds of tablets and phones chiming with order alerts. For the people working in ghost kitchens, there is nothing spectral about this environment. As in most restaurants, the apparition is for customers; the ghosts are the workers themselves.
The logic of food-delivery platforms is the logic of the digital marketplace. Just as there might be four different Amazon listings, under four different brand names, for the same USB cable, a sandwich produced in a ghost kitchen might appear on multiple menus with different names. Virtual restaurant brands often have eye-catching and pun-soaked names, and some seem ripped from a short story by Lorrie Moore: Á La Couch, Endless Pastabilities, Mac to the Future, Bad Mutha Clucka. Like many menu items—“Are You Stroganoff for This?,” “Are You Alfredo of the Dark”—the names might be strange, possibly off-putting, from the sidewalk. They are natural to the Internet, where language is informal and conversational, prone to wordplay and punning. Unlike a neighborhood restaurant with a ten-year lease, digital brands are not necessarily angling for timelessness and longevity. There is also the opportunity for informal A/B testing: restaurant operators can change and update restaurant names, logos, menu items, and menu photography at their own discretion.


newyorker--2020-06-28--The Tragedy of the New Coronavirus Spikes

Since the coronavirus first took hold in this country , Donald Trump has heedlessly promoted the idea that it can be treated solely as a political , or even a cultural , problem .
Part of the tragedy of the pandemic is that , until now , many people in less affected areas of the United States believed him .
In a speech last week to thousands of mostly maskless young supporters in a megachurch in Phoenix , Trump claimed that Democrats are “ trying to do their best to keep the country shut down ” —not to fight COVID-19 @ @ @ @ @ @ @ thus his electoral prospects .
They ’ re also trying to “ rig ” the election by means of “ the China virus.
” He called the disease other names , including the more blatantly racist Kung Flu ( it ’ s not a flu ) , and professed to find its real name “ odd ” : “ I said , ‘ What ’ s the nineteen ?
’ ” ( The virus was identified in 2019 , but the notion that there were eighteen previous Covids figures in certain conspiracy theories @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of the pandemic as if it were a thing of the past , even as the number of new cases rose , last week , to horrific levels , particularly in Texas , Florida , California , and Arizona .
Last Friday alone , the U.S. saw more than forty thousand new cases .
At a congressional hearing on Tuesday , Dr. Anthony Fauci , of the National Institutes of Health , said that trends this summer will produce a “ baseline ” for determining how severe a second wave may be in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the country can rely on containment measures or will have to resort to another round of widespread closures of businesses and schools .
The shifting of the epicenter of the pandemic from Northeastern , Midwestern , and urban areas that are largely governed by Democrats to states in the South and the West , many of them red or purple , along with blue California , is a reminder of a point that Dr. Ashish Jha , a Harvard public-health expert , has been making since March : the coronavirus doesn ’ t @ @ @ @ @ @ @ or a Democrat .
Nationally , the number of deaths has fallen , thanks in part to new insights about treatments .
But the rising numbers of cases , coupled with the listlessness of the Administration , suggest that the respite may be brief , and that we are squandering whatever advantage was gained by the ebb in the states first affected .
The political leaders in New York , the worst-hit state , unquestionably made mistakes .
But the political geography of the pandemic ’ s early course seems to have lured @ @ @ @ @ @ @ if a MAGA cap could be a protective talisman , or as if , when it comes to COVID-19 , bad things could happen only to subway-riding city dwellers .
Some even acted as if the virus ’ s depredations could be tolerated as long as they fell most heavily on low-income , elderly , or marginalized people .
Those tendencies have served their states badly , and the country , too .
Senator Mitch McConnell ’ s statement , in April , putting coronavirus-relief packages in the category of “ blue-state bailouts @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
response ; the recent effort of Florida ’ s governor , Ron DeSantis , to downplay his state ’ s staggering number of new cases—nearly nine thousand on a single day last week—by pointing to infections among “ overwhelmingly Hispanic workers and day laborers ” was another .
Community leaders in Florida reacted to DeSantis ’ s remarks with anger , particularly since the Governor had not answered calls for protections for agricultural workers .
His rationales for pushing ahead with the state ’ s reopening , which had already been rushed @ @ @ @ @ @ @ had until recently persisted in arguing that the high numbers are a statistical illusion produced by more testing .
Trump is still making that claim .
At his now infamous rally in Tulsa , he said that he ’ d told his team to cut back on testing ; he and a spokesperson disagree about whether that was a joke .
In truth , while there has been an expansion in testing , it is not nearly enough to account for the recent spikes .
People in Arizona , Florida , and Texas @ @ @ @ @ @ @ stations that can not keep up with the demand ; meanwhile , the Administration has announced that it will end federal funding for thirteen such sites across five states .
There are now more than five thousand new covid cases a day in Texas , and last week Governor Greg Abbott announced a pause in that state ’ s rapid reopening in an attempt to “ corral ” the virus , and ordered bars and restaurants to limit service .
But that effort is being hampered by an executive order that he issued @ @ @ @ @ @ @ enforcing a mandate for individuals to use masks .
Some hospitals in the state , meanwhile , are nearing I.C.U .
capacity .
Adults are being admitted to Texas Children ’ s Hospital , in Houston , to provide space for Covid patients in other facilities .
That is an ominous echo of the early situation in New York City , where at the peak eight hundred deaths were attributed to covid in a single day ; one of the lessons that emerged from that crucible is that people who might be saved @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ( Another lesson : wearing masks in public works . )
There are similar indications that I.C.U.s are at risk of reaching capacity in Arizona and Alabama , and soon may be in Florida and the Carolinas , too .
Roy Cooper , the Democratic governor of North Carolina , rejected Trump ’ s demand that the Republican National Convention , scheduled to take place in Charlotte , be held without social distancing ; at DeSantis ’ s invitation , Trump will now accept the nomination in Jacksonville , Florida .
There is @ @ @ @ @ @ @ many Republican leaders may stop seeing the pandemic through the lens of Trumpism only when the virus starts hitting more of their constituents .
Trump himself won ’ t change ; he used his trip to Phoenix as an occasion to inspect a new piece of border wall , and , at the rally , he talked about its beauty and claimed that California was secretly begging him to build more of it as , somehow , a way to stop the virus .
As he spoke , you could hear him trying @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , xenophobic rhetorical framework that helped him get elected in 2016 .
But politics means accountability , too .
Between now and November , politicians in many states will need to decide where their responsibility lies : in heeding Trump , or in listening to the desperate doctors who tell them that they are running out of hospital beds .
More than a hundred and twenty thousand people in America have died already , and the reckoning is far from over .
♦

Illustration by João Fazenda
Since the coronavirus first took hold in this country, Donald Trump has heedlessly promoted the idea that it can be treated solely as a political, or even a cultural, problem. Part of the tragedy of the pandemic is that, until now, many people in less affected areas of the United States believed him. In a speech last week to thousands of mostly maskless young supporters in a megachurch in Phoenix, Trump claimed that Democrats are “trying to do their best to keep the country shut down”—not to fight COVID-19 but to sabotage the economy, and thus his electoral prospects. They’re also trying to “rig” the election by means of “the China virus.” He called the disease other names, including the more blatantly racist Kung Flu (it’s not a flu), and professed to find its real name “odd”: “I said, ‘What’s the nineteen?’ ” (The virus was identified in 2019, but the notion that there were eighteen previous Covids figures in certain conspiracy theories.) Most fantastically, Trump spoke of the pandemic as if it were a thing of the past, even as the number of new cases rose, last week, to horrific levels, particularly in Texas, Florida, California, and Arizona. Last Friday alone, the U.S. saw more than forty thousand new cases.
At a congressional hearing on Tuesday, Dr. Anthony Fauci, of the National Institutes of Health, said that trends this summer will produce a “baseline” for determining how severe a second wave may be in the fall and winter, and whether the country can rely on containment measures or will have to resort to another round of widespread closures of businesses and schools. The shifting of the epicenter of the pandemic from Northeastern, Midwestern, and urban areas that are largely governed by Democrats to states in the South and the West, many of them red or purple, along with blue California, is a reminder of a point that Dr. Ashish Jha, a Harvard public-health expert, has been making since March: the coronavirus doesn’t care whether you’re a Republican or a Democrat. Nationally, the number of deaths has fallen, thanks in part to new insights about treatments. But the rising numbers of cases, coupled with the listlessness of the Administration, suggest that the respite may be brief, and that we are squandering whatever advantage was gained by the ebb in the states first affected.
The political leaders in New York, the worst-hit state, unquestionably made mistakes. But the political geography of the pandemic’s early course seems to have lured some Republican politicians into complacency, as if a MAGA cap could be a protective talisman, or as if, when it comes to COVID-19, bad things could happen only to subway-riding city dwellers. Some even acted as if the virus’s depredations could be tolerated as long as they fell most heavily on low-income, elderly, or marginalized people. Those tendencies have served their states badly, and the country, too. Senator Mitch McConnell’s statement, in April, putting coronavirus-relief packages in the category of “blue-state bailouts” provided one milestone in the G.O.P. response; the recent effort of Florida’s governor, Ron DeSantis, to downplay his state’s staggering number of new cases—nearly nine thousand on a single day last week—by pointing to infections among “overwhelmingly Hispanic workers and day laborers” was another.
Community leaders in Florida reacted to DeSantis’s remarks with anger, particularly since the Governor had not answered calls for protections for agricultural workers. His rationales for pushing ahead with the state’s reopening, which had already been rushed, have been growing frantic. DeSantis had until recently persisted in arguing that the high numbers are a statistical illusion produced by more testing. Trump is still making that claim. At his now infamous rally in Tulsa, he said that he’d told his team to cut back on testing; he and a spokesperson disagree about whether that was a joke. In truth, while there has been an expansion in testing, it is not nearly enough to account for the recent spikes. People in Arizona, Florida, and Texas have been waiting for hours at testing stations that cannot keep up with the demand; meanwhile, the Administration has announced that it will end federal funding for thirteen such sites across five states.
There are now more than five thousand new covid cases a day in Texas, and last week Governor Greg Abbott announced a pause in that state’s rapid reopening in an attempt to “corral” the virus, and ordered bars and restaurants to limit service. But that effort is being hampered by an executive order that he issued in April, preventing local authorities from enforcing a mandate for individuals to use masks. Some hospitals in the state, meanwhile, are nearing I.C.U. capacity. Adults are being admitted to Texas Children’s Hospital, in Houston, to provide space for Covid patients in other facilities.
That is an ominous echo of the early situation in New York City, where at the peak eight hundred deaths were attributed to covid in a single day; one of the lessons that emerged from that crucible is that people who might be saved die when hospitals are too crowded. (Another lesson: wearing masks in public works.) There are similar indications that I.C.U.s are at risk of reaching capacity in Arizona and Alabama, and soon may be in Florida and the Carolinas, too. Roy Cooper, the Democratic governor of North Carolina, rejected Trump’s demand that the Republican National Convention, scheduled to take place in Charlotte, be held without social distancing; at DeSantis’s invitation, Trump will now accept the nomination in Jacksonville, Florida.
There is something frighteningly sad about the fact that many Republican leaders may stop seeing the pandemic through the lens of Trumpism only when the virus starts hitting more of their constituents. Trump himself won’t change; he used his trip to Phoenix as an occasion to inspect a new piece of border wall, and, at the rally, he talked about its beauty and claimed that California was secretly begging him to build more of it as, somehow, a way to stop the virus. As he spoke, you could hear him trying to jam the pandemic into the nativist, xenophobic rhetorical framework that helped him get elected in 2016.
But politics means accountability, too. Between now and November, politicians in many states will need to decide where their responsibility lies: in heeding Trump, or in listening to the desperate doctors who tell them that they are running out of hospital beds. More than a hundred and twenty thousand people in America have died already, and the reckoning is far from over. ♦